He’s left Reid muttering to himself in the corridor. Fisher’s joining Davies in the interview room containing Peter Jamieson and his fabulously wealthy lawyer. Jamieson’s glancing at him as he comes in. Nothing more than that. The lawyer beside him, looking ready for a challenge. Fisher going through the routine introductions.
‘I know what this is,’ Jamieson’s saying.
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do. You’ve been set up. I know that you don’t have Calum MacLean in custody,’ he’s saying, glancing across at his lawyer, who is obviously in possession of some irritating facts. ‘I know he came to you. A disgruntled former employee, making up stories. Trying to hijack his own brother’s death to use it against me. Sickening, I’d say. I know you have no evidence of wrongdoing against me. You’ve been played.’
And Fisher’s smiling. He can make a charge stick. Something–anything. He can. And yeah, he’s been played by Calum MacLean. They’re all playing the game. Just might be that, this time, it’s Fisher’s turn to win.
51
Calum dumped the car in the first small car park he drove past. Small and quiet, not the sort of place that’ll have a security camera nearby. The car’s far too hot to use. Every cop in the city will have their eyes open for it. Safer to go on foot. Sometimes you can walk right past a cop and they don’t know you’re the man they’re supposed to be looking for. Not that he’ll push his luck. Not this close to the exit. Take no stupid risk. You get this close to the end, think the hard work’s over and you take it easy. Then you trip up. There’s still one more trick to pull before he can get out. He thought about keeping the gun. Decided there was no point. If the police catch up with him, then he won’t use it. You never use it against the police. Just guaranteeing that they pour every resource into arresting you. Delaying the inevitable.
He would use it against anyone Jamieson sent to get him, though. That’s where the real threat probably lies. But who do they use? The police are chasing Hutton now that they have his name. God knows where George has gone. Calum trusts him, though. George allowed himself to be backed into a corner. He let Calum do that. Now he can’t go back to Jamieson and Young. Doesn’t leave them with much. Nobody that Calum fears. Nobody Calum thinks is competent enough to catch him. Wait; don’t get complacent. Could easily be some little scruff with no talent who takes you down. Could be the only useful thing they ever do in their lives, and you could be the victim of it. You never forget that. Never. But he’s still leaving the gun. If he can’t get out of here without using it, then he can’t get out. Shoving it in the glove box, so nobody will see it. Tucking the keys under the visor and getting out.
Full paranoia-mode. Trust nobody. Speak to nobody. Anybody approaches, assume the worst. Plot a careful course. He’s not too far from where he needs to be. Another reason why he chose the meeting place he did. The first part he can do on foot without straying into any busy areas. Won’t be the case for most of it. And busy streets mean cameras. Cameras that may well be looking for him. Assume they are. He’s passed three people already and crossed to the next street at a junction. Still quiet. People happily ignoring him. Calum happy to be ignored. Very little traffic. A van going down the street behind him. Accelerating more than seems necessary. Calum turning to look, ready to react. The van driving past. Just someone rushing to his work.
Okay, can’t keep this up for long. Too slow. Too high-risk. Reaching the corner and stopping. How long would he have to wait for a taxi to go past? Too long, probably, but he doesn’t want to call one. Police might already be alert to people calling a cab. Nope; been standing here for nearly five minutes and not one taxi has gone past. Using William’s phone to call for one. They’re bound to be looking out for the phone. Too bad. Still too close to where he left the car. Damn it all! This is now luck and timing. If Fisher goes back to the station, gets all his troops out looking for Calum, out looking for the car, then this call could be a big mistake. If he goes back to the station and starts running around after Peter Jamieson, then Calum becomes a minor point. The car becomes an afterthought. If this has worked at all, then Calum should have created chaos among everyone interested in him. Pray that’s correct. Calling the taxi, telling them where to pick him up. Giving them a drop-off point some distance from where he actually wants to go. That’s not a problem. He can picture in his head a clear path to his final destination.
First hurdle over. He doesn’t recognize the taxi driver. Now they’re making their way through the streets, Calum paying close attention. If this car takes one wrong turn, this is going to become nasty. It would be an easy set-up. Taxi picks him up, delivers him to his enemies. It’s happened to others before. The driver is talkative. Annoying, but reassuring. Dropping him off at the correct point, Calum paying. Waiting until the car’s out of sight before he moves one way or the other. Checking up and down the street. No sign he’s being followed. Walking briskly now. His nerves are bothering him. Too many people looking for him. This whole thing going on too long. The consequences costing more than the reward. Pretend that this is all for William. Keep pretending. Walking through back streets–industrial area. People around, but all working. Along another alleyway. Looking at his watch. Five past one. Been walking for longer than he thought. He’s there now.
Along the back street. Reaching the back door and pausing. Listening. No sound of anyone around. Calum’s prepared to break in if he has to, but he’s taking a chance. Trying the handle. It’s opening. Calum’s sighing. It’s opening because of what happened. William was here yesterday morning. He’ll have unlocked the doors; going out the back, out the front, checking cars; getting out of the house to calm his nerves. Then Shaun Hutton turned up. Obviously nobody thought to lock the doors since. The police will have been all over the garage. A chance they might still have someone there. Closing the door behind him. Quiet in here. Dark, too. The front doors pulled all the way shut. Calum’s walking silently into the main garage, alert and ready to bolt. Glancing back at the office. Nobody there. Checking every part of the garage. Clear.
Stopping on the left-hand side. This is where they found him. There are signs of that. Markings on the floor that the police have made. A couple of blood-stains ringed in yellow spray-paint. Calum’s stopping and staring down. Remembering William. Being here yesterday and finding him. Knowing that it’s all his own fault. How does what he’s doing now make up for that? Don’t think about it, he’s telling himself. There’s work to do. Into the office. Here’s where his knowledge of William’s work pays off. Calum knows where all the keys are. There’s no car inside the garage now, the police moved them out, but there’ll be several outside. Into the bottom drawer of the battered desk. Taking the key from the back of it. Using that key to open the locked drawer at the top of the desk. Six sets of car keys, carefully lined up. Ignoring the BMW keys. Take nothing fancy. Nothing recognizable. Taking a set with the Ford badge and closing the drawer.
Down to the front door. Carefully pulling it open, just a little. Peeking out like a frightened schoolboy. Nobody there. No cops, that’s the main thing. No CCTV, either. William always laughed at the idea of this street getting security cameras. Cameras would be worth more than the buildings they’d be guarding. Pushing open the doors all the way and moving along the line of cars parked at the side of the road. Pressing the unlock button on the key at the first Ford he stands beside. Nothing. There’s another Focus parked across the road. Over to that and pressing the button. The indicators blinking and the doors unlocking. Calum reversing the car back into the garage, right up to the back. Out and closing the doors behind him. Switching a light on. Across to the metal shelving on the side wall. Going through all the number plates there, trying to find two that match. Find two that aren’t much too old for the Focus. Easy to change the plates, and he just needs the ruse to last until he gets south. London, probably. Disappear amongst the biggest crowd. Work out his future from there.
He’s walking towards the garage doors when they o
pen from the outside. Just a little. Enough for one person get in. Stumble in, to be more accurate. Shaun Hutton. Notably drunk, pulling the doors shut before he even notices Calum. Hutton’s pulling a knife from his coat pocket.
‘I knew it,’ Hutton’s saying with a grin. ‘Cos I think like you. I knew it. You’ll run. Where do you get a car? Cos you ain’t using public transport, are you?’
Calum’s standing still and silent. Trying to work out what the hell this is. Not organized, that’s obvious.
‘I had a job to do here,’ Hutton’s saying. ‘I did it wrong. I’m sorry, okay. But now I got to do the second part. Business. You know.’
And Calum does know. He’s smiling a little. Hutton botched it when he killed William. Jamieson will be furious. This is Hutton trying to fix what he broke. A piss-poor attempt.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Calum’s saying quietly. ‘Jamieson’s been arrested. Young, too. They’re finished. So are you, with them.’
Hutton’s actually taken a step back. The result of shock mixed with drunkenness. Now would be the moment. What is it with big guys, thinking they can get away with using a knife. As drunk as he is, Hutton’s useless. Calum could get to him. Get the knife. Kill him. Here and now. In the same place Hutton killed William. Poetic, almost. But Calum’s letting the moment pass. Not for himself. For William. Sure, William would want to see Hutton suffer, but in jail. The last thing he would want is Calum using his death as an excuse to kill again. No more blood.
‘You’re lying,’ Hutton’s saying.
An idea. Calum’s taking William’s phone from his pocket. Switching it on. Making sure there’s a signal. Tossing the phone across to Hutton. ‘Call him. A cop will answer.’
Hutton’s caught the phone. An achievement itself. Glancing at the screen. Throwing it on the floor. Shouting something Calum can’t understand.
Hutton’s mumbling. Stumbling across to a workbench at the side of the room and sitting down. Calum’s walking to the doors. Pushing them wide open. Hutton’s just sitting there, staring at the floor. He made his choice, and it was the wrong one. Calum can identify with that. There was a day, not long ago, when he might have felt sorry for Hutton. Instead he’s focusing all his energy on resisting killing him. The last temptation. A test he will pass. Once he’s out of here, there’ll never be people like Hutton in his life again. Just people he can trust. People he can like. That’s a warm thought. He’s walking slowly to the car. Watching Hutton all the time. Two gunmen without a gun between them.
Pulling out onto the street. Looking left and right. No sign of the police yet, but they can’t be far away. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard. Twelve minutes to two. Fisher’s had enough time to round up some of his targets. Things will be happening in the city. Happening to the people who ought to be looking for Calum. They won’t be looking for a plain black Focus. Not until someone reports it stolen from the garage, or the police work it out. That could be hours. They should track the phone signal to the garage, but they won’t spot the car gone. When they do spot it, they’ll report the number plate it’s supposed to have. With any luck, this car gets him across the border. He’ll abandon it quickly. He won’t burn it. A burnt-out car is reported as soon as it’s spotted. A nice clean car left sitting in a car park can be ignored for weeks. Would have been nice to get to London with this car, but he can’t risk that now. Not since he’s alerted them to him using the garage.
There’s traffic, but all normal. Nothing suspicious. No sign of a tail. Beginning to relax.
Looking at the clock again as he pulls onto the motorway. Quarter past two on a Monday afternoon. Driving south in a nondescript car. Doesn’t feel like the right way to leave the city. Hell, any way is the right way. He’s starting to smile as he thinks of the chaos he’s leaving behind. Thinking about Peter Jamieson and John Young. They believed they could get the better of him. Thought it would be so simple. He beat them; beat them at their own game. The smile’s getting wider. Now fading. The price of victory. William–he’s told himself that everything he’s done is revenge for William. Told himself again and again. Fisher knew the truth. He said before he got out of the car that he knew why Calum was doing this. He thought Calum was doing this to provide himself with a chance to escape. It was that transparent.
Calum’s tapping the steering wheel as he accelerates further away from his city. Causing all this chaos, not for his brother, but for himself. Is he that selfish? Scoffing at himself for bothering to ask. Fine, this was for himself, and it worked. But stealing this car is his last crime. Now he has to pay William back. Now he has to become the person his brother always wanted him to be.
EPILOGUE
Been on remand for three and a half weeks. Sitting in a prison cell, bored out of his skull. They’re holding Jamieson in a separate wing from anyone they know worked for him. Keeping him in a different prison from John Young. So be it. Jamieson knows how to live on his own. Not that he’s on his own. There are people in the wing looking out for him. As soon as those on the outside knew where he was, moves were made. Calls to inmates. Look out for this guy–he’ll make it worth your while. So he’s protected. Has people helping him out, getting him things. You have to assume the opposite is also the case. That there are people watching him on behalf of others. People who don’t have his best interests at heart. You would think there must be, but Jamieson hasn’t found them yet. That’ll be because of the chaos going on out there. Chaos he should be taking advantage of.
He hears everything. Information flows freely, and Jamieson has to piece together the bits that matter. That’s where he’s going just now. A meeting with his lawyer. Led along the corridor, into the meeting room. His lawyer across the table. Standing up to shake his hand. The prison officer stepping outside and closing the door. A good lawyer is important.
‘How are you, Peter?’ the lawyer’s asking.
‘Same old. What’s the news?’ No pleasantries, down to business.
‘Spoke to Kevin Currie yesterday,’ the lawyer’s saying, sitting down. ‘He’s got his side of things under control for now, but he’s worried. People are sniffing around.’
‘Any attacks?’
The lawyer’s shaking his head.
He’s a chubby fellow, Jamieson’s lawyer. Charles Simpson, his name is. Good at his job. Likes the life. There’s a moral sacrifice in helping Peter Jamieson, but the rewards are good. Let’s face it, if he didn’t do it, someone else would. The world loses nothing from Simpson helping Jamieson. That’s how he sees it.
‘Did you speak to Lafferty?’
Simpson’s nodding. ‘Took a while. I think he was avoiding me. Maybe he didn’t know who I was.’
‘He knew.’
‘I called him a few times. Got a call back this morning. He said nothing’s changed. He’s been approached by all manner of people, but nobody serious.’
Jamieson’s nodding. Makes sense. The big players aren’t moving yet. The little guys trying to take advantage, but getting nowhere.
Chaos. That’s the news Simpson’s been bringing him. That’s what the other prisoners are hearing. Fisher’s name being mentioned a lot. Bastard’s having a field day. Arresting all manner of people. Jamieson the biggest: that’s the catch. But Fisher’s working his way down the chain. Arresting gun suppliers and counterfeiters. Chasing Alex MacArthur. They say he’s pushing MacArthur closer to the devil than he’s ever been. Coughing and wheezing and struggling. MacArthur’s operation is struggling all of a sudden. People are saying it’s about damn time that Don Park took over from him. That’s good news and bad. MacArthur’s looking inwards, which means he isn’t able to move against the Jamieson organization. But if Park takes over, he’ll have to be seen to make a move. The easiest big first impression would be sweeping up the remains of Jamieson’s businesses. The other big players are all sitting back. Watching and waiting. Nobody’s going to rush in. Foolish to rush in, if Jamieson is out of prison in a fortnight’s time. Better to wait and s
ee what he gets. If he goes down, the vultures will move.
And he is going down. He knows it. Simpson knows it. It’s not whether he gets a custodial sentence, it’s how long he gets. Simpson’s confident he can beat the hard accusations. Confident they won’t even make it to court. Essentially, it’s Calum MacLean’s word against Peter Jamieson’s. Calum MacLean is nowhere to be seen. It’s not that a jury would automatically believe Jamieson over Calum, but Calum has to be there to make the accusations. Fisher’s been looking for him. A car went south. Abandoned just across the border. Must have taken a train, wherever he went from there. They won’t find Calum. He’s gone. Gone for good. Smart enough to stay disappeared. Even Jamieson probably won’t try to look.
Hutton’s kept his mouth shut. That’s important. He’s looking at a long stretch. Murdering William MacLean. He’s denying it, but that won’t get him far. He’s screwed. They got him at William’s garage. Just sitting there. Drunk as a lord, so they say. They found William’s phone lying on the floor of the garage. Hutton wouldn’t tell them anything. Didn’t say if Calum had been there. Didn’t tell them why he had the phone. There’s a story there somewhere, Jamieson’s sure, but Hutton isn’t telling.
Deana Burke is silent. Has to be. Only way she can beat her charge of withholding evidence. Young’s kept his mouth shut, too. The good thing about having a close right-hand man–there’s nothing he can accuse you of that doesn’t implicate himself. He’s looking at time, too.
Someone’s blabbed. Talked about drugs. Could have come from anyone. Someone has given the police the evidence that’s going to put both Jamieson and Young away. Simpson reckons two years, two and a half maybe. Depends on the judge. Depends a little on how much evidence finds its way into court. That’s the challenge now. Using contacts to bribe, intimidate and generally make evidence disappear. Three years max. First offence, you see. Dealing, but they can’t prove the scale. Can’t prove enough. But three years is enough to give Fisher what he wants. Even two would be enough, if he can get rid of Young as well. Jamieson and Young were the organization. Put both of them away and there’s a very good chance that everything they’ve left behind falls apart.
The Sudden Arrival of Violence Page 27