by Bill Daly
Charlie shook his head in frustration. ‘The bastard!’ squeezed out from between clenched teeth.
‘Is that how you got Sergeant O’Sullivan’s mobile number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks for that, sir,’ Tony said.
Hamilton referred again to his list of questions. ‘Were you responsible for putting Pete Johnston’s amputated hand into Mrs Anderson’s shopping trolley in Sainsbury’s in the Braehead shopping centre?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you manage to identify Mrs Anderson – and how did you know she would be in Sainsbury’s at that particular time?’
‘I knew where Anderson lived from his address book. I went there intending to post Johnston’s hand through his letter box to scare the shit out of him. I parked at the end of his street and I was walking towards his house when I saw his wife coming out and getting into her car. I turned round and went back to my car and followed her to Braehead. When she went into Sainsbury’s, I followed her inside and slipped Johnston’s hand into her shopping trolley while she was ordering meat at the butcher’s counter.’
‘Why did you kill Zoe Taylor?’
‘She fitted in with the theme. Not her. Her name.’
‘How did you know her?’
‘I bumped into her in Glasgow – or, to be more precise, she bumped into me,’ Stuart said with a sardonic smile. ‘She’d given me her address after a minor traffic bump, so I went to her flat with the intention of killing her, but when I got there I saw there were two names on the door. I rang the bell and her boyfriend answered. He told me Zoe was at her work. I made him set up a rendezvous with her in a remote spot. He picked the boathouse in Glasgow Green.’
‘And that’s where you killed her?’ Stuart nodded. ‘Answer the question,’ Hamilton said, pointing forcibly at the microphone.
‘Yes.’
‘And the only reason for killing her, and then cutting off her hand was to send it to DCI Anderson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you murder Irene McGowan?’
‘I was due to report for duty in Glasgow on the Tuesday afternoon, so I killed her on the Monday and posted her hand to Anderson from the main post office in Glasgow. I wanted to make sure it would arrive in Pitt Street on the Tuesday morning. I reckoned that if Anderson was involved with the murder, there was a good chance you would assign the SIO role for the enquiry to him. When I had my initial meeting with you, I told you I was keen to get front line experience, hoping you would allocate me to Anderson’s team so I could watch the bastard squirm.’
‘Why Irene McGowan?’
‘I needed to kill a tinker to fit in with the rhyme, so I found the address of a gypsy encampment in Port Glasgow on the Internet and I went down there and knocked on the first caravan door I came to. When an old woman answered, I showed her my ID and told her I was investigating a spate of burglaries from houses in the area. She let me in and I checked to make sure she was on her own before strangling her. I cut off her hand and took it up to Glasgow to post it to Anderson.’
‘So you didn’t actually know Irene McGowan?’
‘Any old tinker would have done.’
‘Did you intend to kill Terry McKay?’
Stuart shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not much point in denying it. Anderson knew McKay had killed Brady and, with McKay out of the way, I was hoping he would carry the can for the other three murders as well.’
Hamilton gathered up his papers. Announcing the closing time of the interview for the record, he switched off the camera and the recording equipment.
‘I must say that was one hell of a rugby tackle he made on McKay,’ Charlie said, turning to Tony. ‘Barlinnie’s gain is Scottish rugby’s loss.’
Kenicer and Farrell were waiting for Hamilton when he came out of the interview room.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ Kenicer said.
Hamilton led the way to an empty office at the far end of the corridor. When they went inside, Farrell closed the door behind them.
‘The imminent threat has been contained,’ Kenicer said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It cost me and arm and a leg, but Bespalov has given me an assurance that the FFF won’t be able to use the anthrax.’
‘They’ve got the attaché case – how can he be sure they won’t use it?’
‘He didn’t give me chapter and verse – only a guarantee that he’d take care of it.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘From an ethical standpoint, not at all. But from a financial point of view – yes. When Bespalov gives a guarantee, he always delivers. Otherwise he knows we would never do business with him again.’
Leaving Kenicer and Farrell in the office, Hamilton walked back along the corridor and climbed the flight of stairs to the observation room where Charlie and Tony were waiting for him.
‘Did you hear the interview?’ he asked. They both nodded. ‘Not very clever, Anderson, leaving someone you didn’t know alone in your office with access to your address book.’ Charlie’s cheeks flushed. ‘However,’ Hamilton continued, ‘the immediate danger seems to have been averted. Kenicer has been given an assurance that the FFF won’t be able to use the anthrax.’
‘How many of Stuart’s fingernails did he have to extract to get that?’ Charlie asked.
When Kenicer and Farrell landed at Heathrow airport, a driver was waiting for them. Kenicer’s mobile rang while they were in the car on the way into London. He took the call.
‘It’s Nick Thompson, sir,’ the caller said. ‘We’ve managed to pinpoint the location of Galway Bay’s mobile phone.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In a left luggage locker in Euston Station. I decided not to call the number as that would’ve tipped Galway Bay off that Stuart had blabbed. Besides, unless the FFF have a leprechaun sitting inside the locker waiting to take the call, all there’s likely to be is a recorded message, giving further instructions.
‘I sent for the CCTV footage from Euston Station for the past month,’ Thompson continued. ‘I’ve just checked it out and it appears that the locker was last opened a week ago.’
‘Do we know who by?’
‘Indeed we do, sir. By the same person who switched Stuart’s assignment from Manchester to Glasgow.’
‘Nice one, Nick!’ Kenicer nodded in grim satisfaction. ‘Another nail in the bastard’s coffin.’
The fishing boat was making steady progress towards Murmansk through heavy seas. Bespalov called across one of his crew and instructed him to take over the wheel. He signalled to Ryleev and they both descended the steep spiral staircase to the captain’s cabin.
Bespalov removed his sou’wester and stripped off his oilskins as he crossed to the small fridge in the corner, from which he produced a bottle of iced vodka and two chilled shot glasses. ‘An excellent week’s work, Dimitri,’ Bespalov said. ‘We’ve earned ourselves a drink.’
Filling both glasses to the brim, Bespalov handed one to Ryleev. Bespalov raised his glass to his cracked lips, pausing to allow the vodka fumes to permeate his hairy nostrils before throwing the drink back in one swallow. Ryleev did likewise, then held out his glass for a refill.
‘Have you sent the Irish the combination for the case, Roman?’
‘Yes, but I think I might have made a small mistake.’ Bespalov chuckled to himself as he tipped another measure of vodka into both their glasses. ‘Numbers are very confusing in a foreign language, don’t you think?’
‘What games are you playing now, you sly old fox?’
‘When the Irish try to open the case with the combination I sent them, I think it might blow up in their faces.’
Ryleev frowned. ‘That stinks, Roman,’ he said, throwing back his vodka.
‘It’s not like you to suddenly develop a conscience.’
‘You know what I’m driving at. Depending on where the case is when it explodes, the anthrax could cause mayhem.’
‘Not anthrax, my fri
end.’ A smile was playing at the corners of Bespalov’s mouth. ‘Just a few measly grams of nitroglycerine.’ Ryleev’s frown transformed into a look of puzzlement. ‘Think it through, Dimitri. Our Iraqi friends are already very upset that their shipment was intercepted. They know the Irish were bidding against them for it, and if they were to find out the Irish had acquired a supply of anthrax, they might conclude it was their consignment. And if the Irish knew the combination to open the briefcase, the Iraqis might think I’d double-crossed them. However, if the Irish contrive to blow themselves up by trying to open up a case they’d stolen, without knowing the correct combination, the Iraqis would have no reason to suspect my involvement.’ Bespalov downed his vodka and topped up both their glasses again. ‘As you rightly say, a random release of anthrax would have been irresponsible, so, as I knew the Irish were going to intercept the shipment, I settled for a lump of lead in the briefcase, along with a few grams of nitroglycerine and a primed detonator – just enough to take care of whoever tried to open the case. The Irish will assume their guy was blown up because he got careless.’
‘But surely they’ll realise there never was any anthrax in the case?’
‘Of course they will.’ Bespalov shrugged. ‘But that’s not my problem. I’m not planning to deal with them any more. They’re too strapped for cash these days. It’s my Iraqi friends and the British intelligence services I need to keep sweet – they’re the ones with the deep pockets. When I next get in touch with Hassam Salman, I’ll have another shipment of anthrax available, which he can have as soon as he can get things organised at his end to accept the delivery. If I’m in a generous mood, I might even offer him a discount to make up for his disappointment at losing his last consignment.’
They both laughed as they chinked their glasses and downed the contents.
Kylie carried two pints of Guinness across from the bar in Òran Mór and set them down on the table in front of Charlie and Tony.
‘Thanks,’ Tony said.
‘By the way, Tony,’ Kylie said. ‘I forgot to mention. Patrick said to thank you for the cheque.’
‘No problem.’
‘What was that all about?’ Charlie queried when Kylie was out of earshot.
‘My pal, Pat – Kylie’s husband – he runs the youth football team at our old school in Saltcoats. He held a fund-raising event a couple of weeks ago to raise money for a new kit for the boys. I wasn’t able to go along, so I sent him a donation.’
‘Right,’ Charlie said, nodding. Taking a long, slow sip of Guinness, he wiped the froth from his top lip with the back of his hand.
‘I was just thinking,’ he said as he placed his glass down on the table, ‘it’s a sad state of affairs that you’ve had no one back to your flat for weeks, apart from Malcolm Stuart. You really ought to ease off on the work front and socialise a bit more.’
‘Thanks a bunch! As a matter of fact, now I come to think of it, there was someone else in my flat last week, but it was someone completely above suspicion.’
‘Who was she?’
Tony hesitated. ‘A friend.’
‘Kylie?’
‘I’ll ignore that.’
‘When will you ever learn?’ Charlie said, shaking his head. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that no one’s above suspicion?’
‘Guilty until proved innocent? Is that the way it works?’
‘More or less. So, if truth be told, you happened to get lucky. For all you know, it might’ve been your other visitor, and not Stuart, who planted the evidence in your suitcase?’
‘Okay, let’s just agree on that,’ Tony said, lifting his pint to his lips to conceal his smile. ‘I happened to get lucky.’
‘Talking about learning things,’ Charlie said, ‘some of the things Doctor Orr was able to do with her computer module were quite impressive.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re a convert to profiling?’
‘Not at all! It’s a load of old cobblers. I was referring to what she was able to do with her computer software. When you boil it down, her methods aren’t all that different from our brainstorming sessions – structuring data and analysing it to try to identify patterns and pinpoint anomalies. Even though it didn’t give us a result this time around, it’s not hard to see how her capability to match photos to CCTV images could prove very useful. Can you imagine how long it would have taken us to slog through the footage from Central Station, searching in the crowd for someone we could recognise? Doctor Orr’s program allowed her to scan in photographs and search for matches. That’s what I call cutting edge technology.’
‘I thought your idea of cutting edge technology was Stuart’s hacksaw blade.’
‘Aye, right!’
‘Before you know it you’ll be logging onto your terminal and answering your own emails.’
‘There’s no need to get carried away.’ Charlie took another sip of Guinness. ‘Nice temperature, by the way. I don’t like it when it’s too chilled.’
‘Weren’t you sailing a bit close to the wind yesterday?’ Tony said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If Niggle ever finds out that you sat through his press conference and remained schtum when you knew all along that Stuart was the serial killer, he’ll have your guts for garters.’
‘Put yourself in my position. When I got your note telling me you’d found the evidence in your suitcase, it was ten minutes before Niggle’s press conference was due to begin. The way I saw it, I had two options. I could either walk into his office and say something along the lines of: “I don’t have any firm evidence to back this up, but you might want to consider cancelling your press conference because O’Sullivan thinks a fellow officer committed the first three murders” – or else I could play dumb and let him pontificate about his success, knowing he’d have to eat humble pie later on.’
‘Tough call.’
‘A touch of humility is always good for the soul. By the way you might be interested to know that Niggle did authorise a search warrant for your apartment, but he withdrew it in double quick time when events took a turn. Barry Crawford tipped me the wink. He’d been told to give your place a thorough going over.’
‘The lying git!’
‘I’ve been doing a few enquiries myself,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s all creeping out of the woodwork. I spoke to the estate agent Stuart was supposed to have been with on the morning Pete Johnston was murdered. He confirmed that the lease for Stuart’s apartment had been signed the previous day. Stuart made up the story about having to go to the estate agent’s so he would have time to get on the London train and take out Johnston, besides which he wouldn’t have wanted to risk going anywhere near the post office in St Vincent Street in case he was recognised.’
‘Why the baseball cap?’ Tony asked. ‘Just showing off that he could get away with it?’
‘Probably part of the reason,’ Charlie said, ‘but I imagine he would also have wanted to hide his rather distinctive blond curls.’
‘I can’t get over the arrogance of the bastard,’ Tony said. ‘The way he showed off by supposedly solving the smiley mystery.’
‘He really had it in for you,’ Charlie said. ‘He came to me with a spiel about how you were paranoid about being victimised. He told me you played Irish rebel songs when he went back to your place for a drink. He more or less implied you were a fully paid up member of the IRA.’
Tony looked Charlie straight in the eye. ‘He was out to nobble you as well, sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was doing his best to ruin your reputation.’ Charlie looked puzzled. ‘He told me he thought you were tippling in the office during working hours.’ Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would he say something like that unless he was planning to set you up? Maybe he dropped a similar comment in Niggle’s ear? We know what a vindictive bastard Stuart is. I wouldn’t put it past him to have stashed a bottle of booze somewhere in your office and tipped Niggle off where to find it.’ Tony picked up his p
int and took a long, slow pull before placing his glass back down on the table. ‘It might be worthwhile checking your office thoroughly in case something’s been planted.’
Charlie nodded, his rheumy eyes studying Tony closely. ‘Good point, Tony. Thanks. I’ll do that.’
Also by Bill Daly
Black Mail (A DCI Charlie Anderson novel)
Double Mortice(A DCI Charlie Anderson novel)
The Pheasant Plucker
Copyright
Published in paperback original in 2016 in the UK by Old Street Publishing Ltd
This ebook edition first published in 2016
by Old Street Publishing Ltd
8 Hurlingham Business Park, Sulivan Road, London SW6 3DU
All rights reserved
© Bill Daly
The right of Bill Daly to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–1–910400–36–4