Evidence of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  Wallace went on to explain what else was known about Jackie Martin, and Macallan understood from what he said that they took him seriously – and that he was clearly a main target for the PSNI. Macallan guessed that they were receiving both human and electronic intelligence and hoped that would help with whatever was to come with this Billy Nelson character.

  Wallace paused and it was obvious that he was choosing his next words carefully.

  ‘Although he took the decision to kick Nelson out of Belfast, he was using him. He wanted to open up on the east side of Scotland, and Nelson’s misjudgement suited him perfectly. He’s using him to feel out things in Edinburgh, and if it goes wrong he can just wash his hands of him.’

  Wallace changed tack and described what they knew about Nelson. It wasn’t much, but they had intel on his early days in Belfast, along with his army record and the details of his dismissal from the service.

  ‘Apparently the young Afghan should have died after the beating Billy boy gave him. He was lucky to get off relatively lightly, but Nelson was a bit of a hero in his regiment and the Army don’t like lynching heroes – it’s bad for morale. We know that Nelson attacked the two Asian kids in Belfast and left them in much the same mess as the Afghan boy. The military shrink believed that Nelson was seriously damaged goods and had just had too much combat; however he also discovered that memories of the Shankill bombing had damaged him even before the Army. Apparently he was close to the scene and saw some things a kid of that age could have done without.’

  He sipped his coffee then leaned forward, wanting to make sure they understood. ‘This is a dangerous man, and his behaviour can’t be predicted using normal profiling. He’s chewed up with hatred, and although he has a team round him, it’s unlikely he’ll have any loyalty to them. If necessary he’ll drop them if it suits whatever plan he has. The shrink thinks all that makes him function now is inflicting pain. We have information that even where he’s tried to have a sexual relationship, he’s impotent and rages at the failure. He is, not to put too fine a point on it, a time bomb.’

  Wallace pulled out other documents and photographs of the rest of Nelson’s team, gave Macallan as much as he could and looked at his watch. He had to fly back to Belfast to cover an operation that would take out some dissidents in South Down.

  ‘One last thing: I don’t know if it’s connected but Jackie Martin still has access to a large stash of arms that weren’t declared during the decommissioning process. We know that quite recently he sent two Uzis to Scotland, but we don’t know who to. It might have been Nelson, but there’s nothing to substantiate that. If they do turn up, please keep us in the loop.’

  Macallan had a lot to think about but was as pleased with Wallace’s attitude as she was with what he’d provided. If they could keep the PSNI onside it was a good start. She knew that their top targets would be monitored, and if Martin mentioned Nelson she wanted to get the message.

  ‘Thanks, Barry, and as soon as we start intelligence gathering, you’ll have what we have.’

  15

  On the first night that Lena Fleming had been out since her husband and son had gone missing, she walked the short distance from her flat at Ocean Terminal to meet a couple of friends and watch a film at the multiplex. She’d been distraught about her son but she’d had to put on the best act she could for her husband. Joe had bored her to tears, and the fact that he lived his life on past glories had pissed her off a long time before he walked out of her door for the last time. There had been many a night where she’d lain next to him, the thought of what her life could be if he died in an accident running on a loop in her head.

  It was different for Danny. He’d been trouble since the day he was born, but he was her boy, and she’d spent days moaning in painful sorrow or raging against the men who’d taken him. Unfortunately father and son had tended to keep their business from her, and they hadn’t said where they were going the night they’d left her house together. All she knew was that they’d been seriously pissed at some Irish fuckers living in Wester Hailes. She’d heard more through Joe’s friends, who’d told her a bit but not enough.

  She’d been hitting the bottle pretty hard and mouthing off threats whenever someone shared the latest rumour with her. She’d tried to call on the loyalty of Joe’s team, but hey presto they didn’t want to get involved. Her children had become weary listening to the same lines over and over again about the threats that she couldn’t really carry out. At least not as long as none of Joe’s team gave a fuck. Without muscle it was just so much noise.

  ‘Typical.’ When she’d swallowed too much brandy she always started her latest rant with that word. ‘All those big fuckin’ men Joe paid too well for years. Where the fuck are they when they’re needed? My boy’s probably lying in the ground somewhere, and no one gives a fuck. If it’s the Irish bastards, I’ll knife them on my own.’

  Her daughters were about as concerned as Joe’s former team of hooligans. The sisters couldn’t stand their old man, and they were well aware of what their loving brother Danny had done to the women in his life. He’d even tried it on with his sisters over the years, and they were terrified of him. Danny Fleming on permanent holiday was no problem to them.

  Lena met her friends, who only chose to see her so they could tell everyone else what a state she was in. They wanted to get close enough to gloat, because Lena had been a cow when Joe had ruled the streets. She’d loved to shove it in everyone’s faces, and now they wanted to suck in the sweet smell of distress on Lena fucking Fleming. They had a drink, and after the third round decided on a curry rather than watching a film, which would require concentration. An hour and a half later the manager of the curry house asked Lena to leave after she announced to the paying customers that she was looking for whoever had taken her man and boy. Her friends loved it – couldn’t wait to get the story out and enjoy what remained of the Flemings’ downfall. Joe’s friends saw the vacuum as a business opportunity and believed they’d be foolish not to try and pick up some pieces, although they were wary of the stories about the Belfast boys, and the name Billy Nelson was definitely getting mentioned in criminal dispatches.

  The problem for Lena was that her ranting could be heard across town and Nelson had enough creeps in his pocket to hear what was being said. Cue Ball had put him onto a bent detective, DC Donnie Monk, whose coke habit was bad enough for him to sell his soul to the Belfast man.

  ‘That bitch is bad-mouthing you all over town.’ Monk whispered it down the line and decided to embellish it a bit, in case it got him some extra coke vouchers. ‘She says she’s got a team together and she’s going to cut your balls off. Think you need to do something about her, son.’

  Nelson smiled at the thought that she might even try. ‘Never mind that fuckin’ woman, I’ll take care of her today. Is there anyone looking at us? That’s all I need from you.’

  ‘No, you’re sweet. I’ve got my ears open, and if any of the squads take an interest I’ll hear about it. They will at some stage, but no worries. I’ll be right on it, and I’ll let you know who’s pulling the strings.’ He hesitated, trying to cover the self-loathing in his voice. ‘Usual arrangement for the envelope?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll get one of the boys to drop it at the usual place and you can stuff that big fat fuckin’ hooter of yours.’ Billy didn’t try to hide the contempt in his voice; he didn’t need to when he was paying the man’s poison-of-choice bills.

  He dropped the phone into the cradle without any niceties. ‘Doped-up pig. I fuckin’ hate these guys,’ he said, loud enough for Andy Clark to hear him in the next room.

  Clark wondered at the man he’d admired so much. Nelson looked changed, but when he’d told him that the previous day, Nelson had threatened to cut his face. He’d had him by the throat and shoved his face close enough for Clark to see the change in the eyes, the dullness above the grey shadows below. Still handsome, and after all he’d put a few pounds on when they’d first arrived in Ed
inburgh, so maybe he was just making an effort? Still, Clark was confused – and he didn’t like confusion.

  Eventually Lena was abandoned by her friends, and she walked unsteadily back to her flat a few hundred yards away. By the time she got to the front of the building she was cursing the heels of her shoes and missing the point that it was the half-bottle of brandy she’d just consumed that was the problem. She fumbled for her keys, swearing loudly to no one but herself.

  The arm that nearly choked off her breath was hard and strong, and even though she was under the influence she managed to feel the panic that sent her heart into overdrive. Rob McLean held her tight, lifting her just enough to leave her on her toes and in extreme discomfort, her eyes bulging with the combination of fear and confusion.

  ‘Please. I’ve got money in my bag. Just take it for fuck’s sake,’ she said, struggling to get the words out with the compression on her throat.

  McLean didn’t answer; he looked round and was smiling as if it was a kid’s game. He was enjoying himself and was disappointed with the look he saw on Nelson’s face. He tried some humour. ‘Jesus, she stinks. I wouldn’t do her with yours, Billy.’

  Nelson’s face was set, and he continued to stare at Lena, ignoring McLean’s feeble attempt at comedy. McLean wondered what the fuck was wrong with the man. There’d been a time where this would have just been a bit of a laugh – easy work.

  ‘Get her in the van.’

  The hired blue transit that Lena was bundled into the back of was dark and stank of tobacco smoke, and she could see two men waiting for her. Andy Clark and Dougie Fisher stared at her as she gulped in air, trying to steady her breathing and sense of dread. The accents told her that the men who’d probably taken Joe and Danny were dragging her away from her home in the night. She thought the worst and threw up on Fisher’s brand-new trainers.

  ‘For fuck’s sake. The dirty cow’s just wasted the new Nikes.’

  Nelson swung round, anger drawing his lips back into a snarl. ‘Shut the fuck up and put the bag on her head.’

  Fisher did as he was told but Lena didn’t really need it. She’d already passed out cold.

  She came round slowly and for a brief moment thought it was just another hangover day, then her mind downloaded reality and she started to shake through the length of her body. The van was moving very slowly and covering very rough ground, so she knew they weren’t in Edinburgh any more. Her mouth was paper dry and had the rank taste of the night’s drink, but her hands and feet were free, though when she tried to move to relieve her cramping muscles, she felt a foot stuck into her back. The worst part was that she’d wet herself.

  ‘Stay the fuck down, darlin’; we’re nearly there. Your man’ll be happy to see you.’

  She tried to make sense of the words ‘her man’. Joe – how could that be? Had it been a kidnap after all? Was there still a chance that Danny was alive? They could keep Joe as long as Danny had survived. Hope started to beat in her chest. The smell of drying vomit on her dress, plus an overdose of stress, made her gag, and she tried to salivate to relieve her mouth and throat. She asked a question in as quiet a voice as possible. ‘Are Joe and Danny okay?’

  ‘He’s first class, darlin’, and never looked better – can’t wait to see you,’ Fisher sneered.

  Her hope raised another level – all she wanted was to live and bring Danny home. Whatever the fuck these lunatics wanted they could have.

  Nelson knew what Lena would be thinking and that was the point. It would have been easy enough to snuff her, but he knew his tactics. They didn’t want to raise another red alert for the police – her disappearance would start to bring serious heat their way. He was a product of the Troubles and had learned enough about the use of terror in Basra and Helmand province to last him the rest of his life.

  The men from Belfast were taking over the trade in the east of Scotland and there would always be the predators just out of sight in the dark shadows. He knew they had to send a message that would keep them where they were. Fear would make them think of the consequences of an attack. Let them imagine themselves with mouths frozen in a last attempt to gasp in air, their heart and soul torn out in agony, nightmares . . .

  Lena had set herself up perfectly – she was about to face a terror that she could never even imagine. After this night she would never have another day in her life when she wouldn’t remember what Nelson was going to show her. He was going to take her where he’d been, time and time again. She’d realise that his will was stronger than anything she’d seen in Joe or Danny – or the pretend criminals who’d inhabited her previous life.

  The van stopped, leaning to one side, and she knew that wherever they were it was well off-road. Nelson opened the doors but left her there in the van. She knew that the two men were still in the back with her and they sat quietly. The driver and passenger doors had opened then closed, and more than one man had walked off some distance, though they were still audible. It was deathly quiet, no traffic noise, but there was a soft crunching sound, and she guessed rightly that the men were walking through cold, dead leaves. She waited a few moments then heard a faint, almost repetitive sound; she was sure she knew what it was but couldn’t tie it down. It was the sound of something smooth cutting through a yielding substance. What was it? The left hemisphere of her brain lit up with energy trying desperately to identify what the right side was telling her was important to survival. The ancient mechanisms struggled inside Lena, sensing danger and trying to find answers.

  A picture of her father appeared in her mind’s eye – she was a kid again, those happy days when she’d played in the garden, the sun beating down on her back. She’d loved those summers, and her father, whose passion had been working in his garden or vegetable patch. She’d looked up from the dolls to see he was sweating, his face red from effort and too much sun on his white Scottish hide. He’d dug the soil rhythmically, the turned earth black and clean, with only the occasional earthworm thrashing in annoyance at the disturbance.

  ‘Oh no – please, God, no!’ It was the sound of someone digging.

  Fisher snorted a laugh at her distress. ‘What’s the matter? Nice evening drive out in the country, bit of fresh air. Ungrateful cow.’

  Clark looked across the darkness of the van and wondered at the sadistic pleasure Fisher was enjoying. He’d started to doubt himself and what they were up to, was struggling to sleep at night after seeing the pain they were handing out to whoever was in their road. They’d driven Maggie Smith into her grave, and now they were about to show Lena a place that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Clark had dished it out to anyone who’d needed it in the past, but now they were doing women. He felt the corner of his eye twitch and he balled his hands into fists to stop the shakes. What they were about to do was bad, worse than that, but he was trapped, and he knew what Nelson would do with any protest.

  Lena struggled to control her breathing, and it sounded as if it was being relayed through a loudspeaker. The sound of footsteps and laboured breathing made her twitch her head upwards. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that the men were coming for her.

  ‘Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened. I’m no one,’ she pleaded in the tones of the condemned who know they can’t change a thing on the way to the scaffold.

  Nelson was at the back of the van. He dropped the shovel, leaned in and ripped the bag from her head. He grabbed her at cheek level and squeezed as hard as he could. She felt an expensive crown give way and slip into the back of her throat, making her gag. She couldn’t spit it out as Nelson held her face like a vice. She managed to swallow it.

  ‘Apparently you’re the bitch who’s going to take care of me and the boys. Well, here’s your chance, missus.’

  She caught the smell of damp earth and leaves on his hands, but there was something else, rancid, that caught the back of her throat. Nausea almost overwhelmed her. She made a long groaning noise, low and without words – an expression of horror
. Were these her last minutes? She was in dread of the pain they could inflict. These strangers had done enough to show her that the violence she’d seen dished out by her husband over the years was nothing compared to what they were capable of.

  She tried again, looking for pity from a man who had none. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

  Nelson held onto her face and with his other hand grabbed a full handful of the hair at the back of her head, then, letting go of her damaged cheeks, he twisted till her face drew tight with the pain. He walked her towards a small copse surrounded by birch trees growing in an almost perfect circle. They looked like black drawings against the dark blue of the night sky.

  Lena arched her back, trying to ease the agony in her neck and scalp. A bright three-quarter moon cast deep inky shadows, but the sky was cloudless, and where there was light the night was sharp and clear. Her thoughts were a churning mess; her mind was shattering, unable to confront the horror in the darkness of those woods. The other men were behind her but no one spoke, and she was sure they’d already worked out what would be done. Although her head was pulled back she kept her eyes looking downwards at whatever was in front of her. In the middle of the circle of birch trees she saw it. It wasn’t the professional job she’d seen so often when she’d gone to the cemetery to see friends or family on their way. In the contrasting moonlight and darkness it was no more than a black oblong shadow and the depth couldn’t be seen – but it was a grave.

  Her legs gave way despite the pain at the back of her head, and she pleaded quietly for her life as Nelson dragged her the last few feet and let go of her hair. Her face dropped into the mixture of fresh earth and leaf mould. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to make the night leave her; all she wanted was to be home and safe again. Her chest heaved as she hyperventilated and waited for the end, praying for it to be over.