She put the phone down and slapped the table. ‘Well well. I don’t know if this is good or bad but Billy Nelson has been arrested by the uniforms for assaulting a doctor in the Western General. We’ve nothing else to go on so let’s go and see the boy. What’s to lose?’
32
Nelson had said nothing to the uniforms who’d been trying to interview him for the assault. That was how he was trained and thought. Say nothing, find a point in the room and concentrate on it till your mind drifts off and let them ramble on. There was nothing harder for an interviewer than a suspect who says nothing.
He didn’t have to concentrate too hard to take his mind away from the questions because he was still trying to absorb the news he’d received earlier and all that it meant. It had been there a long time; the gut discomfort in Helmand had probably been the start and not caused, as he’d thought at the time, by field rations or the Afghan bugs that plagued the fighting men and women in the field. The doctor had said that they needed to do more tests, but he’d heard enough to know that he was in a bad place. He could try and fight it, but while the thought of lying helpless in a hospital ward might be okay for most people, for him it was an invitation to the predators to come and get him. The idea of wasting to the bones and emptying into a bag frightened him more than he could have ever imagined, and while he wasn’t afraid of dying, he just wanted it to be while he was on his feet and still a man.
His train of thought was broken by the sound of his name. It was a uniformed sergeant who’d come into the room and asked to see his interviewers outside.
‘We’ll leave you for a bit, Mr Nelson; we need to speak to our colleague outside,’ the younger of the two policemen said. He was politeness itself, and Nelson nodded to him in acknowledgement.
He decided that he would have time to think about his problems later. If he was locked up for the night then he might run into a shit storm with Jackie Martin, who was going to be making his run the next day and would hopefully be taken out, all going well. If the cops kept him in, Martin would definitely think he’d made a deal and shopped him.
Nelson shook his head and realised that he’d have to readdress the things that worried him. He had cancer and yet he was worried about a worthless fuck like Jackie Martin?
Outside the interview room the uniformed officers were told that the doctor who’d been assaulted was refusing to make a complaint, which meant their hands were tied. No complaint, no crime and the fiscal wouldn’t entertain it. The doctor would not discuss what had taken place or what he’d told Nelson – he did not want to compromise the doctor–patient privilege.
‘There’s more to do out on the street rather than wasting our time in here when there’s no crime,’ their sergeant said, shaking his head at the doctor’s decision. It didn’t surprise him that much, and in a way he admired the man’s stand on principle. He didn’t see much evidence of that in the modern world, which he tended to despise.
Macallan and Baxter walked into the cell area and met the sergeant, who Baxter had known from their early days on the beat. He introduced Macallan, and although the young cops were impressed, the old sergeant barely stifled a yawn. The suits were just privileged passengers as far as he was concerned, and it was the uniforms that defended Joe Public from day to day while the prima donnas swanned around in their unmarked cars. He followed the old uniform rule that the CID were like bananas – yellow, bent and went about in bunches. He explained what had happened and that without a complaint from the doctor they would have to release Nelson. He ignored Macallan and spoke directly to Baxter. She cut in and decided to try and soft soap him for a bit of leeway.
‘We just need to speak to him for a short time, Sergeant, and it’s not a formal interview. We’re investigating the murder of Joe and Danny Fleming and it would help us enormously if you could hang on to him till we’ve finished.’
The sergeant wasn’t that impressed and he’d been soft soaped by the best, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of a murder investigation even if it was about the Flemings. He chased the young arresting officers back out onto the street and told them he’d do the release.
‘You have twenty minutes then he goes. Okay?’ He said it like he meant it and Macallan decided there was no point in trying to piss him off.
‘Thanks, Sergeant. We’ll be out before that.’
Nelson looked up when the door opened, expecting to see the fresh-faced uniforms marching back in to charge him. But the man and woman who came into the interview room were something else, and he spun the possibilities through his head. He decided it must be about the girl and the business in the hotel. All he could do was keep quiet until he found out what they knew. If he was in serious shit then he would try to get in touch with the spook who handled him. They needed him for the Jackie Martin turn and would not want him remanded in custody.
Macallan introduced herself and Baxter and said they only wanted to talk – this wasn’t a formal interview. She tried to reconcile the army photos she’d seen with the man sitting at the table. He was definitely a few pounds lighter, the face more gaunt than she’d imagined. He had presence though, no doubt about it, and would be a hard man to break.
‘Grace Macallan – I’ve heard about you, girl.’ He said it with a smile; he’d decided that he would talk if it suited him. He needed to find out what they wanted with him. He knew he was under surveillance so he wanted to test the water, and for some reason Macallan impressed him; she was unusual, and it was more to do with personality than classic looks. It had been a long time since he’d been attracted to a woman, but the superintendent made him think about it.
‘Quite a woman by all accounts, but you let down those boys in the PSNI a bit turning on your own. Still, you fought the Taigs, same as us.’ He tried to put on what he thought was an attractive smile.
‘We’re not here about my past career, Billy. I’m leading the investigation into the disappearance of Joe and Danny Fleming. We were passing and just wondered if you’d ever come across them since arriving in Edinburgh.’ She wanted it to come out as routine, just to get a feel for the man and what made him tick.
‘Terrible business that. Can’t say I knew those boys though, and to tell the truth I stay away from those criminal types, so it’s unlikely we would have met.’ He looked at Baxter and noted the expression in his eyes. ‘Does that one talk?’ He winked at him, but Baxter was too old and too wise to fall for the wind-up.
‘Just to let you know that we’ll be seeing a lot of people and there’s a chance we might want to take a statement from you at some stage. You never know.’
‘You do what you do, Superintendent, and I’ll do what I do. Funny, we’ve both been let down. You by the police and me by the Army, but we hang in there. Nothing else for it I suppose.’ Nelson studied her eyes, hoping she’d look away, but she never wavered.
‘Don’t suppose you’ve ever met Joe Fleming’s wife by any chance?’ Baxter cut in.
‘I never have. The poor woman must be in a terrible state, her husband and son missing like that.’ He shook his head in mock bewilderment.
‘She’s barely coherent. Sometimes she’s rational, but most of the time she’s in another world. God knows what happened to her, but she’ll probably spend the rest of her life in care.’ Baxter spat the words at Nelson, knowing he was starting to lose it despite his best efforts.
Macallan read the signs and decided the play-acting had gone far enough. She drew it to a close and told him that the doctor would not be pressing charges.
Nelson sat back in his chair and decided that at least on some things he was clear for the moment. That was all he needed. And there had been no mention of the hotel or the girl. He breathed a little easier, but he also knew why Grace Macallan had talked to him and that she wasn’t going away. She was trouble for him and that would need some thought.
Baxter started up the car and headed back to Leith. He glanced at Macallan, who’d hardly spoken since they’d left the cell are
a. ‘What do you think of our boy then?’
‘A bad man, Grant, no doubt about it, but we’ll be seeing him again.’
When they arrived back at Leith Macallan brewed up some coffee to show Baxter that she could do it. Then they sat down and went over their priorities for the following day. ‘I want to get my hands on this so we’ll go and see this Banjo Rodgers. It’s somewhere to start, and it’ll give me a feel for the job.’
Macallan was clearly desperate to get going and Baxter had the feeling that all social events were off for her till the case was solved.
‘Apart from anything else,’ she added, ‘if I stay too long in this office I’ll go off my trolley.’
The knackered phone buzzed on her desk and made her smile. It was Felicity Young, who wanted to go over some of the material she’d obtained from the intelligence gathering and murder investigation. Macallan was relieved. On this investigation she could use all the help she could get – but then what was new? They arranged a meeting for early the following morning, at which McGovern and Thompson would also be present.
She put the phone down and felt the gears were shifting on the investigation. She knew who Billy Nelson was now and wondered what would prompt their next meeting. It was going to happen, but the venue still had to be decided by the gods.
‘Come on, Grant,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll buy you a nightcap across the road. I think we could both use it.’
As they walked into the bar across from the entrance to Leith police station, a taxi drove past, taking Billy Nelson home. He saw them enter the pub and wondered again what it would be like to know Macallan. He knew it was never going to happen, but it was a thought that gave him a rare moment of pleasure, letting his imagination overpower the reality of what he had been told earlier in the day. The doctor had passed on getting him locked up and he supposed that was some kind of result.
He opened the door to his house and found it felt cold and empty. He’d never noticed it before, but then he’d never been diagnosed with cancer before either.
Nelson put on some blues and although he loved the sound, he decided it was the wrong time and the wrong mood. He found an old Chuck Berry CD instead and tried that as a distraction from his thoughts.
He poured some red wine into a glass and wondered how long he’d be able to enjoy his drink. It had always been part of his life, from a young man getting used to the beer on the Shankill and then in the Army, where the drinking sessions were the stuff of legends. Young men able to take whatever life threw at them and the hangovers hardly noticed.
He peered in the fridge knowing that he rarely kept anything worth eating and had to satisfy himself with a small, dry piece of cheddar before he stood at his window and looked out onto the night: it was clear and a near-full moon hung in the sky like a silver plate.
It occurred to him that somewhere nearby the surveillance team might see him at the window. What would they be thinking, their lives so intertwined with his for the time being? He’d made up his mind that they’d never forget the next few days and Billy Nelson from the Shankill. Loneliness had never bothered him in the past, but now he felt as if it was a dragging weight he had to carry during his days and especially the nights.
He thought about Grace Macallan again for a moment. ‘Maybe in another life.’ He whispered it towards the night.
In the quiet buzz of an intensive-care unit Kristina Orlova regained consciousness, and as the sedation wore off, her memory of the man in the hotel returned. She’d barely the strength to move but she was angry. Another man who’d tried to use strength and violence to destroy her. She was alive, had survived again, and she promised she’d make him pay.
In another part of the same hospital Andy Clark stared at the walls, unable to concentrate on anything other than the mess that was his life. None of the team had been back to see him, and as far as Billy Nelson was concerned that was okay, but he thought McLean and Fisher would have stuck by him. The police had tried to talk to him about the attack, but he told them he couldn’t remember much about what happened and didn’t want any action. The thing that troubled him most was that Orlova hadn’t been in touch, and he couldn’t understand it. In his mind she cared about him and that was all he had in his life that made any sense to him. He wondered whether Billy Nelson had got to her already and tried not to think what that might mean.
As he stared into the darkness, Pat Fleming was getting anxious. He’d phoned Kristina’s phone a dozen times, but it was switched off. He’d also driven up to her flat only to find it was in darkness and there was no answer. It was a mistake not to have a key, and he promised himself that he’d get that done as soon as he found her. It was time to discuss a future with Kristina, and maybe he’d suggest getting her off the game just to show how much she meant to him.
He was driving back to Leith when he heard the report on Radio Forth about an unidentified woman being found in a hotel. The description was vague and Fleming just didn’t have the nous for it to ring an alarm bell. Instead, he decided Kristina must be with some very wealthy trick and decided to phone the old barmaid.
‘Any port in a storm,’ Pat said to the dark interior of the car.
The barmaid said she was in the mood and she’d leave the door open for him while she got herself ready.
He put the phone down, slapped the dashboard at the thought of what she was prepared to do for a laugh and forgot again about Kristina Orlova.
Billy Nelson slept and dreamed. He was in a long, dark corridor that seemed endless, and on each side were rows of brightly lit shop windows that were large and symmetrical. They disappeared into the distance and contrasted with the absolute dark of the corridor. The light didn’t seem to radiate beyond the glass, and it was an intense, glowing orange that produced no heat.
He moved forward without any effort and it was as if he was flying through the air. In each of the windows he saw the black silhouettes of manikins, male and female in different poses – all naked. He thought they might be alive even though there was no movement, but he was sure they were watching him.
He wanted to get to the end of the corridor and he was frightened to look back because he was sure there was something following him in the dark.
He got to the end and found there was a window facing him. It was empty; he pushed his hand towards it and realised there was no glass.
He stepped through and it was warm like a summer’s day. He was safe and whatever was there in the dark behind him couldn’t touch him now.
33
Macallan and Baxter walked into the meeting room at Fettes and Macallan was pleased to see Felicity Young rigging up her presentation. Whatever Young did she did it well. She loved these briefings where she could display the results of her endless hours spent poring over and analysing intelligence reports.
McGovern and Thompson were there too, and for a change Thompson gave Macallan a genuine smile before she kicked it off and gave them a run-down on the progress of the surveillance operation. She admitted that it looked like Nelson was being careful and, given the press coverage, must have an idea that they were looking at him, but overall she kept it brief so that Young could bring everything together.
‘Before we hand over to Felicity we just need to let you all know that we might have a break,’ she added. ‘The intelligence unit had a call from Barry Wallace in Belfast last night and it seems like we might be able to wrap up the whole outfit.’
She looked high on the information and Macallan liked what she saw. Maybe Thompson had possibilities after all, if there was a way for her to escape the clutches of O’Connor and the chief super.
‘Jackie Martin is shifting a load of cocaine over here, and there’s a couple of Uzis to go with the package. It’s a deal with Billy Nelson. They’re arriving tomorrow morning on the car ferry at Cairnryan, and we’re going to put the whole team out to cover it. We’ve managed to put together two teams. Jimmy will cover Nelson here and hopefully the meet with Jackie Martin. I’ll tak
e the job from the ferry and hopefully follow them all the way back here to what we hope will be an arrest situation. We have a firearms team on standby till the job’s done.’
Macallan was surprised, but if the intelligence was true then at least they might be able to stick them all in a cell. Getting both Jackie Martin and Nelson would be an absolute bonus, whether they could prove a link to the Flemings’ murder or not, and Macallan wondered whether instead of months of round-the-clock stress she might just be able to do some real living with Jack Fraser.
‘The plan is that Martin and two associates will bring the gear through here and meet up with Nelson’s team,’ Thompson carried on. ‘That’s the only part that bothers me. Nelson’s been staying away from a hands-on part with dope.’
‘How sure is Barry Wallace about the information?’ Macallan asked.
‘Solid. Apparently Martin’s fed up with Belfast and wants to move over here. Can you believe it? That’s all we need.’ Thompson said it with a smile. ‘We’ll probably go through to the port tonight and get everything in place.’
‘If you want to come in here in the morning you’ll be able to listen in to the progress – or otherwise,’ McGovern chipped in, knowing Macallan would hate to miss it – she still felt this was her team.
Young took over and started her briefing. ‘I think we’ve got a pretty good picture of Billy Nelson now. The rest of his team are pretty well known, and the PSNI have given us all we need on them.’
She passed round a paper with all the salient points. ‘Obviously Nelson is the target, but we’ve done a lot of work on all their phone billing. Billy boy’s a complex character but I’ll stick to what’s relevant for us. We know from the Belfast intelligence that as a very young man he was set for the UVF, but Jackie Martin pointed him at the Army. Nothing unusual in that – it happened often enough so they could get the best training possible for the Loyalist paramilitaries.’
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