He still wasn’t sure about Billy Nelson and why he wanted so much – or the shooters. Martin had dealt ruthlessly with suspected informants over the years and he never gave someone a second chance. If there was anything like proof, the suspect was dead, and just to make his or her day Martin would torture them first.
Just in case there was something amiss, he’d stay away from the boys in the lorry till they met Nelson in Edinburgh and he could be sure it was safe.
Sitting four tables away from Martin was a couple who looked married because they were pretty much ignoring each other and stuck to reading the dailies. They were part of the PSNI surveillance team who would see Martin to the other side before they handed over to the Scottish team. Barry Wallace had agreed that he’d run tail-end Charlie till they made the drop. He could listen in but would take no part in the Scottish operation unless they needed advice.
The ferry left on time and Martin decided to get some breakfast while the ship was stable. He saw the two guys who were driving the lorry but he ignored them, sat down and ordered the full Ulster fry. He was starving and looking forward to a good trip, and if Edinburgh lived up to its press he thought he might just make the move he’d mentioned to Nelson.
He dug into his breakfast as the high-speed ferry built up power at the outer limits of Belfast Lough and the ship started to heave steadily on the rolling swell. Feeling good, he grabbed a seat in the lounge and closed his eyes to sleep through the rest of the journey to Cairnryan.
The surveillance team were in place on the Scottish side. Thompson had received the message that Martin would be travelling behind the lorry and keeping his distance till they reached Edinburgh, so she had instructed the team to ignore the lorry and stick with Martin as the target. In any case a tracker had been covertly fitted to the lorry so if there was a serious deviation they would be told.
Thompson was excited about the job and just wanted it to go well. For the first time in years she was getting a kick out of what she was doing and working with people who all wanted the same things. It had made her look at her own values; she needed to think more for herself and make her own judgements of people.
She called McGovern, who was in position in Edinburgh and ready to take on Nelson once he moved from his home address.
‘It’s fine here. His lights are on and we can see him moving about so no worries. Just bring that man through here safely so we can ruin their day.’
‘You’ve got it. I’ll let you know when we’re on the way.’ She felt the warmth of inclusion. The team were taking to her now she was making the effort, and she felt part of something truly worthwhile.
Nelson sipped a mug of black tea with too much sugar. It reminded him of the army brew and the importance of tea to the fighting man.
He stretched the side of his face and pulled the razor across his skin. Some men hated it but Nelson had always loved to shave, though his skin was slack now and the youthful feel of it had gone. It had passed so quickly and easily.
He sighed, splashed warm water across his face and repeated the motion several times as he watched his reflection in the mirror.
Patting his skin dry he pulled on a fresh shirt and trousers before getting some breakfast, the tension of anticipation having given him quite an appetite. When he was done eating, he stood at the window and looked out onto the frosted road in front of his house, watching as the sun started to spread a grey light over the darkness of the city. The surveillance team would be out there somewhere but it didn’t matter – and in fact he wanted them in place.
He called Fisher and McLean and asked them to meet him for a coffee. He’d told them that they’d be picking up a load of gear from Jackie Martin and that the man himself was coming over so they all had to be on their toes. What he couldn’t tell them was that Martin was walking into a trap. He had a lot to do but had thought through his plan carefully and knew as an army man that you needed a bit of luck along the way. He put what he needed into a small rucksack and got ready to leave.
Martin woke up with a start and realised that he’d slept through the announcement that they were pulling up to the terminal at Cairnryan. He felt the ship shudder with the power of its reverse thrusters pushing it into a docking position as he headed for the car deck.
Ten minutes later he ran the car down the ramps and onto the picturesque coastal route for Glasgow then Edinburgh.
‘That’s the target on the move.’ Thompson texted McGovern to let him know the operation was running. Coordinating the surveillance teams was a difficult task, but the intelligence officers in Edinburgh and Belfast were at their places and backing up the men and women on the ground.
Macallan and Baxter were in the coordination centre in Fettes and could hear both surveillance teams as they followed their targets. Macallan only wanted to know that it was moving as she’d arranged to go back to the hospital to see Orlova and Clark. A message had come in for Macallan during the night that said Clark wanted to see them, and she was going to let Baxter deal with him while she saw Orlova – then it was in the lap of the gods.
There was nothing she could do to help the surveillance teams and if they could dig up another couple of prime witnesses while everyone else was occupied then they were on the road. She grinned, thinking of the other message she’d received after she’d gone to sleep. Jack Fraser was arriving for a couple of nights. She’d be up to her eyes, but no matter. He would be busy during the day and at least they’d have some time together at night. She needed to put the job out of her mind for a while and Fraser could help her do that at least for a few hours.
Nelson left his front door and caught a taxi into the city, the surveillance team watching him as he headed to the town centre. There was nothing unusual apart from the fact that he was carrying a small rucksack. He headed to the bank in St Andrew Square and became its first customer of the day. He was inside for twenty minutes and the information was relayed back to Fettes so the intelligence teams could get on with finding out what he’d been doing.
When he left the bank he headed down to Stockbridge, a place with a village feel on account of the cafés and posh little niche shops on either side of the street. The area was already bustling with morning shoppers and lines of traffic pushing into the city centre. Nelson chose a popular chain café and settled himself near to a window, which was handy for the surveillance footman, who installed himself into a café opposite to drink his own coffee of choice.
The surveillance team waited well away from the street itself, relying on the eyeball and the additional footman who’d joined the first one in the café, looking for all the world like any other office worker calling in for his morning roll.
Within ten minutes Nelson was joined by Fisher and McLean, who ordered coffees and sat down next to him with not much more than a nod. The atmosphere between them was still frosty but they were locked into each other for the time being and accepted it.
‘Any news?’ Fisher asked to break the ice.
‘I got a text that everything’s sweet and the man’s on his way with the gear. Depends on traffic in Glasgow but they’ll have a break somewhere and be here in the middle of the day. We’ve just to wait. They’ll give us a call when they’re here and then we’ll meet up.’
‘That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it, Billy? We’re normally waiting for them,’ McLean said, biting into a sugar-loaded Danish.
‘That’s the man’s orders and he is the fuckin’ man.’ Nelson made it sound matter of fact, but it was a lie. The arrangement was to meet them on arrival at a car park in Ferry Road, but Fisher and McLean didn’t need to know that. They just had to believe what Nelson told them.
‘We’ll have these coffees and then I need to split for a while to take care of some business. I’ll meet you here again at twelve and then we wait for the call. Have you got the van ready for the gear?’
‘It’s parked round the corner and on a meter,’ Fisher said.
After he’d finished his second cup, Nelson le
ft, jumped a taxi back into the centre of town and wandered round the shops in Rose Street.
Jackie Martin drove up the narrow coastal route from Cairnryan and made sure he wasn’t being followed. The road was perfect for anti-surveillance and he went through the whole repertoire but never saw anything that looked a bit smelly. The surveillance team had been briefed by the PSNI that he was good and so they were giving him all the room he needed. They countered his actions by having cars posted well ahead on the route so where they had to hang well back and lose sight he’d always be picked up again by the cars ahead of him.
He stopped in Ayr and bought a meat pie and watery tea that he stuffed down in the car. Then he called Nelson. ‘It’s all good and the road seems to be clear of any problems.’
‘Just heard on the radio that Glasgow’s nose to tail so you might be delayed,’ Nelson said, wishing he could spit in Martin’s face just before they arrested him.
‘What’s new? Just one of those things, and the beer’ll taste even better tonight.’
He put the phone down and fired up the engine before heading back onto the road for Glasgow city.
Thompson was buzzing. The air was filled with high-tension radio traffic as the surveillance convoy tracked Martin towards Glasgow, but her confidence was growing and the rest of the team caught it. They settled down for the long haul back to Edinburgh and prayed there would be no problems along the way.
38
Baxter stood outside the room where they were getting Andy Clark ready for the day. He had a young detective with him as a second witness in case Clark said anything incriminating, and he’d been told to make notes but keep quiet and learn.
The staff nurse who’d spoken to Nelson and watched him grab Clark by the throat came up and introduced herself.
‘How was he last night?’
‘He’s a troubled boy, Mr Baxter. I went in to check him during the night and he was crying like a baby. Wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Anyway, he’s ready and when the nurses leave him you can go in.’ She walked away and headed home to the comfort of her bed.
Clark looked up as Baxter entered the room and took a seat that was close to the bedside but not too close to get in the boy’s space. He asked Clark how he was and noted the red-rimmed eyes as a sign that he’d done a lot of thinking during the night.
‘How’s Kristina?’ Clark asked.
‘She was badly hurt but she’s conscious, and the colleague who was with me last night is seeing her this morning.’ He let that sink in before continuing. ‘She was lucky to survive, but we’re worried about her safety and have put an armed guard on her 24/7.’
Clark’s eyes widened at the news and the realisation that he was responsible for what had happened to her. She hadn’t deserved that. Perhaps she’d only been with him for money but she’d given him something he’d never had but wanted badly. He’d admitted to himself that she’d sold him the illusion that she cared, but it had been a wonderful illusion and he wanted it to be real. She was a beautiful girl, and he knew that she’d suffered some terrible experiences of her own. Clark was as aware as anyone of the kinds of things a girl recruited in the Baltic States and forced to work in London might have endured. She had refused to tell him exactly what had happened there, but whatever it was had been bad, and he knew she would be in danger if she tried to go back – he could sense it.
‘What do you want to talk about, Andy?’
Clark stared at the detective, unsure of what to say, but his guilt gripped him and he felt loaded down with the burden of it. His dreams had become recurring nightmares, and he knew he couldn’t stay quiet any more. He had to do something. Kristina might not have loved him but she’d made him feel emotions that were new and exhilarating, and he could no longer survive on an existence built on conflict and destroying the lives of people who couldn’t defend themselves.
‘If I talk, what’ll happen to me?’ he asked.
Baxter looked into the young man’s eyes and wondered what he could tell him that would give him any form of assurance.
‘I’ve no idea, son. I think you’ve been involved in some bad stuff. In fact none of us can work out what the hell happened to Joe Fleming’s wife. Her mind’s gone.’ He knew that Clark was going to talk – it was just a case of how far he would go – but it would be foolish of him to make promises he couldn’t keep. He’d already offered to get a lawyer to come to the hospital but Clark had declined.
‘Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell me how you came to Edinburgh and what happened from there?’
Clark closed his eyes and lay quite still for a few moments, and Baxter thought he’d lost it but kept quiet. The next move one way or the other had to be Clark’s.
The young man opened his eyes, looked at the detective and nodded. ‘Do you want to take notes?’
‘If that’s okay with you?’ Baxter explained that he would have to caution him and Clark nodded again. ‘Let’s do it then,’ said Baxter. He proceeded to run quickly and stiffly through the formalities of the caution process.
The young DC pulled out his notebook and waited. Clark spoke slowly and there were times when he paused for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts, but slowly everything began to spill out. Baxter had been a detective for a long time but he found it hard to control what he was feeling at these disclosures. He wanted to stop Clark, get Macallan in to hear his revelations, but he was frightened the boy would suddenly realise the enormity of what he was describing and close up.
As Clark continued, Baxter became so uncomfortably tense, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Eventually, after about forty minutes, Clark’s painkillers had worn off and he said he needed the nurse to help him with the pain in his legs.
Baxter was relieved. ‘No problem. I’ll get her and grab a coffee and come back after that.’
He walked to the café without speaking to his young colleague, who felt completely out of his depth. Baxter stared ahead without seeing anything of the hospital around him. The image of how Joe and Danny Fleming had died and what they’d done to Lena Fleming was stuck in his mind.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered over and over again, and his hand trembled as he gulped back the last of his coffee. He headed back to the ward feeling cold and sick, but there was a job to do, and he needed to stay focused.
He got as much as he could from Clark and told him he’d need a bit of time to think it over. He sent a text to Macallan telling her he was going to have a break and would be in the café. He wanted to talk to her before doing anything else, but he needed to be on his own for a while, and the young detective looked as if he needed a break too, so he was sent back to the office.
After about half an hour Macallan came into the café and looked around for Baxter. She saw him sitting in the corner, looking exhausted, and she wondered whether he was okay.
She walked over to the table and pulled out a chair opposite him. He looked at her blankly but spoke first. ‘How did you get on?’
She noticed his eyes were dull and that he was on autopilot. ‘Kristina’s told me as much as she can and admits setting up Clark for Pat Fleming, just as Felicity thought. That’s a problem we’ll need to come back to later, but the main thing is that she’ll identify the man who attacked her in the hotel. Once we get Nelson we’ll stick him in an ID parade and I’ve no doubt she’ll do the rest.’ She paused, waiting for a comment, but Baxter hadn’t moved.
‘Obviously Donnie Monk has done nothing so we’ll need to get a team to do a full job at the hotel and try to find out what room they were in. I’ll call them to get on to it. That’s about as far as she can help us now, but she’s vulnerable and we’ll have to make sure the guys who’re doing the guard job are on their toes.’ She studied Baxter again, wondering what he was thinking and what it was that was hurting him.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she said to him and waited patiently.
It took him a while to articulate the thoughts and images that were crashing
into each other in his head, but Baxter told her what Clark had disclosed to him as calmly as if he was discussing the football results.
As the story unfolded Macallan sat back and blinked at what it all meant. None of it should have come as a surprise because they’d known Joe and Danny had to be dead, but it was the horror of what Nelson had been prepared to do for his takeover and the appalling reality of what Lena Fleming had suffered that made Macallan feel physically sick.
She squeezed Baxter’s arm and forced him to meet her eyes. ‘Listen. We need to get this done right now. No time to dwell, we need to work the evidence up and get it right. There’s a shitload to do and I need you focused. Do you hear me?’
He looked at her for a moment and then came back into the room. She saw it and smiled at him.
‘I’m on it, Grace. I don’t want to leave a single space for that horrible bastard to crawl through.’
‘You’ve done a great job, but we’re going to need help. Finish off with Clark and make sure he has the same level of protection as Kristina. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour, we’ll head over to the coordination centre to see how it’s all going, then back to the ranch to brief the troops. Okay?’
Baxter nodded and left her at the table to finish her drink. She shook her head slowly, thinking how quickly everything had changed. They were on top and Billy Nelson was well and truly fucked.
She called Jacquie Bell to tell her she had a story for her.
‘I’ll meet you later, Jacquie; I want this out to put pressure on the bastard. We’ve got witnesses but there must be more out there that’ll come forward when they realise he’s over.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you then, and thanks – it’ll be my pleasure and will cover me in even more glory.’
Evidence of Death Page 31