The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy)

by Mackay, Malcolm

  You might have to sacrifice someone to get that message across. That’s always a sad consequence. A horrible decision to have to make, letting someone on your own side fall by the wayside. That’s life. You might have to sacrifice Calum. That would be a shame, but he’s worked for a few other people in the trade, so it would make a real impact. Well connected, well respected. He would be a loss, at a bad time. Without Frank, you’d have to find someone else. Third choice. Calum was the best candidate. Still, could be worth it. Wait a little. Give Davidson the opportunity to make a move on Calum. See what happens at the end of it. No need to give warnings yet. Sit back and let things happen.

  42

  Fisher bounds into the changing rooms. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he demands to know of Matheson.

  ‘Joseph? He’s away home. You just missed him.’

  Damn! You need these young plods to feel like they owe you. You need them to think you’re including them in everything, doing them a favour. That’s how you get their loyalty. That’s how you’re able to mould them into decent coppers.

  ‘Never mind. You can come with me, and find someone else to come along. We’re going to pay a visit to Zara Cope. I’ve got an arrest warrant and a search warrant.’

  Matheson finds some other plod, another youngish-looking fellow. As long as it’s not Greig, Fisher doesn’t really care. They’re in the car, on the way to Cope’s flat. Put the pressure on her there. See if she gives them the shoebox, without the need for a great search. She’ll be awkward. Fisher knows it. She’s the kind of cynical, smart, nasty human being who will make life difficult. She’ll come up with sob stories. She’ll come up with subtle little lies. She’ll manipulate the information to her benefit. Finding a way to incriminate her. Making sure she goes to jail. That’s the key to this. Then we find our killer.

  That’s the depressing thought that’s settling on Fisher as they make their way into the building. None of this brings us any closer to finding out who killed Lewis Winter. How many times does this happen? You set off on one investigation and get sidetracked by something else. Happens a lot with organized crime. All of the people involved are so immersed in criminal behaviour; you can find all sorts of things to keep you busy. Fisher leads the two plods up to the flat’s front door. All familiar to him. Should have got a search warrant last time he was here. Would have saved some bother. Saved some time. Didn’t know that at the time, though.

  Knocking on the door. It would make life so much easier if Cope still had the gear. Brilliant bonus if she knows all about the killing. That’s the prayer. You have enough pressure to get her to talk freely. She tells you she knows who did it. She knows why. She gives you everything you need. It can happen. Probably not this time. No answer. It’s late. Knock again. Knock loudly. Knock until she answers. He’s thumping the door. His nerves are starting to fray a little. An investigation slipping away from him. Only a consolation prize. People will say well done, you got two people for breaking the law. There’s still a good chance that you can catch the killer. Nope. The likelihood is running away. Unless something happens that you don’t expect. Unless someone talks.

  The door opens. A nervous face looks out. A young woman, eyes still adjusting to the light in the corridor. Clearly just got out of bed. Wearing a vest top and shorts, no make-up. Genuinely scared. She doesn’t know who could be knocking on her door.

  ‘Zara Cope, we have a warrant to search your flat. We also have a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of possessing a class-A drug with intent to supply, and withholding evidence in a police investigation. I’m sure you don’t mind if we come in.’ He’s trying to say it to sound matter-of-fact. It comes across sarcastic and a little bitchy. Who cares? She deserves nothing better.

  Zara opens the door wide and stands aside. She needs to think. They’re going to charge her over the drugs and over withholding evidence. Her first thought, when she heard the mention of the drugs, was Nate. Had he grassed her? No, not Nate. He’s too involved in the industry. But how bitter is he towards her? Revenge – a dish best served cold, and all that. Then Fisher said withholding evidence. That was when the penny dropped. Nate knew nothing about her withholding evidence. The drugs aren’t the evidence. The evidence is the second witness. Stewart. He’s talked. Either they got him, or he went to them. Probably the latter. Bitter about her not wanting anything more to do with him. Pathetic. One day he’ll get what’s coming to him.

  Fisher is pushing past her, marching into the flat, switching on lights. Make yourself at home, why don’t you? He’s standing in the simple flat, looking around menacingly.

  ‘Why don’t you spare us all some trouble and tell us where the shoebox is?’ he’s saying.

  ‘Shoebox?’ Damn you, Stewart. I should have known you were too pathetic a little prick to rely on. I should have found another way. If I had known Greig would be the first cop on the scene . . . If only I had known.

  ‘Aye, shoebox. We know you had drugs and money in a shoebox, and we know you took it to this flat. If you just tell us where it is, then we can spare all sorts of trouble.’

  Spare all sorts of trouble. That does sound tempting. But then what happens? You tell them that you’ve already got rid of it, so they ask you who you gave it to. You can’t pretend you don’t know. She would have to tell them that she gave the gear to Nate. Then he would be arrested. Oh, they would throw the book at him. They would spend an age trying to find other things to charge him with. They know he’s dangerous. He’s on their radar. Has been for a while. They just can’t get him for anything. So he would go to jail. No, can’t have that. Not much of a mother, but Rebecca is obviously close to her father, and it would destroy that. No, he’s made the effort to be a parent. You owe him this.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she’s saying, a little sleepily. ‘A shoebox? What do you want with a shoebox?’

  Fisher is looking at her, a bitter look on his face. ‘We know you had drugs and money in a shoebox. Where is it now? Have you got rid of it already?’

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You can feel free to search this place; I have no drugs and no money. I don’t own any of the furniture, so try not to break anything.’

  There’s a confidence in her voice. She’s obviously got rid of the stuff already. If she hasn’t collected any money for it yet, then it might be hard to find tangible evidence that she’s ever had it. Her word against Macintosh’s. Bloody hell, she moves fast. Oh no, you’re not going to wriggle off this hook.

  Fisher turns to the two uniformed officers. ‘Right, search the place. You,’ he’s saying to Zara, ‘can stay here with me. Take a seat. Let’s me and you have a wee chat about life.’

  The plods are going through the flat, pulling things apart, making the sort of mess that the owners are going to be furious about. Fisher is sitting opposite Zara at the kitchen table.

  ‘You know that we have a witness that can put you behind bars,’ Fisher is saying. He’s speaking low, almost conspiratorially. ‘Your only hope of staying out of jail here is to make a good impression. You tell me everything you can. Maybe I can help keep you out of jail. You’ll still get a conviction, but I’ll make sure the judge knows what a good little girl you’ve been.’

  Tell me everything you can. He’s not just talking about this crime. He’s talking about all the things you know. All the people you know. You could give him a little treasure trove. That’s what he’s praying for. You’ll be some pitiful little woman, terrified of the big scary cop, and you’ll tell him absolutely everything you know. Prepare to be disappointed.

  ‘You spoke to Stewart, huh. I don’t know what he told you. God knows what was going through that idiot’s head. A little fantasist. All I did was try to help him out. You know what a trial would have done for his career prospects? Well, he’s about to find out. He was desperate for my help. Crying all over me. So I said, go. Just go, and I’ll pretend you were never here. Christ, you try and do a person a favour
.’

  She’s a good little liar, this one. So full of shit, but the sort of liar that some dim-witted old judge could be manipulated by.

  ‘So you admit that Stewart Macintosh was in the house at the time of the shooting.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she’s saying, ‘he was there. He was begging me to help him. I don’t know. I’d just heard Lewis being murdered. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I said, yeah, I’ll help you. You go, I’ll say nothing. He was so grateful. It just felt like the right thing to do. Not now, obviously. At the time it felt like the right thing to do.’

  She’s beginning to hit her stride. She’s making her little story hang together well. She’s being honest about the things she can’t possibly lie about. She’s avoiding the things she can.

  Fisher pauses to let her hear the sound of two policemen ripping apart her bedroom. No reaction. She’s not nervous in the least. So there’s nothing to find. Shit!

  ‘He says you went upstairs and got drugs and money. You came down and gave it to him, then told him how to escape. You went round to his flat yesterday and collected the stuff. He put it into a shoebox for you. You went off with it.’

  She’s shaking her head, a little smile on her lips. ‘Nonsense. What garbage! You believe that? Jesus, you must be dumb if you do. Stewart wanted to see me again. We didn’t exactly finish what we started, if you know what I mean. He wanted to see me again. I went round to his flat. I spoke to him. Told him it wasn’t going to happen. Tried to let him down gently.’

  Damn it. She’s admitting going to his flat. If she denied it and they had proof, then he would be able to back her into a corner. She’s covering every angle. Doing it like a pro.

  ‘He kept telling me how much he wanted to see me. How he wanted to be with me. Said that he didn’t care what trouble there might be. Didn’t matter to him what had happened to Lewis. He just wanted me. I told him no. Too soon for me. Not good for him, either. He was emotional. I just left him there. I thought that was the best thing to do. His life is better without me in it. One day he’ll recognize that. He’s obviously sore about it just now. Lashing out. Rather childish.’

  She is good. You can hate a person, but respect the skill they bring to the table.

  ‘So you’re not going to tell me what you did with Lewis Winter’s drug stash?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know Lewis was involved in things he shouldn’t have been – I’m not totally naive. He didn’t tell me about any of it, but he didn’t need to. I knew. I turned a blind eye, because I loved him. I know one thing: there were never drugs in our house. Never. He knows . . . he knew what my reaction would be.’

  Nope, nothing. She’s locked up tight. ‘Fine. It’s a shame you’re making this so difficult, Zara. You know what the consequences are going to be. We’ll go down to the station. We’ll get you a lawyer. When it goes to court, the judge will know that you made life difficult. He’ll know that every piece of information had to be dragged out of you. That’s not going to serve you well.’

  The basic search of the flat is finished. Nothing. Almost literally nothing. She has very little of her own there. Just a few items of clothing. That’s it. The rest is the furniture that comes with the flat. She has little to her name right now.

  ‘Okay, we’re taking you into the station,’ Fisher is saying. He’s keeping it matter-of-fact. He wants to make sure she has nothing to complain about. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of possessing a class-A drug with intent to supply, and withholding evidence relating to a murder inquiry.’ He goes through the formalities, lets her put on a pair of jeans, a hoody and a coat, and leads her out of the flat. The two uniformed officers follow on behind, silent.

  She says nothing to them in the car on the way to the station. She just looks angry. Angry with the world at large. They often look that way, when they get caught. They can’t believe they’ve been found out. They can’t understand why it’s them, and not one of the many other criminals they know. They curse their luck, as though that’s to blame for it all. They find ways to justify the things they’ve done, and can’t understand why the police can’t follow their logic. Everyone in the criminal business does it. You find a logic that you can apply to your situation. You find a justification for any action. Once you find it, you cling to it. You just can’t understand why the world doesn’t agree with you. Cope’s as likely to suffer from that criminal mindset as anyone else, Fisher is thinking to himself.

  They’re walking into the station. As Fisher leads Zara to the charge desk, so that the night-sergeant can book her in, she sees a face she knows. Walking along the corridor, in casual clothing, a sports bag over his shoulder, is Paul Greig. Must be going off duty. He was supposed to be helping her. Yeah, right. He’ll help as long as there’s money in it for him. He won’t help if it becomes inconvenient. She might tell them a few tales about him. Then it becomes her word against a copper’s. They wouldn’t believe her. Or they would, and they’d do nothing about it, out of embarrassment. Besides, grassing him gets a lot of people in the criminal world angry. She can’t have that. She’s going to need all the friends she can get.

  Greig sees her. Sees Fisher. There’s a slight pause in his step. For just a fraction of a second he considers stopping to say something. Ask what she’s in for. No. Don’t let Fisher know you care. Don’t give him anything to be suspicious about. He hates you already. If she’s in trouble, then that’s her problem. Law of the jungle. You have a responsibility to keep yourself safe and free from trouble. Nobody else has a responsibility to look after you. You have no right to complain. She knows that. She’ll keep her mouth shut. Cope glances at him as Fisher talks to the desk sergeant. He raises an eyebrow slightly. A ‘too bad’ look. She knows how this works. He’s walking past and heading for the door. Just hope Fisher didn’t notice your hesitation, or the fact that Cope looked at you. You don’t want him on your tail.

  They’ve got a lawyer for her. She’s had twenty minutes sitting alone with him, spilling her guts. She’s probably spun a fantastical tale for him, a web of lies that he’ll be thoroughly stuck in. A weak lawyer and a strong client are a troublesome opponent. Going to have to fight our way through this one. She’s had enough time to concoct her story – time to go in. Fisher leads DC Davies into the interview room. He sits opposite Zara. He looks her in the eye as he goes through the formalities.

  ‘Before we start,’ Zara says quietly, ‘I want to ask you what you’re doing about finding the people who killed Lewis. I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing.’

  It hurts. A very accurate shot. Even she knows that your real investigation is getting away from you. Even she can see your failure. Prove her wrong.

  43

  Some nights you just can’t sleep. It has nothing to do with a guilty conscience. That’s what Calum always tells himself. He doesn’t feel guilty about the things he’s done. He’s found his justification. It’s just that, sometimes, you can’t rest your head. You go to sleep, but within an hour you’re awake again. Often waking with a start, fumbling at the duvet, pushing it off yourself. There’s something in the room. Something on the bed. No, there isn’t. It’s your imagination. Too much time spent running around in the dark. Too much time living on your nerves. It’s not particularly worse after a job. It’s just constant. The challenge is not letting it get you down.

  Calum’s awake now. Sitting up in bed. Sitting in the darkness. People would say it was because he was afraid. He has thoughts of Davidson and of the phone call running through his mind. Not really. He’s not dwelling on it. He’s lived the life long enough to know that he’s done all he can. He’s alerted Jamieson through Frank. They’ll know by now. Maybe they’ve already done something about it. Davidson could be dead already. Not that it matters. It’s not Davidson that’s the real threat here. Maybe that’s what unnerves him most. Davidson is just an employee of someone else. It’s the employer who poses the threat. That’s who you have to fear. No matter what
happens to Davidson, his employer can still be dangerous.

  For days Jamieson and Young have been relying on Calum to get the job right. They’ve been sitting in their office, hoping that he would do it right. Hoping that he would do it. They’ve been living with the unknown. It’s tough, when you don’t know what’s going on. Now the roles are reversed. Now you’re sitting in your bed, hoping they’re doing something to help you. Quid pro quo. Only, they paid you for your service. Well, they will pay, when it’s safe to do so. You’re an employee. You’re just a piece on the chessboard. They can do as they please with you. They don’t have the same obligations to you as you have to them. They might want to be seen to help you. They might want their other employees to think they’re the kind of people who act to help their men. Or they might not care.

  This is why he doesn’t want to work permanently for someone. You do a job, freelance, and you get out. It’s so much simpler. You avoid becoming a part of other people’s games. You can’t rely on any of them. They’re all playing their little power games. That’s what the industry’s all about. Sure, at the lower levels people are just obsessed with money. They do all the things they do to try to get rich quick. At the top level that’s not what matters. The difference between someone with a mid-sized operation and a big, national operation is not financial. The guy at the top won’t be making a huge amount more than the guy with the relatively small, regional operation, because his costs will be astronomical. They always are, for the biggest movers. The difference is power. That’s what they crave, and they spend good money to get it.

  Sitting up in bed. Sitting in the darkness. Living in the darkness until someone tells you otherwise. This is not the way to live. Freelance – that’s the way to live. Making sure everyone knows you’re not tied to a big player. Making sure people never consider you important to someone else’s empire. Once that happens, you become a walking target. It’s a warm night. Made warmer by the agitated state Calum was in when he woke up. Can’t remember why now. He reaches for the little bottle of fizzy apple juice on the bedside cabinet. Damn it! Empty. Is it worth getting up for another one? Not really. He lies back down.