He jumped and crouched on landing, then was up and jogging towards the house. It was a mansion really. There were six cars parked in the driveway, room for several more. They were all out of sight from the main road. Mark wondered about that. He hunched and ran alongside the cars, then stopped at one. A silver Lexus. Mark knew the number plate from staring at it as he followed it across town.
Taylor.
He approached the front door. No light on over the porch. As he got nearer he noticed that all the windows had blackout blinds. He scanned upstairs. It looked the same, as far as he could tell from down here.
He walked round the house. All the windows were blacked out. What the hell was going on inside?
Round the back he heard voices. He pulled the Browning from his jeans and flicked the safety off. Ducked into the shadows of the house, pushed himself against the stonework and poked his head out.
There was a conservatory built out from the back of the house. The only piece of glasswork in the whole building you could see into. Two huge men in black bomber jackets were smoking at an open patio door. Serious bouncers. But bouncers for what?
He couldn’t make out what they were saying. They finished their cigarettes, spat on the gravel, then went inside and slid the door closed. He didn’t know if they’d locked it or not. They left the conservatory and sauntered back into the house.
He crept to the door, keeping an eye on the inside. Didn’t see anyone. He tried the handle. Locked. Looked around for something heavy. Nothing.
He flicked the safety on the gun, wrapped it in the material of his jacket pocket, then thumped it at a corner of the glass.
The smash echoed in his ears.
He held his breath and waited.
No one came.
He reached in with his hand covered in his sleeve and slid the lock over. Pulled the door open and went inside. He felt drawn into the building, as if he had no free will any more. He had to let this happen, had to find out.
He crept from the conservatory into a utility room. Washing machine and dishwasher, food cupboards. From there through to a hallway. It was dark, but light spilled from a big room at the front of the house. He heard voices and laughter. Men. A clinking of glasses and bottles.
He crouched, scared to go closer. Just then, a man came from the room into the hall. Mark ducked back into the utility room and peeked round. The man stopped halfway down the hall and went into a bathroom.
Then another man came out the room, this time with a woman in her underwear. She was black, strong features, high heels and white lace. He was in a grey suit. They were arm in arm as they headed up the stairs.
A brothel.
The other man came out the toilet and went back into the lit room.
Mark waited. Didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t think straight. He stayed there, his pulse thumping, his breath shallow and fast. He thought about Lauren. He gripped the gun handle tighter. Stepped from the utility room. Heard voices again, coming from upstairs. Getting louder. He ducked back inside.
A man and a woman. He recognised the man’s voice, then saw him coming down the stairs.
Taylor. With another prostitute, blonde, Eastern European-looking, in a kimono. They both went into the main downstairs room and Mark heard other voices, it sounded like guys taking the piss out of each other, or sharing a joke.
Mark realised he’d been holding his breath, and puffed air out of his lungs.
What was the link to Lauren?
As he stood there wondering, another couple came out the room and headed upstairs – him a fat, middle-aged guy in a black suit, her a beautiful redhead, tall and sleek.
Then Taylor appeared again, this time heading for the front door with one of the bouncers. He buttoned up his suit then put a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder and handed him some money.
Mark scurried through the utility room to the conservatory and slipped out. Darted round the side of the house and stood in a small copse of elm that was shimmering in the wind. He watched Taylor come down the steps waving to the bouncer, then he was in darkness as the front door closed.
Mark moved through the trees until he was as close as he could get to the Lexus.
Taylor was almost at the car now, his key out, the security lights on the Lexus blinking as he unlocked it. In the flashing amber, he was grinning, smug.
Mark stepped away from the trees and strode towards him, pointing the Browning.
‘Don’t make a fucking sound.’
Taylor stopped. He looked as if he’d been punched in the gut. He turned to the house.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
Taylor’s eyes darted around.
‘I will shoot you. Don’t think I won’t.’
Taylor seemed to deflate a little.
‘Now get in the car.’
Taylor just stood there looking at Mark.
‘I said, get in.’
Taylor slowly opened the driver’s door and got in. Mark kept the gun on him and got into the back seat.
Taylor turned round. ‘Look . . .’
Mark brought the butt of the gun down on the side of his face.
‘Fuck.’ Taylor grabbed at his eyebrow. It swelled up straight away, his eye closing a little. ‘Jesus Christ.’
He clutched at his forehead and breathed out heavily.
Mark pressed the gun to his neck.
‘Tell me what the fuck is going on here.’
Taylor leaned away from the gun barrel pressed against the flesh of his neck. Mark jabbed it in again.
Taylor flinched. ‘OK, take it easy.’
He seemed too calm, Mark didn’t like it.
Mark flicked his head towards the house. ‘Is Fisher in there?’
‘I don’t know anyone called Fisher.’
Mark drew the gun back and smashed the butt into Taylor’s face, at the swollen bit. This time the skin broke and blood spurted out so far it splattered on the inside of the windscreen.
‘Shit.’ Taylor clutched at his eye. He hunched forward for a moment. ‘You’ll fucking blind me.’
‘I’ll do worse than that if you don’t tell me what I need to know.’
Taylor gasped in air and sniffed, wiped blood away from his eye, but still didn’t speak.
‘Is Fisher in there?’ Mark said.
Taylor glanced at the house, Mark followed his gaze. No sign of activity.
‘How do you know about Fisher?’
‘I saw you meet him. I followed him here.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘You have no idea what you’re getting into.’
‘Is he in there?’
Taylor dabbed at his eye. His hand came away bloody. ‘No.’
‘Does he own the brothel?’
Taylor laughed, then nodded.
‘What’s all this got to do with Lauren?’
Taylor’s leg was twitching. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t fuck around. Tell me.’
‘It doesn’t have anything to do with Lauren.’
Mark grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. He jammed the Browning under Taylor’s jaw, pointing up.
‘Look, I’ve got a dead guy bleeding all over my living-room floor. Him and another guy came to my flat while me and my son were asleep, tied me to a chair and beat me. Told me they were looking for a password and were working for Fisher. So why don’t you tell me how this is connected before I blow your fucking head all across this beautiful interior.’
He wondered if he could really do it.
Taylor gave him a deadpan look. Almost a smile. ‘I don’t know anything about all that.’
Mark pushed the muzzle of the pistol into Taylor’s left shoulder and pulled the trigger.
The blast of the gun was deafening in the car. Blood sprayed from the wound over the gun, Mark’s hand and the windscreen. Taylor rocked in his seat then lunged forward in pain. The back of his shoulder was a ragged hole, the bullet had made a mess coming out. Blood pulsed out the hole in Taylor’s sui
t as he screamed and clutched at his shoulder.
Mark grabbed his hair and yanked him back into his seat, then jammed the Browning against his head.
The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Behind it, Mark thought he caught a whiff of piss. Taylor must’ve wet himself.
Mark looked at the house. Nothing.
He turned back to Taylor. ‘Tell me what this has to do with Lauren.’
‘You don’t understand. He’ll kill me.’
Mark moved the Browning from Taylor’s head to his knee.
‘Maybe you want to be in a fucking wheelchair for the rest of your life?’
Taylor looked scared now. Good. His hand was at his bleeding shoulder, his eyes looking at the gun pressed against his kneecap.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know what Fisher had planned. It was only supposed to be a warning, that’s what he told me.’
Mark glanced behind him at the house. Still in darkness.
‘Go on.’
Taylor was trembling, almost crying.
‘Fisher has lots of places like this. Caledonia Dreaming helps him find the properties. He finds the girls.’
Mark thought about what he’d seen inside.
‘Trafficking?’
Taylor nodded stiffly.
‘What else?’
Taylor shook his head and cringed.
‘Are you stupid?’ Mark said, pressing the barrel of the Browning into Taylor’s knee. ‘I will shoot your fucking kneecap clean off.’
Taylor looked at the gun, then at his bloody shoulder. ‘He uses Caledonia Dreaming to clean his money.’
‘Laundering.’
‘He buys legitimate properties with the profits and sells them on.’
Mark was starting to see. ‘Lauren found out.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you had her killed.’
Taylor smelled of panic now. ‘It wasn’t like that. Lauren came to me with information. It didn’t occur to her that I was involved. She’d been looking at accounts she shouldn’t have. Her being a junior partner, she felt she had a lot to lose if the company was into dodgy shit. I stalled her, told her I’d take it to the police. Then I told Fisher. He was supposed to warn her off. I could never approve of murder.’
Mark lifted the gun and smacked it off Taylor’s face again, this time the cheekbone. He heard a crack.
‘Couldn’t fucking approve? Prostitution, trafficking and money-laundering are fine, though, yeah?’
‘I liked Lauren, she was a good friend.’
‘I swear, don’t you dare insult her memory like that or I will shoot you in the fucking face.’
The gun was rammed into Taylor’s damaged cheek now.
Mark thought of his wife’s dry lips, her tangle of hair.
‘So these guys at my flat were after a password.’
Taylor nodded.
‘What password?’
Taylor took his hand away from his shoulder and flinched. ‘Fuck, this hurts.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Are you going to take me to a hospital?’
‘Just tell me.’
Taylor hesitated, then gave him a resigned look. ‘We checked her work email. She sent a copy of the files to her Gmail account.’
Mark sighed. Remembered the Excel spreadsheets he’d opened and disregarded that first night. Then remembered being at Taylor’s office. ‘And I told you I knew the password.’
Taylor nodded.
Mark rubbed at his forehead. ‘Where’s Fisher now?’
‘I don’t know. He only usually comes here during the day.’
Mark thought about that.
‘OK, we’re going to the police.’
‘I need to go to hospital.’
‘Police first, then hospital.’
Taylor looked at his shoulder. ‘I don’t think I can drive.’
‘Try.’
Taylor just sat there. Mark jabbed the butt of the gun into his face again, at the broken cheek. Taylor let out a yelp.
‘OK, OK.’
He started the engine and pushed the parking brake off. Then leaned over, breathing heavily, and stuck the car into gear with his right hand. Sat back and grimaced.
‘You’re going to tell the cops everything you just told me,’ Mark said.
Taylor was shaking. He stank of piss and blood. ‘Fisher will kill me if I do that.’
Mark stared at him.
‘I’ll kill you if you don’t.’
37
Taylor drove east, struggling with the gears.
Mark kept the gun stubbed into the side of his skull. He wondered about Taylor’s injuries. Confession under duress. Mark could get charged with armed assault or maybe attempted murder. He tried not to think about that. Or about the repercussions of Nathan shooting the man at the flat. But for all that, the police was surely the right way to go. Any attempt to cover this up would just come back to bite them.
He presumed Ruth and Nathan were at the police station already. He phoned Ruth’s mobile. No answer.
He called Portobello Police Station. It went straight on to voicemail. Either the guy on the front desk was asleep or he was speaking to someone, or there was no one at reception. How could there be no answer from a police station? Manpower cuts?
He called the flat, just in case. No reply.
Then he called Ferguson. Voicemail.
He tried Ruth again. No answer.
Fuck.
Mark watched the blur of streetlights outside. Checked the clock in the car. 3.15 a.m.
‘Slight change of plan,’ he said. ‘We’re dropping in to my flat first.’
‘No way,’ Taylor said, crunching the gearbox. ‘I need medical attention.’
Mark tapped the Browning’s muzzle against his temple.
‘Just drive.’
They drove for a while in silence, then Taylor spoke. ‘Fisher is going to kill both of us.’
Mark thrust the Browning into Taylor’s neck. ‘He won’t get a chance, the police will arrest him.’
Taylor laughed, not a happy sound. ‘You don’t understand, he’s a psycho and he’s well connected. He’ll still get to us.’
Mark examined his cut hand. It was scabbing over already. ‘How did you get involved with him in the first place?’
Taylor didn’t answer.
‘Fine,’ Mark said. ‘I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter.’
Taylor sighed. ‘School, believe it or not. Heriot’s.’
‘The pair of you went to Heriot’s?’
Taylor nodded stiffly. ‘He was a bully. I was glad to see the back of him. Lost contact for years. Then one day he turned up in the office and I didn’t have any choice.’
‘You had a choice. We all have choices.’
‘Do you have a choice just now?’
Mark thought about that. He flicked his head back the way they’d come.
‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself back there. I wonder what your wife and kids would think of that.’
They drove on in silence again before Taylor spoke.
‘Fisher will do anything to protect his interests.’
‘Me too.’
Mark looked out the window as a taxi chugged in the opposite direction. They skirted round the back of Arthur’s Seat, the side the tourists never see. Just a looming presence in the darkness, an absence of stars.
‘How big is this whole thing?’
Taylor swallowed but stayed silent.
‘You might as well tell me,’ Mark said. ‘You’re fucked now anyway.’
Taylor winced as he changed gear again. ‘It’s worth millions.’
‘And the police don’t have a clue?’
Taylor laughed. ‘Half the police force use Fisher’s places, it’s not in their interests to shut him down. And no one’s ever been done for trafficking or laundering in this country.’
Mark stared at Taylor. ‘How do you square it with yourself, being a part of all this?’
/> Taylor shrugged. ‘I did what I had to do to protect my family. Just like you’re trying to do.’
‘And how does that fit with sleeping with trafficked prostitutes?’
They hit a stretch of speed bumps in Duddingston, then the cobbles of Brighton Place slowed them down. Not a single person on the streets out here in the suburbs, the same as they turned along Porty High Street.
Mark felt his stomach tense up as they neared the flat.
As if sensing something, Taylor spoke.
‘You’re fucked, you know, you’re way out of your depth.’
38
‘Pull in here.’
Taylor squeezed in across the road from the flat, right next to the church. Bumped on to the kerb like every other car.
The wind was hurtling up Marlborough Street from the sea, bustling the Lexus. Taylor killed the engine and slumped back into his seat holding his shoulder. His face was ashen.
The car groaned and squeaked with the gusts of wind. Mark looked up at the windows of the flat. The living-room light was on, curtains closed. Same with the bedroom. He tried to remember how they’d been when he left, but couldn’t.
He shuffled sideways in his seat but kept the gun on Taylor. ‘Out the car.’
Taylor climbed out, leaving a sodden mess of blood on the upholstery, then Mark slid out the car after him.
‘Come on.’
Mark walked with Taylor in front, gun pressed into his back.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Taylor said.
‘Just move.’
The bottom door was closed. He unlocked it and pushed Taylor forward by the crook of his good arm.
He shushed Taylor. Listened. Nothing but the buzz of the striplight in the stairwell.
They walked up the spiral staircase.
The door to the flat was closed but the catch on the lock was hanging off. Still like that from the first break-in.
Mark kept the gun pointing at Taylor and touched the door open.
He didn’t know whether to speak out or not. Nathan and Ruth were probably at the police station, right? He just wanted to make sure.
Gone Again Page 17