Burning Greed

by Diane M Dickson

  It was petty, but she took secret delight in the frustration that flicked across his face, and she knew he wouldn’t argue. He didn’t know she had an idea where he was really going, but in the face of her instruction it was far too difficult for him to leave now.

  He wasn’t giving in without a word though. “So, we just have to hang around here, waiting. Just waiting,” he said.

  “Unless you want to come and meet some low-lifes down at a dive in town, yes.”

  He struggled, a small part of him wanted to go – she knew that. He wanted to regain some of the high ground. But he was a senior doctor, a respected consultant, a member of the golf club, a Rotarian and, as his lifestyle and reputation won the battle over his chauvinism, he stormed from the room and they heard his feet thundering up the stairs, and the slam of his bedroom door.

  “Who’s going with you?” Fiona asked.

  “Nobody.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. They should send somebody.”

  “No. Look you have to try and understand. They are doing the best that they can. They have a BOLF circulated, sorry, that’s ‘Be on the lookout for.’ And they have civilian researchers looking at CCTV of the port and checking the number plate recognition system for his car. They can’t do much more. At the end of the day, Fiona, she went of her own accord. She’s not underage, so, if they have had sex, that’s not a crime. However, he’s a dodgy bloke and we know he’s involved in giving drugs to youngsters, so it would be good to get a hold of him, but that’s it. I know, I do know, that for you it’s the only thing that matters, getting her home, but for the local force she is one of many things that are going on. There was a bomb scare today in a shop in the town centre, a multi-vehicle crash on the road to Glasgow. An old lady was mugged and killed in her own home. These are just a few of the things I’ve picked up monitoring the calls. Do you see? She isn’t the top of their agenda.

  “Look on the bright side, we know that she chose to do this, she wasn’t abducted, she wasn’t in an accident. Customs at Newcastle and Hull are on high alert. They seem the most likely places, but they’ll be watching everywhere else. Flights don’t really make sense because there are more security checks, but the airports are aware. We are doing everything that we can under the circumstances. A lot of it is because I’m in the job, so we are getting more attention than a lot of people would.”

  There was no response, but Fiona’s eyes swum with moisture and as she lowered her head to the table, Tanya had no choice but to wrap her arms around her sister’s shaking shoulders and hold her in a way that she had rarely done before.

  “I’ve got a picture of him sent over by DI Laird’s team and I’ll go down to that club and see if I can find out anything. It’s the best I can do, I’m sorry, I really am but there isn’t anything else unless they are picked up coming back into the country.” She showed the image to her sister, but Fiona was adamant that she had never seen the man before.

  “He just looks ordinary,” she said. “Just like anyone you would see in the street. Okay, there’s the tattoo but everyone has those these days. What is it?” Tanya enlarged the picture so that they could see more clearly the image of a bird beside his eye. “You wouldn’t think he was so evil, selling drugs to children. Taking my little girl away.”

  “The bad guys don’t have horns and tails, that’s what makes the job so hard,” Tanya said. She moved away, the closeness uncomfortable, and walked to the door.

  "Right, I’ll go and sort out something to wear, if I have anything with me. I didn’t bring much.” She thought of her wardrobe down in Oxford. Admittedly not many of her things were bought for going to clubs, but there would be something for certain. Then she thought of the problems that the rows of dresses and shoes, the drawers full of accessories had brought her and she was overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and dissatisfaction. She was working so bloody hard and here she was with an overdraft for the first time ever, and her sister still dictating what happened in her life, albeit inadvertently right now.

  She blew out a sigh, “Why don’t you make us something to eat? The club won’t be busy till much later and I’ve had nothing much today.” She turned and climbed up to her room where she took a long shower and let the hot water wash away the tears of frustration that she would never have shed in front of Fiona.

  Chapter 25

  It was Saturday night and the town centre was humming. It was warm for September and Tanya walked along Princes Street mingling with people emerging from the hotels and restaurants, heading for pubs and clubs – drinking and relaxing. It didn’t normally bother her that she wasn’t a part of that scene. Her job was what mattered. Being in the police force made her feel whole and fulfilled. Tonight though, when she knew that what she was doing was ill-advised, bordering on reckless, she felt not lonely so much as alone. It would be good to have someone with her, someone outside the family. Charlie perhaps, his quiet strength; or the bulk of Paul Harris with his off-colour comments and laddishness; the quiet sense and wiry fitness of Kate Harris. Just someone with no axe to grind.

  She had told Fiona that she was acting alone, but she hadn’t let Stan Laird or her team in England know. After all, she didn’t really think that it would lead to much. The chances of this scum being around were very slim, life didn’t work like that. But she couldn’t sit in the house with her sister and brother in law. The atmosphere had already been tense, but now it was overlaid with unresolved anger and unpleasantness. She was beginning to see that things were not quite as golden in her sister’s privileged life as she had been led to believe.

  Anyway, even if she didn’t find Iain Laithwaite, she might get a feel for the sort of people her niece had been mixing with – an idea of just how rough and debauched this place was. Estella’s mother had been shocked, but she was from a different environment. There would be drugs in that world too, of that there could be little doubt, but the people who lived in the big houses wouldn’t be hanging about outside seedy bars or down dark alleyways. They had no idea what that was like, so maybe this place wasn’t so bad at all. Maybe it had a reputation in the wealthy suburbs that it didn’t deserve.

  She used the sat nav on her phone to navigate away from the view of the castle, down Frederick Street, past the Auld Hundred and towards Rose Street. When Fiona had first moved to the city these were the places you didn’t go, the places where deals were done in the narrow doorways and desperate girls and women made what money they could. It had worked hard to outgrow the reputation and now the tables piled up against the windows of the closed coffee shops gave a clue as to how it would look during the day. There were upmarket shops, trendy bars, but there were also narrow streets and, away from the lights of the city, the atmosphere changed.

  She walked on and was unmolested. It was still busy, people were out enjoying themselves. They weren’t interested in her. Now and then a man would call out “You alright, hen, you want some company?” Though she felt alone, she didn’t feel afraid. She might be only 160cm tall and slender but she was strong, fast and fit. She had taken all the self-defence courses, done well and enjoyed them. She worked out in the gym when she had time. She wasn’t afraid of fat blokes drinking lager.

  When she saw the place, she was surprised: it was worse than she had thought. Estella’s mother might not have been wrong after all. She was a little shocked that the girls had dared to go through the dingy door in the dark corner of a litter-strewn square. But then, peer pressure and the need for adventure at their age had always led youngsters astray, nothing changed.

  Chapter 26

  She pressed down on the cold metal handle and pushed at the peeling paintwork, expecting the door to be locked. In the event, it juddered open. Behind it was a short hallway, dimly lit and smelling of old perfume and a faint whiff of cannabis. She stepped over the threshold and a voice from the corner opposite the door asked her if she was a member. She turned towards the hefty looking man sitting beside a narrow table. There was a bottle of whisky and
a glass on the peeling top alongside a cash box with the lid flipped back.

  “No, I’m not a member. I was supposed to meet some friends here, but I think they’re late.” She could have flashed her warrant card but in this sort of place, dressed as she was in her leather jacket, slim black trousers, soft white blouse, and the red spangled scarf that she had borrowed from Fiona, it would send a strange, contradictory message. Especially as she was on her own and had already lied.

  “Well, it’s twenty-five quid if they’re not here to sign you in, but the first drink is free.”

  Tanya pulled her wallet from the bag she had borrowed from Fiona. Turning so that the doorman didn’t get a glimpse of her police ID, she pulled out her credit card and held it up. He didn’t exactly sneer, but the smile wasn’t meant to be friendly and there was sarcasm in the shrug of his shoulders. He rattled the cash box on top of the desk. She was all about plastic and had no idea if there was twenty-five pounds in her wallet. She held his gaze as she unzipped the cash pocket, pulled out the notes, surprised that there were enough, peeled off three tens and dropped them onto the table.

  Without turning away from her, he gathered the money into his fists and pushed them into the tin. She waited for just a few moments, the tension between them stepped up a notch and her stomach clenched, fight or flight instinct kicking in. Her hands curled into fists. But she took a breath, relaxed her shoulders. He was a Neanderthal and wanted to intimidate her, that was all.

  She tipped her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and held out her hand. At last he had to look away to find a fiver. She made a mental note that if this place was as she was expecting, then she would see that the local boys would come down on it like a ton of bricks and this thug would be one of the first ones to fall. He pulled a stamp and ink pad from a drawer and held his hand out palm upwards. She ignored it and laid her hand flat on the table so that he could brand the back of it.

  “Just in case you have to go out looking for your ‘friends’,” he said with a grin.

  She realised with a sick turn of her stomach that he had pegged her as a prostitute, or at the least a girl on the make. It was the obvious lie about friends, of course. She turned away without another word. It didn’t matter, it was in her hands to get back at him. As she thought of him cuffed and pushed into the back of a squad car she grinned. First, she had to find the thing to make that happen, but even if there was nothing connected with Serena’s disappearance, she would find something. It would make the trip worthwhile, just to bring the door thug down to earth.

  She wasn’t undercover – she had done the course. You didn’t go undercover on your own. You had briefings and permission and tons of back up, you had a plan and probably a wire, and somewhere you had your gas canister. She looked at the tiny leather bag, no room for more than her phone and wallet. She hadn’t even put in a tin of hairspray or deodorant which could, in an emergency, blind someone for enough time to kick them in the groin and run away.

  She would say she wanted to get a feel for the sort of place her niece had been, so that she could help her sister with child care decisions. But, if she found enough evidence to bring in the heavy mob, then the reasons for being there would be for appearance’s sake, to make sure there was nothing to jeopardise a case. She was just an off-duty cop, having a night out and trying to help her family.

  Chapter 27

  It was still early, just after eleven, and the dim room was almost empty. There were musicians on a tiny stage opposite the bar, which was the source of most of the light.

  The band was still setting up. Harsh electronic noises, as they plugged in equipment, were met with jeers from the few customers. Some were well down on their drinks. A couple of men stood alone at the bar, and further along a small group gathered around two girls who were perched on high bar stools, giggling and canoodling with the men. Pecks on the cheek or longer, deeper smooches, hands stroking at the backs of necks, thighs, and in one case a quick grope of an almost naked breast which resulted in a slap and a laugh. Tanya felt overdressed, too formal for the surroundings in which she was trying to avoid being noticed. She pulled off her jacket and draped it over the back of her tall chair, she pushed the sequinned scarf into her pocket, and undid the top button on her blouse.

  “Alright, hen?” The barman was young, long-haired and greasy looking. He had already picked up a white wine glass, making an assumption that got Tanya’s back up.

  She looked at the glass, and glanced at him.

  “A pint of Guinness, please?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t serve pints.”

  He put down the glass and waited.

  “In that case, I’ll have a dry Martini please, with an olive.”

  She hated Martinis, loathed olives, but he wasn’t going to intimidate her.

  He moved away and dragged out a bottle, a glass, and a dish with some grim looking liquid in the bottom and three olives swilling back and forth. To give him credit he polished the glass and rimmed it with salt, there was even a fancy plastic stick with a saltire at one end and the olive at the other. She showed him the stamp on the back of her hand, he placed a paper coaster on the bar and the drink on top. She had little experience of clubs, her drinking was done in the pub or at home, but this was not at the high end. She supposed the very sleaziness was attractive to girls like Serena and Estella, so different from the clean, bright world they inhabited. She had no intention of trying the Martini, but she wrapped her fingers around the stem of glass and swivelled it back and forth.

  Listening to the increasing swirl of noise, Tanya suddenly felt a little foolish. She wasn’t sure why she was here, wasn’t there something more productive she should be doing? There was the video of the interview with the witness that she hadn’t had a chance to watch. She could go over the daily reports Charlie had sent on. She glanced down at the drink in front of her. Much of the salt had fallen off and the small paper coaster was crinkled and disintegrating. This was sad and sordid and pointless.

  She reviewed the last couple of days. She had done some good, cleared up part of the mystery. The locals were on it now with a direction for their enquiries. There wasn’t much more for her to contribute. It would be more sensible to head back to Oxford. Things at Fiona’s were very unpleasant, and they might be better able to sort things out without her there. She wasn’t going to spill the beans on Graham, it was nothing to do with her. Okay, he was a cheating swine, but it wasn’t any of her business. She could keep in touch with Fiona by phone or better still email. Surely, she had shown enough sisterly support and could have her life back.

  She would go home. Tomorrow.

  A noisy group surged through the door, four men and three girls. The girls were a mix of bare skin and bling and they were all at a boisterous stage of drunkenness. They swarmed up to the bar and demanded champagne. There was a fuss while the cork was popped, the fizz poured, and then an ice bucket plonked onto the bar, condensation dribbling down the sides. The group leader – there was always one, self-appointed - leaned across the bar. He spoke quietly to the barman who glanced around the room and shook his head. Money changed hands, there was a short conversation and then they separated. The notes didn’t go into the till, but into the barman’s pocket.

  A few more customers drifted in and Tanya watched them all. The bloke behind the counter kept things going, and now he had help from a tubby girl in a tight pink top and a stretchy miniskirt. The noise level was increasing, it was hot and stuffy. A lone man at the far end of the bar had been staring at her, blatantly; he’d smiled and nodded. She didn’t want to deal with him, she didn’t want to deal with anyone. She wanted to be in her own home, clean, and in bed with her laptop. This was a mistake.

  Tanya pulled her coat from the back of the chair. She began to slide to the edge of the seat. That was when she saw him. He leaned across the bar towards the barman who served him with a lager and a double whisky chaser. They leaned together whispering and the barman nodded in the d
irection of the champagne group. A small package changed hands. It was palmed quickly, and there was the roll of notes coming back the other way. Damn! She should have been recording: she’d missed her chance to make some sort of sense of this wasted evening. She pulled her phone out, made a pantomime of pretending to text as she recorded the two men. She swung around as if searching the growing crowd, her phone held low, discreetly recording the barman moving down the narrow space in front of the bottles and glasses. He gestured to the noisy group, and in moments they were grinning and high fiving each other, slipping the pills between their lips. She had proof that drugs were changing hands. It wasn’t much but it was something.

  She regained her seat and aimed the camera at the newcomer. His hands were on the bar top, long fingers drumming on the wet surface. He was slightly less than average height. His hair was thick and wavy, it was long enough to fall forward as he leaned down and then he swept it back revealing the glint of an earring and something on the side of his face, just below his eye. The tiny bird tattoo was only visible because he was leaning into the brighter lights behind the bar, watching the champagne group with a grin twisting his thin lips. She watched him for a moment, still recording – she wanted a better view on the phone. She continued her pretence of texting, tutted and glanced at her watch. He looked towards her and she knew without a doubt. Iain Laithwaite was less than a metre away. She slid to her feet and walked around and on towards the ladies. She peered around the room, filled appreciably by now, but nowhere could she see her niece.