by Jay Stringer
Lambert stepped closer. This was news to him. What did any of this have to do with Mackie cutting up his high school sweetheart? He was starting to wish he’d skipped the meeting, just gone straight to the lock-up to dispose of Rab’s body, the last loose end that traced back to him.
Gilbert waved it away. ‘It’s not important,’ he said. ‘What matters is finding out what’s going on now, not ten years ago.’
‘Well, it does a bit,’ Senga said. ‘See, he’s the one who hired Jim Ireland. Jim never gave up the name, but it was Hillcoat. He knows someone tried to kill Mackie last night, and he’s got enough of a head on his shoulders to know that it’s all linked in. And Beth here has them all convinced that Mackie’s innocent.’
‘So hang on. Who killed the Towler girl?’ said Lambert. ‘How’s that all linked in to what we’ve been doing here? To the business?’
Joe turned on Lambert. ‘Keep up or shut up. We’ve had enough of you already.’ He was angry, but it was controlled, focused, all forced out through his eyes.
Lambert took a step back, caught off guard by the anger. He wanted to turn and walk out now, drive home, grab Jess and leave. For all that he’d done, all the lies, the bribes and the violence, he’d always told himself he had rules. Nobody innocent got messed with. Rab hadn’t been an innocent. And Mackie, he’d been telling himself, wasn’t an innocent either. After all, everyone knew he’d cut up his girlfriend.
But what if he hadn’t?
Beth looked at Lambert with a question framed in her eyes. She’d just seen Lambert chewed out by the others, and in that moment, he thought maybe she’d decided they were on the same side. She was looking to him for a way out. Her eyes burned into him until he looked away.
‘Shouldn’t she be blindfolded or something?’ he asked.
‘No point,’ Gilbert said, before he changed the subject. ‘That brings me to our second problem: Sam Ireland.’ Lambert and Neda started to object, but Gilbert raised his hands to signal he wasn’t finished. ‘I know you both like her, and I know we made a deal with her old man, but she’s changed the rules. And no matter what you say, Andy, you can’t control her.’
Joe nodded.
‘We’ve honoured the deal for a long time,’ he said. ‘Long enough, I’d say. She’s had her chance. Mackie too. This makes everything simple. We kill Sam, we kill Mackie, and we kill Hillcoat. Then the loose ends are tied up, and all we have to worry about are these solicitors that have turned Andy’s head.’
Joe shot Lambert another look as he said that last line, daring Lambert to read more into it. Daring him to overthink it. He knows I’m looking to trick him, Lambert thought. Somehow he knows.
‘And my tribute,’ Neda reminded them. ‘Something to send to Mishka’s family. But this is a lot of dead bodies to hide. It’s getting messy, Joseph.’
‘I have a plan for that—don’t worry.’
Joe stepped off to the side and nodded for Lambert to follow. Gilbert moved the other way and motioned for Nick. Lambert got in close to Joe, bracing himself and trying his best to look like he wasn’t ready to run.
‘Andy, son, sorry I snapped at you. It’s just stress is all, and you have been making a mess. A loud mess. You take Nick and get rid of Rab’s body. Once he’s out of the way, we’re into the home stretch.’ He paused, watching Gilbert whispering in Nick’s ear. Then he looked into Lambert’s eyes to make sure he was paying attention. ‘Afterwards, we need to do that thing for Neda, give her some blood and a fall guy. Makes sense to do it while getting rid of Rab, two for one.’
Lambert looked over at Nick, being given whatever version of the story was needed for him to walk into a trap. One last bit of violence, one last thing to do, and Lambert could feel like he’d cleaned up his mess.
Neda knelt down in front of Beth and smiled up into her face.
‘Hello, hen. You look scared. The guns, eh? Yes, I know. Don’t worry about them. Listen, we need your help. Mackie is out there on the warpath, and he’s going to cause a lot of damage. To himself too. It’s safer if we have a way of controlling him, and you’re going to tell us how.’
Beth stared at the gun in Senga’s hand and shook her head slowly.
Neda smiled again. ‘I know you’re trying to be brave, hen. Really, you’re doing well. And all these men here? They think they’re big and strong. They think they can scare you, and they have guns—guns make them feel like tough guys. But don’t worry—they’re not going to hurt you.’ She leant in closer, eye to eye with Beth. ‘It will be me who does that. You can die fast or slow—it’s up to you—but you are going to talk eventually.’
Beth started to cry.
‘I know, I know,’ Neda cooed, like she was talking to a child. ‘Would you like a drink first?’
Lambert turned and left. He didn’t want to be there.
Forty-One
Lambert drove to the lock-up, with Nick riding shotgun. The conversation on the short drive wasn’t sizzling with wit or warmth. Lambert cut occasional sideways glances at his passenger, wondering how the hell he was supposed to take Nick out.
Rab had been tied down, knees broken. Nick had been the one to do the breaking. Lambert had just stepped in at the end to put the full stop on the life story. Nick was not tied down, and nobody had done any breaking of knees or anything else. None that Lambert could see, anyway. Nick was strong and square, like a statue from Easter Island.
‘Any ideas how we get rid of Rab?’ Lambert said, hiding his nerves. ‘I’m new at this.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Nick kept his eyes on the road ahead. Occasionally he flicked his attention to a car coming from the other direction, before settling back on the white lines, watching them as if they might get away.
‘You’ve done this kind of thing before, right? Because I’ve only ever seen it from the other end. You know, the legal end. My job.’
‘Yes.’
Lambert waited for more, but it didn’t come. He thought, Right, and drove the rest of the way in silence. The space in front of the lock-up was empty, and there was nobody walking past as they climbed out of the car. Lambert took off his jacket and pulled off his T-shirt. It was still just about warm enough to get away with being topless for a few minutes, and it would help with the cleaning up afterwards. He swung the door open and stepped into the darkness.
‘We should probably take a look at what state he’s in before we decide how best to—’
He shut up when he felt the blade at the back of his neck.
Nick thrust forward to take out Lambert through the back of the neck. The only thing that spared Lambert’s life was the halogen lamp. He’d been in the act of bending down to find it in the darkness with his hands, and Nick had chosen that moment to attack, meaning Lambert was already rolling down out of the way.
Lambert didn’t get time to think. Nick adjusted to the movement and dropped down after him, letting his full weight bring Lambert down like a sack of potatoes, leading with the sharp blade held in both hands. The knife sliced deep into Lambert’s shoulder. All that stopped him screaming was the great weight already pressing down on his lungs. He kicked, then kicked again, connecting with Nick, but not having any effect. Spots of light were bursting in front of his eyes, illuminating the dim space around them. He felt Nick tugging at the knife, trying to pull it out of Lambert’s shoulder. That gave Lambert a few inches to move, and he rolled away, over onto his stomach.
Lambert’s own weight pressed down on the blade, pushing it deeper. This time he screamed. It filled his head and his thoughts; it filled his vision. A boot caught him in the mouth, shutting him up. Then it came in a second time, connecting with his right eye. Lambert’s world went black for a second. Nick was on him again then. Lambert snarled, an animal sound that seemed alien in his throat, and pulled at the knife in his shoulder. It came loose at an angle, slicing a line across his
chest as it went. Lambert climbed to his feet as the blade arced out ahead of him in the air, carried by the momentum of his hand pulling it loose.
Lambert felt something as the blade moved, but couldn’t be sure if it was contact with Nick. It felt like a knife passing through paper. As Lambert watched, though, Nick took a step back, then another, and then put his hands to his throat. A thick liquid spread over his fingers, and in the darkness it took a few seconds before Lambert realised it was blood. Nick made a gurgling sound. Then he fell inwards on himself, stumbling to the ground in the slow and graceless manner of a drunk. Lambert stood over him as the gurgle faded and the blood spread out across the floor.
Fuck.
Two murders in one day.
Lambert pressed his hand into the shoulder wound while he fumbled for the halogen lamp. When he found it, the neon light filled the room and lit up a scene from a horror film. One dead body lay wrapped in a plastic bundle a few feet away, covered by lime, while another now sprawled at his feet, blood congealing on the tiled floor around them.
It was a set-up.
He was to be Neda’s fall guy. Killed in a place where they already knew a body could be hidden away. Then—what? Cut off a body part to offer Neda? He felt light-headed from the wound, and staggered but then righted himself.
What to do now? Run. That was all there was for it. His DNA would be all over this place, but he could maybe cover that by torching it. Maybe. And there was no point going back to the barge—they wanted him dead. Run. Go grab Jess and just drive the fuck away. Keep going until the sun came up and they could find the nearest branch of their bank, then drive even further.
He heaved the spare can of petrol from the boot of his car and started pouring it over the two dead bodies and then in each corner of the lock-up. The smell filled his nose, clogging his breathing and making him even more light-headed, but he didn’t stop until the can was empty. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and was about to spark up when he caught himself.
Idiot.
Too woozy, not thinking straight.
That’s it. Light the flame while you’re stood in there. Coated in petrol and breathing the fumes. Why not just finish the job that Nick started. Lambert walked back out to the car and turned around, ready to spark up and throw the lighter in. In the neon glow of the room he caught something else, a small electric light in the corner. He stepped over to it and knelt down. In the bundle of Rab’s belongings, searched and dumped last night, was a mobile phone.
Rab’s phone.
Lambert thought he’d turned it off. These things were traceable. Lambert had solved a murder once by logging into the victim’s email account and activating a function that traced the dead guy’s phone. Google Maps had led them straight to the killer, who was still washing the blood off his clothes. It was a schoolboy error, leaving Rab’s phone on. Lambert had held the button down until the screen went dark, thought that had done it. Bloody smartphones, you could never tell when you were supposed to swipe the screen and when you were supposed to throw them in the river.
The display said there were a number of texts and voicemails. Rab’s phone wasn’t password protected, so Lambert could access them. Most were from Gary Fraser. Lambert read a couple, then listened to the most recent voicemail. Gary said he’d been hearing rumours, and if Rab still wanted the package, he needed to call back before 8.00 p.m. Lambert remembered what Gilbert had said earlier, that Anderson was arranging to borrow sixty grand.
That would be a nice going-away present. It would give Lambert and Jess a head start, especially if it took them a while to get at their savings. He texted Gary back to say he’d be there in half an hour.
Forty-Two
Lambert checked himself in the rear-view mirror. He’d wiped away the blood and dressed the wound, using the first aid kit in his car, and then pulled his T-shirt and jacket back on. The fabric stained a little, but it would be manageable for the short time he’d need. By the time more blood soaked through, he’d be back in the car and driving home.
How was he going to get the money from Gaz?
Fuck it. Who cared? He was looking into the eyes of a man who’d killed two people—it wasn’t like he needed a plan. He’d parked a couple of blocks over from Lebowskis to give himself a walk up, a chance to see if there was anyone else around who was a threat.
He locked the car and headed down the street, shuffling past people and trying hard not to look like he was favouring his shoulder as he walked. He stepped into the dim lights of the bar and looked for Gary Fraser, but he wasn’t there. He asked at the bar, but the barman said Gary had left a couple of minutes before with two friends.
Shit. He’d missed his chance.
A phone started to buzz in his pocket. He had three, so it took him a while to figure out which one it was. Rab’s phone was demanding his attention. The caller display said it was Gary Fraser.
He answered the call and put it to his ear, but it wasn’t Gary on the other end.
‘Turn around,’ said Sam. ‘I think we need to talk.’
Lambert turned to see Sam in the doorway, with Phil towering behind her.
Forty-Three
Mackie
Bunch of fucking bawbags.
Nobody’s telling me where I can find Gilbert. I try the Horse Shoe, but everyone shuts up when I walk in. Not like that scene in a film where everyone turns and stares, with their drinks in their hands. It’s just a muting of the volume. The people who don’t know me continue talking, drinking and eating. But the guys who know me? Aye, they shut up and stare.
It never seems to be this difficult for Columbo. But then, he always knows who he’s after at the start of every episode. Come to think of it, he’s of no real use to me as a mentor.
I push Wee Tommy Shittu into the wall beneath his portrait and shout at him, but he says nothing. I stamp Paul Carty’s hand into mush, but he stays quiet. Except for the scream. I turn to old Jackie, who used to play snooker with Gilbert in the Imperial on Mitchell Street, but he just throws up over my feet when I hit him in the gut. Then there’s Davie Stewart. He tells me I’m asking the wrong questions and that I should look at what’s really going on, but then he starts talking about global banking and lizards.
It wouldn’t be right to hurt him.
Tam, behind the bar, shouts out that he’s called the police and that he mentioned me to them by name. That’s just playing dirty. Fine, then—I’ll leave. I turn to address the whole room and tell them all that they can suck my boaby. Nobody makes a move. If I had a microphone, I’d drop it and walk out, but I don’t, so I just say, ‘Boom,’ and leave.
I walk round to Neda’s shop, but it’s all closed up. That’s usually no bother—there’s always someone in there in case we come calling to do a deal or ask a favour—but this time it’s for real. The lights are out, and there’s nobody moving in the darkness inside. That’s a bad sign.
I have to laugh.
For all Beth’s talk of wanting me to have a clear head, I was making more progress when I was all angry and confused. Now I’m just chasing my tail. I have no idea where to find Gilbert and why he’d send those guys to shoot me at—
Wait.
Hang on.
Davie Stewart was right. I don’t know how, but he was. I’ve been asking the wrong questions. My urge to find the fucker who shot Rab’s dog has got in the way. I’m assuming it’s all the same thing, but Rab pisses people off all the time. Could it all be one big—what’s the word?—coincidence?
What I really know is that two guys tried to shoot me. Two guys who knew where I was. I don’t know who they were or why they took a shot at me. Gilbert sent the goons to get me at the hospital, but maybe he was just protecting someone. He’s not the sort to hire hit men in from outside.
So who the hell were they?
And why did they come for me?
Forty-Four
/>
Back to the beginning.
It’s an hour’s walk to Copland Road. I could usually do it quicker, but with my bad leg I decide to take it slow. I walk along the Clyde, heading away from the city, past the Barge restaurant and under the motorway, before crossing over at the Squinty Bridge. Then down further along the other side of the river, past the shiny modern science centre and the Imax cinema that looks like a large silver turd, before turning into Summertown Road and then the bottom of Copland Road.
The house is part of Neda’s whoring business, and Rab let her use it in exchange for the occasional freebie. He’d sold other South Side houses to her years back, giving her places to set up shop as part of some big peace deal they all negotiated, but he wouldn’t give up the house in Copland Road because it had sentimental value. It had been his maw’s house.
I see the thick black smoke before I turn the corner at the bottom of the road, and the smell of smoke is in the air. There’s the sound of fire engines off in the distance, getting closer, and I can already see the flashing lights of one on the scene. A crowd has gathered in the street, and as I draw near, I see what I already kind of knew.
The Copland house is burning down.
Of course it is. This is Glasgow—things burn down.
Someone is covering his tracks.
I’m one of those tracks, so I don’t want to stick around in the crowd in case I get spotted. Whether it’s the cops who see me or someone from the other side, either way I’ll be fucked. I turn and head back the way I came. I need to slow down and lean on a wall for a few minutes because I’m feeling light-headed and woozy again. I guess this would be why that doctor told me to rest.
Oooops.
I should probably take more of Beth’s pills too, and keep this nice clear head of mine, but she’s not around and I don’t have any on me. I try to find my phone, but I don’t have it. When was the last time I saw it? Probably at the whorehouse. And none of these clothes are mine, anyway, so why the fuck am I going through the pockets for my fucking phone? Another problem to fix. I’ll add it to the list, right beneath the entry that says ‘everything’.