by Jay Stringer
‘But he stopped lying?’
Andy nodded and took another slow breath. ‘His new book, he started writing about things he was involved in, things that he’d sworn never to tell. See, it turns out Rab liked to burn things.’
‘Things?’
‘Buildings. Cars. Fields. For all his tough talk in the books, what he really did, and what he made his money from, was arson. If someone was holding out on a security payment, Rab would be called in and the building would go up in smoke. If there was a listed building, something that was holding up a property deal or a large development, Rab could make that building go away.’
‘That seems to happen a lot around here.’
Glasgow had long had an open secret about arson. Large parts of the South Side had vanished. Listed buildings, churches and old town halls had been standing in the way of the council being able to sell land, and the buildings all had a habit of burning down in mysterious circumstances. The crimes were never solved.
‘You’re not kidding.’ Andy sipped his drink. ‘That big church in The Gorbals? That was him. The Co-op building? Him. Property deals going back twenty or thirty years have involved his matchbook. But he’s just a small part of it, and when the other people got wind that he was going to write about his arson habit in his new book—’
‘He became a problem. Names. Come on. Who was in this with him?’
‘Well, Gilbert Neil tried to talk to him. Tried to find out what was going to be in the book and to get Rab to agree to cancel it and write some other pish instead. But he came away from that meeting yesterday and said Rab was being a dick and that he wouldn’t say what was in the book but that he hadn’t finished it yet.’
‘So killing him now would mean killing the book.’
‘Yes.’
‘So I get why people would be taking shots at Rab last night, and that accounts for the mess that was cleaned up at his flat, but why would it mean someone taking shots at Mackie? How does he tie into all this?’
Andy stared at me blankly for a second.
‘I, uh, don’t know. Good question.’
‘Andy, you’re sweet when you’re being an idiot. I was only really asking for effect. I don’t think the people who went for Rab are the same people who went for Mackie.’ I watched his eyes. They answered a few of my questions. ‘How much do you guess it would cost to hire two hit men to take out someone with a violent reputation like Mackie?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I guess it would take around sixty grand. Or maybe a little more than that, but perhaps Rab had the rest already and paid that up front, and the sixty was needed to pay them off when the job was done.’
Phil turned to stare at me, his expression a mix of shock and pride. ‘Rab?’
‘Only answer that really makes sense. Jenny was killed after she failed to get information about a property developer. Hillcoat. Yes, you know the name, right? She was Mackie’s girlfriend, so she’d be known to Rab. She’d worked from school for Hillcoat’s company for work experience, and then she went back full-time. Maybe Rab put her up to it. Maybe he just introduced her to someone who did. Then when she failed, they shut her up to protect their deals, and blamed Mackie.’
‘Why would Rab frame his own nephew?’ Phil asked. ‘And why would he then want him killed?’
‘Well, the second one will be easy to answer once we figure out the first. We just need to know who he felt was worth protecting more than his own family. Andy, I asked for names.’
‘I can’t.’
‘With everything you’ve got on the line at this point, I’m pretty sure you can. Who’s still worth protecting by now?’
He hesitated. There was something else there. I could see him still fighting back. Then he slumped in his seat and gave it up. ‘Joe McLean.’
‘Your father-in-law?’
‘Yes. I don’t know all the details. Only what he’s let me know. He was always corrupt when he was on the force. He’s got stories going right back to Bible John about the things they used to get away with. He saw what was going on with the property deals, and he muscled in, took over. He’s been running the racket ever since.’
‘And how did he drag you into it?’
‘By my dick. Or my ego. Both.’ He took another long pull on his drink and wiped at his lips with his thumb. ‘I was a young guy with a uniform. I was getting off on being a cop, all the prestige. It was different back then. It was a club—everyone stuck together, everyone had your back. But some people seemed to live better lives than others—better houses, better booze, better holidays. Joe put his arm around me, told me he could show me how it all worked. And then I met Jess—I met his daughter, and after that it was all easy.’
He couldn’t look me in the eye. I cut him some slack. It must be hard trying to talk about falling in love with your wife when you’re drinking with a woman you’ve screwed behind the wife’s back.
‘So your father-in-law is the one who ordered Rab lifted?’ I waited until he nodded. ‘And it’s a good guess that maybe he was involved in the Jenny Towler thing too. He could be the reason Rab betrayed Mackie. Maybe out of fear—who knows. I’ll need to figure that out before I can prove anything.’
‘You’re not going to try, surely?’
I ignored that. ‘Andy, what’s your part in all of this. Just how involved are you?’
‘I know about the arson and the property deals. I keep an eye on the police investigations. There are guys like me at the council too, people who make sure it all works the right way.’
‘And Rab’s murder?’
He took too long to answer, and something inside me died. He was in this up to his neck. And I’d let the slimy fucker get up close and personal with me. I felt sick, but I held it back. I needed to keep him talking. I imagined I was playing poker—I didn’t want him to see that I’d got his cards marked.
‘I didn’t know about that,’ he said. ‘I swear. Me and Jess, we’ve been planning to run away, leave. That’s why I came here tonight. I was going to make a grab for the money and use it to get away.’
‘You had Rab’s phone.’
The wheels turned behind his eyes. It was a master class in watching someone lie.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Like I said, they’ve tried to set me up. I started asking questions about Rab. I figured out what had happened, and they didn’t like it. One of their guys beat me up, took me to where his body is and tried to kill me too. They put my blood at the scene, wanted it to look like it was all down to me.’
I risked a look at my phone. The screen had gone dark, but I trusted that the app was still recording. It wouldn’t be catching the look in his eyes, the telltale signs, but it would be a good starting point.
I could push it home now. He was hurt and not thinking straight, and it would be easy enough to trip him into a real admission, but I needed something else first.
‘And my dad. How does he figure into all this?’
He smiled.
‘Your old man figured all this out a long time ago. Part of some other case he was working. He got it all and had proof.’
‘What happened next?’
‘He made a deal.’
Forty-Seven
Lambert
Lambert hated having to lie to Sam. She was one of the good guys, and he was really fond of her. But he needed to build a way out of this. They’d caught him red-handed with Rab’s phone, coming for money that only Rab and Gaz would have known was waiting there, and it was important they believed him. It might buy him the time he needed to get back to Jess and leave town.
They did believe him. Lambert could feel it. He could see Sam was hesitant, but in her eyes she was buying what he was saying. He knew her well enough to see that. Phil? He was more of a mystery. Lambert had never slept with him, so he didn’t have any understanding to go on, but Phil was
nodding in all the right places.
‘Your old man figured all this out a long time ago,’ Lambert said. He saw a flash in Sam’s eyes. ‘Part of some other case he was working. He got it all and had proof.’
‘What happened next?’
‘He made a deal,’ Lambert said.
Here he was on solid ground. He could tell the truth about all this because he didn’t really know much about it, and there was nothing to incriminate him. Sam and Phil reacted differently. Sam nodded. She’d already been figuring out that her old man was involved somehow. Phil got angry. A young boy being told his hero father might not have been all hero. Lambert kept his eyes on Sam because she was the one talking to him, but he was keeping track of Phil’s reactions. Fatso looked like he was building to something.
‘What kind of deal?’
Sam was holding her voice level. Keeping emotions in check.
‘Your dad had tapes, I think. Something, anyway. Something he could hold over Joe. But he knew it was all too big for him. As good as he was, and as connected as he was, he was just a PI. And he had a family. A single dad with two kids? He had to make the deal.’
Phil leant in. ‘She asked you what kind of deal.’ He almost spat as he spoke.
‘You two. That was the deal. He would back off, and the evidence would go away, and he would always be allowed to work in the city, and you two would always be safe. That’s why you’ve lasted so long today, Sam. They’ve been holding back, trying to stick to the deal, but they’ve decided enough is enough. When they find you, they’ll kill you.’
Sam nodded and smiled. Lambert loved the reaction. She was every bit her dad now, a full-on private investigator. ‘So where’s his evidence?’ she asked.
‘What?’ Lambert and Phil asked at the same time.
‘Well, for that deal to have worked, and for it to have lasted as long as it has, he has to have been holding it over them, as you said. They have to believe that the evidence could be released at any time.’
‘Sam.’ Phil talked in a low voice, as if Lambert wouldn’t hear it. ‘You checked the files. There’s nothing there.’
‘Exactly,’ Sam said. ‘It has to be somewhere safe. Secure. Because Joe doesn’t have it either, otherwise he wouldn’t still be worried about it. The evidence is out there somewhere.’
Damn. She was right. For Joe to have been backing off all this time meant that old Jim Ireland had put it somewhere safe. Somewhere protected. And if it was still out there to be found, it was also still out there to be used. One last roll of the dice for Lambert. If he could find the proof before anyone else, he could use it the same way Jim Ireland had done.
Lambert and Jess wouldn’t need to run and hide like teenagers. They could make a deal with Joe, walk away on their own terms.
‘Where do you think it is?’ Lambert tried not to sound too interested as he asked. Playing it casual. Playing it cool. Playing it like he didn’t have a giant stab wound in his shoulder.
Sam sat in silence, sipping from her drink. She watched Lambert over the top of her glass. Phil was still simmering. He had the whole male pride thing going on. Even though he knew that what had been said about his dad was true, he still needed to lash out. Lambert waited for Sam to finish drinking. He knew she was thinking.
‘I’ll find it.’ Sam placed her glass back on the table. ‘Me and Phil. Who killed Rab?’
Lambert’s mouth opened and closed. He coughed into his drink. He hadn’t been expecting the sudden change in gears. ‘What?’
‘Don’t treat us like idiots. You’re trying to talk your way out. Aye, all right, I’ve let you have a run at it. But why the hell would they be trying to set you up for murder? Why go to all that trouble for a body that hasn’t been found and a crime that hasn’t been reported?’
‘I don’t know. Desperate people do crazy things.’
Sam stared at Lambert. He realised how badly he’d judged the situation. He couldn’t read her at all. She leant forward. ‘Were you there when Rab got taken? Were you at his flat? Have you had that dog bite looked at?’
Lambert looked at his hand, where his second bandage of the day was in bad shape after the fight with Nick. ‘Sam, honest, you’ve got this wrong.’
Lambert reached out to touch her arm, but Phil blocked him again and slammed the outstretched hand on the table. Both men jumped up, ready to challenge each other, but even as Lambert’s blood rose, he knew he wasn’t in a fit state to fight. His shoulder threw him a friendly shot of pain as a reminder. The barman pressed up against the edge of the counter and shouted for them to behave or leave, and both Phil and Lambert put their hands up to show that they were calm.
Lambert had knocked Sam’s phone in the tussle, and it had activated the screen. He saw numbers ticking away, a timer counting upwards, and a big red light. A recorder. She’d been taping the whole thing. Their eyes met, and they both knew what he’d seen. They held the gaze for a brief moment before Lambert made a grab for the phone. Sam had seen it coming and scooped the phone out of the way.
The barman shouted again, and this time there was no final warning; he was ordering them out. Lambert was already up and running. He’d been set up by both sides and had no friends left to turn to. But there was one man who would know for sure where the evidence was buried.
He still had one play.
Forty-Eight
Sam
So my dad had figured it all out. He’d found proof. Something that was concrete enough to scare McLean, something he’d been able to use to get a deal out of them. What was it? More important, where was it? He wouldn’t have handed it over, and these days he probably didn’t even remember having it. There had been nothing in his files, unless I’d been searching for the wrong thing. But it wasn’t safe for me to go back to the flat for another look.
Before I could deal with that, though, I had something else to do.
Hillcoat was a sitting duck. He wouldn’t even know it. Senga had betrayed him, and he needed to be warned. Phil drove while I stressed. I only broke the silence to offer directions. We got lost twice. It was the problem with being a pedestrian; I could get pretty much anywhere on foot, but in a car I lost all sense of direction.
In less than a day I’d gone from not really wanting to be a private investigator to having the kinds of hunches my dad used to talk about after an exciting case.
I’d known Andy was lying.
I’d known Rab had been taken.
And as we pulled up outside Hillcoat’s house, I knew something was wrong.
It wasn’t so much a hunch as a warning. I wasn’t being drawn in to investigate deeper; I was being told to run away. There was nothing magic about it. Our brains are constantly taking in details. Most of the time we don’t know about it until they’ve been processed, turned into some complete whole. In the case of danger, though, I think our brains spit the information straight out to us, giving us the rush of adrenalin or the hairs that stand up on the backs of our necks. Somewhere deep down I’d noticed that the gate was open, whereas it had been kept closed on my first visit. The front door wasn’t fully shut, and every light in the building seemed to be on, shining out like a bright beacon, daring people to look at it. And more than all of that, the signal I would most regret ignoring was the sound of police sirens in the distance.
I ignored them all and stepped in through the front door.
There was a scratching sound coming from upstairs. With Phil close in behind me, begging me to turn around and leave with him, I climbed the staircase. Halfway up, Phil put a hand on my arm and stopped me.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing a few steps ahead.
The outline of a branded running shoe was pressed into the carpet, a footprint etched in the dark burgundy of drying blood. The print was facing towards us, in the manner of someone running down the stairs. The scratching sound came again, and I pressed on. Phil
didn’t move. He stayed halfway up the stairs trying not to look scared. I stepped onto the landing and paced quietly along the carpeted floor. I walked past the room that Hillcoat had shown me before. The door was open, and I could see that all the photographs had been taken off the wall, and the documents were all gone from the desk.
The scratching was coming from further along the hall, behind a large door at the end. I touched the wood of the door for a second, trying to decide what to do. The scratching was low down, at the base of the door, and it was accompanied by a sniffing that increased as I drew near. I heard the frantic whining of a dog.
Bobby.
I opened the door, and he ran past me, along the hallway and then down the stairs. He didn’t stop to inspect Phil, who yelped as the furry brown blur raced by him. I turned and looked back into the room. I was becoming accustomed to the smell of blood, and it didn’t turn my stomach as I stepped into the room and saw a trail of it across the floor. There were two large lumps of meat on the bed. I took a couple of paces closer, enough to make out the blood-streaked faces of Hillcoat and Beth. The sounds around me snapped into focus. Phil called my name from somewhere behind me as the sound of the police sirens now filled the air. Red and blue lights strafed the room from the large window, and car doors slammed shut.
On the floor below I heard the front door crash open, and the police started calling out, warning of their arrival. I stepped back out into the hallway and looked down at Phil, who was raising his hands above his head. I followed suit and started trying to get my story straight in my mind.
Forty-Nine
Lambert
Lambert climbed over the locked gates of the care home. The grounds between him and the building were blanketed in darkness. In the summer it stayed relatively light even at this time of the evening, but the darkness was enough to keep him hidden unless he made any sudden moves. The elderly residents had been in bed for hours, and the day staff had gone home. With the gates locked, they switched the lights off in the car park and gardens.