Relatively Guilty (Best Defence series Book 1)

by William H. S. McIntyre

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Romeo told Jake, the hand not holding the gun shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlights. He walked around the other side of my car so that it was between him and the vehicle that crept ever so slowly towards us. I went to the door and stood at the top of the steps.

  ‘Who is it?’ Romeo yelled to Jake. For the first time I detected a note of uncertainty in the hitman’s voice.

  ‘Test-driver returning a motor.’

  Romeo’s head swivelled as he tried to keep an eye on his three captives as well as the oncoming vehicle that had so inconveniently arrived on the scene. I knew what he’d be thinking. The whole situation was snow-balling. He’d come to shoot Malky, tailed him here hoping to catch him as he trundled back down the dark track from Jake’s yard. My arrival had complicated matters, as had Jake’s presence, but he could handle a couple of extras at a push. Now that a fourth had turned up, this was quickly turning into a massacre. That was a lot of bullets, a lot of noise. He had a choice to make: kill us, all of us, or walk away and try to kill Malky another day. I'd never know if he reached a decision. Wheels spinning, engine roaring, headlights now a blur, the car shot forward, striking my car broadside, shunting it sideways, slamming it into Romeo, knocking him over. The gun flew from his hand and clattered to the ground. By the time my battered car had landed back on four wheels, Big Deek Pudney was out of the other vehicle with a wrecking-bar in his meaty grip. He went over, kicked the pistol further out of Romeo’s reach and wrenched the young man to his feet.

  I ran out of the cabin, down the steps, with Malky close behind. Deek raised the metal bar.

  ‘No!’ Jake shouted. He grabbed the wrecking-bar from the big man and cast it aside. Romeo groaned. Jake punched him a straight jab in the face, breaking his nose. He spun on a heel and walked up the steps to the cabin from where there came the screech of a filing cabinet drawer, scraping along on un-oiled runners. Seconds later Jake was back carrying a hammer. In quick succession he struck Romeo savagely, first on one knee and then the other. The lanky young man cried out in pain and Deek let him fall to the ground.

  ‘Right. I’m going to find out what this is all about,’ Jake said. He pointed a stubby blood-stained finger at me. ‘And it better not have anything to do with you.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with Robbie,’ Malky said. ‘This is all about me.’

  The rain had washed most of the blood from Jake’s face and the cut on his head was now atop a raised dark blue swelling.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Is it, now?’ He gave Malky a wink then turned to his victim with a snarl on his lips. ‘Deek, fetch the tennis ball.’

  CHAPTER 58

  Thirty-year-old Highland Park. A gift from a client. I‘d been saving it for a special occasion. Being alive - that was pretty special. I broke into the wooden hand-engraved presentation case and downed several swift halfs, oblivious to the burnt orange, chocolate and wood-smoke overtures promised in the tasting notes.

  Malky was in bed. I was wide awake in the livingroom trying to make sense of the night’s events. Soon my thoughts were disturbed by strange sounds drifting through from the bedroom. Starting off with a few practice grunts, gradually increasing in frequency and volume, eventually the entire house resounded with a cacophony of snores. How Malky could sleep at a time like this, I didn’t know. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism.

  I closed the bedroom door on my brother’s rumblings, poured myself another dram and lay on the couch. When my wounded knee had responded to the single malt anaesthetic, I hobbled to the window and stood there, staring out in a trance, wide awake and yet longing for sleep. It was still raining. A million raindrops pelted the pavement. Torrents coursed the dark streets and gurgled into drains. So much water. If only it could wash away the memories of that evening, the thoughts of what had happened and what would have happened but for big Deek’s timely intervention. A vision: three chalk outlines on fresh tarmac, cordoned off by strips of yellow police tape. I drained my glass of Orkney’s finest. Next door Malky loosed another rapid barrage of snores, not enough to drown the recurring sound in my head of forged-iron pounding flesh and cracking bone. I poured myself another drink.

  Could I have done more for Romeo? Could I have pleaded more earnestly on behalf of the person Dexy Doyle had sent to kill Malky; the young man who had held a gun to my own head with, I was sure, every intention of blowing a hole in it? I consoled myself with the thought that I’d tried, so had Malky, but our pleas for clemency were a futile exercise. In the end there had been nothing for it other than to leave, distance ourselves, if nothing else secure in the knowledge that Jake Turpie had the necessary know-how and heavy plant equipment to rid the world without trace of Dexy Doyle’s young hitman.

  I returned to the couch, stretched out, whisky glass balanced on my chest. What was now of most concern was not whether Romeo’s disappearance would attract the attention of the Authorities, but Dexy’s reaction when his right-hand man did not return to Glasgow with Malky’s head on a platter. The situation needed a great deal of thought. I closed my eyes.

  The muffled sound of my mobile phone vibrating woke me at seven o’clock to find myself lying in a very uncomfortable position, a damp patch across the front of my shirt and a whisky glass at my side, set to impale me if I rolled over. Malky must have heard me stirring.

  ‘You awake?’ he shouted from the kitchen. ‘I’m making coffee. You want some?’

  I told him the answer to both his questions was yes and commenced the hunt for my phone which I eventually located down the side of a cushion along with a pen, a fifty-pence piece and several pistachio shells. The caller’s number was withheld. I answered. It was Dexy. I hadn’t expected him to be in touch quite so soon.

  ‘You got my money?’ he asked. In the absence of Romeo, he was obviously sounding me out for news. He couldn’t very well come straight out with it and ask if Malky was dead.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I stalled.

  ‘I mean,’ Dexy said. ‘Where’s my fifty grand?’

  I had to think fast. In Dexy Doyle’s world, he who hesitated was shot.

  ‘Your boy’s got it,’ I told him. ‘And another thing, I thought I told you to have him stay away from me.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He breezed in here last night, back of nine, looking for Malky. I knew you must have sent him for the money. Luckily, it was ready.’

  ‘Where is the Hun?’

  ‘Malky? No idea. Went out last night and I’ve not seen hide nor hair since.’

  ‘Robbie!’ yelled Malky from the kitchen with impeccable timing. ‘You want toast?’

  I tried to cover the mouthpiece, wherever the mouthpiece was on the tiny, silver phone. But I was wasting my time. When I put the phone back to my ear there was no-one there.

  CHAPTER 59

  After breakfast, I took Malky to my office and left him there in the protective custody of Grace-Mary and Zoë, before setting off with Andy for just another day at the Sheriff Court.

  Considering my near-death experience of the evening before, followed by a dark night of the soul, I felt remarkably well and only a little hung-over. I couldn’t shake the weirdest feeling that it had all been a bad dream. Now that I had woken up into the light of a new day, everything would be all right; I could take stock, put things into proper perspective. It was like when I was a boy and Malky used to make me stay up late to watch horror films on the portable TV in our bedroom, the volume turned down low so that Dad wouldn’t hear. A grisly enough movie and somehow the thought of getting up, going off to school and facing Mrs Lennox, scourge of Primary Five, didn’t seem so bad after all.

  Wrapped in my warm blanket of denial, it was only upon my return from morning court that the cold dawn of reality broke over me as I spied Dexy Doyle sitting on the bonnet of a highly familiar emerald green Jaguar that was parked outside my office. Another man was there with him, about Dexy’s own age though not nearly so tall. He was wearing
a Prince of Wales checked suit that had probably been all the rage in the 70’s. I thought I recognised him from my visit to the pub those few weeks previously, when I’d gone to see Dexy about Malky and first set eyes on Romeo in his green and white hooped top.

  Dexy held out a hand. ‘Keys.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘The keys to the motor. Where are they?’

  In something of a daze, I let myself be pushed through the entranceway, along the close and up the stairs towards my office, Dexy still pushing and shoving, until we reached reception.

  ‘That you back?’ Grace-Mary said. She was sitting at the phones behind the reception desk, writing bring-backs into the diary. She didn’t look up. ‘You’ve just missed Mr Turpie, he was dropping some stuff off. I don’t think he’s too happy with—’

  A final shove to the back of my neck sent me staggering across the room.

  Grace-Mary leapt to her feet. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yeah,’ Andy echoed, from his seat at the window, ‘what’s going on?’

  ‘Leave it,’ I told them. ‘Everything’s all right. There’s just been a slight misunderstanding.’

  Grace-Mary showed no signs of giving up on her protests.

  ‘Really, it’s fine,’ I told her. Why don’t you and Andy go down to Sandy’s for a cup of tea?’ I managed what I hoped was a re-assuring smile. ‘Bring me back a coffee.’

  Grace-Mary came around the front of the desk, gave me a long sceptical look and left, pushing Andy ahead of her out of the door.

  There was no one else in reception. Malky must have got wind and made himself scarce. Zoë, I assumed, was at lunch. I sat down behind the reception desk in the seat vacated by my secretary moments before.

  Dexy kicked the door shut. ‘Tell me again about the money.’

  ‘I told you. Your boy came to my place last night. I gave him the money. He left.’

  ‘Then why’s my car parked outside here?’

  Good question. Until I’d arrived back at the office, I’d rather assumed that the emerald green Jag which I had last seen at Jake’s place, was now crushed and gone, along, I strongly suspected, with Dexy’s hooped hitman.

  I acted the daft laddie; not difficult in the circumstances. ‘Did you not drive it here?’

  ‘I came with him.’ Dexy tilted his head at his companion in the checked suit.

  ‘Then I don’t know why it’s there,’ I answered truthfully.

  Dexy lowered his brow. ‘I gave the boy a loan of the motor last night to come through here to…’ his speech faltered only a little, ‘to collect the money.’ Dexy leaned across the desk at me, his face inches from mine. ‘Why is it outside and him missing?’

  We both knew the real reason why Dexy had sent Romeo though to Linlithgow the night before. Earlier talk of blood money had merely been his way of lulling Malky into a false sense of security. He’d never expected to be paid, his only ever intention was to avenge his daughter’s death.

  ‘You ever think he might have just taken the money and caught a train?’ I asked. ‘The station’s at the end of the High Street. If he was making off with fifty grand of your cash it would be a lot less conspicuous than driving about in a bright green Jag.’

  Dexy seemed to give that alternative scenario some thought. Suddenly his eyes darted right. He stepped to the side, reached out and lifted a set of car keys from my desk. They were sitting on top of a shoe–box, which in turn was perched precariously on a stack of mail and case files at the end of the desk. I was trying to work out how the car keys and shoe-box had come to be there when Dexy back-handed me across the face.

  I wiped blood from my top lip, got up from the seat and moved away from him. Dexy pulled himself to his full height, arms out from his sides, fists clenched. His pal looked uncomfortable. He put a hand on Dexy’s shoulder.

  ‘Take it easy, boss,’ he said. ‘Let’s not do this here.’

  ‘You made a deal,’ I said. ‘The flat in London and a hundred K. The flat’s being transferred and I gave half the money to your boy last night. Malky’s sticking to his side of the bargain, what’s your problem?’

  Dexy seized me by the throat. ‘I’ll tell you what my problem is. My problem is that I don’t believe a word of it. I don’t believe Malky Munro has got a pot to piss in far less fifty thousand to hand over just like that and so you’re taking me to see him, right now.’

  I had twenty years on Dexy. I didn’t want to fight but if it came to that, I wasn’t unduly worried about fisticuffs. What I didn’t like the look of was the lump in the pocket of his side-kick’s checked jacket. One thing was for certain, I wasn’t going for a ride in any Jag with the two of them.

  ‘Move!’ Dexy pushed me towards the door. I put a hand out to steady myself, coming into contact with the mysterious shoebox and knocking it over. The rubber band holding it together snapped. The lid fell off and stacks of fifty pound notes spilled out over my desk and onto the floor. Fifties - suddenly all was clear, or, at least, clearer.

  ‘So, you’ve got my car and my money?’ Dexy said.

  As calmly as I could, I righted the shoe-box, went around the side of the desk and began to fill it again with the wads of cash. ‘You know Malky’s got a radio show down south. He’s also been doing some advertising work. We did a photo-shoot on Sunday. You’ve had your first instalment. You’ll get the second when it’s due. Now, I don’t know if your boy has really taken your cash and legged it or whether this is some kind of a shake-down—’

  Dexy wasn’t listening. He grabbed me by the back of my neck and pushed me in the direction of the door again.

  The man in the checked jacket reached for the handle just as the door opened and Grace-Mary barged into the room. Apparently, the nearest the staff had got to Sandy’s café was the corridor outside my room.

  ‘Right. You two.’ My secretary pointed a finger at Dexy and his pal in turn, ‘Out!’

  The man at Dexy’s side took a pace backwards and looked to his boss for instructions.

  ‘Andy! Call the police!’ Grace-Mary yelled through to my office. A snarl stretched the pocked skin of Dexy’s face. Glaring at my secretary he slammed the palm of his hand down squashing the lid of the shoe-box. ‘I’ll go but I’m taking this with me.’ He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pushed his face into mine. ‘And I’ll be seeing your brother soon – very soon.’ He lifted the box from the desk and tucked it under his arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he ordered his associate. The checked jacket shoved Grace-Mary aside and the two of them left.

  Andy re-appeared, white-faced.

  Grace-Mary opened her mouth.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ I said, before she could start firing questions at me. ‘And, by the way, thanks.’

  She held my stare for a moment and then over her shoulder said to Andy, ‘nip along to Sandy’s and get Robbie a coffee.’

  I went through to my own room and looked out of the window to see the two men leave the mouth of the close and exit onto the pavement below. Dexy climbed into the Jag and his friend walked further along the High Street to a car parked at the bus stop.

  I had to warn Malky to stay low. After that I wanted to phone Jake and find out what he thought he was playing at.

  ‘Zoë!’ I shouted through to reception. ‘Find out where Malky is and then get me Jake Turpie on the phone.’

  ‘Zoë’s not back from lunch,’ Grace-Mary said. ‘I’ll get them.’

  The phone buzzed again. It was Grace-Mary. ‘I’ve got Mr Turpie holding. I can’t get through to Malky. All I’m getting from your place is an engaged tone and your dad’s number is ringing out.’

  She patched me through to our landlord.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I demanded. ‘The car, the cash—’

  ‘You’re a grass.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How come they dropped the charges against you?’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘That fifty you were charged with - how co
me the case got dropped?’

  ‘Jake, I tried to phone you, and, anyway, nothing was said – I mean – have you had any unexpected visitors?’

  ‘Naw,’ Jake grudgingly admitted.

  ‘Well, there you are then.’

  ‘But I got told—’

  ‘Be serious. Would I grass on you?’

  I could almost hear his brain whirring.

  ‘Okay. Touch nothing. I’ll send Deek over,’ he said after a period of radio silence.

  ‘Jake,’ I asked, with a sneaking suspicion of what the answer might be. ‘Our friend from last night… is he…away?’

  ‘Do not touch that motor,’ he said. ‘Just leave it alone and give Deek the keys when he comes.’

  He hung up.

  I called back but he didn’t answer.

  Ten minutes later, a car screeched to a halt and Deek Pudney appeared at reception, looking for the keys to the Jag - and also the Jag.

  ‘Gone,’ I told him.

  ‘What about the shoebox?’

  ‘It’s gone too.’

  A worried expression crept over his craggy features. Without another word, he turned and stomped back down the stairs. I ran after him.

  ‘Deek,’ I said, catching up with him at the end of the close. ‘I want to know what happened to our friend last night.’ He ignored the question. I skipped past and stood in front of him. ‘Thanks.’ He looked at me with a blank expression, which, to be fair, was his face’s default setting. ‘For last night.’

  He grunted and made to push me aside. I stood my ground.

  ‘This is urgent,’ I told him. ‘It’s no good me trying to speak to Jake because he won’t speak to me and I need to know what’s happened - for all our sakes. Yours too.’

  The size of him he could have picked me up and moved me out of the way. He didn’t. Instead he rubbed the back of his head, scratched his cropped hair and grimaced. ‘Jake was going to crush the motor last night. Then he thought it would be suspicious, him starting up the crusher so late on. This morning he hears that they dropped the charge against you for that fifty. Next thing he’s going off his head, roaring at me, hiding stuff and burning other stuff and telling me there’s no time to crush anything and shoots off in the jag taking our friend with him.