Falling Fast

by Neil Broadfoot

  ‘No’ fuckin’ likely. I met him a few times, though, he was always asking around, seeing if there were any jobs going. He worked in a few of the clubs on the West End and down the rougher end of the Grassmarket.’

  Doug nodded. ‘So how come you never took him on?’

  ‘Loose cannon,’ Rab replied. ‘Had a monstrous temper on him, by all accounts, could fly off the handle at any moment. Bad for business. And he was a dealer, too.’

  Doug’s ears pricked up. ‘What? Speed, E?’

  ‘Naw, the hard shit. Heroin, crack, that kind of thing. He would deal it in the clubs, wasnae particular about who he sold to either as long as he got his money.’

  ‘You got any idea who he was working for? What clubs he was dealing in?’

  Rab’s bushy eyebrows met in a deep frown. ‘Why the interest, Doug? I thought this guy was yesterday’s news.’

  Maybe for everyone who hasn’t had the shit beaten out of them and their car impaled, Doug thought. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But I’ve been working on a few things recently, and McGinty’s name keeps popping up. I was hoping you could fill in some of the gaps.’

  Rab gazed at Doug coolly for a moment, as though sizing him up. ‘It’s important to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, Rab, it is. Anything you could tell me would be really helpful.’

  ‘Well, the truth is I don’t know much more than I’ve already told you,’ Rab replied, draining his glass and getting up for another. ‘But I can find out for you, if you want.’

  ‘That would be great, Rab, thanks a lot.’

  Rab shrugged. It always paid to keep those who could portray you and your business in a good light happy. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll make a few calls, let you know what comes up.’

  ‘Great, Rab,’ Doug said, draining his whisky. He blinked back tears as it scalded its way down his throat. It felt as if someone had lit a bonfire in his stomach. ‘My mobile’s on all the time.’

  ‘No problem. But, Doug, one favour?’

  Doug froze. Uh-oh. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Don’t encourage, Janet. She’s bad enough with that fucking hairdresser of hers as it is without young guys like you complimenting her.’

  38

  ‘Just what the fuck am I paying you for, anyway?’

  Charlie sighed. He had been expecting this call since he had seen the afternoon edition of the Tribune.

  ‘Look, I…’

  ‘I thought you said you were going to deal with this!’ the voice hissed. ‘For fuck’s sake, I even gave you the cash to buy a gun, and still you can’t just get to that bastard!’

  Charlie reached for the bottle of whisky at the side of his chair, picked it up and then put it aside again. No. The whisky would dull the pain, but he didn’t want it dulled. He wanted it fresh, wanted to remember what he owed McGinty, and why it was so important he had a little face-to-face chat with him.

  ‘Look,’ he said slowly, as if trying to explain the rules of the game to a sulking child. ‘I’m not psychic. I didn’t know the little shit would pull something like that, did I? I thought he would be sticking to you like glue until he could get you alone.’

  ‘Brilliant fucking plan. Follow me around and hope you manage to get to McGinty before he gets to me?’

  Nah, Charlie thought. I’ll let the bastard have his fun with you first, then I’ll deal with him.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Charlie said. His jaw was starting to ache from all the talking. ‘I fucked up, I admit it. But I’ll get him, don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, and how are you going to do that? If you haven’t noticed, his face is splashed all over the papers and television. If he’s got any sense, he’ll have jumped in that car of yours and headed for the Hebrides.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Charlie said, filing away the dig about his car for future reference. When he had dealt with McGinty, this bastard was going to be next to pay, with interest. Nobody took the piss like that. Nobody.

  ‘He’s got scores to settle. He’ll still be around.’

  ‘And how are you going to find him now? If he is still in the area, he’ll be keeping a low profile.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Charlie said, glancing back down at the Tribune. ‘I’ll make him come to me.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that?’

  Beside the main story on how the police were looking for McGinty in connection with the disturbance at Buchans’ home there was a side panel, illustrated with a very satisfying photograph of that little twat McGregor sprawled across a garden path, scrambling for a piece of paper like an old wino lunging for a dropped can of beer. The picture made Charlie smile.

  ‘Oh, I’ll think of something,’ he said.

  ‘Well, make sure you fucking do. Fast. I don’t want…’

  The phone shattered as it struck the wall. Charlie closed his eyes, took breaths as deep as his ruined nose would allow, forced himself to calm down. Later. He would deal with that arrogant prick later. First, he had to prepare a little surprise for Derek.

  39

  Back at Gayfield, Susie read through Linda Buchan’s statement again, hoping to find some nuance she had missed. There wasn’t much to go on. The woman was too hysterical to be of much help.

  The neighbour who had reported the screams from the Buchans’ home, Margaret Orr – who wore the traditional tartan skirt, silver hair and tweed jacket uniform of Edinburgh’s aging gentry with a straight back and a challenging gleam in her eye – had been more help. She had been, she told Susie, out walking her dog, Brandy, when she had heard Linda Buchan’s screams.

  ‘I didn’t think much of it at first, dear,’ Mrs Orr said, fiddling with an ornate silver and jade brooch on her jacket as she spoke. ‘After all, the woman has just lost her daughter, and everyone in the area knows she’s not coping very well. But then I heard that man’s voice, and I knew there was something wrong.’

  Susie had asked if she heard anything that had been said, but Mrs Orr just shook her head. Susie could see regret in her eyes. She must have hated not knowing the whole story.

  ‘Not really. All I could hear was his voice; very, very angry, but most of what he was saying was drowned out by Mrs Buchan. I did hear one thing, though, at least I think I did. I think he said something about “being off the leash”. Does that make any sense?’

  Susie sighed, pushing the report across her desk. It made about as much sense as anything else.

  At least there had been one break, it was definitely McGinty who had visited the Buchans’ home. Forensics found his fingerprints all over the drawing room door, while witnesses who’d seen ‘a dark blue saloon car, expensive looking,’ making off at high speed, gave descriptions of a man fitting McGinty’s profile at the wheel.

  Frustrated, Susie headed to the canteen for a coffee. What she really wanted was to go for a run, relax away from all this, but that would have to wait.

  She had arranged to meet up with Doug, compare notes and see if he had managed to find anything that might give them a clue as to where McGinty could be now. Them? Careful, Susie, careful.

  She knew Burns would have a fit if he found out, and McGinty’s background was being pored over by as many bodies as Burns could find, but Susie had learned never to underestimate Doug’s ability to get to the juicy facts faster than anyone else. She hoped he was being careful, though. Whoever had given him that beating wasn’t joking around.

  When she got back to her desk, feeling guilty for the bar of chocolate she had bought to go with her coffee, she saw another file had arrived. ‘Shit,’ she whispered. More paperwork. Perfect.

  Settling into her chair, she reached for the file. It was the information she had requested on Lizzie Renwick. Recalling the way she had reacted when being interviewed, Susie had decided to run a check on her to see if she had had any previous run-ins with the police.

  According to the file, she had. Susie began to read faster. She ate the chocolate without noticing. No wonder Lizzie had recovered so quickly when Su
sie had caught her off-guard with a question: the girl was a pro at dealing with the police. And it explained why she was working with Katherine. The girls had something more than a taste for modern art in common.

  What the file didn’t do was offer any clue as to why Lizzie had been so brutally murdered. After a thorough search, police had failed to find anything obviously missing from the gallery, and what cash there was, along with the business chequebook, was found among the piles of paperwork tipped from the drawers. So the motive hadn’t been robbery. What had the killer been looking for? And was it connected to what was in Lizzie’s file?

  Susie didn’t know. But at least it gave her a damn good place to start looking.

  • • •

  The pub Rab asked to meet in was a small tavern on the Newhaven shore, not far from where Doug and Susie had compared notes the day of Burns’ explosion and Doug’s anonymous tip-off. It was a small, low-ceilinged place with tables that had been built from flotsam washed up on the shore and low stools that forced you to adopt the classic drinker’s pose: knees hunched up, back bent over the table, one hand hovering near your pint.

  Rab was already seated at one of the tables when Doug arrived, a glass of what Doug guessed was Laphroaig in front of him. Across the table, a pint of Guinness waited patiently for Doug. He didn’t really feel like a drink, especially since the car was parked outside, but he wasn’t going to argue the point with Rab.

  ‘Evening, Rab,’ Doug said as he dropped into his stool. ‘Not your usual stomping ground, is it?’

  ‘Nah, I fancied a change of scenery,’ Rab said, glancing around the bar. From the look on his face, Doug got the feeling he thought it had been a bit of a wasted journey.

  Doug lifted the Guinness, nodding his head in thanks and then taking a long drink. Crap décor or not, the pub did a good pint. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you to call back so quickly. You managed to find something out for me?’

  Rab fixed Doug with a cool gaze. ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether or not you’re keen to add to your collection of bumps and bruises. And don’t give me any shit about how you walked into a door or something, I saw you jumping when you sat down. Someone gave you a bit of a going over, didn’t they? Made their point with a few digs to the sides, too.’

  Doug refused to back away from Rab’s stare. ‘Yeah, well, it happens.’

  ‘Aye, and usually for a good reason,’ Rab replied. He finished his whisky in a gulp, turned and raised his hand to the barman. Message received. Another nip was on its way.

  ‘Look, Doug, let me be straight with you for a minute, okay? I did what you asked, found out a bit more about McGinty and, if you want me to tell you, I will. But this is serious shit, Doug, the people involved are not exactly hungry for publicity, and they don’t like nosey reporters very much. They’ll talk to you if I ask them to, but they’re not going to like it. You’ve already had one doing over this, Doug, the question is, do you want to risk another one?’

  Doug thought it over for a minute, remembering the sound of the knife punching into the car’s roof, the way he vomited on the stairs, shaking like a little boy who wanted his mum. The pain in his side when he moved or sat down. No, he didn’t want another beating. But there were questions he needed answers to. And if it meant a risk to get them, so be it.

  ‘Tell me what you know.’

  Rab sighed, leaning back slightly as the barman placed another whisky in front of him. The measure was a lot bigger than the average bar shot, at least a triple by Doug’s guess. The barman retreated. Rab didn’t pay.

  ‘Alright then,’ he said once he was sure the barman was out of listening range. ‘But on yer ain heid be it.’

  Doug nodded, felt his stomach twist with a mixture of excitement and fear.

  ‘Your friend McGinty had an interesting time when he worked in Edinburgh,’ Rab said. ‘Like I told you, he asked me for work and I always knocked him back, knowing he was a bit of a wildcard when things kicked off. However, not everyone in town is as discerning as I am. And one of the least discerning is Tommy Croal.’

  Tommy Croal. Jesus. Croal was one of the biggest drug dealers and muscle men in Edinburgh. Originally from the west coast, Croal had arrived in Edinburgh back in the mid-Eighties, keen to build himself an empire. He had succeeded, but not before sparking off a turf war in the city. For a while, it was common for clubs to be trashed as Croal’s men went in and started fights to show the owners that the existing security staff weren’t up to the job of controlling trouble.

  It worked on a lot of places, the owners deciding it was easier, and cheaper, to just let Croal run the doors than see their clubs trashed every week. Of all the security firms in Edinburgh, Rab’s was the only one that hadn’t suffered any losses. And the reason for that wasn’t Rab, but his general-in-chief, Janet. She doubled security at every club and pub they ran in Edinburgh, always making sure the additional staff were in plain clothes and mingling with the crowd. The men she used – mostly west coast ‘friends and family’, according to Janet – were under orders: if trouble started, finish it. Hard. Croal didn’t pick on Rab’s customers for very long.

  However, drug dealers were a different story. They were grabbed off the streets and out of bars and given a simple choice: work for Croal and get a better cut of the sales, or stay with their current supplier and see how easy it was to deal from a wheelchair. Doug could see why Croal would have use for somebody like McGinty.

  ‘So, what was he, one of Croal’s dealers?’

  Rab nodded. ‘Partly. But he was also a bit of a co-ordinator for Croal. From what I’ve heard, he supervised one of Croal’s saunas along with another vicious wee shite called Charlie Morris. They made sure the girls and clients were happy, that no one got out of line. Rumour is they also distributed drugs to dealers there.’

  ‘Anything else you can tell me?’ Doug asked. ‘What clubs he might have dealt at, if he had regular customers?’

  Rab rolled his eyes. ‘Fucking typical,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Never enough, is it? That’s as much as I could find out but, like I said, I’ve had a word, and these people have said they’ll talk to you if you want them to.’

  ‘Thanks, Rab,’ Doug said as he finished his pint. He glanced at Rab’s whisky. Almost gone. ‘You want another?’

  ‘Well, it’s the least you can do,’ Rab replied. Doug made to head for the bar, but Rab placed a hand on his arm, pushing him back into his seat. ‘I was being serious, Doug. This is heavy shit. These people will talk to you. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to just give you a free pass. If you ask something they don’t like, I won’t be able to help you, understand?’

  Doug suddenly felt cold, his mouth dry. Is it worth it? he asked himself. Is it? He pushed the thought away. Too late now.

  ‘I understand, Rab. And thanks for the warning. I’ll be on my best behaviour, promise.’

  Just make sure you are,’ Rab said, draining his whisky. ‘Now get me another drink, will you, I hate sitting in a pub with an empty glass in front of me.’

  • • •

  Half an hour later, Doug was back in his car, heading to meet Susie. They had originally planned to meet up and compare notes, but when he phoned her she suggested getting something to eat instead, saying she couldn’t survive on ‘a chocolate bar and cups of pish-water coffee’. Doug didn’t complain, he was starting to feel hungry himself, so he suggested a little Chinese restaurant he knew in the Tanfield area near to the Botanic Gardens. Susie didn’t argue with the thought of Chinese, but was still wary of being seen with him after Burns’ bollocking and not-so-subtle warning earlier in the day, so asked if he would pick up takeaway and meet her back at her place, which was only five minutes from the restaurant.

  She lived on the fourth floor of a tenement on Broughton Road. Her flat was about the same size as Doug’s, and offered outstanding clear views of the industrial estate behind it. She had bought the place whe
n she moved to Edinburgh, before the property market in the capital began demanding that buyers not only pay three times what a home was worth but also sign away their first-born child as part of the deal. She had decorated it with the twenty-first century equivalent of the carpet, laminate flooring, and a few small pieces of furniture to try and make the place feel bigger than it was.

  The illusion almost worked, but the 55-inch TV that dominated the corner of the living room – which Doug himself had lugged up the stairs and set up for her – ruined the effect. Susie didn’t care. She loved movies and loved watching them on the big screen, whether that was at home or at the cinema.

  She took the bags of takeaway from Doug at the door, disappearing into the kitchen as he flopped down onto one of the pair of two-seater couches that sat in the living room.

  ‘So, how’d you get on with Linda Buchan’s statement?’ Doug called as he pulled off his tie and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Not great,’ Susie replied as she carried a tray with the Chinese and a bottle of wine into the room and placed it on a small table that sat between the couches. ‘You want a glass of wine?’

  Doug thought about it for a second, calculated how much he had already had. ‘Just the one,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to drive later.’

  Susie nodded as she poured. ‘Fine with me,’ she said, passing him a glass. ‘Leaves me more.’ She leant forward and heaped rice and sweet and sour chicken into a bowl, then sat back on her couch, curling her legs underneath her.

  Doug filled his own bowl with rice and his choice, chilli chicken, then followed Susie’s lead and got comfortable. They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the chance to relax, before Susie said: ‘Come on, then, how did you get on? Find anything interesting?’

  Doug took another swig of his wine and then laid the glass aside.

  ‘You could say that,’ he said, then went on to tell her what Rab had told him about McGinty. Susie ate as he talked, but when he mentioned that McGinty had been a dealer for Tommy Croal, her fork stopped halfway to her mouth.