Falling Fast

by Neil Broadfoot

  ‘What?’ Doug asked, trying not to laugh. She looked like a kid who had just been told Santa didn’t exist. ‘Something I said?’

  She laid her bowl aside, leant over and dug a file out of her bag then passed it to Doug. ‘You never saw that,’ she said. ‘But I think you may find it interesting.’

  Doug flipped the file open, starting reading. Lizzie Renwick’s record. He skimmed through it, stopped and then looked up.

  ‘She was a dealer, too?’ he said.

  ‘Yup,’ Susie replied. ‘She was busted dealing at a club in Lothian Road back in ’88, when there was a big anti-drugs crackdown.’

  Doug did a quick sum in his head. ‘So she was eighteen at the time?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Susie nodded. ‘The judge took pity on her, gave her six months as it was “only” speed and hash she was dealing that time. She went straight back to it, got busted again in ’91, then went to work with Katherine at the gallery a while later.’

  ‘Think this is linked to her murder?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ Susie replied. ‘It might be, but I don’t see how. Unless she was dealing again, she’d been away from that scene for a long time, so anyone who wanted to settle a score with her had plenty of opportunity to do it before now.’

  ‘Unless they hadn’t been able to until now?’

  ‘You mean McGinty?’ Susie asked. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Whoever killed her, they were looking for something. They beat the shit out of her to get something and then tore the gallery apart when she either wouldn’t or couldn’t tell them, but left the cash and business chequebook behind. Even if McGinty did know her from her days as a dealer, and from what you’ve said there’s a good chance he did, it doesn’t explain why he would kill her and just leave the cash. What the hell could he want from an art gallery?’

  Doug finished his wine. He wanted another glass. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Hopefully I’ll get some answers later.’

  ‘Oh, how’s that?’

  ‘Rab MacFarlane,’ Doug said cautiously. He didn’t think Susie was going to like what he was about to tell her. ‘He’s set up a meeting for me later tonight with Kevin Tomlin, one of the guys McGinty worked at the Passionata Sauna with.’

  Susie sat forward. ‘You know it should be me that’s going along to speak to him?’ she asked.

  Doug shook his head. ‘If it was you going, he wouldn’t even open the door. It’s a bloody miracle Rab managed to get me an invite. These guys hate cops, Susie. Sure, you could get a warrant and search the place, but then what? It’s been a long time since McGinty worked there, and these guys might develop a case of amnesia just to piss you off.’

  Susie sighed huffily, sat back in the couch. Doug could have sworn she was pouting. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll call you first thing in the morning, let you know if I find anything interesting.’

  ‘That before or after you write it up for the Tribune?’

  Doug remembered Rab’s warning. This is serious shit, the people involved are not exactly hungry for publicity.

  ‘Before,’ he said. ‘Definitely before.’

  40

  ‘So, Derek, what the fuck are you going to do now?’

  There was no answer, only the drone of cars from the street outside. He hadn’t expected one though, seeing as he was alone.

  He was back in Cairneyhill, standing behind the bar where he had worked until only a few short weeks ago. He had, he thought, been happy here. Comfortably anonymous, getting on with things, biding his time until he could collect what he was due and build a new life. Until his past had caught up with him, and he had been chased out of the village by locals baying for his blood, calling him a monster and a bastard and a rapist.

  He didn’t blame them.

  He thought back, remembering Linda Buchan’s reaction when he had told her. It was as though she were a fragile bird he had taken in his hand and crushed. He had never seen a person crumple like that before, face twisted by horror and sorrow. She had fallen to her knees, face a dusky purple as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, didn’t want to acknowledge what she was being told. But she believed him. He could see it in her eyes.

  And as Linda sat there in the middle of the floor, hugging herself and sobbing as though he had just plunged a knife into her guts, Derek understood. This was what he had put his mother through for the last twelve years. Every time a reporter called at the door, every time he made another headline or the case was featured in the news. This was what she endured.

  He fled, driving like a maniac, half-hoping the police would catch him there and then and get it over with.

  But they didn’t, and he was left aimlessly driving around, trying to think what to do next. They would be guarding Buchan now, there would be no way of getting to him. Unless…

  It had taken him less than an hour to get to Fife. It was still daylight when he arrived and, knowing the pub didn’t shut till 11pm, he stopped in Dunfermline, the first large town after the Forth Road Bridge. Dunfermline had once been Scotland’s capital, a town inhabited by kings and queens. Today, the closest it got to royalty was a shopping centre called the Kingsgate.

  He parked at the bottom of the town and headed for Pitreavie Park, a large communal expanse of greenery where families brought their children to enjoy the swings or feed the squirrels and peacocks that made the park their home. He lost himself there for a few hours, trying not to think of anything until it grew dark. By the time he left, the park gates had been shut, but it was simple enough to hop over them. A ten-minute ride later and he was in Cairneyhill. The pub had been ludicrously easy to break into, the stupid bastards hadn’t even bothered to change the alarm code since he worked there.

  Now he stood behind the bar, the only light in the pub being the glow of streetlights prodding through the windows. He dismantled the rack of spirits that sat on the wall behind the bar, uncorking each of the bottles and sitting them gently on the bar top. Went over to one of the booths opposite the bar, paused, then took down the picture that hung on the wall there. He had put it there himself about three months ago. It might has well have been another lifetime.

  He went to the cleaning cupboard in a small alcove behind the bar and found a broom handle and cleaning cloth.

  The bottles shattered like movie props when he swung the broom handle, the noise very loud. He wondered if anyone outside had heard him, found he didn’t care. The smell of spilled spirit was cloying, overpowering, and clawed at his eyes and back of his throat. He glanced at the picture, which he had propped next to the door. Tears began to roll slowly down his cheeks. He told himself they were from the fumes.

  Heading for the door, he bundled the cloth into a bottle of vodka he had saved, leaving a ragged end popping out so the bottle looked like a crude candle. He lit the wick and threw the bottle at the bar.

  The effect was instant. There was a dull whump as the bottle hit the bar and the alcohol ignited, burning shards of cloth spraying out. Bright blue and orange flames leapt from the bar as the spirits ignited. The flames spread quickly, racing across the bar hungrily before spitting out onto the stools, the carpet, the walls. Derek picked up the picture and turned for the door, the heat from the fire baking into his back. He hurried out to the small, deserted car park at the back of the pub and got into the car, watching as the flames danced and capered behind the windows of the bar. When the first window exploded from the heat, he started the engine and drove away, taking his time, not wanting to be too inconspicuous.

  He heard the first fire engine screaming to the scene as he drove down the main street and smiled. The police would follow shortly, full of questions and quickly pinning the blaze on him; revenge for being driven out of the village. No doubt the news of what had happened would reach Edinburgh soon enough.

  That suited Derek just fine.

  41

  Kevin Tomlin looked like he had been born in a gym and fed a constant diet of weights and steroids ever since. To Doug
he was a six-foot wall of solid muscle. He wore a tight black T-shirt that accentuated every bulge and ripple, while his thick forearms and biceps were riddled with a mapwork of veins. Coupled with the severe military-style cropped hair, dark unblinking eyes and overhanging forehead that would put a Neanderthal to shame, the overall effect wasn’t exactly soothing, especially given Doug’s situation.

  He was sitting in a small back office at the Executive Club, which was in a fairly affluent side street off London Road. It was, Doug supposed, in a prime location to ply its trade; there were four or five hotels nearby that catered to business travellers, while a large assurance company had its offices only a ten-minute walk away. Nobody would raise an eyebrow to anyone walking in the front door, which – with its discreet brass plate saying ‘Non-Members welcome’ and brass-set buzzer – could have passed for any other business.

  It was only when you heard the heavy bolts slide clear as the door was opened by a man who had obviously been raised in the same gym as Tomlin, you realised the club was something else.

  He had been ushered into a large lounge area, complete with plush leather sofas, tasteful decorations and a small bar in the corner. A few men were sitting in the soft-lit lounge, having a drink and talking to each other or the women that were fluttering about, perfect hair and make-up complemented by their fixed smiles.

  To Doug, the oldest of them looked to be about twenty-two, if that.

  What surprised him most was what the women were wearing; standard issue evening gowns and business suits, with not a negligee or bra strap in sight. But then, Doug thought, that was the whole point of the place – subtlety, discretion. Those who could afford to come to Executive Club valued the privacy of their pleasure. It was a long way from the Passionata Sauna where Derek and Tomlin had worked together, which Rab had described as little more than a three-roomed cupboard in Fountainbridge where the walls shook and you could hear the moans every time a punter asked for ‘extras’.

  Tomlin had arrived a few moments later. He’d said nothing when he lumbered up to Doug, just beckoned for him to follow and led him to the office. He sat across the table from Doug now, glaring. As Rab had said, he would talk to Doug as a favour, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  ‘So,’ he said finally, his voice surprisingly soft for his massive frame, ‘Rab tells me you wanted to ask a few questions about Derek McGinty?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Doug said. His voice was calm and even, his guts anything but. ‘I just wanted to see if you could tell me a bit more about him.’

  ‘Like what?’ Tomlin asked. Doug could feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves. Christ, what had Rab done to get this guy to speak to him?

  Doug took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. No point beating around the bush, he had to ask the question, especially in light of what Susie had told him.

  He handed a picture over the table to Tomlin. ‘Was this girl ever a dealer for Derek?’

  Tomlin studied the picture, eyes flicking between it and Doug. ‘Yeah,’ he said handing back the picture of Lizzie Renwick that Susie had given to Doug earlier. ‘Thin Lizzie, that’s what we used to call her. She used to deal for Derek in the clubs on the West End.’

  Doug felt like he had won the lottery. So they did know each other. ‘Any idea how they met?’

  ‘Yeah, at the Passionata,’ Tomlin said. ‘Lizzie was already working there when Derek and I started. He was just starting to…’ He paused, stretching for the right word. ‘…to do business for Mr Cr… the boss, and he asked Lizzie to do a bit of trade for him. She jumped at it. Never did think she was much for the sauna business, anyway.’

  Doug nodded, Susie’s words echoing in his mind. Why would he kill her and leave the cash?

  ‘How did they get on, ever any problems?’

  Tomlin laughed. The sound made Doug feel like bolting for the door. ‘Problems?’ he snorted. ‘You must be fuckin’ joking, pal. There are always problems in this business. Not selling your quota, getting ripped off by customers, other dealers, the pigs. It’s not like selling insurance or something, pal. If you don’t hit your target here, you’re in the shit.’

  ‘And was Lizzie in shit with Derek a lot?’

  ‘No more than any of the other girls,’ Tomlin said. ‘And besides, Derek was always a little soft on her, anyway.’

  Doug looked up. ‘Oh, why’s that?’

  Tomlin looked over at him sharply. Don’t push it, pal, his gaze said.

  ‘Look, please,’ Doug said. ‘I really need to know. Rab said you might be able to help me, so help me.’ Doug didn’t like using Rab’s name, but he needed answers.

  Tomlin sighed, crossing his arms and rubbing his biceps gently as though they were good luck charms. In his line of work, maybe they were. ‘Lizzie looked after someone for him, okay? He never gave a name, but he brought her in once, about six months before he got done for… you know.’

  Doug nodded. Bethany Miller. He knew alright.

  ‘Anyway,’ Tomlin said, ‘Derek said the girl was one of his regulars who’d flipped out in one of the clubs he worked. She was all fucked up on something, puking up and shaking like she was about to have a fit, was in a really bad way. Said the boss of the club wanted her out of the way. Anyway, he put her in one of the rooms in the back, got Lizzie to take care of her. After that, he always looked out for Lizzie, gave her the easy patches to work, always made sure she was covered if she came up short.’

  Doug’s pulse was roaring in his ears. Could it be? He handed over the picture of Derek and Katherine together. ‘Was this the girl you saw that night?’ Tomlin studied it for a long moment. Doug held his breath, waiting for the answer.

  ‘Yeah, that’s her,’ he said finally. Doug had to bite back a roar of success. ‘Don’t know what it was about her, but she got to Derek, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Oh, how’s that?’

  ‘He was a cold bastard,’ Tomlin replied simply, as though it answered all Doug’s questions. When he saw that it didn’t, he sighed. ‘If someone got out of line, he would knock fuck out of them, no questions asked. I saw him beat the shit out of a guy with a coat stand one night, he never even broke a sweat.’

  ‘But how does that…?’

  ‘I’m fuckin’ getting to it, okay? Derek did not give a fuck about anyone other than himself. When he first brought the kid in, I thought it was just because he knew that her dying would be bad for business, and he couldn’t take the risk of dumping her at the hospital and then blabbing about where she got her drugs.’

  ‘But it was more than that?’

  ‘Not at the time,’ Tomlin said, raw impatience in his voice. Doug didn’t think he would be sitting in the office for much longer. ‘It was afterwards. He kept on calling her to make sure she was okay, told me she had had a hard time and he was going to try and help her. And then he started asking around town, looking for someone.’

  ‘Oh?’ Doug’s curiosity muffled the growing alarm bells in his mind. Tomlin wanted him out of here. Fine, he would go. Just one more question. ‘Any idea who he was looking for?’

  Tomlin glared at Doug. It looked as if he were trying to figure out how much shit he would get from Rab if he just beat Doug senseless. ‘He never mentioned any names,’ he said, his voice icy, ‘but he gave me the description of the guy he was looking for, asked me to pass it around the town. We tracked him down to his local about a month later.’

  ‘What did the guy he was after look like?’ Doug asked, before he had a chance to stop himself. ‘Where did Derek find him?’

  Tomlin clenched his fists, knuckles popping. When he started talking again, Doug was getting ready to spring from his chair and dive for the door.

  After a minute, he was rooted to the spot, unable to move, pinned to the chair by the shock of what Tomlin was telling him, and the weight of what it meant.

  • • •

  Susie fumbled for the phone when it started ringing, dragging her from a deep sleep. She glanced at her bed
side clock. 3.12am. Doug could pick his times.

  ‘Hello?’ she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

  ‘Drummond? Sorry to bother you at this hour. You awake?’

  Susie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, sitting up in bed. What the hell was Burns doing phoning her at this time in the morning? ‘What’s up?’

  ‘We’ve just had a call from Fife. Apparently, the Jamieson Arms in Cairneyhill was torched earlier this evening. Looks like someone used the booze in the pub as an accelerant. There’s not much more than a smoking pit left.’

  Jamieson Arms? Susie groped for the name, knowing it was familiar. ‘Hold on,’ she said, ‘isn’t that the pub McGinty was working at?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Burns said. His voice was rough with lack of sleep. ‘Witness put a dark blue saloon at the scene at around the time the fire started. Ring any bells?’

  Dark blue saloon? Oh yes. ‘You mean the same as was seen driving away after McGinty visited Linda Buchan?’

  ‘Right. What we don’t know is if this means that he’s left Edinburgh and decided to settle a few old scores on the way in lieu of getting his money from Buchan, or whether this is something else. I’m having a staff briefing at 6am to see if we can come up with some answers.’

  ‘Right, sir, no problem.’ Susie glanced at her clock again. Less than three hours. ‘See you then.’

  Susie hung up. She turned over in bed, tried to settle down and not let her racing mind stop her sleeping. On an impulse, she sat back up and pulled the phone from its wall socket, switched her mobile off. If Doug had found out anything of great importance, he could tell her in the morning. Right now, she needed to sleep.

  42

  Doug sat in the departure lounge, drumming his fingers, waiting. He had a paper open in front of him, and was trying to see how long he could pretend he was reading it before his mind strayed back to last night. His record was forty seconds.