“It’s Ian Wark, the guy Arbogast went out to see after his dad died.”
“You mean James Wright, our latest corpse? There are too many new people ending up dead in this case. We have an octogenarian bomber; dead. His only living friend; dead, and now his son is posting illegally hacked emails online. If I’m right he’s also been emailing me too. I’ve received some interesting content in the last few days. I’ll maybe show you some day. What do we know about this guy Wark?”
“I’ve been doing some digging. He seems to have kept a fairly low profile. A few minor incidents when he was a teenager –assaults mostly. He seems to be self employed now but he spent six years in the armed forces.”
“Middle East?”
“He spent some time in Iraq. I ran a check with border control and it seems he visited Libya a few times.”
“For business?”
“It’s not clear. It seems he may have fought as a guerrilla fighter. He was well trained. The rebels would have made good use of his skills.”
“And he would have had access to arms?”
“We obviously can’t prove that, but he would have been able to get his hands on the stuff. I don’t imagine getting it back to Britain would have been straightforward.”
“No, but circumstantially this is a good lead. We need to bring him in.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“Be careful, though, we don’t know what this man’s capable of. Take the Armed Response Unit. Close down his street and don’t take any chances.”
Donald’s heart was racing. He knew this was a big break, and that if the case went his way he would be hailed a national hero.
Later that day following a conversation with the Crown Office, a communication was issued to the press warning them not to reprint any of the allegations that had appeared on Newsnational. The advice was that the story was being investigated under the Terrorism Act and that any breach would face the full force of the law. Donald phoned Ying to tell her to return to work immediately but he only got an answer machine. He asked his PA to contact Arbogast. The Crown Office legal advice would help keep negative press to a minimum. He was going to needed to get the full team back in place.
***
Rosalind Ying arrived at the Sandyford Clinic for her second appointment. She had had a lot of time to think and knew that aborting the pregnancy was the only thing she could do. She felt guilty about not talking it through with John but he would only try to make her change her mind; to make it harder. It was a cold day, but bright, and every imperfection in the stonework of Argyle Street’s tenement rows were clearly visible. Pock marks from scaffolding, flaking sandstone, and flawed paintwork all seemed to be brought into sharp focus. Every detail of the day was being mulled over as Rosalind tried not to think about the one thing on her mind. The building itself was unassuming, set in the middle of a row of shops, split in the middle by a close door which led to the upper floors. Its wooden exterior was painted Victorian green, with large windows masked by hanging slat blinds. The D of Sandyford was off centre. The names of three doctors had been stencilled onto the front window. She was seeing Dr. Gillian Freemantle, whose name was followed by a string of professional letters ‘M.B. Chb. M.R.C.P, D.C.H’ which seemed rather officious. Inside, sitting and waiting was the worst. Am I doing the right thing? What else can I do? Maybe I should keep the child. It’s not the time to question yourself. Stick by the decision. Deep in thought, she missed her name being called.
“Is there a Rosalind Ying here?”
Jolted from her thoughts by the sound of her own name, Rosalind apologised and was taken into the examination room.
“I’m Gill Freemantle and I’ll be your Doctor today,” She was a short, lean woman with an elegant face, “Before we go any further I need to remind you of the serious nature of the decision you’re making. Once we start this process it cannot be undone. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Is this something you still want to progress with?”
“Yes it is,” Rosalind said it firmly. This was what she wanted.
“OK, well this is the first of two visits. Today we’ll give you a mifepristone tablet. It works by blocking the action of progesterone, a hormone needed in pregnancy. This is tried and tested and very safe. However there are possible side-effects which you should be aware of. It’s possible the pill could trigger excessive bleeding. Infection is also a possibility but we’ll give you antibiotics to reduce the chance of that happening. In around six cases out of a thousand the procedure won’t work and we will need to try again. Now, that’s unlikely, but it is a possibility you need to be aware of.”
“Will this procedure affect my chances of having a baby later in life?”
“There’s no evidence that this will have any impact whatsoever of your chances of having another baby.”
“That’s good to know,” Rosalind was sitting wringing her hands and was starting to feel anxious. It must have shown.
“Please don’t worry; we do this procedure every day and problems are extremely rare. I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re in good hands.”
Rosalind nodded and the Doctor continued, “I have a few questions to ask before we continue. Firstly, and this is important, did you have a full breakfast before coming here?”
“I wasn’t really hungry but I forced some down,” this was a lie and they both knew it.
“You need food for this to work properly. It may make you feel ill.”
“As I said, I ate before I came.”
“Have it your way, but you have been warned. Do you suffer from high blood pressure?”
“No.”
“High cholesterol?”
“No.”
“Are you using any steroid creams?”
“No.”
“Are you using any anti-coagulant treatment?”
“No.”
“Good,” Doctor Freemantle stood up and went to a small metal cabinet. A silver tray contained a single pill alongside a plastic cup filled with water, “This is the mifepristone tablet. I want you to swallow the tablet with water. This might make you feel a little sick, but that’s quite normal. If you are physically sick within the next two hours you need to come back here immediately and take another pill. Do you understand?” Rosalind nodded and reached out for the pill, “This is your last chance to change your mind. Are you 100% sure this is what you want?” The Doctor had placed her hands on Rosalind’s to try and comfort her. Rosalind brushed her aside and took the tablet.
33
Arbogast arrived back at the office the next morning. Eyes down he avoided the curious stares of colleagues who had heard this and that about the man from Major Crime. While the rumours being spread about Rosalind and Donald had been practically thrown out, the damage had been done. Shit sticks. He knew it would affect his reputation, that people would assume it exposed a weakness. He had the fear and his heart lurched as he stepped across the threshold to the open plan office. In his section there were seats for 16, but at the moment only Guthrie and Davidson were in. Both stopped what they were doing and looked up. Chris smiled but it was Ian who spoke first.
“Here he is – the man who came in from cold. Welcome back, John. Do you think you could maybe get some work done? We’ve actually made progress since your wee holiday. Perhaps there’s a correlation?” Ian Davidson was sneering at John. It was no secret that they didn’t like each other. Ian was ambitious to the point of arrogance. Arbogast couldn’t be sure if it was all a carefully orchestrated plan, or whether it was just one man stumbling through and hoping for the best. Chris often said that his awkward, blunt personal style must be some form of Asperger’s. John thought it more likely he was just a bit of a dick.
“What was that, John?”
“Sorry, was I thinking out loud there?”
“Maybe it was the DTs?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well I know you’ve a lot on your plate but it looks lik
e you’ve been using your ‘time off’ to catch up on your social life. You look like shit, Arbogast; it’s time to pull yourself together. We’re looking to track down Ian Wark now; the guy you two went to see.”
“Hasn’t he identified his father yet?”
“I’ll let your pal tell you. It looks like we may have a good lead. If I was a betting man I’d say we’re about to break the case.”
Ian Davidson picked up a large pile of paper from his desk and left. Arbogast expelled a long tired sigh and slumped down on his chair, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Don’t mind him, John; you know what he’s like. He’s just trying to score points but he knows I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks, Chris. The last few days have been, well, let’s just say they’ve felt very bloody long. Sounds like good news with the case though?”
“We’ve a briefing in five minutes, so our new Fuhrer should be able to fill us in on the grand plan. Davidson’s right though. It does feel like we’re close.”
Rosalind hadn’t been feeling well since her visit to the clinic. She had been experiencing severe stomach cramps. The nausea had been strong too, but she was determined not to have to return for a repeat treatment. I will not be sick; this is normal. The struggle to settle her stomach lasted for several hours. Eventually she had fallen asleep, curled up into the foetal position on her bedroom floor, having made a nest of her duvet. When she woke up she thought something serious had happened overnight. I can’t feel my sides. Shit, they said there might be side-effects but they didn’t mention anything about this. Rosalind struggled to get to her feet, but collapsed under her own weight. What’s going on here? This can’t be happening. But as she lay on the floor Rosalind felt a slight tingling in her left leg and arm. As the pins and needles passed she felt a surge of relief. She’d been sleeping on her side, it was nothing more serious.
Rosalind was scheduled to go back into the hospital the next day and, despite her reprieve, had called in sick for the rest of the week. It was still early, and dark outside. The orange street light shone through the thin blinds of her bedroom window. It was 7:00am. Rosalind dragged her duvet behind her and crawled into bed.
Walking down the corridor to the morning briefing Arbogast picked up the pace when he saw a shadow behind the chief’s glass door. He was in no mood to have a conversation but his quick step was too slow for the new gaffer who greeted him with a face of near joy.
“Is it nice to be back?”
Arbogast forced a smile, “It’s too early to tell. Ask me after the briefing.”
“I’ll have a word now if that’s all the same.” Donald gestured back into his office, “Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”
Arbogast heard the door click quietly behind him. When he turned Donald was still holding the handle, “A lot has been said about the three of us in the last few days. Email traffic has been bandied about. Allegations about our private lives have been made. On the former matter, we’ve launched an internal investigation. Whoever did it won’t be staying with us for long. Charges will be brought against whoever is found to be responsible. The matter I’m most concerned about is the so-called affair—”
“—listen, you don’t have to—”
“—no, but I will. I want you to know that there’s absolutely no truth to those rumours. Our meetings were strictly professional.”
“But you know she’s pregnant.”
“Congratulations to both of you.”
“I’m not sure it’s mine, which makes me think that perhaps someone else has been comforting Rose in a quiet moment. Now I’m not accusing you but she hasn’t really had much time away from me apart from Belfast.”
Donald came up close to Arbogast, “Listen, DI Arbogast, I wanted to tell you to your face that nothing happened, I thought you deserved that. But don’t think you can push me. Take my word for it and get out.”
“Very cordial, I must say.”
“Do you want to make an enemy of me?”
“I wouldn’t think I’d have to try hard.”
“I could ruin you if I wanted. The fact you’re standing here is down to me, so don’t forget it.”
“I’m sure the chances of that are slim.”
Arbogast turned to leave and couldn’t suppress the smile which spread across his face, “I can see you grinning in the glass Arbogast.”
“Just glad to be back at work – shouldn’t we be at the briefing?”
Rosalind had decided to kill some time with a walk in Kelvingrove Park. The trees were almost completely bare of leaves, the stark branches reaching out to the cold autumn sky, as if begging for sunlight. She stopped at a statue she had seen countless times before but had never really looked at. It was a large lion standing with two pheasants crushed, and hanging from its mouth. The plaque said it had been donated to the people of Glasgow by Andrew Carnegie. She wondered what it meant. Standing staring she felt a violent pain, searing through her abdomen. She cried out and clutched her side. Jesus, I thought this had passed. She felt moisture in her jeans, and she knew something was happening. Something was wrong. She touched her crotch; blood seeped onto her fingers. It’s going to take too long to get home. Looking around she could see a cafe about 100 metres away. There was a sign for public toilets. Running as fast as she could she was stopped in her tracks twice by the pain. By the time the toilet block was in sight she worried that she might not make it. A passing couple pushing a pram looked at her in disgust but said nothing, did nothing to help. The toilets were behind the cafe. As she passed through the door the cold, damp atmosphere washed over her. The first cubicle door was padlocked closed, with an out of order sign taped to the door. The second had no toilet seat and by the time she reached the third and final door Rosalind thought she might collapse. She sat for an hour, screaming in pain; crying, and alone.
***
The briefing room was packed. There was anticipation that something major was about to happen. Better still, they all knew they were onto something concrete. The relief of having a good lead on a difficult case meant that everyone was starting the day with a renewed sense of optimism. The assembled crowd didn’t know much about the new Chief, but they knew by his body language that he was focused and determined. By the time he started to speak there was complete silence in the room.
“Good morning team. I’ll keep this brief as we need to act fast. Following a number of breakthroughs we believe we have a new prime suspect. This man,” He pointed to the plasma screen behind him, which showed a military portrait of Ian Wark, “is ex-SAS; decorated for his tours of duty in Iraq. He fought in Libya as a guerrilla during the recent civil war. At home he’s a radical nationalist with an apparent point to make against the UK Government. Exactly why this is, we don’t know, but the circumstantial evidence is strong. Further to that, this man has also tried to orchestrate a smear campaign against this Force and specifically me. DCI Rosalind Ying has also been accused, while her partner, DI Arbogast, has been subject to lurid allegations which have appeared online. Be in no doubt that these allegations are false,” Donald stopped for dramatic effect and scanned the faces of his assembled audience before continuing, “I will take a dim view if any of you are found to be repeating the claims.” Knowing looks were exchanged around the room, but no-one spoke. “We believe the events of the last few days are linked and we believe this man Wark has played a central role. As we speak, DI Davidson has taken a team to Wark’s house to try and detain him there. We can’t rule out the possibility that he may have fled. We’ll be keeping a team on his home for the duration, but the public need to know we’re looking for this man. His picture will be going to press within the hour and we will have every resource available to make sure this man is caught. He will not be allowed to leave the country by air, ferry, or tunnel and we will be working with colleagues down south to make sure our net is widened as far as possible. The suspects arrested in the immediate aftermath will have to be released soon, as we have no fi
rm evidence against any of them. At this time the operation looks to be focused on an individual. We believe him to be armed and dangerous. He’s a trained killer and will be difficult to take in. I must urge you to take the greatest caution if you find yourself face-to-face with the suspect. I am authorising all officers to carry firearms as the investigation continues. This is an exceptional case, but one I am confident we are close to breaking. Briefing reports are available from senior officers. Get to it, and let’s find this bastard.”
34
Alongside Chris Guthrie, Arbogast had been assigned to the team which was looking into Ian Wark’s family background. He wasn’t happy about it, but given he had been off the case for a few days Donald had told him he was lucky to be doing anything at all.
Wark seemed to be something of a loner. Apart from his newly departed father he didn’t have any immediate family. With no brothers or sisters his mother had died some ten years ago, and he was currently single. His records showed that he had been married once.
“His divorce came through about three years ago, Chris.”
“Is she still around?”
“She’s living in Kilmarnock.”
“We should pay her a visit.”
About 25 minutes later the two detectives were travelling down to Ayrshire on the M77. Arbogast was driving.
“What do we know about her?”
“Debbie Greer. Lives at 45 North Hamilton Street. She’s single, and currently unemployed.”
“She should be in then.”
“They were only married for a year. She filed for divorce. There’s not much else we have at the moment.”
Driving past Rugby Park football stadium Arbogast knew they were close; five minutes later they knocked on the bright red door and hoped Debbie Greer was home.
The Nationalist Page 14