Parallel Lines

by R. J. Mitchell

  Brennan, making a point, marched out under his own steam but was happy enough to allow the two uniform PCs to lay hands on him and guide him out of the foyer and over to the Astra.

  Hardie hunkered down opposite his mate.

  “You okay, Gus?”

  Thoroughgood groaned but managed a “Think so.”

  Putting his hand up to his nose, he pulled it away covered in blood and Hardie quickly offered him a dog-eared greying handkerchief to help stem the flow of red streaming from the DS’s smashed snout.

  “So he recognised me after all,” said Thoroughgood.

  “Aye, he did that Gus. He said as much after he’d stuck his nut into your face. Still, we can slap charges of Resisting Arrest and Police Assault on him and that will be enough to keep him inside overnight, plus we have the pics of him parading about Loch Ard with a sawn-off shotgun. It all helps, Gus!”

  Before setting off for Stewart Street, Thoroughgood and Hardie left their uniform colleagues with Brennan in the back of the CID motor and took a quick look round the street. There was no sign of the dark blue F-plate Cavalier that had been parked outside the farm steading on the banks of Loch Ard.

  “Damn,” said Hardie, “that’s another line of enquiry down a dead end. If we’d turned the Cavvy over I’d bet Scenes of Crime would’ve picked something up from it, linking that big ugly bastard to the shootings.”

  “I expect it’ll turn up torched somewhere,” replied a distinctly downbeat Thoroughgood from behind the blood-splattered handkerchief with which he was dabbing his shattered nose.

  The ten-minute journey back to Stewart Street was completed in silence. However, when the four officers and their giant captive ground to a stop in the backyard at the City Centre station, Brennan made sure he gave Thoroughgood the type of stare that let him know their score was far from settled.

  The Duty Officer, a uniform inspector, had been primed via radio that the CID motor was on its way in with Brennan. After the reason for his detention and the charges Resisting Arrest and Police Assault had been established, Brennan’s rights were read to him and he was escorted to an interview room by PC’s Flynn and Grant. Hardie and Thoroughgood headed through to the CID room, caffeine badly needed ahead of their interview with Brennan. Walking through the door, the last person that Thoroughgood wanted to see was the gloating face of DCI Henry Farrell.

  “Walked into a door, did we Thoroughgood? Or has that smart mouth of yours got you into trouble again?”

  Thoroughgood kept his composure.

  “Nice to see you too, Detective Chief Inspector. I thought you were taking your suspects back to London Road office, or have you come up empty-handed again?”

  Farrell fiddled with the shiny metallic rims of his trendy square glasses.

  “On the contrary, both Simms and Jarvis are undergoing interview at East HQ as we speak. I just thought it would be useful to catch a word with you and Detective Hardie here before you went into interview with your body. But I have to say I am now a bit concerned you will need some medical attention before you’re up to that.”

  “I appreciate your concern, DCI Farrell, but a couple of paracetamol and a mug of coffee and I’ll be right as rain. So how can I help you?” Thoroughgood tried, without much success, to keep the contempt out of his voice.

  “This source of yours, Thoroughgood, I just wanted to establish how much trust you put in him? Anyone I know?”

  Farrell may have been the officer in charge of the Brown murder enquiry but for him to come straight out and ask who his man was was plain bang out of order. Thoroughgood refused to rise to the bait.

  “He’s tried and tested, sir, and I believe there will be more information of a similar quality to come, but he is a registered informant and you know the rules about divulging the identities of touts.”

  “Very good Thoroughgood, I just hope you have him registered with the CHIS Unit and they are aware of all this activity.”

  Thoroughgood turned his back on Farrell and headed for the kettle. Sometimes it was best to hold your fire.

  At that point Kenny Hardie conveniently handed Thoroughgood a mug of coffee and two white tablets. Accepting it gratefully, the DS cradled the paracetamol in his hand before throwing them into his mouth and washing them down with a mouthful of the brown liquid. The implied contempt was obvious.

  “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “Just make sure you email me with a full report on completion of your Section Fourteen interview and update HOLMES before you go off in the morning.”

  Farrell got up off the desk he had been perched on and drew himself up to his full five-foot-something. He made his way to the office door before turning to Thoroughgood.

  “I’d get that nose of yours seen to, Detective Sergeant, otherwise it’s likely to play havoc with your love life!”

  Thoroughgood turned to Hardie as if he’d never heard the remark.

  “Come on, Kenny, we have a murder suspect to interview.”

  Brennan sat impassively on the other side of the desk inside interview room one. His huge frame looked anything but comfortable in the cheap red plastic moulded chair, which was as good as it got in terms of the comforts of Stewart Street nick. The desk, a wobbly affair with the fake enamel surface peeling back, looked as if it would break under the weight of his huge forearms at any time.

  Hardie flicked on the switch that put the bulb outside the interview room to red to signal it was in use. Thoroughgood made straight for the desk and sat down, resting his mug of coffee on the scarred surface. Hardie pulled up another of the plastic chairs and nodded to PC Flynn that he could leave the interview room. He made a play of opening a folder he’d brought in with him on the desk and then began to place the photographs out one by one, as if he was playing a game of solitaire, in front of Brennan. Eventually he looked up at the giant and held his gaze for a second’s silence.

  “Frankie Brennan, you know why you have been brought here? We are about to start the tape in accordance with Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure Scotland (Act) 1995. Before we do, you want anything in, a cup of tea, coffee or such like?”

  “That’s very kind of you, Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood. I can’t remember the last time I bust someone’s nose wide open and then they offered me a cuppa.” Brennan flashed a malevolent grin across the table.

  “Okay, Frankie Brennan, in accordance with Section Fourteen I am starting the tape. Present are myself, Detective Sergeant Gus Thoroughgood, Detective Constable Kenny Hardie and Francis Patrick Brennan. It is incumbent on me to check that you are both physically and mentally well, and in need of no medical help or suffering from any conditions that would or will impair your ability to comply with the grounds of your detention.”

  “I’m just fine to be sure, detective,” replied Brennan.

  “Frankie, we have received information you are responsible for the murder of Walter Brown in the premises of his bookie’s shop in 237 Springburn Way, at six p.m. on the night of Friday 11th April. We also have photographs here which show you in possession of a sawn-off shotgun we believe was used in the murder of Walter Brown.”

  Thoroughgood turned the first of six snaps of the Irishman outside the farm steading in Loch Ard, his hands grasping what appeared to be a sawn-off shotgun.

  Brennan picked the photos up one by one and examined them. “And?” was all he said,

  “What have you got to say with regard to what I have just put to you?”

  “Nothing without my brief and then nothing again, and if that is all you’ve got, Detective Sergeant, then you’re wasting both your time and mine.”

  “Do you have anyone who can verify your whereabouts on the night in question?” asked Thoroughgood.

  “Of course I do. I was on a fishing trip with three friends and they will all be able to back me up on that. In fact, at six p.m. on Friday night we would have been in the process of gutting our catch. Didn’t you know the salmon season started only a fortnight back?”
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  Thoroughgood and Hardie exchanged glances before Hardie took up the baton.

  “Well Frankie, I suggest you furnish us with the names of your three friends because we’ll need to speak to them as soon as.”

  “Not a problem, Detective. Gary Reid, Charlie Jarvis, and Ricky Simms will, I’m sure, all be delighted to help you with your enquiries.”

  “That’s damn decent of you, Frankie. Now what about the sawn-off shotgun that you seem to be in possession of in our pictures here: can you explain your possession of it?” asked Hardie.

  “But of course, officer,” Brennan flashed his feral grin once again.

  The giant leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms and hands out behind his neck as if to emphasise his enormous size.

  “Well detective, it’s like this. We’re stayin’ in an old farmhoose for a bit o’ fishin’ and someone has left this old shotgun inside the door. In the middle of the night we heard a noise on the roof and then smoke comes billowing down the chimney and I thinks to meself, there’s someone out there up to no good. So I heads out the door and on me way oot I grabbed the first thing I saw, which was the old shotgun, and made me way outside.

  “But I just want to make sure we are clear on one thing here, detective. It was a shotgun, a broken shotgun that you see me handling in those pictures, not a sawn-off shotgun. And to be fair, I’m wonderin’ what a Detective Sergeant from Strathclyde Polis is doing takin’ pictures of me and my mates out in the Trossachs, in the middle of the night. But that’s all I have to say, I’m not guilty of any of the charges you are trying to lay on me. I have alibis to that effect, and now I would like to speak to my lawyer, Gerry Shaw, of Coyle, Shaw and Partners.”

  “But Frankie, you know yourself you aren’t entitled to a lawyer when you’re being detained under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure Act. We could make sure you have one reasonably named person informed if you like,” admitted Thoroughgood.

  “Gerry Shaw would be that man,” said Brennan agreeably.

  “Okay, Francis Brennan, I am suspending the interview in accordance with Section Fourteen procedure to allow myself and Detective Constable Hardie to make further enquiry into the allegations that have been laid before you. I time that at 11:35 p.m.”

  Hardie scraped back the plastic chair and headed for the door in order to get uniform in to escort Brennan back to his detention cell. Thoroughgood remained seated, his eyes locked on Brennan’s.

  “You ready for a long night, Frankie? That’s us just over one hour into your detention, nearly five more to go. Oh, and I think you should know, your two mates Jarvis and Simms, they’re helping us with our enquiries over at London Road.” It was Thoroughgood’s turn to fix Brennan with a sickly sweet smile.

  “Young boys those two, inexperienced; I’m sure that with enough pressure, we can get something out of them. So just head back to your cell and think that one over. When we come back here in a couple of hours, then we’ll see what fresh evidence has turned up.”

  Thoroughgood turned round as he heard the sound of the interview room door open. Hardie walked in.

  “Everything okay, boss? Now Frankie, I hope you ain’t thinking’ about round two?”

  Brennan smiled but his attention was still very much on Thoroughgood:

  “Never crossed me mind, detective.”

  “That’s good, because you’ll already have the Police Assault added to your other charges when we are finished with you here, sometime tomorrow morning.”

  “Come come, detective, we both know there’ll be no other charges. This is just a game of cat and mouse and you’ve got nothing that’s going to stick.”

  PC Flynn had now entered the room and beckoned to Brennan to follow him. As he passed, Thoroughgood added:

  “I just wouldn’t be too sure on that, Frankie.”

  Thoroughgood and Hardie reconvened in the DS’s room, the latter slamming the door shut behind him to emphasise the need for privacy. Thoroughgood paced over to his desk and sat down.

  “I guess it’s not as though it’s a surprise: getting something out of Brennan was always going to be like getting blood out of a stone. What really sticks in my throat is that we’re going to have to call over to London Road and see if that bastard Farrell has managed to burst either of the kids. If he’s got fuck all then we’re pissin’ against the wind and that big bog trottin’ bastard will be walking out of here laughing at us.”

  “Well, we knew that was the likelihood, gaffer. You know Brennan, it’s not as if he’s going to be heading for the Costa Del Crime the minute he leaves us. His life is here; his whole identity is about working for Meechan. He’s a fuckin’ caveman, gaffer. Do you expect him to give that all up?

  “No way, when he figures we’ve got fuck all to pin against him. The other thing we’ve got a problem with is that our little op wasn’t cleared with Surveillance and is basically non-permissible. No, anything we’re going to get will come from the two pups at London Road and their interrogation masterminded by Strathclyde Polis’s version of Sherlock bloody Holmes. If you want gaffer, I’ll make the call: after all, you’ve got the perfect excuse with your bust snout!” Thoroughgood involuntarily touched his smashed nose and winced.

  “Thanks for that, faither. Aye, that’s all very fine and dandy, but it’ll still be fuckin’ painful when Brennan gives us the victory V’s on the way out.”

  “Let me make the call, gaffer, and see what’s happenin’ up the road. You never know.”

  Hardie was already punching in London Road CID’s number when Thoroughgood nodded in the affirmative.

  “Hi there, DC Kenny Hardie here, I wonder if I could speak with any of the officers involved in the detention of Charles Jarvis or Ricky Simms?”

  “All right Kenny, me old mucker? It’s Ross McNab here, how can I be of assistance? By the way, how’s yer gaffer? I heard about his mishap with that big bastard Brennan. Has he gone to hospital to have his busted beak checked out yet?”

  Thoroughgood heard McNab’s voice from the other side of his desk and signalled to Hardie to give him the phone.

  “Appreciate your concern but I’m still here. Just wonderin’ if you’ve had any luck with either Jarvis or Simms? Brennan is laughin’ up his sleeve at us here.”

  “Well for starters, they’re both going custody for the Sheriff Court tomorrow morning on outstanding warrants for car theft and drugs. So we don’t have to worry about them walking anywhere in the not too-distant future. As far as the rest goes we’re struggling. I’d say that big brute has put the fear of God up them. They’re not going to say anything other than that crock of crap about a fishing trip.”

  “Bastard,” groaned Thoroughgood.

  “You can’t be surprised at that Gus; after all, if you’re a twenty-year-old kid would you cross Brennan or Meechan? It’s literally more than your life would be worth.”

  “What’s that tosser Farrell saying to it?” asked Thoroughgood.

  “It’s a strange one, he doesn’t seem to be too bothered. Maybe you getting your nose splattered by Brennan has made his day! I think he’s happy that at least he’s been able to pull a couple of suspects in and has something to enter in the HOLMES enquiry.”

  “Cheers mate, you could do me a favour and tell Farrell I called and that a full update will be with him via email ASAP. The less I have to speak to that bastard the better.”

  Feet up on opposite sides of Thoroughgood’s desk, the two detectives knew they had reached a stalemate. They had nothing that would stick on Brennan, and when his lawyer got involved he would have a field day.

  Where the fuck was Morse when you needed him? thought the DS.

  Chapter 23

  Thoroughgood’s smashed nose was duly examined in the GRI casualty and after the damage had been assessed, the wound cleaned of congealed blood, he was assured by a floppy-haired SHO that the break would heal by itself, given time.

  Armed with a bottle of painkillers and accompanied by Hardie, he ret
urned to Stewart Street office. The rain had stopped and the absence of its impact on the Focus’ windscreen seemed to emphasise the silence that engulfed the two detectives.

  “So what happens after we release Brennan?” asked Hardie.

  “All we can do is see what Morse comes up with in the morning. It doesn’t look like we’re going to get anything from either crime scene. I checked the latest updates from Scenes of Crime and it’s not promising. After Brennan is released and the two kids are processed on their warrants we’re back to square one, but this time Brennan and Meechan are warned that we are onto them. Maybe not enough to make them leave the country, but it’ll certainly make them a good deal more careful.”

  “That means we’re pinning an awful lot of hope on Morse’s shoulders,” admitted Hardie.

  “You gotta better idea?” said Thoroughgood, popping a painkiller and shutting his eyes temporarily in the passenger seat.

  Three-fifteen a.m., and Thoroughgood and Hardie sat down opposite Brennan for round two. The smile on the Irishman’s face was familiar to the two detectives by now.

  “Time for you to put up or shut up, detectives. My alibis checked out? So what charges dae ye have to prefer against me?” asked Brennan.

  “Before we put the tape on and get all formal again, Frankie, I’d just like to say one thing to you. Just because you are going to walk out of here in fifteen minutes doesn’t mean this is over. We know you and your three mates are responsible for the murders of the Brown family and we’ll make it stick, believe me. Everywhere you go, you’d better be looking over your shoulder because we’ll be watching you, waiting for you to slip up.”

  Thoroughgood leaned over the table until his face was barely an inch away from Brennan’s features:

  “You might think you can intimidate people with your size and your brutality but I’ll wait for my chance to pay you back for this.” Thoroughgood pointed at his nose. “Until then, I look forward to that moment.”

  “Developing an obsession like that isn’t good for your health, Detective,” grinned Brennan.