Parallel Lines

by R. J. Mitchell

  “When you go running back to your boss, just make sure you tell Meechan that the net is closing.”

  A baffled look of recollection crossed Brennan’s face.

  “Sure enough, isn’t that just your problem Mr Thoroughgood? You’ve cast your nets far and wide,” Brennan spread his arms out before him and turned his palms upwards, “and lo and behold, just like in the Good Book, ye have caught nothing.”

  Within fifteen minutes Brennan walked free, a charge of Police Assault the only one preferred against him.

  “Time to start all over again,” said Hardie.

  “Aye, I think it’s time we called it a night, old friend.”

  The truth was they were no nearer to laying a finger, never mind a glove, on Declan Aloysius Meechan. Thoroughgood spent the night, or the four hours remaining, sleeplessly tossing and turning. At eight a.m. the phone rang.

  “Good morning, Mr Thoroughgood, and how are we today?” said Morse.

  “Shit,” was all Thoroughgood could come up with.

  “Well in that case, if you can meet me at ten a.m. in Tinderbox, we can have a coffee and a chat that might well cheer you up quite a bit. How does that sound?” asked Morse.

  “Why, have you learned to turn water into wine, Morse?”

  “No, but I might finally be able to provide you with the information that will put away Meechan’s gang and maybe a bit more besides. Oh, and how is your nose Detective Sergeant?”

  “Morse, you never cease to amaze me,” said Thoroughgood and put the phone down.

  Thoroughgood could see Morse had his medical uniform on under his bubble jacket, and assumed the informant would be starting a backshift sometime soon. Morse had selected a table right at the back of the coffee shop, nice and discreet, and Thoroughgood hoped this boded well for the importance of the information he was going to be parting with.

  “Frankie Brennan certainly made a mess of your nose, nice black panda eyes! You should have called me and I would have put a far better dressing on it than that sad excuse. I’ll bet you went to the Royal.”

  Thoroughgood nodded his head in agreement.

  “Typical, they don’t take the time of day in that hovel.”

  “I’m touched by your concern. Before I forget, you should make a phone call to the Glasgow Housing Association this afternoon, and your mum will be sorted for her house.”

  “Why thank you, Mr Thoroughgood.”

  The DS took a long slug of his coffee, and then a second gulp to wash down the painkillers he’d forgotten to take when he got up.

  “Well Morse, I’m all ears.”

  “Last night you hit four different houses looking for the gang members and only managed three out of four. Gary Reid was missing?”

  “That’s correct,” admitted Thoroughgood.

  “That’s because Gary was with me.” Morse paused for effect.

  Thoroughgood’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily but the movement jarred his broken nose, causing him to wince in pain. His right hand cupping his smashed snout, he groaned before adding: “Go on.”

  “I’ve been seeing Gary since just before Christmas, and he has become more and more disillusioned with his life and has started to confide in me to quite an extent. As you might well guess now, it was from talking to Gary that I was able to provide the information relating to the safe house.”

  “That explains a helluva lot all right wee man. But what exactly are you saying here?” asked Thoroughgood.

  “Gary was badly beaten as a kid by his alcoholic father, and I think he’s beginning to get worried there are parallels between his father’s violence and his own. He’s struggling to reconcile his life with what happened to him as a kid. The more we’ve talked about it, the more he has unburdened himself to me. It was Gary who shot Jimmy Brown, and while there was an element of revenge in that, I think Gary has reached the stage in his life where he is becoming sick with all the violence.”

  “That’s all very nice and cosy, Morse, but there’s got to be more.”

  “There is. He lives in fear of being outed as a gay. He’s admitted to me he’s let slip a couple of times to Frankie Brennan about being in a gay bar or club and just about managed to get away with it, but he’s paranoid he’s going to bump into someone or be spotted and then that will be it in his line of work. He thinks he’s managed to pull the wool over Brennan’s eyes but he’s not so sure about Declan Meechan.

  “Meechan has eyes and ears everywhere, especially in the club scene, and I think Gary's come to a point where the worry and stress of keeping it all quiet and playing the tough guy is proving too much. If he’s caught out he’ll be humiliated and no longer any use to Meechan: we both know how that will end.”

  “Okay, that’s a bit more like it, but what does it all mean in real terms? Is Reid going to grass Brennan and the boys in turn for immunity and a new life? And what is he going to be able to give us on Meechan?”

  “To be honest, I can’t say for certain, but he wants out and can’t see any way of getting clear of the life he feels he has become trapped in. Brennan called him at the back of three this morning to tell him about his little run-in with you, and I could tell by the look on his face that he is pretty close to breaking point. He hates Brennan’s guts, but like everyone else he’s shit scared of what Brennan would do, first of all if he found out Gaz is gay and second, was wanting out.

  “I’m not at the stage where I can suggest to him it might be time to talk to the polis because he’s going to smell a rat. That could just send him the opposite way, but if I can help him arrive at that conclusion by himself then you could be in there.”

  Thoroughgood took his time, his mind twisting and turning the pros and cons of this unfolding situation that could yet provide the chink of daylight he and the Murder Inquiry team so desperately needed.

  “If Brennan called him after he walked out Stewart Street, City Centre nick, then your friend will know we want him in on a Section Fourteen detention for the same reason we pulled Brennan, Jarvis and Simms. Before we do that, we need Reid to take the step forward from having serious doubts about his life and the crimes he has been committing, and wanting to come right over and blow the whistle.

  “Realistically I’m duty bound to try and get a hold of Reid as soon as possible; and if we just don’t bother, what kind of message is that going to send out to Brennan? I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but what we need is for Reid to be ready to burst like an over-ripe melon by the time I pull him in. So when are you seeing him next, Morse?”

  “Well, I’m backshift today, but I’ll see him when I’m finished because he’s staying at my flat up in Springburn.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you’re taking a chance there. That’s just a wee bit close to home when you have bastards like Brennan running about armed to the teeth and looking for any excuse to pull the trigger!

  “I take it you’ll be speaking to your man over the course of the day? The best-case scenario for this whole thing would be if he was to give himself up on a voluntary attendance. He could come in lawyered up if he wanted, but you would need to make sure his lawyer was neither Charles Coyle or Gerry Shaw or anyone from their firm. Word would get straight back to Meechan, and then Reid would be right in the shit up to his neck.”

  Eventually, his eyes staring into the bottom of his latte glass, Morse said,

  “If I was you, Mr Thoroughgood, not that I’m telling you how to do your job, I would have uniform make a couple of visits to Reid’s flat on the grounds that you’re still after him and want to pull him in. Word will get back to Brennan and Meechan from the street, and that will buy me the time to work on him over the course of the day. But the final decision will be Gary’s, and you will need to be able to make assurances regarding his future and what is going to happen in court. If he’s going to stick his head on the line here, even if it is for a way out and a new life, he’s still going to give you your only chance at the gang.”

  “Yeah, I hear all t
hat. Just clear one thing up for me: I take it Reid hasn’t been silly enough to give your address out to Brennan or any of the other likely lads?”

  “No way.”

  “And where the hell is this going to leave you if Reid goes for it?”

  “One step at a time, Detective Sergeant; by the end of the day you’ll need to be in a position to make cast-iron assurances about the rewards for Gary to do just that.”

  Thoroughgood drained his coffee and pushed his chair back, about to leave.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something Detective Sergeant? Like the small matter of my payment?” said Morse.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that until I sit down with my Detective Superintendent later today. But you know the way it works Morse, you won’t get it all in a oner; with this business with Reid I don’t know how that is going to affect the payment procedure. I also need to be careful about notifying the Central Handling unit. They’re gonna be a bit funny that we have come this far down the line and I haven’t briefed them. But I promise you, Morse, I’ll bring it up with my Super and you’ll get something the next time we meet. Is that good enough?”

  “I suppose it’ll have to be,” said Morse, distinctly unimpressed.

  “Just how sure are you this CID can be trusted? This is the only shot I’m gonnae get at an out and to make a life elsewhere: it’s gonnae be all or nothing, Gerry,” said Reid, his agitation close to boiling over.

  Morse was not about to reveal he had already met Thoroughgood that morning for a coffee, but was keen to coax the gangster further down the road of turning in his fellow gang members.

  “Why don’t you let me give him a call, you could go in and see him tonight and take it from there? Listen Gary, we both know your problems aren’t going to go away: they’re only going to get worse. Don’t you think this is your best chance of getting out and making a clean break on your terms?”

  “Aye, I guess you’re right Gerry. Okay: make the call and if yer man is up for it we go in tonight after you’ve done your shift.”

  “I think that would be the right move, Gary. Now what you will need to do is get your head straight over what you are going to say when we head into the cop shop.” Morse got up and then added:

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make that call.”

  Morse made for his bedroom and punched in Thoroughgood’s mobile number.

  “It’s Morse. Gary has decided it would be a good move to come in and speak to you tonight. So I’m going to come in with him after my shift finishes. How would nine-thirty p.m. suit?”

  “That’s brilliant, wee man. Nine-thirty would be spot on. Now are you quite happy he will be safe at yours for the rest of the day?”

  “I told you, not another soul knows he is here. We’ll see you in the front foyer of Stewart Street nick at nine-thirty p.m. then.”

  “Done,” said Thoroughgood, and cut the call.

  The news brought a huge smile to a delighted Detective Superintendent Tomachek, who bestowed a benign slap on Thoroughgood’s back, his relief all too evident.

  “That’s first class, Gus. We really can’t ask for much more than that, can we now? Okay, I’d better get on the blower to Henry Farrell over at London Road: I’d never hear the end of it if I failed to inform him, miserable wee sod that he is. Obviously he may want to have some kind of input with regard to the interview of Reid, but given your tout is going to be bringing him in, I’m sure he can be made to see sense whether it’s Farrell’s Murder Inquiry or not.

  “And of course the Chief will be delighted. Yes, pull this one off, Thoroughgood, and I can see the chip on that shoulder of yours being replaced by a couple of pips. Let’s just cross our fingers we can get Reid in without anything going wrong. We’re so close I can almost see the headlines on the front of the Evening Times!”

  Chapter 24

  Meechan was angry. Frankie Brennan called him after his release from City Centre Police Office and he got a whole lot angrier. Angry that his subordinates had been sloppy enough to be trailed back to the safe house, angrier that two of his gang had now been retained in custody thanks to outstanding warrants, and incandescent that “that bastard Thoroughgood” appeared to be taking a personal interest in putting a spoke in his plans. The information which had helped Thoroughgood locate his gang must be coming from somewhere close to home and that, Meechan realised, was the most worrying aspect of this whole little affair, even if in real terms there had been no setback suffered.

  At three p.m. Rankin duly arrived, and after Jenny had brought two steaming lattes into the office, it was Meechan’s turn to bring his right-hand man up to speed with the overnight developments. Rankin was less than impressed.

  “Brennan’s a clumsy big bastard and he can be a bit sloppy. But if the cops have got nothing from either the bookies or the car showroom, then he’s done his job well enough. What worries me is, if he wasn’t tailed out of Springburn, then where the fuck has Thoroughgood got the location of the safe house from? Something isn’t right on this one, Declan.”

  Meechan nodded in agreement. “I think I know where our problem is coming from.”

  Rankin ran the fingers of his left hand up and down the Mars Bar that ran four inches down the right hand-side of his face and then flicked at the diamond earring in his right lobe.

  “I’m all ears, boss.”

  “I think we may have a problem with Gaz Reid. I’ve been hearing stories about him hanging around a couple of gay bars in the town. Now, there’s been nothing that’s caused me concern when it comes to him doing the business for me, but it’s something I’ve been keeping tabs on. We both know that at times he’s had his problems with the booze but he’s the type of evil bastard you need in your team and according to Brennan, he did a very nice job on Jimmy Brown with a machete. Apparently half the poor bastard’s insides were spilt all over the showroom floor before Reid blew his brains out.

  “But he’s gone walkabout and, although Brennan spoke to him on Monday morning after he got out of City Centre cop shop, it’s beginning to worry me that we don’t know where the fuck he is, and more importantly, who the little arse bandit is with.”

  “I see where you’re coming from, boss. Wee Reid a poof, well fuck me, I would never have guessed! Aye, that could cause problems for us further down the line, even if everything is okay with him right now and he’s just lying low. Can I ask Declan, does big Brennan know his number two is a fag?”

  Meechan smiled the hooded malevolent grin that could bring a chill to even the hardest ned:

  “Nope, Brennan is blissfully unaware. I’ve kept him that way because if we need Reid silenced, then the news he’s been keeping from his big buddy is likely to make Brennan angry enough to do whatever I require him to. See where I’m coming from, Tommy?”

  “Very nice, Declan, and I’m sure the big giant would thank you for the opportunity to right that wrong. So what exactly are you saying about Reid, do ya’ think he’s been squealing to Thoroughgood?”

  “Thoroughgood has too many contacts in Partick and there’s every chance he’s crossed paths with Reid sometime in the past. We need to find Reid and make sure there isn’t a problem with him and if there is, that Brennan sorts it quick. I think the best way to get to the bottom of this one is to activate a little insurance policy I have tucked away.”

  At precisely three-thirty p.m. Meechan’s buzzer went off and Jenny’s sultry voice advised him “Lazarus” was on the other end. Meechan winked at Rankin and put the call on speaker phone.

  “Ah Lazarus, I have been expecting your call. You know my concerns regarding our mutual friend Gary Reid. Would I be right to be concerned in that regard, my friend?”

  “You would indeed, Declan. I’m afraid you were right, the information that took Thoroughgood and Hardie to the safe house came from Reid via a tout but there’s a lot worse to come Declan, a lot worse.”

  “I’m sitting comfortably,” said Meechan, shooting Rankin a here-we-go look.<
br />
  “Reid is holed up in Springburn with the tout and he’s planning to sign himself in at Stewart Street nick tonight. He’s looking for a new identity, new life, the lot, in return for the full Monty.”

  At five p.m. Frankie Brennan arrived at Meechan’s office.

  “Sit down, Frankie,” said Meechan as Tommy Rankin shot the Irishman a quick smile.

  “All right big fella, keepin’ busy?”

  “Tommy boy, how wis the Western Isles? You dried oot yet?”

  “Aw, it’ll probably be the end of the week before my liver is right again,” admitted Rankin.

  Meechan quickly brought the small talk to an end.

  “Frankie, there is no other way to tell you this other than straight out. Gary Reid is intending to turn us all in to the cops tonight. I’m afraid I’ve only come by the information in the last hour or so, and to be quite frank, big man, I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

  Meechan’s gaze settled on Tommy Rankin, a silent request for his number two to carry on softening the blow.

  “Frankie, the boss and me both know that yous two were close and have been working together for a long time now. But there’s a bit more to this than just Gaz wantin’ to grass us all up, I’m afraid, big man.”

  Brennan sat motionless; his giant hands, palm down on the thighs of his denims, had begun to grip the material with increasing force while the colour drained out of his face. But he said nothing.

  Rankin continued: “I’m afraid the wee man is a fairy. And me and the boss both think that’s what is behind all this. It turns out he’s been seein’ some queen for a while now and this geezer is a tout for the polis. We think he’s persuaded Gaz to turn himself in and squeal in order for a fresh start somewhere over the fuckin’ rainbow. Obviously we can’t allow that to happen, Frankie.”

  Meechan now took up the baton, noticing as he did so that Brennan’s usually slack mouth was pulled tight and his huge jaw set, but still the giant remained silent.

  “Look Frankie, I discussed this with Tommy and we thought maybe you would want the chance to shut Reid up. After all, he’s made a fool of you for all of these years. He had plenty of time to tell you if things weren’t going right but he never said a dicky bird, did he? Now it turns out that all the time he was lookin’ for a chance to squeal to the mob. And by that, I don’t mean any dumb fuckin’ half-assed copper, I mean that bastard Thoroughgood.