A Measure of Trouble (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 2)

by Zach Abrams

  “I don't think you need me to answer that.”

  “There's been some talk that Hector was looking to sell us out, but I thought it was all gossip. Did my father know about this?”

  “As for your father knowing, you'd be best to speak to him yourself. From your reaction, it's apparent that you weren't aware of any sales discussions. Is that right?”

  “I knew nothing about it.”

  “We were led to believe it was discussed at your board meetings. Maybe we should check the minutes.”

  “No, I was never told, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing,” Stanley mused. “But where does this leave the deal, with Hector dead?”

  “As far as I'm aware there hasn't been a deal.”

  “I'll maybe give Georgie a call and see what she knows.”

  “Yes, maybe do that. She might appreciate your help arranging the funeral as well.”

  Alex's sarcasm was lost on Stanley.

  “Yes, I'd better call her and see what I can do,” Stanley replied.

  Alex felt they had exhausted their enquiries, for the time being at least. He thanked Stanley for his cooperation and left with Phil to return to the car. By the time they were seated, Phil's nose was streaming and his eyes were red and blotchy. “I wish I'd known beforehand, I'd have taken some anti-histamine.”

  Chapter 15

  Although it was a cold day, they completed the drive from Newton Mearns to Glasgow city centre with the windows open and the ventilation fan on full so Phil could inhale fresh air, or as close as they could get to some with the abundance of petrol and diesel fumes. At any rate, the combination seemed to help and by the time they'd returned to Pitt Street, Phil was breathing normally again and his eyes and nose had stopped streaming.

  They returned to their office, on the way discussing the stage they'd reached in the investigation.

  “There could be organised crime involvement here. Should we bring in the specialist teams?” Phil enquired.

  “You're right about there being involvement with illegal whisky distribution and yes we need to keep our people in the loop, but I'm certain the godfathers weren't responsible for killing Mathewson. If they thought Mathewson was at it, then they wouldn't have taken care of him in such a simple fashion. They'd have wanted a more spectacular killing so as to make a public statement. That way everyone would be warned not to mess with them. A single blow to the head is not their style.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “I don't know about you but I've got a load of paperwork to catch up on. What's more I'm leaving at the back of five. I've an appointment out on the South Side at six. In the meantime, I need you to check anything new that's come in and ensure all the admin has been correctly completed. Look over all the interview data, ensure it's been correctly transcribed, signed off and filed. Check records on the evidence collected so far, make sure it's tagged and transportation has been recorded to show there's no chance of cross contamination. That should keep you busy for a while.”

  Alex was feeling totally exhausted. He closed his office door and sat down at his desk. He folded his arms and lay his head down for a moment's rest. Thinking a short catnap would re-energise him, he closed his eyes. The ringtone from Alex's mobile startled him back to life in what he imagined was only an instant later. He didn't immediately recognise the caller's ID and he inhaled deeply, wanting to ensure he didn't sound too drowsy. Spotting the clock on the screen, Alex was stunned to see that he must have been unconscious for approaching half an hour. In frustration, he shook his head while pressing the receive button.

  “Warren.”

  “Hello, Alex. It's Simon here. This is just a courtesy call to let you know that we're releasing Abdallah. We don't have enough to ensure a successful prosecution and we don't want the bad press we'd get from a failed one. Everyone would be after us. The Asian groups and leftists would criticise us for racism and all the Daily Mail readers would have a go at us for incompetence in not putting him away.”

  “I can't say I'm happy but at least I was prepared for it after our talk yesterday. I'm certain he was involved and not just involved, I think he led it. I guess our only chance is if the others throw him in it and I can't see that happening.”

  “In that case, we will just have to wait until you can pin something else on him, and I wish you luck.”

  Alex spent the little time he had left filing reports and catching up on his emails. He wanted to ensure he didn't arrive late, so he gave himself plenty of time to travel to his meeting. He arrived on Clarkston Road with ten minutes to spare. There were about a dozen parking bays in the small cul-de-sac at the side of the pub but every one of them was taken. Clarkston Road on this side had double yellow lines and parking was restricted at peak times on the opposite side. Alex wasn't prepared to risk another parking ticket by leaving his car where it could be booked so instead he drove on to Sainsburys', which was only a hundred yards beyond, and found a space in their car park. As a customer, he'd be allowed up to two hours of free parking and it was his intention to be a customer after his meeting.

  Alex crossed to the Bank and checked first to ensure Brian hadn't already arrived. The pub was aptly named, having previously served the local community as a savings bank. Following mergers, it was closed and had lain empty for several years before being extended and refurbished then re-opening as a pub/restaurant. The outside had an ornately carved stone frontage befitting its former status and the inside had been modernised, modifying its former austerity into a fashionable meeting place. Alex approached the bar and ordered a pint of soda water with lime. He found a vacant barstool and tried to relax, sipping the refreshing drink. Ten minutes later Brian arrived. They greeted each other warmly and shook hands enthusiastically.

  “What'll you have to drink?” Alex offered.

  “A Guinness for me, thanks.”

  “Guinness? I thought you were always a lager man.”

  “Times change, and besides, you know the old saying, `If the bottom's falling out of your world and you want to reverse it, then drink Guinness.' ”

  “I've not heard that one. I've heard the ad that `Guinness is good for you,' but not that it's life changing. Don't tell me they've proven it has beneficial medicinal effects?”

  “Not at all, what I'm talking about is a play on words. Instead of the bottom falling out of your world, the world falls… Well, you know? It works even better if you have a curry as well.”

  “Too much information. I hope that's not the sort of thing you're teaching the kids. Anyway, I should have seen it coming. I'm a bit slow today.”

  “That's not like you Alex.”

  “I suppose, I've just got a lot on my mind. I'm supervising three ongoing cases, one's a big one that's just started, as well as a dozen or so closed cases waiting to go to court and one of them's just gone pear shaped.”

  “Tell me more?”

  “I'd love to, but if I did I'd have to shoot you.”

  “What do you mean, I thought you were CID, not Special Branch or MI5, or is it MI6?”

  “Take your pick, but yes I'm just CID. I still can't talk about an open investigation, though.”

  “I'm pretty knackered myself, after another week looking after all these brats.”

  “Before you drop yourself in any deeper, I think you need to remember that two of these brats are my sons.”

  “Well that being the case, I shouldn't need to explain anything to you. Fair enough, they mostly are good kids but even the best of them have their moments. Okay, what did you want to see me about?”

  “Let's get a table it will be a bit more private.”

  For early on a Friday evening, the pub was unusually quiet. Normally the bar would be teaming with commuters dropping in for a drink or two at the end of the week before returning home. There was also normally a steady stream of customers looking for reasonably priced snacks and meals as an alternative to slaving over a hot stove.

  Brian looked around him an
d spotted a couple of empty tables which he suggested to Alex.

  “No, let's go upstairs. This place is bound to fill up soon.”

  Brian drained his glass. “Time for another quick one if you're game?”

  “No, I'm still fine. I have the car with me so I'm on soft drinks at the moment. I'm planning to make up for it later.”

  “Your choice,” Brian replied and ordered a refill to his drink before following Alex up to the mezzanine area and settling into a table overlooking the main bar area. The upper floor was warm and stuffy so they both removed their jackets and hung them from the backs of their chairs.

  “This is serious. You want to see me at short notice, you want privacy and you're not drinking alcohol.”

  “Hey, I'm meant to be the detective here. It sounds like you've gone back to reading Conan-Doyle.”

  “I can't go back to what I never stopped,” Brian replied, a broad grin splitting his face.

  “The only reason I'm not drinking is that I've got the car, like I said before. I suspect you can guess what this is about,” Alex continued. “I'm aware there's an alleged problem with one of your staff.”

  “Forget the alleged, there's a problem with most of my staff.”

  “Carpenter?”

  “Ah. Now that's no joking matter.” Brian demeanour changed, the ever-present smile left his face. “What's your interest?”

  “I told you this would be off the record. It's a private matter for me. Carpenter's Andrew's teacher and he sees him as being on a pedestal like some kind of god.”

  “And you want to know what he's really like and if Andrew's been at any risk?”

  “No, that's not it. I know Andrew well enough and I can trust his judgement. He's upset about what's happened and I'm looking to find out more and see if there's any way I can help. Of course, I want to ask about the arrangements for attending the Maths Challenge prize-giving as well, but that's just a practical issue.”

  “The prize-giving is the easy one. There are four kids involved and Mrs Rankine will take them through to Paisley. As for Jimmy Carpenter, you're right, Andrew does have sound judgement. Jimmy's a very good teacher and one of the nicest guys I know. His wife and my Trisha are quite close friends too. `God-like' might be carrying it a bit far, but I'd say he's one of the best loved and most valued teachers we have. He's good at his job, he gets excellent results and he can cope well with the mischief makers. Well, he could up until now. There's never been the slightest hint of any issues with his behaviour, and if you'd asked me to name teachers we could have allegations made against, I reckon he'd be about the last one to add to the list.”

  “That's pretty much the feedback I've had from my own people. What about the complainant?”

  “Ah, now that's a whole different ball park. Sean Connelly is bad news all round. A complete little toe rag – no, worse than that, he's an evil little bastard.” Brian looked around him to check he was out of earshot of anyone else. “The whole story, as far as I know it, is that he joined the school last summer. He'd been at Barrhead before, but because he moved into the area he was given a placement. He's been nothing but trouble since he arrived. He disrupts classes and he bullies other kids. He's known to be involved in thefts and extortion but we've never had any evidence that would stick. The other kids involved have been too scared of him to make a formal statement. Even some of the teachers are scared of him.”

  “Can't you do anything about it?”

  “Not without hard evidence, I hardly need to explain to you. He's had countless warnings, particularly for the lesser problems, and in the good old days, he'd have been expelled long before now, but you know what the system is like. He needs to be caught red handed for something pretty serious before we can even give a temporary exclusion.

  “The worst part is that now he's made this allegation, he's made himself almost bomb proof. While the enquiry is ongoing, he can just about get away with murder. If we're seen to take any action against him, then it could be interpreted that we're picking on him because he's made a complaint, so we'll have to treat him with kid gloves, if you'll excuse the pun.”

  “Shit, that's the last thing I wanted to hear.”

  “Let me assure you, Alex, it's the last thing we want too. As I understand it, he's made a formal, criminal complaint. That means your people are involved, but I'd be amazed if it went anywhere. However, the education department enquiry is something else. Poor Jimmy's been suspended, and while that goes on, the wee bastard turns up for school every day to rub our noses in it. To any outsider looking in, it appears as if Jimmy must be guilty because of the way it's being handled.

  “There's a rumour going round that the Connelly's are at risk of being evicted from their flat and this whole charade is a concoction to fight against it. They think they can argue to the court that it would be too unfair and upsetting for the boy's life to be disrupted when he's already gone through the trauma of being sexually assaulted. Do you reckon that could work?”

  “In theory, there should be no chance. Provided there are grounds for eviction, there's a legal contract and the papers have been properly served, then the outcome should be automatic, but there's a lot of `ifs' in there and you know what it's like when you get a smart lawyer and an indecisive Sheriff. It shouldn't affect the outcome but it might stretch the timescales.”

  “Even if he does get evicted, then he has to go somewhere. The family would be unlikely to get replacement accommodation close by. But even if they're moved a distance away, the wee swine could apply for an out of area placement so he can keep going to the same school. His family aren't likely to put themselves out, but I can just imagine the Council paying for taxis to bring him in.”

  “It's not the news I was hoping for, but I can't say I'm too surprised.”

  “The saddest part is he's a really intelligent child and he's full of energy. If it could only be channelled in the right direction, he could do really well. We've tried and tried but he's not interested in bettering himself, well, not by legitimate means.”

  “So it won't be a `Good Will Hunting' story with a happy ending?”

  “Christ, no. More like `City of God.' ”

  “It's such a pity, if only kids like that had some order, some discipline, then maybe they could turn out okay. Maybe bringing back National Service would help?”

  “Yeah, brilliant idea, Alex. The evil little bastards aren't bad enough already, you want to teach them how to fight and use weapons?”

  “Okay, fair point, but it could work for a lot of them.”

  “Sure, and the ones it didn't work for would kill us in our beds. Still, it would be good for business for you.”

  Brian caught sight of his watch and jumped to his feet.

  “Oh bugger, I'm running late. I'll need to get going. We ought to get together more often. It's good to catch up and have a natter. We still can't put the world to right any more than we could when we were at Uni, but we can have a bloody good moan. I'll call you if I hear anything new,” and with that he grabbed his jacket and fled down the stairs and out the door.

  Alex sat for a couple of minutes longer reassembling his thoughts and wondering what he could possibly say to Andrew which wasn't as jaundiced as he was currently feeling about the system. He remembered he was now off duty and was planning to take a lot of the weekend off. There was some work he'd planned for Saturday morning, but he had tickets to take Craig and Andrew to a football game in the afternoon and keep them with him overnight. Sunday was as yet unplanned and might depend on the progress of the Mathewson case. To start his weekend, Alex was invited to spend the evening with Sandra in her new flat.

  He wanted to buy her a flat warming present but didn't know what she might need or want, so he deferred that decision until he had carried out the research and had more time. For this evening, he had promised to bring wine and dessert and he dashed across to Sainsburys thinking he would find what he was looking for there.

  First he located a bottle
of Moet, believing champagne was the best start for the celebration. While he was in the wine section, he spotted a familiar label, it was `Longue Dog', a rich fruity red from the Languedoc region. Alex remembered Sandra talking about her parents owning a second home in the region and her raving about the excellent quality of food and wine when she'd visited them there. He added this to the basket and went in search of something sweet. Maintaining the French theme, he located a delicious looking Tarte au Citron, and to complement it, he added a tub of fresh blueberries and a carton of double cream. He quickly spun round to the aisle which held stationary, and after a few minutes searching, he located a tasteful greetings card with the message `Welcome to Your New Home.' He then moved back to the doorway and chose a bunch of a dozen red roses. Satisfied with his selection, he walked towards the checkouts. It was a small supermarket and being a quiet time of day there was only one checkout operator on duty and a queue of three people waiting to be attended. Realising he only had seven items and seeing there were four self-service automatic checkout locations, of which two were empty, Alex went directly there to save time. He scanned the barcodes and found himself so irritated by the recorded instructions telling him what to do that he started talking back to the machine. Only when he had completed his transaction and loaded his bags did he realise the champagne had a security tag on it. He watched the queue of people he'd avoided all complete their purchases and leave the store while he marked the minutes going by, standing, having had to call and wait for an assistant to come and remove the tag so he didn't trigger the shoplifter alarms when he exited the shop.

  Alex raced the couple of miles back to his flat and was lucky to find a vacant parking space immediately outside the entranceway. He lifted his bag of goodies and ran up and opened the door. In keeping with what he'd told Brian, he was anticipating imbibing in alcoholic refreshment and, not wanting to be burdened by his vehicle, he phoned for a taxi asking to be picked up from his address in twenty minutes time. He discarded his clothes, leaving them where they fell and dived under the shower. He then had a very quick shave and cleaned his teeth before locating a fresh, casual shirt, sweater and chinos. He just had time to gather his work clothes into a laundry basket before his mobile rang announcing the taxi's arrival. Lifting his wallet and his jacket, he dashed out, and was halfway down the stairs before he remembered the `goody' bag. He raced back to collect it and at the same time picked up a pen so he could write a message on the card while travelling.