by Tony Black
Wullie pointed at him. ‘That makes more sense.’
‘But none of this helps me. I still have four dead bodies and a missing baby.’
Wullie got to his feet. He eased back his broad shoulders, spoke: ‘Well, take a few steps back the way, Robbie . . . What were you telling me a minute ago about your inquiries?’
Brennan crossed over his leg, twisted his ankle in his hand. ‘Well, we’ve had Tierney’s known associates in, put the thumbscrews on them . . . Nothing.’
‘How hard have you turned them?’
‘Bloody hard.’
Wullie put a hand on the wall, leaned over and punctuated his words with the point of his finger. ‘Then you have to ask yourself why they’re not talking.’
Brennan let go his ankle, showed palms. ‘That’s obvious: they don’t want to go the same way as Tierney.’
‘Correct!’ Wullie took a long cigarette from a packet of B&H 100s, put it in his mouth; it moved up and down as he spoke. ‘Tierney’s connection is higher up the tree than you’ve been looking.’
‘You think I should start climbing a bit.’
Wullie lit his cigarette, pointed to an ancient television screen in the corner of the room. ‘After last night’s performance, the bastard might be climbing down himself . . . Make sure you bump into him on the way up, eh.’
Brennan put both feet on the floor. He kept an eye on Wullie as he removed his mobile phone, dialled the station.
‘Lou, it’s Rob.’
‘Hello, sir.’
Brennan kept his tone businesslike, but his mind was sparking. ‘Any movement from those scrotes you brought in again?’
A pause on the line. ‘It’s like they’re in shutdown, boss.’
Brennan nodded to Wullie. ‘Right. Turf them out. All at once – I want them to be bumping into each other in the fucking street as they go.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Now he let the emotion into his voice: ‘And when that’s done, I want every dealer who might once have sold Tierney an ounce of puff hoiked in.’
Lou couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice. ‘That’s a lot of dealers. There must be dozens of them he could have scored from.’
‘Start at the top. Ones known to be dealing skag in Muirhouse. Don’t go to their delivery boys – right to the top, Lou, and go in hard . . . I want them rattled until their ears bleed, get me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Brennan was about to hang up Lou spoke again: ‘Sir, I don’t know if there’s anything in this, but we took a call and . . .’ He stalled, seemed to be searching for the right words.
‘Go on,’ said Brennan.
‘We took a call from a woman in Dean Village who says she saw someone on the night of the shootings.’
‘And?’
‘It’s not much of an ID, but she insists she saw a limping man soon after the shots were fired.’
Brennan felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. ‘How sure is she?’
‘Very. She seems reliable too.’
‘Okay, Lou, circulate that to the team . . . And all the other channels.’
He laid down the phone, put eyes on Wullie. The old man seemed to be a step ahead of him already.
Chapter 43
BRENNAN CHECKED HIS WATCH WHEN he got onto the street – it was approaching 6.30. Bryce’s celebration for Lauder and their team would be in full swing at the Bull. He really didn’t fancy it; just thinking about seeing Lauder and Bryce gloating was enough to make him want to throw up. His mind was awash with thoughts of the Limping Man; Lauder had never traced him, never came close. Brennan knew he was better than Lauder, he had more invested in catching the bastard, but pros had a way of ducking under the radar and this guy was obviously good, very good.
Brennan crossed the road at the Foot of the Walk. The town was being dug up to make way for trams that never seemed to materialise. He played with the idea of skipping Bryce and Lauder’s celebration, but there was a definite advantage to be had from seeing them with their guards down. He made his way to the Bull. The tram works had been going on for years, had driven some of the firms on the Walk out of business, and now there was talk about the trams only going as far as York Place because of a financial crisis. It made Brennan shake his head as he looked at the statue of Queen Victoria. What the hell was going on with this city? he wondered.
In Pitlochry he had been reminded that there were other places to live, places with clean air and clean buildings. Green spaces and bins that got emptied. Drunks safely tucked away in their middle-class homes instead of spilling from every shopfront. He had grown tired of the city, was exhausted by it. As he put his hand in his pocket he felt the picture that Lorraine had given him. He toyed with the idea of removing it, looking at his growing child, but he didn’t want to risk being seen by someone. Instead he removed his mobile phone, dialled Lorraine’s number.
‘Hello, Rob.’
‘This is getting ridiculous.’
‘What is?’
‘Oh Christ, stop with the shrink-speak.’
‘If you like.’
Brennan moved the phone to his other ear. ‘I need to see you.’
A note of sarcasm: ‘At last a window opens in your diary.’
‘Say when.’
‘Tonight?’
Brennan sighed. ‘I can’t make tonight.’
‘Brilliant! Why did you call, Rob?’
‘Look, I do need to see you. I just can’t make tonight.’
‘Well, when?’
‘How about Monday?’
She raised her voice: ‘Are you trying to be funny?’
If he was, he didn’t get the joke. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Rob, you have an appointment with me on Monday . . . I am still your doctor, remember?’
He had forgotten about the session, must have pencilled it in before he was handed the case by Galloway. ‘Well, Monday it is then. I’ll try to be on time.’
‘Don’t try too hard.’ She sounded harsh. ‘Goodbye, Rob.’
She hung up. Brennan watched the phone’s light go out, then moved off at a slower pace than before.
The Bull was a cellar bar, dark and dingy. When he arrived DC Stevie McGuire spotted him coming through the door and went to greet him. ‘Hello, sir.’
‘You can drop the honorific, Stevie, we’re off duty.’
‘Okay, boss . . . I’m kidding! What can I get you?’
‘A pint, heavy.’ Brennan watched McGuire order up the drinks and scoped the bar for familiar faces. Lauder and Bryce were already knocking them back, holding court in the window seats. Prominent positions so no one could miss them. As Lauder caught sight of Brennan at the bar he raised a glass in salute. Brennan nodded, pressed out a weak smile. The bastard was having a laugh with him.
McGuire brought his pint, sat it on the bar counter; Brennan retrieved it, supped. He always stuck to just one pint on these occasions. It didn’t do to get drunk in front of colleagues. It was a weakness and that was the one thing everyone on the team was looking out for. Wullie had always told him, ‘Have a drink, enjoy a drink, but don’t let the team know about it.’ Getting drunk meant getting out of control and when that happened, mistakes were made. Brennan couldn’t afford mistakes in his position. Mistakes were for people like Lauder; he’d make one soon enough, and when he did Brennan was going to be there to roast his balls over a hot spit.
‘You’ll have heard the good news, then?’ said McGuire.
‘About Her Majesty?’
‘Yeah . . . Think that’s her official title now, isn’t it?’
‘She fucking thinks it is already.’
‘Still, better for us if she’s sweet. And she’ll be off to the top floor . . . Slim chance of us bumping into her.’
‘She’s not off yet.’
‘True. And neither are we.’
Brennan brought his pint up to his mouth again, sipped, lowered it. ‘We still have some moves.’ He looked at the glass in McGuire’s hand. ‘Ho
w many of those have you had?’
He jutted his jaw. ‘Two. This is my third.’
Brennan took it out of his hand. ‘Get yourself an orange juice.’
‘What? I thought I was off duty.’
‘You are . . . And I’d like it to stay that way for both of us, so orange juice for you tonight.’
‘Yes, sir.’ McGuire slumped off.
‘And I told you about that before.’
A nod, thin smile, paired with a wink.
Brennan walked over to the table where Lauder and Bryce sat. He took his pint with him and put it down as he greeted them. Bryce stood up. ‘Sit down, Brycey,’ said Brennan. ‘Just coming over to give my best to the team.’
Lauder looked away, sneering. He picked up a glass and tipped it back; the ends of his moustache caught stray static around the rim as he lowered his drink. ‘Very kind of you, Rob. I’ll be sure to bear it in mind when I’m making up the duty roster next week.’
Laughter rung out around the table. Brennan looked at Bryce, who seemed embarrassed; he was a good enough sort, but Lauder was digging a grave for himself.
Brennan picked up his pint again. ‘Don’t get too cocky now, Ian. There’s a bit of time left before you get your feet under the table.’
Lauder smoothed down the edges of his moustache. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? . . . Expecting to clean it up on the weekend?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘Not fucking many. I think you’re delusional, son. We want to get that Fuller woman a more powerful torch to shine in your ear.’
A couple of sneers turned to laughter, but most stayed quiet around the table now. Lauder had stepped over the line; Brennan knew it and so did everyone else. Bryce got out of his seat. ‘Come on, Rob, I’ll get you a drink.’
Brennan put a cold eye on Lauder as he turned for the bar. His pulse kicked, adrenaline spiked, but he had mastered keeping those out of sight long ago.
‘Sorry about Ian,’ said Bryce. ‘He’s a prick sometimes.’
‘Just sometimes?’
‘Well, most of the time. Look, don’t let him get to you, eh.’
Brennan touched the detective’s elbow. ‘It’s fine, Brycey. Go and enjoy your night. You had a good result, the boys deserve it.’
Bryce returned to the table and McGuire approached, orange juice in hand. ‘What was all that about?’
‘That? . . . Nothing at all.’
Brennan took another sip from his pint and watched an exchange of words between Bryce and Lauder; there seemed to be a disagreement. Brennan wished he could place money on the outcome. Lauder got out of his seat and picked his drink up from the table. A beer mat stuck to the base of the glass as he quaffed the last few swallows. The mat hung on for a few seconds then floated to the floor. Lauder slammed down the glass and stomped for the door. Bryce raised his hands in mock defiance but he was flagged down.
‘Right, Stevie, you ready to roll?’ said Brennan.
‘What? I just got this orange juice – two fucking quid it cost.’
‘I’ll buy you one later, come on.’
Brennan followed Lauder out onto the street. He watched him get into his car and put his phone to his ear.
‘You parked nearby, Stevie?’
‘Yeah, back of the pictures.’
‘Right, get your car. Stay in contact on the phone, not on the radio.’
McGuire looked at Brennan, turned his cheek away. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Just do it, eh. And hurry up. I’m over there so I’ll be on his bumper. I’ll phone to let you know where he goes. If I think he might have picked me up, I’ll hand over to you. Okay?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘Good. Now move it. We don’t want to lose him before he gets rolling.’
Brennan dashed across the road and got into the Passat – the car started first time. He watched for a moment for the traffic to clear and then turned the vehicle round in the street. He was sitting in the road, three or four cars back, as Lauder pulled out.
Brennan took out his phone as he drove, placed it in the hands-free cradle on the dash and called McGuire.
‘Stevie, that’s me following behind Lauder now. He’s heading out towards London Road . . .’
‘Right, I’m not too far behind you – just at the junction, waiting for a break.’
‘Fine. I’ll keep you tuned in.’
Brennan followed Lauder down London Road, through two sets of traffic lights, and one set of roadworks. Council contractors had earlier removed diseased trees from the London Road Gardens and loaded them into a truck bed that sat in the road, cutting the four lanes to two. Lothian Buses were tailed back all the way to the junction with Easter Road and the driver at the front of the queue looked ready to ram the bus into the truck bed.
Brennan kept an eye on Lauder’s car; he seemed to be slowing down. ‘Stevie, think he’s pulling up.’
‘Right. Where are you?’
‘Just at the minimart on the corner. I’m going to pass him – can you take over? He’s getting out now.’
‘Yes, sure. I’ll stop in the bus lane till he moves off again. Stay on the line.’
‘Will do.’
Brennan drove down to the Sainsbury’s at the end of the road, turned in the car park and headed back in the opposite direction. He was behind a yellow Hyundai as Lauder got back into his car, pulled out.
‘He’s on the move again, sir.’
‘I see him.’
‘Okay. I’ll stay with him. He’s turning at the lights, going up the hill towards Regent Road.’
Brennan waited for the two cars to pass and swung out in pursuit. He could see McGuire’s navy Golf sitting a car behind Lauder; as the indicators came on he was already altering his road position.
‘Turning for Calton Hill, now, sir.’
‘Stay on him.’
As the cars snaked onto the access road behind the old Royal High, Brennan looked out into the park. It was darker than he thought; pitch black. The lights from the cars lit the gravel road ahead but there was little moonlight up above. As Lauder turned to the left, drove past the Monument and headed for the car park, Brennan told McGuire to pull back.
‘Right, ease up, Stevie. Let him get parked.’
McGuire pulled the Golf into the grass verge. Brennan followed behind him, got out and ran towards the driver’s door.
‘What’s he up to?’ said Brennan.
‘Search me. Scouting for a fucking rent boy?’
Brennan turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘Lauder? He’s as straight as me.’
‘This is Calton Hill. Something you want to tell me, boss?’
‘Fuck off . . . Come on, and bring that torch.’
Brennan took off for the car park; McGuire jogged behind him. As they passed the National Monument they spotted Lauder parking up. Brennan turned, flagged McGuire to stop.
He crouched behind the base of the Monument. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He’s getting out, hang on.’ Brennan ducked back down.
‘Did he see you?’
He peered over the rim. ‘No. He was just checking.’ Brennan watched Lauder walk towards a small hatchback. He looked round again, then opened the passenger door.
‘Right, follow me. Stay out of the road, though.’
Brennan hugged the bushes all the way up the side of the gravel path. When the gravel gave out he stuck to the grass verges and crouched low to the ground. As he got closer to the car he saw there were two people inside. He could make out the silhouette of their heads as they spoke. Edging nearer, Brennan saw the car was a small red Astra – it looked vaguely familiar.
‘Do you recognise that car, Stevie?’
Headshakes. ‘No. Should I?’
Brennan smiled. ‘Maybe not.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me the torch.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Brennan looked over to the car; the two heads that had been sitting up had disappear
ed. ‘Wait till you hear those springs going, then follow me.’
‘Christ, has he got a bird in there?’
‘Better hope it’s a bird.’
The car started to move, almost imperceptibly at first, but then with more force. Soon the suspension screeched.
‘Right. Let’s go.’
Brennan made his way swiftly to the car. He got level with the passenger door before he put the torch on. The windows were steamed up as he tapped on the door. He pointed McGuire round to the other side of the car as he removed his warrant card and leaned over, opened the door.
‘Hello, there.’
There was a shriek from the girl on the back seat.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Lauder.
Brennan smiled, looked in, warrant card in hand. ‘Think you better get your pants on, Ian.’
‘Fucking hell, it’s you!’
‘The very man,’ he pointed to the other window, indicated McGuire, ‘but not alone.’
Lauder did a quick left-to-right. The girl on the seat started to whimper.
‘Hello again . . . Aylish, isn’t it? From the News if I’m not mistaken.’
Lauder arked up, ‘I’ll fucking swing for you, Brennan.’
A laugh, tip of the head. ‘I think your swinging days are well and truly over, mate.’
Chapter 44
BRENNAN WALKED AWAY FROM THE car, went to McGuire’s side and directed him to start writing down the details. McGuire nodded and made himself busy. As the DC strolled around the vehicle the front door was flung open and Lauder got out. He planted his feet heavily on the ground as he stood and did up his belt buckle. His face was white; Brennan emphasised the point by shining the torch on it.
‘Get that fucking thing out my eyes,’ snapped Lauder.
‘Watch your tone – you’re talking to an arresting officer here.’
‘Jesus, Rob, you’re not serious.’
Brennan looked him up and down. ‘Oh, you better believe it.’ He peered over Lauder’s shoulder, towards the dishevelled Aylish in the car. ‘She doesn’t look very happy. Mind you, she’s probably going to lose her job as well.’ He moved towards McGuire, said, ‘Aylish Dunn’s her name . . . Get some details, Stevie.’