by Tom Benson
“It’s hard to say,” Jake said. “They greeted each other like friends, not lovers. I’m inclined to believe they didn’t want to talk by phone, or she couldn’t have access to a car.”
Phil said, “I’d like everybody to keep an open mind on that relationship. It may not come to anything, but we can’t be sure. In her husband’s absence, the woman might not have anybody one the side, and she might have had more than one.”
Jake pressed the control, and another picture of McGinley appeared but standing talking to a man outside a bar.
Rachel said, “I recognise the other bloke. Wasn’t he one of the two ex-soldiers involved in the ambush we thwarted?”
“Yes,” Jake said and smiled. “Geordie Lavery, who has been working as a freelance bodyguard, driver and gunman. He is now wheedling his way into Mental Mickey’s organisation. Geordie lived in Govan before joining the army, so he’s knowledgeable on the south side of the river.”
“Is he one of our assets now?” Rachel asked.
“Well he is, thanks to you,” Jake said. “I had a few drinks with him, and he told me how impressed he was with your performance at the ambush. Geordie thought when you asked Max to leave you it was so you could execute both him and his mate Ryan.”
“When I found out they were both ex-soldiers I didn’t want to see them getting killed for the likes of Henderson. I suggested they both get out of the area and the gun-toting work.” Her eyes narrowed. “How has he ended up working for us?”
“I found him easily enough, bought him a beer and had a casual chat. I twisted the conversation around to the hired guns who took out drug dealers over the last few months.”
“Didn’t you make him suspicious?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, it did,” Jake said. “Until I said, I knew a young woman who’d recently visited Balloch, and his eyes widened. He asked if I was police, so I told him enough for him to know I’d been at the manor house incident.”
“How did he react to hearing you were involved?”
“He told me you’d suggested working for us on some minor tasks. When he said he would be interested, I told him we could both put in a word for him.”
Rachel said, “Is he on our payroll now?”
“His first task was to infiltrate McGinley’s gang. Mental Mickey needed a new driver, so Geordie stepped in, and got the job on a trial basis.”
Annabel said, “Rachel, to get back to the subject of Henderson. When are you due to pay a visit to his ex-wife?”
“I’ve got it in my diary for next Monday, which will be the twelfth. I’ve checked on her in the middle of each month since we moved her in March.”
Ian said, “Is she the woman who’d been seeing the murdered biker, Joe?”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “Annabel and I worked together to get Stephanie into another branch of the travel agent’s offices. We organised a safe-house for her in Dalmuir.”
Ian nodded. “Why does she need protection?”
“Peter Henderson is a control freak. After they’d separated and divorced, he still didn’t like the idea of his Stephanie seeing other men. She had a taste for big rough bikers and for some reason, it upset Henderson.”
Annabel said, “We think there’s more to it, but Stephanie has secrets and trusts nobody. It could be things about her ex-husband, or somebody else. We’re pretty sure about one important item, but we believe there is a lot more.”
“What’s the important thing?” Ian was eager to stay up to speed.
Annabel said, “I worked hard at tracing Cameron’s visitors when he was in Barlinnie, but he only had a couple of visits from his wife, two from Peter Henderson, and then three from unidentified women.”
“Do you believe this Stephanie woman was one of the unidentified visitors?”
“We believe Stephanie could have been one, or all three, with an amended name and a different look each visit. She has no criminal record—it would be easy.” Annabel was explaining the details from memory. “Stephanie may have information, but the main concern right now is her ex-husband. Henderson is one of those dangerous individuals who seems to be out to prove how bad he can be.”
Ian said, “I’m surprised the bikers haven’t found him yet.”
Rachel said, “When they catch up with him I think they’ll take their time with him. We know he murdered Max’s brother Joe, and there was another rider called Donny, who was killed in a strange hit and run accident.”
“Strange?” Ian said. “What made it strange, apart from the other driver leaving?”
Rachel said, “The biker was hit side-on by a vehicle on the road alongside Loch Lomond. When the body was checked over after recovery, Donny’s legs had been broken. He and his bike were in the water.”
“I’m missing something here,” Ian said. “Surely those factors would be expected?”
Rachel nodded. “Fragments of Donny’s jeans remained attached to the barrier, which means something large maintained contact with him and his bike. The crash barrier wasn’t damaged.” She paused and looked at the others.
“He didn’t go over into the water at that point. It was ten metres further where they found him. Marks on the grass and earth under his fingernails indicate he’d fought against his assailant. He had been conscious, and somebody drowned him before rolling the bike in after him.”
Ian squinted. “It would take a heavy vehicle to crush him against the barrier.”
“At the time,” Rachel said. “Peter Henderson was known to drive a 4 x 4. The repair was organised by a guy in the east end. It’s somebody who deals with stolen vehicles. I told Phil a couple of days ago because we wanted to let Max know we’re on the case. The repair shop is on our files now.”
Phil said, “Right guys, we’re now going to print and display our rogues’ gallery on the board. We’ve seen some of them on our projections so it will be good to have them on the wall.”
Annabel had printed the photographs in colour on A4 paper and pinned them to the board in the appropriate positions. Each photo had lines to display connections to others.
Jake said, “We’ve got some interesting combinations.”
Ian was shaking his head. “Coffee?” he asked. He received knowing looks from all of the team, so with a broad grin made his way to the side table and fixed up fresh brews.
While Ian delivered the drinks to his colleagues; Annabel created lines out to either side of the board showing known or suspected locations of the individuals.
When everybody settled down at the table again, Phil was ready. “Picture number one is our most recent likeness of the man we now know as Gordon Fitzpatrick.”
“How recent is it?” Rachel asked.
Phil glanced at his watch, “As of this moment—twenty-six hours.” He raised an eyebrow.
Rachel covered her mouth with a hand but couldn’t stop a giggle at Phil’s precise timing.
“This guy,” Phil said, “looks like he’s the household security at Fitzpatrick’s castle. I’ve had him checked out against police files, and he is as nasty as they come. His name is Norrie Simpson. Once again we’re dealing with a guy from a family of nutcases.”
Jake asked, “Does Simpson have any particular aspect of brutality he enjoys?”
“Torture,” Phil said. “As far as known, he’ll happily use a knife, a drill or his bare hands, just as long as he can prolong the victim’s suffering. He’s a sexual deviant of the highest order and spent a few years in HMP Peterhead. As many of the cons manage to do, during counselling, he convinced them he was a reformed character.”
“Charming,” Rachel said. “Does he have a favourite type of victim?”
Phil said, “He’s known to have a history of violence against gay men, in particular, but he’ll sexually abuse and torture anybody.”
Rachel said, “He’s out and about because he managed to outwit the authorities.”
“Exactly,” Phil said. “One interesting detail about Simpson is, he has a twin brother called Brian.�
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“Are there any details available?” Jake said.
“The brother hasn’t been seen for years,” Phil said. “It sounds like he’s living abroad. He’s a violent individual, and although not an identical twin; he’s as big as Norrie. We’re waiting for any distinguishing marks for Brian.”
Annabel said, “While Phil was taking pictures, I was establishing some depth to Eva’s cover story. I had a look at the region before we start to put a detailed plan together.”
Rachel said, “How did Eva find Fitzpatrick so fast?”
“I sent her the list of fourteen stately homes that Stella got for me. They were places that have been bought in the last four years.” Annabel grinned. “Eva worked damn hard, and found the right house inside two days.”
“That’s impressive,” Rachel said.
“She told me she speeded up her search with a snippet of information I gave her. She asked me if our target had a favourite colour and type of car, which of course he does.”
“Clever girl,” Jake said.
“How did you manage to cover Eva’s back if you didn’t meet?” Rachel asked.
“I engineered a conversation with Fitzpatrick away from his new home, and we chatted over coffee.” Annabel smiled at Rachel’s wide-eyed expression. “From what Eva told me, Fitzpatrick quizzed her on the main road, and then Simpson was out looking around.”
“Is Eva okay?” Rachel asked.
“Yes,” Annabel said. “When Fitzpatrick joined me in the cafe, as I was sure he would, I told him I had used my researcher before, and I described her. I said she’d been telling me on the phone about meeting this handsome older guy just outside the village.”
“Wasn’t that a dangerous thing to do?”
“It would only have been dangerous if I didn’t have a loaded gun in my handbag.” She grinned. “The main thing is, Fitzpatrick is so vain he was giving me the eye, even as I was telling him about a younger woman fancying him.”
Jake’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at Phil before checking the caller. Phil nodded.
“Hi mate,” Jake said and then listened. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at the La Scala. Bye.” He put down his phone and said, “Geordie Lavery has a name in the supply chain. He thinks it’s an important contact so he’ll tell me in person.”
Rachel said, “The La Scala?” and raised her eyebrows.
Jake said, “It doesn’t exist by that name anymore, but we both know where the building is, so it’s a good location.”
“Granted,” she said.
Phil said, “I got a call during the week concerning a man we knew as Stevie Smith.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed as he looked across at Phil. “Wasn’t he the big bastard who kicked the shit out of me, back when I broke into Cameron’s house?”
“The very same,” Phil said. “Annabel damaged his ankle with a bullet, and then we paid him a couple of visits when he was in the hospital. If you remember, he testified against Cameron, as Fitzpatrick would have been known back then.”
“Yes,” Jake said. “I remember now. He enrolled in Witness Protection and disappeared after the trial against Hartley and his other cronies, including Cameron.”
“We don’t know how the murderer traced Smith,” Phil said. “Anyway, somebody found him last Sunday, hanging from a tree near his house, just outside Sydney, Australia.”
Annabel said, “According to our sources, his hands were behind his back and secured, and he’d been beaten with a club of some description before the killer tightened the noose.”
Jake asked, “Have the police got anything to go on?”
Annabel nodded. “Forensics show the murder took place late on the Saturday night. By Sunday when the body was found the killer could have left the country.” She paused. “And, there is one other thing. There was an X carved into the victim’s forehead.”
“Shit,” Rachel said. “Do you think it could have been the same guy who executed Miquel in Valencia?”
“Yes,” Annabel said. “We believe that not only was it the same killer, but we have a theory he was hired by Fitzpatrick to deal with the termination of several people. It looks like he is cutting all connections to the life he had as Cameron.”
“Hence the ‘X’ thing ....” Rachel said. “Well, surely he can’t get to everybody. He’d have to kill a lot of people, perhaps including his solicitor wherever he’s hiding now.”
Annabel’s expression remained serious as she held Rachel’s gaze.
“Christ,” Rachel said. “If there is one group of people Fitzpatrick will want to get even with, it will be us.”
Phil nodded. “We are certain he’ll want to use an unknown, so we have to identify the killer. If it’s the guy you saw in Spain, we need to be ready for him.” He flicked the remote and two pictures came up on the screen, side by side. “On the top left is Norrie Simpson, now known to be Fitzpatrick’s driver, and bodyguard. The picture on the right is the man Rachel and Ian referred to as Mr Stubble.”
Annabel said, “We’ve already put Mr Stubble’s face through a facial recognition programme, and I can now show you another picture of Mr Stubble.”
Everybody stared at the screen when the third picture appeared.
“We don’t know what he calls himself now,” Annabel said. “Mr Stubble does, however, have one blue eye and one brown eye. His real name is, Brian Simpson. He is Norrie’s twin brother.”
24. Trust Issues
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Monday 12th July
Alexandria, Dunbartonshire
Scotland
“Hello Uncle,” Peter Henderson said and pulled a hard-backed chair over to sit facing the ex-Godfather of crime. “Since I last saw you, things have moved on.”
The older man was in his wheelchair as usual. The consensus remained. Any physical engagement with a visitor was involuntary movement and not a reaction to an external stimulus. Certain words, phrases, names and voices triggered a weak response—but it took a keen eye to spot them.
Peter Henderson didn’t have a keen eye or a sharp mind.
“We’ll soon be seeing your replacement taking over as Godfather of Glasgow. He’s not like you, Uncle. He’s not satisfied with half the city. No, Sir—Gordon Fitzpatrick wants it all; north and south of the River Clyde.” Peter stopped to have a chuckle.
Hartley eyes stared at his visitor but nobody would know if he registered his presence.
Henderson continued. “Of course you wouldn’t know the name Fitzpatrick because it’s his new name. His old name was Martin Cameron, and he was your main enforcer, so he knows the business inside out. He’s got such great plans, and he’s enlisted me as an enforcer.”
There was a twitch of Hartley’s eyelids at the mention of Cameron, but Peter Henderson was too busy chatting about how smart he had been in recent times, organising hits on drug dealers and killing bikers.
For almost twenty minutes, the impressionable young gangster talked to his uncle, sometimes getting excited about his news and having to calm down and lower his voice lest anyone should hear him outside the room. Every word went into the older man’s ear, or at least it would have done if it wasn’t blocked by an unnecessary, but efficient micro-transmitter inside his hearing aid.
.
Braemar, Grampian Mountains
Scotland
Norrie Simpson stood at the upstairs window of his small, but comfortable accommodation. The gatehouse had been in a sorry state of repair when he’d first seen it, but he had lived in a prison cell for long enough, so anything after it was luxurious.
As he sipped his strong, black tea and enjoyed an unfiltered cigarette, he gazed towards the river, fields, foothills and mountains. His lips curled as his thoughts drifted back a few months. His personal circumstances had changed so much.
After delivering his new boss to the fishing boat on the Isle of Skye in February, Simpson had spent one night at a hotel in Portree. He left the next day around mid-morning and drove south. On the picturesque dri
ve on a narrow country road, Simpson picked up Marek, a hitchhiker. He was a tired twenty-year-old from mainland Europe, who was making the return trip down through Scotland and England to the south coast. In his broken English, he related to the kindly driver how much he’d enjoyed his three-month-long tour.
Before dozing off when the heater control was eased up, Marek had been trying to explain about his journey, which included hiking around both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. He was halfway through talking about a whisky distillery in Scotland when his eyelids grew heavy.
Sadly, Marek would never see his home in Gdansk again. He was fresh-faced, slim, and had long fair hair tied back in a ponytail. He had last been seen walking along the road. Nobody had seen him accepting a lift with the big man in the red 4 x 4, and nobody would see Marek alive again.
The unfortunate young man would next be found naked, beaten, and horrifically abused. After several days submerged beside a rocky outcrop in a loch, his parents wouldn’t have been able to identify him.
Having enjoyed himself with the European, Simpson had reached his destination feeling refreshed in more ways than one. He lived in a hotel until he found a suitable place to rent.
It had also been back in February, during the discussions on the journey to Skye, when Gordon Fitzpatrick emphasised a significant responsibility of his number two would be to keep a close eye on all of his personal interests. Simpson had understood immediately and said he would be capable and discreet.
By the time he boarded the fishing vessel, Fitzpatrick had felt he had the right man for the job. He gave his new lieutenant the address where Helen Fitzpatrick was living in a rented bungalow.
A primary task for Simpson was to watch the house and its occupant closely.
In early March he’d made the long journey to visit his long-lost brother. They only spent a week together, but apart from catching up on the old childhood memories as most people might do, they chatted about their criminal escapades and time behind bars.