Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  ‘Round Table: Issues’ showed. McGinley selected the message.

  ‘Hi, Carol. I’ve had a few problems. I sent a message late yesterday titled ‘Round Table 2’ and I attached a picture of a great building, but I found out the area was popular with the outdoor types and bird watchers. It means it was no good.

  Today, I reckon I’ve got the ideal location, but I’ve been having issues with phone signals. I have one more place to check, but for now, I’m attaching a picture of the proposed building. If I don’t contact you again, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

  Big Man.’

  It was with some trepidation McGinley scrolled down and selected the attached photo. She downloaded the picture and saw it was the type of thing Brian had suggested; a remote castle ruin near a coastline.

  She sent a brief reply saying thanks and closed down her laptop. The day looked better, so she returned to the list she’d been making for her first proposed meeting. There weren’t many names, but she had a good feeling about the few she had.

  While she enjoyed lunch, McGinley switched on the TV to catch the news.

  ‘Hello, this is Sandra McVicar reporting for Scotland Today. Earlier this morning I attended a press conference to meet the new Chief Constable, Sam Griffiths.

  He told us petty crime was at an all-time low in the city, so his primary focus would be in closing down organised crime. Mr Griffiths said, following the shootout in the remote Highland village of Braemar in July, there had been an unofficial clean out of big names.

  The Chief Constable said he would have a zero-tolerance policy on gangland criminals, however well-established. I asked about the people’s hero—the vigilante known as Hawk, and the response was, “He’s a criminal, and we will actively hunt him down.” This has been Sandra McVicar, reporting from Police HQ at Pitt Street in Glasgow.’

  “You do that, Chief Constable,” McGinley said to her TV. You hunt the bastard down, and leave us to get on with our wicked ways.” She laughed aloud and began channel hopping.

  While taking an evening walk with her dogs around the perimeter of a nearby golf course, Mary Watt, a middle-aged spinster, discovered the mutilated body of a partially-dressed man among the trees. A motorbike had been hidden in bushes nearby. The distraught woman called the police and as instructed, waited a short distance away with her dogs.

  When the discovery was confirmed, the police requested Ms Watt not to disclose the occurrence to anybody else. Next of kin would have to be notified, and the officers in attendance assured Ms Watt it was not a matter of public concern. A liaison officer arrived to stay with the woman to calm and reassure her.

  Following orders from the Chief Constable, the officers cordoned and secured the area for the investigation team. For good measure, in the case of media intrusion with telephoto lenses, they shielded the motorbike with tarpaulin.

  The newly appointed Chief Constable Sam Griffiths surprised his officers by attending the scene, which was to the north of the city. Sam arrived at the same time as the Scene of Crime team. He asked several questions, gave a personal brief to those on the site, and walked back to his car to make a phone call.

  Less than five-hundred yards north of the golf course, somebody observed the situation. The woman had watched patiently from a car parked on Balmore Road. She had driven past the area more than once in the previous forty-eight hours. The woman grinned as she placed her binoculars in the glove box, and drove to her rented house.

  The next victim became a focal point for her.

  9. Hidden in Plain View

  .

  Friday 1st October

  BTL Enterprises

  Glasgow

  “I apologise for pulling you from your efforts on the south side,” Jake said. “How is it looking so far?”

  “We believe it could be a lot worse.” Ian exchanged a glance with Eva. “The south side is in turmoil right now, because the European gangs are trying to squeeze themselves onto the scene across the city. As you know, a few Europeans made a move on the north side of the Clyde, and they disappeared without a trace.”

  “Unfortunately,” Eva said. “The Europeans knew the average British coppers weren’t armed, but they didn’t count on the Glasgow villains having the weapons and the guts of a small army.”

  “From what you’ve discovered so far,” Jake said. “You don’t think things will escalate too quickly?”

  “No,” Ian said. “We both have contacts inside gangs down there, so if any more weapons arrive in the city, we’ll find out quickly.”

  “Good work,” Jake said. “We’ve got an update on our situation regarding the recent killings in Vancouver, and here in Glasgow. There’s a tenuous link, but I’ll let Rachel explain.” He nodded to Rachel.

  Rachel said, “Last night Jake received a call from Sam Griffiths. A body was discovered in the woodland north of the city. Nothing has been reported officially yet, although if you’ve listened to the radio, you’ll have heard the usual speculation.”

  Ian and Eva sat stone-faced and silent.

  Rachel glanced down at her notes before continuing. “We’re sure it’s Snake’s body, although once again it’s been mutilated.”

  “Are we considering it to be the same perpetrator who killed the other two men?” Eva asked.

  “We’re not ruling anything out,” Rachel said. “Sam will give us a heads-up as soon as his forensic team have completed their first pass.” She nodded slowly. “I received a brief text from Amy to get in touch. I emailed her this morning.”

  “If she’s in Vancouver she’ll be several hours adrift,” Ian said.

  “The city is on Canada’s west coast, so I think it’s several hours behind us,” Rachel said. “I got a response within an hour. The combined teams have confirmed the two people over there were murdered by a third party, so it wasn’t murder and suicide which is how it was staged.”

  She took a gulp of coffee before continuing. “Amy has told me there was DNA from a third party on one, or possibly both bodies.”

  “So the murderer was careless?” Eva suggested.

  “No,” Rachel said. “Carelessness is what the police over there are thinking, but Amy has another theory, with which both Jake and I agree.”

  “It’s a taunting tactic,” Jake said. “This is somebody who knows the Canadian authorities don’t have the DNA on record, but it’s something which would be checked.”

  “Okay,” Ian said. “If you guys agree with Amy’s theory, what’s the next step?”

  “We’ve already acted,” Jake said. “We’ve asked Amy to send a sample of the DNA to a friend of mine in New York in the good old US of A.”

  “Surely it will have the same result,” Eva said.

  “Not necessarily,” Jake said. “If the murderer has ever lived in the US, there are a dozen reasons their DNA might be recorded. As they say, it’s a long shot, but it’s being checked out now.”

  “Isn’t there a load of red tape to cut through when dealing with DNA?” Eva asked.

  “My friend Maria will get through any official obstacles,” Jake said. “She’s resourceful and determined.”

  “We’re left powerless until we get some sort of break,” Ian said. “We’re already sure we’re dealing with a multi-horned beast. The torture and murders might not be perfectly synchronised, but they’re not all down to one person.”

  “I agree,” Jake said. “We had a chat this morning over breakfast,” and he nodded toward Rachel. “We believe this could evolve into a nasty situation. Honing our skills would create an advantage.”

  “You mean more training?” Eva asked, and smiled.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “Unless you two guys have any plans, we’d like to use this coming weekend. The investigation is all very well, but we have police conducting business on both sides of the Atlantic, and a biker gang putting out feelers over Glasgow.”

  “Training always sounds good to me,” Ian said.

  “I’m in,” Eva said and smiled.
“I’ll be happy to improve my skills in any way.”

  .

  King’s Park

  Glasgow

  At 10 am, McGinley went to the front door dressed in a light jacket and outdoor shoes. The visitor wore a taxi driver's ID on his shirt.

  “A cab for a lady named Carol,” the man said. “I’m Barry.”

  “Aye, Barry. That’ll be for me,” McGinley said and stepped outside, locking the front door behind her.

  “I didn’t come into the driveway because the man who ordered the fare told me to park around the corner.”

  “Don’t worry,” McGinley said. “He knows what he’s doing.” She walked towards the street corner with the taxi driver and pretended not to notice the man in the parked car along the street from her driveway. McGinley grinned as she and the driver turned the corner to see two red cabs.

  The first cab pulled out fast, took the corner and drove past McGinley’s house on the way to Glasgow city centre. McGinley meanwhile, climbed into the back of the second cab. Barry got behind the wheel and started the engine. One minute later, a call came over the radio.

  “Hello Barry, this is Chris, a blue Ford pulled out, and is now following me.”

  “Thanks, Chris. You know what to do.” Barry turned to his passenger. “It looks like we’re ready to go, madam.”

  “Aye, on you go.” McGinley relaxed and smiled as they set off.

  “It looks like your stalker took the bait,” Barry said. “Personally, I’d contact the police.”

  “Aye, you’re right. It is a police matter, but they’ve got enough to do.” The passenger grinned.

  McGinley got out of the cab at the Hampden Park football stadium. The man had been paid, but his passenger gave him an excellent tip and said she remembered loyalty and people who could keep their mouths shut.

  “Understood,” the driver said, tapping his nose with the tip of a forefinger.

  As the cab pulled out and joined the traffic flow, a white BMW-7 Series pulled up, and McGinley climbed into the front passenger seat.

  “Good morning, Carol,” the driver said.

  “Good morning, Brian.” McGinley looked around the interior. “This is much nicer, although it might stand out.”

  “When you know it might be seen around an expensive property, the car must look the part, or it will contrast.” Simpson grinned as he pulled into the traffic. They headed north-west to join the M8 motorway signed for the Erskine Bridge to cross the River Clyde.

  The deception had worked perfectly. The surveillance officer had followed the wrong cab, while McGinley had been whisked away to meet up with Simpson, her new trusted employee.

  A few minutes after the two cabs and the police car left the quiet road where McGinley lived, an inconspicuous small red car pulled up twenty yards away from McGinley’s driveway. A young woman in a smart trouser suit got out, lifted her attaché case, and walked along to the unoccupied house. Her skeleton key opened the back door without force. The intruder went through the long hallway and lifted a decoder from her shoulder bag.

  She grinned as she held the calculator-sized machine close to the alarm. The item she carried was a quarter size of the device it decoded. The pre-set number appeared on the digital display, and the alarm cancelled before the timer would contact the security company.

  A pair of latex gloves ensured no fingerprints would be left behind accidentally, and Martina Crawford used a well-rehearsed approach to searching every room in the house. Time was on her side, but she worked steadily. Her camera recorded anything of interest on the exploration. When the laptop was discovered the intruder’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

  The password wasn’t much of a challenge, and fifteen minutes after finding the machine, every file on the two hard drives was copied. It was ironic to think the copious amount of information on the laptop took such a short time to record, but the handwritten information took longer to find and to photograph. Fortunately, Crawford knew what she needed and concentrated on bank details, rather than balances and payments.

  One hour after entry, Crawford reset the alarm and left the place as she’d found it. As long as Simpson followed his orders all would continue to run smoothly. It was almost worth it meeting him briefly now and then just to watch him drooling as he listened to his orders. The man saw himself as a partner—not a subordinate.

  .

  Tyndrum

  West Highlands

  Two hours after leaving Glasgow, the big air-conditioned Beamer pulled off into the car park of a roadside cafe. The big man explained to the gangster's widow it was better to use a cafe than a hotel—there was less chance of being remembered.

  “We’ll have a break here where there is no chance of CCTV capturing us together,” Simpson said as he cut the engine.

  “I could do with a snack, and it’ll make a change being able to relax, knowing there are no bloody prying eyes at the next table.” McGinley gave a rare smile. “Is it much farther, because I haven’t seen anything outstanding yet?”

  “You’ll have seen signs for Oban further along the A85, but we’re not going that far.”

  They enjoyed tea and sandwiches. Simpson had already given the woman a brief rundown on the location he’d ‘found’, but for good measure, he went over the layout again and answered questions.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing this place,” McGinley said. “The only downside you can see is the lack of signal for mobile phones?”

  “Well, the absence of a decent signal is the only thing if you don’t count a couple of hours for total security and peace of mind. If no mobile phones are used by anybody attending meetings it’s even better.”

  “If it means improved security, I’m sure nobody will complain.”

  .

  Inverawe

  Refreshed after the break the pair headed west. They’d been on the road a short while when a road sign showed Taynuilt and Airds Bay at twenty-eight, and twenty-nine miles respectively. Oban was forty-six miles farther west.

  “Here is where we leave the main road.” Simpson swung onto a narrow gravel track. It led through a dense forest and at regular intervals passing places were carved into the edge of the tree line.

  “This is beginning to look promising,” McGinley said and turned to grant her man another brief smile.

  They arrived at a small cleared area which would allow a vehicle to manoeuvre for turning, but there was no picnic bench. McGinley got out and walked a few yards down a nearby track. He returned one minute later and drove slowly along the same path. It was mainly dirt, but gravel was spread in patches here and there which indicated it had been prepared for use by somebody.

  Fifteen minutes later, they exited the forest and arrived at a high grassy embankment. Simpson followed the side of the banking for fifty yards, before turning left to drive through a gap and out of sight of the track. He stopped at a double gate bearing a sign, Ministry of Defence - Keep Out. He got out of the car, unlocked the gates and drove through before returning to lock the gates from the inside.

  McGinley sat in silence as they drove forward and crested a small hill before stopping on the other side. The pair looked out over the picturesque view to their front.

  “Bloody hell, Brian,” McGinley gasped. For once, her tone leant more towards awe than a gangster’s widow displaying anger and frustration. “Is that the castle down there?”

  “Yeah,” Simpson said. “The ruins you see is Fort Etive. The vast expanse of water is Loch Etive.”

  The ruin appeared more like a sizeable fortified tower, and from their vantage point gave the impression of being out in the loch because the water almost encircled the foundations.

  “Is it built on an island?” McGinley said.

  “It looks like it, but there’s something you can’t see from here.” He drove on, and the track descended in a winding route through woodland, heather and gorse towards a large, old brick building, surrounded by a wire mesh fence and another gate. Beyond the building,
a strip of land was visible, which was one hundred yards long, and barely the width of a car. The waters of the loch lapped lazily against the sides of the tiny gravelled isthmus.

  “The final strip of land looks a bit fucking precarious,” McGinley said. “Do we have to drive across?”

  In reply, Simpson turned and grinned before driving forward toward the gates outside the building. For those who might have misread the first sign, there was another warning this was MoD property. Visible on the front of the building was a sign which read, Danger - High Voltage. On signs to either side of the gates were the standard black and yellow lightning bolt symbols. The signs were old and weather-beaten, but distinct in their meaning.

  McGinley had been looking around, silently assessing the area since they’d left the main road. It wasn’t lost on her, as soon as they’d come through the first barrier back in the forest, they were out of sight of the public.

  Simpson got out of the car again, and this time opened the gate and went forward to open the two wooden doors of the building. He walked back to the car and got behind the wheel. He drove forward into the building and left the car to go out and close the gate and the doors.

  When Simpson returned and got behind the wheel, the only illumination was the car’s courtesy lights. He switched on the headlights, turned to smile at his passenger and then drove straight forward rapidly.

  “Fuck!” McGinley gasped as the large car descended on a dark ramp and travelled along a tunnel with no more than two feet clearance to either side, and three feet above the vehicle.

  “I meant to ask if you were claustrophobic before we came down here,” Simpson said and laughed. He drove on and took the car up to twenty miles per hour, which in the confines of the tunnel felt fast. Two minutes later the tunnel rose sharply, and the vehicle drove into what was a large, square-shaped room. Ancient grey and brown stone reflected the car lights.

  McGinley said, “What is this place?”