Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  Simpson had no reason to spend time on the south side of the city because most of it was already under the command of McGinley and her lieutenants. No—Simpson’s mission involved visits to establishments and a handful of residences on the north side of the river. At one time it had all come under the auspices of the Godfather, William Hartley, but since the man’s death, the territories had reverted to criminals who were further down the food chain.

  As Simpson’s third evening of casual drinking and information gathering came to an end, he felt satisfied with his efforts. He’d continue his investigative efforts until Saturday night when he could confirm a few points. Simpson hailed a taxi to head back to his apartment for a shower and rest.

  He had to prepare mentally for the coming week, which would start with an early appointment on Monday.

  .

  Friday 15th October

  BTL Enterprises

  Glasgow

  “We’ve got more info guys,” Jake said, as Ian and Eva took their seats and placed their coffees on the table.

  “Where is it from?” Ian asked.

  “It’s from Maria, my contact in the NYPD. You can enjoy your coffee for a couple of minutes while Rachel gets our attachment printed.”

  “I shouldn’t be long,” Rachel called over her shoulder.

  Jake said, “We’ve been here for a couple of hours already, and Rachel knows as much as I do about the first message. While we wait for the printout, I can update you two. A friend of Maria’s who works with the FBI has located a DNA match.”

  Ian grinned, and Eva shook her head slowly. Both remained silent.

  “A young woman was involved in a road traffic accident in Texas two years ago,” Jake said. “The casualty was unconscious and taken to an emergency room. As a matter of course, a blood sample was taken.”

  Ian lifted his coffee, but his gaze never left Jake.

  “The woman regained consciousness and left the emergency facility without a word to anybody. As you can imagine, her case became suspicious and the local police were informed. The casualty’s US Driver’s Licence was found in the emergency room beside the bed. The license was a fake.”

  “Result,” Ian said and smiled.

  “Were the medics able to give a description,” Eva said.

  “They did,” Jake said. “The casualty was attractive, in her mid-twenties and according to a guy who bumped into her in a corridor—she was English.”

  “Which means she could be English, Scottish, Welsh or Irish?” Ian said.

  “My money is on Scottish,” Jake said. “Due to her sudden urge to disappear, the case was passed to the FBI, who listed her as an illegal alien.” He nodded towards Rachel at a side table, where she continued to print the attachments from an email. “Right now, Rachel is printing out a list of women who’ve arrived in the USA from the UK in the last five years, only to disappear.”

  “Do we know how many names we have to check out?” Eva asked.

  “Five-hundred,” Jake said.

  “Five-hundred?” Ian repeated, to which Jake nodded and grinned.

  “Here we are,” Rachel said, carrying a handful of printed pages when she joined the others at the table. “I’ve published a full set for each of us, which is why it took a while.” She separated her bundle into four smaller piles and handed them out around her colleagues.

  Jake said, “We all have the complete list?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “If we all have the full list and we go through as individuals we’ll spot any name from our known catalogue.”

  “Okay guys,” Jake said. “Eyes down, and don’t say anything unless it’s a possibility.”

  The room was silent except for the noise of coffee cups being placed on the table after a drink.

  “Yes,” Eva said after three minutes.

  The other three placed a finger to keep place on their respective lists and looked up.

  “The fourth page,” Eva said. “Halfway down—Nadia Henderson arrived in the USA from the UK in 1998.”

  “Well spotted Eva,” Jake said. “Okay guys, highlight the name and continue to the end.”

  Ten minutes later it was agreed Nadia Henderson was the only name of any significance and in all probability the prime suspect.

  Rachel emailed the FBI directly, using the codeword given by Maria. In her message, Rachel requested a photo and description of Nadia Henderson. She confirmed the woman to be the suspect in two murders in Vancouver, Canada, and more recently, two more in Glasgow, Scotland.

  Rachel said, “Would you like me to inform the FBI, Jake? I know they’ll be interested now.”

  “How about asking Maria to contact them?” Eva said. “It would initiate another useful contact for her, and give a little payback from us.”

  “I like it—I’ll do it that way, Eva.”

  Jake said, “We’ll contact other people over here when we have a photo and description because a name by itself will be useless to them.” He nodded towards Ian and Eva. “I’d like you guys, to start now and chase up anywhere which might have reason to have Henderson’s name or description on file. We might manage to get more than one photo.”

  Ian and Eva both gave a thumbs-up, and while giving their laptops two minutes to boot, began working together to brainstorm establishments which could have a person’s details or photo on file.

  Images were sourced from the Passport Office, Driver and Vehicle Licensing Office, two schools, and the Army Cadet Force.

  An hour after Rachel’s messages to Maria in New York, and the FBI in Washington, a set of images were sent which had been taken for a variety of purposes by official departments in the US.

  Rachel printed every picture. Eva helped pin all of the photos to the notice board under ‘Assassin,' but in the second column; opposite the known details.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jake said. “Rachel, if you contact Amy and Max, I’ll get in touch with Sam.”

  “I’m on it.” She lifted her phone.

  “Time for a brew.” Ian stood.

  Eva stood at the notice board to study the young woman who had turned out so bad.

  When all the necessary contacts had been updated, the team sat around the table.

  “I think we’ll assimilate what we have on Henderson, or whatever she calls herself,” Jake said. “We’ve got plenty of images now, and we have to imagine her as a blonde too.”

  Rachel stood at the board and lifted a large marker. “What have we got new?”

  Ian said, “The DVLA has her driving categories listed to include motorcycles.”

  Rachel wrote ‘Bike Licence’ in the left column.

  Eva said, “According to the Army Cadet Force she’s an exceptional shot with handguns and rifles.” She looked down her notes. “Her school reports suggest she was good at French and was the top student in IT studies.”

  Rachel added French language, weapons, and computer literate to the board.

  Jake said, “If she weren't a psychopath she’d have made a great addition to our team.”

  The others turned toward him.

  Jake’s deadpan expression suggested his statement had been serious. It was an admission the Henderson woman was a considerable threat, deserving of grudging respect.

  14. Simpson’s Greetings

  .

  Monday 17th October

  Harrington Hill Clinic

  Cumbernauld

  Glasgow

  Helen Fitzpatrick woke up in her private room and glanced at the clock; 03:00. She started to sit up and stopped to rub her eyes. Something had disturbed her sleep.

  “It can’t be,” she gasped.

  A man stood at the foot of her bed, dressed in a white doctor’s coat, clutching a black ski-mask in his right hand. “You’re quite right—it can’t be,” the heavily built man said. He stuffed the black mask into one of the coat pockets and stepped closer.

  Fitzpatrick stared. Were the nightmares returning? Was this the brute who’d raped and ab
used her multiple times, sometimes beating her unconscious? No, it couldn’t be, because he was dead. His death had been reported in the newspapers along with her crazy husband and the others.

  “You’ll be looking at me and thinking of Norrie, my depraved twin brother.”

  Tears poured silently down Fitzpatrick’s cheeks and dripped onto her hospital gown. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t make sound come. As the man advanced along the side of the bed, his gaze was mesmerising.

  “What—”

  “You want to know what I want?” the man said. “I’ve been asked to make sure you don’t go talking to the police, or anybody else for that matter.”

  Fitzpatrick shook her head, and once again her heart raced, just as it had when her husband had buried her alive in a transparent coffin, topped off with a similar casket which contained her severely beaten lover.

  “I was asked to see what you remember about the vigilantes, but I imagine you’d take too long to tell me anything useful.” He had no notion of asking about the woman possibly having an affair with Mickey McGinley, or anything else for that matter.

  “Please—”

  “I know, I know.” Simpson continued his slow advance. “You lie back now and relax. Have a long sleep and forget everything.” The woman’s right hand shot to the side toward an alarm cord, but the slender, weak arm was gripped by the man and forced back to the bed.

  Fitzpatrick sobbed uncontrollably as the big man’s right hand came around and pushed her flat onto her back. The woman’s lips parted as she tried to scream, but a dry throat prevented any noise. Her left hand came up and was ineffectual as a massive clenched fist slapped it away. The woman squirmed and kicked under the crisp, clean sheets when the man used one of the large pillows to place over her face.

  Simpson pressed both hands down on the centre of the pillow and ignored the slender, weak hands which gripped and attempted to scratch him, slipping from the latex gloves he wore. He looked at the billowing sheets without emotion and watched until they were still. The woman’s arms fell by her sides.

  “There now,” Simpson said. “Isn’t that much better, and you won’t have to go and face charges in Spain?” He lifted the pillow, reached forward and using two fingertips, he gently applied pressure to the side of Fitzpatrick’s neck. The carotid artery had no pulse. The pillow went back under the patient’s head. Unseeing eyes and a gaping mouth would greet the first nurse of the new day.

  As he left the clinic, Simpson wore the black ski-mask, as he had done on entry. He glanced over the counter at the young man he’d knocked unconscious with a single blow to the head. The duty orderly was still out cold. Simpson went out into the night, and a few yards away from the security camera lenses he pulled off the black ski-mask, white coat, and latex gloves. He rolled the items into a tight ball and stuffed them into a plastic bag.

  Simpson had listed himself several appointments for the coming week. They didn’t all have to end in a fatality, and he wondered if he should work harder to meet people halfway. No, he thought, they’d merely have to go along with his suggestion. In each case, he’d have the choice of immediate action, or take the time to consider a response at a later date.

  .

  Monday 18th October

  BTL Enterprises

  Glasgow

  Jake stood at the panoramic window, staring out across the river and the southern part of the city. It was a pose which had often been adopted by Phil when deep in thought. Jake sipped his coffee and half-turned.

  “Our target is out there somewhere, Rachel, and we have to outsmart her. Maybe the solution would be—”

  Rachel’s phone buzzed and Jake turned to face into the room. They were the only people in the office, and it was 07:30.

  “Good morning, Amy,” Rachel said. “You’ve got Jake and me.” She pressed the loudspeaker, as the team members did with such calls. News for one was news for all.

  “Hello you two,” DI Hughes said in a flat tone. “Following your update on Friday afternoon, which we appreciated, we organised a duty officer to guard Helen Fitzpatrick.”

  Rachel and Jake met each other’s gaze. Amy didn’t sound happy.

  “Due to manpower shortages, the first shift was due to start today,” Amy said. “I worried about the efficiency of our killer, so I organised an officer to be in situ before breakfast.” Amy went silent for a few seconds and voices could be heard in the background.

  The detective continued. “Our young officer arrived at five o’clock this morning to find a hysterical cleaning lady, and a desk orderly with a fractured skull. I’m at the clinic now with Eddie, and it’s a murder scene.”

  “Shit,” Jake said.

  “There’s worse news, Jake,” Amy said. “Unless there was an accomplice, this wasn’t our prime suspect. Helen Fitzpatrick was murdered by a big man who knocked a guy out with one punch. I’ll get back to you when we’ve got more to go on.”

  “Thank you for the update,” Rachel said.

  “Thanks, Amy,” Jake called across the room to the phone.

  “Keep in touch,” Amy said. The call ended.

  Jake nodded to Rachel. “You call Eva, and I’ll call Ian. We could use an update from Freddie.”

  .

  Drumchapel

  Glasgow

  Sammy Smart was forty and had lived in the sprawling housing estate for most of his adult life. He was the go-to man for drugs, and he ran a tight ship. It was said that the other drug dealers on the estate were independent, but they all paid their dues to Smart. Independence in the drug dealing world was a relative thing.

  Although not a small man, when Smart went to the local betting shop in the shopping centre, he did so with at least two bodyguards. He enjoyed the idea of having a couple of ‘heavies’ with him when he was out and about. Having won a small amount on the horses, Smart told his men he was going for a celebratory pint around the corner.

  In the pub he stood at the bar, aware of those regular folk around him trying to avoid his gaze.

  “Cheers Stevie,” Smart said when the barman placed a pint in front of him.

  A big man stepped up beside Smart, unfazed by the threatening posture of the two men either side of the drug dealer. “I’d like a word.”

  Smart turned and gave a lopsided grin. “Do you know who I fucking am?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” Simpson said. “I’d prefer to talk in private, so we can ask your boys to move away, or I’ll tell my boss you weren’t interested.”

  “You’ve got balls. What makes you think I want to hear you out?”

  “Was it in June your young protégé Tony Harrity was slaughtered in the car wash?”

  The smirk left Smart’s face. He nodded to his two bodyguards to create space. They both moved away and ensured no other customers came within earshot of this area of the bar.

  “I’m listening,” Smart said, squinting and half-turning. “What do you know?”

  “My boss thinks she has somebody in her employ who might be one of the men you’ve been looking for.”

  “Your boss is a woman—are you fucking joking me pal?” He shook his head.

  “Let me put this in perspective for you Mr Smart.” Simpson leant forward, so the two men were close enough to taste each other’s breath. He spoke in a whisper. “My present employer is a woman, but she’s probably killed more people than these two useless, ugly fucks who are watching your back.”

  Smart’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the deal? Everybody wants something.”

  “You have a buy-in option to a new cartel which is being set up.”

  “A fucking what?”

  “My employer is strengthening the position of every bad bastard in Glasgow, but she’s hand-picked the people she wants to have involved—you are on her list.”

  The grin returned to Smart’s scarred and pockmarked face. He leant on the bar. “Okay, Mr Hard Bastard, tell me more.” He tapped on the counter with his knuckles. “Stevie, a pint
for my new pal—thanks.”

  .

  Bearsden

  Glasgow

  Simpson smiled as he drove through the streets of charming houses. He drove past the local filling station and noted the two cars being refuelled were both top-end Jaguar models. The residents of this district had money, but it didn’t alter Simpson’s opinion of his next appointment. The man in question was a gangster; however, he enjoyed the cloak of respectability.

  Two streets along from the filling station a small sign indicated where the private club could be found. Simpson took the corner and parked his BMW in a visitor space of the small car park. As he walked toward the entrance, he noted a car nearby—the newest Saab model with a KEN 1 personalised plate.

  “Egotistical wanker,” Simpson muttered. He looked up and saw a man in a black shirt and dark suit sizing him up from within the glass doors. Simpson glanced over his shoulder and looked around the area. Quiet. Good.

  “Members only, squire,” the would-be bouncer at the door said and smirked.

  “Tell Mr Montgomery I’ve got a message for him.”

  The twitch of the doorman’s eye was enough.

  Simpson being a big man tended to cause adversaries to make a mistake—to believe he would have slow reactions.

  A mistake had been made by the doorman. When the straight fingers struck the man’s throat, his eyes bulged, and his mouth gaped.

  Simpson pushed him inside.

  The gasping man’s reaction wasn’t to fight back; it was to fight for breath. He stared helplessly at the visitor, slowly shaking his head and massaging his throat.

  The glass door closed gently behind Simpson as he used one hand to force the man in black against an interior wall. “Learn from the experience,” Simpson said. “When you can talk, tell me where Mr Montgomery is, or you’ll die right here.”

  The man spoke amidst gasps. “He’s ... in ... the ... snooker room. Who shall—”

  “Stay here. I’m not going to hurt him. If I were—you’d both be fucking dead by now.”