Crossfire (The Clifford-Mackenzie Crime Series Book 1)

by R. D. Nixon

  ‘Bummer. Do you have kids, Mr Cameron? Or can I call you Ben?’

  ‘No you fucking can’t!’ Cameron’s voice rose, to Mulholland’s amusement. ‘And what’s it to you if I have kids?’

  Mulholland saw his eyes flick towards a photo stand beside the till, and he picked it up. ‘Very nice. How old are they?’

  ‘Put it down.’ Now the voice was hard, the eyes like ice. Mulholland looked at Cameron a moment longer. This man would be no pushover, but he had the right buttons. It would work.

  ‘I’ve got a proposal for you, Mr Cameron.’

  ‘Get out of my shop.’

  ‘Hear me out, I just—’

  ‘Get out now, or I call the police.’

  Ah, at last. Mulholland smiled and produced his warrant card, and saw the anger fade to a kind of trapped fear. It always worked.

  ‘Now, can we go through to the back?’ Mulholland gestured to a door behind the counter.

  Cameron led the way, and Mulholland was pleased to note the shoulders were not so rigidly set now. The back room was a workroom. The workroom. Mulholland looked around at the assortment of knives and cloths, half-finished pieces and draped statues.

  ‘Got a catalogue?’

  Cameron stared at him as though he’d just halted a firing squad to ask for a cup of tea. ‘What do you want that for?’

  ‘Why do you think? You don’t look like a stupid man, Ben, so don’t ask stupid questions. Now, may I see it?’

  Cameron took down a large folder, and Mulholland started flicking through the plastic-coated pages.

  ‘Are these examples of yours and your father’s work, or just yours?’

  ‘Dad’s stuff is in there too. Sergeant—’

  ‘Did he photograph all his pieces? Even those commissioned by individuals?’

  ‘Everything. Would you hand over something that’s taken weeks of work, without keeping a record of it?’

  ‘As I thought.’ Mulholland halted his search at a beautifully lit collection, three figurines of delicate-featured women, each with different burdens: a child, a laundry basket and a pile of books. Each had a long, wide skirt and was painted sparingly, in pastel colours – not something that appealed to Mulholland, but he could at least appreciate their workmanship. Dougie Cameron had been a master of his art, no doubt about that; Duncan Wallace had known what he was doing when he hired him.

  ‘Who commissioned these?’

  ‘I don’t have the records of customers for private jobs, and he never noted it in the book. Just his initials and the year. In this case 1988.’

  ‘I want you to make another set.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Aye, but... Exactly the same?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Is that what all this is about? So why the hell all the theatrical crap?’

  Mulholland closed the catalogue and turned to face Cameron. ‘Because this is going to be our little secret. And because there’s something I want you to put inside them, and if anyone finds out about it you’re going to be watching from a big fluffy cloud when your kids finally stumble across your dead, rotting body.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

  Mulholland leaned closer and smiled. ‘Like you did with your dad.’

  ‘So you did know—’

  ‘Use your brain, pal.’ Mulholland’s voice was almost kind. ‘Are we going to be able to do business then?’

  Cameron’s face said it all. ‘What choice have I got?’

  ‘Oh, but you do have a choice – that’s what I’ve been telling you. It’s just not a particularly pleasant one. I’ll bring in the little bits and bobs I want you to hide inside your lovely figures soon. Time is of the essence, as they say. By next weekend?’

  ‘What? No!’ Cameron looked flustered at his own response. ‘I mean, to be honest there’s really no chance, not so soon. I’ve got commissions I’m working on – people will be asking, and I’ve a shop to run.’

  Mulholland assumed a concerned look. ‘Close the shop for a couple of days – you’re looking a little peaky.’ He patted the counter and walked away. ‘Next Saturday at the latest, okay?’

  Chapter Six

  Mackenzie remembered Maddy’s lunch just as he arrived at the office. He racked his brain for an excuse, but it was too late; she’d heard him come up the stairs, and opened the door before he could turn back.

  ‘Where’s my sandwich?’

  ‘Forgot it, sorry.’ He grinned at her scowl, and patted her shoulder as he passed her. ‘I called Ade earlier, caught him just before he went to bed. He remembers hearing Sarah at school, banging on about this bloke—’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, you useless great lump – I want my lunch!’ Maddy sat back in her chair and subjected him to her usual critical appraisal. ‘You look like crap, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ He sat down opposite her, and she accepted his thanks with a gracious nod, opening a packet of crisps from her drawer.

  ‘Right, you were saying?’

  ‘The lad he remembers was called Don.’

  ‘How on earth could Adrian remember that, from thirty years ago?’

  ‘Do you remember your first boyfriend?’

  ‘I do, aye. His name was Simon. But that’s different; he was my first boyfriend, not someone else’s.’

  ‘Why’d you two split up?’

  She shrugged. ‘We started secondary school. Things were different after that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ She sighed, as he just looked at her. ‘Okay, we were put in different classes. Plus there were loads of other girls there, of course. All very new, and therefore more exciting.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘God, yes. Horrible cow from Fort William. Debbie something...ah.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Point taken – Adrian remembered the boyfriend. But you still forgot my sandwich.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you sometime. Can I have a crisp?’

  ‘No.’ Maddy picked up her pen and tapped it on the pad in front of her. ‘Since it looks like I’m going to starve, I might as well get on with this. Adrian was right; according to my brother, Sarah Wallace did run away to paradise, or at least Inverness, with Constable Bradley. Evidently her daddy was none too pleased. She soon came back though. Interestingly enough—’

  ‘So it wasn’t a big deal between them then?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt, this is the good bit. I found out that they only met because Bradley was one of the officers dealing with some scandal that Wallace was involved in around that time. He and two of his friends had been arrested for burglary, only Wallace was never charged.’

  ‘Which burglary?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to find out yet, but I’ll get onto it. Nick’s told me all he’s going to; I’m not asking him to risk anything else, but it shouldn’t be hard to find out.’ She shrugged. ‘We don’t have that many high-profile burglaries that we can’t put two and two together from the newspaper archives. Anyway, the other two got the book thrown at them, but Wallace was let off on a technicality; apparently Bradley messed up the evidence. Then he went off with the man’s daughter. A bit funny, wouldn’t you say?’

  Mackenzie sat forward, a tingle starting across his forehead. ‘How did you find this out so fast?’

  ‘You just have to know who to ask,’ Maddy said, with a faintly smug look. ‘And how to ask,’ she added pointedly.

  ‘Okay, so my people skills are zero, but that’s why we work so well together. Who were the two blokes who got sent down?’

  ‘One of them, the one who got them all arrested, couldn’t face the scandal he’d put his family through, and topped himself in jail. His name was Alexander Broughton. The other one was Sarah’s godfather, Robert Doohan. He’s—’

  ‘Doohan? I think I know him.’

  ‘Good, that’ll save me digging out his address.’

  ‘I mean, I don’t k
now where he is now, but he was a friend of the family back in the day.’

  ‘Much good you are. Anyway, he served five years and has been reclusive ever since.’

  ‘Why do we need to speak to him?’

  ‘I thought, being Sarah’s godfather and a close friend of Duncan Wallace’s, there’s a fairly good chance he’d know where to look for those original figurines Sarah’s after.’

  Mackenzie nodded. ‘Good point. Stein would know about him too, I assume, though it’s odd he’s not said anything. I’ll go and ask him.’ He stood up. ‘Well, that deserves two sandwiches at least. Maybe even triple-deckers. I’ll be back in a bit.’

  ‘How’s it going with Stein?’ Maddy asked. ‘You still want to punch his lights out?’

  ‘More than ever. Still, his job might just save this place.’ He indicated the room in general, but noticing the cloud crossing Maddy’s face, he was sorry he’d said anything. ‘It’s not that bad, Mads. Honest, we’ll make it pay. We’ve got those other couple of things on that you’re dealing with, but this one will help massively, you know it will.’

  ‘I just wish we didn’t have to rely on nailing Bradley to do it. Although my dad would be delighted to watch the bugger go down.’

  ‘We don’t have to nail him. I just have to track down those figurines, and basically stay out of his way.’

  Maddy pulled a face. ‘It’s looking more and more as if you won’t be able to do the first without failing at the second.’

  ‘In which case I’ve got to make sure this is done absolutely right. No room for mistakes.’ Mackenzie checked his pockets for phone and keys. ‘He can’t be allowed to find out I’m involved – he’s got too much clout, and we know from experience he’s prepared use it against me.’

  Maddy’s voice was quiet, but hard. ‘He has to answer for what he’s done.’

  ‘He will, eventually. Did you know he’s got a new car? Bloody great Discovery. Just about accommodates his ego.’

  ‘He’ll slip up. They always do.’

  Mackenzie sighed. ‘He hasn’t so far.’

  ‘Then he’s due. Dad’s got some long-standing suspicion about him, too. Something he was never able to prove, so he won’t say what it is.’

  ‘Knowing your dad, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s spot on, whatever it is.’ Mackenzie squeezed her shoulder as he passed the desk. ‘Thanks, Mads. I don’t know anyone else who can make me talk about Don Bradley and not want to break things.’

  ‘Good.’ Her face softened, just for a moment, then she pointed to the door with her pen. ‘Now go out and bring me food.’

  Jamie was getting bored now. This was his holiday too, and he wanted to go back into town and find the American again, or at least be allowed to look around by himself. But no, Mum had spent all that money on a new camera, and now she had to go and point it at every old place she noticed. It was a sick camera though, and it had taken her ages to save up for it. Maybe she’d let him use it if he didn’t whinge too much.

  ‘Where’s this black place then?’ he asked, as his mother parked up and turned off the engine.

  ‘Blackhouse,’ she corrected. ‘It’s right there.’

  He peered through the window. ‘But it’s not even black.’ He’d been hoping to see some huge, looming, scary house like something out of Scooby Doo; instead there was only this long, thin place with a roof made of grass and rocks.

  He got out of the car, already disappointed. There were a few other cars around, and the house was right in the middle of the village, so they weren’t alone, but if this was all there was, it was going to be a pretty dismal visit. He looked back to where Mum was rootling through the sweet wrappers and stuff in the glove box.

  ‘I don’t believe it! The bloody camera’s not here.’

  ‘Use your phone.’

  ‘It’s at home. I told you that.’ She slammed the glove box shut, took one last glance into the back seat and joined Jamie. ‘It must be in the tent after all. Arsebiscuits! Come on, then, let’s go in anyway.’

  Reluctantly Jamie followed his mother in through the door, where she paid the admission fee: six pounds for her, four for him. A tenner, just for being allowed into this dark little room with a stinky fireplace in the middle, and not even a proper carpet on the floor!

  There were some people wandering around inside, and Jamie wondered how they could really be interested. They were probably just trying to look impressive, like people who pretend they understand paintings of just blobs and lines. His eye caught the display of armoury along one of the rough walls, and while his mother started reading an engraved plaque nailed to a post, he went over for a closer look. This was more like it; one of those swords was even bigger than he was. How could anyone ever have used that?

  ‘It’s called a Claymore,’ a deep voice behind him said. ‘Would ye like a demonstration?’ Jamie turned to see a man in full Highland dress smiling at him – the smile only just took the edge off the frightening sight of skins and plaid, and wild hair barely imprisoned by a small, feathered hat. Awed, Jamie couldn’t speak, but the Highlander repeated the question to Jamie’s mother, who at first frowned, and looked as if she were about to say no. Then she nodded quickly, and went back to reading those plaques. Rather determinedly, Jamie thought.

  He followed the Highlander outside. In the small, grassed garden at the back of the house, Jamie saw another of the huge swords, along with a selection of smaller but equally deadly looking weapons, lined up against the wall. A few other people had come outside to watch as well, and Jamie watched eagerly as the Highlander demonstrated how to hold the weapons correctly. He mimed the same actions, and the demonstrator smiled again.

  ‘Here, lad. You give it a try, aye?’

  To Jamie’s delight he was allowed to handle the wickedly sharp dirk and the heavy wooden targe, but had to have help to lift the huge Claymore over his head.

  ‘Once it was up there, you’d wave it around in a circle, or a figure of eight, and lop as many heads, arms and legs off the mounted infantry as you could. Fun or no fun?’

  ‘Fun!’ Jamie yelled, turning around to face the smiling spectators, while the demonstrator supported the massive weight of the sword above his head.

  A couple of the men in the group looked as though they couldn’t wait to get their own hands on it and show they possessed just as much strength as any ancient warrior. Jamie sensed how much of the weight was being supported, and knew how badly his own arms already ached, and he wasn’t so sure. His thoughts flashed towards the big Scotsman who had found him that morning, and he thought maybe he could do it without too much trouble.

  As he turned again, Jamie’s gaze fell on the cars parked on the other side of the stone wall, and if the Highlander hadn’t been supporting the Claymore he would have dropped it; someone was crouching by the driver’s door of their car, trying to break in!

  He opened his mouth to yell, but the Highlander chose that moment to encourage the spectators to give him a big round of applause and, distracted, he looked away. When he turned back again the figure had gone. The sword was taken from him and an eager tourist stepped forward to try, leaving Jamie free to run to the wall and peer over it, half expecting to see someone crouching there. Nothing.

  He went back inside where, as his eyes adjusted, he gradually picked out his mother, listening with rapt attention as another Highlander, this one lying on the floor, demonstrated how to put on the belted tartan. He tugged at her sleeve but she shushed him – for some weird reason she was taking as much interest in this as he had done with the sword and dirk outside. Impatient, he waited until the demonstration was finished and the polite clapping had started, before he pulled her jumper again.

  She turned to him, still stuck in whatever world she’d been hearing about. She looked happy, though. ‘You know, Jay, you should hear some of this. It’d make you really appreciate all the stuff you’ve got at home. I wish I’d not left the camera back at the tent. Did you know that end of the room had ani
mals in? I don’t mean guinea pigs and—’

  ‘Someone tried to nick the car!’ he blurted, and that shut her up. ‘He’s gone now, but I bet it was something to do with—’

  ‘Don’t you dare say anything about Americans and statues,’ she warned. ‘Who on earth would steal a car, somewhere like this?’

  ‘Well, if he wasn’t stealing it, he was breaking into it to see what stuff we’ve got.’

  ‘Well, he’d be disappointed then. Good thing it’s a hire car, but he’d better not have scratched it, or that’s the insurance excess down the pan. Which way did he go?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I looked away for a second, then he left.’

  ‘He can’t have got far,’ she said, and he recognised the sudden edge to her voice and groaned. When she sounded like that she thought she was seven feet tall and made of iron, and that nearly always meant trouble.

  He followed her outside, where some of the men were trying out the Claymore, and Jamie was gratified to see that even they needed help to lift it as high as it was supposed to go. The Highlander saw him and winked, and he grinned back, the smile vanishing as he ran to catch up with his mother; why didn’t she just ask for help from someone like that? Not that she ever did, or would, ask – she was so certain that she could do everything.

  ‘Did you see any other cars driving away?’ she asked. Detective Mum... What could she do if he had?

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then he might still be here.’ She stared around them. That iron had disappeared and she suddenly, and for once, looked scared. The last time Jamie had seen her this uncertain and worried was when his dad had still lived with them – she’d been like it all the time then, and seeing it again made him glance around fearfully too, sure he could feel someone watching him. The feeling persisted even as his mother came over to him, put her arm around him and kissed his forehead.

  ‘Don’t worry. Probably just some chancer watching all us stupid tourists going in there, and seeing who’s left their car unlocked.’

  ‘Ours was locked though, wasn’t it? I heard you ploink it.’