The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (24 page)

The office is quiet around him. The evening shift has come in now. They were warned on their way in: Fisher’s in a foul mood. They knew his good mood wouldn’t last. The guy’s been losing it these last few months. Hasn’t closed a single case. People are starting to talk about him. I mean, he was always difficult to handle. Always bad-tempered, always snooty towards those he thinks below him. Which is most of them, for one reason or another. But the guy got results. Worked his fingers to the bone. Still puts the work in, just isn’t getting anywhere. This whole Shug Francis thing has got right up his nose. And the Scott and McClure case. Shit! Seemed like he just gave up on that one. A drug dealer and his mate, shot dead in Scott’s flat. It was closed as murder suicide, but there was more to it. Fisher suspected, but he didn’t push. It does happen to some cops – burnout. You push yourself harder and harder; always trying to go one better than your last result. You go off a cliff. That’s what they’re saying about Fisher now. But they’re working silently, not giving him anything to be extra pissed off about. He’s been here all day, working on this case. That’ll mean he’s wound up real tight.

The double door on the far side of the room is swinging open. Higgins. One of Fisher’s little pet plods. Fisher won’t explode on him. Not unless pushed. Higgins is heading straight for Fisher. Hardly a glance at the rest of them. These plods know the route to the top. Get well in with the DI, and he’ll push you up the ladder. That was the case a year ago. Maybe not now. Not when the DI’s getting a reputation as a man who can’t close. Then you don’t want to be anywhere near him. He can hold you back rather than push you forward. There are a few in the station who would like to see Fisher become toxic. Fisher’s looking up from his desk. Less interested in Higgins than the folder he has in his hands. Fisher didn’t ask for anything. Must be something interesting. Actually, shouldn’t Higgins be at home? He was on the dayshift. Someone else putting in hours beyond contractual obligation. Good lad.

Higgins has stopped at Fisher’s desk. Putting the thin folder down with a flourish and leaning forward.

‘Phone records. Records for Shug for the last couple of weeks. Check a couple of nights before Hardy and McBride went missing. Evening. Short call on his mobile.’

There’s excitement in his voice. Fisher’s looking down the sheet. A five-minute call to Derek Collins. Derek Collins – he knows that name. Another one of the murdering bastards who should be rotting in jail. Collins has done time twice. Never for murder. Never for long. He’s a killer, though. Fisher knows it. Flicking to the next sheet. Collins: the corresponding incoming call. Then nothing. The two of them keeping their distance. This is it. This is what Fisher has been waiting for. Something so simple. So basic. Shug not learning his lessons. Not learning how to cover his tracks.

It’s an hour later, and Fisher has everyone moving around. Most of them aren’t doing anything useful, but he has them looking busy. Fact is, there’s not an awful lot for them to do, but the energy is flowing outwards from Fisher. He has a couple of them going looking for CCTV. Find out where Des Collins was on the night. See if they can find him moving around. It would be wonderful if they could place him at, or near, Hardy’s office. As long as they can’t place him anywhere else in the relevant period. That’ll do as a starter. Makes Collins the likely killer. Makes Shug the man who ordered it. Makes sense. He has another cop trying to locate Collins. Not to arrest him. Not yet. You don’t bring him in until you have everything you need to nail the bastard to the floor. But you need to know where he is. Make sure he doesn’t run. Dopey bugger might even incriminate himself more while you watch. Don’t need anyone to find out where Shug is. Get someone to confirm that he’s at home. His right-hand man as well. He’ll be in the dock, too. Oh, Fisher’s going to round up every bloody one of them.

‘Doesn’t Collins work for Alex MacArthur?’ one of the DCs is asking.

What’s the DC’s name again? Shit, Fisher can’t remember. Big fellow, greying hair. Never mind. Not much of a cop anyway. ‘Yes, he does,’ Fisher’s saying. ‘Done jobs for other people, but he seems to have settled in with MacArthur. A few people have placed him close to Donald Park.’

‘Okay. I thought that was it,’ the cop’s saying.

He looks nervous. A few of them will. Cowards. Plenty of them around. Scared of taking on MacArthur. If it’s just Shug, then they’re fine. They’ve always thought of him as small. MacArthur they’ve always thought was big. A man with influence all over the city. A man who could make a cop’s life difficult. For that reason, some will be wary of taking him on. Thing is, if you always back off, never challenge the scum, he’ll grow and grow. Grow so big that he really becomes impossible to take down. They won’t get MacArthur himself with this investigation. That’s too much to hope for. But they’ll get Collins and Shug, two men known to be on his side. And that chips away at MacArthur’s credibility.

Everyone making an effort to look busy. Doesn’t take much for Higgins to slip away unnoticed. Just downstairs. If Fisher wants him, then he can call down. Unlikely he’ll bother. He has plenty of people upstairs to do the work. There probably won’t be an arrest tonight. That’s not Fisher’s style. Meticulous. He’ll want to make sure everything’s neatly sewn up before the arrests. He usually would, anyway. Might go a different route with this. He needs an arrest. Higgins knows it as well as anyone. Been months since Fisher did something to disrupt the criminal industry. He used to be a pest for them. He’s become an irrelevance. An arrest. A charge. A conviction. Get Shug put away, and it makes a statement. Get Collins put away, and it makes an impact. Shug’s higher-profile. Collins, being MacArthur’s gunman, will worry more people inside MacArthur’s organization. Make them afraid. Just what Fisher wants.

Higgins is sitting in the corner of the changing rooms. His shift ended hours ago. He’s entitled to be lounging around if he likes. Hell, he should be at home by now. He’s being careful. Making sure nobody’s around. Nobody’s likely to come in. Everyone working this shift has been in and changed; many have already gone out on the streets. He’s taking out his mobile. Calling a number committed to memory, never to SIM card.

‘I thought you might like to know that there’s evidence linking Shug Francis to Des Collins. Should be arrests in the next forty-eight hours. I’ll let you know more when I have it.’

‘Good, thank you,’ Young’s saying on the other end, and hanging up.

The phone’s asking Higgins if he wants to save the number and create a new contact. He’s pressing No. Deleting the call from his call log. Hoping that Young will use his contacts to delete the call from official records. Taking a deep breath. Changing out of his uniform. Going home for sleep he really needs.

36

The plane to London is long gone. Hours ago. Calum wasn’t on it. He’s sitting in the hospital. Out in a corridor, with George sitting beside him. The last few hours are a blur. He remembers George calling him across to the side of the garage. Seeing William lying on the floor. Lying still. Lying on his side. Couldn’t see him breathing. His eyes shut. Blood running down the side of his face. Not a lot of it. Coming from a cut on his head. Trickles from his nose and mouth. There was a bubble coming from the left nostril. That was what Calum noticed. What he remembers. A little bubble expanding and bursting as William breathed slowly out. That was when he knew his brother was still alive. It was a moment of relief. When he almost forgot what had been done to William. Didn’t forget for long.

George had suggested they take William to the hospital in his car. Calum said no. Leave him. Don’t move him until the paramedics get here. That’s what Calum said, not necessarily what he was thinking. He was thinking that he still didn’t trust George. Not 100 per cent. Didn’t want his dying brother going off in a car with a man who can’t be trusted. George called the paramedics from the garage phone. Didn’t want an emergency call on his mobile. Calum knelt beside William. Told him it was going to be okay. Told him that he would be patched up and back in trouble in no time. Didn’t get a response. When George was in the office, making the call, Calum told William something else. Told him there would be revenge. Didn’t know if he meant it at the time – just felt like the sort of thing he should say. Someone beats your brother unconscious; you make big noises about revenge. Anything that might provoke a reaction from William. Nothing did.

The ambulance was there inside five minutes. Two paramedics, running in and crouching beside William. Calum already knew it was serious. Didn’t need them to point it out. They did anyway. They made all sorts of ominous noises. Rushed William to the ambulance. Calum got in with him. George went to his own car. Followed to the hospital. They’ve been sitting in a corridor ever since, waiting for an update. Sitting in silence. A doctor approaching them. George is getting up, giving Calum some privacy. Walking along the corridor towards the corner. What a mess! Shouldn’t be this way. Someone’s fucked up, and someone’s going to have to pay the price for that. It’s not always the guy who fucks up who pays. Shit, they might blame him for it. Blame the guy who was nearby. Have to be seen to punish someone, preferably someone who doesn’t matter to them. George is looking back along the corridor. Looking at Calum. The hard expression. Getting harder all the time. Bad news.

‘If you have any family who would want to see him, you should get in touch with them right away,’ the doctor’s saying. They don’t think William’s going to make it through the night. Gather the family now – that’s the instruction.

‘I will,’ Calum’s nodding. The doctor’s looking at him, pausing. He wants to say something about how William acquired these injuries, but he can’t. It’s the police’s job anyway, and they’ll be here real soon. Someone called them. The boy is going to die because of head trauma. Looks like he took a battering. May have been kicked. William MacLean was unlucky. The beating he took wasn’t the worst the doctor’s seen. Others have taken worse and survived. But sometimes it only takes one solid blow. One trauma and the damage is too much. One kick to the head can do it, and William took multiple kicks. The doctor’s leaving the younger brother. He seems like the sort who prefers being alone.

Calum’s looking along the corridor at George. George coming back along to him. Sitting next to him.

‘Not good, is it?’ George is asking.

‘He won’t last the night,’ Calum’s saying. There’s a hard tone in his voice. Not mournful, not emotional in any way. There’s a pause. ‘I’m going to call my mother, tell her to get a taxi here. Before I do, I want you to tell me what you know.’

‘What I know?’

‘Who beat up William? Who was working on this? Did you know it was going to happen?’

George is pausing. Stammering. Scared of the questions. Calum’s telling him to take sides. Something he absolutely doesn’t want to do. ‘I don’t know who did it,’ he’s saying honestly. ‘I know that Shaun Hutton’s been involved lately. I don’t know . . . I don’t see why they would send him to do this, though. They shouldn’t have. They should have sent me.’ Strange thing to say. That he wishes they’d sent him to beat up William instead. But he means it. William would be fine now, if they had. Nursing a couple of cuts and bruises. Cursing George. No more than that.

There are a few other things Calum has to know before he contacts his mother. ‘Did you call Young on the way here?’ he’s asking George.

‘Young? No. I just followed the ambulance.’

Calum’s looking at him. Questioning. Threatening. ‘I need to know what Young and Jamieson know.’

‘I called Young when you left the flat, told him you were on the move. He told me to call when I knew where you were. I didn’t think to call him since. I mean, Jesus, when I saw William I just wanted to get him to a hospital, you know.’

He sounds genuine. George isn’t a good liar; Calum would spot if this were untrue. So Jamieson doesn’t know that Calum’s at the hospital. Doesn’t know where George is, either. This could play to his advantage.

There are plans formulating in the back of his mind. Things he can do. Things he must do. None of them easy. Hard choices. But that’s all they’ve left him with, so it’s their own fault. Glancing at George. He could use him. No, leave him. Don’t make his life any harder. Hell, if you want to be any sort of a friend at all, then you should be trying to help him out. He’s in trouble, whether he realizes it or not. If Jamieson finds out that he came to the hospital without alerting them, then he’s going to wonder what side of the fence George is on. If Jamieson reaches the conclusion that George was colluding with Calum, then George’s life is in danger. He seems oblivious. Just concerned about Calum and William. So think about the things you need to do. Plan every movement. Plan every conversation. Make sure you control the flow of information. Nothing’s more important than that right now. Jamieson doesn’t know where Calum is. Where George is. Keep him in the dark, and he has a chance.

George is watching. He can see the look on Calum’s face. He knows what’s happening here. Calum knows that he’s next. They’ve killed his brother just for helping him. They’re going to kill him, too. So he’s working out what to do. And George’s heart is racing. You shouldn’t be here. You’re risking your life by being here. They’ll think you helped Calum. What else was he supposed to do? If they’d bloody well told him what was going on. But oh no, they had to hold their little secrets tight. Tell him to do this, that and the next thing and not even give him a warning. They never said William was a target. Didn’t even say why Calum was. Shit! Jamieson might be his boss, but the boss deserves a kick up the arse. You can’t tell people to do important jobs and not keep them informed. They push and push George to do more and more, but still treat him like crap. They deserve this punishment.

‘Have you got any change on you?’ Calum’s asking. ‘I’m going to call my mother from the pay phone.’

George has lent him a couple of quid, watched him walk along the corridor. He can see the nearest pay phone from here. No danger of Calum running. He’s safe in the hospital. They’re not going to hit him in here. Can’t hit him until they know where he is, anyway. Calum’s standing with the receiver to his ear. Talking to someone. A sad smile. His happy mother saying hello. Now Calum speaking. Explaining. How do you tell your mother that her boy is dying? Does she have any clue what sort of life her youngest son lives? How will she react, if she knows William’s dying because of Calum? George is watching. Wondering if Calum is thinking the same thing. What do those thoughts do to a man? Doesn’t matter that Calum is as cold as he is, he’s still human. This has to affect him. Change him. Surely it makes him even more dangerous.