The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (26 page)

‘Listen, Ma, I have to go. I don’t just mean for now. I mean forever. I have to leave the city. Get out of the country. If they find me, they’ll want to kill me too.’ Now she’s opening her mouth to say something. Say anything that’ll keep her last son in the city. ‘I have to go, Ma,’ he’s saying. Interrupt her, before she says anything he can’t handle hearing. ‘I don’t have a choice. If I stay, they’ll kill me too. Talk to the police. Tell them everything. I love you,’ he’s saying, the first time he’s said it since he was a child. Leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.

He’s standing up, lifting the bag with his belongings over his shoulder, turning and walking away from her. Walking along the white corridor to the corner. Stopping and looking back. She’s still sitting exactly as she was. Staring slightly downwards. Hasn’t moved. Her shoulders are moving up and down. She’s not strong. Their father died a few years ago – she has nobody now. Friends will rally round, but that won’t help. One son murdered, another fleeing the city. She won’t want to leave the house. Won’t want to be seen. Worried that people are talking about her. Speaking badly of her two boys. The shame. It might destroy her. But there’s no other way. The alternative is to stay in the city and end up another victim. Better to give her the glimmer of hope that comes from knowing that Calum’s alive. She might not be able to see him, but he’ll try to get in touch at some point. She can cling to that at least. It’s all she’ll have.

Calum doesn’t do crying. Doesn’t really do emotions. Can’t remember the last time he was tearful. He goes cold instead. A form of controlled anger. And he’s cold right now. Thinking with a clarity that only comes when you’re under intense pressure. When you’re doing a job, and you know you have to get every last detail of it right. Didn’t have that ability when he started. Something you learn with time. With effort. One of the things that’s made him so good at what he does. The lift doors are opening, and he’s looking left and right as he comes out into the reception area. Plenty of people around, but none that stand out as suspicious. He can see George, standing at the double doors, looking nervous. You’d think he was an expectant father, the way he’s chewing his thumbnail and walking back and forth.

Calum’s walked across to him. They’ve made their way outside, into the car park. Quieter here, nobody to hear them talk.

‘Listen to me, George,’ Calum is saying. ‘Things are going to change. You have to get out. The position they’ve put you in, the position I’ve put you in – you have to get out.’

‘I can’t just get out,’ George is saying, and shaking his head. It’s cold this morning. There’s a little wind whipping around them.

‘Yes, you can,’ Calum is saying, ‘but you only have one chance. Take that chance: get out and leave everything behind. I mean everything. I’m going to change things, George. You don’t want to be here when it happens. They’ll think you helped me. They’ll blame you. If you stay, you’re killing yourself.’

George is walking round in a circle, hands on his head. Maybe with planning you can run, but not like this. This isn’t workable.

‘You have an opportunity,’ Calum’s telling him. ‘You have nobody to leave behind. Ditch everything. Go straight to the train station from here. Get on a train and go south. The police will be looking for you. So will Jamieson. You can’t be here for either of them to find you. I’m going to do something that might change the business in this city. If you’re still here in twenty-four hours, you could be swept away by it.’

George is looking at him now. ‘Jesus, Calum, don’t do anything stupid here.’

Calum’s smiling. ‘That ship is long gone. I’m only going to do what I have to do. You need to get out. Head south. Down to London. Hell, I might even see you there. Just . . . don’t stay here. Go.’ And he’s sticking out a hand. George is shaking it. Calum’s turning and walking across the car park, taking William’s phone from his pocket.

39

Fisher doesn’t have time for her. He’ll have to make some. Deana Burke is a woman capable of making trouble. Capable of spoiling what’s shaping up to be a damned good week. She called half an hour ago, said she wanted to talk to him. He tried to put her off, but she was having none of it. Deana Burke wants to talk; she’s not the sort to wait. A lot of them are the same. Women who spend their lives on the fringes of the industry. They think they’re as hard as their men. Think they have the right to behave any way they want. Bloody nightmare, the lot of them. Dealing with the family can be the worst part of an arrest. Not that Burke is family. She was Kenny’s girlfriend, nothing more. But she might have information. Things are falling his way right now. She might actually have something worth listening to.

He got about four hours’ sleep last night. Nipped home for it. Some people take a nap in the station, shower there. Not Fisher. It’s necessary to get out of the building when you can. There’s a temptation for a cop like him to turn it into a second home. Got to resist. Went home, slept, showered and got something to eat. Then back to the station. Not tired. Not even a bit. Reinvigorated. All of the weight that’s been building up on him in the last few months is falling away. Finishing line in sight. For now, a detour. Down the stairs and into the car park. Deana wants to meet – Fisher suggested her house. She said no. She even suggested the station. Fisher said no to that. Too many leaks. If Greig sees her here, then it means trouble. That little bastard would report to Shug. Greig’s another problem that he’ll soon resolve – he’s been getting away with it for far too long. Not much longer.

They’re meeting in some fancy coffee bar that she suggested when he refused the station. Fisher’s never been here before. Doesn’t much like the look of it. Quiet, but people coming and going. Never mind. It’ll do. Little chance anyone here will report to Shug. The arrest will come soon. Oh, that’s going to be sweet. Can’t wait for that. Tomorrow, if he gets his own way. Some want to wait, suggesting they should take the time to gather more evidence. No way. That’s just creating time for Jamieson to take the decision out of Fisher’s hands. Time for Shug and MacArthur to hide evidence. Time for them to reduce the potential damage that the police can do. Maybe even run. Not MacArthur – that old bastard wouldn’t shuffle away now. But then they probably won’t get enough to arrest him anyway. Shug might run. Des Collins certainly would.

He can see Deana sitting at a table by herself. Dressed normally. Hair down. Has the look of a woman who’s decided that a week is quite long enough to grieve. A woman ready to move on. She looks calm and composed, he’s thinking to himself as he walks across to sit opposite her. And he’s already suspicious. She’s given up on mourning. A smart woman like her, ready to move on. Suddenly she gets in touch. What does that mean?

‘Deana, how are you?’ he’s asking. The words sound concerned, but the tone doesn’t.

‘I’m okay. Dealing with things. How is your investigation?’

‘Moving quickly,’ he’s telling her. ‘Won’t be long now, I can assure you. We’ve made a lot of progress in a short while. I’ll have some big news for you very soon.’

She’s nodding. Mixed feelings for Deana. She wants everyone involved in Kenny’s killing to get a taste of their own medicine. A bullet for a bullet. Arrests just don’t seem enough. But you take what you can get. And you let people like Peter Jamieson follow the path they think best.

She’s listening to him. He’s telling her some vague things about the investigation. No detail. Nothing that could identify who he plans to arrest. Or when he plans to make his move. She knows he doesn’t trust her. Why should he? Opposite sides of the fence.

‘I received some information,’ she’s saying.

Fisher’s suddenly paying attention. His head rising sharply, watching her. ‘Information? What information did you receive?’

‘I was told a name for who shot Kenny. I think it’s true. Makes sense to me. Do you know of a man called Des Collins?’

‘I do,’ he’s saying quietly. Nothing more.

‘I was told that Collins did it. That he was working for Alex MacArthur. MacArthur has a deal with Shug Francis. They went after Kenny to send a message to Jamieson. And I think the job Kenny did that night was targeting MacArthur, not Shug.’

A collision of instincts, cynical at first. Sounded like she was telling him a story she’d carefully learned. It was too perfect. Naming Collins and MacArthur. Felt like a set-up. A set-up that pointed him in the correct direction, but he was still suspicious. Then that last sentence. That turned it all around. With that one sentence, trust. He had thought she was a plant. Telling him what Jamieson wanted him to hear. It seemed a little transparent. Then that – Jamieson would never let her give that sort of information away. Not to a cop. Not to anyone. Jamieson targeting Alex MacArthur is big news. Private news.

‘What do you know about the job Kenny was doing that night?’ he’s asking her. Asked her before, and she said she knew nothing. Let’s see what she’s learned since.

‘I’ve been told that it was a job against MacArthur. Nothing big. Just setting something up, or sending a message, something like that. Kenny dropped off the person doing the job with him. Between then and getting home, they got him.’

There’s almost no point at all in asking. But he will. Has to. It’s his job, after all. They pay him to ask. She’s too smart to be offended by the question. Too smart to make a scene.

‘And where did you get all this information?’

She’s looking at him and she’s smiling. ‘From a friend. Someone in the business. Someone who knows. I can’t say more than that.’

He’s nodding. ‘I can’t do anything with that information if I don’t know it’s credible. You know that. I need to know where it came from.’

She’s smiling. She knew he would say it. And she knows that he doesn’t expect an answer. Just going through the routine.

She’s getting up and walking out, leaving him behind. He’s glancing round to watch her go. Much more confident than any of their previous encounters. Something’s changed. Only been a week, but she seems like a different person. Confident, relaxed. Someone’s responsible. Jesus, they don’t take long to move on. Shouldn’t judge her. You live her life, and you have to be able to move on quickly. You have a life with someone in the criminal business, and there’s a chance it can all come crashing down in a heartbeat. There’s something admirable about her. The strength it takes to move on. Fisher was married. Divorced. Life moved on, but it left a scar. Takes real strength to shrug it off and move straight along. Looking for your next opportunity. Ready for the chance to put the past behind you. Must be nice to live that way. To be able to. The past walks beside Fisher, walks beside most people.

If Deana Burke is naming Des Collins, then it won’t be long before others are. It’ll become the talk on the street. People will wonder why the police aren’t doing something about it. They need to get Collins. For the sake of publicity, they need Collins, but he doesn’t really matter. Not to Fisher. You put Collins away for fifteen, and someone else steps up to replace him. It might scare a few people around MacArthur, but time will quell that. The one who matters is Shug. He can get Shug. Will get him. Has to make it just right. Don’t overreach. Don’t charge him with things you can’t be certain of. Play safe. Get him sent down. And when he’s stewing away inside, you have all the time you need to nail down the other charges. Many people have fallen by the wayside in the last few months. People connected to Shug and Peter Jamieson. Lewis Winter was murdered because of his work in the drug trade. Glen Davidson too. Tommy Scott. Andy McClure. Maybe even Frank MacLeod. Must be possible to find the evidence for one or two of those.

40

It was a long night. Feels like it’s going to be a long day. Young’s been searching for info from just about every contact he has and keeps coming up short. Nobody knows. Hard to ask the right questions. They can’t give anything away. Can’t let people know that Calum’s running, and that they’re running after him. Once word gets out, people will begin to question Jamieson. Question the grip he has over his own people. Doesn’t matter what he does to Shug. People will shrug it off. So what, you took down Shug, but you can’t even hold on to the people you’ve got. What kind of leader does that make you? So Young’s asking vague questions. Mostly trying to find George Daly. Find him, and he finds Calum. He’s phoned George repeatedly through the night, but his phone’s switched off.

He’s almost convinced now that George is helping Calum. Either that or he’s been killed by him. Helping seems more likely. Should have done it the other way round. He knows that now. Send George to deliver the beating, and Hutton to watch Calum. Too late. Young was just so pissed off with the brother. And he trusted George so little. Didn’t think George would deliver much of a punishment. Still doesn’t think so, but doesn’t care any more. The brother was never the priority. Shouldn’t have been the priority anyway. Should have focused on Calum. That’s what Jamieson is thinking. Young knows it. Spoke to him on the phone about an hour ago. Told him he was still trying to find information. Jamieson was short with him. Didn’t say anything aggressive; nothing that would let Young know how annoyed he is. But Young knows from the tone. The subtle change. The exasperation.

He spoke to Greig. Couldn’t find Higgins. Either asleep or at work. Greig will have to do. Asked him if he knew anything about George Daly. Whether he was arrested in the night. ‘Didn’t hear about it, if he was. Whole station’s gearing up for a raid on Shug Francis. Fisher’s close. Going after him and Des Collins. Didn’t hear about anyone else.’

So George hasn’t been arrested. His name didn’t show up on any hospital checks, either. Now Young’s making his way back into the office at the club. Jamieson’s sitting behind his desk, looking up at Young walking into the room. Eyebrows raised.

‘Nothing,’ Young’s saying. Slumping into the couch at the side of the room. Jamieson won’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. This has been a balls-up. Young knows it, and nobody’s going to be harder on him than himself.