The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (32 page)

They’re marching him out of the office and along the corridor of his house, stopping beside the front door. Shug’s wife, Elaine, is standing there. Watching them. About to tell her husband that she’ll call their lawyer. That she’ll pick up the kids from school. That she’ll do something. Not able to say anything, because Fisher’s speaking first.

‘Elaine Francis. I think you should come down to the station with us as well. I believe you may have information that will prove valuable to our investigation. Don’t need to cuff her,’ he’s saying as an aside to one of the uniformed cops. Shug’s about to say something, but there’s no point. She does know some things that the police would find useful. Not a lot of detail, but she knows when Shug was at home. Knows when people came to visit the house. She’s smart. She can handle this.

There are three cars parked out at the front of the house. Only one of them a marked police car. Shug’s being put into the marked car, the two uniformed officers getting in with him. It’s only as he sits in the back of the car and looks over his shoulder that he sees there’s a driver sitting in each of the other two cars. So two detectives and four other cops, just to arrest him, Fizzy and Elaine. Seems like a farce. He still thinks of himself as harmless. It’s a joke to send six cops to arrest him. And then he thinks about what he’s been arrested for. Sending Davidson to kill MacLean. Trying to force his way into the drug trade. You think about that, and you think that maybe they should have sent more than six. He can see the DC getting into the back of a car with a cuffed Fizzy. And he can see Fisher getting into the back of another car with Elaine.

A silent journey to the station. The two young cops aren’t saying a word to Shug. Probably a good thing that Greig isn’t here. Shug wouldn’t trust his temper around that treacherous bastard. They’re pulling into the station car park. All traipsing into the building.

‘Put him in interview one,’ Fisher’s saying to the uniformed cops, ‘put the other two in cells.’ They’re leading Shug along a corridor and into an interview room. The two cops sitting him down. One turning to the other.

‘You can handle him; I’m going for a piss.’ Now Shug and one young cop. They look excited, the two younger ones. This is probably a big deal for them, Shug’s thinking. How big a deal? They’re after him for Davidson. They could nail him for that, but what evidence do they have? Taken them long enough to arrest him. Might be nothing. And there’s a silver lining. Fisher believes he wasn’t involved in the Hardy hit. So they must be onto MacArthur.

The young uniformed cop is back in the room, just before Fisher gets there. He has the chubby detective in tow. A nod to the two cops and they’re leaving. Fisher’s sitting opposite Shug. Looking at him. Judging him.

‘Your lawyer will be here in a few minutes,’ he’s saying. ‘You don’t have to wait for him to get here, if there’s anything you’d like to say first.’

Shug knows what this is. The recorder hasn’t been switched on, there’s no lawyer present: this is the one opportunity to say something off the record. A hint that any help given now will play well later. Shug’s weighing it up. ‘Elaine knew nothing,’ he’s saying. ‘I kept her out. And Fizzy didn’t know a lot.’

Fisher’s nodding his head. ‘I can be persuaded about your wife, not so much about your mate. But I need to be persuaded.’

‘I know things,’ Shug’s saying. ‘Things you’ll be interested in.’

Fisher doesn’t want to hear it right now. Too much else to do. He wants Shug to commit to telling him; the actual telling will have to wait until later. If Fisher gets bogged down in that now, then the main business of the day is pushed back, possibly by hours. Can’t have that. They have to move before Jamieson has the chance to find out. That means now. He’s told them all to be waiting for him in the incident room. Waiting for instructions. He and Davies are making their way in, the four plods and a couple of new arrivals standing there.

‘Right. We’re going to arrest Peter Jamieson and John Young. We know to arrest Jamieson at the nightclub he owns. He’s the priority. Young we’re not so sure about. We think he’s on the streets. Right now we focus on Peter Jamieson. We need to move fast. We can’t give him any opportunity to get away. This is once-in-a-lifetime stuff.’

49

Young’s driving. Been to see a contact, who turned out to be more useful than expected. The way things are going, Young expects everyone to be hopeless. Not this woman. Works for a taxi firm. A clean one – they have nothing to do with the criminal industry. She works in the office, takes calls, that sort of thing. Her brother is involved at a low level with Angus Lafferty, Jamieson’s biggest importer. Lafferty must have mentioned Calum to the brother, the brother mentioned him to the sister and she contacted Young. She told him that they had a pick-up this morning. Young man, fits the description. As soon as she told him the house he was collected from, he knew they were on the right track. The little bastard! Probably thought it was hilarious to spend the night in a house owned by Jamieson. It’s a joke you only get to make once. The driver dropped Calum off in Cowcaddens. Doesn’t mean anything to Young, but it’s the next location to check.

Now his phone’s ringing. He’s ignoring it until he sees somewhere he can park. He’s a pro. Not going to be pulled over for driving whilst using a phone. Then you get your name on the police radar and they start harassing you every chance they get. Already ignored one call this morning. That was from Greig. That lying bastard can burn in the fire he’s created, snuggling up to Shug.

He’s found somewhere to stop. Pulling over and taking his phone from the dashboard. Still ringing. A number on the screen, not a name. Vague recognition of the number, but he can’t quite place it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, John,’ the young man on the other end is saying. Now Young remembers. PC Joseph Higgins. Higgins used to get in touch with Young on an old pay-as-you-go mobile that only Higgins knew the number to. Not now. This is a busy time, and Higgins is a man with important information, so he has Young’s regular mobile number. Allowed to call to make sure he gets straight through. When this is done, and Higgins goes back to being just another contact, he’ll return to the dedicated mobile. Less convenient, but safer. Now he’s making a hushed call, whispering into his phone.

‘What’s up, Joseph?’ Young’s asking. Instinctively thinking that the young cop’s probably overreacting to something.

‘They’ve arrested Shug. They have him at the station,’ Higgins is saying. Talking fast and quiet. ‘I was there when they arrested him. Something’s changed. They didn’t arrest him over Hardy. They arrested him over Glen Davidson. Fisher went out in the morning and came back at lunchtime. Something changed. I think Fisher might be looking past Shug now.’ And he’s hung up. He’s given Young fair warning, and now he’s going back to his job. Leaving Young sitting in his car at the side of the road, trying to digest what he’s just heard. Something’s changed. Well, Jesus, that’s just vague enough to mean anything at all. But the kid wouldn’t ring if it was good news. Good news is no news at all. Things have changed for the worse. Looking past Shug? Looking at who? It’s when he remembers the mention of Glen Davidson that things start to fall into place.

But it’s not the mention of Davidson that clinches it. It’s that mention of Fisher. He left the station in the morning, came back at lunchtime. After that meeting something changed. The station is in Cowcaddens. There’s a cold feeling in Young’s stomach. Calum going after them all. Looking to bring them all down. Fisher’s arrested Shug, sure, because Calum gave him detail that implicated Shug. But you can bet he’s looking past Shug. Way past that gullible, snivelling little bastard. Much bigger targets lined up behind him. Never mind the rules of the road, Young needs to move. He’s pulling out and racing along the street. Got to get back to the club. He’s calling Jamieson as he drives, but there’s no answer. Calling the office, but nothing. Damn it all! He knows Jamieson’s there. Why the hell isn’t he picking up? Oh God, don’t say Calum’s got there first. This is all unravelling. Come on, hurry up!

Screeching to a halt outside the club. Lucky he wasn’t pulled over by a cop car on the way. He’ll certainly get done by a camera, but that’s the last of his worries now. Half-surprised, half-relieved that there isn’t an ambulance and a bunch of cop cars outside the club already. Up the stairs and through the snooker room. The usual handful of daytime drinkers at the bar. They look as if nothing has penetrated the perpetual gloom of their lives, which is a good sign. Along the corridor, relaxing a little. Not bothering to knock on the door, just barging in. And stopping in his tracks. Jamieson on the couch, glass in hand. Deana Burke beside him. Smiling at Jamieson. Keeping her sweet? Nope, Young’s patience doesn’t stretch to this.

‘This is why you didn’t answer your fucking phone?’ he’s shouting, slamming the door shut behind him. ‘This silly bitch is why you ignored me twice. We’re in serious trouble here, Peter, and you’re fumbling around with this tart. Jesus, it’s hardly a week since we put Kenny in the ground.’ Well, that’ll end a romance.

Jamieson’s standing up. That cold anger he gets. Usually means trouble. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ he’s demanding.

‘I’m talking about Calum going to Fisher this morning and spilling his guts. I’m talking about the police probably being on their way here as we speak. They arrested Shug for Glen Davidson, not for Hardy. If they know about Davidson, then they know about every fucking thing.’

Deana’s standing beside Jamieson, but she’s irrelevant to him now. Professionalism overwhelms every other feeling. Jamieson’s staring at Young. The anger has gone, wiped out by uncertainty. Calum going to Fisher. If he talked about Davidson, talked about his killings, then he must be in custody. Must have turned himself in. Oh, shit! He’s thrown himself on the fire in revenge for his brother. Slitting his own throat in the hope of drowning them all in his blood.

A moment of silence. A deep breath. ‘Call the lawyer. Get them on this straight away. Anything that can be moved out of Fisher’s reach, do it. Now! Lockdown, everything hidden. And let’s all just calm down a wee bit, okay.’ Saying that to Young.

Deana is now a non-person. Just a body in the room who happens to be hearing their conversation. If you have nothing to contribute to this, then you are nothing.

‘If all they have is Calum’s evidence, then they don’t have much. We kept him at arm’s length. He doesn’t know shit. His word in a court is worth nothing. Nothing. So let’s just keep cool.’ Looking at Young with a meaningful expression. It’s been a long time since they talked about what they would say and do if the police turn up. Used to talk about it a lot in the early days. The better you get at this, the more remote the possibility feels. So they haven’t talked about it recently, but they both know the standard they have to set in an interview room. The evasive tactics required.

‘What did he say about Kenny?’ Deana’s asking quietly. She half-knew. Let’s be honest here – deep down she had her suspicions. She wanted to believe it was MacArthur. It felt better to think that it was some distant enemy rather than Kenny’s own boss. And Jamieson was nice. He was offering her an opportunity to move on with her life. But she can’t ignore what Young just said. Certainly not after hearing Jamieson’s assessment. He’s in trouble, it’s obvious. She doesn’t want to be around him if his world is about to collapse. Jamieson’s looking at her, but she’s moving towards the door. She’s heard enough to know that she doesn’t want to be here. Young’s reaching out to stop her, but Jamieson’s shaking his head. She doesn’t know anything. Jamieson is nobody’s fool. He’s said nothing in front of her that he can’t easily deny. Said nothing she can hope to prove.

Deana’s down the stairs, heading for the front door. Out onto the street and stopping dead. Timing is everything. If she’d left two minutes earlier, she’d be gone. Instead she’s standing three feet away from DI Fisher as he gets out of the passenger seat of an unmarked police car.

‘Well, Deana, this is a surprise,’ he’s saying with a knowing smile. Not two days ago she was telling him that Alex MacArthur and Des Collins were behind Kenny’s murder. Now she’s leaving the office of the man responsible. In Fisher’s eyes, she’s either been badly deceived or she’s a lying bitch. Fisher’s guessing the latter, but either way she might be useful. ‘Matheson,’ he’s saying to one of the plods getting out of a marked car, ‘find Miss Burke a seat in the back of your car and stay with her.’ Matheson’s groaning. He gets to sit with this cow while the rest of them get to go inside and arrest Peter Jamieson. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

They’re into the building, moving up the stairs. One of the plods – Fisher doesn’t know his name – trips. Falling forward, scratching his hand. Other cops are laughing. Fisher’s going to let them. He’s in that good a mood. He knows where the office is, found that out ages ago. Wanted to know, just in case this day came. Ignoring the old boozers who are gawping at them. Marching through the snooker room and along the corridor.

‘Check these rooms,’ Fisher’s saying to anyone who happens to be walking behind him. He knows the office is the last door at the far end. Still sensible to check for people hiding in other rooms. He can hear doors opening behind him. A couple of calls of ‘Clear’. Walking to the office door, not slowing for an instant. Don’t let the other cops see your nerves. Arrests like this make your legend. Let history think you were nerveless.

Jamieson’s sitting behind his desk. Young’s sitting on the couch to the side of the room. They’re both looking at the door. Both standing up. They obviously saw the cars arrive; the office windows look down onto the street. They’ve been sitting here. Waiting patiently.

‘Detective Inspector Fisher,’ Jamieson’s saying, trying to take the initiative. ‘What can we do to help you? Anything at all – you name it.’ Said with a cheeky smile. Trying to write his own little legend. The guy who was as cool as ice when the cops turned up. The guy who knew he could beat any charge they threw at him. It’ll sound brilliant, but only if it turns out to be true.