A Pro Job

‘Jump to it.’ Allan Chisolm drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I haven’t got all bloody day.’

From his workstation by the window, Douglas Dunn shot across the room. George Duffy followed at a more sedate pace. Chewing the last of his morning piece, Dave Wood lumbered to his feet. He joined Susan at the end of the table.

‘Where’s Burnett?’

‘Said he had a meeting.’

‘I’ll meeting him,’ Chisolm muttered. ‘Whatever it is, this is way more important.’

His team waited, expectant.

Chisolm let them wait. After a few more moments, he spoke. ‘By now, you’ll all know that Bobby Brannigan was assaulted last night.’

There were nods and mutterings around the table.

‘This was a life-threatening attack.’

‘You thinking it was a hit, sir?’ This from Dunn.

‘It bears all the hallmarks: single wound to the throat…’

‘Sounds like a pro job to me,’ Wood interrupted.

Idle twat. Chisolm shot him a look. ‘And you would know.’

‘Can’t have been that professional if the geezer’s still in the land of the living.’ This from Duffy.

‘Could be the assailant was disturbed. From what I understand Brannigan had just come out the pub. Might have been other folk around.’

‘Where’s the motive?’ Susan ventured in a small voice. As the most junior member of the team, she was still nervous about pushing herself forward.

Duffy snorted. ‘He’s a snitch.’

‘Oh.’ Susan’s eyes widened. ‘Whose?’

‘Any bugger that will pay him,’ Brian answered, coming into the room. ‘Apologies, sir,’ he directed to Chisolm. ‘I was unavoidably detained.’

‘You can explain later,’ Chisolm snapped. ‘Right now, I want you to fill DC Strachan in on our friend.’

Brian looked down the table. ‘We reckon Brannigan was fingered by James Gilruth to throw a drugs trial. Happened before your time,’ he elaborated, ‘but the results were far-reaching: trial had to be abandoned at huge cost to the taxpayer, and two of our own,’ he paused, ‘including my best mate, were sent out into the cold.’

‘Do you think Gilruth could have ordered a hit?’ Susan asked, her eyes like saucers.

‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility, though Brannigan hasn’t been active, not for a long time.’

‘So what could he have done,’ she queried, ‘to piss anyone off?’

‘Except threaten to grass?’ Douglas retorted. ‘And re-open a can of worms some folk would rather leave shut.’

‘Come on,’ Brian interceded, ‘Bobby Brannigan dropped totally below the radar until…’

‘Your girlfriend outed him,’ Dunn supplied.

Brian whirled in his seat. ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’

Douglas smirked. ‘And from what I hear she’s been turning the screw.’

‘How would you…?’ Brian started.

‘Cut it,’ Chisolm barked. ‘What we do know is, these past few years, Mr Gilruth has been a picture of probity, his drug activities disguised behind a wall of respectability – a wall that he has defended with extreme care. Until, that is, his own son made a chink in that wall. It may be that the raid on his club was a wake-up call. All that adverse publicity.’

‘And he knows we’re frustrated that he’s sent the son to the fucking Costa del Sol,’ George Duffy added.

‘He should be so lucky,’ Dave Wood observed. ‘Out of the frying-pan into the fire, I’d say.’ The look on his face was more mournful than ever. ‘They’re nutcases, the most of them, down there.’

‘Are you thinking that, combined with rumours of Brannigan’s revised testimony, forced Gilruth’s hand?’ Duffy enquired.

‘Doesn’t sound sufficient reason to me,’ Chisolm responded. ‘But there’s a lot we don’t know where our friend Gilruth’s concerned.’

‘Has Bobby agreed to give a statement, then?’ Wood asked. ‘I thought we only had the tape recording them two wifies screwed out of him.’ He chortled at his own joke.

‘You’re right.’ Chisolm answered his question. ‘We do, at present, only have a tape, improperly obtained. But I was on the cusp of bringing Brannigan in to try to get a formal statement out of him when the assault occurred.’

‘With incentives, can we assume?’ Douglas piped up.

Chisolm threw him an icy look. ‘We can.’

‘Bit of a coincidence,’ Wood muttered darkly.

‘Quite so. But, whatever the motive behind this attack, our first priority is to obtain that formal statement.’

‘How do we manage that?’ Douglas wanted to know. ‘The guy’s unconscious.’

‘He might not make it,’ Wood added, his expression glum.

‘I have a twenty-four-hour guard on that man,’ Chisolm pronounced, grim-faced. ‘And I intend to get a statement out of him, come what may.’