The tale Thompson and Rutherford had told was so similar they might have been twins, reading from a script. But – to use one of Patrick Logue’s sporting expressions –fair play to them; they’d done a reasonable job. No surprise, given they were professional liars.
My meetings with them would’ve yielded nothing of interest if I hadn’t already seen a Glasgow gangster in the Herald, convincing me beyond any reasonable doubt, they were involved in something, even before they opened their untrustworthy mouths.
Thanks to Andrew, we knew OTD was Emil Rocha, which made Sean Rafferty the front for dirty money. The lack of hard evidence didn’t prevent me from being certain he’d murdered Tony Daly. As yet, I didn’t understand why though it didn’t take a big brain to figure the lucrative partnership with the city must be at the centre of it. Tomorrow I’d discuss it with Andrew. Tonight I needed to be free.
Alile came round to the flat and I squandered another opportunity to make love to her. She had to be wondering. All her life, men had fallen over themselves to get close to her and here I was acting like an emotionally stunted schoolboy. At best, the signals were mixed. Confusing for me as well as her.
Sitting on the couch with two-thirds of a bottle of wine inside us, she squeezed my hand and gave me the chance to explain. ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Talk about what?’
‘You’re still in love with somebody, aren’t you?’
Women know things; somehow they just do.
‘Who is she?’
My first words damned me. ‘It’s over.’
She shook her head. ‘No it isn’t, Charlie. Whatever you’re telling yourself, it isn’t.’
I didn’t disagree. Alile had opened Pandora’s Box and it all came tumbling out. She listened while I told her about Kate Calder; how the romance ended and how it kicked off again – at least for me – when she showed-up unexpectedly on Hogmanay.
I left out the snakeskin boots.
Too much information.
Alile kissed me on the cheek; warm and soft. ‘Thanks for being honest with me, Charlie. I’d like to go home now.’
We didn’t speak in the car. When we got to her place she turned, took my face in her hands, and kissed me again. This wonderful woman was about to walk out of my life. The memory of wanting to be free came back to haunt me. They say be careful what you wish for; this wasn’t what I had in mind.
‘Honestly, Alile, it’s over.’
The smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes. ‘If it ever is, I’ll be here. Just don’t wait too long.’
At the flat I washed the glasses, poured the wine down the sink and called Kate’s mobile. A female with an American accent told me the number was unobtainable. For a while – no idea how long – I sat on the couch where Alile had been and tried to picture Kate Calder the last time we’d been together.
I couldn’t.
The next morning I felt ill and depressed.
Two glasses of wine will do that to you.
Not.
I parked, as usual, in High Street and walked to NYB under a sky that mirrored my mood; dark and overcast. Last night stayed with me. Turning a beautiful woman down wasn’t an everyday thing and it didn’t feel good.
He was waiting for me on the corner of the Italian centre: an extra from Beyond the Planet of the Apes. On another day, seeing him might have given me pause. Not today. I walked past and heard him fall into step behind me.
It was too early for the bar to be open. Pat Logue was letting a coffee go cold in front of him. Jackie started to say something when he tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Mr Cameron? Mr Rafferty would like a few minutes of your time.’
What happened next surprised me as much as him. I grabbed his arm, pivoted and followed his graceless descent over my knee to the floor. He landed heavily on his back with me on top of him. The guy was mid-twenties and probably spent more time in the gym than most people spend at work. All for nothing when over-confidence takes your eye off the ball. And I was up for it. Punching somebody would be almost therapeutic.
I didn’t punch him, though it was a close run thing. Instead, I dug my fingers into his throat and watched his face turn the colour of cooked lobster.
It had gone off so fast Patrick hadn’t had time to move from his stool. Jackie lifted the telephone ready to dial. It wasn’t necessary. The words came from a bad place; I spat them out like orange pips. ‘Tell your boss I’m not going anywhere. If he wants to see me, I won’t be hard to find. Now fuck off.’
I let him go. Back at the ranch he’d have some explaining to do. Rafferty would pay by results and the thug might find himself suddenly out of the intimidation business.
Patrick kept his admiration on a tight leash. ‘This the new way you start your day? Impressive. And if that’s what you get for wantin’ to speak to you, bloody glad I didn’t ask for a sub. Who is he?’
‘Long story.’
‘The Clint Eastwood CD box set you got at Christmas got anythin’ to do with it? Seriously, who sent him?’
Jackie’s expression had blame written all over it. Telling Patrick Logue the biggest gangster in the city was back in my life wasn’t going to get a good reaction. She ignored me and went to her office under the stairs.
‘Our old pal, Sean Rafferty.’
‘You’re jokin’?’
‘Wish I was.’
‘How come I haven’t heard?’
‘As I said: long story.’
‘In case you’ve forgotten, Charlie, the Raffertys tried to kill you.’
I didn’t need to be reminded.
‘Maybe this time they’ll have better luck. Told you before. Don’t mess with these bastards. They’re premier league bad guys. Do whatever it takes to get out of their way. Although, looks like that advice is too late.’
‘I didn’t plan it. Getting threats from killers isn’t me living the dream.’
He searched my face for answers he wasn’t going to find. ‘Hate to hear myself say this, but if you need any help…’
‘Don’t worry; you’ll be the first to know.’
Jackie Mallon had never been happy with me in the office above NYB. I knew where she was coming from. She managed the place yet her office was a cubbyhole a fifth the size of mine. Alex Gilby’s promise I could have it as long as I wanted was solid. But in truth, however much a city centre address suited me, it wasn’t appropriate anymore. The business I was in attracted all kinds of people: the thug Sean Rafferty had sent was an example. After what had just gone on, Jackie had a case. It was time to acknowledge it.
She kept her eyes on the computer screen when I opened the door and a glance at her desk, covered in post-it notes and the walls lined with sheets of paper, was enough to convince the selfish part of me that would’ve held on to my gig upstairs.
I began with an apology. ‘Sorry about that. Shouldn’t have happened.’
‘We agree on something.’
‘Again, sorry.’
Her voice was low and steady, holding the anger and resentment in check. It wasn’t easy for her. The resentment was old; its roots were deep. ‘First the scene with Andrew Geddes. Now this. It’s not on, Charlie.’
Jackie was forgetting I’d helped her out with Andrew.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said it’s not on.’
‘Really? Correct me if I’ve got this wrong, but didn’t you call me when one of your customers got out of order? I also remember I wasn’t slow to help.’
She fired back. ‘My customer and your friend. I gave you a chance to stop him getting arrested for being drunk and disorderly, which was what he deserved. How does that entitle you to do what you like in here?’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘Then what about that little scene just now?’
Arguing wasn’t going to improve things.
‘You know what, Jackie, forget it. I’ll speak to, Alex.’
‘You do that.’
She lifted an envelope from her desk and passed it to me; it was sealed. My name was printed in blue Biro on the front.
‘When did this arrive?’
‘A kid delivered it last night.’
I turned the white rectangle over in my hand. ‘What did he look like?’
Jackie wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. ‘Like a kid delivering a letter.’
I stormed upstairs to the office at the heart of Jackie’s resentment, more angry at her than Sean Rafferty’s gorilla. Andrew Geddes out of his face and the tussle with the heavy weren’t connected. Trouble had come to me. I hadn’t gone looking for it. Clearly, with Jackie at least, I’d over-stayed my welcome. It was time to move on.
Inside the envelope a small piece of paper with a single sentence written in the same blue ink brought me back to the case Andrew’s DI wouldn’t allow him to investigate, and I forgot everything except proving an innocent man had been murdered.
ASK LACHIE THOMPSON
ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTER
With few exceptions, every case needs luck; this might be it. What I was holding could bring Sean Rafferty down. My pulse quickened. I reread the words, willing them to tell me more until, slowly, the truth dawned. It was unlikely Thompson would add anything to what he’d already said. Speaking to him would be a waste of time. So was speculating about who had sent the note. Another councillor crossed my mind. Glasgow council had seventy-nine less Daly, Rutherford and Thompson, leaving seventy-six.
As Pat Logue would say: Su perb.
Thompson wasn’t the author. It was about him and where his granddaughter fitted in was anybody’s guess. I called Andrew and caught him in a rare good mood.
‘Charlie. Just thinking about you.’
I didn’t fill him in; that could come later. ‘Lachie Thompson’s granddaughter. Find out about her.’
‘Didn’t know he had one.’
‘Apparently he has.’
‘Sounds as if you’re on to something.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Just get the information. I’ll explain when I see you.’
The door knocked. Patrick came in and sat down. I tossed the note across to him and watched his reaction. When I hung up he said, ‘Who’s this from?’
‘No idea’
I brought him up to speed on my meetings with the councillors which didn’t take long.
‘So what’s the next move?’
Good question.
‘Let’s see what Andrew comes back with.’
Patrick changed the subject. ‘You and Jackie, what gives?’
‘She’s upset about this morning.’
‘Can’t blame her.’
‘I don’t, but that isn’t all of it. She’s never been happy having me here so time to go time. I’m moving out.’
‘No complaints. You’ve had a good run. Where will you go?’
Before I could answer him my mobile rang. James Hambley was too important to spend even a minute of his day on the likes of me; at least, that was his opinion. But here he was.
‘Stop trying to intimidate my staff.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Leave Wallace Maitland alone.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t lie, Cameron. You’ve been following him. He saw you.’
‘No, he didn’t. Speaking to him once in a pub hardly constitutes harassment.’
Hambley dismissed my protests. ‘This is the first and last opportunity you’ll be getting. Stay away from him or I’ll bring in the police.’
The line went dead.
Patrick was smiling. ‘Not a fan, is he?’ He glanced around and returned to our conversation. ‘Hate to admit it, but Jackie does have a point. Couldn’t swing a cat in her office.’
‘I agree. I’ll speak to Alex and tell him I’m leaving.’
Patrick yawned and apologised. ‘Up too early this mornin’. Got a wee deal goin’ on over at the fruit market. They start work in the middle of the night. Needed to inspect the goods.’
‘Everything okay?’
‘Peachy. So if you’re lookin’ to score some bananas...’
He got up.
‘If there’s anythin’ you want me to do, make it quick. As soon as I’ve made the right connections, I’m out of your life forever.’
‘Then let me wish you good luck.’
‘Cheers. And changin’ your address might not be the worst idea in the world. Might stop you ending-up dead. Seriously. By the by, drivin’ back from the market, I saw your pal.’
‘Who?’
‘What’s his name? The guy with the coat.’
Colin McMillan.
‘Where?
‘Comin’ out of the Necropolis.’