Chapter 21

Lying low in a dank lockup was probably not good for his health, Ewan McAllister figured, but poking his nose out was going to be even worse. The important thing he had to do first was contact his brother. He had no phone, no money and no means of getting either. His eyes had become accustomed to the sparse light in the lockup. During the day he could track the sunlight as it passed through the cracks between the ill-fitting doors and if he positioned himself carefully, he was able to see what was in the lockup. He began slowly and methodically to ransack the place. What he had first seen as a whole lot of rubbish, began to appear almost like a treasure trove. In one box he found a man's suit, shirt and shoes. They were far from a perfect fit, but they would do. His pursuers would not be looking for someone dressed so well. He struck gold literally when he looked at the 1930's reproduction Victorian dressing table. Someone had been in too much of a hurry to check that the contents had all been removed. The fine gold chain and pendant had caught itself on a splintered piece of one of the drawers and remained hidden from what he guessed was the storing of the remnants of a life of a late relative. He couldn't really assess the quality of the jewellery in the light that was available, however he didn't need much. He just needed some cash for an overseas call and a local call. There had to be a pawnbroker nearby who could help him out. 

He opted for leaving the lockup around midday the next day. His pursuers would be hardly expecting him to walk brazenly down the street. Sometimes the best place to not be noticed is right under the eyes of someone. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and knew his breath smelt but there was little he could do about that. Slithering through the narrow gap, dressed in a slightly old-fashioned suit, he made his way out of the backstreet alley and found a row of shops in what he assessed to be a poorer part of town. He looked at the papers for sale in the newsagent’s window. There was still a few Evening Times left. He had discovered he was in Glasgow. He had been there a number of times and the main supplier of his drugs was there. The kidnappers could not have taken him to a better place. 

He spotted the traditional three gold balls he was looking for. All morning he had prepared his pitch. The story he would tell was about the sudden and tragic death of his wife and the need for some cash to pay for flowers for the funeral which was tomorrow. He would say that he had used up his savings and last pension payment to pay for the funeral, but believed his wife deserved a bit more than a plain box in an old church. He was not interested in selling his wife's precious necklace, only pawning it. The idea of just pawning it gave more credibility to the notion he owned it. The pawnbroker bought the whole sad sob story after looking at the down and out elderly new widower, and handed over the pounds the man was asking for. The pawnbroker carefully, almost reverently placed the jewellery in the backroom confident that it would be collected within a month. He was dead wrong to believe that though. 

Ewan McAllister went to a call box and after depositing some cash, he dialled his brother's personal and private mobile number. The phone rang. 

Sitting watching his prisoner the kidnapper in Cairns almost jumped when the ringing sound and vibration started on the phone on the table in front of him. It hadn't seen action in the past few weeks. He took it to Camden McAllister and made him unlock it and put it on speaker before answering it. Camden obliged readily. He knew it had to be Ewan because no-one else had that number. The twins, ever vigilant and thinking ahead what could happen, had a secret word that had to be said in the first twenty seconds. Ewan used, his but when Camden failed to respond in kind, Ewan ended the call abruptly. Camden was in trouble Ewan understood, but at least he was alive. That changed Ewan's line of thinking completely. He had to be even more careful. 

Back in Cairns, the gaunt faced man who was desperate for some sleep had recognised the similar tones of Camden's twin and also sensed that something was up. He left the room, locked it and rang the leader of the kidnap group he had hired. At the same time, Ewan was ringing his supplier and setting up a meeting point. Favours given to the supplier were about to be called in. 

Donald McPherson was having troubles of his own at the time and he knew where they emanated from. Somehow special branch, it wasn’t called that officially anymore but everyone knew what it was, had gotten wind that an investigation was going on. They politely, but forcefully wanted in on it because it might involve drugs and overseas connections. McPherson played a straight back to all their questions, suggestions and demands. He explained to the second caller, as he had done with the woman’s junior officer, that the investigation was about the disappearance of an Australian in Cairns and it was a probable kidnap attempt. The only living relative of the missing man was his twin brother who lived in Inverness, but who was currently on holidays and uncontactable. Two Australian police officers had flown over to get as much background on the missing man who had grown up in Inverness. With that, they may be able to understand better why this unassuming business man had been seized and who his kidnappers might be. He concluded his remarks by saying that having to deal with ongoing interference by people who were jumping to conclusions was slowing down the assistance he was being able to give to his Australian counterparts. However, that too would all be in his report which he would be submitting to his boss and to the high command. Donald McPherson, unlike Sarge was a past master at political discourse in the police force.

His next task was to talk with one of his officers. The detective constable who knew that McPherson would get a call, almost swaggered into McPherson’s office which merely added to his list of stupid things he was known for.

“MacReadie, I am formally charging you for breaching the Police Officers regulations regarding the sharing of information. You are entitled to challenge this decision in due course, but as of now you are suspended without pay until the formal proceedings begin which may be in two weeks’ time. I don’t care who your uncle is and how high he is in special branch. That brings you no extra credit in the police force and especially in this station. Your reviews as you well know barely justify you having the rank you have and even being in the force. We do not owe you a living merely because of who you know, who your relatives are and what school you went to. Rank offers no privileges, just a need for extra work and to set an appropriate example to those around you. When this is all over you may find yourself another position. If you think that a lowly constable in a small village police station is beneath you, but an easy job if you are forced to take it, think again. The locals will make mincemeat of you. Don’t bother with your mewling denials; save them for the disciplinary board. I know the people under my command and who they know and what they are capable of. If contacting your uncle with unsubstantiated gossip and conclusions based on something you don’t know anything about, was your way of getting back at me, well it has sadly backfired. I am submitting a report to the home secretary about the possible breach of protocol by special branch or whatever it is called these days. I think that you will find your uncle will be quite displeased. Now, please leave my station as soon as possible as I have real policing to do and I am tired of playing political games with a novice,” McPherson concluded and looked down at a report that had just hit his desk.

The young, now suspended detective constable, rocked from one foot from the other and stared at the top of McPherson’s head. His own, now ashen, face featured a mouth wide open and two staring eyes. Eventually he blinked a few times, made to say something, but instead turned and left the office, his former swagger just a distant memory. McPherson sensed that he was now alone and leaned back in his chair. This, he admitted was the shittiest part of his job. He had had people foisted on him because no-one else would take them or because they had friends and relatives in high places. This all had come back to bite him in the bum, but with MacReadie, he didn’t think there would be a problem. His uncle probably was well aware of his nephew’s capabilities and manner and that was why the Inverness posting had come about. Out of sight, out of mind. Still, if MacReadie put in a voluntary transfer looking for another cushy job, Donald was not about to grant his wishes. He would not do that to the officer in charge of another station. MacReadie had burnt his bridges. He had had warnings before, but Donald was sick of pandering to his detectives’ whims. He had made a rod for his own back by giving in for too many years. MacReadie was just the perfect example and now the hapless victim of something that had to change. They called them cyclones in Australia, the strong hurricane storm fronts. Well, thought Donald, a cyclone had just made landfall in Inverness and it had claimed its first victim.