They arrive quietly. Davie takes the lead. Malkie follows close behind. There are three squad cars parked around the back of a disused warehouse next to the river. Waiting. The strategy is simple. They’ve given no indication that they know anything. As far as everyone who was able to has reported, Gaz was not at the party. He didn’t supply any drugs there. He has no reason to suspect that they are on to him. Unless someone has tipped him off, and Davie can’t see who would gain from that.
Davie walks across the grass towards the fairground. Most of the machinery has been taken down, folded up and packed into sections. Tents have been flattened, poles lie on the ground. There don’t seem to be many people around, yet everything is getting done – quickly, efficiently. It is a well-oiled machine. It’s almost a shame to upset the flow.
Somewhere inside the perimeter of the fair, a radio is playing. The tinny sound of a recent pop song that Davie vaguely recognises. This time there is no smell of food. The burger vans are closed up. Piles of rubbish are loaded into trailers ready for them to take to the dump. He can’t complain that they’re not leaving the place tidy.
They’re due to drive down to the coast now. Next stop: Dunbar. Davie hates to think of the kids being disappointed, but he’s thinking more about the older kids now – the ones who just might live a bit longer if Gaz and his dodgy legal highs don’t make it down their way.
Legal highs. Not the best name for some of them. Herbal highs. Yes. The one that Gaz has concocted is herbal, but the herb that it contains – a disgusting, sharp-flavoured South-east Asian plant called Kratom, or Mitragyna speciosa – is not legal in the UK. It’s not even legal where it comes from. There will be measures taken to shut down the suppliers; new government legislation will soon be in force, making sure that all psychoactive substances are regulated – but it’s complicated, and the problem isn’t going to go away overnight. So they have to take baby-steps.
First, they’re going to take Gaz – and then Gaz’s boss. And hope it leads them to whoever is making this particular batch of stuff, which has unpredictable consequences, and has become popular primarily because someone has made the stuff into a capsule that can be swallowed. There aren’t many people who would buy the herb themselves, not with all the hassle of making it palatable. Most of these kids are lazy. Alcohol is easy to get hold of. Weed, coke, whatever. Not really a stretch. But there’s a horrific new appeal of these herbal things. They can justify it to themselves that they’re legal and therefore they’re safe. But they’re neither. Far from it. Without instructions on dosage, they are dicing with death every time they touch one. These kids are kidding themselves. It’s a bleak reality, but maybe they might’ve learnt a few lessons from recent events. Two overdoses . . . then something that no one could have foreseen.
Graeme Woodley’s reaction was a massive psychotic episode. Hallucinations. He was only trying to protect himself, the doctors said. He didn’t realise he was waving a kitchen knife at real people. Hacking them down like weeds in a potato field. He says he got the knife from Marie’s handbag, but it’s his word against hers on that. Marie’s not denying it’s her knife. But she’s not admitting to taking it with her to the party. No one is ever going to know the truth about that.
Davie spots him. He’s rolling a huge tarpaulin on the ground. A younger boy is standing nearby, holding a rope. Davie ushers an arm behind himself, wants Malkie to hurry up.
They walk in through a gap between two dismantled rides.
‘Gary McKay?’ Davie says.
Gaz turns to face them, a scowl on his face. Ready to have a go at whoever is here disturbing him from his work. The kid with the rope drops it on top of the tarp and runs off towards one of the caravans.
‘What do you want?’ Gaz says.
‘Not very polite, is it?’ Malkie says. He takes his badge out of his pocket. Davie takes a step back.
Gaz stands up. A smirk plays on his lips. Davie watches as his eyes dart this way and that. He’s looking for an escape route. Hedging his bets. Davie crosses his arms and gives him a look.
‘I wouldn’t bother, if I were you,’ Malkie says. ‘We’re not here alone.’
Gaz scans the remnants of the fairground. Stands up on the rolled tarp and puts a hand to his forehead as if he is a captain of a ship, looking for pirates in his midst.
‘You sure about that?’ Gaz says.
Malkie’s radio crackles. He takes it out of his pocket. ‘Be ready,’ he says.
Gaz’s expression changes. The smirk fades away. Just for a moment. Then it’s back. ‘I think I asked yous what yous wanted,’ he says.
‘What do you know about a robbery at the vet’s surgery on the High Street on Monday last week?’
He shakes his head. Looks confused. He wasn’t expecting this. ‘I wasn’t here. We were still in Ormiston on Monday.’
‘I know that,’ Malkie says. ‘I didn’t ask where you were. I asked what you knew about it.’
Gaz barks out a single beat of laughter. ‘Well, nothing. Obviously.’
‘What about the thirty litres of medicinal-grade ethanol that was stolen. Know anything about that?’ Malkie says.
‘Or this?’ Davie says, stepping forward, holding up a small plastic bag with one capsule in the bottom. The bag that Laura had handed in. The one Mark got from Gaz on their first night at the shows. It had already been dusted for prints. Mark’s were on there, Laura’s . . . and a third set. Presumably belonging to Gaz.
Gaz shrugs. ‘You’ve got nothing.’
‘Fair enough,’ Malkie says. ‘You’ll have no objection to coming down to the station with me then. I’ve got a few more questions. And I’ve a couple of people there who’ve agreed to look at an identity parade. Be in your interests if we could eliminate you from our inquiries.’
‘I doubt there’s much I’d be able to help you two gentlemen with. As you can see, I’m a bit busy at the moment.’ At that, the young boy from earlier comes running back from the caravan. Behind him three men follow. They don’t look happy.
Malkie sighs. ‘I offered you the easy option,’ he says. Then, into his radio: ‘Come in, please. All units. Assistance required.’
Davie watches as the men form a barrier around Gaz. None of them speak. Someone in one of the cars switches on the siren. The noise is loud as they appear from behind the warehouse, making their way across the grass.
Gaz’s face is beetroot. He knows there’s no point in running. He knows they wouldn’t have brought back-up if they weren’t sure they had something worth bringing in. As it was, they have several witnesses from around the county who are happy to identify Gaz from a line-up. News of what happened at the party and a last-minute article in the Evening News had prompted a bout of mild hysteria. People were handing stuff into police stations, asking for amnesty if they helped find who was behind it all. It had all come together quickly. The intelligence had been building and the recent events in Banktoun helped whip it all to a soft peak.
The other officers are out of their cars. Gaz doesn’t put up a fight. Jennings cuffs him and pushes him roughly into the back seat. She nods at Davie. Says to him and Malkie: ‘Nice work, fellas.’
‘Thanks, Louise. See you back at base,’ Malkie replies.
Davie leaves them to it. He’s on his way to offer help setting up the cordon – they want to search the place before the fair is allowed to leave, they want to question everyone on site to see if more arrests are required – when he spots a familiar figure crouched down behind one of the lorries. A strand of pink hair blowing outside her hood gives her away. He walks over. He can hear her sobbing.
‘Hayley, can you come out from behind there, love?’
‘No. What’s going to happen to me?’
Davie takes a few steps closer. ‘If you haven’t done anything wrong, then nothing’s going to happen to you. Have you done something wrong?’
‘No.’ She stands up, walks around so she is at the side of the lorry now, still some distance away.
‘How about I take you home then? If there’s anything you need to tell me, you can tell me in the car. How does that sound?’
‘Will I get in trouble?’ Her voice is small, quiet. She’s not so bold and bolshie now, all on her own, in the presence of twelve policemen and a group of massively pissed-off fairground workers who’re set to lose a lot of cash if they don’t make it to their next gig.
Davie wonders how many of them knew about Gaz’s little extra-cash earner. He imagines that some of them won’t be best pleased. There’s a code of honour amongst these people. They try to stay under the radar, within the law. Gaz is not going to be popular at the moment, that’s for sure.
‘Come on,’ he says.
Hayley walks towards him, her head bowed. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans. Davie rests a hand on her back and guides her across the field. There are crackles of radios. Car doors slamming. Several conversations going on at once. Gaz is in the back of Jennings’ car. He taps on the window. Davie and Hayley turn. He blows her a kiss, and she looks away. Embarrassed.
‘I’m such an idiot,’ she says.
Davie smiles. ‘There’s a lot of that going about.’