Sitting in the boys’ old flat. Perched on the radiator in the living room. It’s dark in the flat–electricity’s been cut off. No curtains over the windows, though; plenty of street light and moonlight to show the scene. It’s the second time Detective Inspector Michael Fisher’s come here. Calum MacLean is involved. That much he’s sure of. All he has are phone records. It’s his investigation, but he can’t make it move. The phone records show that Glen Davidson called Calum MacLean. Davidson made the call from the home of Shug Francis. Within twenty-four hours Davidson’s gone missing and MacLean’s moved house. Now put that together to form a coherent investigation. Can’t do it.
The Lewis Winter murder. Make Glen Davidson number-one suspect. He’s a gunman, Fisher knows that. He made the call from Shug’s house. So let’s say Shug hired him to hit Winter. A deal gone wrong. Makes sense so far. Conjecture, but believable. So who the hell’s MacLean? And where the hell’s Davidson? The first question Fisher can answer to some degree. MacLean’s nearly thirty, no police record, from the city. No record of work. Fisher hasn’t found his new address yet, but that’s only a matter of time. Found out that he has a brother and a widowed mother. No point questioning either of them yet. Don’t let MacLean know he’s on the radar until there’s something to throw at him. Brother’s name’s come up in a couple of investigations before. Owns a share in a garage that’s been under suspicion previously. Nothing major, but worth noting. If big brother’s involved in the criminal industry, it’s not a huge leap to suspect little brother is, too.
If Calum MacLean works for anyone, it’s Peter Jamieson. It’s become slowly obvious that Shug Francis and Peter Jamieson are at war with each other. It was one of his own men that brought him that suggestion. Turned out to be sound. The rumours around the city are that Shug’s making a pest of himself. It’s still Jamieson’s fight to lose, but Shug’s at least making him work for it. That would suggest Shug making multiple moves against Jamieson’s men. Was Winter Jamieson’s man? Not according to rumour. Closer to Shug, if anything. So let’s stick to the theory of a deal going sour. MacLean, on the other hand, he may well be one of Jamieson’s. So, what are we saying? After getting rid of Winter, within a week Shug sent his gunman to try and take down one of Jamieson’s men? Hmm. Not so likely. Not so soon after Winter. Something happened here, though. Right in this flat. It’s why Fisher’s back.
MacLean had been gone a week or two by the time Fisher tracked him down. The landlord wasn’t helpful. Shifty bugger, that one. Didn’t want to say anything. Fisher got a forensics team in, got them to look around the place. The flat had been deep-cleaned. Not a fingerprint in the whole place. Furniture and carpets were gone. Fixtures had been cleaned to a high standard. Walls, too. Damaged the wallpaper in a couple of rooms cleaning it, but they didn’t seem to care. Cleanliness the priority. Checked the light sockets. They’d been cleaned too. Even the damned ceilings. Forensics checked the bathroom and kitchen for signs of hairs or skin. Came away with nothing. A professional clean. The kind that a large criminal organization can carry out to cover tracks. The kind Peter Jamieson would be smart and careful enough to order.
Something happened here, but what? He needs to tie MacLean to Jamieson. Needs to find out what exactly MacLean does for Jamieson. Has to be something important, otherwise why target him? There’s one theory that ties things together. Winter does a deal with Shug. MacLean then lures him to work for Jamieson. Shug finds out. Punishes Winter for being a traitor and tries to send a message to Jamieson. That might work. Not the greatest theory, but the best he has right now. If he could locate Davidson, that might help. Did he do a runner or was he removed? Running is the most likely. Maybe he was screwing Shug, too. No loyalty amongst these people. So Davidson tips off MacLean. Davidson lies low, MacLean makes a hasty move.
Fisher’s rubbing his eyes. It’s late. Too late for this. Too late in the day, too late in the investigation. Standing in an empty little flat, trying to work out where the fuck your investigation went. Not one convincing option. It’s tied him up in knots and left him hanging. The Winter case has run away from him. Winter was never important enough to get a lot of attention. When it became clear that they didn’t have enough information to arrest anyone, the team started moving on. Fisher’s DCI didn’t want resources wasted on a dead end. Might have been a different story if the victim wasn’t someone so overwhelmingly pathetic. Winter was a low-level dealer. A failure all his life. Too guilty for sympathy. Too small to lead to a big conviction. So all they get is a four-month jail term for his ex, and a suspended three-month term for her one-night stand for perverting the course of justice. Fast-tracked because it was such minor stuff.
Fisher’s leaving the flat. He’s always thought it helped to be at the scene. Walk the criminal’s path. See what they saw; judge how they would have reacted. That’s fine, when you know what the crime was. When you know a crime has even happened here. He doesn’t. It’s a guess. One he has no solid evidence to back up. It’s that nagging feeling. The sense that this is a chance and, if he misses it, there won’t be another one for years. A chance for a crack at Peter Jamieson and his organization. Shug Francis too, but he’s smaller. Jamieson would be the big prize. The biggest prize of Fisher’s career. The biggest arrest in organized crime in the city for years.
He’s out of the flat now, into the corridor. Putting the front-door key in his pocket. He’ll keep a hold of that, just in case. He’s shaking his head as he walks out into the cold. A lot of cops wouldn’t even know this was a chance. Maybe wouldn’t care. Would decide it was too tough, and wait for the next one. He’s a good enough cop to know that this is a chance he ought to take. Just not good enough to take it. Fisher’s under pressure from above. They want him to move on to other investigations. If anything else comes along relating to Winter, then he can go back to it. Until then, get on with more productive things. Dropping into the driver’s seat and turning on the engine. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard. One forty in the morning. Hanging around empty flats at stupid o’clock looking for inspiration. Getting desperate. He knows it, so does everyone else. Go get some sleep. Start again in the morning. Nothing’s going to happen tonight.