It was a cold night in a strange bed. Hardly ideal preparation, but that doesn’t matter. Calum’s up and checking his gun. Still there, loaded and ready for use. Washing now. Cold water, a sliver of soap, no toothpaste. He’s not going to smell great by the time today ends. Stinking won’t be the worst thing that happens, though. Going through the kitchen cupboards, trying to find something to eat. Nope. They fill the kitchen only when they know they’re going to be hiding someone here. Obviously haven’t used the place for ages. Maybe not since Calum was last here. He’ll get something to eat on the way. Find a cafe or sandwich shop. First thing he needs to do is get away from this house.
It was a fitful sleep. All the while thinking about someone turning up at the house. Worrying that Young or Jamieson might work out where he’s gone. They haven’t, because they don’t know him well enough. Don’t understand how isolated he’s chosen to be. They don’t understand how few options he has. Leaving by the back door. Locking it, putting the key back under the flowerpot. The habit of cleaning up after yourself. Leaving no trace. Calling a taxi from the back garden. Using a different firm this time. Waiting ten minutes until he hears a car blowing its horn out on the road. Along the side of the house, looking carefully along the street. No sign of anything out of place. Just the taxi idling in the middle of the road. Calum dropping into the back of it.
‘Cowcaddens, is it, mate?’ the driver’s asking.
‘Aye, that’s right,’ Calum’s nodding.
Sitting in the back of the car, watching the city drift by. Early morning. People getting to work, getting kids to school. A few streets he recognizes. Knows he’s getting close. It’s a strange feeling, looking out the window at his city. Born and raised here. Yet it means so little to him now. Just bricks and mortar. Only one person left alive in the city that he cares about, and he’s destroyed her life. You live a life that isolates you from others, isolates you from the place itself–it stops meaning anything to you. A city, it’s just a place. A place of work, a place to sleep. There’s no emotional connection. Nothing to make him regret saying goodbye. People tell false tales about their connection to a certain place, Calum’s sure of that. It’s not the place you’re connected to. It’s the people, the time, the events that happen there. Or it’s yourself. A misinterpreted love of the self. No chance of that here.
‘Pull up here on the right,’ Calum’s telling the driver. Paying him and getting out next to a sandwich shop. He’s only a street away from where he wants to end up. Doesn’t matter. He’s minutes away from being out of Jamieson’s reach. Into the shop and buying a sandwich and an orange juice. Eating on the go. Across the street and round the corner. He can see the building he’s aiming for. Plenty of activity around it. That’s fine, just means his target is probably there. Walking along to a bin and placing the empty bottle and sandwich wrapper inside. Stopping to look up and down the street. It’s busy. Plenty of people around, and any one of them could be dangerous. Any one of them could be ready to approach him. Monday morning, lots of glum faces. Calum’s touching his chest, feeling the gun in the pocket. Inside left pocket of his coat, where he always keeps it.
It’s not his gun he’s taking out of his pocket first. It’s his phone. Dialling the same number he tried last night. A different woman saying hello. Calum asking her to put him through to the same person. He’s standing across the road from the building, waiting. The phone’s ringing. He’s letting it go on. This could be another missed call. Beginning to look like a potential problem. He doesn’t have a plan B. Shouldn’t need one. But this bastard is proving hard to get a hold of. Doesn’t matter how busy he is, he will have time for this.
‘Yes?’ A terse voice. The phone answered by someone with better things to do.
‘Is this Detective Inspector Michael Fisher?’
‘It is.’
‘This is Calum MacLean. I believe you’ve been looking for me. I want to talk to you. Get to your car alone, bring a recording device and I’ll give you further instructions.’
MacLean’s hung up. Fisher’s standing in the busy office, phone in hand. Glancing around. Everyone getting ready. They’re going to move against Shug today. They have a team chasing down Des Collins. Should get him soon. Everything working out nicely, and now this. Calum MacLean. Definitely important, if he is who he says he is. This could be a trap. They’re bound to try something. This could be a set-up. Fisher’s spent months keeping an eye open for MacLean, for any information about what he does. He’s in the business, that’s for sure. And he ran away from his flat around the time Glen Davidson went missing. Now his brother’s lying in the morgue, waiting for an autopsy and funeral arrangements to be made. A mother in shock, giving them no information they can use. Calum and his pal George Daly missing. Daly a known thug for Peter Jamieson. Calum probably an employee of Jamieson, too. And now Calum phoning him up, telling him to get to his car.
You go with your gut, because there isn’t enough clear info to judge. Common sense tells him that he shouldn’t go anywhere near this. The risk is far too high. Someone wanting to silence him. Procedure says you stay away. But MacLean’s brother just died. Nothing to do with the police, something to do with the industry. If MacLean’s pissed off at anyone right now, it’ll be someone in his own line of work. If there’s one time that MacLean might just be willing and able to give him info, it’s now. Besides, everything’s falling his way. He’s heard people say it. You get waves of good luck, so ride them. It’ll all come crashing down at some point.
‘I’m going out, don’t know for how long,’ he’s saying to DC Davies. Davies is looking at him, puzzled. ‘Just got a call from someone who might be Calum MacLean. Might have info on his brother’s killer. This could help.’
‘That’s a risk. You want someone to come with you?’ Davies is asking, praying his senior officer doesn’t say yes.
‘No. I’ll go alone. If I’m not in touch in a couple of hours, start getting nervous.’
If DCI Reid finds out about this, then he will give Fisher an absolute bollocking. Worth it. The chance of big information. This William MacLean death feels big to Fisher. More than just some dodgy garage owner getting the shit kicked out of him over money. The connection to his brother is too important. No coincidence. Fisher’s pulling his coat on and grabbing a small MP3 player as he goes down the stairs. Out into the car park. Could this be all they want? Get him out of the building, take a shot at him and speed away. Nah, that sort of thing doesn’t happen round here. Far too risky. The big players are too smart to play that sort of game. You shoot one cop and you get every other cop in the city looking to take you down. Looking to crush you. Any means necessary. He’s out in the bright morning, walking slowly across to his car. Pausing. The young man on the phone said get to your car and you’ll get further instructions. How can he give further instructions? He doesn’t have Fisher’s mobile number or he wouldn’t have called the office line. Shit, they just want him outside.
‘Detective.’
A male voice. Fisher’s spinning round and glaring at the man. He’s been standing back against the wall, down towards the entrance to the car park. Fisher recognizes him as he’s getting closer. Calum MacLean. He looks like shit, to be honest. Pale and tired. Looks like a man who’s been through a lot and isn’t finished with the drama just yet.
‘My name’s Calum MacLean. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve been looking for me for a long time now. I think it’s time we had a detailed discussion. I have a lot to tell you.’
Doesn’t sound threatening. Doesn’t look it. Seems genuine. ‘Okay. Why don’t we go inside and we can talk about it there?’
Calum’s smiling. A knowing smile. ‘No, I’d rather not. Let’s go for a drive. I’ll talk, and when we’re done we can decide where we both stand.’
It would be easy enough to rush into the station, get officers to grab MacLean. Hell, there’s two uniformed cops making their way over to a car just now, looking across at Fisher and his companion as they go. Just call them across and bring the boy in. Then what happens? Nothing. He clams up, because he’s not getting his own way. Or you go in the car with him, and take your chances. Common sense versus gut feeling, round two.
‘Is this about your brother?’ Fisher’s asking him. Rules say he must be allowed one question.
‘Yes,’ Calum’s saying with a sad nod of the head. ‘But it’s more than just William. There’s a lot I want to tell you. About stuff that goes much further back. But it’s what happened to William that brought me here. He died because of me. And I need to make amends.’