Campbell stood under the street light near the car park for Arthur’s Seat. He’d had a text from an unknown number to tell him the time and place; he was assuming it had to be McDonald. Calla had passed on his message.
He looked at his watch: seven p.m. McDonald was late. He looked around. In front of him was the imposing bulk of Arthur’s Seat, the huge rocky hill dominating the dark sky. Above him, the sandstone cliffs of Salisbury Crags. It had stopped raining for once and there was a moon. Ragged clouds were scudding overhead. The road at the base of the hill was lit by street lights. There were hardly any cars cutting down Queen’s Drive, the road that led from the east of the city, Portobello way, through the park at this time of night.
The car park was empty except for Campbell’s Audi. He shivered; it was bitterly cold. He ran over what he’d learned of McDonald’s activities in his mind. The bullets from Chris Harvey’s body had been fired from the same gun that had killed Jordan McKenna. So McDonald had probably (assuming Calla was telling the truth, and why shouldn’t she be?) killed two people.
He knew he should have reported what he had discovered, but what he had told Calla was true: it was Millar that he wanted. He suspected that McDonald, with no previous form for murder, was acting out of duress. If he could get him to testify against Millar, or at the very least provide information that could lead to Millar’s arrest, he’d be a very happy man. Seeing Millar’s car outside where Hanlon was staying had shaken him. She’d get herself killed if she came up against Millar. He knew that she was tough, and he also knew that she would not back down if he told her to. The longer whatever she was involved in dragged on, the more chance of her winding up dead.
McDonald was his best chance of taking Millar down. And a neutralised Millar meant a safe Hanlon. He was very worried indeed that she wasn’t going to survive. Millar was formidable.
He could hear the sound of a motorbike; he watched as it approached, slowing down as it did so. It was a trail bike. Campbell smiled to himself. Clever bastard. If this meet had been some sort of trap, McDonald would have been off, cross country – they wouldn’t have been able to follow him – emerging at Duddingston or Craigmillar the other side of the park. Doubtless he’d have a car waiting so he could change vehicle.
The bike, its rider encased in leather, slowed and circuited the car park, checking there was no one about, before pulling up beside Campbell. The rider switched the engine off, dismounted and walked up to him, taking his helmet off.
He had seen photos of McDonald – in the flesh he was shorter than he’d expected, but he projected an aura of great physical strength. He had longish black hair and a largish curved beak of a nose. He looked tremendously self-assured.
‘DI Campbell, I presume.’
He nodded. ‘And you’ll be Jamie McDonald.’
‘Aye.’ He scratched his nose and pushed some hair away from his eyes. ‘And what do you want, Detective Inspector?’
‘We know you killed Jordan McKenna and Chris Harvey,’ Campbell said.
‘Then why is there no arrest warrant out for me?’ asked McDonald. His tone was light, but Campbell could see his eyes narrow, calculating what the policeman knew. He took a packet of cigarettes out of a pocket and lit one, turning his body to shield the lighter’s flame from the wind. Campbell knew he was checking behind him that nobody was moving in towards them.
‘Because we want you to testify against Millar,’ Campbell said, ‘that he hired you via his intermediary McKenna to kill someone – that’s what interests me.’
‘So it’s the Big Man you’re wanting?’ He took a drag on his cigarette and looked appraisingly at Campbell through narrowed eyes.
‘Yes, in a nutshell. I know he wants you dead.’
McDonald laughed. ‘Are you psychic?’
‘No,’ Campbell said. ‘I do know there was a fight outside your flat in Musselburgh last Thursday, a fight with men who were sent to kill you. I do know you’ve been on the run ever since. On the run from Millar. You are in serious trouble, Jamie. You’re between a rock and a hard place. One word from me and for a start you’ll be back in prison for parole violation, then Edinburgh CID will be all over you. They’ll have such a hard-on for you for those murders that you won’t believe it.’
‘There’s no evidence,’ McDonald said, emphatically shaking his head.
‘No?’ Campbell said. ‘Are you so sure? Really?’ he put an incredulous inflection on the last word. He saw McDonald frown. ‘Are you so sure that you’re not on some CCTV somewhere placing you near the crimes? Are you so sure you haven’t left some trace behind that might link you to the scene? Are you so sure that Jordan McKenna’s ex might not drop you in it? Or Ray Downie…’ He saw McDonald stiffen, saw the shadow of doubt fall across his face. ‘You’ve got a record, quite a long one. You’ll have no alibi for when the killings happened. All a jury needs is some strong circumstantial evidence and you’re probably going down. Thirty years, Jamie, that’s if you survive that long.’
‘This is all speculation, Campbell. It’s not Edinburgh that’s got a hard-on for me, it’s you.’ McDonald’s words were defiant, but Campbell could tell that he was badly shaken.
‘Millar’s a psycho, Jamie. He belongs behind bars. You know that, your sister certainly does. Help me…’ he looked at the other man, tried to read the expression in his eyes ‘… then I can try and help you.’
Campbell felt he had done enough groundwork tonight. He’d leave McDonald to stew for a couple of days. He was between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, a definite return to prison for parole violation and a possible thirty-year stretch probably on top of the time he had yet to serve of his original tariff. Or outside, hunted by Millar and his men.
He looked hard at McDonald.
‘It’s Wednesday night, Jamie. I’ll give you until Sunday to come up with something. Then I’m going official with everything I know. You’ve got my number.’
Jamie McDonald laughed, a laugh of sheer bravado and defiance. Campbell, despite himself, was impressed. You had to hand it to him, the guy had balls.
‘I’m an innocent man, DI Campbell.’
‘And I’m the Moderator of the Church of Scotland,’ Campbell replied.
He watched as McDonald pulled his helmet back on, got on his bike and drove off in the direction of Duddingston. He just hoped to God he could get Millar before Millar got Hanlon.