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THE SHRILL OF THE ringing phone disturbed the early-morning solitude of the office. This was Cal’s favourite time of the day when he could gather his thoughts uninterrupted and plan for what lay ahead.
‘Have you seen him, Cal? Ah’m getting a bit worried.’
‘He’ll be fine, Grace. He’s probably been out with his pals, had too many beers, and fallen asleep. He’ll be on his way home as we speak, with his tail between his legs.’
‘Ah’m no’ sure, Cal. He never stays oot, no’ done that in years.’ The stress was palpable coming from the other end of the phone. It began to frighten him.
‘We’ve been up all night, me and Terence. See, he told Terence how much he was looking forward tae seeing him playing on stage, how proud he wis – then he disnae show.’ Grace was crying quietly, clearly agitated with Dixies disappearance.
‘He’s a big boy, Grace; try not to worry too much. Look, I’ll go round his usual haunts, ask around, and call you. Okay?’
Cal’s left a note on Ms Knox desk: Cancel my morning appointments, I have to go out. He wouldn’t settle until he knew of Dixie’s whereabouts. He’d been warned that Quinn would be looking for informers once the raids kicked off but he knew Dixie, like most, only dealt in pub gossip. He wouldn’t be part of the trawl.
The previous night had been a resounding success. The expressions on the faces of the three young musicians, accompanied by the tears of happiness from Grace and Peter, had made bending the rules for Sebastian Bradshaw-Collins all the more worthwhile. Suzie had hugged the parents with sheer happiness at what she had witnessed.
Quinn had been refused bail and was being held in the remand wing at Barlinnie Prison. His legitimate businesses were slowly getting back up and running, though a number of contracts had been terminated abruptly. Joyce’s sources indicated that drug distribution was seriously curtailed and the network more or less shut down. All of this meant the search for the police source was the top priority for the gangster.
The trial diet would be in a matter of weeks. Cal would resubmit for bail, which would be opposed because of the seriousness of the charges and the flight risk. Remand would give Cal some thinking time about how he would work with the silk appointed for the high court.
The Vatican had just opened its doors for deliveries as he entered. The stout barman eyed him suspiciously as he stacked the pint glasses.
‘It’s okay, I’m not the police,’ Cal said with a smile and a raised open palm.
‘Ah know, yer Dixie’s mate.’ The man continued his work, his eyes on his visitor.
‘It’s him I’m after. Have you seen him, was he in last night?’
‘Haud oan, I’ll check.’ The barman opened the till and lifted the tray, pulling out envelopes. ‘Naw, he wasn’t in. Three envelopes still here fur him. Folk will have left it for him for jobs he’d done. So naw, wisnae in.’
‘Okay, here’s my card. If he turns up, drunk or sober, call me, please. He’s not in any bother.’ Cal moved towards the double doors, the sun’s early morning rays warming the stained-glass panels.
‘Wait, wis last night no’ his boy’s concert thing?’
‘The orchestra, yes.’
‘Ah well, there’s yer answer. Didnae shut up about that all week. He’d have been there. Said he couldnae wait tae see the wee man on stage. Try his house.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks for that. Remember if you see him...’
‘Call.’
Cal exited onto the dusty pavement, the swing door clipping his heels. Where would he check next? He realised that he knew very little about his so-called friend; he’d just used him for his own ends.
***
‘Cal, you better come with me.’ DS Lawrie was standing next to his car and motioned for Cal to join him inside it. The police radio crackled incessantly as the policeman took a deep draw from his cigarette while performing a U-turn. He sped up towards the West End Cross. ‘Something you have to see.’
Lawrie brought the car to a gradual halt at the top of the brae overlooking Tweed Street. There was a hive of activity at the bottom of the hill. Police Incident Do Not Enter tape seemed to occupy a vast area and a plastic tent was being entered by individuals in sterile white suits.
‘They’ve found a body. Bus driver spotted it at six this morning. I’m sorry Cal ... it’s your pal, Dixie Clark.’
Cal looked at him in disbelief, trying to comprehend what he was hearing.
‘He’s not been formally identified, but the body had yer man’s wallet and family pictures. He’s been murdered Cal. Executed. A bullet to the back of the head. There are also signs of torture,’ Lawrie said quietly.
Cal dropped his head into his hands, his thoughts frozen. Strangely, he began to recall the feelings he had experienced when he was told of his father’s death – an emptiness coupled with a stillness where all seemed to be going in slow motion.
‘I’m not involved yet. They’ve brought a Superintendent in from Glasgow. It’s a gangland hit, Cal. Personally, I think they tortured him for information. After that, they let him think he was going home – had him walk away and put a bullet in the back of his head. Dirty bastards.’
They sat in silence, the only sound coming from the steady stream of police vans delivering uniformed officers to the scene.
‘The guy in charge wants to talk to ye. I told him ye knew the family. Wants ye to go with him tae break the news. Cal? Cal?’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Anything.’
Lawrie lit another cigarette and pointed his yellow-stained fingers at Cal. ‘Ye know who set this up, don’t ye? They’re close to him. He’s sending out a message. The two he bumped a while back were just never seen again. Now he’s letting the community know who’s in charge with this one – it’s a fuckin’ message.’
‘Gossip doesn’t help, Frank, it just scares people more. Stick to the evidence,’ Cal responded, irritated.
‘Okay, point taken. But the dugs on the street know who ordered this.’ Lawrie pointed towards the unformed cop guarding the entrance to the scene. ‘Introduce yerself to her. She’ll send somebody to get the super. Ye know where Ah am if ye need me.’ He squeezed Cal’s forearm.
Cal walked slowly towards the cordon, his mind trying to play out the visit to Grace. He knew how the boys would feel, how they would react. That would help, at least. Dixie was no informer and, judging by the evidence case building against Quinn by Henshaw, more than one source was at work.
***
Grace sat on the hall floor next to the phone going through the address book. She had a bad feeling in her gut. Although she continued to slate their dad in front of the boys for being inconsiderate, she knew he hadn’t spent a night away from them since the first born arrived. He worked hard but was always home, sober or paralytic, to stick his head in the boys’ bedroom door and walk up the hall with a wide grin on his face.
‘What ye smiling about?’
‘Nothing, just smiling.’
The builders’ merchants had seen him at 6pm; he had bought lino and was in a hurry, they said. The address book contacts wasn’t flagging up any further sightings. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
Terence sat next to his mother, the excitement of the previous night long since dissipated. ‘Go and make a cup of tea, Mum. I’ll call the rest.’
‘Ah’m fine, son,’ she replied softly, taking his hand in hers. ‘Wait ’til he hears you’re off tae Germany. He’ll be over the moon.’
***
Terence’s excitement, was tempered with disappointment as he realised that his Dad hadn’t bothered to show up when they met the adults back stage at the after party. The teenagers stood in the corner as Sebastion held court, bombasting throughout the room, with local dignitaries listening to every word, as he constantly swapped his empty glass with the roving waiters seemingly endless supply of wines.
‘I cannae believe it, Mum. Cannae believe, we can go tae Germany to learn this stuff properly. How did ye manage it, Mr Lynch?’
‘Oh, my friend Cooper owed me a favour. Though, if he hadn’t seen potential in you two there is not a chance he would have made such an offer. Very well done’ Cal advised, shaking their hands firmly.
Gracie noticed a worried look coming over her Son’s face as he stared straight ahead. She knew he was turning questions over in his mind. ‘What’s up Terence, what’s worrying ye?’
‘It’s Dad, what if he says no, what bout the money, how could we pay for aw the things ah would need?’ he said discontentedly, the reality of the situation bringing him back to earth. This dosnae happen tae folk like me, he thought, Mairi-Clare aye with her posh background, but no me.
Peter grabbed Terence by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. ‘Look wee man yer Da will be over the moon. I bet he’ll be first in the queue at the post office the morra morning tae get ye a year’s passport. And anyway what will you’s two be daein’ hinging aboot here – Mikey might be away as well, if he nails his interview.’ He said, assuredly. ‘Don’t worry bout yer auld man son – he’ll be beaming from ear to ear when he hears this news.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be super proud of you.’ Suzie added, smiling widely. ‘I’m sorry all, I really have to get back to the shop. You stay for more wine, Cal.’ She kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.’
***
A short, stocky male walked briskly towards the taped cordon, a colleague playing catch up behind him. Slowing, he studied the line of officers and their fingertip search of the wasteland as they desperately tried to find clues.
‘Start the door-to-door as soon as. Call me in an hour with an update, if not before. Superintendent Irvine.’ He introduced himself, removing his latex glove and firmly shaking Cal’s hand.
‘Cal Lynch. How can I be of help, superintendent?’
‘Terrible business. You know the vic ... the deceased?’ Irvine enquired, stripping off his white paper overall. ‘Not involved in organised crime. Clean living, I’m told.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘We won’t get a formal ID for a while – forensics will be here for a couple of hours, at least. I need to speak to the guy’s family. Heard you’d be best to accompany me.’ He eyed Cal, his thick unkempt eyebrows lowering against the morning sun.
‘I am friendly with the family, yes. Look, what happened here?’ Cal asked, nervously.
‘Good. Be there as their friend but also their lawyer – they’ll need it. Let’s go. We can talk more in the car.’ Irvine quickly led the way to an awaiting unmarked vehicle.
He fiddled with his handheld radio for a moment in silence. He seemed very calm, efficient, authoritarian, Cal thought. Someone who’d been over the course before with similar incidents throughout his career.
‘WPC Mathews here will accompany us as part of the family liaison team. Tell me more about the family. Anything I should know?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Three great kids, good parents. Nothing really. I don’t know what to say,’ Cal mumbled, still trying to process all that was occurring.
‘You think it was anything to do with your client – what’s his name, Quinn, picking off witnesses? Seems he’s bang to rights, by all accounts.’
‘I’ve no idea. Dixie wouldn’t be caught up in anything like that. He was just an ordinary guy, worked, liked a pint. He’s done maintenance work for Eddie Quinn, that’s all. Why would this happen? Surely you have an idea?’
‘Oh, various reasons. I’ve seen them all, believe me. But this one? Professional hit all over it, maybe linked to the heavy team from London and Interpol arriving to chase down the drug money,’ Irvine responded confidently.
The car wound its way quickly through the West End and parked directly outside the weather-beaten sandstone tenement in Argyle Street.
‘Mmm, interesting. Not too far from the scene. You ready for this, Mr Lynch? This is a break from our usual protocol but your pal Lawrie said you’d be of use.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’ll be there for Grace and the boys. Dixie would do the same for me.’
Irvine pressed a button on his radio. ‘Irvine to Sierra 2. Just at the vic’s family residence. Let me know when the van is found and when that additional forensics support from Pitt Street arrives.’
‘Affirmative, sir.’
‘One thing before we go. Was he religious, the vic – sorry, Dixie?’ Irvine asked.
‘I believe he attended the chapel up the road there but he wasn’t overly outward with it. Why?’
‘He had a set of rosary beads wrapped round one of his busted hands. Some of the beads were embedded in his palm. They’ve been sent away to forensics but they looked an expensive set. Emeralds. You see him with them?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘Constable, have a car sent to the chapel. Get the Priest down to the morgue for the Last Rites. Find out if he knows the vic.’
‘Yes Sir.’ Mathews responded, immediately relaying the orders down her handset.
The close was silent being so early in the morning. The recently washed stairs smelled of bleach, which caught on Cal’s throat. The white-painted gloss border gleamed as the winter sun beamed in through each large stair head window they passed.
Cal paused then tentatively knocked on the large oak door, fearing the reception waiting at the other side. Feeling cowardly, he lowered his head when he heard the mortis lock being turned frantically.
‘Cal?’
He raised his head slowly, meeting the eyes of a new widow.
‘Cal! Cal!’
‘Grace, I’m so sor...’
Grace’s words were barely intelligible and accompanied by a piercing cry. For a second Cal recalled his grandad’s stories about the haunting keening of the banshee.
He caught Grace as her legs collapsed beneath her on the doorstep. He held her tightly, saying nothing, his tearful eyes finding her three young sons standing motionless at their mother’s back. He signalled to Terence to come forward and they helped Grace to the living room. The two younger boys ran to their room, slamming the door shut, hoping to erect a barrier to the news they feared had come.
‘Mrs Clark, I’m Superintendent Irvine.’ His tone and speed of delivery were at odds with the business-like conversation he’d had with Cal just moments ago. ‘I have to inform you that we’ve recovered the remains of a man this morning. Early indications and items on his possession suggest that it may be your husband.’
‘No! No! Cal? Terence?’ Grace grasped her son’s hands and pulled him closer.
‘We would require identification later today, Mrs Clark.’
‘I’ll dae it,’ Terence intervened, his voice wavering.
‘Terence, that would be really helpful but your mum or another adult has to do it,’ Cal said quietly.
‘Grace,’ Irvine said, ‘this is Becky. She’s one of my team. She is here for you and the boys to help you through this terrible time.’
The WPC nodded in the background. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Irvine bent down in front of Grace in an attempt to focus her attention. ‘Grace, I have more than thirty serious crime detectives working to catch whoever is responsible for this – and I will catch them. But to help, I’d like to hold a press conference this afternoon. I’m keen to let the public know what has happened to your husband. Would you be able to do that?’
Grace sat up, her back rigid. She regulated her breathing and looked directly at Cal.
‘I’ll be with you, Grace,’ he said. ‘Do the talking if you wish.’
She wiped her eyes with her cardigan sleeve. She seemed to have aged dramatically in a matter of minutes. Then she nodded. ‘Terence, call Peter and ask him to come up and sit with you and your brothers. I’m not having you left alone.’
‘Becky will stay with the boys, Grace,’ advised Irvine.
‘Very good, but I don’t know Becky. I know Peter. Shall we go, officer?’
The victim was still on site, Irvine thought, but time at the station before the morgue would provide the opportunity for some informal chat and help build a picture of Dixie’s movements, lifestyle and contacts. Becky’s role was twofold; she was specially trained to pick up snippets from relatives and feed them back to the investigation team; that was more important than providing tea and hugs.
***
Cal returned to his office emotionally drained. He had delivered the family pleas for information at the hastily arranged press conference. Grace had collapsed, her words incoherent.
An incident room had been set up and a freephone number and publicity posters showing Dixie’s smiling, cheeky face were being hastily circulated, urging the public to come forward with information about this barbaric murder.
Cal felt increasingly agitated and helpless as the situation unravelled. The thought of the boys growing up without a father being there to guide them through life, share their successes and provide comfort when the inevitable disappointments arose, led him to a decisive decision.
‘I’m heading out, Ms Knox. I should be back around 4pm. And put these posters front and centre on those windows, please.’ Dropping the large sheets of paper on her desk, he walked briskly towards the door.
‘Where will I advise you are?’
‘Don’t advise.’
Cal arrived unannounced for the visit. The forbidding high walls of Barlinnie Prison dwarfed his presence. Pleading an urgent need to meet with his client about the imminent bail hearing – and the strained look on his face – convinced the governor it was a serious matter.
Cal was still trying to recover from the press conference held a couple of hours earlier. Grace was inconsolable; she reminded him of his mother nearly twenty years ago with her dead eyes and an unfathomable pain compressing her body. She had no concept of the future; the here and now would last forever.
He paced the small, sterile visitors’ room. Small panes of frosted glass in the grey walls provided little light or a view of the noisy exercise yard below. His anger was growing by the second, his mind fluctuating between his mother alone – still alone – in London and Grace.
‘Mr Lynch, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ Quinn still had a presence as he entered a room, though his appearance was now dishevelled, with unsightly facial hair and stained clothes conspicuously in contrast to his usual smart suits and gold cufflinks. He had protection on the remand wing from a local heavy who was employed to make sure he came to no harm from competitors or old enemies who wanted to settle scores.
Cal stared at him. ‘Dixie Clark.’ He stood close to Quinn as he waited for a response so he could assess his expression. ‘You had him killed’.
‘I like it. Straight to the point, Cal. Impressive.’
‘Did you have him murdered? Three kids without a father. A whole family shattered and for what ... to protect your empire?’
‘How many times? I’m a legitimate businessman. Ah’m tired of this. Ask me, Cal. Just ask.’ Quinn was in his face, sneering.
‘Dixie didn’t know a thing about your business interests. He was too busy trying to keep his boys away from your smack.’
‘Ah’m still your client, Cal. Yes?’
Cal nodded.
‘Client confidentially, Cal?’ Quinn whispered.
Cal nodded.
‘Why don’t you ask me, Cal? Just ask me.’ He jabbed he finger repeatedly in Cal’s chest. ‘C’mon, ask me the question you really want an answer tae, Cal.’
‘What?’
Quinn murmured under his breath, mocking with a quiet, menacing disdain.
Cal grabbed him by the throat and smashed him back against the concrete wall. Quinn was winded but he laughed as he struggled to free himself. Cal slammed his head forcibly, the noise reverberating around the sparse room.
‘Wait, wait,’ Quinn pleaded, gulping deep breaths.
Cal released his grip and moved to the other side of the room. He sat down and tried to regain his poise. The sweat was running down his back. Back to the plan, he thought. Back to the plan.
Quinn sat on the adjacent seat, his head lowered, deep in thought. ‘Looks like the odds are stacked against me, eh? Mibbae I should cut a deal, get a reduced sentence.’
Cal rose from the seat and Quinn’s eyes fixed on him, expecting further retribution.
‘I was celebrating that night, just finished the first year of ma’ business degree with flying colours. Ah wis totally buzzing. Already had a placement in London with a big conglomerate for ma’ third year. The world ma oyster in aw that.’
Cal stood behind him leaning on the wall, awaiting further details.
‘Ah wanted to go to the States once qualified, far enough away from the auld man and ma mad brother. But hey, the cops decided I wis the brains used to launder dirty money. And that wis it, career over. Spent ma days setting up poxy wee businesses and getting used by crooks and eventually ma rocket of a brother.’
Cal remained silent, trying to keep his mind clear of anger as Quinn opened up.
‘I never killed yer da. Ah’d never been involved in drugs, violence, cleaning money. Been taken advantage off, used, turned a blind eye – fuck, aye. Client confidentiality, Cal.’
The silence in the room was filled by Quinn tapping on the table and the gruff verbal exchanges emanating from the inmates in the yard.
‘There wis two of us there that night, me and Jim Junior, ma brother. We were trying to get two lassies up the road. He killed yer da for fuck all, the mad bastard. I was sent up for trial, knowing there wisnae enough to convict me.’
‘Quite a story. It took you a while to share it.’ Cal moved to face Quinn and leaned over the table to whisper purposefully in his ear. ‘I came back to finish you. I trained long and hard for the moment where you’d be sent away for the rest of your days. Your empire obliterated and you left to die in prison.’
Quinn never flinched. His eyes were locked in a fixed stare at the table. ‘Looks like someone beat ye to it, eh? I only ever wanted to be a successful businessman on ma own terms,’ he replied. He was almost disconsolate in defeat. ‘I won’t win this one. Tell the lassie cop Ah’ll tell her everything Ah know. Then you and me will part ways. She can get me another brief. Ah might get oot here before Ah die.’
He moved towards the large iron door, knocking his large gold signet ring to signal the end of the meeting. As he turned to face Cal, a new persona seemed to come over him as if he finally realised he was breaking free from his reputation and his secret life. ‘I never killed your da, Cal. Ask Suzie, I’m sure she’ll tell ye the full scoop. Bye, Cal. I dae hope ye get the peace ye need.’
Cal left the prison and sped west along the busy M8, his mind turning over with questions for Suzie. She was the girl he’d fallen for in a big way, who he trusted and loved. He was inspired by her kindness and humility, traits he hoped he could emulate. His mind would be focused by the time they met that evening.
The plan which had took so long to develop was gone now, wiped out. He wouldn’t bring Quinn down from within by using his legal mind as he had thought. He would share what he knew with Lawrie and Henshaw. He had played a small part in Quinn’s downfall by passing on the tip about the bus donations he’d spotted in the photographs in Quinn’s office. At least that was a little piece in the jigsaw. No more secrets, no more pretence.
Fluorescent lights were still burning as he approached the office. A yellow glow emanated from the streetlights that permeated the gathering smog. Dixie’s smiling face filled the glass windows of his office, as well as those of every shop unit in the block.
Ms Knox was still at her desk updating the diary, her hat and coat on ready for home. ‘You’re back,’ she said abruptly, looking from under her small glasses.
‘I thought you’d be gone. Not expecting overtime, are you.’ He smiled.
Her eyes turned to the well-worn reception seats where a young girl in school uniform sat, blankly staring out of the window. Ms Knox passed Cal a note. ‘She said she had to speak to you about the murder. Do you want me to stay?’ she whispered.
‘No, it’s fine. Probably nothing. You get off home.’
‘You sure? She’s a minor. I gave her some of Jack’s Coca Cola – he’d only be using it for his brandy.’ Her demeanour told Cal a different story and that she was anxious to leave.
Ms Knox scurried towards the door, unhappy that her routine had been broken though she was visibly intrigued by the young visitor. Cal went to the seating area while reading the note. He sat down and smiled at the petit schoolgirl who was clutching her leather satchel while sipping from an old tea mug.
‘Hi, Mary. I’m Cal. Ms Knox tells me you want to have a chat about my friend Dixie.’
Mary continued to gaze out of the window. ‘I saw you on the telly when I came home from school. I see everything on that street. Nothing else to do. I saw you before at St Mary’s.’
‘Oh yes! How could I forget the young girl with the most amazing voice?’
‘You were holding hands with the model lady,’ she said, still gazing into the November darkness.
‘Well, Miss McGrath could pass for a model, I suppose.’
‘I seen them take that man in to the close then take him out again.’ She pointed to the poster and turned to face Cal. ‘I saw the priest, Father Dan. Is she your wife?’
Cal’s could feel his heart thumping in his chest.
‘They took him in from a wee blue van with lino on the roof. Then they took him out later, carried him at twelve o’clock, when the street was quiet. He was all bloody. I think he was crying.’
‘Who took him, Mary?’
‘Then you said on the telly he was dead, that man.’
‘Can you remember who took him, Mary? What did they look like?’ Cal pressed, trying to remain calm so as not to spook her.
‘Three men, kind of hidden faces. I watched from my room, nothing else to do. I’ve seen them for months, in and out of that close where Jessica Brogan used to stay. I hated that bitch. She used to call me names because I’m different.’ Mary’s jaw tightened as she recalled her encounters with her old neighbour. ‘They can’t see me, though, in my room.’
Cal studied the scrap of paper, pausing to stay calm. ‘So you stay here Mary?’
Mary nodded. ‘Number 59 is across the road. That’s where they use.’
‘Mary, it’s great that you’ve come to speak to me. I’m going to make a quick call from my office and then I’ll drive you home. Is that okay? I’m sure your mum and dad will be wondering where you are.’
‘Just Mum. Dad’s dead,’ she said sharply.
Cal called Suzie’s salon, knowing it was her night for working late.
‘Can we go, Mr Lynch?’ Mary shouted.
‘I’ll be with you in a tick, Mary. Just one more call.’
The line was answered. ‘I need to see you...’ He kicked the office door shut with his heel.
***
Cal brought the car to a halt in the deserted street, the only sign of life a cat’s eyes reflecting in the headlights. ‘Does anyone else live on the street, Mary?’
‘Nope,’ she replied. ‘Council says to Mum they’ll move us next week but they’ve being saying that every time she calls.’
Cal scanned the tall vacant buildings. The first two floors windows and doors were shrouded in metal grills and steel shutters; the remaining windows were bare, with old curtains fluttering through the broken glass.
‘I have to go. Don’t tell my mum I was round. That’s the close over there.’ Mary reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car. ‘The model, is she your wife?’
‘Miss McGrath? No, Mary. Why do you ask?’
‘Mmm. She does have long, shiny black hair and a bright red coat, doesn’t she?’
‘She does. Is there something else on your mind you want to talk about?’
‘Mmm... Black is the colour,’ Mary slammed the door and ran in the close towards the stairs singing loudly to herself.
Cal walked towards the shuttered door; he would have a quick look to satisfy his curiosity. The door creaked free from its rigid bracket to reveal a dark passageway. Street light squeezed through the grating on the frames at the top of the derelict stairs. Slowly he made his way up the passageway, stepping through the rubble and broken glass strewn on the concrete floor. A yellow cable with small lights lined the route. A cold draught caught the stale dampness, making him pull his cashmere collar around his mouth and nose as he climbed the stairs.
The cable led to a first-floor flat. The doors had been removed, yet the remnants of family life were still present in what someone had previously called home. A clear pathway had been created through the builders’ rubble and household items leading to a dimly lit bathroom.
‘Jesus, she was right,’ he murmured.
The worn linoleum floor was covered in dark pools of blood coagulated with grit and dirt. A wooden chair lay broken in a corner. The dirty-white enamel bath was half filled with stained red water and the mustard wall tiles showed splashes from where someone or something had been repeatedly plunged in the water.
He bent below the cracked sink spotting a piece of metal glistening in the dull light. Lifting the object he read the inscription: DC. It was Dixie’s zippo – the lighter he used for his Capstan Full Strength. He loved to blow the smoke in Cal’s face, knowing he hated the smell on his flashy clothes.
‘You and yer fancy clothes will smell like us wan day,’ Dixie would giggle, his laugh lines stretching across his face.
Standing, Cal felt a searing pain in the back of his head. His body tumbled to the floor and his forehead smashed against the toilet.
His sight was blurry as he began to come round. ‘I’m dreaming,’ he muttered.
A male voice laughed. A pair of glossy patent red high heels came into view and the sweet scent of a woman’s perfume filled Cal’s nostrils. He felt no pain; he was content for the dream to take its course.
‘Why couldn’t you keep your nose out, Cal?’ The voice was clear and the smell familiar.
‘Suzie,’ he groaned.
‘Yes, it’s Suzie. It’s over, Cal. No one interferes with the business.’ She knelt at his side, her full lips beside his ear. ‘Not even someone as beautiful as you. And to think I nearly loved you. What is it they say about keeping your enemies close?’ She whispered, softly kissing his bloodied face.
‘Tell me why.’ He tried to lift his head but couldn’t find the strength.
‘Why Jimmy killed your dad? Why I allowed you into my life?’ She wiped the blood from his eye, which was gradually closing into a swollen purple mass, with the back of her gloved hand. Her silky black hair brushed his skin. ‘It seems your daddy had a big mouth. That was enough. Does that answer it? You should have just let that wee lassie walk home, Cal. Kept your nose out. You don’t cross the line with the business.’
‘We need to go, boss. Now,’ a gruff voice interrupted. McGurn, definitely McGurn, Cal worked out from the aggressive tone. ‘What ye want done?’
Suzie tidied Cal’s coat across his chest and straightened his tie. He lay motionless, his one functioning eye seeking hers.
Slowly, purposefully, she walked away. ‘Kill him. No trace,’ she ordered without emotion.
Cal felt his feet being lifted off the ground. As he was dragged out of the bathroom door, the coarse rubble tore into his back and ripped his skin. His head bounced off the concrete steps.
His mind slowed even further. Almost tired, painless. He thought of his mother and smiled for his father. This must be what it felt like. His time had come.
‘Armed police, put your hands in the air.’
Four masked men dressed in black ran up the stairs, their flashlights growing brighter by the second. Behind them, Lawrie kept close to the wall.
‘Get oot through the other flat! Ah’ll haud them up,’ McGurn shouted to Suzie.
She took a final glance at Cal’s body crumpled on the stairs then never looked back as she escaped via a concealed entrance into the adjacent tenement. Making her way out of the back door, she climbed into a transit van that had hurriedly been organised to be Cal’s taxi to his execution.
‘Get me out of here. Drive to the safe house. We’ll head to Liverpool tonight then you’ll get me out of the country.’
The big-nosed driver turned and smiled, his chipped tooth protruding over his lower lip.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be well paid. Move it,’ Suzie barked as she lowered herself on to the floor of the van.
***
McGurn extended the time it took to complete his arrest by following the police instructions as slowly as he could. ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. Ah’m taking ma time so you bastards don’t get spooked,’ he shouted over the din of instructions. His eyes darted quickly between the two lead officers.
An officer placed his boot firmly on McGurn’s back, his automatic rifle inches from the back of his head as a colleague applied cable ties to his wrists and ankles.
‘Ye got me this time Lawrie, eh?’ McGurn laughed loudly as he was dragged unceremoniously out of the tenement.
Lawrie had already pushed past his colleagues and was on his knees, probing for signs of life in Cal’s limp body. As he gently held Cal’s head, dark red blood poured between his large fingers and saturated his suit trousers.
‘Ambulance, now! Tweed Street,’ he heard a colleague calmly order into his handset.
‘Looks like I turned up too late for you, mate,’ he whispered in frustration.