Dead Won't Sleep (17 page)

Alison said nothing, but sat on the sofa next to his desk. Foxy came and sat on a chair opposite her, pulling it in little closer. He buzzed Patsy and asked her to send in some tea and biscuits. The kid just needed a bit of sympathy.

‘So, Alison. How’s your mum?’

‘Bearing up.’ Alison’s voice was a monotone.

‘Time,’ Foxy said. ‘It’ll take time.’

He was relieved when Patsy came through the door with the tray. He poured the tea and handed Alison a cup.

They sat in silence. She looked like she was about to explode. He didn’t know how he would cope with her if she burst into floods of tears.

‘I miss him too,’ Foxy said. ‘Jack was a great man. You know, we were mates right from police college. God, we had some laughs down the years, but he was a solid mate. Great man, Alison. I know you must be suffering.’

‘I didn’t know him at all.’ Alison’s words hung in the air.

He put down the cup and looked at her. What was she on about?

‘I didn’t know him at all,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t know any of you. Not you, not Uncle Bill. I didn’t know any of you.’

She fixed him with a stare.

‘What do you mean, darling? Course you knew us. We were like family.’

Another silence. She took a deep breath.

‘I know everything now, Uncle Gavin.’

Her eyes were cold. Maybe she was on drugs . . . ?

‘In fact it makes me sick even to call you uncle. I know
what you are. What Dad was. What Uncle Bill is. I know it all.’

Foxy felt his face go white. She must be on something. ‘What?’ He shifted in his seat. ‘What are you talking about?’

Her voice was calm.

‘I know everything.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I know about the boat, and the drugs. And the girl you, Dad and Bill threw over the side of your boat. I know about the prostitute who got her throat cut. Yes, I know about the years of corruption with you, Dad and Bill. The backhanders from Jake Cox. I know the whole disgusting lot.’

Foxy felt as though someone had just shot him in the chest. He opened his mouth to protest, but Alison kept talking.

‘Dad sent me a letter.’ She was triumphant, her eyes blazing. ‘Eight pages, and a picture. I still can’t believe it.’ Her voice quivered and tears came to her eyes.

‘Alison . . .’ He got up and went towards her.

‘Don’t touch me!’ She stood up and put her hands up. ‘Don’t ever touch me. You’re an evil man. An evil, corrupt man and you ruined my father. He’s dead because of people like you. You destroyed him.’

‘Alison.’ Foxy could feel the sweat breaking out. He motioned for her to simmer down. ‘Please, pet. You don’t know what you are saying.’

‘Yes I do.’ Her voice was shrill. Her lip trembled. ‘And
you had better listen to me. You’d better get your resignation sorted out and get out of this job in the next few days, or I’m going to tell the world about you and your stinking, evil set-up.’

Foxy’s knees were shaking. Christ almighty!

‘Enough, Alison,’ he said, regaining control, his voice firm. He had to be careful. She obviously did have some serious information about them, and she must have got it from somewhere . . . That daft bastard Jack and his Catholic guilt, right to the end. He couldn’t even bump himself off without dropping everyone else in it. Fuck him. Keep calm.

‘Alison. Listen, pet. I’m going to open the door now and let you go home before you say anything else that will get you into trouble. What you are saying just isn’t true, Alison. And if your dad said these things then it was all part of his illness. You must understand that. Alison . . .’ He just about managed to stop his voice from croaking.

‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Come on now, Alison.’ Foxy folded his arms across his chest and looked defiant. This little bitch could make serious trouble. ‘Now don’t be silly. Who’s going to believe a suicide note from a man who was clearly off his head? Look – just get the letter to me and we’ll forget about everything. You need a wee bit of help, pet. You need some sleep. Maybe you should talk to somebody.’

Alison walked to the door. She turned towards him, her face flushed.

‘If I don’t read that you and Bill have resigned in the next three days, then I’m going to the papers.’ Her voice was deadpan.

He tried to force a smile, but it was more of a grimace.

‘They’ll laugh you off the park.’

‘We’ll see.’ She stared at him. ‘We’ll see.’ She opened the door and walked out.

Foxy went back to his desk and phoned Bill Mackie. ‘Get up here,’ he said. ‘Smartish.’

Then he rang the Big Man’s mobile.

Rosie stretched her legs out in the front seat of Matt Harper’s car and sighed. ‘Christ I hate stake-outs.’ She turned to Matt, whose eyes were focused straight ahead on the grey minibus in the yard of the children’s home.

‘The problem with you reporters,’ Matt said without looking at her, ‘you’ve just no patience. You want to swing in like the SAS when it all kicks off, grab the glory and then disappear to the pub. We snappers, on the other hand, are like the panther. Poised in the long grass. Patient. Deadly.’ His eyes narrowed.

‘Gie’s peace,’ Rosie snorted. She liked Harper, even if he was regarded as a bit loopy by all the other journalists and photographers. He might be eccentric, but he was the best there was, especially on a snatch job like this, where you only got one fleeting opportunity to bag a picture of your victim. Harper would lie in wait for hours, days if necessary, but he always came back with his picture. He was also discreet. That was why
McGuire told the picture editor to give Harper the job with Rosie. She wasn’t even comfortable with telling the picture editor the story she was working on, but he had to know.

McGuire had told the picture editor straight, while the three of them were in his office, that he would sack him on the spot if he found him blabbing about this investigation to anyone.

‘You see, I could sit here all night if it was necessary.’ Matt caressed the camera on his lap. ‘Nobody is coming out of that place to go anywhere unless I’ve got a shot of them. So just settle down, darlin’, and tell me some stories. What about your sex life? Are you getting your leg over?’

‘Piss off, Harper. And do you think I would tell you if I was?’ She shook her head and looked out of the window.

‘Well,’ Matt sighed. ‘I just thought it would break the monotony, you know, hearing a wee bit about what you do when you’re not pissing the polis and everyone else off. What do you do for relaxation?’ He flicked his tongue across his top lip and grinned.

‘I’m in a sewing bee,’ Rosie said without looking at him. ‘Every Thursday. Most uplifting.’

Harper chuckled.

She thought about TJ, wondered how he was. He’d looked hurt the other day at the cafe, and she’d never seen that side of him before. She would get in touch with him as soon as she could. She thought about the
night in his flat and how she had loved being with him – the intimacy and tenderness had felt so natural, so right. But she quickly put the thought out of her mind. What was the matter with her? She didn’t have the time or the inclination to throw herself into the rollercoaster of a big love affair again. No more of that, thank you very much. She would call TJ as soon as she had time, but where she was and what she was doing right now was more important than anything.

‘Uh-oh,’ Matt said, sitting forward. ‘Something’s moving, Rosie. Look.’

Rosie saw kids coming out of the back entrance to the children’s home. She counted five of them, scanning their faces. She saw Gemma first, then Trina behind her, and two boys with one other girl. Matt was already snapping furiously through the windscreen, twisting with the zoom lens.

‘Get the guy,’ Rosie said, as a balding, fat little man, who looked about fifty, opened the door of the minibus, and ushered the kids inside. ‘That’ll be the janny. Paddy. He’s the bastard who organises it all.’

‘Don’t worry. I hosed him as soon as he came out of the building.’ Matt started the engine of the car.

‘Okay,’ Rosie said, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline. ‘All we have to do now is follow them, but at a discreet distance. Really discreet. I’m depending on you, Matt.’

‘You’re talking to the man who gives masterclasses in
discretion. Bear that in mind if you ever need someone to keep your feet warm at the bottom of the bed.’ Matt handed her the camera as he watched the minibus reverse then drive out of the gates of the home. ‘Unless something untoward happens we’ll tail them right to their destination.’

‘Great. Problem’s going to be, though, when we get into the country. There’ll be less traffic and he might notice if the same car is behind him for a while.’

‘We’ll just have to take our chances.’ Matt pulled out behind the van after allowing a car to go in front of him. ‘Give me that bottle of Coke over.’ His face was set with concentration. He swigged from the bottle, then said, ‘Here we go, Rosie. I just love this shit.’ He glanced at her and winked. ‘Game on.’

Rosie could feel excitement in her stomach and prayed they wouldn’t be spotted. She’d spent the last two days making sure that the man who’d be driving the girls was indeed Paddy the janny. Trina and Gemma had pointed him out when she visited them the other day, and they’d told her the outing was on for Friday. Paddy had been working in the yard as she said goodbye to them.

Rosie and McGuire had decided that the best way forward with the investigation was to try and track the next trip to the big house. She had already established whose house it was. When she told McGuire, he had punched the air with excitement.

She couldn’t believe it when she went trawling the files to find out which judge lived in or around Peebles, and came up with Lord Dawson, one of the most senior and respected High Court judges in the country. But, sure enough, there he was in a huge country pile, complete with grounds and forest much as the girls had described it. She swigged from Matt’s Coke bottle. So far, so good. The minibus was heading out of the city onto the motorway in the right direction. Matt stayed two cars behind.

‘Looking good, Rosie. Looking good, pal.’

‘Here’s hoping. What I wouldn’t give to nail this one down,’ Rosie said.

Matt stepped on the accelerator as the van sped along the motorway, but remained two cars behind.

It was still light by the time they came off the motorway and headed down the road towards Lanark and Peebles. They had already taken a run out to the location of Lord Dawson’s house yesterday to do a recce, and Matt had found a tiny road that seemed to rise up above the estate, where he could get a clear view of cars coming and going into the long driveway of the big house. The plan was to follow the van for as long as they could, then overtake and head for the high ground so that they could watch, and photograph it as it arrived. They both knew there was no way they could keep behind the van when it got closer to the house, because they would probably be the only two vehicles on the road.

As the car turned towards Peebles, Matt put his foot down, overtook and sped on. Rosie kept her head down in case any of the kids looked out and spotted her.

Matt cursed as his car wove in and out of the potholes on the twisting road. ‘I’d better be getting covered for damage,’ he said, as they bumped along.

Rosie was beginning to feel queasy. She didn’t know if it was the road or her nerves.

‘Shit. I feel like throwing up.’ She rolled down the window.

‘Well, make sure you upchuck into your handbag, sweetheart. I don’t want any more damage to my motor.’

‘Thanks for your support.’ She leaned towards the window to gulp the fresh air.

Finally they reached the top of the hill. Matt reversed the car and turned it so they were facing Lord Dawson’s house. They could see five big cars in the driveway. Rosie had binoculars and could make out Jags and Mercs. Matt aimed his camera and said he could see the number plates. He read them out to her along with the makes of the cars as he photographed them, and Rosie jotted them down. She would try to get them checked out. Lights were on in several of the downstairs rooms in the house, and in one or two upstairs. Matt got out of the car and attached his massive lens to the edge of his camera. They waited and watched.

‘Here it is,’ Matt said. ‘You fucking beauty!’ His camera whirred furiously as the minibus drove up the gravel
drive and parked outside the front of the house.

‘Jesus!’ Rosie said. ‘I would never believe it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes. Keep snapping, Matt.’

The janny jumped out of the driver’s seat and quickly went to open the door. The kids piled out, and Rosie could see them with her binoculars. Some were laughing and smiling, but Gemma looked pale and subdued. Trina’s arm was around her as if she was trying to comfort her. Rosie wondered if the journey had made her feel sick. In the doorway of the house, a large, thin man in a black suit appeared and opened the doors. He motioned for the children and Paddy to follow him. Matt kept taking pictures until the last of them disappeared behind the large front door.

‘Did you get the guy?’ Rosie asked. ‘He might be the butler or something.’

‘Yep. Everyone.’ Matt was already looking at his images on his digital camera.

He came back into the car and they sat in silence, staring down at the house. Rosie’s heart sank, thinking of what was going on inside that place. Matt shook his head.

‘Fuck it,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’m going to go down and have a look in the window.’

‘What?’ Rosie turned to him. ‘You’re bloody joking!’

‘No. Look, Rosie, I know what I’m doing. The last thing these bastards will be thinking of is someone shuffling around the bushes taking photographs. It just won’t enter
their heads.’ He started to get out of the car. ‘Trust me. You don’t have to come. Just let me do it. We don’t have enough. One snap. That’s all I need. One frame of something in that room that will bury every fucking one of them. Come on, Rosie, it’s your call.’

She looked at him, then back at the house. McGuire had told her at all costs to keep her distance, and not to do anything daft that might blow the whole investigation. But Matt was right. They didn’t have enough to string everyone up.