The Sudden Arrival of Violence: A Glasgow Underworld Novel 3 (31 page)

As soon as Hutton’s closed the door, Young’s turning on Jamieson. ‘That was stupid. Even if you want him out, you don’t tell him. There’s nobody else, for Christ’s sake. You get rid of him and we have no cover at all.’

‘Yeah,’ Jamieson’s saying quietly, ‘and whose fault is that?’ Letting it hang.

Young’s taking a deep breath. ‘Not my fault that Frank turned out the way he did. Not my fault that Calum wasn’t committed. He was Frank’s recommendation. Maybe Hutton isn’t the best choice, but he served us well in the past. He could serve us again. Look, we sort out this Calum thing . . .’

‘Hah, and how’s that coming along, John? Tell me. Have you solved that wee problem?’

Now he’s looking to create an argument. Young knows it. ‘I’m not going to fight with you, Peter. We’ll find Calum. This is a bump in the road.’

Jamieson’s reaching into his drawer, taking out a bottle and a small glass. ‘Yeah. A bump. Don’t come back until you’re over the bump. Now get out of my sight.’

47

‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ Fisher’s saying. It maybe sounds like he doesn’t mean it, but he does. Fisher comes across people like William MacLean all the time. People who aren’t heavily involved. Fringe players. Sometimes people who aren’t involved in criminal activity at all. But they’re related to someone who is. Or they’re a friend of someone who is. And they end up carrying the can for someone else’s behaviour. Truth is, Fisher’s sick of seeing people like William MacLean. Sick of seeing people who’ve done little wrong end up on the slab because some thug thinks he can justify it to himself. Peter Jamieson. Shaun Hutton. Thugs that Fisher has to stop.

‘Thank you,’ Calum’s saying. Doesn’t sound like he believes it. Doesn’t need to. He’s not here for sympathy. ‘I want to say something about my brother,’ Calum’s continuing. ‘He wasn’t involved in anything. Not really. He helped me, but only because it was me. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. Maybe he occasionally did little things that he shouldn’t have in the garage, just to make a bit of extra dough. But it was nothing serious. Never was. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, and he doesn’t deserve to be trashed now. I know people will want to trash him, because he’s dead. I know you’ll look to trash him, because he’s my brother. But he doesn’t deserve that. He deserves to be treated with respect. That’s who he was. A good guy. Not some criminal. Not some thug. A good guy.’

Fisher’s nodding. ‘We won’t trash your brother. I know he wasn’t involved.’ He won’t deny that they destroy the reputations of people, because it happens. Sometimes it’s necessary to tell the unpleasant truth about someone. Not in William’s case. Not now.

Is this all about getting a good obituary for his brother? Revenge too, obviously. But to throw himself at a cop like this? That’s unheard of. Might be grief, Fisher’s guessing. Calum’s not thinking straight, and that’s what’s causing him to tell the truth. Grief can do funny things to people. Although he doesn’t seem grief-stricken. A bit depressed perhaps.

‘Is that all you want to tell me?’ Fisher’s asking. Calum’s told his story, fallen silent. Time for Fisher to take back control of events.

‘That’s it.’

‘And what do you think is going to happen now?’ There’s a little irony in Fisher’s voice. Like it doesn’t matter what Calum thinks will happen next, because he doesn’t get to choose.

‘I think you’re going to get out of the car and I’m going to drive it away,’ Calum’s saying. ‘And I think we’re never going to see each other again.’

Fisher’s about to laugh. Say something a little derisive, but not aggressive. This is still a dangerous man he’s dealing with. Now he’s silent. Silent because he can see Calum reaching into his inside coat pocket, and Fisher thinks he knows what that means. Odd thing is, even as he sees the gun emerge, he doesn’t fear for his life. A killer in a car with a cop, and the cop isn’t afraid. Why tell that long story just to kill the man you told it to? He’ll let Fisher go, but he’s showing how dangerous he is. Holding the gun low on his lap, pointing it at Fisher. Not saying anything. The gun does the talking for him.

‘Okay,’ Fisher’s saying quietly. ‘Just promise me that you’re not going to go out and use that thing. You said you wanted your last job to be your last job. I think I know why you’ve told me this. I think I know what you’re doing. That’s fine. Just don’t use that thing, okay?’

Calum’s turning and looking at him. A sharp look. ‘I’m almost gone,’ he’s saying.

Fisher’s opening the car door and stepping out. Walking slowly round to the front of the car. Clutching the recorder. It’s still recording, incidentally. Recording the noise of Calum starting the car. It better have bloody worked. Fisher’s watching, thinking. How much of this can he even use? Hardly a reliable witness. Now a disappearing witness. They’ll chase after him, of course, but Fisher has a feeling about that boy. Cold and sharp. The type who’ll know how to disappear. How to stay off the radar. There aren’t many like him. Few enough that those you do meet stand out. He might just have delivered Jamieson and Young. Shug was already at the end of the rope, but there was mention of MacArthur in this, too. It’s not so much the detail Calum MacLean gave about who did what to whom; the most important thing was clearing up the relationships. Who’s working with whom. Who’s working against whom. It makes sense of a complicated picture. Tells Fisher what he needs to do next.

Calum’s sliding across into the driver’s seat. Watching Fisher go round to the front of the car. Fisher’s smart. Not an accident where he’s standing – away from the doors of the car. Making a show of the fact that he’s not going to get in the way. Not going to try to stop Calum. Reversing the car and turning. Moving alongside the storage unit, looking back in the mirror. Fisher’s still standing there, watching the car go. Not doing anything. He won’t until the car is out of sight. Once Calum’s out of view, he’ll be into his pocket for his mobile. Good for him. Won’t make any difference. Calum will be ditching this car at the first safe location. Fisher will get it back unharmed. So long as they weren’t followed. So long as there aren’t half a dozen cops waiting for him when Calum emerges at the front of this building and into the street.

There aren’t. He’s out onto the street, and driving away.

As soon as the red Renault is out of view, Fisher’s reaching into his pocket. Pulling out his mobile. Stopping, remembering the little MP3 player in his other hand. Still recording, the tiny screen says. Been recording for seventy-four minutes. Now his mind’s running off in another direction. How does he justify bringing charges on the basis of what’s on the recorder? He can’t. But he can use this info to direct him to better evidence that he
can
use. All the ducks are lined up now. Winter was working for Shug, so Jamieson had him removed. Shug hired Glen Davidson to kill Calum. Scott and McClure were killed on Jamieson’s orders, as was Frank MacLeod. Kenny McBride and Richard Hardy as well. Seems like Jamieson’s been a busy little beaver. Fisher’s smiling, and then remembering that he’s stuck here, car-less.

Calling the station, straight through to his own desk. They must be waiting for him back at the station. Wondering where he is. Worrying about him. By God, they better be. The phone’s ringing and ringing. Maybe there’s nobody in the office. All out looking for him? Not bloody likely. If someone’s decided to take it upon themselves to lead the arrest against Shug and Fizzy in his absence, Fisher will raise hell when he gets back to the office. Or maybe they just don’t want to answer his phone. He did tell them not to in the past. Doesn’t like other cops dealing with his business, even if it’s just to take a message. But he’s letting it ring so long now that someone has to answer it.

‘Hello, DI Fisher’s desk, DC Davies speaking.’ Sounding nervous and a little excited. Like he knows he’s not supposed to answer, but wants to.

‘Davies, it’s Fisher here. Come and pick me up.’

‘Okay, where are you?’

Silence.

Fisher’s had to go out onto the street and down to the corner to find a road sign. He’s telling Davies that he’s on the corner of the street.

‘What corner?’

‘Just go from one end of the bloody street to the other – you’ll find me.’ Fisher’s getting annoyed now. Annoyed at not having his car. Annoyed at the time that’s going to be lost waiting for Davies to collect him and take him back to the station. That was probably part of MacLean’s plan. Smart little bastard. Helpful as he’s been, he still has to be a target. Tempting to let him have a head start. He’s not the most important person here. Jamieson’s the biggest target now available. But Calum MacLean is a killer, and Fisher is going to hunt him down.

Standing on the corner, waiting for Davies, has given him time to think. How he’s going to play this. Go get Shug now. Such a strong temptation to go and arrest Jamieson first. But no. There are leaks in the station. Play it the way Jamieson expects you to play it. Shug and his people first. Then, when Jamieson thinks he’s won his little battle, you swoop on him. Has to play this one close to his chest. Looking at his watch: after eleven. They can have Shug in custody by, let’s say, half-one. Then Jamieson. Going to need a lot of manpower, but he has to move fast. He has Calum’s story. The quicker he puts it to others, the better chance he has that he can trip them up. They must know that Calum’s running from them. Christ’s sake, they killed his brother. They can’t be stupid enough to think he won’t move against them. It’s a funny thing, though, Fisher’s thinking as he watches Davies approach at last. A lot of these criminals just don’t think of the police when it comes to internal business. They don’t imagine that one of their own would go to the police. They’re probably thinking that Calum will come after them with his gun. They won’t be expecting Fisher at all.

48

They’ve been sitting in the den since they got back to the house. Having a beer and a sandwich and talking about old times. The last meal before the gallows. Shug doesn’t seem nervous. He must know that he’s looking at years. He’s drinking and laughing and enjoying this moment. That’s how it seems to Fizzy, but Fizzy doesn’t know what’s going on inside Shug’s head. There’s bitterness there. Not towards Fizzy. Not even towards Peter Jamieson. A little towards Alex MacArthur, but he’s not the main target. The main target is himself. This – sitting here, laughing and having fun – used to be normal. Not that long ago this would have seemed pretty damned ordinary. They’d be talking about cars. Only a little about the business. Seems weird to look back and remember how little they actually talked shop. There was so little to talk about. It was just that easy. And he threw it away.

They’re both being careful with their conversation. Every subject is one that pre-dates this failure. Nothing from Shug that might hint about Hutton. Nothing from Fizzy that hints that he already knows. Nothing that hints at what’s going to happen next. Just enjoy this, because it isn’t going to happen again for a while. There were three phone calls this morning. All from Greig. All ignored. That bastard’s been playing too many games. Trying to work every side. Well, he can find someone else to play with him. He’s burned his bridges with Shug. What could Shug get? If they nail him for the Hardy murder, he could be looking at twelve, fifteen, maybe more. Shug blames MacArthur. That worries Fizzy, but he won’t mention that, either. Start naming MacArthur for everything and you become a major target for MacArthur. In jail, you’re a sitting duck. Maybe they’re both targets already. Maybe MacArthur’s already making moves against Shug. Ah, hell, too many maybes. Enjoy the beer and the conversation. Face the future with whatever guts you have, but don’t spend the present worrying about it. It’ll be here soon enough, no matter how you approach it. Fizzy has protection from Jamieson, which has to be worth something. And if Shug does get hit in jail, who gets to run the business permanently? Fizzy.

Ten past one is when the ugly future arrives. They’re hearing the doorbell. Hearing Elaine answering it. You can just make out voices if you strain yourself, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. Neither Shug nor Fizzy has got up. Why bother? The cops will come crashing in and demand they get up anyway. Let them have their fun, arresting the big bad criminals. People moving along the corridor. Sounds like there’s a lot of them. Shug’s grateful that his kids are at school. The door’s opening and two detectives are walking in. There are two uniformed officers hanging around in the corridor; you can just see them over the chubby detective’s shoulder. They look embarrassingly useless.

‘My name’s Detective Inspector Michael Fisher, this is Detective Constable Ian Davies,’ the slimmer one’s saying. Fisher looks older than Shug expected. Looks worn out, actually. Shug can sympathize with that.

‘I know why you’re here,’ Shug’s saying. Getting to his feet. ‘I want you to know that I had absolutely nothing to do with the death of Richard Hardy. I liked that man. He was a good man, and I wouldn’t do anything to harm him.’

‘Hugh Francis?’ Fisher’s asking. A nod in response. ‘So you must be David Waters,’ he’s saying to Fizzy. He looks like he’s in his element. Arresting people. Arresting people who don’t know what they’re being arrested for. ‘Okay. Well, as it happens, I believe you. I’m not here to arrest you over Richard Hardy’s death. I’m sure we can talk about the documentation relating to your business that we found in his office, but that’s for a later date. I am arresting both of you in connection with the death of Glen Davidson. I’m also arresting you both for your involvement in the distribution of class-A drugs. I’m sure you don’t mind coming to the station to discuss this, do you?’

The cops are loving this, Shug can see. The joy of confusing your prey. Glen Davidson. Shit! He’d thought that was all in the past. Buried and forgotten. It’s not as though he killed Davidson. Or ordered his killing. He sent Davidson to do a job and the big lump fucked up. But he sent Davidson to kill a man. This is something he is guilty of. Suddenly he feels much more nervous. He was resigned to being charged over Richard Hardy. But he wasn’t scared of it, because he knows he’s innocent on that one. Not this one, though. Indisputably guilty of sending Davidson to kill Calum MacLean. That was an almighty cock-up from start to finish. Just didn’t realize that this was going to be the finish. He’s glancing round at Fizzy. Fizzy drove Davidson that night. Suddenly it looks worse for him. But there’s nothing he can say, because the uniformed cops are coming forward to cuff him.