by Alan Parks
Wattie nodded, made for the door and something resembling fresh air.
‘You think he’s in here somewhere?’ asked McCoy.
Murray shrugged. ‘Soon find out. Got half the polis that were out there crawling over this building.’ Looked disheartened. ‘If you ask me he’s gone.’ He nodded at the mess. ‘He’s made his point.’
‘Which is?’ asked McCoy.
‘Christ knows. A warning? Whatever he’s done, whatever he’s doing, it’s coming to an end.’
‘You reckon Elaine’s got something to do with the murders after all? Promised him something in return for getting rid of her fiancé and her dad?’
‘I didn’t, but now I’m no so sure. Is she really that manipulative? That cold-blooded?’
‘Would you be asking those questions if she was a man? You’d just assume she’d done it to take over.’
‘You’re probably right. Maybe we’ve all been taken in by her womanly charms, not seen what she really is.’
‘Mary at the Record’s convinced she’s got someone on the go. A boyfriend.’
‘Connolly?’ asked Murray.
McCoy shrugged. ‘Could be. Would make sense. Maybe she’s trying to welsh on the bargain now and he’s not having it.’ He nodded at the spray-painted message. ‘Would explain that if she was having—’
They turned as the door swung wide open again, banged against the tiled wall.
‘I was told you were in here. What on earth do you think you’re playing—’
Archie Lomax stopped, mouth open, staring at the blood and the message on the wall. He stepped back, colour draining from his face.
‘How did he get in here?’ asked Murray, looking at Thomson.
‘Don’t know, sir, doors are supposed to be—’
Didn’t get a chance to finish.
‘Well, get out there and make bloody sure they are!’
Thomson made himself scarce, pushed past the stunned Lomax on the way out.
‘What is this?’ asked Lomax. ‘What in God’s name’s going on?’
‘Connolly,’ said McCoy.
‘Anything you want to tell us, Mr Lomax?’ asked Murray.
‘Me? About what?’ he spluttered.
‘About your ex-client?’ ‘Elaine? What would she have to do with this?’ ‘A lot, maybe. You absolutely sure she has had nothing to do with what’s going on? Boyfriend out the way, father out the way. Even you out the way. She’s a very rich young woman all of a sudden. A rich young woman who has an empire to run.’
Lomax leant back against the tiled wall, held his hand up and was tidily sick on the floor. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, wiping his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. ‘Smell really is quite appalling.’ He dropped the handkerchief into a bin by the sinks. Evacuation completed, he was back in full lawyer mode.
‘What you’re trying to imply is nonsense. There’s no way Elaine would conspire with that lunatic to kill her father and fiancé. The whole idea is absurd.’
‘Is it?’ asked Murray. ‘You sure? She got rid of you without a blink. You sure she’s the nice wee girl you think she is?’
Lomax looked at them. He was thinking about it, maybe starting to doubt. Moment went.
‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘An ill-advised business decision to fire me hardly makes her a conspirator to murder. The other chap said something about moving to The Inn? Is that what I tell everyone?’
McCoy nodded and Lomax went to go.
‘Mr Lomax,’ said Murray. Lomax turned back. ‘If you’re right, and I hope you are, do one thing for me. For fuck sake get her to come into protective custody. Whatever her relationship with Connolly is, I think it’s broken down. He’s out of control. Way past the point of no return. I can’t protect her unless she comes in. You know that and I know that. Help us out here.’
Lomax nodded, stepped over the puddle of his own sick and left.
‘Twenty-eight polis I’ve got on overtime. Half of Central up here as well as the Lambhill boys and it’s all been a waste of fucking time, hasn’t it?’
‘Come on, Murray. What else could you do?’ asked McCoy.
‘I could catch the cunt, that’s what I could do. Do the job I’m supposed to.’ He buttoned up his coat. ‘C’mon, I need some fresh air.’
They stood outside on the pavement. Snow was going off. McCoy could still taste the blood at the back of his throat. He spat into the snow and lit up a cigarette. Murray was standing over by the side watching the last of the snow whirl round the lampposts on Balmore Road. McCoy handed him a whisky he’d got from Bobsy behind the bar. He took it, took a sip.
‘I think they’re gonnae take me off this tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Get some new blood in from Lothian. He’s killed three people already, including a cop, probably got more in his sights. It can’t go on.’
‘What’s the point of that?’ asked McCoy. ‘You know Glasgow better than anyone, you know him better than anyone—’
‘Aye, but I can’t fucking find him, can I? One man. One deranged lunatic on the loose in Glasgow, and with all the time and resources in the world I can’t get him.’
‘You will. We will.’
Murray half smiled. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Sure as sure. C’mon, let’s see how the purvey’s going.’
*
The Inn was a low modern building with a big orange plastic sign above the door in groovy modern type. Trouble was the sign was the only thing that was remotely groovy or modern about the place. It was a drinkers’ pub, not really for socialising, just for seeking a lonely oblivion. Probably the last place Elaine Scobie imagined seeing off her dad. Murray and McCoy had a drink in the bar, keeping an eye on the comings and goings in and out of the function suite, ignoring the dirty looks thrown at them. Was getting on, crowd was starting to thin out. Just the diehards left.
McCoy was just about to go to the bar again when Billy Weir emerged, looking for the toilets. He saw McCoy and nodded over to the other end of the bar.
McCoy waited until Murray wandered off to the toilets and went over. ‘You still here, Billy?’
Billy nodded, didn’t look too happy about it. ‘No my idea, I can tell you. It’s Cooper that wants to stay.’
‘Stevie? Why’s he so keen on being here?’
‘Think he just wants everyone to know he’s still in the game. Been glowering over at Scobie’s goons the whole time. I keep trying to get him to go home. The amount he’s drinking, this could end up nasty.’ Suddenly struck him. ‘Why don’t you go and have a word?’
‘Me?’
‘Aye, go on, Mr McCoy. You’re good with him when he gets like this.’
McCoy looked back at the toilets. ‘Need to be quick.’
The function suite was a long room with a stage at one end. Grimy red carpet, chairs and tables arranged in two lines, remnants of some Christmas tinsel hanging from the ceiling. What was left of the guests was scattered round the different tables, men with shirtsleeves rolled up, pints in their hands. Women were down to black dresses, fags and wee sherry glasses. Some sort of moany Irish ballad playing over the tannoy.
Cooper was standing with his back to the bar, pint in hand. His tie was undone, suit jacket gone, reddish watery stain on his shirt where the blood was seeping through his stitches. He looked drunk, the mean kind of drunk that always spelt trouble. Billy was right; his eyes were firmly fixed on the corner table where Scobie’s lieutenants had settled themselves. McCoy wasn’t looking forward to trying to get him out of there, not one bit. Still, he had to give it a try. Anything would be better than a free-for-all with a room full of tooled-up hard men.
McCoy was heading for him when Mary suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his way. She prodded him in the chest. ‘You, you lying bastard, are in deep trouble. Confirmation, my arse.’
‘Mary, lovely to see you. Looking for Wattie, are you?’
‘Very funny, McCoy. At least I’ve discovered one polis who isn’t a total arsehole.’
&nbs
p; ‘That right? Don’t speak too soon. Hasn’t told you he’s married, has he?’
She stopped. ‘Whit?’
McCoy grinned. ‘Come on, where’s your sense of humour, Mary?’
‘It’s where my boot’s going to be in a minute, right up your arse. You, arsehole, are going to tell me exactly what you know about a certain senior policeman’s death to make up for fucking me about. Right?’
Murray had reappeared. ‘Miss Webster.’
Mary smiled at him, all angelic. ‘Evening, Inspector Murray.’ Turned back to McCoy, prodded him again. ‘DO NOT MOVE. I’m not finished with you yet. I’m going to the bogs to see if her ladyship’s all right. She’s been in there so long I think she’s fallen down the bloody plughole.’
McCoy nodded, saluted. Mary muttered ‘prick’ under her breath and headed for the toilets.
‘Interesting young woman, that,’ said Murray.
‘That’s one word for her,’ said McCoy. ‘You want another pint?’
Murray nodded. ‘Why not?’
McCoy hadn’t even reached the bar when he heard his name being shouted. He turned; it seemed to be coming from behind the toilet door. He walked over, pushed it open.
Mary was standing there, looking distraught.
‘What? What is it?’
‘She’s no here,’ she said. ‘She’s gone.’
TWENTY-NINE
Murray was looking up at the ceiling of the ladies’ toilets. Two of the big white plasterboard tiles were gone, leaving a hole a couple of feet across.
‘Fuck sake!’ he shouted. Kicked in the bathroom door; it swung back, clattered against the wall. ‘We’re standing next bloody door! Twenty feet away and he’s got in here and taken her!’
‘Sir, we couldn’t—’
‘Couldn’t what? Organise a fucking piss-up in a brewery? Jesus Christ!’ He turned to McCoy. ‘I tell you what, if I wasn’t off the case before, I sure as hell am now. And do you know what? I don’t bloody blame them. What a fucking fiasco.’
‘There’s a search going on outside—’
‘What, after the barn door’s bloody shut?’
McCoy was going to say something else, thought better of it, decided to just let the storm blow itself out.
‘How the fuck am I supposed to explain this away?’
McCoy didn’t say anything. What was the point? Murray was right. It was a fucking fiasco.
‘So he was up there all the time?’ Murray asked.
‘That’s the theory,’ said McCoy. ‘Sat up there until she came in alone, dropped down, somehow managed to get a hold of her, and took her back up into the loft, out the skylight and away. She can’t weigh more than seven stone or so, she’s tiny.’
‘What is he? The bloody Scarlet Pimpernel?’
McCoy looked up again. ‘Nope. But he’s a mad enough bastard to do it, wait up there for hours.’
Murray shook his head. ‘So that’s what all that blood was for up at Mallon’s? To get her down here while we searched up there.’
McCoy nodded. ‘Looks like it, and we fell for it hook, line and sinker. Oldest trick in the book.’
‘How’d he get back up?’ asked Murray.
McCoy pointed over at the row of sinks. ‘Just stand on there, then pull yourself up. Not that difficult.’
‘Not that easy with a struggling woman, though,’ said Murray.
‘Maybe she wasn’t struggling much,’ said McCoy. ‘Not enough time for his usual Mandrax trick though. Must have had a knife, a gun maybe.’
‘Poor cow,’ said Murray.
‘Or maybe she waited until everyone else had gone back into the hall and tapped on the ceiling, let him know she was here.’
‘You really think they’re in this together?’
‘Makes sense.’
Murray looked up at the hole in the ceiling again. ‘Why wouldn’t she just meet up with him later?’ he asked. ‘Why go to all this trouble?’
‘She’s not stupid, Elaine. Even if she is involved, there’s no way she’d want anyone to know it. Wants people to think she’s the helpless victim in all this. She’s got Connolly wrapped around her finger, nothing he wouldn’t agree to, not with—’
The toilet doors burst open. They turned to see Stevie Cooper standing there. He was swaying, tie undone, face flushed, but he looked serious, deadly serious.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said, pointing at McCoy. ‘Now.’
Murray looked furious. ‘This is a bloody crime scene, Cooper! Get the fuck out my sight before I take you in for obstruction. You hear me?’
Cooper didn’t even flinch, just kept his eyes on McCoy. ‘Now,’ he repeated.
Murray went to go for him and McCoy put his hand out, held him back.
‘I’ll be two minutes, sir. Easiest way.’
He pushed Cooper out the door, left before Murray could say anything. Cooper marched across the dancefloor, out the back doors and into the car park. Stood there waiting for McCoy to catch up.
‘You trying to get me fired?’ hissed McCoy. ‘Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?’
‘He’s got her,’ he said.
‘Aye, think we’d gathered that,’ said McCoy. ‘What’s the big deal?’
‘You need to find her before he kills her,’ he said. ‘You need to find her.’
McCoy looked at him. Hadn’t seen fear in Cooper’s eyes very often but he was seeing it now. And then it struck him. How wrong he’d been.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ he said.
Cooper looked at him, realised he’d given himself away.
‘You’re the one she’s been having wee chats on the phone with, the one she’s been getting dressed up—’
‘Just fucking find her, McCoy!’
‘So when did all this start? Before or after her fiancé got his cock stuck in his mouth?’
Cooper moved so quickly McCoy didn’t have a chance to react. Next thing he knew he was lying on his back in the snow, Cooper’s knees on his shoulders, his hands at his neck. Cooper bent his face down into McCoy’s, spat the words out. ‘Just fucking find her. Right?’
McCoy could smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath. See the panic in his eyes. ‘Get off me,’ he said.
Cooper eased his grip, stood up and walked away.
McCoy lay there watching him go, watched him walk out the car park and into a waiting car, Billy at the wheel. Lay there wondering why he could have been so stupid not to have guessed before. Lay there thinking back. How Cooper’d known about her dad having cancer, how he’d known Connolly was obsessed with her. Everybody knows, he’d said. Maybe they did and maybe it was just him and he’d missed it. Just back from his three weeks, head all up his arse, thinking it was all about him.
Changes were coming, Cooper had said. Big changes. He wasn’t joking. Stevie Cooper and Elaine Scobie were going to take over the Northside. All she had to do was survive long enough to do it.
THIRTY
The shop was chaos. Too many people crammed into too small a space. Extra desks along the walls, new phone extensions. McCoy couldn’t think with all the noise and the orders being shouted. Extra lads from Eastern weren’t helping his mood either. All of them acting like the cavalry come to save the day. He needed some peace, some space to try and work out what was going on. He took his coat from the back of the chair, told Wattie he was going out to buy some fags and left.
He hated the Eskimo but it was the nearest pub so he headed there. Still couldn’t get his head round Cooper and Elaine. Wondered if it was just a business arrangement, whether they were really seeing each other. Whatever it was, it made sense for both of them. Two of them together were a force to be reckoned with. Her dad’s money and clout and his young Springburn lads were enough to challenge anyone. No wonder her dad’s boys had tried to warn him off. Must have rumbled what was happening and tried to stop it before it was too late.
He pushed the door of the Eskimo open and walked into the warm and smoky fug. He got a
pint, sat down at a wee table and got his fags and his red jotter out. Cursed when he realised he’d forgotten his pen.
Where would Connolly take Elaine? If he’d found out about her and Cooper she would be in real trouble, no matter how much she believed Connolly wouldn’t hurt her. Connolly wasn’t going to be happy if he’d killed one boyfriend for her and she’d gone and got another one, one that wasn’t him. He would need somewhere quiet, somewhere he wasn’t going to be disturbed. Maybe that was the idea, maybe he was just going to keep her like some kind of pet. Store her away where no one else could get her but him. Whatever he was going to do, it didn’t look good for Elaine.
He took a draught of his pint, opened the jotter, flicked through. All that was in there was a list of names and times and dates, no great inspiration there. The pamphlet from Dr Abrahams fell out onto the beaten copper table, corner into the puddle from his pint. He picked it up, wiped it on his coat, stuck it back in the jotter with the picture of Uncle Kenny from the paper that had been in Brady’s wallet.
The pub door opened. He felt a blast of cold air and looked up. Mary was coming towards him, still dressed in her funeral best.
‘Wattie said you might be in here,’ she said, sitting down. She looked around. ‘Should have known it would be a dump.’
McCoy could hardly disagree. The only other people in there were three old men who were making their pints last the night and a middle-aged woman who seemed to be having an in-depth conversation with herself.
‘Look, Mary,’ he said. ‘If this is about exclusives or what happened to Burgess can we do it another time?’
‘It’s not, luckily for you. It’s about Elaine.’
He got her a gin and tonic and himself another pint, sat back down at the table.
‘Did you always know who it was?’ he asked.
She took a sip, shook her head. ‘Not at first. Then I saw him dropping her off one night. Knew I recognised him from somewhere. Looked up the photo files at the paper and there he was. One Steven Patrick Cooper, rising star of Glasgow’s bad boys.’
‘When did it start?’ asked McCoy.
’Not sure. Think it was before Charlie got himself killed. No real reason to think that, just the way she talks sometimes. Makes me think not everything in the garden was rosy with her and him before he died.’ She looked at him. ‘You know him, don’t you? This Stevie Cooper?’
