No Man's Land

by Neil Broadfoot

  And then there was the head. The spike squealing in the breeze.

  He had to know. ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘A picture, something, anything that confirms a link between Billy Griffin and Matt Evans. I think they were connected, using each other’s homes to store clothing and other items.’

  Ford clamped the phone tighter to his ear, as if he could use it to calm the hurricane of thoughts whirling through his mind. ‘How the hell did you come to that conclusion?’

  A pause, the deep snarl of an engine as Fraser downshifted. The murmur of another voice, unintelligible. Then Fraser again: ‘Because I just found Matt Evans’s security pass for Valley FM at a flat being used by Billy Griffin. I also found clothes that looked like they’d fit both men, along with tagged albums that I’m assuming came from Valley FM’s collection. There are signs that the door to the flat was tampered with, and there’s an indication that a picture is missing from the wall of the living room. My guess is it’s a picture of Evans and Griffin together, and whoever broke in was looking for it, to ensure we didn’t make a connection between the two men.’

  We? Ford pushed the thought aside. He had more immediate problems. ‘You’re telling me you found Billy Griffin’s residence? Christ, Fraser! We’ve been looking for that place for three days! And now you’re telling me you lifted evidence from the scene! Fuck’s sake, do you realize what that means? Look, this has to end now. It was a mistake from the start. Meet me at Randolphfield. I’ll take your statement there and we can figure this out. I can’t promise you that I can—’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Connor said. ‘I don’t have time for pointless questions, and I don’t think you do either. Please, I’m going to follow up another lead now. Just check the inventory for Evans’s flat and get back to me.’

  Ford heard his teeth grind, felt his jaw ache. He never should have let Doyle talk him into this. Having a civilian running around, poking his nose into an active investigation, an investigation government ministers were taking a close interest in, was wrong on every level.

  But . . .

  He looked at the door to the living room, where Mary slept on the couch. Remembered her words from earlier. Who was that man? A colleague? I hope so.

  Fuck it.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Give me an hour. But then you come in, Fraser, and give me a statement on this. My arse is far enough out on a limb with this as it is, I don’t need you sawing the branch off under me.’

  ‘One hour. Understood. And thank you.’ Connor killed the call, leaving the line as empty as the promise he had just made.

  CHAPTER 63

  Connor had called Donna before Ford, was driving to her place while he spoke with the detective. He hadn’t bothered to listen to the voicemail he saw she had left him.

  It turned out to be a mistake.

  ‘You took your fucking time getting back to me,’ she’d hissed. ‘What part of the word urgent don’t you understand?’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve been busy,’ Connor said, rolling his eyes at Simon, who was giving him a quizzical look. ‘Listen, Ms Blake, I need to speak to you about Matt Evans, ask you a few questions. I was—’

  She cut him off with a barked laugh. ‘Funny, that’s what I need to talk to you about. One of the things, anyway. Can you come here, to my place?’

  Connor paused, the statement surprising him. Earlier in the day, she had kept a can of pepper spray trained on him as he gave her a lift across town. Now she was offering him her home address, no questions asked. What had changed?

  ‘As long as you don’t mind me bringing someone with me,’ he said, trying to buy himself a moment to think.

  ‘Fine.’ She had given him the address, which the satnav showed to be on the road out to Cambusbarron.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, slipping the Audi into gear.

  ‘This isn’t exactly how I saw tonight panning out,’ Simon said, eyes on the road.

  And how did you plan on it going? Connor had wondered, with only the slightest pang of guilt.

  Ten minutes later, after he’d spoken to Ford, Connor pulled up outside Donna Blake’s place, a three-storey block of flats so new Connor could have sworn the smell of fresh paint still hung in the air. She hadn’t been there long.

  He peered over the steering wheel to the top floor, saw a soft light on in what he figured was the living room. Pulled out his phone and texted her that they had arrived. It had been a slightly odd request, which rang a vague alarm bell in the back of Connor’s mind. Why didn’t she want him buzzing the intercom? It wasn’t to stop him waking a partner – that would happen the moment he stepped into the flat. Did she have a dog that would bark and disturb the neighbours? Or was she using the text to prepare someone else for their arrival?

  Only one way to find out. And, besides, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

  The response was almost immediate: Come on up, I’ve buzzed the door.

  ‘Well, then,’ he said to Simon, ‘let’s not keep the lady waiting.’

  The door was open, as promised, and they made their way up the stairs, Connor letting Simon go first, just in case. When they reached the top-floor landing, Donna was waiting for them, silhouetted in the crack of an open door.

  Connor saw her tense when she spotted Simon and stepped forward with what he hoped was a disarming smile. ‘Ms Blake, this is Simon McCartney, an old, ah, friend of mine,’ he said. ‘Simon, this is Donna Blake of Sky News and Valley FM.’

  He saw Donna blush at that, pleasure sparking in her eyes.

  ‘Good to meet ye,’ Simon said. ‘Sorry about the circumstances, but yer man here is the world’s biggest shite magnet.’

  Donna smiled, an expression that seemed unfamiliar to her, and again Connor wondered what drove her. She was determined, defiant, fearless. And now, here she was, ready to invite two men she barely knew into her home.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘But, please, keep quiet. My . . .’ she looked up, her eyes filled with challenge as she found Connor’s gaze and held it ‘. . . my son is asleep and I don’t want to wake him.’

  Things fell into place with an almost audible click. It explained a lot.

  She led them down a short corridor into a small, neat living room. Connor noticed she had arranged a bottle of wine and three glasses on the table. Saw from the smear on one of the glasses and the slight blackening at the corners of her mouth that she had already had some, then wiped the glass clean in a hurry. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’ she asked, gesturing them to sit.

  Simon eased himself into the couch. ‘That would be grand,’ he said.

  ‘Not for me,’ Connor said. ‘Driving. But thank you.’

  She poured a glass for Simon, then splashed a small amount of wine into her own. She almost succeeded in hiding the tremor in her hand, but Connor spotted it in the pitter-patter of the wine as the bottle danced gently in her grip.

  ‘So, you wanted to ask me about Matt?’ she said, sitting back.

  ‘Yes, in a moment, but can I ask why you were so desperate to see me, Ms Blake? And what it is that’s got you so rattled this evening.’

  She looked up at him, something he couldn’t place darting across her eyes. Then she looked into the wine glass. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost atonal. It reminded Connor of the tone Simon used with suspects. No emotion. All business.

  ‘I got a call earlier, telling me that, ah . . .’ she looked deeper into the wine glass ‘. . . a colleague has gone missing. He was at the press conference earlier, hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘And why would that trouble you?’ Connor said.

  She looked at him as though he were a child who had just asked why water was wet and the sky was blue. ‘With everything that’s happened over the last few days, you don’t think I should be worried when someone goes missing? Shit, where have you been?’ She took a sip from the glass. ‘Sorry, it’s just the whole Matt thing. Mark, ah, my colleague, was at the police press conference earlier. I confronte
d him about feeding soft questions to the minister, to make sure the story stayed away from Ferguson’s links to Helen Russell.’

  ‘And what did Mark have to say for himself?’ Simon asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

  ‘Not a lot,’ Donna said. ‘Just a sob story about trying to get a job, the usual crap.’

  ‘That can’t be the only reason you wanted to see me, Ms Blake,’ Connor said. ‘You could have told me that over the phone. There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  She chewed her lip, jaw setting as she made a decision. ‘I know who the first victim was,’ she said. ‘And I told Mark. I worked a story back in Glasgow about him – you might know the name. Billy Griffin? The kid who was photographed burning a Yes flag in George Square after the referendum in 2014.’

  Connor stiffened, exchanged a look with Simon.

  ‘What?’ Donna asked, eyes darting between the two men as the air in the room thickened.

  ‘Billy Griffin,’ Connor said. ‘We’ve come across that name ourselves. Did Matt Evans ever mention him?’

  Confusion dug furrows into Donna’s brow. ‘No. Why would he? What would Matt have to do with . . .’

  Connor held up his hand. ‘I’ll get to that. But tell me more about your friend. You’re worried because he’s disappeared, so worried that you wanted to see me, here, tonight. Why? For reassurance? Protection?’

  Donna’s cheeks reddened, her face hardening with defiance. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You said it yourself, Mr Fraser, you’re in the protection game. I saw what happened to Matt Evans first-hand, then I told Mark about Billy Griffin and suddenly he’s off the radar. So, yeah, I’m alone here with my son, and there’s a nut job out there who thinks nothing of hacking people’s heads off and leaving them lying around like trophies. I panicked, okay?’

  Simon spoke before Connor could reply, his voice soft and soothing, honed from years of talking to victims of crime and their families. ‘Ms Blake, no one is blaming you for wanting to protect yourself and your son, especially after what you’ve seen. But Connor is right. We believe there’s a link between Billy Griffin and Matt Evans. You worked with Matt, so if there’s anything you can tell us, anything at all . . .’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t really know him,’ she said. ‘We worked together, but he kept himself to himself, was a bit of a dick, to be honest. And he never mentioned anyone he knew, let alone Billy Griffin. Why would he know him anyway?’

  Connor was about to speak when his phone buzzed. He flashed an apologetic smile at her, then turned away and answered it. ‘DCI Ford. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.’

  ‘You were right,’ Ford said. ‘Inventory shows two different sizes of clothes in Evans’s flat. Officers also found two different brands of deodorant and two toothbrushes in the bathroom.’

  ‘Anything that definitively links Evans to Griffin?’

  ‘Not explicitly. We can use the toothbrush, see if we get a DNA match, and print the flat. But there’s no picture, nothing that shows them together.’

  Connor bared his teeth, worried at his thumbnail as he thought. Damn. He had hoped . . . The idea came to him suddenly, the thought of the ID flashing across his mind. ‘And nothing in the inventory from his office either?’

  Ford muttered something Connor thought questioned his parentage. ‘Not been searched yet,’ he said. ‘Whole office was sealed as a crime scene, but the interior’s not been looked at as the body was outside and we’ve only so many bodies on hand.’

  Connor winced at the poor choice of words, decided not to needle Ford with it. ‘Thank you, Detective. That’s useful to know.’

  ‘Your turn, Fraser,’ Ford said. ‘You found anything from that lead you were chasing?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ Connor admitted. ‘But I promise I’ll call you the moment I have anything.’

  ‘Good. You can come to the station, tell me all about it on the record.’

  ‘Look forward to it,’ Connor said, cutting the line.

  ‘Ford?’ Simon asked, as he turned back to them.

  ‘Yeah,’ Connor replied. ‘Suggestive evidence at Evans’s place linking him to Griffin, but nothing definitive yet. Which leaves only one option.’

  Simon nodded, eyes sliding to Donna.

  ‘What?’ Donna asked, sensing the unspoken conversation between the two men.

  Connor hunkered down beside her, making sure he was at eye level. ‘Ms Blake, Donna. I need a favour. I promise I’ll protect you and your son, but you have to do something for me in return.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ she asked, tensing in her chair, voice frosted with suspicion.

  ‘Can I borrow the keys to your office?’

  CHAPTER 64

  With her early shift in the morning, Jen hadn’t been keen on helping Connor. But he had persisted, the vague guilt he felt at laying on the charm and promising her whatever she wanted in return for helping him only slightly ameliorated by the realization that he meant to honour his promise.

  She arrived twenty minutes later, Simon letting her into the flat. She had changed out of the tight-fitting jeans and T-shirt she had been wearing in the pub earlier, opting for a pair of joggers and a sweat shirt. Connor couldn’t help but notice she looked all the better for it.

  ‘Jen, thanks for coming,’ he said, as he led her into the living room of Donna’s flat. ‘This is Donna Blake, who I told you about on the phone.’

  Jen extended a hand, Donna taking it. They were about the same height, but it was like looking at a flipped image. Where Jen was fair, Donna was dark. Jen’s skin seemed to glow with health, her eyes bright and clear, while Donna’s complexion was pale, her skin taut, eyes surrounded by dark shadows of exhaustion and glittering with a keen awareness fuelled by a mixture of adrenalin and fear.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Donna said, cracking what was almost a genuine smile, warmth guttering through the façade. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘No problem,’ Jen said. ‘Just means this one will owe me. Again.’

  Connor squirmed as both women turned to him. ‘Right, as I said, Jen’s going to keep you and you son company while we’re away. You’ll be perfectly safe, but if there are any problems, just call my mobile.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Donna said, her eyes telling Connor she wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Right,’ Connor said, nodding to Simon as he bounced the keys Donna had given him. ‘Let’s go. You remember that alarm code?’

  Simon sighed. ‘Seven four three five nine four,’ he said. ‘You happy now? C’mon, let’s get going.’

  Out in the cool night, the smell of rain in the air, Connor glanced around, saw what he was looking for and threw the car keys to Simon. ‘Go on, I’ll be there in a second.’

  He watched as Simon walked to the car and plipped the alarm, then took a straight path to the Mercedes parked at the end of the street, doing nothing to mask his approach.

  He wanted to be seen.

  The driver’s-side door opened as he closed in on the car, the interior light bouncing off Paulie’s shaven head. Connor held up his hands as Paulie unfolded himself from the car, careful to keep his bandaged hand against his chest. Connor thought about that. Why would MacKenzie trust his daughter’s safety to an injured man – a man who had failed once already? Smiled. Obvious, really.

  ‘What the fuck you playing at, Fraser, dragging her all the way across town just to see you?’

  ‘Not here to fight, Paulie,’ Connor said. ‘Look, I know I already owe you, but I need a favour. I have to run an errand, and I need you to keep an eye on that flat,’ he turned and gestured to Donna Blake’s window, ‘while I’m gone. Jen’s in there with someone, and I need you to make sure they’re safe until I get back.’

  Paulie pulled back his lips in a snarl, revealing teeth that weren’t over-familiar with a brush. ‘What the fuck? You think I’m babysitting for you? Fuck off. All I care about is Jennifer.’

  ‘I know that,’ Connor said, holding Paulie’s gaze.
‘And why shouldn’t you? She told me you’ve been around since she was a kid. It’s obvious you care about her – why else would you be here on your own time?’

  ‘What the . . .?’

  ‘Come on, Paulie, I don’t have time for bullshit. You’re hurt. You’ve let your boss down once already, yet here you are, driving around with a busted hand, still keeping an eye on Jen. Must hurt like a bastard, even with an automatic like that. You wouldn’t be doing that unless you cared for her. So I’m asking you, please, do this for me. Keep her safe until I get back.’

  Connor saw the hatred in Paulie’s eyes flicker. It was only for a second but, in that moment, he knew the man would do what he asked. Not for him. For Jen.

  ‘And why the fuck should I do anything for you?’ he said.

  Connor stepped closer, moving to Paulie’s left, making sure he was out of Simon’s eyeline as he reached behind his back.

  ‘Because I’m trusting you,’ he said. ‘And because I’m giving you this to make sure you get the job done.’

  Paulie looked down, eyes widening as he saw the holstered Glock Connor was holding tight to his chest. ‘What the fuck are you . . .’

  ‘Just take it. I don’t think anything’s going to kick off here, but if it does, this’ll even the playing field with your hand being fucked. It’s chambered. Just flick the safety, point and shoot. Okay?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you, Fraser?’ Paulie asked, even as he reached for the gun.

  Connor kept his gaze level, hoping none of the panic he felt at handing over the weapon had bled into his eyes. ‘Someone like you,’ he said. ‘Someone who wants to keep Jen safe.’ He reached into his other pocket, produced a business card. ‘If everything goes to plan, I’ll be back in less than an hour. But if anything happens, or you see something you don’t like, call me.’

  Paulie took the card, his eyes moving between it, the gun and Connor, as though they were parts of an equation he couldn’t figure out. ‘Okay,’ he said finally.

  Connor nodded and turned away, keeping himself between Paulie and the Audi, not wanting Simon to know he had just given away his gun. He kept his pace slow and casual, fought the almost irresistible urge to run, duck, get out of the line of sight of Paulie and the gun. He thought he could feel it trained on him, the barrel poking into his back as he walked.