“One more time, Hamish, you disgusting, sad, piece of humanity. One more time.” Stewart slowed his speech down, enunciating carefully. “What did you call me?”
There was less than ten centimetres between their eyes.
“I … I called you … I … I …”
Stewart waited, patiently. He’d never been in this position before, but something in his Glasgow DNA told him how this game was played. Either the other one maintained the insult, in which case it would be time to break out the duelling pistols. Or in this case, for Stewart to hit Hamish as hard as he could in the stomach. Or …
“Nothing. I didn’t call you anything.” Hamish spoke, his breathing coming in short, wild gasps.
Stewart relaxed his grip, a happy smile appearing on his face. He let him go, and then straightened Hamish’s lapels where he’d mangled them.
“No. No, I didn’t think so.” As Hamish relaxed, Stewart leaned in, his forehead gently touching Hamish’s forehead, his lips twisting downwards. “Now, you pathetic little arse-kissing brown-noser, if I ever hear you talk about Beth, or any woman, that way again, I’ll end you. I will bloody end you. You understand me?”
Hamish’s eyes opened wide again before he slowly began sliding away from him, along the wall, nodding. Stewart smiled again, the psycho smile, before he turned and walked back to his seat, his back to Hamish. He slid back into his seat, and picked up Michelle’s draft again.
“How dare you, Scott, you …” Hamish began, from the other side of the room.
Stewart shot up out of his chair, and began to stride determinedly over towards Hamish, but he needn’t have bothered. Before he’d managed two steps, Hamish had disappeared out through the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Stewart stood in the middle of the room and looked at the door for a second, taking a deep breath in and out. The metaphorical spilling of blood over, the enemy vanquished, Stewart took a second deep breath, blowing his cheeks out as he exhaled.
He looked around the room. Michelle and Jennifer were both staring at him, frozen.
Shite.
“Eh … sorry about that. Just, eh, yeah … You know, sometimes …” he gestured with his arms in the vague direction of the door. “Eh …” He lapsed into silence.
Michelle and Jennifer remained rooted to their seats.
“Eh … Eh, yeah. Aye.” Stewart nodded a couple of times, tried a smile that ended up as a grimace, and turned back to his desk.
He collapsed into the seat. So much for not being a Glasgow psycho. When push came to shove, that was exactly what he’d turned out to be. And now Jennifer and Michelle thought they shared an office with a bloodthirsty lunatic.
Just brilliant, Scott. Just bloody perfect. You absolute muppet.
His head was already down, but it bowed further under the deluge of self-flagellating thoughts. He grabbed the top of his head with both hands.
He heard a cough. He looked up, undoing his hands and lifting his head, to see Jennifer and Michelle standing in front of him. Jennifer put a hot cup of tea down in front of him.
Both their gazes were fixed on him, their faces set in a scowl.
“Eh, thanks?” Stewart said, looking at the tea.
“What was he saying about women?” Michelle’s tone was as set as her face, like concrete.
“Who? Hamish? Oh, eh, last night, the group of guys, Sudgeon, Green and, eh, well, you know, you were there. Hamish was boasting to that lot about sleeping with women. You know the kind of crap. This position, shouting my name, up all night, exhausted, et cetera.”
“And who’s Beth?”
“My flatmate. Works over at the Scottish Government.” He paused, the anger stopping him saying more, but only a second. “Eh, a really nice person. I’ve no idea how she ended up with a toe-rag like Hamish. But yeah, she’s cool. You’d both like her, I’m sure.”
They nodded, before they turned back to their desks.
Stewart picked up the tea and smelled it. Lovely. Some kind of fruity thing. He took a sip. Bit hot, but in a minute or two, it would be ideal.
He looked at Michelle and Jennifer, both of them bent back to work, and felt the small shoot of guilt grow in his mind.
He knew.
He knew he was angry that Beth, specifically, had slept with Hamish, specifically. If Hamish had been boasting about some unknown girl, Stewart would probably have just listened, maybe thrown in a cheeky wee yawn, and then diplomatically left the group as soon as possible. And if Beth slept with some random guy, well, yes, it got to him, but nowhere near like last night.
Stewart’s work phone began to ring.
He looked down at the name, then up at Michelle and Jennifer. Stewart smiled, but it was shot through with unpleasantness. “Sudgeon.”
“Didn’t take Hamish long,” Jennifer said grimly.
Stewart nodded slowly at her, then turned to look at the phone, the name there, just like two days ago when he’d been summoned to begin work with Dakar. Except there was no promise now. Just fear.
He had to answer. And he’d have to keep playing the hard man. No story ever ended with the hero apologising to the bad guy and begging to keep his job after beating up his henchman.
Stewart took a deep breath and picked up the phone, but before he could say anything, Sudgeon’s flat voice came down the line. “My office. Now.”
The line went dead.
Stewart held the phone for a second longer, then put it back down again. His hand was trembling.
He stood up, putting his hands on the desk in front of him to help support his weight, the fingers quivering as he leaned down on them. “I’ve been summoned.” He tried to think of a joke, but nothing came. He tried to flick a smile, a shaft of light to break the gloom, but nothing happened, his muscles unresponsive.
“Good luck,” said Jennifer, her tone intense. Michelle tried to give him a smile, but it ended up more as a frown, her mind unable to disassociate from the reason for the summons.
Stewart walked to the mirror and checked his tie. His hands fell uselessly to his side after a moment. You might care about how you looked when you faced the firing squad, but the firing squad didn’t give a toss what you looked like.
Chapter 44
Stewart trudged to Sudgeon’s office, head down. The rich colours of the carpet and walls seemed dull to him now, the thickness of the carpet sucking more and more of his energy away. He felt a vibration in his pocket, and pulled out his phone. A text from Dakar: ‘Good morning, my brother. Can you meet me downstairs in your office at twenty past nine?’
Stewart stopped, and re-read the message. Then re-read it again. Then a third time through. He put his phone away, and continued to Sudgeon’s office, his trudge becoming a walk, his head back up. Then he stopped after a few paces and pulled his phone out again. He read the message for a fourth time.
He opened a search engine, and searched for Daniel Mannings. There was a story there on some random news website he’d never heard of, posted that morning by a ‘staffer’, that the police were making progress in the hunt for the killer, and planned to arrest someone soon. It promised more details as soon as they became available.
He put the phone away again, and walked slowly on to Sudgeon’s office, stopping outside the door. He pulled his phone out again to read the message. Fifth time. He checked his watch. It was a ten past nine.
He took a deep breath, and read the message from Dakar one last time. He breathed out slowly. Then eventually he began typing: ‘Been summoned by Sudgeon. Just going in now. Will let you know when I am free.’
He put his phone on silent and put it back in his pocket. Then he took one final deep breath, exhaled, and turned to Sudgeon’s door.
He knocked and after a short, sharp ‘Come!’, walked inside. Sudgeon sat at his table, Green to his right. Hamish sat across from them, a gloating smile on his face as he looked over his shoulder at Stewart. Stewart looked back at Hamish stonily.
Bloody wee toerag.
“Sit down, Stewart.” Sudgeon.
Stewart came and sat down, next to Hamish but as far away from him as possible.
Sudgeon leaned forward. His normal faux-cheery expression had been replaced by a stony one of his own. Stewart found himself wondering if the latter was as fake as the former.
“Stewart, Hamish informed us of your conduct this morning. I want to say to you that threatening or belittling one of your colleagues is absolutely unacceptable.” Sudgeon flicked a few pieces of lint off the shoulder of his suit.
“Unacceptable,” Green repeated. He was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him but down in his lap. He didn’t bother looking at Stewart when he spoke.
“We are, in particular, concerned about the physical manhandling. That is entirely intolerable and cannot be repeated.” Sudgeon spoke in a dull monotone, still inspecting the shoulder of his suit.
“Cannot be repeated,” Green said, in the same diffident tone, looking up at the ceiling.
“Do you understand me?” Sudgeon again, his eyes back on Stewart now. But there was no intensity there, no effort at intimidation.
Stewart eyebrows knotted together as his eyes went between Sudgeon and Green. He nodded once, carefully, waiting for the trap to be sprung.
“Good. Hamish, that is all. You may go. Stewart, we want to speak to you further.”
Stewart stayed seated while Hamish slowly stood, his gloating vanished, leaving wide eyes and an open mouth. He stood stock still for a second, then turned away from the desk.
“Hamish?” Sudgeon called.
Hamish turned around just a bit too quickly, breathing a little ragged, betraying his hope that something may yet happen. Stewart felt the adrenaline spike through him, his muscles tensing as he waited for what Sudgeon was going to say.
“Make sure you close the door firmly, there’s a good chap.” Sudgeon smiled at him then, a Judas smile.
Once the door was closed, extremely firmly, Sudgeon leaned in. There was a gleam in his eye. “Stewart, to express your feelings in the way you did is absolutely unacceptable. What is absolutely acceptable, and indeed encouraged, is the fire in the belly!”
Green leaned in as well now, head low, his eyes brightening. “It’s what we’ve been missing from you. A bit of fight. A bit of stepping up to the plate and swinging hard, even if you miss.”
Stewart nodded, slowly, trying to keep his face blank as his mind raced to catch up with just what the hell was happening. Stepping towards a plate and swinging. Didn’t the Greeks use to smash plates after dinner?
“Hamish will do well here. You, on the other hand, always seemed a bit uncertain to us, like you never believed in yourself. But now, we see the fire! And we like it.” Sudgeon’s words were still somehow booming, even in a low voice.
Stewart nodded once again. He just about managed to keep his stony expression on.
“So, no more grabbing people, throwing them against the wall, or calling them …” Sudgeon looked down at a piece of paper in front of him, “… a ‘pathetic little arse-kissing brown-noser’. At least not when they can hear you. Understood?” He gave Stewart a wink.
Stewart nodded again. It seemed like the only thing to do. Sudgeon sat back in his chair, apparently satisfied.
“How’s the investigation with Dakar going? I won’t lie to you, Stewart. He asked for you after he turned down Hamish. But that kind of work won’t advance your reputation with the firm one iota. If you want to get a job here next year, it may be wise to ensure that the work with Dakar is completed as soon as possible. Get back to the real nuts and bolts. Start billing again. I’ll give you the Raker file back, and we’ll get you into some even better files after that.”
Stewart hesitated. Dakar’s words and face loomed up in his mind, next to the text message that morning, all mixed together to make no sense whatsoever.
“It’s fine, Mr Sudgeon. We’ll finish today.”
“Very well. But then you come back and start directing all that energy where it should be directed. Working for us.”
Stewart nodded again, vigorously, and tried to replicate the look on Sudgeon’s face. He had no idea if he succeeded, but Sudgeon and Green – and Green! – both smiled at him.
So miracles did happen.
“Capital! Let me know when you’re finished with Dakar. I have a meeting on a new case for the firm at twelve, and I need someone to take minutes. If you can be here for that, you’ll be the man for the job. And that would simply be the start of it. Thereafter we’ll get you something meatier to get your teeth into. See what you’re made of.”
“Yes, Mr Sudgeon. You’ll be the first to know.” He stood and walked out of the room, feeling the stares of Green and Sudgeon on his back until he closed the door. His hands were trembling. He clenched them into fists, but they wouldn’t stop shaking. Glaring at them, he headed back to the office.
Christ, who knew assaulting someone could be a career boost? Maybe he should murder someone? They’d give him a job for life … Murder!
He hurriedly pulled out his phone. A text, from Dakar: ‘No problem, my brother. I am downstairs, whenever you are ready.’
Stewart stopped, again standing in the corridor, just looking at his phone, wavering in front of his face. He used his other hand to grab his wrist, trying to steady it. It was nine twenty-five. The morning had barely started, and he’d already faced down Hamish and confronted Green and Sudgeon. Next up was Dakar.
He put his other hand up to his temple and wiped down over his eyes, looking down, away, around, anywhere. Eventually he looked back at the phone: ‘Am free now. Will grab stuff, and head down. Be there shortly.’
He put his phone away again and walked back to his office, unheeding of those he passed. Michelle and Jennifer were still there, with Hamish now at his desk. Stewart felt the tension in the room as he came in.
He slowed his pace as he walked deliberately across to his desk. He nodded once at Jennifer and Michelle, reassurance that everything was okay. Once he reached his desk, he turned and looked at Hamish. He stared at him for a second, Hamish looking defiantly back. Then Stewart reached up one hand with two fingers raised, one finger pointing at either eye, then he turned and pointed the two fingers directly at Hamish.
I’m watching you, pal.
“Not nice when your haunders don’t back you up, is it? When the big boys don’t do your dirty work for you?”
Hamish’s face became red, and his expression seemed to freeze on his face.
Stewart picked up his suit jacket, and walked back across the room, ignoring Hamish. He grabbed his long coat, scarf and his satchel before he turned to Michelle and Jennifer. With a flourish, he let the satchel fall into the correct position, down by one side.
“I’m heading out to work with Dakar again. Maybe see you later. Have a good one.”
Michelle nodded at him, and Jennifer even gave him a little wave which he returned. Stewart didn’t bother looking at Hamish as he walked out of the office, and took the lift to the ground floor.
Stewart took another deep breath as he walked around to the front lobby, still trying to stop the trembling in his hands. There was Dakar, resplendent in his grey checked trousers, brown loafers, white coat and bunnet.
Stewart could instantly perceive the difference though, in spite of the man wearing identical clothing to the night before. He had his calmness back though, somehow, a little island of simplicity in the middle of a sea of people coming in and out of the office, talking on phones, rushing around.
Dakar looked at him, pulled the hand-on-heart thing, with the little inclination of the head. Stewart stopped when they were a metre apart.
“My brother, I am full of sorrow at how I acted last night. I can only hope that you can forgive me.”
Stewart hesitated, then shrugged. “Aye. Aye, of course.” He muttered the words, but gave a nod.
Pause. “I gave into my fear, my brother. I gave into my fear, and became angry, and unleashed that u
pon you. I am sorry. We often treat those close to us in the worst way, my brother, but that was not what I intended.”
Stewart looked back at him. “Don’t worry about it.”
Pause. “Do you remember, yesterday, just after we saw Sarah-Anne arguing with Jane in Glasgow?”
Stewart nodded, a frown on his face.
“I received a message from Frank just before we got into the car. It said that since we’d had a chat with the daughter of Daniel Mannings and her friends, and then bumped into his wife, he was guessing we were working on the investigation into Daniel Mannings’ murder.”
Stewart’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Yesterday, just after we’d spoken to them? That’s not possible. I mean, how did he know where we were?”
Pause. “The only thing I can think of is that he followed us. Or someone did, at his request.”
Stewart rocked on his heels slightly, feeling like someone had just punched him in the face.
“And that’s why you went mental with the driving.”
Dakar nodded. “I was trying to lose whoever it was that was following us on the way back to Edinburgh.”
“But Frank managed to find us in the pub?”
Pause. “I did not bring him.” Dakar shrugged. “At least not consciously.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this yesterday?”
Pause. “Yesterday was not a good day for me, my brother. But last night I stopped listening to my ego and instead went back to the self, and then I understood.”
There was silence for a few seconds as Stewart digested that.
“I have also dealt with Frank’s threat. I am no longer afraid.”
Stewart hesitated. “How have you dealt with it, exactly? Have you spoken to Frank?”
Pause. He put one hand to the side of his head, touching the temple with two of his fingers. “I have dealt with it up here.”
“Okay. Right. Well, glad to hear that. But, so, what now? The police have got Graham Donaldson. And I know you don’t think he did it, but if it wasn’t him, well, I still don’t see how anyone else did it.”
The Price to Pay Page 24
