by Owen Mullen
The words came out thick, mangled by the swollen lips. ‘All I remember is being in the street, shouting for him to come out.’
‘That’s miles from here. You must’ve got a taxi.’
Wallace Maitland shook his head. Hambley didn’t try to hide his disbelief. ‘You drove? You fucking moron. So you went to his flat and there was a fight.’
‘I honestly don’t remember. I think I was hammering on his door… it’s a blank.’
‘But you got as far as his door?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything.’
‘How did you know where he lives?’
‘His personnel file was open on your desk. I memorised the address.’
Hambley grabbed Maitland’s arm and dragged him up. ‘So you can remember getting his address but not what you did to him. Don’t believe you.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘You bloody fool. Don’t you understand the trouble we’re already in?’
‘I wanted to teach him a lesson.’
‘For what? Blowing the whistle on you?’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Hambley struggled to keep his voice down. ‘No? Margaret Cooper’s a fucking vegetable. You were the surgeon in charge and I covered for you.’
Maitland hit back. ‘To protect your precious hospital.’
Hambley ran a hand through his hair. This was getting them nowhere. He pulled the bedclothes away; there was blood on the sheets. Maitland’s body was covered in ugly bruises; yellow and purple. Perhaps he had been in an accident. A hit and run the drunk bastard had been too far gone to recall. His clothes – what was left of them – suggested something else; the torn shirt was already in the bin.
Even in this vulnerable state, Hambley had to resist an urge to beat some sense into him for the mess he’d made of everything. Except the director knew he had contributed to this disaster. It would have been wiser to have forced Maitland to admit responsibility and paid the compensation which would make the Coopers’ life more comfortable. Margaret Cooper was paraplegic, and after all, wasn’t that why hospitals had insurance? Surgeons were human. Sometimes they didn’t get it right. Wallace would’ve been demoted with a recommendation he undergo retraining. In a couple of years – having gone as far as he could go professionally – he would retire and they could all have moved on. David and Margaret Cooper wouldn’t move on, but Hambley didn’t dwell on that.
Maitland gathered the bedclothes around him; in a single night he’d aged twenty years. Hambley spoke sounding more in control than he felt. ‘Take a shower. I’ll get you trousers and a shirt. You better get home and tell Shona something she can believe.’
‘Like what?’
‘The hospital called. An emergency. On the way back, you stopped to give a lift to a couple of teenagers, who thought it was fun to beat up a stranger. They dragged you out of the car and mugged you. That’s your story. You don’t remember anything else.’
‘Shona will want to tell the police.’
‘Remind her you were over the limit.’
Maitland nodded. ‘I took the car because I was in a hurry.’
Hambley stopped at the door. ‘You realise we’re still in trouble, don’t you? Getting mugged. Driving the car drunk. It isn’t about that.’
Maitland looked away. ‘I know.’
‘By the way, where is the car?’
‘I’m not sure. Think I left it at my place. I didn’t want Shona to see me like this.’
His brother-in-law didn’t hold back. ‘You’re a fucking idiot, Wallace. A dangerous fucking idiot.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kate had intended to fly out on the second of January to re-join the North Wind tour. Too soon; much too soon for me. It didn’t happen. The whole north-east of the United States had ground to a halt. In Chicago, minus twelve degree temperatures had the city buried under six feet of snow. Flights in and out were cancelled. So was the show. I didn’t even pretend to be unhappy about it. We stayed in bed for five days. As Patrick Logue might say, su perb.
And I fell in love with Kate Calder all over again.
Glasgow Airport had changed since the last time I’d been there; it was bigger. A sallow-skinned Emirates cabin crew, I guessed had just arrived from Dubai, passed in front of us wearing cute little pillbox hats and wheeling well-travelled bags behind them. They were young and slim and female with beautiful teeth that showed when they smiled at each other. None of them had a coat. They were in for an unpleasant surprise when the terminal doors slid open and the freezing air hit them.
Kate was on an early evening BA flight to London, connecting to Chicago. I carried her luggage – a single bag she wouldn’t be checking-in – she hauled her guitar case, and started a serious conversation with the girl at the ticket desk about protecting her instrument. Halfway into it, the girl interrupted. ‘I recognise you.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do. You’re the singer in Big River. Saw you on Hogmanay. Fantastic.’
Kate could’ve put the record straight about being on a world tour with one of the biggest bands around but didn’t and I liked her for it.
‘I’m really glad you had a good time.’ She glanced at me. ‘So did I.’
We had almost an hour to kill. I assumed we would get ourselves a drink and talk. That wasn’t her plan. Kate busied herself rearranging the contents of her bag then went to the toilets, leaving me to stare at the departure board wishing I was going with her. Except her life was somewhere else. Mine was here, in Glasgow.
It was a different Kate who came back; this Kate was distant and all business.
‘I’ll go through now.’
‘Don’t you want to sit down and have some coffee?’
She brushed the suggestion away. ‘No. I’ll pick up something in the departure lounge. That way, I’ll avoid a last-minute dash to catch the flight. You know how we are when we get started.’
Indeed I did, but I played my part. ‘All right. It was great to see you. Stay in touch.’
We were on the point of shaking hands when she threw her arms around me and held me tight. She whispered in my ear. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m sorry, too.’
‘I love you, Charlie.’
‘I know. I know.’
I kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. Then I kissed her properly. For a long time. At domestic departures, she waved, and I waved back. Before I lost sight of her she waved again. And she was crying.
In the car, driving to the city, the last five days ran through my head. Seeing Kate again had been the biggest and best surprise. I wished it had turned out differently for us, though in my heart, I knew the timing just wasn’t right. A call from Dougie Bell’s father brought some much needed perspective. On Hogmanay, Dougie had arrived at the Royal Infirmary, moments too late to speak to his mother. It wasn’t hard to guess how he felt about that.
They say life’s a bitch and then you die.
No argument from me.
-------
The shrill ring of the internal phone broke the silence in the office. I swung my legs off the desk and answered it. Jackie’s voice was spiked with her usual sarcasm.
‘You still in business?’
‘Not so you’d notice. Why?’
‘Somebody asking for you.’
‘Send them up.’
Saying goodbye to Kate had left me in a bad place. A case would’ve taken my mind off her. I didn’t have one. Or maybe I did.
A minute later the door opened and a couple came in. The woman glanced nervously behind making sure the man hadn’t deserted her on the way up the stairs. She was in her early forties with blonde hair tied up above a pleasant face aged with concern. He was bald and serious and ten years older. I watched him hold the chair for her and started to like him. She shot a weak smile and turned to me.
‘I’m Caroline Law, and this is my partner, Dean. We need your help, Mr Cameron.’
She tried to speak a
nd couldn’t. He placed a comforting arm on her shoulder. I’d only just met them and already had the impression that Dean was a man she could depend on.
‘Her brother has disappeared. She’s convinced something’s happened to him.’
I listened and made notes while they shared the story between them. Gavin Law was the common link, though their descriptions of him were so at odds they might have been speaking about two different people. The sister was clearly infatuated by her successful young brother; her partner was less enthusiastic. Caroline was too tightly wound to notice but by the end, she seemed to have relaxed. Talking about her fear had helped – it always did. I started with the obvious question.
‘Have you spoken to the police?’
Her answer came from deep in her throat; a sound I’d heard more times than I could count whenever the police were mentioned in a missing person case – a mix of anger and contempt. ‘Of course. First thing I thought of. It was a waste of time.’
‘What did they find?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Came back the next day and told me there was no reason to believe Gavin had come to harm.’
The police had a duty to investigate. That said, without something to suggest a crime had been committed, there wasn’t much they could do. Dropping out of sight wasn’t against the law. Most of my clients found their way to me after the police had drawn a blank.
‘Was your brother depressed or in any kind of trouble that you know of?’
She shook her head.
‘I take it you’ve phoned his mobile?’
‘Twice a day every day. He doesn’t pick up.’
‘Is there anything you could point to that might possibly explain his disappearance – if indeed he has disappeared?’
More head shaking.
‘You say you’ve been to his flat.’
‘Yes. On New Year’s Day. He wasn’t there.’
‘He wasn’t there or you didn’t see him there?’
She bristled. ‘The next day I contacted his cleaner and used her key to get in.’
‘You don’t have a key?’
‘No. Gavin had the interview on the fourth and was flying out on the second. So I wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t there. My worry was he might be sick or something.’
‘You assumed he was on his way to America.’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s been a white-out over there. He may not have made it.’
I consulted my notes. ‘You went back to the flat two days ago.’
‘And again today.’
‘Expecting him to have had his interview and be at home. What did you find?’
‘The flat was empty. The bed hasn’t been slept in. I called Francis Fallon and asked to speak to him. They were unhelpful. All they would say was he wasn’t there.’
‘And you believe something has happened to him?’
Caroline Law sighed. ‘Why don’t the police do something?’
‘Ms…Caroline…without at least the suspicion of a crime, the police can’t act. To expect anything else isn’t realistic.’
She lost patience with me. ‘I’m not interested in being realistic. My brother told me he’d be back at work today. The hospital doesn’t know where he is. I don’t know where he is. The last time I spoke to him was on Hogmanay. Seven days ago. And all you want to do is ask stupid questions.’
I spoke softly. ‘Gavin had a job interview on the fourth in Syracuse. They may have wanted a second meeting with him. Or he might just have decided to have a holiday.’
‘So why hasn’t he called? Why hasn’t he contacted Francis Fallon?’
‘Maybe because he’s been offered a new job.’
Her face was expressionless; she didn’t accept a word of it.
I struggled to convince her. ‘What if he met a woman?’
Dean had been quiet, now he seized on the notion. ‘That’s possible. Gavin’s partial to a pretty face.’
Caroline shrugged herself away from him, and vented her exasperation by pounding the table with her fist, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘You have no idea what you’re on about. Nobody understands my brother like I understand him. He’s proud of what he does. I’m proud of what he does. He takes his responsibilities seriously. His operating lists are arranged months in advance. For him to not show up means something’s wrong.’
She was losing it again. Her partner whispered reassurance and patted her hand. Reluctantly, she let him. I needed more before getting involved.
‘With respect, Caroline, you’re assuming the worst. People often do strange things. Weird, out of character stuff. We think we know them, then…’
She leaned forward, wild-eyed, and I realised I was talking to myself.
‘So you’ll help us?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m not certain there’s anything to help you with. That’s what I’m saying. Gavin might turn up with a suntan, a new job or a new girlfriend. Maybe all three. You could be jumping the gun.’
She fell back in her chair, defeated.
Dean spoke for both of them. ‘Is that a no?’
I had one more shot at getting through to them.
‘Look. I can agree to work on your behalf and do a convincing job of going through the motions, even if I say so myself. Except, taking money for doing nothing isn’t my style. From what you’ve told me, Gavin has a good life and he’s happy. He’s got a lot going for him. What would make him want to run away from that?’
Caroline Law was nearing the end of the road. As far as she was concerned, her brother had come to harm, and she was the only one who could see it. The fact there was nothing concrete to support her certainty didn’t matter. I was just one more disbeliever. She was right about that. Too many boxes hadn’t been ticked and much as I needed something to take the focus off Kate Calder, I wasn’t in the mood for a wild goose chase.
Law’s sister couldn’t contain her disappointment any longer. She stood with her hands on the desk and made a final appeal to me. ‘Why won’t you help?’
She broke down. Dean wrapped her in his arms and let her sob. Over her shoulder he mouthed “sorry.” I waved it away; there was nothing to apologise for. In a few minutes, Caroline was wiping her eyes, and blowing into a handkerchief, courtesy of her partner.
‘I’m sorry. Really, I am. Our parents died when he was twelve. I brought Gavin up. The thought of anything… bad happening …I can’t stand it.’
‘He’s lucky to have someone who cares so much about him.’
She disagreed. ‘No. He gives so much. And the work he does…’
Behind her, Dean stared at the floor.
‘Leave it three or four days. Don’t be surprised if he got the job and has been celebrating ever since.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ She smiled and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Of course I’m over-reacting. Who would possibly hurt Gavin? He hasn’t an enemy in the world.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sean Rafferty was having a bad day. He’d given Rutherford a week to come back to him with an answer he could use and so far, he’d heard nothing. An early morning telephone conversation with Emil Rocha in Spain hadn’t helped. Rocha was a sleeping partner; the money to finance the project was his. For ten minutes he’d made small talk peppered with home-spun wisdom neither man believed. Women were honoured, God was praised and children valued above everything.
Of course it was an act. The Spaniard was anything but a God-fearing family man. He was a killer and a chameleon, able to assume whatever front best suited his purpose.
Sean’s father, Jimmy, had been executed on the orders of this man for trying to double-cross him. Rocha could easily have taken over Jimmy’s operation in the East End of Glasgow. Instead, he allowed Sean to fill the void without ever reminding him where his power had come from.
But Rafferty knew.
Two thousand miles away, Emil Rocha laughed. ‘The woman is the centre of the universe. When she is happy the world is happy. Am I right?’
Rafferty
played his part in the bullshit; Rocha would get to business in his own time. ‘As usual, Emil. Right as usual.’
Rocha paused, considering his next question. ‘How is your wife? Is she happy?’
‘Kim is very happy, Emil.’
‘And very beautiful.’
‘Yes she is.’
This man was a connoisseur of women.
‘Your daughter was lucky to survive. How is she?’
Rafferty shifted in his seat at the other end of the phone. Hearing Rocha discuss Rosie made him uncomfortable. ‘She’s well, Emil. Rosie is well.’
‘Let’s hope she has her mother’s looks and her father’s brains and not the other way round, eh?’
Rafferty said nothing. Suddenly he understood where the conversation was going. Where it had always been going. Rocha was threatening him. The laughter died in the Spaniard’s voice and was replaced by cold detachment; he changed the subject. Rafferty might have been talking to another person.
‘I expected news.’
Sean Rafferty marked the difference, and chose his words carefully. ‘Emil, when I brought the idea of the development to you, I didn’t hide the difficulties. I admitted pulling it together would be complex and complicated.’
Rocha was unsympathetic. Excuses didn’t interest him; he had no time for them. ‘True. But you assured me they could be overcome and that you were the man to do it. I believe your fee – apart from the percentage you’ll eventually own – reflects the scale of the obstacles and my faith in your ability to defeat them.’
‘I have it in hand, Emil.’
Rocha seemed satisfied ‘Good. Good.’
He returned to his philosophical tone. Rafferty relaxed at the other end of the line.
‘In this life the weak must stand aside so the strong can create. Otherwise we would still be living in caves. I will hear from you very soon, I hope. Until then, kiss Rosie for me.’
‘…I will.’
‘Our children are a gift from the Almighty. It is our duty to protect them. Don’t let me down.’
The phone went dead. Rafferty stared at it. The threat was unmistakable. Not once. Twice.
-------
Rutherford’s instructions had been clear – he was to go to the car park in Elmbank Crescent, drive to the top level, and wait. Rafferty was more accustomed to giving orders; taking them didn’t sit well with him. He edged the Audi forward, reached out, and pressed the button. The ticket appeared, the barrier lifted and he drove through.
