20 - A Rush of Blood

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘That’s not how it’s going to be,’ said Skinner quietly. ‘You know my friend here, but you don’t know me. Your family seem to think that they can invade my city, cause however much mayhem they like, then walk away from it.’ Goldie Brown looked away from him, but he seized her jaw and twisted it, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘You focus on me when I’m talking to you, lady, because I’m here to tell you that however clever you think you are, however far above the law you believe you and your crowd are, you have got it fucking wrong. I have a team of very capable people who have built a cast-iron case against your husband. We are here for him, and every second that you refuse to tell us where he is makes it ever more likely that you’ll be charged as his accomplice. So . . . where is Henry Brown?’

  She stared at him even after he had released her from his grasp, realising just how serious he was. ‘He’s . . .’

  Whatever she was about to say was cut short by the noise from within, of a loudly creaking door. ‘Is he in there after all, Goldie?’ Martin barked. ‘Enough of this.’ He barged past her, just as a dishevelled figure in his shirtsleeves, his jacket held in his hand, dashed down a wide staircase, swung himself round the post at the foot and bolted through a door at the rear of the hall.

  As Skinner held on to the woman, tight, not joining the pursuit, a strange smile spread across his face. ‘Is your gym upstairs, Goldie?’ he asked.

  Before she had time to reply a shout came from outside, followed by the sound of a brief struggle. Skinner turned, pulling his captive with him, just as Neil McIlhenney and Andy Martin came into view with theirs. ‘Well, well,’ the chief constable laughed. ‘Christmas in February. If it isn’t my old friend Tommy Murtagh. What is it you do for the CamMac group, Tommy? Public Affairs Consultant, is it? Or should that be Private?’ He stepped into the house, still with a firm grip of the woman’s arm. ‘Come on, guys, let’s take this away from the neighbours.’ He looked at Murtagh, as the former politician gave up the futile, and painful, struggle to free himself from McIlhenney’s armlock. ‘Of course you are the neighbours, Tommy, aren’t you?’ He turned to Goldie Brown. ‘Let’s all behave now,’ he said, as he let her go. ‘The dynamic of this situation has changed just a bit.’

  She said nothing; instead she led the way into a sitting room, switching on the light as she did so. The superintendent kept Murtagh restrained until Martin had closed the door behind them, then pushed him firmly down, on to a sofa. Grim-faced and chewing at her bottom lip, the woman took a seat beside him.

  Skinner beamed. ‘How long has this been going on?’ he sang, doing a passable Paul Carrack imitation.

  Murtagh glared up at him. ‘Just fuck off,’ he hissed. ‘Fuck off back to that bitch of a wife of yours.’

  The smile vanished. With one hand, the chief constable picked the man up by his shirt front, raising him up on his toes until their eyes were level. ‘Mention Aileen once more, in any way, and what happens after will be very painful. That’s a promise.’ He threw him back on to the couch, like a doll. ‘OK,’ he continued. ‘This is going to work out in one of two ways. Either you’re going to tell us right now, Mrs Brown, where we can find Henry, or . . . we are indeed going to fuck off, all three of us. Very soon after that, Henry’s going to get an anonymous phone call, advising him that you and Mr Murtagh have been doing the horizontal mambo whenever his back’s been turned. You might get off with a simple tanking, because of who your brother is, but Tommy . . .’ he shook his head, ‘. . . his tea will be out, as we used to say in the west of Scotland when I was a lad.’ She stared up at him, eyes working as if she was assessing the threat. ‘You think that’s a bluff, Goldie? Ask your boyfriend whether I’d baulk at throwing him to your old man.’

  She looked to the side; the slight trembling of Murtagh’s pencil moustache, and the naked fear on his face, told her all she needed to know. ‘OK,’ she sighed. ‘He’s gone to the farm.’

  ‘Long gone?’

  ‘About three hours ago, maybe a bit more.’

  ‘When do you expect him back?’ Andy Martin asked.

  ‘He said he’d be a while. Probably not much before midnight.’

  ‘Why has he gone there?’

  ‘I don’t know. He got a call on his mobile, but I don’t know who it was from, or what was said. He had his back to me while he took it. All I heard him say was, “I’ll see to it”, just as he was finishing. Then he stuck it back in his pocket.’

  ‘Did he tell you what it was about?’

  ‘He said there was a wee bit of bother up at the farm, and that he’d need to sort it out. I asked him what it was; he just laughed and said there was a bull loose up at the byre, and it needed taking care of. But he wasn’t laughing on the phone.’

  Curious, Martin frowned. ‘Does Henry often go to the farm?’

  ‘No, never. There’s a manager.’

  ‘Does he live there?’

  ‘The manager? No, nobody lives there. There’s a house, but it’s not occupied; our Cameron goes there for the weekend sometimes, but that’s all. That’s not where he’ll be, though. He’ll have gone to the sheds, like he said.’

  ‘Do you know how to find the place, Andy?’ Skinner asked.

  ‘Of course I do. We drove past it on the way here. It’s just past the Friarton Bridge, on the Perth road.’

  The chief constable turned back to Goldie Brown. ‘Those Estonian girls; are they safe?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know.’

  ‘What do you mean . . . as far as you know?’

  ‘I just helped to pick them up. There was nobody else tae do it. When we got back, Inez dropped me at the foot of the road. I don’t know where she went after that.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll deny all this after, mind.’

  ‘As long as those girls are all right, and as long as we round up your old man, I don’t give a bugger. That phone call,’ he asked, ‘could it have come from your brother?’

  ‘If it was a problem, no chance of that. Cameron wouldn’t be that direct. Ask your pal there, he’ll tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ Skinner told her, ‘but I don’t want him making an exception this time.’ He turned to McIlhenney. ‘Neil, I want you to stay with these two while we sort this out. I don’t want them to get anywhere near a phone. Andy, can you arrange for a car to pass by Cameron McCullough’s house, quietly, and check that the lights are on?’

  ‘Sure, I can do that. I can have somebody pick up Inez as well.’

  ‘Fine. While that’s happening, you and I will go and see how Henry’s getting on rounding up his bull.’

  He was at the door, in the act of opening it, when Goldie called out to him. ‘Mister, wait a minute. Henry’s in enough bother as it is, so there’s something else you’d better know. When he left, he took a gun with him.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Skinner snapped. ‘That changes everything. Andy . . .’

  Martin cut it off. ‘You don’t need to say it. It’s time for me to tell my colleagues that we’re here and what we’re up to. I’ll get an armed response team to meet us at the farm.’

  ‘Try not to hurt him,’ the woman called out, a trace of fear in her voice for the first time.

  ‘That’ll depend,’ the chief constable told her, ‘on whether he tries to hurt us.’

  Seventy-four

  ‘Do you think this is a punishment detail?’ asked Alice Cowan.

  ‘Not even informally, according to what the chief said to me last Friday night,’ Griff Montell told her.

  ‘Amazing. You called a divisional commander a “fucking old lesbo” in a room full of people and you’re getting off scot-free. I gave my police inspector uncle a harmless tip-off last year and I got bumped off Special Branch.’

  He grinned. ‘Yeah, but it’s worked out, hasn’t it?’

  ‘You reckon?’ She frowned for a few seconds as if considering. ‘I suppose the Pompadour might be called “working out”,’ she conceded. ‘And all that sweaty stuff at my place on Saturday night, that was
OK too.’

  ‘OK?’

  She laughed. ‘See you guys? My mother’s always saying that there are only two things no man will ever admit to doing badly, and the other one is driving. But, if you want me to pat your ego, big boy, I’ll score you better than just OK. You are officially very good at shagging, Montell, no worse than eight out of ten on the Alice-ometer.’

  ‘When am I going to get a chance to improve my score?’ he ventured.

  ‘Try offering to feed me again. You might find there’s a correlation there. I can never get randy on an empty stomach.’

  ‘How about if I cook for you at the weekend?’

  ‘You can cook? Let me guess; burgers and lager?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hey,’ he asked, ‘have you been out with a South African before?’

  ‘An Aussie, a few years back. You’re much the same animal. This cooking,’ she murmured. ‘Where would it be happening?’

  ‘My place.’

  ‘I thought that was off limits.’

  ‘Not any more,’ he told her. ‘Spring and I had a long talk when she got home yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday? Sunday?’

  He nodded. ‘She stayed away for two days to let me cool down.’

  ‘At Mary’s?’

  ‘Yup. Anyway, we had a chat and we’re square. She’s my sister, and I love her however she is. The “no partners” rule was her idea; now I know why.’

  ‘So you two are fine. That’s good, but how about you and Chambers?’

  ‘I think we’re OK too. I went to see her yesterday afternoon and apologised. She told me she understood how it must have been a shock to me, since she kept herself a secret for years.’

  ‘Will she be there at the weekend?’

  ‘Dunno.’ He glanced at her. ‘Would that bother you?’

  She smiled, in a way he had either never noticed, or had failed to understand, before. ‘As long as the queue for the bathroom isn’t too long, not one bit.’

  ‘I’ll tell Spring; maybe they’ll give us a clear field.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll have a clear field tonight . . . work wise?’ she added.

  ‘I’ve got no idea,’ he admitted, ‘but I hope not. I’d rather see action than spend a night shift sat on my arse.’

  ‘What’s this about anyway, Griff?’

  ‘Robberies, I’m told. The bosses want a CID response team on duty all night, in each area, in case a situation arises. That’s what Ray said; but he didn’t explain what that situation might be. We don’t need to know that, apparently . . . until it happens, of course. The load’s being spread; we drew the short straw for this week.’

  ‘And we don’t work on anything else?’

  ‘Nope.’ He reached into his man-bag and tossed her a book. ‘Try that,’ he said. ‘It’ll pass the time.’

  She looked at the cover. ‘Inhuman Remains,’ she read. ‘A woman detective: yes, that’s my kind of hero.’

  Seventy-five

  ‘Maybe the gun was for the bull right enough,’ Detective Chief Superintendent Rod Greatorix ventured, with a half smile on his face.

  ‘Maybe it was,’ said Martin to his Tayside colleague, ‘but after the mayhem that Henry’s caused in Edinburgh over the last week or so, we don’t feel like taking a chance on that.’

  ‘Are you dead certain it was him?’

  ‘We’ve got a physical description that convinced Andy,’ Skinner told him. ‘Then there are the Gerulaitis deaths. We still can’t prove to prosecution standard that they were murdered, but we’re sure. They were killed by someone with specialist knowledge, an arsonist who knew how to set a fire and make it look accidental.’

  ‘There’s just one thing I don’t get, Bob,’ said Martin. ‘The pathologist thought that Valdas was tortured before he died. Henry’s a ruthless guy, and we suspected him of a few serious assaults and even a couple of murders, but he’s practical too. Why would he do that?’

  ‘Punishment, maybe. Gerulaitis was importing his own whores to work in the massage parlours and skim the profits, or . . .’ He paused and for a few seconds his eyes seemed to lose focus, as if they were fixed on something in another place. ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Less than a day before he killed himself,’ he went on, ‘Tomas Zaliukas changed his will. Instead of leaving his interest in Lituania SAFI to Regine, along with everything else, he left it to Laima Gerulaitis. Now why would he do that? He couldn’t stand the fucking woman; nobody could apart from Valdas, and we’re not even sure about him. Think about this, bright boys. What if he was meant to leave it to somebody else? And who else would that person be but his partner, your target, Cameron McCullough?’

  ‘So why would he leave it to the woman?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Because he guessed what would happen. After all, Tomas had a wicked sense of humour, hadn’t he? Remember the guy who copied his tattoo? The story was that he thought what he did to him was hilarious.’

  ‘Are you saying that Valdas was tortured to get Laima to sign away her interest?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m offering it as a possibility.’

  ‘But how would McCullough even know for sure that he had changed his will?’

  Skinner’s expression darkened. ‘Now that is a hell of a good question. But he did, because Henry had a meeting with the managers the very next morning, and told them that the old order was gone for good, and that new hands were on the tiller. Who was his source? Well, the SAFI lawyer was Ken Green. Marianne McKean, his ex-wife, is Tomas’s lawyer’s secretary. We can’t ask Ken any more, but tomorrow my guys are going to be having another word with her. She’s the obvious likeliest. How he knew what was in it, that may be another question, but equally it might not be. The McKean woman may have typed it. I hope she did, for selfish reasons. That’s our Alex’s firm, and if the information has leaked from there, the partners need to identify the source and shut it off.’ He turned to Greatorix. ‘Can you see any movement up there, Rod?’ he asked.

  The Tayside detective leaned against the gate behind which they were concealed. His car, and Skinner’s, were parked on the farm track a hundred yards further back. He put a pair of heavy night glasses to his eyes, and surveyed the buildings once more. ‘Not a sign,’ he whispered. ‘Henry’s car’s still there, driver’s door hanging open. But he must be still in the cattle shed. Likely he’ll have shot the fucking bull and he and the manager are butchering it.’

  ‘In the dark? There are no lights showing. Andy,’ he asked, ‘how about the check on McCullough?’

  ‘He’s at home. When our car drove past, the curtains weren’t drawn. They could see him in his living room.’

  Skinner shifted impatiently. ‘Where is this team of yours?’ he said to Greatorix.

  ‘They’ll have had to get ready first, sir,’ the detective replied, defensively. ‘We don’t have twenty-four-hour armed patrols. Our guys have to be brought in.’ He swung the glasses round and looked back down the track. ‘That’s them now,’ he announced in a tone that might have been satisfaction, or relief.

  There were four people in the firearms unit that approached them, quickly but silently. Skinner saw sergeant’s stripes on the black uniform of the slightly built leader, female, he realised as they drew close.

  ‘What have you got, sir?’ she asked, speaking directly to the chief superintendent, as if the others were spectators.

  ‘Henry Brown,’ he told her. She whistled. ‘He’s wanted for questioning in a murder investigation in Edinburgh. His wife says he’s armed. He told her that a bull was causing trouble up here, but since Henry wouldn’t know a bull unless it was medium rare and on his plate, we’re not convinced. He came up here to meet somebody; that’s all we know for sure. It’s been quiet, though.’

  ‘So you can’t actually say that he’s in there?’

  ‘No, Doreen, that’s what we want you to find out. Challenge him, tell him to come out and if he does, secure him. If he refuses, or if he doesn’t respond . . . in either circumstance, you’
re the trained officer so you’re in charge of the incident. What happens next will be your call.’

  ‘And if he offers armed resistance . . .’

  He cut her question short. ‘That’s why you’ve got guns, Sergeant. We’ll back your judgement.’

  Seventy-six

  ‘How’s the book?’ Griff Montell asked.

  ‘Not bad. I like this woman. She’s got balls.’

  ‘Why’s it called Inhuman Remains?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t got that far.’

  ‘Come on, Alice,’ he challenged, ‘you’re a detective. You’re supposed to work things out for yourself.’

  ‘Well,’ she ventured, ‘I’ve got one idea, but I’ll need to wait and see.’ She laid down the book. ‘Do you fancy making some tea?’ she asked. ‘It’s your turn.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Eleven twenty. The night is yet young.’

  ‘Too bloody young. OK. But I’ll have coffee: I suspect that the hardest thing we’ll have to do on this shift is stay awake.’ He walked across to the small table against the wall, picked up the kettle to judge by its weight whether it held enough water, then switched it on.

  He was watching it boil when the phone rang. Cowan snatched it up. ‘CID, Leith,’ she said, trying to keep her surprise from her voice.

  ‘This is ACC Steele,’ a calm female voice replied. ‘We have reason to believe that a robbery is in progress at Joppa Golf Club; it’s right on your doorstep. We’ve got lucky. We have a car in position opposite the entrance right now. You know where it is?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, exactly. My Uncle Jock’s a member.’

  ‘Then you and Montell get along there, now.’

  ‘How many at the scene?’

  ‘Us or them?’

  ‘Them.’

  ‘One vehicle, we believe. Now stop asking questions and listen. We could apprehend these people there, but we’re not going to. If they leave before you arrive, our car will follow discreetly and guide you to a rendezvous. You will take over pursuit, at a safe distance, and you’ll follow. The game is to have these people lead us to where they live. Understood?’