20 - A Rush of Blood

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘That Dudley was a fucking animal,’ McCullough whispered. ‘Greedy, ambitious and a fucking animal. Henry might not have been too nice, but he had a soft side.’ He caught Martin’s incredulous stare. ‘Oh yes, and he showed it, losing it and killing that guy when he found what he’d done to that girl, then taking her to the doctor’s when she was supposed to go to the farm with the rest. A big mistake, as it turned out. But Dudley . . .’

  His face twisted, and in that expression Skinner and his colleague saw the heart and soul of Grandpa McCullough, the man within that he had determined to hide for good, at whatever cost. ‘My daughter actually wanted to marry the pig,’ he growled, ‘but I told her that would happen over his dead body.’

  ‘Your granddaughter took his name, though,’ Skinner countered. ‘She used it when she went to a club where everybody knows that a lot of cops hang out off duty, and picked up one of my young officers. She fucked him so enthusiastically that he thought nothing of telling her all about his day’s work, pillow to pillow, including the bit about the disposal of Tomas’s share in Lituania SAFI to a woman neither he nor anyone else could stand. His inspector brought him to see me this morning, after he’d discovered who she . . . “Cheeky Davis”, she called herself . . . really was.

  ‘Poor lad was in tears,’ he continued, ‘not because he thought his career was over . . . which it isn’t . . . but because he really did believe that she was the only woman he’d ever love. When you asked her to get close to the police in Edinburgh if she could, to check whether we’d bought the story of Tomas’s suicide, and the other accidents, you couldn’t have imagined that she’d pick up that piece of information, but what a bonus when you did. It meant that Dudley could torture Valdas to get Laima’s signature on a piece of paper signing her inheritance over to you.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, she’s a smart lass, all right. She was nearly rumbled last Friday, when Andy here turned up at a dance she was at with her lad. He’d have recognised her, of course, but she had the presence of mind to get them both out of there before he spotted her.’

  ‘My granddaughter is an independent young woman,’ McCullough murmured. ‘She makes her own choices. I’ve called her Cheeky all her life, and as for using the name of her mother’s partner, nothing unusual about that.’

  ‘No more unusual than driving robbery vehicles,’ Martin said. ‘And getting away with it, this time. The Crown Office have accepted Himes’s bargain. We can guess whose idea it was, too. You’re sending your own daughter to jail to keep her clear.’

  ‘Serves Inez fucking right, the idiot, for getting Cheeky involved in it. She’s going to blame Dudley though; she won’t get that long. And it was his idea; she told me the clown knew an assistant pro in the Czech Republic. They were going to send the stuff out there in a crate and he was going to flog it in his shop. Not to France, mind, not Germany, not Spain, where they’ve got real money. No, to the Czech Republic, where they’ve hardly got any fucking golfers. He might have been good at thieving, but when it came to business, brainless . . .’ his eyes gleamed, ‘. . . and now literally so, now that I come to think about it.’

  Suddenly, McCullough sat upright, as if he was coming to attention in his chair. ‘That’s it, gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘This conversation’s at an end. I have another meeting.’

  Skinner stood. ‘It’s not quite over. Do something for us, please. Take your tracksuit top off.’

  The man laughed, grimly. ‘Why don’t you do the same and we’ll have a pose-down? You look like a chunky guy.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s not the issue. When Tomas and his partner went to Uruguay with Valdas and the partner’s minder to set up Lituania SAFI, they all got tattooed, to celebrate. So please, humour us.’

  ‘Fine,’ McCullough agreed, affably. He unzipped the jacket and slipped it off; beneath it he wore a red Nike training vest, sleeveless, so that his arms were completely exposed. Just below his right shoulder, where Tomas Zaliukas had sported his tattoo, a square of skin was redraw and blistered. ‘A wee accident,’ he said, as the police officers stared. ‘Silly me, I spilled some fucking acid on it.’ He put the top back on. ‘Now, if that’s us done . . .’

  The chief constable shook his head. ‘No, no, there are two more things. First, the massage parlours.’

  ‘But they’re not mine, so there’s no point in asking me to sell them, if that’s what you’re going to do.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t going to. Instead, I want you to get word to the owner, whoever he might be, that I want those places to be run impeccably. No noise, no nuisance to the neighbours and absolutely no illegality going on in there, other than the thing we know about and ignore for the greater public good.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said McCullough. ‘After all, wasn’t that what this whole business was about?’ He smiled. ‘And your other concern?’

  ‘Regine Zaliukas. She’s coming back, and she’s going to be running Lietuvos Leisure and Lietuvos Developments. You do not even look in her direction. If you approach her in any way, then what I said about Jonas applies. Someone will call him, and turn him and his army loose on you. Not me, of course. I stand apart from such things, just as you do.’

  He nodded. ‘I always regarded Mrs Zaliukas as a better business person than her husband. I wish her all good luck in her future endeavours, but I have no desire to extend the CamMac group holdings into Edinburgh. The fact is,’ he added, ‘I doubt if that city’s big enough for both of us.’

  ‘No,’ Skinner concurred. ‘You can be sure that it isn’t.’

  Eighty-eight

  ‘He wasn’t talking about himself and Regine, you know,’ said Martin as he drove on to the motorway from the slip road. ‘That bit about the city.’

  ‘Neither was I,’ Skinner snorted.

  ‘What did you think of him?’

  The chief constable leaned back in the passenger seat and reflected on the question. ‘I think he’s one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met in my life. It’s not so much his physical menace, although he has that in plenty. It’s his ruthlessness and his complete thoroughness that sets him apart. He’ll never feel your heavy hand on his shoulder again, or anyone else’s for that matter. He’s way, way too clever. I hope Murtagh never upsets him, though.’ He smiled. ‘What have I just said? Maybe I do. If I was him I’d steer clear of Goldie, though, given what happened to Grandpa’s last brother-in-law.’

  ‘What about your boy Haddock?’ Martin asked.

  ‘What would you do with him?’

  ‘I think if it was possible to pat his head and kick his arse at the same time . . .’

  ‘It was. Becky Stallings did the kicking and I did the patting. The kid has learned. In fact the kid learns something new every day, and that’s what makes him so damn good. I don’t want his self-belief damaged by this. In fact, I won’t let that happen.’ He dipped his fingers into a bag of chocolate M&Ms that Martin kept in his central console, and took as many as he could grab. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘What did you think of all that?’

  ‘Do you really want to know? Seeing you and Grandpa McCullough in the same room was the most surreal experience of my police career.’

  ‘Eh?’ he laughed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Bob, remember what I said about Alex and young Cameron ruling the world? Well, I understand where that came from now. You and he, you could be fucking clones. You’re two peas, if not from the same pod, then pods grown on the same branch. You know what McCullough’s dad was? He was a lawyer, like yours, only he worked for the council rather than in private practice. What was it you said? Physical menace, ruthlessness and complete thoroughness. You could have been describing yourself, man. I watched the two of you in there and I thought, thank God one of them’s on our side of the fence, otherwise we’d all be fucked.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Skinner picked up the bag of chocolate pills and emptied its remaining contents into his open hand. ‘In that case,’ he said,
just before he swallowed them, ‘I’ll take it as a compliment.’

  Eighty-nine

  ‘Jack,’ said Sauce, ‘it’s a nice thought, by both of you, but I’m OK.

  Maybe we’ll go to Indigo on Friday, but I’m not in a boozing mood tonight. I’ll stay in, watch a couple of miserable French movies and cry my eyes out. Failing that, I’ll put on the Motown twenty-fifth anniversary CD and think of you. See you tomorrow.’

  He hung up and walked across to his DVD collection. He almost settled on In Bruges but passed it by, because he found the finish heart-rending at the best of times. He looked at his CDs. Motown Twenty-fifth Anniversary was not a starter for the simple reason that he did not possess it, nor was Tom Waits’ The Black Rider because it was so weird that it was positively creepy, nor The Travelling Wilburys because Roy Orbison was dead. Finally he settled for the Foo Fighters’ Skin and Bones, turning the volume to just below neighbour intolerance level, and maybe even a shade beyond.

  The sound was so loud that he almost failed to hear the buzzer. When it broke through, he turned the level down and stepped into the hall.

  She was standing there when he opened the door, her carefully cut blond hair casually disarranged, her make-up simple but perfect and her lips that soft shade of red that he liked so much. ‘Hi,’ she whispered.

  ‘Miss McCullough, I presume,’ he replied, coldly.

  ‘Sauce, I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I should have told you my real name, but with my grandpa being a wee bit notorious, and you being a cop . . .’

  ‘I didn’t tell you I was a cop until after you’d told me your name. I’m a fucking detective; I can work that out. You also left out the bit about you being a fucking getaway driver.’

  ‘That was all a misunderstanding. That was my moron mother’s fault. They’ve dropped the charges against me.’

  ‘Yes, and what I told you, gullible idiot that I was . . . God, a woman died.’

  She flinched, and he thought he saw real pain in her eyes; for sure he saw tears. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. ‘I didn’t know that would happen,’ she sobbed. ‘My mum asked me, for that bastard of a man of hers. But I never thought . . .’

  He heard a neighbour’s footsteps on the stair below, and drew her inside. She ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed him lightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘so sorry.’

  ‘Sorry doesn’t make it right.’ He looked into her smoky grey eyes. ‘You realise I’ll never be able to believe another fucking thing you tell me?’

  She nodded.

  He kept on looking. ‘Can I still call you Cheeky?’ he asked.

  Ninety

  In another part of the city, another door chime sounded. Andy Martin thought very seriously about ignoring it as he continued to gaze at the photograph on the sideboard. Karen had taken it: Robert, held in the crook of his arm, with Danielle looking at him with sisterly pride.

  The chime summoned him again. ‘Bugger,’ he whispered, but trotted downstairs to street level, and swung the door open.

  She stood there, in jeans and an open-necked white shirt, oblivious to the chill of the evening. She held a bottle in her hand, up beside her shoulder, with its label turned for him to see: Siglo Gran Reserva rioja, one he recognised from another time. Behind her he caught a glimpse of a taxi as it disappeared round the curve in the road.

  ‘To answer your slightly crazed question of the other night,’ she said, ‘there is no such thing as a hench. If it’s a word at all, it’s an adjective, but no one really knows.’ She smiled, and in spite of everything, his heart sang. ‘And now that I’ve answered the security question . . .’ she continued, ‘. . . can I come in?’