Susie shook her head. “No, thanks, Rebecca. It’s already been a long day. I just want to get it over with, get back and lock the world outside, okay?”
“Okay,” Rebecca said, “But the offer’s always there. I don’t want me seeing Doug to come between you two, or us, okay?”
Susie had agreed and they parted ways soon after. And now, here she was, sitting in her flat, waiting for an Indian she didn’t want, drinking a bottle of white at a rate that would put Doug to shame.
Doug. What had he meant? Something that didn’t make sense? True, she hadn’t been at her most incisive or articulate when she had visited him, but confusing? No. There was nothing in what she had said to Doug that didn’t make sense, nothing that didn’t fit. Unless she had missed something. Unless he had seen something she hadn’t, was working an angle no one else had seen. Which would also explain why he was lying to Rebecca.
Wouldn’t it?
Giving a frustrated sigh she reached for the phone and called Doug. Time for him to answer some questions for a change.
17
The van slid round a corner, tyres squealing as they fought for grip on the rain-slick tarmac.
“Fuck’s sake, Lee, calm it!” Vic McBride snarled as he braced himself in the back of the van, struggling not to fall off the wheel arch he was perched on. This was the problem with rush jobs: you had to use the manpower that was available at the time. If he had been given time to prepare, Lee Donald would have been his last choice for a job like this, or any other for that matter. But he was keen, obedient and, vitally, had been available.
And when Mr James called with a rush job, you didn’t waste time sifting CVs for the best candidates.
“Sorry, sorry, wee bit too fast there, likesay. Fuckin’ Ednb’ra streets,” Lee whined in the front, his fingers drumming on the wheel to some internal soundtrack only he could hear.
Vic shook his head, looked down at the ruined heap lying on the floor of the van. In the dim light he could see dark patches where blood had seeped through the old dust sheet they had wrapped him in. They glistened like oil in the gloom. There was something almost poetic about it.
The van bumped over a speed hump, the soft thrum of tarmac giving way to the hiss of gravel beneath the wheels. A couple of turns – still too fast, the speedfreak waster in the driving seat was pushing it – and they slowed to a halt, old brake pads protesting as they did.
Vic craned forward, trying to see out of the front of the van. No use, it was too dark out there, the world reduced to dull shadows. Perfect.
“We here?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re here. Want a hand wi’ that?”
Vic said nothing, but hauled himself to a hunched stand in the back of the van. He leant forward and opened the panel door, sticking his head out into the cool, rain-swept night. He paused for a moment, straining to hear for any sounds of someone walking nearby, the telltale blue flash of the police. Nothing. Just the faraway moan of traffic, the occasional hoot from some pisshead on a night out.
He leaned back into the van and bent over the lump of rags at his feet, drawing his blade from his jacket. With one quick flick of the wrist he cut open the sheet – and the body beneath it – then put his foot on the lump of rags and pushed. The body rolled out of the van, flopping to the ground like a sack of rubbish, giving a dull, heavy thump. Vic nodded approval. He always loved that noise – the satisfying sound of a job well done.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Vic said as he closed the door. “You know where our next stop is. And Lee, drive carefully, or I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat next.”
Lee stared out into the night intently as if it held an answer. Then he drove the van away as though he was a learner setting off on his test.
Vic allowed himself a small smile as he sat back on the wheel arch. He could hardly make out the razor in his hands, but he knew it was there.
More importantly, Lee did too.
18
Doug sat in the quiet of Rebecca’s flat, the smell of the bolognaise he had made earlier hanging in the air. Susie had tried to call him several times that evening, but he’d not had the courage to pick up.
After the drinks with Rab he had, on a whim, got Chris – whose expansive gut pressed against the wheel of the RX-8 even with the seat racked all the way back – to drive him to the supermarket near Becky’s flat on Slateford Road. Feeling like a prisoner on day release, or a minor celebrity trying to buy himself a bit of recognition with an entourage, he had wandered the aisles under Chris’s supervision, picking out the ingredients to cook for Becky. He liked cooking; found that being able to disengage his mind and merely follow the instructions in the cookbook calmed him. He didn’t do it as much now, after what had happened. Holding a knife or chopping vegetables made his wounded hand hurt.
And cutting up meat brought back other, darker memories.
By the time he had finished his escorted shopping trip, Becky was on her way back. See, she had texted, would have been easier if you’d just taken the key and let yourself in. Be there in 30 minutes x.
Ah yes, the key. She had started to mention it about a month ago, telling him how it would make sense for them to have keys for each other’s places. Doug knew that on one level, she was right; with the erratic shifts they both worked, it would be useful to be able to let themselves in to each other’s flats after a late night. But there was something about the gesture – and the symbolism – that bothered him. He had always been a private man, used to having his own space to retreat to. The thought of sharing that, even with Becky, made him somehow uneasy. And, he thought guiltily, he wasn’t sure how Susie would take it.
Chris had carefully parked Doug’s RX-8 in one of the visitor parking bays outside Becky’s flat, then heaved himself out, the car rocking under his weight. He tossed the keys across the roof to Doug, gave the car a gentle pat. “Nice motor,” he growled then lumbered off in search of a taxi back to Rab’s office.
Doug went into the boot, prised Redmonds’ laptop from its bag and crammed it into his own. Last thing he needed was Becky asking questions about it.
Nice laptop, Doug, where did you get it?
Well, ah, about that…
He was waiting when Becky pulled into the car park, engine over-revving as she took her frustration at Edinburgh’s appalling traffic conditions out on her clutch, and helped him in with the shopping. He cooked, but had no real appetite. Becky ate the majority of the bolognaise while he pushed his around his plate and concentrated on finishing the wine he had bought. He saw her sideways glances every time he topped up his glass, gave a sheepish smile. She hadn’t mentioned it directly, but he knew the amount he was drinking was concerning her.
They made small talk, Becky mentioning that Redmonds’ ex was being interviewed tomorrow and she was worried how Burns was going to cope with it. After dinner they settled on the couch to watch a movie Doug couldn’t even remember the name of, and Becky instantly fell asleep. Not surprising, Doug thought, she had had a hell of a day. And she didn’t have terror and adrenalin to keep her awake like he did.
She woke up after half an hour, smiled an apology and said she was heading for bed. Doug saw his chance, offered to head off, let her get a proper sleep before another busy day tomorrow.
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “I saw how much of the wine you drank earlier. Besides, it’ll be nice to have the company. No rush though, just come through when you’re ready.”
She kissed him gently then headed for bed. He waited for twenty minutes, just to make sure she wasn’t going to come back into the living room, then took out the laptops and the bottle of Jameson he had also bought with Chris. He booted up his own laptop, not wanting to use Redmonds’ unless absolutely necessary. He fished the flash drive out of his jeans and laid it on the table beside the computer.
Do you really want to do this, Doug? he thought.
/>
No, he didn’t. All he wanted to do was smash the fucking thing up, shatter it into a million pieces, then burn the whole poisonous lot. But he couldn’t. Whatever was going on, this was a part of it. And if the bomb was going to go off, he was going to be standing right in front of it to take the brunt of the blast.
He owed her that much at least.
He poured a large measure of whisky, then jammed the flash drive into the USB port, hands starting to shake. He double-clicked on the desktop icon, whispered an apology then opened the image that the flash drive held.
Susie lay on a double bed, naked. Sweat glistened in the light of the flash, which burned like a sun in the mirror of the dressing table behind the bed. The sheet had been pulled down to just below her panty line, exposing her small, firm breasts, toned stomach and the first hint of dark pubic hair.
Doug’s jaw began to ache as he clamped down hard, shame burning in his cheeks. He felt a stab of heat in his groin as he looked at the image, screwed his eyes shut then opened them again, trying to look at the image without seeing it. It had obviously been taken by Redmonds the night of the Christmas party, the time and date stamp on the bottom left of the image told him that much. He zoomed into where the flash reflected in the mirror, saw the indistinct shadow of a naked male chest. He scrolled right, keeping the zoom on and away from the main image of Susie, over the discarded glasses of champagne, caught the edge of a TV sitting on the dressing table. He scrolled further, about three quarters of the TV coming into view before it fell off the edge of the image.
He zoomed out a little, to see what was on the TV. Wasn’t surprised when his mind made sense of the smears of pink he was seeing blurred in mid-frame. Porn. What else? After all, that was how he had found out about Redmonds and Susie in the first place – the porn film on the expense accounts from the night, marked as an “entertainment event”.
A thought flittered across his mind, like a gentle tap on the shoulder, and then was gone. He focused back on the details of the image, but there wasn’t much else. And what was he expecting anyway? Redmonds had clearly wanted to blackmail him with this, use it to make sure Doug stayed away from him. But why? Was there a connection to Dessie Banks that he didn’t want revealed, or was it something else? Something to do with this image? Doug felt another pang of guilt as he took it in, but nothing. He shut the file down, then ran another check on the flash drive, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.
He knew he had to tell Susie about this. The question was, how much? If he told her about the flash drive, he would have to tell her how he got it. And then she would know he was part of the case. Would she take him straight to Burns or, after seeing the picture of her, would she even care? He certainly didn’t think she was going to wrap her arms around him and thank him for what he had done, but he didn’t know exactly how this was going to affect her.
He thumbed in a text to Susie. Sorry I missed your calls, busy day. Need to talk. Meet you at my place? Noon? Hit Send before he could change his mind then sat staring at his laptop. Exhaustion washed over him, fuelled by the whisky, and he slumped back in the sofa. He should go to bed. Crawl in beside Becky, wrap his arm around her. But he wouldn’t – couldn’t – not after looking at…
Susie
…what was on the flash drive. He hauled himself forward, made sure Redmonds’ laptop was hidden in his bag then pocketed the flash drive. He called up a story he was working on for the Tribune – a holiday feature on a trip he had taken with Becky to a spa hotel in Perthshire a few weeks ago – then topped up his whisky and leaned back into the sofa. In the morning, he would tell Becky he had fallen asleep while working. He could see her face now, the exasperated frown, the pointed glance at the bottle beside the laptop.
He raised his glass to the bottle, toasted it, took a deep drink. Might as well make the alibi convincing.
19
The body had been discovered in Leith just after 6am, a pensioner called Dennis Winslow coming across the bloodied ruin while walking his dog and sneaking his first cigarette of the day away from his wife’s prying eyes. Winslow had staggered home and called it in. Susie had been on her way to Leith anyway, planning to get in a workout at the 24-hour gym in Ocean Terminal before starting her interview with the owner of the Docking Station graphic design firm. Burns had called her just before 7am. His tone told her two things: he was pissed off, mightily; and he needed her.
“You heading for Leith this morning,” he snarled, no question in the statement.
“Yes, sir. Actually, I’m almost there now.”
Burns grunted. “Lucky you,” he said. And through the tension, Susie thought there was the faintest glimmer of relief in his voice. Automatically, she started to ask how she could help, then caught herself. Fuck him. If he was going to ask her to do something, he would have to do the running.
Finally, Burns broke the silence, the words coming out in a torrent. “Body’s been found on Dock Street, at the industrial estate close to the Scottish Government building, behind Commercial Street. Know it?”
“Yes, sir,” Susie replied, tone neutral, pulse starting to quicken.
“Old man almost tripped over it. Seems like whoever the poor bastard was, someone had it in for him. Officers who secured the scene report he was badly beaten, and there’s evidence of knife wounds as well.”
Susie blinked, tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Hold on, sir. Two bodies found, badly beaten and with blade injuries, in two days. Isn’t that…?”
“A fucking nightmare? Yes, DS Drummond, it is. Two murders in two days. Press will have a fucking field day. And I’m due to see Alicia Leonard this morning, who just happens to sit on the Police Authority Board. So yes, it is a fuck-up. And I need it handled. So you’re going to handle it for me, okay?”
“Sir? You mean…?”
“Yes, Drummond. With everyone stretched to bursting point over the Redmonds case and now this, I need you to lead on this one. Reporting to me, of course. I’ll send Eddie to you once we’ve done with Leonard, he’s yours for the duration.”
Susie bit back an urge to laugh, hated the gratitude that welled up in her, and the fact that it came at the price of someone’s life.
“Sir, thank you. I promise I’ll –”
“Save it, Drummond,” Burns interrupted, his voice leaden with exhaustion. “I told you yesterday you’re a good copper. I’m trusting you with this. Handle it right and it could solve a lot of your problems. But if there’s any hint of a wider link to the Redmonds case, then that’s it. Understood?”
“Understood,” Susie said slowly. There was that fucking name again. How long was she going to have to pay for that mistake?
Burns had briefed her the best he could and she headed for Dock Street, the car bouncing softly over the cobbles. She parked up and got out, pausing for a moment to soak in the scene. The day seemed jaundiced, milky light breaking through dirty clouds and glinting off cobbles polished to mirrors by the previous night’s rain. Susie stood on the pavement, just beyond the police cordon tape, looking up the street. A little further up the road, there was a pub called the Rose Leaf. She vaguely remembered being in there a few months ago with Rebecca, laughing as their cocktails were served in old china teapots.
She turned her attention to the crime scene, a uniform standing guard as SOCOs in white suits worked behind the cordon. She straightened her back. Her case. Her lead. Fuck.
She started forward and was stopped by the chirp of her phone in her pocket. Snorted a laugh when she saw the caller ID. Who else?
“Doug, what a surprise. How did I know I’d be getting an early-morning call from you today, especially after you’d snubbed all my calls yesterday?”
“Yeah, ah, sorry about that, Susie. Busy day. Did you get my text?”
She stopped for a minute. Doug sounded harried, stressed. It might just have been the usual pressure to get to a
breaking story first, get it online before his rivals, but there was something more. Something so far from his normal relaxed drawl that it set an alarm ringing in her mind.
“Yeah,” she said. “I did. Was going to get back to you, but Burns has put me on something else, so I may be a bit later. That okay?”
“You mean the body found in Leith? Not much for you at this stage. Late twenties, badly beaten, serious slash wound to the upper torso and face. You won’t get much back until the ID is made and Williams has ruled out a link to the Redmonds murder.”
Susie felt heat rise in her cheeks as anger warmed her guts. How the fuck did he know all that? If Rebecca had told him, she was breaching just about every protocol in the book. But there was no way she would be that unprofessional.
Was there?
“Well, thanks for that, Doug. You want to write my scene of crime report for me as well and we’ll call it a day? And how the hell do you know Williams is going to rule out a link between this and Redmonds?”
“Trust me, Susie, there’s not a link. But I really need to see you. I’m heading for the Trib, going to write this one up. If you want to give me a quote to run, great, if not, I’ll run it straight.”
Susie blinked in confusion, the words clanging around her mind like a golf ball in a copper urn. If you want to give me a quote, great. If not, I’ll run it straight. He wasn’t pushing her for a line, an angle? “Doug, what the hell’s going on? If there’s something that –”
“I’m fine,” he snapped. “It’s just important I see you. Today. My place? I’ll be there from noon, just get there when you can.”
She glanced up at the crime scene, the officer guarding the cordon watching her expectantly. Thought of Burns’ words. You handle this right, it could solve a lot of your problems. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said finally. “If I can’t make it, I’ll let you know, okay?”
All the Devils Page 8
