A Taste of Ashes (DI Bob Valentine Book 2)

by Tony Black

  ‘Christ, that’s a tall order, anything else whilst I’m at it?’ snapped Harris. ‘I could shove a broom up my arse and sweep the stairs too, I suppose.’

  ‘There will definitely be more, Eddy, I just haven’t thought of it yet.’

  38

  In the car DS McCormack started her questioning the second the doors had closed. Her face, tight in the jaw, inferred anger but there were other emotions playing in her cracking voice. ‘What the hell was that?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Valentine’s reply sounded meek. ‘Trust me, Sylvia, if I did, I’d let you know chapter and verse.’

  ‘Well something happened. I know that look. So don’t pretend that it was just another bout of stress or over-tiredness from the job. And don’t think about getting creative and playing the low blood sugar card, either!’

  Valentine turned the key, started to feed the steering wheel through his dry palms. As they left the car park and turned onto King Street he was aware that he hadn’t responded to McCormack yet. The tension between them was building steadily but he was lost for a response. She wasn’t going to accept the stock reply and he didn’t have the focus to summon a more thoughtful answer.

  ‘Look, what do you want me to say? I can’t get to grips with this any better than you, or anyone else for that matter.’

  ‘Maybe we need to call Hugh Crosbie again, I mean, if things have escalated for you.’ McCormack removed her mobile from the black leather bag on her lap. She was scrolling through numbers as Valentine spoke. ‘No. I mean, not yet.’ They’d reached the crossroads at the racecourse, the traffic lights – forever red – had the cars backed up through both lanes. The DI pulled on the handbrake, there didn’t seem to be any chance that they were going anywhere for a little while. ‘The picture, you know the one I mean …’

  ‘The one that Hugh drew for you?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ Valentine fiddled with the gear stick, tapped fingers on top. ‘I stuck it on the fridge and my dad saw it.’

  McCormack interrupted, ‘He recognised the man in the picture?’

  ‘That’s right. An old uncle, apparently. Some sort of relative anyway.’

  ‘He was in uniform. Did he die in the War?’

  The tense feeling inside the car seemed to be easing, McCormack’s tone dropping to a more rational level. ‘No, actually, he didn’t. I don’t know him, I never did, but my dad said he came back from the war with shell shock, only it wasn’t from the bombing. There was some kind of incident he was involved in, something that scared him for the rest of his days. He was a strange one, a loner, by all accounts for ever more. I think my mother knew the full story but she only touched on it with my father, it was the kind of thing that Dad wouldn’t mention, personal y’know, like something he wouldn’t want another man knowing, or even feel comfortable discussing.’

  ‘Christ above, well you know what that sounds like to me: a sexual assault.’

  ‘I thought so, too. There must have been plenty of that sort of thing going on in wartime. I think he endured it because of the era he lived in, men just didn’t speak up about it, there was far too much shame involved.’

  The traffic started to ease, the bumper ahead moved off. Valentine selected first gear.

  ‘This all sounds very familiar,’ said McCormack.

  ‘War is hell, you mean?’

  ‘No. It’s familiar to the Tulloch and Finnie case in Afghanistan.’

  ‘The second Phil and Ally came back with the story from the lad in the barracks. It was like I could feel, no sense, the connection.’

  ‘The gents, this is what you’re building up to? You passed out because something happened in there and I don’t think it was a pissing contest with Flash Harris.’

  Valentine broke into a weak smile. ‘Everything’s a pissing contest with Harris. But, yes, you’re right. I saw something. But that wasn’t the first time. There’s been nightmares, sweats, visions … Just like on the Janie Cooper case. I know things are getting worse though because I saw Bert, just like that time in Glasgow when I saw Janie, do you remember when I passed out?’

  ‘You wouldn’t let me call an ambulance.’

  ‘For all the good it would have done me, Sylvia. I’m strangely at ease with this today, it’s like familiar territory now. I was scared witless when it happened to me the first time and the nightmares, they’re horrific but not terrifying anymore. I don’t know, I really don’t know what I’m saying.’

  ‘No. I understand. You’re becoming inured to the visions, it’s like Hugh Crosbie said, you learn to separate yourself from the actual situation and become an observer of it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, I mean, I wouldn’t say I was comfortable enough in the situation to sit back and watch. It takes a toll, there’s a physical side.’

  ‘We should talk to Hugh again, I’m sure he’d be able to put you at ease that all of this is quite normal.’

  Valentine spluttered, ‘You’re kidding aren’t you? I’m a grown man, a professional law enforcer, I shouldn’t be seeing ghosties.’

  ‘Well, if you put it like that.’

  ‘How else would I put it, Sylvia? I’m overwhelmed by this, it’s playing with my head and my heart’s not up to the strain. The only reason I’m not asking them to lock me up in the loony bin is because I sense that there’s some meaning to all of this, that someone is trying to tell me something that will help solve these murders.’

  ‘It worked before.’

  ‘There’s that too.’ The DI turned into a side street and lowered his speed.

  ‘The blackouts aren’t good though, I worry about your health.’

  ‘So do I, Sylvia. I wonder about the consequences, not for me but for Clare and the girls. Can you imagine the fall-out for them if it got out? That’s not my biggest concern right now though …’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘Back there, in the gents, I’m not sure what Harris saw.’

  ‘Do you think he saw anything incriminating?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was out spark-cold. But if he did see something, I’m sure he won’t be long in bringing it to my attention.’

  ‘Or someone else’s, that would be the real worry, Bob.’

  ‘Yes, someone like Dino. She’s putting up with me leading the investigation at the moment but I don’t kid myself that it’s because she thinks I’m the best man for the job. It would be all too easy for her to park me on psych leave for a while and then you’d all be dancing to Harris’s tune.’

  ‘Surely he wouldn’t say anything, I mean, it’s his word against yours.’

  ‘And in that situation it comes down to who Dino has the most faith in. At the moment her faith in me is minimal.’

  ‘Flash Harris doesn’t have the best clear-up rate in the division, I can’t see him holding any more sway with the chief super than you or anyone else. And there’s the fact that this robbery is still unsolved …’

  ‘There is that, but the robbery is our responsibility now, and once Harris familiarises himself with the two unsolved murders we have on our books then the robbery is going to play to his advantage with Dino – he’ll have a running start. It’s not looking good, Sylvia, any way you dice it.’

  They’d reached the Whitletts home of Kyle Brogan. Valentine started to brake, in time to hear the street debris crunching under the car’s tyres; stilled the engine and released his seatbelt.

  McCormack retrieved her bag from the footwell and opened her door, said, ‘So, what did this Bert guy tell you?’

  Valentine walked around the vehicle, stopped when he faced her. ‘The first time, something about finding the soldier. Today, in the gents, it wasn’t so much what he said but what he showed me.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  The DI looked away, he was gripping the car keys in his fist as he stared into the middle distance. ‘It was a sad-looking young girl, with a bullet in her head.’

  39

  DI Bob Valentine led t
he march up the path towards Kyle Brogan’s home. The boxy council flats were surrounded by an assortment of broken children’s toys, burst bin bags and rusting engine parts. A mattress from a single bed, that had been set on fire at some stage, was being used as a trampoline by a group of kids. One of the children, a boy in ripped trackies and a Rangers top, saluted the officers with a V-sign and sparked a spate of mimicry from the others.

  ‘Little charmers,’ said DS McCormack.

  ‘You should acquaint yourself with them now, sure you’ll be taking their details down the station in a few years.’

  ‘Sooner for some of them, I’m sure.’

  Outside the door Valentine tapped on a broken buzzer, the glass from the cover was lying smashed on the concrete doorstep; he pressed it with the sole of his shoe. ‘You know what the problem here is, don’t you?’

  ‘Multiple deprived family units, constellated …’

  Valentine cut her off. ‘Stop that now! It’s the state of this step. Look at it, my mother used to spend hours cleaning her front step. At around eleven o’clock every morning in the street I grew up in you could see women on their hands and knees scrubbing those steps, it was a point of real shame not to have a clean step.’

  McCormack eased past the DI, pushed the door open. ‘Fortunately, some of us have managed to get off our knees, sir. Which is a good job for the likes of you – might have been stuck outside this door all day without my help.’

  ‘Fair play. I earned that.’

  On the stairwell the detectives waded through discarded White Lightning bottles and cigarette ends. There was a strong smell of urine, a stronger smell of rotting refuse and a host of other smells that were largely unidentifiable but definitely not Chanel No. 5.

  ‘Right, here we are, number 12b … give him a knock,’ said Valentine.

  Behind the door, with its chipped paint and exposed rot, came the sound of movement. Through the glass and the faded net curtain a dark shape of a slouching man was seen. He coughed, loudly, then cleared his throat. The next sound came from the letter box rattling, a hand was stuck through and a voice followed. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Open up, Kyle, it’s the rozzers,’ said Valentine.

  ‘I’m opening for no one, how do I know you’re what you say you are? No, get lost.’

  Valentine nodded towards McCormack, who removed her warrant card from her coat pocket and flashed it in front of the letter box. ‘Please open the door, Mr Brogan.’

  ‘Or it’ll have a size-ten-shaped hole in it soon,’ said Valentine.

  A chain rattled, a key turned in the lock. As the rusty hinges cried out the door eased open. ‘What’s all this about?’ said Brogan. He was standing in chewing-gum-coloured vest and pants, eyes smarting at the flood of daylight he was forced to face.

  ‘Can you not get some bloody clothes on, man?’ said Valentine.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ He put a hand over his eyes.

  ‘Not this year, I see … When did you last change those Y-fronts?’

  Brogan pointed a finger. ‘That could be classed as harassment.’

  McCormack replied, ‘If I do it, will you call it sexual harassment?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Get inside, Mr Brogan. And don’t make me laugh with your fantasies.’

  The detectives proceeded through to the lounge, a small room at the front of the house where the curtains were closed. A brown sofa and a teak coffee table were the only concessions to furniture. Brogan, now dressed in tracksuit pants, removed a half-burnt cigarette from the edge of the table and lit it with a plastic lighter.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ he said.

  ‘Not working today, Brogan?’ said Valentine.

  ‘Shut down, isn’t it? I’m a man of leisure, now.’

  ‘That’s very interesting, plenty of time to get into trouble.’ He turned to McCormack. ‘Show him the picture?’

  She handed over a photograph of Niall Paton, the recent shot that his parents had supplied.

  Brogan shrugged. ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘That’s strange, your telly on the blink too?’

  ‘No.’ He indicated the television and flicked it on with the remote control.

  ‘That photo you’ve got there is of a boy who was murdered the other night. We found him in a field in Cumnock, he’d been dumped down a shallow pit but the rain flushed him out. He wasn’t a pretty sight.’

  Brogan handed back the picture, he stood before them and folded his arms. ‘What the bloody hell’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Can you account for your movements over the last forty-eight hours, Mr Brogan?’

  ‘I don’t need to, Christ, I’ve done nothing wrong.’ He drew heavily on the cigarette, it had gone out.

  DS McCormack waved a hand at the sofa and invited Brogan to sit down again. ‘Come on, Mr Brogan. This is a double murder investigation, we need you to be on your best behaviour.’

  ‘Double murder. What? I mean, who else was done in?’

  ‘Big Jim Tulloch,’ said Valentine. ‘Oh, you recognise the name, I see.’

  ‘Only because I worked with him.’

  ‘That would be at the Meat Hangers.’

  ‘Aye, it was.’

  ‘Norrie Leask’s gone missing as well. Wonder if he’ll turn up in a field in Cumnock next, Brogan?’

  ‘I doubt it. Leask looks after himself, or has folk to do that.’ He started to rub at his arms, lit another cigarette end that had been hiding behind his ear.

  ‘Here, have one of mine,’ said McCormack. She removed a packet of Benson and Hedges and offered one to Brogan. He seemed to settle down once the cigarette was lit.

  ‘OK,’ said Valentine, ‘I can see you’re a little shaken up by all this unsettling news, never nice to hear a close friend’s passed away.’

  ‘Tulloch wasn’t a friend of mine,’ he spat the reply.

  ‘Oh, I thought you were best mates, worked at the Meat Hangers together didn’t you?’

  ‘Aye, we worked together, that doesn’t mean we were besties. Far bloody from it, mate. Big Tulloch was an arsehole, everyone will tell you that.’

  ‘Everyone?’ said McCormack. ‘What about Grant Finnie?’

  ‘Don’t tell me Fin’s dead as well …’

  ‘No. Not that we’re aware of. Friendlier with Finnie were you?’

  ‘Friendlier than Tulloch, aye.’

  Valentine moved towards the sofa, put his foot on the cushion next to Brogan. ‘Now, if I was a right nosey bastard I’d be asking where all this animosity for our murder victim, James Tulloch, has come from. And then, I’d be asking why you’re so friendly with a man who has gone missing, Grant Finnie, who may or may not be involved in Tulloch’s demise.’

  ‘Now wait a minute, I never said I was friendly with either of them.’

  ‘Right now, Brogan, you’re the only link I have between the two of them and the blagging at the Meat Hangers. Oh, and did I mention that Norrie Leask has gone missing and also a substantial amount of cash?’

  Brogan drew heavily on the cigarette butt. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  ‘Oh, no. I think you do. And what’s more, I don’t think I’m leaving here unless you tell me just exactly what you do know.’ Valentine sat down beside him on the sofa.

  ‘Now look, I’m not saying I know anything, all I can tell you is there was some kind of problem, I don’t know what you’d call it, a feud maybe, between Big Jim Tulloch and Fin.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Tulloch was always needling him, Fin that is. I think it went way back, I’ve no idea what it was about but Tulloch was the one with the problem. See, Fin was there first and Tulloch got his job later, it was like he only took the job to stick it to Fin, on a daily basis like.’

  ‘And you say this went way back.’

  ‘I don’t know how far back, they were in the army together but you’ll know that.’

  ‘And how do you know the animosity went so f
ar back, it could have just kicked off at the Meat Hangers, maybe Tulloch thought he should still have been Fin’s boss?’

  ‘No, it was an old wound. It was common knowledge after the punch-up.’

  Valentine glanced at McCormack. ‘What punch-up?’ said the DI.

  ‘They went to blows one night, round the back of the club, it was a fair go as well, crates and barrels were flying.’ Brogan brightened at the memory. ‘It was stopped right enough, by Leask’s boy, that Joe fella with the gold chains and the leather jacket. Another big knuckle-dragger.’

  ‘And when was the fight?’ said McCormack.

  ‘Not long ago, month or so maybe.’

  ‘And there was no trouble after that?’

  ‘Nah, not really. They kept them apart, surprised they never got their jotters, mind.’

  ‘Why didn’t Leask sack them?’

  ‘You tell me, he’s never usually shy about throwing folk out the door.’ Brogan shot off the sofa, irritated. ‘Right, is that enough for you? Can I get on with my life now?’

  Valentine stood up to face him, motioned McCormack to the door. ‘Don’t go straying far, Brogan. I might want a word with you again.’

  Outside the building, Valentine looked up to the flat they had just came from. Kyle Brogan was standing at the window, a yellowing net curtain pulled back. He made brief eye contact with the officers then removed his cigarette and nodded.

  ‘What do you think?’ said McCormack.

  ‘He’s a lying little scrote. That’s what I think.’