He had received a text from Gerry, a mate he had met at uni. There was a big party tonight at a flat in the West End and Gerry promised that it was going to be a cracker. By the time Joe got back to his own digs in the halls of residence in Port Dundas it was already eight o’clock. After he had showered and dressed it had gone nine but that was still early to make an appearance at a party. There was a bottle of vodka in his bedroom and he poured himself a large one. It was always good to have a little something to get the party started. He felt the liquid burn its way to his stomach and he was ready to go. He pulled on a leather jacket, locked up his room and walked out into the chill air. He had only gone two steps when he felt someone come up behind him and a hand was placed across his nose and mouth. As his knees buckled, the unseen person caught him. The last thing he focused on was a clown beaming a creepy smile at him.
Chapter 20
Tom Russell’s Easter weekend had not been one he was going to remember with any fondness. ‘Good Friday’ had been anything but, and it didn’t get any better from there.
He had spent Friday morning at a briefing session all about the new Police Scotland organisation that was about to replace the eight regional forces on the first of April. Despite all the political posturing, it was simply an exercise in saving money and some of the details had caused both the public and serving officers some concern. At the briefing Russell and the rest of the detectives at Helen Street station were given more information about how they could now be assigned to any major incident across the whole of Scotland. No longer were they restricted to Glasgow and the surrounding area. They could be called to an incident in Aberdeen or Wick at a moment’s notice. The worst thing was that for many places across the country they would have to travel to and from the scene every day. There was no money in the budget for a hotel room for the length of an inquiry. The braid had already dismissed the general principle that local knowledge would be required to adequately investigate any crime, but the specifics of how the new system was going to work had brought the detectives grievances into sharp focus. Russell was not one of those that voiced his concerns; he was too long in the tooth to expect common sense to prevail among those who ran the police force in Scotland. He had a good idea that the first time an Edinburgh ‘polis’ turned up to lead an investigation in Glasgow there would be a great deal of resentment, and the same was true for any Glaswegian detective going anywhere else. In truth, as the city with the most detectives, it was more likely that the ‘Weegies’ would be the ones to be sent elsewhere, with all the discontent that would create. He decided there was no point in worrying about it; the job would be the same just with added complications and extra mileage.
Friday afternoon brought him far more personal and immediate problems.
Andy McKinley was a detective that Russell had known for over ten years but when he turned up in Russell’s office it wasn’t for a social visit to catch up on old times. McKinley was now part of the Ethics and Standards department; the team who were responsible for dealing with public complaints and ensuring that the force was free of corruption and unethical behaviour. Despite the majority of cops hating those within the ranks who were ‘bent’, the officers of the E&S were regarded as traitors who ended careers and were, to a sizable number of officers, as much the enemy as any career criminal
“Andy?” Russell said when McKinley’s considerable bulk filled his office doorway.
“Can I have a word?” he asked as he closed the door behind him.
Russell was already wary, there was no warmth in McKinley’s demeanour. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I shouldn’t be doing this but I’m here because we go back a long way and I think you need to be told. You’re about to be investigated.”
Russell’s stomach flipped. “I see. What about?”
“Your relationship with Malky McGavigan, and in particular the deaths of two Serbian nationals back in January. A team is coming from Dundee to begin the investigation on Tuesday. I hope you’ve got your story straight, Tom.”
“There’s no story to get straight. There is no relationship between me and McGavigan other than he’s a villain and I’m a cop who would like to see him rot in jail.”
“I don’t think that’s how other people see it. I’ve told you; it’s up to you what you do with the information but I wasn’t here. Understand?”
“Fine Andy.”
McKinley turned to leave when Russell said, “And thanks.”
The visitor walked away without another word.
Russell blew out a long breath and cursed his brother. “Eddie, you’re a fucking useless bastard.”
Eddie Russell’s gambling had landed him in hot water with a Serbian gangster and he had turned to his brother to help him out. Malky McGavigan had taken care of it on Tom’s behalf in a way that wasn’t quite what Russell had intended, and now it looked like it was about to come back and haunt him.
Russell picked up his phone and tapped on Alex Menzies name.
“Sir?”
“You going out with Noel tonight?”
“No, he’s on-call. Why?”
“Fancy a beer?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Nothing, just fancied a beer, that’s all.”
Alex wasn’t fooled, there was something wrong with her boss and the only way she was going to find out what was bothering him was to join him for that drink. A quiet night of telly and a glass of wine disappeared as she said, “OK.”
“I’ll get you in the Station Bar at seven, I’ll leave the car in Stewart Street overnight.”
If he was going to leave the car it was obvious it was going to be a long session for him. Alex would settle for an orange juice while she listened to whatever was eating at him.
***
The bar was quieter than on a normal Friday night and the two detectives managed to find a table. After they had bought their first round, Alex settled into the chair opposite Russell and waited.
He took a deep draught of his pint of Schiehallion ale and sighed. “Complaints are after me.”
“What? Why?”
Russell began to tell her what Andy McKinley had told him. When he was finished Alex asked, “How much of it is true?”
“Most of it, even if it’s more innocent than it might appear.”
“I remember you let McGavigan off with the assault charge when he swung that punch at you in the car wash.”
“All I was trying to do was prevent a blood bath between the McGavigans and the Wrights. I thought that Malky McGavigan in prison would have exacerbated an already volatile situation. That was all I was thinking but I could see how it could be twisted into something else.”
“Was that why he did you the other ‘favour’?
“No, not at all. I promised him we would find who killed his son and we did. When the Serbian gorillas arrived there was no way to deal with them without my brother getting dragged in to it.”
“Did you tell McGavigan to kill them?”
He looked shocked. “Absolutely not. I thought that he would get his goons to scare them off. I suppose I should have known better.”
“Sir. I’ll do what I can to help. Tell me what you want me to say.”
“Naw, that’s not on, Alex. You tell them what you remember from that time and if I have to fall on my sword, then that’s what I’ll have to do but I’m not taking you down with me.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. Thanks anyway.”
They sat drinking for another two hours, Russell slipping slowly into a drunken, morose mood while Alex watched, concerned. She drove him home and advised him to get a good night’s sleep.
He waved unsteadily as she drove away and when he arrived in his flat, walked to the kitchen to retrieve a glass and a bottle of 18 year-old Macallan Malt Whisky. He slumped into his sofa, poured a glass and tri
ed to drown his sorrows.
***
He spent his Saturday morning nursing a raging thirst and a thumping head. As it needed to be done, he cleaned his flat, avoiding the use of the vacuum cleaner as his head would not have been able to stand the noise.
Around two o’clock he had recovered enough to start thinking coherently again. All of this was Eddie’s fault and it was time he took some responsibility for his own mess. Tom had not heard from his errant brother since the Serbian incident in January. His mobile number was no longer in service and Tom presumed that Eddie had gone to ground to avoid any further problems with the Serbian thugs. Finding him may prove difficult but Tom had a good idea where to start.
***
The journey into the city centre on a crowded and warm train did not help him feel any better. By the time he disembarked at Queen Street station he was sweating and felt nauseous. He was pleased to feel the fresh, crisp air fill his lungs when he walked out on to the street.
His destination was a casino in Sauchiehall Street that he knew Eddie frequented when he was in Glasgow. Eddie’s long-time friend, Chan Wu, was the owner of the Lucky Cat. Most of the bookmakers and casino owners in the city saw his brother as a pal, due in large part to his generous donations to their businesses, but Chan’s was a different kind of friendship. He had been at school with him and was one of the few people to stick with Eddie through his various trials and tribulations. For reasons that were never explained to Tom, everyone referred to Chan as Clarty; a word that normally means dirty in the West of Scotland. Eddie did tell Tom that it had nothing to do with his cleanliness, but even Tom’s best investigative techniques couldn’t persuade his brother to reveal the secret of the less than complimentary nickname.
Clarty had a bit of a reputation within the police of the city as being someone who walked a very delicate wire between legitimate businessman and being a chancer. Nothing had ever been proven but rumours persisted of the casino’s private gaming rooms being for more than one kind of game that patrons had to pay for. The kind of two-sided game where only one person ever got any money and was normally played horizontally. It was not legal and would generate considerable interest in Mr Chan’s establishment from the vice squad should he ever be caught. Tom expected his brother to have friends exactly like the casino owner, never out and out villains, but the type of people who liked to live on the edge.
The Lucky Cat was on the second floor of an old, scruffy red sandstone building. Russell showed his credentials at the door and asked if Chan was available. The woman behind the desk was a pale waif with dyed black hair. She was thin to the point of emaciation, her skin paper white as if she had been blanched due to the low light of the casino; there was no need for pigment when the place was nearly as dark as a subterranean cave. She asked Russell to sit while she called through to Chan’s office.
The gaming floor was busy with hopeful gamblers, praying to the fates that they would be kind to them for once. The vast majority were from the city’s Chinese community that was centred in nearby Garnethill. There was also a tall, broad man playing Blackjack. He had Mediterranean features and a long, drooping moustache. He was casually tossing £500 chips on to the table as the cards turned. Russell shivered at the thought of throwing away that amount of money on the turn of a card.
The casino was decorated in a seventies retro style that was meant to be kitsch, but somehow seemed more like a journey back in time. Back to when ‘Glesga’ wore a blue boiler suit, sported a perm and smoked Woodbines. Now Glasgow wore a veneer of designer fabrics and ate humous, to hide from prying eyes the Primark jeans and fried pizza suppers that constituted the truth for large parts of the city.
After five minutes sitting watching the tables, Russell noticed Chan weaving his way between the games and the patrons, as he came towards him. Although younger than Russell, the casino owner looked a lot older. His greying black hair was slicked to his head by a gel that made it shine like that of a painted mannequin. He wore narrow spectacles on his flat, broad face. His suit was pale grey; his shirt and tie were both the same shade of maroon, the tie decorated with a gold tie pin that bore the number eight. Grotesque, gem-encrusted, gold rings weighed down his hands. He managed to overcome the great mass of gold long enough to shake the detective’s hand.
“Inspector, this is a pleasant surprise.” The strained smile betrayed that the visit may have been a surprise, but it was a long way from being pleasant.
“It’s detective superintendent now Clarty, I’ve had a promotion.”
“Congratulations. What can I do for a man like yourself on this fine day?” he asked with artificial good humour.
“I need your help. I want to find that useless brother of mine and I’m hoping you’ll be the man to point me in the right direction.
“Come to the office and we’ll talk.”
Chan led the slalom back across the gaming floor and into a corridor that was even darker than the main part of the casino. They walked past a series of doors that Russell knew were the controversial private spaces where members played poker games.
Chan’s office was decorated in a mixture of Chinese and Western influences, but he had chosen the worst of both traditions rather than the best. A four feet high, sitting, ceramic tiger was a particular low point.
“Can I get you a drink?”
He was tempted to have a ‘hair of the dog’ cure to tackle the remaining tendrils of his hangover but instead he said, “No, thanks.”
“You’re looking for Eddie?”
“I am indeed, there’s a few things I need to discuss urgently with him. Have you seen him?”
“Not since he was up in Glasgow in January.”
“Were you one of the people he tried to tap for money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give him any?”
“I owed him a small amount from a win he had a few months back, but that was all.”
“The phone number I’ve got for him is out of service. I imagine that someone like you, a good mate I mean, would like to know where he is. Particularly when he owes you money.”
“Tom, it’s not like that with Eddie and me, he’s a pal.”
“Even the best pals can wear on you if they’re constantly in hock to you. Do you have a number or not?”
Chan diverted the question and asked one of his own, “What’s this all about?”
“When he was here in January, did he mention to you that he was on the run from a Serbian gangster by the name of Dragovic?”
“He might have mentioned it.”
“Aye, well he hauled me into the jaws of his fuck up with him and now it’s come back to bite me on the arse. I want him to do something he finds near impossible; take responsibility for what he’s done.”
“I’m sorry for your troubles but it sounds as if Eddie’s going to be in real bother if he comes back. He’s my pal, why would I do that to him?” As he spoke, he lifted his hands from his desk in a pleading gesture.
“I might be about to lose my job and maybe my freedom. That’s not going to happen because of that wee shite.”
Chan became defensive. “I’m still not hearing an argument as to why I should drop Eddie in it.”
“He’s already in it. If I don’t get some cooperation then you might find yourself being dropped in it. A wee call to HMRC and I’m sure they would check your books a bit closer, particularly the VAT. The vice boys might decide on a raid just to be sure that there’s no immoral earnings being taken in your private rooms. Of course if that were to happen, the licensing committee might get a bit nervous and who knows what will happen to your casino then.” Russell drove home the threats in a slow, calm manner with a smile playing round his lips.
Chan’s face fell into fury. “Eddie’s right about you, you’re a bastard.”
“That’s as may be, but I don’t want to shut you down. Howeve
r, I am so desperate to speak to my brother that I will do anything it takes.”
Chan opened a desk drawer and retrieved a pen. He scribbled a mobile phone number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Russell.
“Cheers. Do I get a free spin on the roulette?”
“Fuck off.”
Russell laughed all the way back out on to Sauchiehall Street. It felt like the first relief he had enjoyed since McKinley’s visit. He walked back to Stewart Street to pick up his car and then drove home, via a chip shop where he bought a haggis supper.
The supper consumed, he decided that now was as good a time as any to call Eddie.
“Hello,” Eddie sounded worried.
“Hello, it’s me.”
“Oh, hi, how’s it gaun?” It was a forced note of happiness; Eddie was expecting the worse.
“Shite, as a matter of fact. All of it because of you.”
“Aw, Tam, don’t be like that.”
Tom had resolved to himself that he would try and stay on an even keel no matter the provocation, but Eddie managed to get under his skin within less than a minute. “Don’t fuckin ‘Tam’ me ya useless prick. ‘Don’t be like that!’ I’m up to my ears in a mess you created and I’m facing jail time as a result. You need to crawl out from under whatever rock you’re hiding beneath and come take some responsibility for this.”
“I don’t know whit ye mean.”
“Your little Serbian escapade. I’ve got the ‘Complaints’ squad crawling all over my arse and if they think for a minute that I helped the two Serbs to meet their maker, I’ll be heading for prison. That’s not going to happen. I’ll drop you in it so far you’ll need a decompression chamber to avoid getting the bends.”
The Harlequin Page 16
