Russell was tempted to say yes but that might cause him further grief and would mean he would have to face what was happening to Karen. He decided it was better not to know right at that moment whether she was dead, and if he was going to suffer at the hands of the ‘Complaints’ it wouldn’t make much difference if his Federation rep was there or not.
“No, I’m willing to answer your questions,” he said quietly.
Dickson continued his performance by looking through the file with great care; everything he was doing was a way of indicating that he was in charge. “In January of this year you were involved in an investigation into the death of one Gregor Wright, is that correct?”
“You know it is, it’s written down in front of you.” Russell’s patience, which was already stretched to breaking point, was not going to survive if they were going to be long-winded and fussy about everything.
“Just answer the questions. Now during this inquiry you had contact with Malcolm McGavigan, a figure known to have connections with organised crime in Glasgow, is that correct?”
“If you mean did I talk to a known gang lord in the course of trying to catch a killer, then yes of course I fuckin’ did.”
“I would ask you to keep your anger in check.”
“You are fuckin’ kidding aren’t you? I’m in the middle of an investigation to try and find a madman who has been killing for twenty years. My ex-wife may well be lying dead, fuck knows where and you’re here pissing me about. How exactly am I supposed to keep my emotions in check in the middle of all that?”
“You listen to me. I’m not pissing you about. You are facing serious charges here, charges of conspiring with a known gangster to have two men killed. This isn’t just the possibility of you losing your job; this could result in a long spell in jail. People like you are the ones who give us all a bad name.”
“You know fuck all about me. Tell me, where do they take you for your lobotomy before you join ‘Complaints’ or do they just suck your brains out through your ears with a fuckin’ straw?”
“Just answer the questions, smart arse.”
During the exchange Foster was sitting back in his chair, with a supercilious grin on his face. It was all Russell could do not to get up and swing a punch at him.
“What do you want to know?”
“During the investigation into Wright’s death, McGavigan’s son was also killed.”
“I’m not hearing a question.”
“McGavigan assaulted you at the scene of his son’s murder, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t arrest him, in fact you disappeared with him for about an hour and no charges were pressed. Why?”
“He might be a dangerous bastard, but he was still a father who had just lost his son. I could forgive him his reaction on that basis, and I had more to worry about than him taking a swing at me. I had to convince him that I would deal with his son’s death and I needed him to keep his gun-happy minions from starting an all out war on the streets of my city. I don’t know what happens in Dundee, but in Glesga we don’t want citizens getting caught in the middle of a fire fight between two sets of fuckwits.”
“How would keeping McGavigan out of jail help that?”
“McGavigan’s a smart operator, he runs his outfit with an iron hand. If he tells them not to do something they don’t do it. With him out of the way the chain of command might not have been so effectively enforced and some of them might get ideas above their station. Ideas like trying to use Alan McGavigan’s death as an excuse to make a grab for more territory to deal their suffering in.”
“Surely, the opportunity to put a known gang leader in prison should have taken priority?”
“How would I have put him in prison? He would have been charged with assault and his lawyer would probably have got him out on bail and then probation. In the short time he was in remand, I might have had another three or four murders to deal with, and some of those might have been innocent people. Maybe you’ve not been on the front line of real policing for a while, but when you’re dealing with guys like McGavigan it’s not always black and white. Sometimes you have to compromise to stop things getting worse.”
“The law is the law. Your relationship with this man does not reflect well of you or the force.”
Russell laughed. “Jesus, it’s like talking to Robocop. What fuckin’ relationship?”
“Cosy chats with villains where there are no witnesses does not instil confidence.”
Russell sighed. “There were witnesses, we were sitting in a greasy spoon café, drinking a cup of tea.”
“That’s even worse but we’ll move on. Your brother…” Dickson looked at the file again. “Eddie, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“He has a bit of a gambling problem apparently.”
“So have any number of people, including some polis.”
“A problem that seems to have him moving in some unsavoury circles.”
“Again, like any number of people, including some polis. What’s your point?”
“We have an understanding from one of our colleagues in the Met, that you contacted him to talk about a known Serbian gangster called Dragovic, is that correct?”
Russell managed to hide his surprise at the possibility that Jonny Holt had talked to them; he thought Jonny was one of the good guys. “Aye, so.”
“What investigation was that part of? We don’t seem to have any records that indicate Dragovic had any dealings this far north.”
“You know or you wouldn’t even be asking. I was interested in Dragovic because Eddie had gotten in deep with him. I wanted to know just how bad it was.”
“According to Dragovic’s record and the intelligence on him, it was very bad for your brother.”
“It was. Dragovic is a particularly nasty piece of work.”
Foster suddenly spoke up. “During the period that you were investigating the Wright murder and your brother’s difficulties with the Serb, you had to attend A&E. Is that right?”
“Aye, I was mugged outside my flat.”
“But that’s not what really happened, is it Superintendent Russell?” Foster used Russell’s rank like a club, battering him with sarcasm.
Russell’s hot blood simmered with indignation at the implied slight. “You would do well to remember that superintendent bit, Sergeant.” He added his own heavy emphasis to the final word.
“Answer the sergeant’s question.”
“That’s what happened, I was mugged.”
“We think that Dragovic sent two men in pursuit of your brother. We think those two men beat you up and tried to get you to tell them where Eddie was, and that those same two men ended up very dead in the boot of a car.”
“I was mugged.”
“We think that you arranged for McGavigan to take care of Eddie’s problem for him. Basically, we believe that you are guilty of conspiracy to commit murder.”
“I was mugged.”
“It would be a lot easier on you if you just told the truth,” Foster said.
“Aw fuck off, wee man. I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than you and you’re really shite at it. I was mugged. I have no idea what happened to those men. They were bad bastards that were bound to end up in a boot of a car or at the bottom of a river somewhere.”
“Why did McGavigan phone you when the case was finished?” Dickson asked.
It dawned on Russell just how vulnerable he was. The fact that they had already looked at his phone records meant the net was closing fast.
He remained calm as he replied, “He phoned me to thank me for finding his son’s killer.”
“That was nice of him. Do you have a lot of gangsters that are grateful to you?”
“Do you have a family or do your species just clone themselves? He was a father of a victim
, calling to say thanks. Like any number of parents and loved ones have done down through the years. Spin it whatever way you want but that’s what happened.”
With Russell’s intransigence the discussion was going nowhere. Dickson decided to end it and said, “Interview terminated at 4:35 p.m.” Then he pushed the stop button on the recorder.
“I know what you did Russell and I’m going to nail you to a cross and put your body out as a warning to other dirty coppers.”
“Aye, whatever. Can I go now and find out if a psychopath has murdered my ex-wife?”
There was a momentary flash of sympathy on Dickson’s face before he nodded. Russell stood and walked out; his bravado disappeared and was replaced by overwhelming trepidation.
***
He raced from the room, back through the poorly lit corridor and up the stairs to the incident office. He knew as soon as he entered that there was bad news. The screen was blank, the detectives were sitting in complete silence and Alex’s body seemed to be cloaked in grief; her shoulders hunched, her pale face only serving to emphasise the redness of her eyes. On seeing her boss, she composed herself and stepped forward.
‘What? What happened?” he asked urgently.
“Karen’s been shot. We think the bullet went into her thigh but we’ve no idea how bad it is as the video feed was cut almost immediately.”
“Oh hell. Tell me what you saw.”
“The bullet seemed to penetrate her leg and then go in the chair as there were splinters of wood, but he definitely hit her.”
There was a period of silence as he tried to formulate a response. He didn’t know what to say or do; it was like he had forgotten everything he had ever learned about working a case.
“Sir, what do you want us to do?”
“I… I don’t know. What do you think?”
“We need to find where they might be. D.S. Craigan and her team are still looking at the financials. If Dent owns the property they are in it might help point us in the right direction.”
“Aye, that’s good. Let me know how they get on. I need to go to my office for a while.” He hurried from the room, leaving his colleagues to their own thoughts and Alex in charge of moving the investigation forward.
She understood what Russell was saying. He needed time to straighten out his thoughts and function as a copper again. For twenty years the Harlequin case had been an irritant, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, but now it had become a dagger to his very soul, a painful wound that was infected with the pus of guilt. He needed time to dress that wound to allow him to continue the fight.
As he walked away, Alex shook off her own torpor and set off to rally the team.
***
Joe O’Donnell was still visibly shaken by what he had done. His plan had been to make sure that if there was a bullet in the chamber it would miss Karen, but controlling the weapon had been more difficult than they ever made it look on television. As he pulled the trigger, the muzzle had jumped up and instead of the shot going below the chair, the bullet had gone through Karen’s left thigh and out into the seat. She had screamed, marginally before Joe did. Enraged and frustrated he threw the now safe but hot gun at the camera, braking the lens and toppling the tripod.
The Harlequin’s delight at the bullet’s trajectory was rapidly replaced by a feeling of rage at what Joe had done to the camera. He used the pistol he was carrying to hit the teenager and send him and his chair crashing to the floor. “Now they won’t know what happened, you halfwit.”
Joe’s head rung with pain and the room spun around him like he was on a ride at a fairground. He was left in the same position while their captor took Hayley and then Karen back to the cages. Joe was dragged from the chair and staggered his way back to their prison while the Harlequin poked him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol.
When he had been thrown back in with the women, he began a catalogue of apologies.
“Never mind apologising, Joe. I need you to dress the wound,” Karen managed to say through her pain.
He helped her out of the clown costume which was now soaked in her blood. She winced and cried out as he removed the tattered cloth from her legs. The bullet had travelled through her thigh, the entry wound was a small hole but the exit was a ragged mess. The bullet had broken up on its journey through her flesh, ripping it apart. He turned Karen so she was lying on her stomach so he could see both wounds more clearly. The blow from the Harlequin’s pistol had left his vision blurry which combined with the poor lighting, was making the process even more difficult.
“Hayley, get over here and help,” he shouted to the other woman.
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“You can and you will. I need you to help me or Karen’s going to bleed to death.”
“No, no.” Hayley’s tears turned to hysteria.
Annoyed by her constant weak snivelling, he finally lost control. He walked purposefully over to her despite still being unstable on his feet. He dragged her up from the foetal ball she had curled up in and held her by the shoulders. He leaned in close and shouted at her, “Get a grip. I need your help or that woman is going to die because I put a bullet in her. I can’t live with that, can you?”
Hayley lifted her face and looked into Joe’s eyes. Why didn’t he understand that it was all a waste of time?
He shook her. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. That’s what he wants. He wants us scared and unable to help one another. It’s how he gets his kicks.”
Somehow his words seemed to penetrate her frenzied distress.
“What do I have to do?”
He led her over to Karen and said, “I need you to see if there are any fragments of the bullet still in the exit wound. Hopefully, it’s passed right through but we need to be sure.”
Hayley overcame a bout of nausea to look more closely at Karen’s leg. The flesh was raw and livid, blood still oozing from the wound.
“Here,” Joe said as he handed her an alcohol wipe before he continued, “Karen, this is going to hurt but we have to clean the wound. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she replied weakly.
She found strength enough to scream as Hayley cleaned the affected area. When she was done, the younger woman looked into the wound track but she couldn’t see anything that might be part of the bullet.
“I don’t think there’s anything there.”
“Good.” Joe reached into the bag of supplies and found two dressings, which he placed on each of the wound sites. With Hayley’s help, he used a bandage to secure them in place while Karen moaned gently when the pressure began to tell and the agony increased.
“I’m sorry, Karen but it’ll be better when this is done.”
The bandaging complete, Hayley helped turn Karen round. She could see that the blood loss and the shock had drained completely the colour from the older woman’s complexion and her eyes looked unfocused. Hayley wondered if their efforts had only delayed the inevitable.
Chapter 26
By five o’clock the incident room was alive with activity. There were detectives and uniformed officers working in every available space, some were peering at computer screens, and others were sifting through files while the rest took notes with phones clamped to their ears.
Alex was sitting with the I.T. team who were still wrestling with the tricky problem of tracing the source of the website. Stephanie Jackson had retreated to one of the empty offices to allow her to analyse the sound in an atmosphere that was more conducive to picking out details from an audio track.
They had had no luck in breaking the security surrounding the site and the screen now showed an animation telling people to come back at ten o’clock for the finale of the Harlequin’s April Fool Carnival.
The social networks were ablaze with comments from all around the world and the tag #harlequincarnival was trending on all the major si
tes. It was a media disaster for the force but there was nothing anyone could do until they ended the kidnap or the Harlequin closed down his sick programme.
Alex was monitoring some of the posts and tweets, hoping that the Harlequin’s arrogance would lead to a response that might help the team, but if he was involved at all it was as an observer not a participant. As she continued to read the streams of comments, Stephanie walked in bearing her laptop and an eager expression.
‘I think I might have something.”
She placed the computer on the desk in front of Alex and said, “I’ve isolated the voice track and the major sounds as well as I can, and removed them so we can hear the ambient noise.”
She pressed the play button on the audio software but there was too much chatter in the room for Alex to hear what it was the technician was so excited about.
“Can everyone please shut up for a couple of minutes?” she shouted into the room. Slowly the talking died away. “Play it again,” she said to Stephanie.
Into the silence there came a faint sound that was barely audible above the background hiss. Stephanie leaned over and adjusted some of the settings on the software. She played the noise again and it became a bit more obvious.
“Is that a jet?” Alex asked.
“Yes and four others can be heard in the time that it was broadcasting.”
“So they’re on a flight path somewhere. It doesn’t help too much,” Alex said.
“I know but this might narrow it down a little more.” The technician clicked and typed before another sound was heard.
“Gulls?”
“Yes.”
“So on a flight path near a body of water. I suppose if we can trace a property he owns with those characteristics it could be important,” Alex said but there was little enthusiasm in her voice.
Stephanie looked deflated that what she had discovered wasn’t enough to excite the detective.
When Alex realised that she had not been very grateful she said, “Thank you, Stephanie. It’s at least a little more information.”
The Harlequin Page 21
