by T F Muir
‘Babe Ruth? The baseball player? Where’s your general knowledge?’
Neither of them spoke for a couple of miles, until Jessie said, ‘Your face goes kind of red when you’re angry. Not red red, but more of a kind of deeper tan red. Did you know that?’
‘No. But I’m glad you’ve pointed it out.’ They arrived at an intersection, and for the first time since leaving Dundee Jessie took an interest in where they were heading.
‘Haven’t you taken a wrong turn?’ she asked him.
‘Thought we’d take a look at some videos.’
They arrived at Strathclyde Police HQ in Pitt Street, Glasgow, just after midday. DCI Peter ‘Dainty’ Small greeted Gilchrist with a firm handshake that defied the man’s size. He nodded at Jessie. ‘Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’
‘Likewise.’
‘This way. Got Tam to set it up. Quality’s not great but it’s not quality the bastard was trying to achieve.’ Dainty pushed through a door, held it open for Gilchrist and Jessie to step through, and said, ‘It’s not for the faint-hearted.’
‘It never is,’ said Gilchrist.
‘No, Andy. This is grim. I mean it.’ And something in the tone of Dainty’s voice warned him to expect the worst.
But in truth, no one could have prepared themselves for the worst.
Tam turned the screen so Gilchrist and Jessie could watch. ‘I can zoom in, if you’d like. But it’s as grainy as fuck.’
‘It’s fine as is, Tam, thank you.’
The sound was tinny too, a man’s voice talking in the background, mixed with the sibilant hissing from cheap sound equipment. The camera held steady on another man seated on a chair, arms behind him, body and legs wrapped into almost mummified immobility by what looked like duct tape. Only his head was free to move, although his mouth was taped, behind which his lips could be seen writhing.
‘I’m going for a smoke, and to say another prayer for Gordie’s soul.’ Tam pushed himself to his feet and exited the room without another word.
‘Gordie?’ Gilchrist asked Jessie, remembering her earlier comment.
She nodded at the screen. ‘DS Gordon McArthur.’
Gilchrist moved the mouse, tried to fiddle with the sound, but Tam already had it set at the best quality. Even so, it was difficult to make out what was being said.
‘. . . I would not notice? Do you . . . my business and pretend to be . . . think I am a fool? No . . .’ The voice rose, as its tone deepened despite the sibilance. ‘. . . you who are the fools . . .’
‘Here it comes.’ Jessie pressed closer.
The screen blackened, and Gilchrist thought they had lost the image, until the dark void turned into the back of a man walking towards the seated figure, then morphed to the body and legs of someone moving to the side of the chair. Even with the CD’s poor quality, Gilchrist caught the fear in Gordie’s eyes, which had widened to the point of popping. Taped as he was, he was able only to tilt his head and rock the chair, and Gilchrist realised that the chair must be bolted to the floor, otherwise it would surely tumble. He was also conscious of Jessie’s face next to his, her breathing light and low in an expectant pant, like a sprinter trying to steady the nerves before leaving the blocks.
‘Here we go,’ Jessie whispered.
The screen zoomed in so that Gordie’s face half-filled it. ‘There has to be two of them,’ Gilchrist said.
But Jessie did not answer. Her breath stilled, locked in her throat.
Then a sudden intake by his ear told Gilchrist the moment had arrived.
Gordie’s eyes widened more, impossible it seemed, and even though his mouth was gagged, his roaring scream was unmistakable. A large, dark hand gripped the top of Gordie’s head, while the other used what looked like a long boning knife to saw beneath and behind his right jaw, to the back of the neck.
Five seconds into it, the screaming had not subsided. The blade glinted in the lights as the knife continued to saw, as if the butcher was having difficulty cutting through the gristle. And Gilchrist came to understand that the execution was never intended to be clean and swift, the first cut away from the carotid artery telling him that the killing was being staged, to deepen the horror of the viewer, and Gordie’s torture.
Ten seconds in, and the sawing had moved to the back of Gordie’s head.
Gilchrist felt his breath leave him as a wave of light-headedness swept over him. He pressed his hand to his mouth. ‘Dear God,’ he whispered.
And still Gordie’s eyes popped and his breathless scream continued, until it seemed as if all that filled the room was—
Silence.
Gordie’s eyes had closed as if a switch had been clicked.
The camera zoomed out, so that the viewer could see the upper half of the victim, and the action of the executioner. Gilchrist sensed an urgency in the movements then, as if the best part was over, and the need to bring it all to a sorry conclusion was the driving force.
The blade shifted to the throat, cut in deep.
Gilchrist groaned.
The hand gripped Gordie’s head by the hair, lifted it up and, with one final jerking tug, cut through all that was left of the neck, and pulled the head free.
The executioner carried the head, its neck dripping of blood, towards the camera until the screen was filled with Gordie’s closed eyes, which looked remarkably peaceful despite the horror of moments earlier.
‘Next one’s the brothers,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist pushed his chair back and stood. ‘I’ll give it a miss,’ he said, and strode straight to the door, except that he bumped into the wall on the way.
‘Andy?’
He fumbled with the door handle, then stepped into the corridor.
Outside, Tam caught his eye as Gilchrist walked towards him, and had a cigarette out of the packet by the time he reached him. Even then, the tremors in Gilchrist’s fingers caused him to drop it, and he watched in despair as it rolled into a puddle.
Tam removed another, lit it for him, and planted it between Gilchrist’s lips.
Gilchrist inhaled as if his life depended on it. Christ, the way he felt at that moment, it probably did.
‘Gordie left a wife and an eighteen-month-old daughter,’ Tam said.
Two more hard pulls that had the inside of his cheeks touching his tongue, and the cigarette almost done.
‘Another one?’
Although his fingers still shivered, Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Gave up smoking.’
Tam nodded, dropped his dout to the pavement, ground it out with his shoe. ‘Years ago,’ he said, ‘when I was a stupid teenager, I used to be a ban-the-bomber.’ He narrowed his eyes, stared at some imaginary event over Gilchrist’s shoulder. ‘Now? After seeing what they done to Gordie?’ Tam’s eyes returned to Gilchrist, cold and hard. ‘We should nuke the fucking lot of them.’
CHAPTER 12
‘You look queasy,’ Jessie said.
‘That’s how I feel.’ Gilchrist powered up to fifty. Ahead, a steady stream of traffic lined the inside lanes of the M80. He eased out, accelerated to sixty, tried to pull his thoughts together, force himself to concentrate on the case. ‘Did anyone follow up with the ring?’
‘What ring?’
‘On his right hand.’
‘I don’t remember seeing a ring,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist frowned. The recording had been grainy, the action blurred, but he thought he had caught the glint of a ring on one of the fingers. Or maybe a glint of light on the knife’s blade had made him think it was a ring. He struggled to pull it up in his mind’s eye but his brain seemed unwilling to cooperate.
‘Maybe I’ve got it wrong,’ he said.
‘Let me call Tam,’ she said, and fiddled with her iPhone.
While Jessie called Tam, Gilchrist’s mind swelled with images of Gordie’s execution. He tried to shift his thoughts, but the sawing knife, and the dark hand to steady the head, refused to leave. And the guttural screaming too, the sound o
f an adult man howling in pain for his life, would not leave his senses.
Jessie hung up. ‘Tam says they clocked the ring but couldn’t make nothing out of it.’
‘Couldn’t make anything out of it.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘What about the other recording? Of the brothers?’ he asked, and hoped she would not suggest he sit through it, just to prove a point. ‘Can you get a better image of it there?’
‘That’s what puzzled me,’ she said. ‘When he sticks their cocks into their mouths, you can see both his hands, and there’s no rings anywhere.’
‘So he must have taken it off ?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Maybe he put it on.’
Jessie’s remark puzzled Gilchrist, until he realised that the brothers’ execution could pre-date that of Gordie’s beheading. But why had Kumar decided to wear a ring for the second recording? And did it make any difference if he had?
Maybe he was searching for clues where there were none.
‘And you’re sure it’s the same person?’ he tried.
Jessie nodded. ‘Same voice, same suit, same size, same shape.’
‘There had to be at least two of them. One to work the camera, one to—’
‘For all we know there could be a team of them. An audience, too.’ Jessie snorted. ‘Maybe he’s selling tickets by the busload.’
An image of an audience-filled studio surged into Gilchrist’s mind with a clarity that had him struggling to find his breath. He pressed a button, and his window cracked open. Even with just an inch, he felt the heat evaporate from his face. ‘Going back to the other recording,’ he said. ‘The one with the brothers. Is it the same knife?’
Jessie nodded. ‘We tried to tie it to some manufacturer. But it’s like trying to figure out which farm a blade of straw came from.’
‘It looked like a boning knife,’ he offered.
‘General consensus is carving knife, with the blade worn down by repeated sharpening.’
‘Hotels? Butchers?’
‘Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt.’
‘What about the voice?’
‘Quality’s shite.’
‘Accent?’
‘Maybe Middle Eastern. Maybe not. Maybe European, Mediterranean. Male and foreign is about as close as we’ve come.’
‘Right,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Which leaves the ring.’
‘Which is unidentifiable, and brings us back to Go.’ She scowled at her iPhone and said, ‘Hang on,’ then placed it to her ear. ‘Yeah?’
Gilchrist caught the metallic crackle of a woman’s voice, too faint to hear what was being said but loud enough to catch the anger. Without saying a word, Jessie listened for ten, maybe fifteen seconds, then powered her iPhone down and stared at the passing fields.
The miles and the minutes passed by in silence.
Not until they reached the backup for the Kincardine Bridge did Gilchrist attempt to open the conversation. ‘What did your mother say?’ he asked her.
Jessie looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘I don’t listen to your conversations so I don’t want you listening to mine.’
‘I didn’t listen,’ he explained. ‘Just guessed.’
‘Well how about making yourself useful and guessing what the Rangers-Kilmarnock score will be this Sunday?’ She returned her gaze to the window.
Gilchrist followed her line of sight, let his gaze drift across the sludge-like waters of the River Forth, its banks slick and slimy with mud. Several boats in dire need of repainting, or more probably scuttling, lay tilted on their hulls, high and dry. Rotted wooden moorings stood from the thick gunge like dead stumps, black and lifeless. He let several seconds pass, before saying, ‘At the risk of repeating myself, I can’t help if I don’t know the problem.’
‘At the risk of repeating myself, why don’t you mind your own effing business?’
It took another five miles of silence for Jessie to say, ‘I’m sorry.’
Gilchrist thought silence was probably his best response, but memories of his late wife, Gail, and more recently the inherited brooding silences of his daughter, Maureen, persuaded him to search for dialogue.
‘Cooper said the tattoos looked more like symbols than numbers,’ he offered.
‘Oh, it’s Cooper now. What happened to Rebecca?’
Well, maybe silence was best.
Jessie shuffled in the passenger seat. ‘You’ll be thinking I’m the bitch from hell.’
‘Maybe not from hell.’
She chuckled, sniffed, chuckled some more. ‘You’ve got to laugh.’
‘Laughing helps.’
‘Do you know why wellies were invented?’ she asked.
He glanced at her, saw she was grinning. ‘Give in.’
‘To stick the sheep’s back legs in when you’re shagging them.’ She chuckled again. ‘That image always makes me smile.’
‘That one’s before Robert’s time,’ he said.
‘It’s a golden oldie. But he’s good, is Robert. Got a great sense of humour, despite being stone deaf.’
‘You make him laugh,’ he said. ‘I think having you as his mum is good for him.’
She snorted. ‘What do I know? I was sixteen when it happened. Went to a party and fancied this guy like mad. Spent most of the night trying to get off with the useless turd.’ She snorted again. ‘I’ve always been on the tubby side, and the bird he was with was some skinny blonde bimbo with the big eyes and the posh Bearsden accent. So what chance did I have? In the end, I got blitzed and screwed to the floor by some guy who was so drunk he could hardly keep it up. Amazing I got pregnant at all, when you think about it.’
‘Some guy?’ Gilchrist said. ‘So you don’t keep in touch?’
‘That’d be the day. Said he would call me. But he never did. Months later, I came across a scrunched-up piece of paper in the bottom of my purse, with a name and a phone number on it. I had a wee memory flash of him slipping me his address before slipping me the bit. By this time I was out to here, but I thought to myself, you know, maybe he cared. Maybe he would want to know. So I called him.’
‘Let me guess.’
‘Right first time.’ She shook her head, cursed under her breath. ‘Said he didn’t know what I was talking about. Denied everything. I told him I wasn’t asking him to marry me or anything, just that I thought, you know, that he might want to know.’ She snorted. ‘Lead balloon doesn’t come close.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Gilchrist said.
‘I called him once more,’ she pressed on, ‘after Robert was born. Just to tell him he had a son, and if he ever wanted to visit, I wouldn’t stop him. But the stupid prick accused me of coming after him for money, and hung up. I thought, right, fuck you, so I tore up his number and that was the end of that.’
Gilchrist tightened his grip on the steering wheel, frustrated at the unfairness of it all. How many other women suffered the same fate, walked out on after being taken advantage of, left to fend for themselves, raise a child they never intended to have in the first place? He glanced at Jessie, surprised to see she was smiling.
‘He’s never visited,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t expect him to.’
‘Will you tell Robert who his father is?’
‘Maybe one day.’
Gilchrist let her words simmer. If he knew he had an illegitimate son, he would want to see him. But only if the mother agreed. Turning up on the boy’s doorstep and announcing that he was his biological father could cause serious psychological damage and expose the mother as someone who had lied to her son throughout his life. How could he ever rebuild that trust—
‘You know what?’ Jessie said. ‘Even though it’s been tough, Robert’s father doesn’t know what he’s missing.’
‘Not everyone could do what you’re doing, being a single parent, and a good mother to a . . .’ He caught himself before saying handicapped child, and said, ‘. . . to Robert.’
‘Anybody ever tell you you’re a smooth-talking
bastard?’
‘Not in so many words, no.’
‘That phone call?’ she said. ‘My bitch for a mother says she’s going to take legal action for custody of Robert.’
‘If it’s any consolation,’ Gilchrist replied, ‘from first appearances, and from what I know of the law, I’d say her chances of succeeding are zero to a hundred below.’
‘She doesn’t want Robert to live with her. That would cost money. All she wants is for me not to have him.’
‘Still zero to a hundred below.’
‘She’s got witnesses to me hitting him.’
‘You hit Robert?’
‘See?’ she said. ‘See how easy it is to make someone question the truth? I’ve never hit Robert in my life, you twerp. But dear old Mum’s got my two fuckheads for brothers ready to go to court to testify to that. And they’re stupid enough to do that.’
‘Robert would deny it.’
‘I’m not going to have Robert go to any family hearing. He’s just a wee boy.’
‘Well, the Social Services wouldn’t—’
‘Have you seen how those bastards in the Social Services work? They swan in, wave a bit of paper, and cart him away. It’s eff all to do with what he wants, or what I want, it’s what they decide is best for us. Best for us . . . ?’ Her voice had risen, and she stared out of the window for a long moment. But when she came back, her low grumble told it all. ‘I’ll kill first before I let anyone take Robert from me.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Gilchrist said, then tried to make light of it. ‘Besides, if you’re locked up, you won’t be around for Robert when he needs you most.’ But when she looked away, he knew he was missing something, perhaps some dark family secret, some thing that was deeply personal to her. But what it was, he could not say.
‘Can you tell me why?’ he asked.
‘Why what?’
‘Why your mother wants to take Robert from you.’
‘It’s personal. I already told you that.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said. And as these words passed his lips, he resolved to make a point of finding out.
CHAPTER 13
No sooner were they back in the office than Jessie was collared by Alex of Human Resources. Gilchrist knew from experience that she could spend the rest of the day filling out forms to become an official employee of Fife Constabulary, so he spent time catching up and reading the latest reports from DIs Wilkes and Rennie.
