Perfect Death

by Helen Fields

  The control room put the call through to Ava’s mobile.

  ‘Um, hello, it’s about the picture of that man, Christian Cadogan. I saw it online and there was a number to call,’ a male said.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Ava replied, nudging Tripp with an elbow as he drove, and finding a notebook and pen. ‘Could you give me your name?’

  ‘Ben Miller. I work at a café on Broughton Street called the Nom de Plume. I do the 8am to 4pm shift Monday to Thursday.’

  ‘About Christian Cadogan?’ Ava prompted.

  ‘I’ve seen him in there,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, I think it’s him. The picture showed him with glasses, and I never saw him wear any. Some days he had his hood up when he came in, so it was harder to see his face. A couple of a weeks ago, though, he was in the gents when I went in for a pee. Hood down, I was right next to him. I’d swear it was the same man.’

  ‘Did you ever hear him use a name?’ Ava asked.

  ‘No, it’s always too busy to hear individual conversations and we respect our customers’ privacy. It’s important in a place like ours,’ Ben said.

  ‘Why is that?’ Ava asked.

  ‘I always assume everyone knows. We’re kind of a focus for Edinburgh’s lesbian and gay community, so we never ask names. It takes time to build trust. Some people are very shy.’

  ‘And did you get the impression that Cadogan was part of that community for any reason?’ Ava asked.

  ‘I don’t know about that, he always met up with the same guy when he came in. They had lunch together quite often. Cadogan’s friend is definitely part of the scene because he’s been in with other people before.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the man Cadogan was meeting, so we can contact him?’ Ava asked.

  ‘I don’t, I’m afraid. I can ask my boss, but it’s sensitive, like I explained,’ Ben said.

  ‘I get that,’ Ava said, ‘but you’ve seen the publicity. This man might be dangerous. He’s wanted in connection with serious crimes. Other people might be in danger, so the sooner we find him the better. I need you to make enquiries straight away and come back to me with any information you get. Will you do that, Ben?’

  ‘Is there no other way?’ Ben asked.

  ‘You’re our only lead. That means you might be the only person able to help us prevent further crimes. Do you understand?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Completely. I’ll make some calls.’ Ben rang off.

  ‘I hope I didn’t scare him,’ Ava said.

  ‘I hope you did,’ Tripp replied.

  Monroe called them minutes later. ‘Ma’am, Ben Miller from the café called back. The owner of the Nom de Plume reckons the man seen lunching regularly with Cadogan has or had a boyfriend called Sean, Irish accent, no surname available. No information about Cadogan’s lunch date himself as apparently he’s much quieter. One of the staff members has a selfie with Sean in the background, which I’m forwarding to your mobile now.’

  ‘Thanks, Monroe,’ Ava said. ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘It’s more than just a start,’ Tripp replied. ‘It’s the weekend, which means The Lost Boys will be packed out. If Sean’s gay, then chances are that someone at the club will have met him, know him, or at least know of him.’

  ‘Do you mind going in?’ Ava asked. ‘I know it can be difficult bridging the professional and the social when you’re a police officer.’

  ‘Not at all. Since I split up with my last boyfriend I haven’t been out much, but that’s only been down to the demands of work. Maybe I’ll meet someone tonight, you never know.’ Tripp smiled. He performed a tyre-shredding u-turn and headed back into the city centre towards the club, lights and sirens sending traffic to the sides of the road. Ava radioed for additional officers to meet them there, and instructed the control room to start circulating Sean’s photograph to all beat officers. Inside The Lost Boys ten minutes later, they split up to cover the two floors more effectively.

  Ava took the lower floor while Tripp went upstairs. She struggled through the dancing crowds, as more than one drink spilled down her trousers and spattered her back. Holding Sean’s photo out in front of her, she began thrusting it into every face she passed. People shook their heads, tried to pull her onto the dance floor, all good natured but a waste of time. Her relief when she spotted Tripp waving frantically at her from the upper balcony was overwhelming. She sprinted up the stairs, shouting warnings at everyone else to get of her way. Tripp had pulled two perplexed looking men to one side.

  ‘Ma’am, this is Rex’ – Tripp motioned to the taller of the two – ‘and Mattie. They’ve positively identified Sean from the photo,’ Tripp shouted over the pulsing music. ‘Sean’s a regular in here, apparently. The barman up here pointed Rex and Mattie out to me as people he’d seen Sean with, so the ID looks dependable.’

  ‘Sean’s supposed to be here right now, so I don’t think you’ll find he’s in any immediate danger.’ Rex smiled. ‘Me and Mattie came here with him. He just popped down to the cashpoint with his mate.’

  ‘And Sean’s surname is?’ Ava asked.

  ‘O’Cahill. He’s Irish,’ Mattie joined in. ‘What is it you need him for? I can guarantee he hasn’t done anything illegal. Sean’s too nice for his own good.’

  ‘We want to know if his partner can tell us anything about this man,’ Tripp said, holding up the sketch of Cadogan. ‘Do you know Sean’s partner?’

  ‘Bradley? Only to say hi to,’ Mattie said. ‘Isn’t that …?’ He squinted at the sketch then looked at Rex.

  ‘It could be. Same hair. No glasses though. Definitely looks like him,’ Rex said.

  ‘I’m sorry, who are you talking about?’ Ava asked.

  ‘The man in this picture.’ Rex pointed at the sketch of Cadogan. ‘We saw him tonight. That’s who Sean went to the cashpoint with. They should have been back here a while ago.’ He checked his watch. ‘Ages ago, actually.’

  ‘Where did you last see them?’ Tripp asked.

  ‘Outside the club, about forty minutes ago. Is Sean all right? This sounds serious,’ Rex said.

  ‘We need to find them as soon as possible,’ Ava said. ‘Which cashpoint did they go to?’

  ‘The one down the hill, outside the bank on the right,’ Rex said.

  Ava and Tripp ran for the door.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Christian parked outside Bradley and Sean’s flat, reaching over the sleeping man in his passenger seat to take a hypodermic syringe from a bag in the footwell. He rolled up Sean’s sleeve, sliding the needle gently below the surface of his flesh and releasing additional heroin into his system. The oral solution he’d mixed into the Flaming Pig had been enough to render Sean senseless for a while, but not enough to do what really needed to be done.

  He went round to the passenger’s side while Sean could still be roused enough to put one foot in front of the other, and hauled him out.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Bradley’s inside. He can make you more comfortable.’

  Christian manoeuvred him up the few steps to the door and rang the buzzer to the flat.

  ‘Hello?’ Bradley said.

  ‘It’s Chris.’

  ‘Great, I’ll buzz you in. First door on the left.’ The outer door opened.

  Christian half-carried Sean over the threshold and into the corridor. Bradley opened the flat door before he could reach it, waving two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.

  ‘Sean! Oh my God, what happened? How did you …’

  ‘Where’s the sofa?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Through here,’ Bradley said. ‘I’ll get a blanket. Should we call a doctor do you think?’

  ‘A blanket’s a good idea, maybe a pillow too. I’ll look after him,’ Christian said, locating the landline phone while Bradley was out of the room, and turning the power off at the socket. Sean’s mobile was still in his car to avoid distractions. All that remained was to disable Brad’s.

  ‘Here we go. Honestly, what a state he’s in!’ Bradley
reappeared with a duvet and pillow set, making sure Sean was comfortable and running a hand over his forehead. ‘I’m so sorry. He was supposed to be at a club with some friends. I wasn’t expecting him back until much later. I’ve never, ever seen him this drunk. Where did you find him?’

  ‘He was staggering up the road. I pulled my car over to ask if he was all right. When I heard the Irish accent I put two and two together,’ Christian said.

  ‘Thank goodness you were there,’ Bradley said. ‘He’d have ended up in a ditch for the night in this state. His breathing’s very shallow. I’m wondering if a trip to the hospital might not be best.’

  ‘We’ll watch him together,’ Christian said. ‘Close the blinds and lock the door. It might be a long night. We might as well get comfortable. Could I use your mobile? I need to send a text and mine’s out of battery.’

  ‘Sure,’ Brad said, handing it over. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. I know it’s not quite how things were supposed to pan out tonight, but I’m glad you’re here anyway.’

  Christian waited until Brad was in the kitchen, then removed the phone’s sim, leaving the mobile on a bookcase shelf. It wouldn’t be needed. He looked at Sean. His respiration was even more shallow now. Christian lifted one eyelid, slapped Sean’s face lightly and called his name. There was a brief response, a jerk of the head followed by an attempt to speak, then the eyelid drooped back over the pupil and Sean drifted back to whatever dream had taken him. It wouldn’t be long.

  Bradley brought coffee and they sat together on the sofa opposite Sean, sipping their drinks.

  ‘You wanted to talk. I guess it’s weird with Sean there, but I need to take my mind off the mess he’s in. Since he joined the new theatre company it’s felt as if we’ve drifted apart. He has so many new friends. When he first moved to Edinburgh, I was the only one he really had. We were building a life together, just the two of us. I’d assumed it was going to last, now I don’t know. I love him, I’m not saying I don’t, it’s just that I can’t see the future so clearly anymore.’

  ‘I hope that’s not because of anything I’ve done,’ Christian whispered.

  ‘No,’ Bradley said. ‘Well, maybe, a bit. But it’s not your fault, I don’t want you thinking that. You just opened my eyes to other possibilities, that’s all.’ He slid a hand over the top of Christian’s and gripped it.

  ‘Love is transient in all its forms. Don’t feel guilty because your feelings for Sean have changed. Sometimes we all need saving.’

  ‘I don’t think I need saving, exactly.’ Brad smiled. ‘It’s just hard keeping up with Sean at times. He’s so outgoing and fun, people are drawn to him. He casts a big shadow, you know?’

  ‘It’s important to recognise when people aren’t giving you what you need,’ Christian said. ‘And that you learn to let them go. Mourn and move on. It’s a natural cycle.’

  ‘You know what,’ Bradley said, letting go of Christian’s hand and going to Sean’s side, ‘I really don’t think he’s breathing right. His skin’s gone all waxy. What’s that phone number for the NHS helpline? I’d be happier if I got some advice.’

  ‘You’re over-reacting,’ Christian said. ‘I’ve seen plenty of people in this state before. Give him a couple of hours to get it out of his system then we’ll wake him up and fill him with coffee.’

  ‘I think just to be on the safe side I’ll make that call,’ Brad said.

  ‘I’m telling you, that’s a mistake,’ Christian said as Bradley reached for the landline.

  ‘It’s dead,’ Brad said, looking bemused at the phone. ‘Sorry, have you got my mobile?’

  ‘You don’t need it,’ Christian replied.

  ‘Look, I know this isn’t what we planned, but I have to take care of Sean. If you want to go I’ll understand. Maybe that would be best anyway. He’ll be confused when he wakes up.’

  ‘Bradley,’ Christian said, ‘Sean isn’t going to wake up.’

  ‘Don’t talk stupid.’ Bradley shook his head, frowning, his voice louder and higher in tone. ‘Of course he’s going to wake up. He’s still breathing, he’s just terribly drunk. The hospital might want to pump his stomach or something, but he’s going to be fine.’ He chewed a nail, laying his other hand on Sean’s forehead. ‘On balance, I think I’d be more comfortable if you’d leave. I need to be able to care for him my own way. Ah, there’s my phone,’ Brad said, grabbing his mobile off the bookcase and trying to dial. The phone didn’t respond. ‘What the hell’s wrong with this one now?’ he said. ‘Right, I’m going upstairs to the neighbour’s flat to use their phone. Do me a favour and watch him for one minute would …’

  He looked up at Christian, ran his eyes down to the matt silver gun in his hand and mumbled into silence.

  ‘You can’t leave,’ Christian said quietly. ‘I wanted this evening to be perfect. I can’t let you ruin it.’

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  ‘Let Lance go,’ Callanach told Ramon Trescoe.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Trescoe said. ‘Police Scotland needs to learn the art of compromise. I had hoped Chief Inspector Dimitri here would have that covered, but apparently all these years later he is still incompetent.’

  Callanach looked at Dimitri who glanced away.

  ‘Lance knows nothing about any of this. Release him. Dimitri will provide whatever alibi you need, not that Lance would be stupid enough to report you for kidnapping,’ Callanach said.

  Lance was on the floor in the corner, clutching the left side of his ribs and nursing an impressively bruised black eye that had spread to colour the entire right side of his face.

  ‘What is it you want?’ Callanach asked Trescoe.

  ‘I want you to phone your office. Dimitri tells me there’s a girl from his squad working there who should act sufficiently obediently. I want her to burn the contents of the envelope you left for DCI Turner without opening it, and I expect to see her doing that on video link. Police computers do use video links, don’t they?’ Trescoe said.

  ‘That’s not going to happen. Firstly, because Monroe will immediately know something is wrong. Secondly, because that’s my insurance policy,’ Callanach replied.

  At a flick of Trescoe’s wrist, Knuckles moved forward to stand in front of Lively, pulling a crowbar from where it had been lodged between his belt and jeans. He grinned at Callanach. ‘You get three chances,’ Knuckles said, raising the bar above his head. ‘You’ve used up the first one.’ He swung the tool down onto Lively’s left shoulder. The air exploded with sounds of splintering and Lively swearing in terms Callanach had never heard. To Lively’s credit no scream escaped him, but he hit the wall and slid sideways, eyelids fluttering as he panted for oxygen to stay conscious.

  ‘Do your friends here know who you’re sacrificing them for? You’ve no doubt told them there’s some higher purpose. That you want to stop the rise of a criminal gang, protect the community, same old tale. The truth’s a bit muckier, though, wouldn’t you agree?’ Trescoe asked.

  ‘The truth is that you ordered Louis Jones’ death in a way that sent a clear message out to anyone who might dare fail to pay your protection money, blackmail fees or whatever other scams you’re running at the moment,’ Callanach said, assessing Lively’s fitness to fight or flee.

  ‘Sorry, should I not talk about DCI Begbie?’ Trescoe asked. Lively looked up. ‘I see I was right. You didn’t fill the Sergeant in on all the details. What I find hypocritical is that you can accuse CI Dimitri of being a bent copper when you’re defending the honour of a policeman who stole my money, then lived off the proceeds of prostitution and drug deals for years? Is it one rule for your friends and another for mine?’

  ‘You forced Begbie to commit suicide,’ Callanach said.

  ‘Are you not curious about what he did?’ Trescoe continued. ‘I find it hard to believe that you’re prepared to give your life without understanding why. You see George Begbie was party to plenty of useful information through his informant, Louis Jones. Jones was clever. A good dr
iver, and a man who developed the skill of listening rather than talking. A man so quiet we often forgot he was even there. No doubt Jones pretended to be unwilling to give evidence against us, but the truth was that he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity. Putting myself and Mr McGill in prison meant he could clean up while we were out of action. Jones used to do the protection money rounds for us – pick up the weekly cash from local businesses. He continued doing that for no less than six months while we were on remand awaiting trial. Begbie knew about it and did nothing to stop it. They split the cash fifty-fifty. It all ended when we were convicted and sentenced. People realised they didn’t need to pay anymore when it was clear we weren’t coming back for years. Jones and Begbie made more money than they could have dreamed of – just too much to put into a bank account. I don’t know why Begbie did it, but I can guess. You must know that the police only assigns officers onto vice squad for a limited period, before their minds get twisted by the filth and depravity they see. Money and sex operate exactly the same way. At first you’re horrified by what you see, then you’re intrigued. Soon enough you admit that you want it for yourself. Begbie went too long watching other people getting rich. It made him jealous and greedy. It killed him, and he’s passed his misfortune onto you. Honestly, I think your precious former DCI got what was coming to him,’ Trescoe finished.

  ‘Whatever wrong he did, he spent his career putting men like you inside to make up for it. How did your boys do it? Did they hold a gun to the window while the car filled up with carbon monoxide?’

  Knuckles laughed.

  ‘So much drama, DI Callanach. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. And George Begbie got off lightly, by the way. He died looking out at the sea, having gallantly pretended that all the money had gone in order to protect his dear wife. Then Ava Turner stuck her rather attractive nose in and everything became so much more complicated. I hope you don’t mind dying to satisfy Turner’s need to be proved right,’ Trescoe said.