by Helen Fields
Ava’s head whipped back at the sound of the gun’s report in deafening proximity to them all. There was half a second of silence, followed by a soft whump and a rush of air. Bradley collapsed at Christian’s side, grabbing for the syringe as he rolled. The blood was a river, covering their faces and hands. Ava pushed up on one knee, driving one fist up into Christian’s groin and following it up with an elbow to the side of his rib cage. Bradley brought a fist down onto Christian’s neck with an odd half-hearted squeal of victory, his hand releasing as it fell to his side on the floor.
Then the flat door splintered apart and commands were yelled from all sides. Armed police came first, securing the gun, assessing the situation. The paramedics weren’t far behind, allocating bodies between teams. Tripp barged through the lot of them to reach Ava.
‘Gun shot wound over here!’ a medic shouted.
‘Heroin overdose,’ Ava panted, pointing in Sean’s direction.
‘Just stay still ma’am,’ Tripp said, reaching into a paramedics bag to take a wad of towelling, and wiping blood from her face. The sting made Ava realise it was her own.
‘Sean will be okay, right?’ she asked Tripp. ‘Tell me we saved him.’
Then she blinked once, twice, her lines of vision closing in from both sides like some Hitchcockesque cinematic effect as she lost consciousness.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Callanach was taken into the cellar first with Lance behind him, and Lively given some assistance by Knuckles to account for the injuries to his arm and shoulders. Domo was finishing off upstairs, wrapping up Perry’s body and cleaning the resulting blood stains off the tiled floor. Given the speed with which he’d gathered together towels, cleaning fluids and plastic wrap, it seemed a well-practised drill.
The cellar was large, damp, and it reeked of spilled ale and rotting fruit. Two small grates set high up in the walls let in cobweb-diffused daylight to accompany the few dim bulbs that swung from the ceiling. The floor had a vague tilt to it, all four corners leaning in to a centre point where a slatted iron hole cover lay waiting for purpose.
Callanach made eye contact with Lively who nodded at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Callanach told him quietly.
‘None of that,’ Lively said.
‘Last chance,’ Ramon Trescoe said. ‘You phone the office, have that envelope destroyed, or I take a life. Are you content to be responsible for that, DI Callanach? The trail might lead the police here, but you’ll be gone by then along with every trace of your existence.’
‘Everyone of us is as good as dead already. The least we can do is make sure you’ll be convicted for it,’ Lance muttered.
‘Actually, that’s not strictly true. I can kill any one of you in a second. What you don’t know is that Chief Inspector Dimitri isn’t the only person on our payroll inside Police Scotland. There are others. If PC Monroe doesn’t get the order to destroy that envelope, there’ll be someone waiting at her house later tonight. Her address will be easy enough to find for someone with access to police records. She might survive, it’s possible, but I’ll make sure her baby won’t.’
‘You evil wee scunner,’ Lively said. ‘Monroe’s done nothing.’
Knuckles moved faster than Callanach had anticipated he could, bringing up an elbow as he span and ramming into the underside of Lively’s jaw. A click reverberated around the stone walls as Lively’s teeth connected on mass. His skull flew backwards, hitting the wall, and he slid into a heap in the filth on the floor. Small mercies, Callanach thought. At least Lively wouldn’t be conscious to see the bullet coming for him. Lance was silent, staring at the floor. Knuckles was rubbing his elbow and grinning. Domo appeared from the cellar steps, wiping his hands on a rag that he shoved into his pocket.
‘Didn’t another officer lose a baby on your watch, Callanach? I seem to recall Dimitri telling me about it. Bloody mess, I think, would be a fair way to describe it. You must have felt terrible. I could let you live long enough to see the photos and hear all about it, knowing you had the power to save that innocent baby but elected not to, and for what? To secure a conviction against me? I wonder what PC Monroe would make of it if she was aware of the choice you were facing. Make the call.’
Callanach faced the inevitable. The second he made the call, even if he faked the instructions to Monroe about destroying the envelope, he would immediately be responsible for both Lively and Lance’s deaths.
‘I can’t,’ Callanach said.
Trescoe reached into his pocket and took out another mobile, speed dialling a number as he raised the gun to Lance’s head. He listened for a moment as a voice answered the line, tinny in the electronic distance. ‘This is Ramon,’ Trescoe said. ‘I’ve a problem that needs sorting out. Do you know a constable by the name of Monroe, was in Dimitri’s squad, temporarily placed with MIT?’
Trescoe gave Callanach a wide, smug smile, cocking his head to the side, drawing out the moment. Callanach held his breath, hoping against the odds that Monroe would stay safe. The thought that he might be responsible for the death of another innocent baby was a prospect he knew he would never recover from.
‘You do know her? Good. Are you able to find her home address?’ Trescoe continued.
Dimitri jerked a hand from his pocket as he moved his left foot back to stabilise, gun poised to fire. Callanach threw himself across Lance’s back, the cellar too small to guarantee any of them safety from bullets ricocheting off barrels, pushing the journalist to the floor as Dimitri’s gun let go of its load.
Trescoe managed a couple of backwards steps before the ammunition opened a hole like a dam bursting in his chest. Trescoe’s fingers fumbled their grip on his gun as he raised his free hand to investigate the place where his breast bone should have been. There was just time for him to mouth one last swearword at Dimitri before he lurched forward, staggering, then banging down onto the filthy floor. As Trescoe’s legs thrashed their farewell, Knuckles grabbed a length of chain from a wall swinging it hard to one side.
Lance tried to raise his head. ‘Stay low,’ Callanach hissed at him, hearing the whistle of the chain wheeling through the air. As it smashed downwards onto Dimitri’s gun hand, the weapon flying into some dim corner, Callanach launched himself up towards a stunned Domo. He cracked his own forehead into Domo’s as hard as he could bear, and they recoiled in opposite directions. Beer sprayed across the room from a pierced barrel. Callanach’s face was a river of red before he even registered the pain at his hairline. Through the ruby liquid he saw Knuckles’ chain swing again, slashing Dimitri full in the face, dragging off a wide strip of skin as it fell away. Dimitri put a hand up to his face then brought it back down with a gelatinous white blob deflating in a sauce of blood.
Callanach reached out his arms to catch Dimitri, the full weight of the older man’s body collapsing onto him and knocking him backwards, just as Lively sliced a bottle in a vicious arc through the air, planting it in Knuckles’ skull. The glass smashed on impact, producing a fine red rain in its wake. Knuckles went down, drawing a knife from his shirt as his knees smashed into the concrete floor, slashing out indiscriminately at whatever was close to him.
‘Sorry,’ Dimitri muttered, as he slipped through Callanach’s arms, rolling onto the floor, his one remaining eye a watery picture of regret. Lance groaned from the floor. Callanach staggered towards him, his vision an out-of-focus kaleidoscope of stars, holding his forehead, which seemed to be growing beneath his hand. He felt the slippery warmth of fresh blood on his friend’s head and shouted for him to wake up. Running his hands over Lance’s scalp it wasn’t clear what had caused the injury – so many bullets, glass and weapons had flown around in the confined space – but his friend was still breathing, for now. Lively appeared from a corner clutching a gun. He pistol-whipped Knuckles across the back of the neck, knocking any remaining protest from him, before lurching towards Domo.
‘On your knees,’ Lively shouted. Domo, already cowering in a corner, was quick to comply
, surrender written all over his panicked face.
‘Get upstairs, call ambulances,’ Callanach muttered. ‘I don’t know who’s left alive.’ He took off his jacket and spread it over Lance’s shaking body, reaching a hand out to grip Dimitri’s wrist although his own pulse was hammering so hard he knew it would be impossible to locate anyone else’s. Time stretched. Lance faded in and out of consciousness. The cellar was a scene from a teenage sick-flick where the crew had gone overboard with the effects. Callanach kept one eye on Domo and the other on Knuckles, noting a shard of glass that was sticking like a landmark up out of the thug’s skull. He closed his eyes a moment, the pain in his head too violent to fight. More minutes passed.
Then, finally, there were gentle hands on Callanach’s shoulders pulling him up, a voice issuing instructions he struggled to understand. Boots rampaged above his head, instructions were yelled, then police and paramedics swarmed. Lance’s limp body was lifted onto a stretcher as Callanach was helped back up the cellar stairs to a world he’d believed he would never see again.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Ava sat on the back step of the ambulance. Tripp was giving orders to forensic crews. Ailsa Lambert had arrived with her usual brusqueness, checking Ava’s fitness in a matter of seconds before reprimanding her for the stupidity of inserting herself into a hostage situation. A body bag came out first. Paramedics were still in Sean and Bradley’s apartment working their scientific magic.
Janet Monroe climbed out of a police car, her right arm wrapped protectively around her baby bump as she walked between cars, ambulances and forensics vehicles.
‘Ma’am,’ she said as she neared Ava. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a scratch,’ Ava replied. ‘Sean O’Cahill is being treated by paramedics to see if they can reverse the effects of the heroin.’
‘Who’s in the body bag?’ Monroe asked.
‘Jason Elms, also known as Christian Cadogan. He and Bradley ended up tussling over Sean’s body. Bradley grabbed the syringe and shoved it in Elms’ neck. He died almost immediately.’
‘Maybe it’s better that way,’ Monroe said. ‘I never know if the victims’ families would prefer the killers to die or to face trial and imprisonment. Seems cleaner to me like this.’
‘Not this time,’ Ava said. ‘Sean’s partner, Bradley, was trying to stop Cadogan from giving Sean the lethal dose of heroin. He threw himself between Cadogan and Sean, and the gun went off. There was nothing paramedics could do to save him. If Sean lives, he’ll wake up to a world where his boyfriend has been brutally murdered by a man he was trying to befriend.’
‘I need a job with more happy endings,’ Monroe said, patting her bump again. ‘Sorry, I forgot, I came to tell you that we have reports of a large police presence at a club called The Maz in Glasgow. A former colleague let me know because it seems Chief Inspector Dimitri was involved. DI Callanach and I found something that might tie him to the Louis Jones death …’ her voice trailed off.
‘Where’s Callanach?’ Ava asked.
‘Still no contact from him,’ Monroe said. ‘He’s not answering his phone. Same goes for DS Lively.’
Ava put her head in her hands for a few seconds, then stood up. ‘This is all my fault,’ she said. ‘Monroe, can you get in touch with your colleague now, on the phone?’
‘Give me a few minutes,’ Monroe said.
Ava wandered over to the ambulance where paramedics treating Sean O’Cahill were preparing to leave. ‘How’s he doing?’ she asked.
‘We’ve got him stable,’ the medic answered. ‘Remains to be seen what long-term damage has been done, but if I had to call it, I’d say he’ll survive.’
‘His family are in Ireland,’ Ava said. ‘He ought to have someone with him when he wakes up. It’ll help him to know how bravely his partner defended him. Ask the doctors to inform me when he regains consciousness, would you?’
The medic nodded and shut the ambulance door, the blues lighting up as they pulled away.
‘I’ve never really been sure if it creates more paperwork when a suspect dies during a police raid or when you have to send them for trial,’ Ailsa muttered from behind her.
‘About the same amount,’ Ava said. ‘At least this way you don’t have to worry that they might be found not guilty and end up wandering the streets looking for more victims.’
‘Did you find out why he did it?’ Ailsa asked, stripping off her gloves and tucking them carefully into a bag for sterile disposal.
Ava breathed out hard. ‘He did it because society failed to protect him during his formative years. Then, just when we thought we were doing the right thing, we damaged him a little bit more. How many other monsters are we creating, Ailsa? Innocent children who get missed by the system, who suffer unheard and unseen, until it’s too late.’
‘If you and I really knew the answer to that, I suspect we might never get another night’s sleep again,’ Ailsa said. ‘You just do your best, every hour, every day, and you help the ones you do know about. I’d best accompany these lost souls to my table. Come for dinner next week, dear. You look like you need a decent meal.’ Ailsa walked away, toting a bag that looked too heavy for her tiny frame, her shoulders hunched in a way that reminded Ava that Ailsa was ageing in spite of her insuppressible nature.
‘Ma’am, Sergeant Collins, at the scene in Glasgow,’ Monroe said, thrusting a mobile towards Ava.
‘Collins,’ Ava said. ‘Two of my officers are missing. Do you have any reports relating to either DI Callanach or DS Lively?’
‘Sorry, ma’am, can’t hear all that well, the ambulances are taking off,’ Collins said.
‘Callanach or Lively,’ Ava shouted.
‘I can check with the forensic pathologist who he’s processed so far,’ Collins said. ‘They’ve brought out three body bags out from the club.’
Ava staggered, leaning against a car bonnet for support. ‘Three dead?’ she asked. ‘What the hell happened over there?’
‘Hang on, there’s a man being taken to an ambulance now. Are either of your men in their fifties, thick set, argumentative by the look of him?’
‘Lively,’ Ava whispered. ‘Confirm his identity then put him on the phone, Sergeant.’
‘Ma’am, this is Lively,’ he shouted a moment later.
‘Thank God you’re not in a body bag,’ Ava said. ‘Are you badly hurt?’
‘Shoulder and elbow injuries, blow to my head, nothing compared to how bad I’m going to feel if I have to put up with hospital food for the next couple of days. You should know that there’s been a police death, ma’am. The Glasgow brass are all over it already and the press are circling. It’s going to get a bit muddy, I reckon.’
‘Lively, just tell me. What happened to Callanach?’ Ava shouted.
‘From where I’m standing, I’d say he was enjoying the attention. There are at least four paramedics fighting over him, three of whom are female. He’s currently taking his shirt off to reveal what I can only describe as a graze although no doubt he’ll make a loud noise about the fact that it came from a bullet. In short, he’s not badly hurt and everyone’s treating him like he’s royalty. Unfortunately, ma’am, his face is fine.’
‘All right, Lively, that’s enough.’ Ava smiled. ‘Who are the victims?’
When Lively spoke this time it was with a lowered voice. Ava could all but see his hand cupped over his mouth. ‘Chief Inspector Dimitri, ma’am. There’s going to be some difficult questions to answer. DI Callanach figured out that he’d been working for Trescoe all along. He stitched us up when we arrived at The Maz, but when Trescoe threatened to have Janet Monroe attacked, he swapped sides. He was an idiot, I reckon, but not bad all the way through.’
‘Lively, I’ve got to ask. Did Callanach tell you about …’
‘The Chief?’ Lively finished for her. ‘It came up in conversation. We all do things we’re not proud of, ma’am, and DCI Begbie was no different than the rest of us. He was a bloody idiot and he paid th
e price. No one else ever needs to hear a word about it. Ramon Trescoe is in a body bag. Dimitri’s shot killed him. Trescoe’s man Knuckles pulled a knife and caught Dimitri in the neck. I managed to persuade Knuckles to calm down with proper police training and the use of a bottle.’
‘And the third dead body?’ Ava asked.
‘Brian Perry, Knuckles’ little friend who I gather you’re familiar with,’ Lively said.
‘I remember,’ Ava said. ‘Any others injured?’
‘One of Trescoe’s goons, Domo, got a headache courtesy of DI Callanach who performed a remarkably good French version of a Glasgow kiss. I’d never have imagined the boy would be so careless with his face, but credit where credit’s due. The Detective Inspector’s journalist friend isn’t in great shape, having stayed in Trescoe’s guest suite awaiting our arrival for several hours, but then …’
‘What?’ Ava asked.
‘Dimitri chased up his motorbike licence plate, by all accounts. Led his boys straight to the man’s address,’ Lively said.
‘A journalist? You had a journalist there for the whole event?’ Ava hissed.
‘Aye, thought you’d be pleased with that one,’ Lively said. ‘And there’s some girl hanging around called Sugar who wants to know if she still has a job at The Maz. Did you want to speak with DI Callanach, ma’am, only his ambulance looks ready for the off.’
‘No, Sergeant, don’t worry about it. Just as long as you’re all out of danger. DI Callanach and I will have plenty of time to talk this one through. Quite possibly when we’re suspended together for the next few weeks.’
‘Ma’am, you know I’ve never really seen eye to eye with DI Callanach, and that I’d sooner have had almost anyone else as my superior in MIT than him, right?’
‘I was aware, yes,’ Ava said.
