Danny paused, taking the information in.
‘Okay, so who is she?’
She wasn’t going to like this but it was too late for that.
‘She’s a cop. A detective sergeant.’
‘I need her name, Tony.’
‘Rachel Narey. DS Rachel Narey.’
Danny laughed lightly.
‘I know her. You’ve done well there.’
Despite everything, Winter laughed too.
‘Cheers, Danny. You can tell her that yourself. I want you to pick her up from Pitt Street. You still know enough people in there that you can get past the front desk, don’t you?’
‘Course I do. And where do you want me to take this girlfriend of yours?’
‘Somewhere safe. She won’t want to go with you and she’ll not be happy when you tell her who you are. Danny, I want you to not take no for an answer.’
‘Okay. You going to tell me why?’
‘We need to get her safe because she might be next. I know that this Dark Angel guy knows where she lives and I think he might be looking to shoot her.’
A long pause.
‘Why would he want to do that, Tony?’
‘She’s not on the take, Uncle Danny. I’m as sure about that as I can be. But one of her informants had her name in his mobile and the cunt that’s doing all the killings has that phone.’
‘Tony, you should be going to the cops with this. I know Alex Shirley, he’s sound. You can talk to him.’
‘No. I can’t. I can’t go to anyone in Strathclyde with this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because . . . because I’ve fucked up and I need to sort it.’
‘That’s not good enough, Tony. People are dying here. It can’t be about your pride being hurt.’
‘It’s more than that. I owe it to people. Give me two days and keep Rachel safe. If I’ve not sorted it by then, I’ll go to Alex Shirley. I promise.’
‘No need to promise,’ Danny growled at him. ’If you haven’t done it by then, I’ll drag you there myself.’
CHAPTER 42
It was well after dark o’clock and Winter knew it was no time to be going visiting but then again it was no time to be standing on ceremony.
Just minutes after phoning Danny, he was driving up the High Street past the cathedral, his head full of Rachel and Addison, safe houses and hospital beds. He could still hear Danny’s warning, knowing he was right and only managing to shut him out when the lights at the Royal turned green and the road before him swung right and down the hill onto Alexander Parade. It felt like he’d been in Dennistoun more often than he’d been in his own flat the last few days and he was beginning to get sick of the place.
Maybe Mrs McKendrick would be out or in bed but his guess was that she was in her flat, peering into the bottom of a glass of brandy or gin and wondering how the hell it all happened. She’d be up half the night, doped up on Prozac and booze and too tired to sleep. Whether she wanted a visitor to share her misery was another matter but he had to find out.
Winter parked on the other side of the road and looked up. Sure enough, there was a light on in the McKendricks’ flat, a dim light like that given off by a table lamp. He crossed the road and pressed the buzzer, hoping that it wouldn’t simply scare her. Stepping back, he saw the curtains twitch as a shadow looked down onto the street. It didn’t pay to let someone know you were in at that time of night without checking them out first. Rosaleen couldn’t have been happy with what she’d seen because there was no voice through the intercom and he had to buzz again. Another minute passed and finally a crackle and she spoke, her voice weary and slightly slurred.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Tony. Ryan’s mate. I was round yesterday.’
‘Oh.’
She fell silent and for a moment he thought she’d walked away.
‘Are you still there, Mrs McKendrick?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to speak to you.’
‘It’s very late.’
‘I know but it’s important.’
‘About Ryan?’
‘Yes.’
There was a pause as she deliberated then he got his answer as the intercom buzzed loudly. He pushed against the open door and made his way quickly but quietly up the stairs. She was standing just inside the door, holding it to her as if it was some kind of ill-considered protection. He read the look on her face and immediately felt like shit. She thought he was there to bring her bad news about her son.
In some ways, it was the exact opposite. He was there to not tell her the bad news that he knew. He wasn’t protecting her for her sake but for his. And Rachel’s.
‘Do you . . . is Ryan . . .’ she faltered.
‘No, no,’ he reassured her, lying through his teeth. ‘I haven’t heard anything.’
She fell against the door frame in her relief, immediately making him feel even worse, and burping out a small, fake laugh. Her eyes were frazzled and either prescription medicine or alcohol had been hard at work. She looked at him again, trying to remember who he was.
‘Tony?’
‘Yes, could I come in Mrs McKendrick?’
She shrugged and turned, leaving him to follow her once more into the flat. Winter closed the door behind him.
Rosaleen fell back into her armchair, a half-full/half-empty glass within easy reach. It had only been a day since he’d seen her but she was already two years older, a greyer and smaller version of her yesterday self. He knew he could make her age another ten years with a few careless words but he wouldn’t.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked as if startled by remembering her manners.
‘No thanks.’
‘Coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Something stronger?’
It was tempting but he said no.
‘I just needed to ask you a few questions.’
‘Oh.’
‘About what we talked about yesterday.’
‘About Ryan.’
‘Yes. You said he was always on about going to Grahamston.’
‘Did I? Yes, that’s right, he was always talking about it. How he and Kieran wouldn’t be able to go there again. How he’d promised Kieran. Grahamston. That’s right.’
The woman was all over the place.
‘Mrs McKendrick, has anyone else come to visit you?’
‘Oh yes, lots of people. The boys have so many friends. It’s been non-stop. People have been very kind. Although, to be honest with you,’ she lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘it’s all a bit much and I’d rather they didn’t any more. Oh I didn’t mean you though. Sorry.’
‘No it’s fine. I understand. But has someone else come to visit you and talked about Grahamston?’
‘Oh no. Why would they? Nobody else knew. Just the boys.’
‘Yes, but has anyone come to speak to you and maybe Grahamston came up in conversation. Like the way it did with me?’
‘Oh, I see. No. Wait, yes. Yes. Oh, it wasn’t you, was it? Yes, you as well as the other man.’
Winter’s heart skipped a beat.
‘When was he here, Mrs McKendrick?’
‘Who?’
‘The other man.’
‘I don’t really remember, son. A few days ago.’
‘And . . . was it someone you know?’
She reflected for a bit, seemingly not sure how to answer.
‘No. I hadn’t met him before. He came to ask about Ryan. Like you.’
‘What was his name, Mrs McKendrick.’
‘You know, I can’t remember. There’s been so many people round.’
Part of him wanted to strangle her.
‘Please try and remember. It’s really important.’
‘Is it? I don’t see how it can be. But I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I’ve not been too well.’
‘Can you remember what he looked like? How tall he was? Anything at all?’
She shook her head sadl
y.
‘No. He was maybe . . .’ She looked Winter up and down. ‘Maybe as tall as you. Maybe not. I’m not sure. Do policemen not have to be a certain height to join?’
His heart stopped briefly.
‘What?’
‘I thought they had to be tall. Well they used to be anyway. Mind you, you see some . . .’
‘He was a policeman?’ he interrupted her.
‘Oh yes, didn’t I say that? He was here to talk to me about how I was after Keiran, well you know. Family liaison, that’s what they call it. He was very nice.’
FLOs wouldn’t be likely to be still visiting relatives of an overdose victim, not after this length of time. It smelled fishy.
‘Was he on his own, Mrs McKendrick?’
‘Call me Rosaleen. Was he what? On his own? Yes, yes he was. Just wanted to make sure that I was okay and that Ryan was coping with things.’
‘Did he ask you a lot of questions about Ryan?’
‘Did he? Yes, I suppose he did. Wanted to know how he was. If I’d heard from him.’
‘And had you?’
She looked up at him nervously.
‘He’s at sea. Can’t contact him when he’s at sea.’
‘No, of course not. And this policeman wanted to know about Grahamston?’
She looked very tired, as if the trouble of remembering things just wore her out.
‘I can’t really mind, son. I think he asked me about places that Ryan liked to go when he was at home on leave. I must have mentioned Grahamston. Ryan was always going on about it, you know.’
He knew.
‘This fellow did seem very interested when I told him about it. He said he’d been there when he was a boy too. He wanted to know all about Ryan and Kieran going there. He was such a nice chap. Very interested.’
I bet he was, Winter thought.
‘Try and think, Rosaleen. What did he look like? Anything.’
She frowned and sipped at her glass with an exaggerated thinking pout of her lip before shaking her head firmly.
‘Sorry, son. No. I told you. I’ve not been too well. I can’t remember his name or anything. Sorry.’
It was pointless pushing her any further.
‘Thanks, Mrs . . . Rosaleen. It’s late. I’d better be going.’
‘Oh. Okay, Tony. I’ll see you out.’
She began to push herself out of her seat and stopped halfway, looking puzzled.
‘But what was it that you wanted to talk to me about Ryan? You haven’t really said. Have you?’
‘Yes, yes. About Grahamston and just making sure he was doing okay.’
She looked doubtful.
‘But you said it was important.’
‘It was.’
‘And Ryan’s okay?’
‘Like I said, I haven’t heard anything.’
‘You’ll let me know if you do?’
‘Aye. Of course I will. Of course.’
She smiled, ten years dropping off her in an instant. He wasn’t sure if that should have made him feel bad or good. Bad, he decided.
She led Winter to the front door and opened it to let him past.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean what I said about not wanting people to come round any more. Not you anyway.’
With that she lifted her head and looked Winter straight in the eye and he took an instinctive half-step away from her, hoping she wasn’t hinting at what he thought.
‘It gets lonely on my own and my daughter is with friends,’ she added.
‘I’m sure you won’t be on your own for long,’ he blurted out. ‘Ryan . . . I’m sure you’ll see Ryan soon.’
Mrs McKendrick managed to look pleased and disappointed all at once. He backed away with a nod of his head and an embarrassed wave, turning to the stairs and hearing the door click shut as he was four steps down. He didn’t breathe until he was outside and had opened the car door, not daring to look up at the McKendricks’ window.
He started the engine and drove a couple of hundred yards before pulling into the first space he saw and stopping again. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard and he resisted the temptation to batter his head against it. Addison had said to him something once about being careful about asking questions that you didn’t know the answer to. Addy.
Whoever it was that had asked Mrs McKendrick about Grahamston it wasn’t Addison and it wasn’t Rachel. One too tall and one too feminine. It left a whole lot of other cops though.
Winter pulled out his phone and called the number of the intensive care unit. It was late but they were used to being bombarded with calls from worried relatives round the clock. When the young female voice asked, he said he was family. It probably sounded true because he meant it.
‘Mr Addison is still stable,’ she told him when she came back to the phone.
He said nothing.
‘That really is good news,’ she continued, sensing his anxiety. ‘They were very worried yesterday but he’s come through that and they think he might even be able to breathe for himself very soon.’
‘Really? I . . . that’s . . . Thank you. Really, thank you.’
‘He’s still very ill,’ she warned. ‘Stable but serious. I don’t want you to . . .’
It was too late, she couldn’t take back the only bit of good news he’d heard in a long time. He was going to need it to see him through whatever was coming next.
He glanced at his watch, seeing it was almost half past eleven. There was a good chance that there wouldn’t be anyone in the office at that time of night. It wasn’t going to stop him going in anyway but he’d just as rather there was no one there to ask him what was going on and where he’d been all day.
The alarm bells that had sounded in his head when he’d seen the photo print-outs had been ringing their heads off from the moment that Rosaleen McKendrick had said the word policeman. They couldn’t be ignored any longer, no matter how much he’d tried to rule it out of his thinking, scared of everything it implied.
His mobile phone rang, jumping out of the night’s silence and making him nearly soil himself. The name that he hoped for flashed up on the screen. He grabbed it and answered quietly.
‘Danny. Have you got her?’
‘I’ve got her. She’ll be safe, son.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Enough. She’s a feisty one, all right. But like you said, I didn’t take no for an answer.’
‘Where have you got her?’
‘Probably best you don’t know, Tony. If you don’t know then you can’t tell.’
Winter could see the logic of it, even if he didn’t like it.
‘Fair enough, Uncle Danny. I’m going to get this sorted as soon as possible.’
‘Don’t sort it quick on account of me. I’m happy looking after a beautiful young woman for as long as it takes.’
‘Have I got to keep my eye on you?’
‘You better believe it, son. Seriously, get it sorted quickly but get it done right. You watch yourself. I mean it.’
‘I will.’
He didn’t mean it though. He only had a vague idea of what he intended to do and he had absolutely no idea if it was going to work.
‘Tony, I’ve said this already but you should be taking this in to Shirley. Rachel thinks the same. She was all for taking you to him herself. I must be off my head but I told her we had to trust you. Don’t make me regret it.’
‘Thanks. But I can’t go to Shirley or anyone else in Strathclyde come to that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve got to go. Things to do. Look after her for me.’
Danny started to speak but Winter had already gone.
CHAPTER 43
It was just off midnight when Winter got to Pitt Street. There were still a few people hanging around but he kept his head down, avoiding eye contact and the questions that would follow. He didn’t have either the time or the energy for that; instead he made straight for the office, switching the l
ight on and closing the door behind him. He needed a bit of privacy.
He booted up the computer, urging it to go faster, and linked up his phone with a USB cable. In a couple of minutes, he had the photographs he’d taken of the photo print-outs from the storage cupboard and printed them off. Sweeping everything off the desk top, he laid them out and added a selection of photographs of his own. Central Station. Harthill Services. Glasgow Harbour. Dixon Blazes. The Dark Angel’s portfolio.
For many reasons, the pile of photographs had been burrowing away at him since he saw them. The pic of Rachel coming out of Highburgh Road was the biggest one but Danny had put that right, for now at least. Then there was the fact that two of them were his, or copies of his. He’d recognized them right away.
One that he’d taken of the Nightjar team as they stood near to Addison and McConachie after they were shot. And one of the three cops laughing in the background over the body of Mark Sturrock at Harthill. He hadn’t filed them for evidence, on the basis that there was no immediate prospect of a prosecution, so it meant they hadn’t left the office. Some fucker must have taken them from his desk and copied them.
Apart from other members of the SPSA, the only people who could get in there were police. Even they weren’t supposed to but it wouldn’t be difficult to do considering the amount of time they were around the place.
One thing was for sure: Ryan McKendrick couldn’t have got in. If this was the Dark Angel’s portfolio then it wasn’t his alone.
The real kicker was that some of the photographs had been taken from behind the police tape lines. Not from a distance, not from where the killer had been but right there, inside the lines. Four of them in total, taken at Dixon Blazes and at Smeaton Drive. The ones at the industrial estate definitely weren’t Winter’s and he hadn’t been at the Johnstone shooting. They weren’t much good and looked like they could have been taken on a mobile phone without much in the way of framing.
If his amateur forensics were right then McKendrick was already dead when they were taken and in any case, it was impossible to see how he could have got past the cop tape. Maybe, just maybe, whoever had copied his photos had done the same with these ones but Winter didn’t think so. He who smelt it dealt it, they used to say in the playground. He who took the shots fired the shots, that was his guess.
Snapshot Page 29
