‘Hey, are you the guy?’
‘Are you Mr Chasey?’
‘Chiase, Ch-ee-ay-sie, got it?’
The young man with the pock-marked face looked him up and down. ‘Aye, I’ve got it, man.’ He smiled, displaying a set of uneven, discoloured teeth. ‘This’ll be a nice wee break fae the old folks’ home, eh?’ He chuckled to himself.
His amusement was cut short when Chiase caught him by the arm, squeezing tightly. ‘Listen, kid, any more of that shit and your balls will be where your lungs are, got it?’
‘Easy on! I’m only taking the piss.’
‘Taking what?’
‘Having a laugh, making fun of you – och, never mind. Come on, I’ve been here for hours waiting on you.’
‘I don’t give a fuck if you’ve been waiting half your miserable life, you cocksucker.’ It was Chiase’s turn to examine the man sent to meet him. ‘Anyhow, where you gotta be? A date with a needle?’
‘Right, o’er here!’ The man walked away, Vito Chiase cursing the pain in his hip as he tried to keep up.
They walked into a car park, to an SUV parked in a bay some distance away from any other vehicles.
‘Right, there’s the keys, man.’
Chiase took them from the young man and pressed the button on the fob. The car bleeped and the sidelights flashed in response. He opened the passenger door.
‘Hey, you’ll need tae get in the other side, auld fella. You’re no’ in New York noo.’
This time Chiase grabbed him by the throat. ‘First off, I’m not from New York, I’m from North Jersey. Second, this is a fucking stick shift. I haven’t rode in one of these since the sixties.’ He loosened his grip on the man’s throat.
‘Aye well, that’s no’ my problem, so it’s no’. I was telt tae find you, take you to the car and gie you this message.’
‘Which is?’ Chiase let go of his throat.
‘The goods are in the boot an’ the satnav is set for where you’ve tae go. You sleep in the motor when you get there until the job’s done. When it is, text the number you’ve got and the arrangements tae get you back hame will be made.’ He looked around. ‘Aye, an’ I’ve tae gie you this.’ He handed the old gangster a thick wad of notes – dollars, plus cash Chiase assumed was from the UK. ‘Half noo, half when the job’s done, as agreed, plus some dosh for expenses – nae credit cards, right? Hope I don’t see you later, Don Corleone, man.’ He turned on his heel and ran off across the car park, leaving Vito Chiase cursing in his wake.
‘Driving on the wrong side of the road and a fucking stick shift. Shit!’ Chiase was beginning to wish he’d never taken his first trip to Scotland.
Mike Strong was at home, reflecting on his day.
He’d swaggered into the plush offices of Williams, Strong and Hardacre. Karen Milne was sitting behind a large reception desk, and the sight of her made Strong feel envious and old at the same time. He knew that she and Blair Williams were having an affair. The old cashier, Phyllis Beggie, whom he’d had a fling with in the seventies, still worked two days a week. She kept her ear to the ground and her ex-lover informed.
‘Mr Strong, how are you?’ said Karen Milne with a bright smile.
‘I’m very well, my dear. Not pretty as a picture like you, but well nonetheless.’
‘Ha! You can get arrested for that now,’ she replied teasingly.
‘Oh, no doubt. The boys in blue make it a priority these days, I believe. You wouldn’t mind making me a quick coffee, please? I’m damned parched.’
‘We’ve got a machine now. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’
‘Machine, eh?’ He watched her stride off in search of the coffee machine, then looked down at the floor. Sure enough, her handbag was beside the swivel chair. He knelt down, having made sure she wasn’t returning for anything.
After a few seconds: ‘Ah, the very thing.’ He’d found two mobile phones: one slick and expensive, the other a cheaper, much less high-end model. He slipped the cheaper device into his jacket.
She was back a few moments later, a takeaway cup of coffee in her hand.
‘Ah, thank you.’ He took the coffee from her. ‘Mind you, I’ve seen the days when partners took their tea in china cups.’
Milne shrugged. ‘It’s coffee.’
‘But the absence of crockery is always made up for by being able to cast one’s eye over you, dear. I’m looking for Blair; is he in?’
‘Yes, Mr Strong. He’s alone. His last client left half an hour ago, but he has a meeting out of the office in about twenty minutes.’
‘Well, he’ll just have to be late, though I don’t think our business will take too long.’
‘I’ll show you through.’
‘Oh, I think I’ll manage. After all, I have been working in this building for the last forty years.’
‘Of course. Silly me.’
As Karen Milne watched him head down the corridor to the lawyers’ offices, coffee in hand, she curled her lip. ‘Dirty old bastard,’ she muttered under her breath.
Not bothering to knock, Strong breezed into his junior partner’s office. ‘Glad to see you’re busy, Blair.’
‘Mike! I was just – just getting ready for a meeting.’
Strong smiled as the younger man hurriedly put down his mobile phone. ‘Very loyal, isn’t she?’
‘Who?’
‘Young Ms Milne; I assume she just texted you to tell you I was coming.’
‘Well, it is her job.’
‘I’m sure she bends over backwards to carry out your instructions to the letter.’ Strong sat on the chair across the desk from Williams. ‘Have you any booze? I could do with a snifter to stick in this coffee.’
Williams opened a drawer in his desk and produced a bottle of Highland Park and one small crystal glass. He poured a measure into Strong’s coffee and a straight one for himself. ‘Don’t often drink during the day, but since you’re here I’ll make an exception.’ He smiled nervously.
‘Life is so dull now, isn’t it? When I was your age we’d all go out for a decent lunch – if court wasn’t dragging on, or the like. Your father was never much of a boozer, mind you.’
‘My mother makes up for that.’
‘She was always the life and soul.’
‘Yes, I dare say.’
‘About this Jeremiah business, Blair.’
‘Please, don’t mention it. I’m so glad you took it off my hands.’ He looked relieved.
‘Keeps the old brain working, you know. In any case, it’s from my time, so I thought it only fair.’
‘Very kind. I was dreading it.’
‘I’ve incurred some expenses processing it all. I want you to transfer some funds from the company account.’
‘Certainly, I’ll have it done right away. You could just have phoned this in, no need to come in person.’ Williams opened a leather-bound desk diary. ‘What’s the damage, Mike?’
‘A hundred thousand should cover it.’
‘What?’ Williams’s mouth was gaping.
‘Don’t worry; the estate is worth much more than that. We can deduct that money once everything is sorted out. Now, I take it I’ll have to countersign something, yes?’
‘Yes, just to keep the accountants happy, you know.’ Again Williams laughed nervously.
‘Old Jamieson; how is the miserable bugger?’
‘Dead.’
‘Really? When?’
‘About a year ago.’
‘Damn. I should have gone to the funeral, I suppose. Still, can’t be helped.’
‘He left huge gambling debts, apparently.’
‘I’m not surprised. He loved the racetrack. The reason we kept the firm on. He was always so desperate for cash we could always negotiate his fees down. ‘Who’s in charge now?’
‘Brannon.’
‘At least he doesn’t look as though he’s catching flies. I hated that gaping mouth of Jamieson’s. He was an ugly bastard. Thought he was smart, too. I’m constantl
y amazed by the terminally stupid – they always think they’ve got the better of you. And then the tables turn.’
‘It’s all going well, then?’
‘What?’
‘This . . . Jeremiah thing.’
‘Absolutely fine and dandy, Blair. In fact, things should start moving quite quickly from now on.’ Strong smiled beatifically. ‘One last thing: I need access to the safe – the reason I came in, really.’
‘What for?’
‘Mind your own damn business! Now, what’s the combination these days?’
In a few minutes, Mike Strong had found what he needed in the company safe and was making his way out of the office.
‘Have a lovely day, Mr Strong,’ said Karen Milne as he passed by the reception desk.
He stopped. ‘The next time I come to visit my partner, don’t dare send a message to tell him I’m on my way. Take that as a verbal warning, Ms Milne.’
‘It’s Mrs Milne, actually,’ she said defiantly.
‘Really? Now there’s a thing.’ He grinned. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Milne.’ Strong smiled to himself as he left the office. Always good to keep the youngsters in their place, he thought.
27
‘Right, that’s us, Brian. Better get going; nothing to be found in here,’ said Daley loudly. He had taken one of the chairs from beside the table, and with a steadying hand from Scott clambered on to it just under the hatch that afforded access to the loft above.
‘Aye, hang on. I forgot my gloves, Jimmy,’ said Scott with a wink
The ceilings of Rowan Tree Cottage were mercifully low, so much so that Daley was now crouching as he stood on the chair, hands flat on the hatch. He gave the thumbs up to Scott and pushed hard.
The hatch wasn’t hinged and just fell away to the side, allowing Daley to pull himself up into the loft space.
Scott watched his friend’s feet disappear into the darkness then got on to the chair, one of his knees protesting painfully.
‘Quick, Brian, get up here!’ Daley shouted.
A few inches shorter than his superior, Scott struggled to pull himself into the loft, but managed it soon enough. ‘I’m never oot o’ bloody lofts,’ he recalled.
The space looked as though it ran across the full length of the cottage. It was even mustier than the living quarters below, and also reeked of sweat and shit. The beam of Daley’s torch cast light upon what looked at first glance to be a large bundle of rags. But as the policemen crouched their way forward, the rags began to move, and the flash of skin was plain in the darkness.
A muffled yelp came from the bundle as Daley grabbed a bulging arm, and for the first time the full face of a cowering man was revealed amidst a tumble of old hessian sacks. He was crouching next to a wooden support. As Scott pulled away the bags, they saw he was in fact chained to it. Nearby sat a bucket, a jug of water and a half-spent toilet roll.
‘Thorbin Doig, what on earth is this all about?’
The man looked terrified, shrinking away from the light like a frightened animal.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Doig, we’re not here to harm you.’
The man forced his back against the post to which he was chained, and promptly burst into tears.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Scott. ‘There’s no need for that. Come on, man, you’re older than me!’
Daley frowned at his friend, then took the airwave radio from his pocket. ‘DCI Daley to search party: send an ambulance to Rowan Tree Cottage, Thorbin Doig has been located, over.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And bring some bolt cutters, over.’
‘Who would dae a thing like this, Jimmy?’ said Scott, unable to take his eyes from the cowering man chained up in the loft of his own home.
‘Two guesses, Brian.’
‘Listen, you’re okay, buddy,’ said Scott, reaching out to Thorbin Doig in an attempt to reassure him.
Doig shrank away with a grunt, staring at the police officers, his right eye hooded by its lid.
‘What happened to your eye, Mr Doig?’ asked Daley.
The response was unexpected. Doig wailed at the top of his voice, a wail that turned into a piercing, blood-curdling scream.
Vito Chiase grimaced as, yet again, he crunched the gears of the SUV. He was crossing a bridge, the bright lights of the city of Glasgow to his right, the silver ribbon of the River Clyde spilling out towards its estuary to his left.
He’d examined the contents of the trunk: detailed instructions including a map and photographs, a small selection of sandwiches in plastic wrapping, a bottle of Coke, and a slim case containing a pistol, a silencer and ammunition. He hadn’t taken the gun from the case for fear of security cameras, but from what he could see it looked well maintained and new.
As he pulled off the bridge following the advice of the satnav, he winced as yet again he crunched the gears. ‘Fuck this!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. He pictured his comfortable home in Caldwell, dearly wishing he hadn’t chosen to boost his flagging finances by taking on this job. But, he reasoned, what other opportunities did he have? He’d been frozen out by his own family, the sons and grandsons of men he’d known and loved. He’d have taken a bullet for them – well, most of them.
Times had been tough for the Mafia in America. Whole crews had been taken down by new technology, forensics and the RICO Act. The FBI had been riding high until they became overstretched in the hunt for international terrorists. It had been a window of opportunity he’d hoped to be able to exploit. But after his eleven years in the can nobody cared. It wasn’t as though his son had stepped into his shoes, but that pleased him. Who wants life in this thing of ours, he thought. It was done, finished. All that was left was the dregs of drugs, prostitution and intimidation that had once made him rich. Most of the young guys on the streets couldn’t shake down themselves.
Having memorised some names from his instructions, he punched the wheel in frustration as he passed a large green signpost, illuminated by his headlights.
Kinloch 122.
It would take him hours just to get there. He was tired, stiff, and he hated stick-shift cars.
Vito Chiase turned on the car radio. Eventually he found a station playing the Frank Sinatra recording of a song from the fifties. ‘I might as well be flying to the fucking moon!’ he swore loudly to himself.
Thorbin Doig was being treated for hypothermia and shock when Daley and Scott arrived at Kinloch hospital. The pair sat patiently in chairs outside the side room while the doctor completed his examination of the man they’d liberated from the loft of his home.
‘If I’d a penny for every time I’ve been in here, Jimmy, eh?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Daley. ‘I hate hospitals.’
‘But if it wisnae for them me and you would be six foot under.’
‘True, though it doesn’t make me like them any more.’
‘What kind of mother chains her ain son up in the loft?’
Daley ran his hands through his hair. ‘I think my question is more why?’
‘That tae, big man. I mean, what had she got tae gain by it?’
‘I don’t know. The only thing I can think of at the moment is some kind of diversion.’
‘Diversion fae what?’
The door beside them opened and a man Daley recognised appeared followed by a staff nurse. ‘Dr Spence, how are you? I thought you’d retired.’
The man was stocky, thick-set, with short curly hair that had been dark but was now wound with grey. ‘DCI Daley. Long time since we last met. The poor girl found dead in the bay at Machrie, I believe.’
‘Yes, when I first arrived.’
‘I remember it well. You never really retire from medicine, just pause. That’s my experience, in any event. I’m doing my duty as a locum. Bloody hard to get GPs down to a place like this these days, you know.’
‘I don’t suppose they can be ordered down the way we are,’ said Daley.
‘More’s the pity! I was bloody grateful to be sent down to such a beautiful place when I
was a young doctor. I’d done my training in some of the worst parts of Glasgow. My goodness, we worked for our money there. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘No.’
‘Trouble is, it’s all about money nowadays; cash, plain and simple. I brought my family up here. We’ve had a good life. I wouldn’t think of moving away.’
‘Can I ask you a bit about your patient, please, doctor?’
‘Yes, fire away.’ Spence turned to the nurse. ‘That will be all, staff, thank you. Make sure Mr Doig gets some hot sweet tea.’
‘So he’s okay?’ asked Scott.
‘Nothing that a good bed for the night, some hot food and a light sedative won’t help, I’m pleased to say. He’ll be discharged in the morning. Chained up in his own home, I heard.’
‘Yes, he was,’ Daley replied.
‘I’ve been here for forty-odd years, DCI Daley. And in all that time he’s the first member of that family I’ve treated.’
‘Is that strange?’
‘I should say. In a place like this you get your hands on most families in that time.’
‘Can I ask you a specific question – about Mr Doig, I mean?’
‘I must respect patient confidentiality. However, in this case, I believe that I have some leeway.’
‘How so?’ asked Scott.
‘Mr Doig is well below average intelligence. And considering the circumstances in which he was found, I’m willing to make some of my observations known to you.’
‘I’ve noticed that he and his brothers have drooping right eyelids. Is this just a family trait of some kind . . . genetic?’ asked Daley.
‘Ah, yes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to think about that – consult some notes.’
‘Why so?’
‘I don’t want to say anything that is mere speculation, Mr Daley. Though I do have my suspicions.’
‘How no’ just come oot wae it, then?’ Scott asked.
‘I presume your organisation resembles mine in a small number of ways.’
‘What ways are they?’
Jeremiah's Bell Page 17
