by Tony Black
She hung up. Brennan watched the phone’s light go out, then moved off at a slower pace than before.
The Bull was a cellar bar, dark and dingy. When he arrived DC Stevie McGuire spotted him coming through the door and went to greet him. ‘Hello, sir.’
‘You can drop the honorific, Stevie, we’re off duty.’
‘Okay, boss… I’m kidding! What can I get you?’
‘A pint, heavy.’ Brennan watched McGuire order up the drinks and scoped the bar for familiar faces. Lauder and Bryce were already knocking them back, holding court in the window seats. Prominent positions so no one could miss them. As Lauder caught sight of Brennan at the bar he raised a glass in salute. Brennan nodded, pressed out a weak smile. The bastard was having a laugh with him.
McGuire brought his pint, sat it on the bar counter; Brennan retrieved it, supped. He always stuck to just one pint on these occasions. It didn’t do to get drunk in front of colleagues. It was a weakness and that was the one thing everyone on the team was looking out for. Wullie had always told him, ‘Have a drink, enjoy a drink, but don’t let the team know about it.’ Getting drunk meant getting out of control and when that happened, mistakes were made. Brennan couldn’t afford mistakes in his position. Mistakes were for people like Lauder; he’d make one soon enough, and when he did Brennan was going to be there to roast his balls over a hot spit.
‘You’ll have heard the good news, then?’ said McGuire.
‘About Her Majesty?’
‘Yeah… Think that’s her official title now, isn’t it?’
‘She fucking thinks it is already.’
‘Still, better for us if she’s sweet. And she’ll be off to the top floor… Slim chance of us bumping into her.’
‘She’s not off yet.’
‘True. And neither are we.’
Brennan brought his pint up to his mouth again, sipped, lowered it. ‘We still have some moves.’ He looked at the glass in McGuire’s hand. ‘How many of those have you had?’
He jutted his jaw. ‘Two. This is my third.’
Brennan took it out of his hand. ‘Get yourself an orange juice.’
‘What? I thought I was off duty.’
‘You are… And I’d like it to stay that way for both of us, so orange juice for you tonight.’
‘Yes, sir.’ McGuire slumped off.
‘And I told you about that before.’
A nod, thin smile, paired with a wink.
Brennan walked over to the table where Lauder and Bryce sat. He took his pint with him and put it down as he greeted them. Bryce stood up. ‘Sit down, Brycey,’ said Brennan. ‘Just coming over to give my best to the team.’
Lauder looked away, sneering. He picked up a glass and tipped it back; the ends of his moustache caught stray static around the rim as he lowered his drink. ‘Very kind of you, Rob. I’ll be sure to bear it in mind when I’m making up the duty roster next week.’
Laughter rung out around the table. Brennan looked at Bryce, who seemed embarrassed; he was a good enough sort, but Lauder was digging a grave for himself.
Brennan picked up his pint again. ‘Don’t get too cocky now, Ian. There’s a bit of time left before you get your feet under the table.’
Lauder smoothed down the edges of his moustache. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?… Expecting to clean it up on the weekend?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘Not fucking many. I think you’re delusional, son. We want to get that Fuller woman a more powerful torch to shine in your ear.’
A couple of sneers turned to laughter, but most stayed quiet around the table now. Lauder had stepped over the line; Brennan knew it and so did everyone else. Bryce got out of his seat. ‘Come on, Rob, I’ll get you a drink.’
Brennan put a cold eye on Lauder as he turned for the bar. His pulse kicked, adrenaline spiked, but he had mastered keeping those out of sight long ago.
‘Sorry about Ian,’ said Bryce. ‘He’s a prick sometimes.’
‘Just sometimes?’
‘Well, most of the time. Look, don’t let him get to you, eh.’
Brennan touched the detective’s elbow. ‘It’s fine, Brycey. Go and enjoy your night. You had a good result, the boys deserve it.’
Bryce returned to the table and McGuire approached, orange juice in hand. ‘What was all that about?’
‘That?… Nothing at all.’
Brennan took another sip from his pint and watched an exchange of words between Bryce and Lauder; there seemed to be a disagreement. Brennan wished he could place money on the outcome. Lauder got out of his seat and picked his drink up from the table. A beer mat stuck to the base of the glass as he quaffed the last few swallows. The mat hung on for a few seconds then floated to the floor. Lauder slammed down the glass and stomped for the door. Bryce raised his hands in mock defiance but he was flagged down.
‘Right, Stevie, you ready to roll?’ said Brennan.
‘What? I just got this orange juice — two fucking quid it cost.’
‘I’ll buy you one later, come on.’
Brennan followed Lauder out onto the street. He watched him get into his car and put his phone to his ear.
‘You parked nearby, Stevie?’
‘Yeah, back of the pictures.’
‘Right, get your car. Stay in contact on the phone, not on the radio.’
McGuire looked at Brennan, turned his cheek away. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Just do it, eh. And hurry up. I’m over there so I’ll be on his bumper. I’ll phone to let you know where he goes. If I think he might have picked me up, I’ll hand over to you. Okay?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘Good. Now move it. We don’t want to lose him before he gets rolling.’
Brennan dashed across the road and got into the Passat — the car started first time. He watched for a moment for the traffic to clear and then turned the vehicle round in the street. He was sitting in the road, three or four cars back, as Lauder pulled out.
Brennan took out his phone as he drove, placed it in the hands-free cradle on the dash and called McGuire.
‘Stevie, that’s me following behind Lauder now. He’s heading out towards London Road…’
‘Right, I’m not too far behind you — just at the junction, waiting for a break.’
‘Fine. I’ll keep you tuned in.’
Brennan followed Lauder down London Road, through two sets of traffic lights, and one set of roadworks. Council contractors had earlier removed diseased trees from the London Road Gardens and loaded them into a truck bed that sat in the road, cutting the four lanes to two. Lothian Buses were tailed back all the way to the junction with Easter Road and the driver at the front of the queue looked ready to ram the bus into the truck bed.
Brennan kept an eye on Lauder’s car; he seemed to be slowing down. ‘Stevie, think he’s pulling up.’
‘Right. Where are you?’
‘Just at the minimart on the corner. I’m going to pass him — can you take over? He’s getting out now.’
‘Yes, sure. I’ll stop in the bus lane till he moves off again. Stay on the line.’
‘Will do.’
Brennan drove down to the Sainsbury’s at the end of the road, turned in the car park and headed back in the opposite direction. He was behind a yellow Hyundai as Lauder got back into his car, pulled out.
‘He’s on the move again, sir.’
‘I see him.’
‘Okay. I’ll stay with him. He’s turning at the lights, going up the hill towards Regent Road.’
Brennan waited for the two cars to pass and swung out in pursuit. He could see McGuire’s navy Golf sitting a car behind Lauder; as the indicators came on he was already altering his road position.
‘Turning for Calton Hill, now, sir.’
‘Stay on him.’
As the cars snaked onto the access road behind the old Royal High, Brennan looked out into the park. It was darker than he thought; pitch black. The lights fro
m the cars lit the gravel road ahead but there was little moonlight up above. As Lauder turned to the left, drove past the Monument and headed for the car park, Brennan told McGuire to pull back.
‘Right, ease up, Stevie. Let him get parked.’
McGuire pulled the Golf into the grass verge. Brennan followed behind him, got out and ran towards the driver’s door.
‘What’s he up to?’ said Brennan.
‘Search me. Scouting for a fucking rent boy?’
Brennan turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘Lauder? He’s as straight as me.’
‘This is Calton Hill. Something you want to tell me, boss?’
‘Fuck off… Come on, and bring that torch.’
Brennan took off for the car park; McGuire jogged behind him. As they passed the National Monument they spotted Lauder parking up. Brennan turned, flagged McGuire to stop.
He crouched behind the base of the Monument. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He’s getting out, hang on.’ Brennan ducked back down.
‘Did he see you?’
He peered over the rim. ‘No. He was just checking.’ Brennan watched Lauder walk towards a small hatchback. He looked round again, then opened the passenger door.
‘Right, follow me. Stay out of the road, though.’
Brennan hugged the bushes all the way up the side of the gravel path. When the gravel gave out he stuck to the grass verges and crouched low to the ground. As he got closer to the car he saw there were two people inside. He could make out the silhouette of their heads as they spoke. Edging nearer, Brennan saw the car was a small red Astra — it looked vaguely familiar.
‘Do you recognise that car, Stevie?’
Headshakes. ‘No. Should I?’
Brennan smiled. ‘Maybe not.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me the torch.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Brennan looked over to the car; the two heads that had been sitting up had disappeared. ‘Wait till you hear those springs going, then follow me.’
‘Christ, has he got a bird in there?’
‘Better hope it’s a bird.’
The car started to move, almost imperceptibly at first, but then with more force. Soon the suspension screeched.
‘Right. Let’s go.’
Brennan made his way swiftly to the car. He got level with the passenger door before he put the torch on. The windows were steamed up as he tapped on the door. He pointed McGuire round to the other side of the car as he removed his warrant card and leaned over, opened the door.
‘Hello, there.’
There was a shriek from the girl on the back seat.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Lauder.
Brennan smiled, looked in, warrant card in hand. ‘Think you better get your pants on, Ian.’
‘Fucking hell, it’s you!’
‘The very man,’ he pointed to the other window, indicated McGuire, ‘but not alone.’
Lauder did a quick left-to-right. The girl on the seat started to whimper.
‘Hello again… Aylish, isn’t it? From the News if I’m not mistaken.’
Lauder arked up, ‘I’ll fucking swing for you, Brennan.’
A laugh, tip of the head. ‘I think your swinging days are well and truly over, mate.’
Chapter 44
Brennan walked away from the car, went to McGuire’s side and directed him to start writing down the details. McGuire nodded and made himself busy. As the DC strolled around the vehicle the front door was flung open and Lauder got out. He planted his feet heavily on the ground as he stood and did up his belt buckle. His face was white; Brennan emphasised the point by shining the torch on it.
‘Get that fucking thing out my eyes,’ snapped Lauder.
‘Watch your tone — you’re talking to an arresting officer here.’
‘Jesus, Rob, you’re not serious.’
Brennan looked him up and down. ‘Oh, you better believe it.’ He peered over Lauder’s shoulder, towards the dishevelled Aylish in the car. ‘She doesn’t look very happy. Mind you, she’s probably going to lose her job as well.’ He moved towards McGuire, said, ‘Aylish Dunn’s her name… Get some details, Stevie.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Lauder tucked in his shirt tails. ‘Come on, Rob… We can at least talk about this, surely.’ He pulled Brennan away from the Astra.
Brennan smirked. ‘You’ve got to be fucking joking… You’ve been feeding this piece more than your boaby, Lauder. Do you think my head zips up the back?’
‘You can’t prove that!’
Brennan laughed, ‘I just found you up to your nuts in a reporter from the News, the same paper that’s been putting out leaked details on the force’s most high-profile murder case in a decade, and you’re asking me for proof. Fucking grow sense, lad… One speck of this dirt is enough to finish you.’
Lauder’s expression was unreadable; his eyes seemed to have sunk into his head. There was no colour left in his complexion. He looked towards the car and Brennan followed his line of vision. The girl inside was crying harder now, her face in her hands.
‘They’ll throw her to the wolves, Rob. She’s only young — her career will be over before it gets started.’
Brennan kept his gaze fixed on the young reporter. He had some sympathy for her — she’d been used. The one who deserved to pay was Lauder. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you, old mate. I’ll give Stevie there the weekend to type this up. If your resignation’s on Galloway’s desk first thing Monday morning, I’ll keep her out of it.’
‘Resignation!’ He put fingers to his mouth, gasped. ‘Is it that bad?’
Brennan smiled. ‘No, mate, it’s that good.’ He patted the side of the DI’s arm. ‘Get that girl home.’
As Lauder walked away Brennan’s phone started to ring. ‘Oh, one more thing, Lauder, before you go: I want all your files on the Limping Man.’
‘ What?’
‘You heard — everything. And I want them right away, before your resignation goes in.’ He answered the phone, ‘Brennan.’
It was Lou. ‘Boss, we’ve had a development.’
‘Go on.’ McGuire walked to stand beside him, as Lauder joined the distraught girl.
‘We sent a unit round to one of the dealers on the list…’
‘Who?’
‘Serious piece of work called Devlin McArdle.’
‘Carry on.’
Lou’s voice peaked and troughed; he seemed to be struggling to get the words out quick enough. ‘The uniforms found McArdle’s wife on the living-room floor. She’d dragged herself from the kitchen with a nine-inch blade in her back.’
‘God Almighty.’
‘It gets worse. There was a child’s cradle… toys and Pampers. Neighbours said they didn’t have children but the wife was seen with a baby yesterday.’
Brennan took a deep breath. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. ‘Where’s McArdle?’
‘That’s it, sir. No sign of him. Or the kid.’
‘Jesus…’
Lou’s voice lit: ‘There is an up to this, boss…’
‘ What ’ s that?’
‘Melanie McArdle, the wife — she’s hanging in. She’s in intensive care at the Royal. Lost a barrel of blood but she’s still with us.’
‘Is she talking?’
‘No, sir. Out cold.’
Brennan pointed McGuire to the car. ‘Right, I’m on my way there now, Lou. Plaster McArdle’s face all over the place; I want airports and ports from here to the fucking white cliffs of Dover on alert and every force in the country notified. Now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He hung up.
McGuire looked quizzical. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We’ve got our man.’
‘What?’
Brennan ran for the car. ‘Come on. We’ve got to get to the Royal.’
On the road to the hospital Brennan relayed the conversation he’d just had with Lou to McGuire. The DC rocked forward in the dri
ver’s seat, gripped the wheel. ‘I know this guy’s name.’
‘They call him the Deil… Nasty piece of work.’
‘But he’s a dealer, right. What on earth does he want with the kid?’
‘You tell me, Stevie… You tell me.’
Brennan looked at the road ahead, the fizz of orange street lamps, the blur of car headlights as the traffic snaked its way through the city. His heart rattled off his ribs; his mind stumbled from thoughts about the missing child and her murdered mother to the minister and the manse house in Pitlochry where things had all gone so wrong for them. This city swallowed people whole, he thought. Edinburgh took people from all points of the compass and used them for its own end. It was no place for the weak or the insecure, the lonely or the dependent. The city’s streets were bright under the street lamps but they hid the shadows and the darkness that lurked there. Carly had come to the city to escape her hurts and the place had taken her in, but on its terms. He saw Tierney greeting her at the bus stop, promising her a helping hand and all the time planning what he could take from her, what he could do with this fragile young life that would benefit him, put a few quid in his pocket. Was life so cheap here? This wasn’t some war-torn hell-hole; this was Edinburgh, this was the capital of a civilised nation. Or so it was claimed.
Brennan opened the window and tried to grab some air, let the cool night’s breeze blow on his face. He felt tired, worn down. Emotionally, he had nothing left to give, but he knew he had to carry on. It was his job, and no one else, he was sure, cared about the job as much as he did.
At the hospital McGuire turned a hairpin, brought the small VW into the cross-hatchings where the ambulances parked at the front door. A man in blue-green overalls shouted at them. McGuire approached and showed him his warrant card as Brennan ran for the front desk.
There was a dour woman in her bad fifties behind the counter. She sternly refused to acknowledge the queue of people in front of her. Brennan swept to the front, ignored the protests and slapped a hand down in front of the woman.
‘Melanie McArdle.’
‘You cannot just come in here and-’
McGuire appeared, card in hand. ‘Police!’
The woman removed her glasses, looked to a small computer screen, spoke as she tapped at the mouse in her hand. ‘I really should let you speak to a-’
