Taking a pencil from his breast pocket, Jackson leaned closer and moved the blood-stiffened collar of the expensive suede jacket aside with the pointed end. There was no tie. Not a business meet gone wrong, then. Moving a cuff back revealed a very nice Rolex watch strapped to the wrist. Not a simple mugging, either. And a prod with the pencil told him the wallet was in the inside breast pocket – probably full, given the bulky feel of it.
Easing the pencil beneath the victim’s chin, he carefully raised the heavy head a couple of centimetres. Congealed blood, tissue and hair remained on the concrete below – an imperfect circle marking the place of death. Jackson dipped his head to look at the underside of the face. Dead a good few hours, he guessed, judging by the squashed, sunken quality of the skin. Already, a pencil-thick groove was forming in the waxy flesh.
Laying the head back in its grisly cast, Jackson recorded his findings. Glancing at his watch, he marked the time at six forty-five a.m.
Less than an hour into his shift. Beggar of a way to start the day.
Standing, he brushed the dirt from his knees and scanned the assembled crew for a familiar face. Not finding one among the crush of young, eager-faced uniforms, he ambled across to the yard’s entrance for a quiet look around. Leaning against the wall beside the open gates, he crossed his feet at the ankle and folded his arms. A passer-by would have taken him for a nosy onlooker. He certainly didn’t look official. At fifty-two, his salt-and-pepper hair was a little long to be considered respectable, his craggy face too villain-like, and his mismatched clothes too cheap.
A couple of minutes into his solo surveillance, his eagle eyes had detected a number of things that he felt warranted investigation – starting with the bushes edging the small wall. Flatter in the centre than at any other point, the trampled grass looked recently disturbed. He’d check them out after he’d done the yard.
Pushing himself away from the wall, he walked slowly forward, flicking his eyes from side to side as he scanned the concrete for signs. He’d only gone a few steps when he found something. Pushing a couple of PCs aside, he bent double and peered at a sizeable bloodstain that was partially concealed by a leaflet advertising an upcoming Simply Red concert.
‘I bloody knew it!’ he muttered to no one in particular.
‘What’s that?’ Detective Sergeant Macintosh asked, appearing at his side. ‘Thinking of going, were you?’
Jackson glanced up at his fat friend, saying without rancour, ‘You’re late.’ Then, kicking the leaflet aside, he pointed at the bloodstain. ‘That there, Mac, confirms what I was just thinking.’
Mac raised his thick eyebrows and waited.
‘See where the body is?’ Jackson continued. ‘This is too far away, and there’s no trail across the yard. If it’s our man’s, and he fell here and dragged himself – or was dragged – over there, there’d be a trail, wouldn’t there? And given the size of the exit wound and the amount of blood lost, there’d be a damn’ sight more in this spot than over there, wouldn’t there?’ Without waiting for an answer, he walked towards the bushes.
‘Forensics here yet?’ he asked as Mac followed him over the low wall.
‘Graves is on his way,’ Mac said, smirking as Jackson tutted.
‘That prick!’ Jackson was scathing. ‘Get a sample of that stain before the bollock destroys all the evidence, will you? And while you’re at it, get one off the stiff, and have it secured – just in case.’
Turning back to the business at hand, he motioned with a nod to the flattened undergrowth. ‘Recently trampled, you reckon?’
‘Herd of bloody elephants,’ Mac said, kicking the undergrowth aside with his toe.
‘Mmm,’ Jackson murmured. ‘And not kids.’
‘Not if those prints are anything to go by,’ Mac pointed to a mess of adult-sized footprints in the mud.
Jackson bent low with his hands on his knees. ‘Think we’d get a clear cast?’
‘Doubt it. Too mushy.’
Jackson nodded. ‘Looks like a scuffle. Do you reckon it started in here?’
Mac mulled it over for a minute, then shook his head. ‘The stiff came out of the back door, and he’d only gone a few feet before falling. I don’t reckon he’d have had any reason to come in here, then go back out there. More likely whoever did him was hiding here and had a bit of a panic. We found the weapon yet?’
‘Not yet. But there’ll be a search of the immediate area as soon as.’
‘What d’y’ reckon for motive?’
Jackson shrugged. ‘There’s no sign of robbery. He’s still got his wallet and watch on him, and they didn’t have the jeep away. I’d bet the shop keys are still here, too. You can check that.’ He paused, shrugging again. ‘Grudge, maybe?’
Hearing a car pull up outside the gates of the yard, Mac turned to look. ‘Heads up,’ he warned. ‘Graves.’
Jackson stood up and peered across the yard, frowning at the sight of Greg Graves climbing out of his official car. A gangling wimp of a man, with side-parted carroty hair and abnormally long wrists, everything about him set Jackson’s teeth on edge. Quite apart from the fact that he was notoriously blind to the most obvious evidence.
‘Shit!’ he hissed. ‘Get in there, Mac, and sort those samples before he puts his size thirteens right in the middle of ’em!’
As Mac leaped over the wall to do his bidding, Jackson squatted down to study the footprints in the hopes of finding a good one. But Mac had been right. The ground was so churned up, it was impossible to tell one from another.
He was about to give up when he spotted a tiny scrap of material stuck to a bramble. Pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, he slipped them on and reached for the scrap. It was black wool, probably from a hat or a balaclava. It was so small it would probably prove nothing, but there was always a chance.
Dropping the wool into an evidence bag, Jackson sealed it and slipped it into his pocket, then stood and made to go back into the yard. Just then, a convoy of TV-equipment trucks rolled up to the gates. ‘Oh, great!’ he muttered. ‘Just what I need.’
A car pulled in behind the trucks. Jackson’s eyes narrowed as Liz Jardine, the glamorous Granada newsreader, stepped out, trailing a make-up woman. He wished someone else had come to cover the killing. She would nose around until she knew everything, then give it all out on air at the first opportunity.
‘How did they get wind?’ Mac said, rushing over.
‘God knows!’ Jackson frowned. ‘But I suppose I’d better do some damage limitation. Do you think you can keep the nappy brigade out of the way while I stop the silly tart giving away vital info?’
‘My pleasure,’ Mac grinned. Then, rubbing his hands together, he turned to the crowd of PCs and bellowed: ‘Right then, lads and lasses . . . Let’s have you all over here, out of harm’s way, eh? Come on, come on – move yourselves!’
Sighing heavily, Jackson made his way towards Liz Jardine.
8
Mal woke, groaning. He was still on the rug in front of the fire, but the fire was out now and he was freezing. Shivering, he peered blearily around the room. Everyone was flaked out. Sam, still sprawled half-on, half-off his chair, his mouth hanging wide open, snoring softly. Lee, his face drained of blood, curled up on the couch with his ruined jacket over his shoulders. And Ged, over-flowing the chair near the window, his long legs stretched out before him, his meaty hands clasped together on his stomach.
‘What time is it?’ Mal croaked, pushing himself up on his elbows, yawning hard. ‘God, what a night. I’m shagged.’
‘Ten to seven,’ Ged said, rising from his dream with surprising ease and squinting at his watch. ‘Must have dropped off.’
‘Is that all?’ Mal moaned. ‘I’ve only had half an hour. No wonder I feel like shit!’
‘You don’t look too hot, either,’ Ged commented.
‘Says the bloke who looks like he’s been slapped round the mush with a kipper!’ Mal retorted grumpily.
Struggling to his k
nees, he dug his cigarettes out from the mess, sparked the fire and dipped his face towards it to light up. Then, grumbling loudly, he kicked aside the heap of empty bottles and cans and huddled up to the heat.
‘Whassamatta?’ Lee croaked. Lifting his heavy head from the cushion, he quickly dropped it back when a starburst of pain shot through it. ‘Shit!’ he groaned. ‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a sixteen-tonner!’
‘Serves you right!’ Mal snorted.
‘Get back up yer arse where you come from!’ Lee said. ‘But give us a fag before y’ go!’
Mal threw him one, then offered one to Ged. Ged reached for it, then lumbered to his feet and headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on. Seconds later, he popped his head round the door to tell Mal he had no milk.
Mal tutted, then yelled: ‘SUZIE! WHERE’S THE MILK?’
In the bedroom, Suzie struggled awake as Mal’s voice disturbed her sleep. The quilt had dropped to the floor, and the cold bit into her when she moved. With a shiver, she rolled onto her side and forced herself to sit up, tapping her feet around until she found her slippers.
‘SUZIE!’ Mal yelled again. ‘Get your arse in here!’
With a sigh, she went to see what he wanted.
‘About bleedin’ time!’ he snarled when she came in.
‘Sorry. I didn’t hear you.’
‘Clean your ears out, then,’ he snapped. Then, nodding towards the kitchen, he said, ‘Ged needs milk. Go and get some, and don’t take all day about it.’
‘Here,’ Lee piped up, raising his head gingerly from the cushion. ‘She can check for my gun while she’s there, innit?’
‘Good idea,’ Mal said. He turned back to Suzie. ‘If you hurry up, you might still make it before the pigs.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ged said, coming to stand in the doorway. ‘It’s gone seven. They’ll have well sussed it out by now.’
Mal shrugged. ‘So? She can still have a mooch.’
Ged stared at him in disbelief. ‘You really are an arsehole, aren’t you? First you send her to get your mask, then back to check on Lee because you didn’t want to risk it . . . and now a gun! A gun you weren’t even supposed to have! Well, I’ve had it! I’m off.’ He stomped across the room to grab his jacket, a scowl of pure disgust on his face.
Mal watched him with a smirk. ‘See that little old woman what’s fighting to get out of you?’ he said. ‘Well, I’d watch it if I was you, ’cos she’s winning! When d’y’ start the knitting classes?’
Ged shot him a bad look, but Mal shrugged it off. Now he was properly awake, he was beginning to remember his good fortune, and that made him too happy to argue.
‘Chill out, dickhead!’ he laughed, rolling his eyes. ‘All right, you win. She don’t have to look for the gun. But she can still go for milk – if that’s all right with you? Aw, come on, man,’ he went on when Ged didn’t answer. ‘Don’t take off now. We ain’t even started celebratin’ yet!’
‘Okay,’ Ged grunted, sitting back down. ‘But I’m telling you, man. You’ve got to stop treating that girl like shit, ’cos it’s pissing me off.’
Sam was woken by their voices. ‘God, my head’s splitting,’ he groaned. ‘You got any tablets, Mal?’
‘Think yours is bad?’ Lee said, tapping two fingers gently along the neat line of stitches throbbing painfully beneath the bandage. ‘You wanna feel mine. It’s mashed. I’ll need a whole bottle of pills to sort this out!’
Mal shook his head in despair. ‘Listen to youse, y’ pair of demics! You don’t want pills, you want some Charlie!’ Standing up, he stretched. ‘Right. I’m getting changed, then I’m off to the coke shop.’
‘Can I use the phone?’ Ged asked. He had planned to wait till evening before he called his daughter, but he couldn’t wait. If he called now he’d catch her before she went to school.
‘Use it . . .’ Mal spread his arms wide. ‘Shit, keep it if you want! I’m so fucking rich, I’ll buy another while I’m out!’
With that, he grabbed his jacket from behind the door and trotted out of the room, high on life.
Ged tapped out his old number like second nature – which just about said it all, he thought. Old habits die hard – even the crappy ones. Like hanging about with these tossers just because they’d been to school together.
Lee clutched at his head when the front door banged shut behind Mal. ‘Me head’s busting!’ he moaned. ‘I think I’m dying.’
‘I’ve got two aspirins left,’ Suzie said, coming through from the bedroom. ‘You can have them if you want.’
‘I need more than that,’ Lee moaned.
‘I’ll get some more at the shops,’ she said, pulling her coat on and going to get her purse from the kitchen drawer. ‘Does anyone else want anything?’
‘You can get me twenty cigs,’ Ged said, sticking the still-ringing phone under his chin so he could root through his pocket for change.
‘Will you be long, Ged?’ Sam asked. ‘I’d better try Louise again. Let her know about Wendy before she thinks we’ve abandoned her.’
Suzie smiled as she remembered the good news – the only good news – of the night before. ‘Oh, yeah, Sam,’ she said. ‘I meant to say congratulations, but it was a bit hectic this morning. Will you be going to see her later?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam said. ‘You’ll be coming, won’t you?’
‘Course,’ she smiled. ‘I wouldn’t miss it. Won’t be long.’ Waving, she left.
‘Hello?’ Ged said when the phone was finally answered. Hearing his daughter’s voice, he smiled – relieved that it wasn’t her mother. ‘Hiya, sweetheart. You all right? Yeah, look, I’m glad I caught you. I want to see you. No, not now. Later . . .’
Mal had taken Lee’s car, cutting his journey down from fifteen minutes to five. Now he was in Stevo’s living room, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he pulled his wad out and saw Stevo’s jaw drop to his knees.
He leafed through the notes, slowly, deliciously, all the time watching Stevo from the corner of his eye. Like all the other Scots Mal had ever met, Stevo was usually an arrogant shite. But not today. The guy was practically drooling. Mal chuckled softly as he imagined the pound signs dinging round and round in Stevo’s eyes like a cartoon.
‘How much ye after?’ Stevo asked, his voice husky with money lust.
‘How much you got?’ Mal asked nonchalantly. ‘I might want a fair bit this time. Depending what it is, like.’
‘I’ve got some top gear,’ Stevo said. ‘It’s the best! Just let me know how much, and I’ll see what I’ve got left. Been going like hot cakes, this stuff . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Mal drawled, looking at Stevo with contempt. ‘It’s always the best, innit? Don’t be taking me for a mug, Stevo. You’re not the only dealer around, you know. And I might be in the market for a big score, so you’d better treat me good.’
Stevo held his hands out. ‘Mal – I’m offended, mate. Have I ever treated ye any way but good, eh?’
Mal smirked. It felt good being in control. Sauntering across to Stevo’s grotty old couch, he plonked himself down, casually crossing his legs. This was the life. Stevo had never been so willing to please. He usually couldn’t wait to get him out the door. But not today. Now he’d realized Mal was a serious buying prospect he was falling all over himself.
‘I don’t want to rush ye, pal,’ Stevo said suddenly, interrupting Mal’s little daydream of power. ‘But I’ve got someone coming round, and it’s a wee bit delicate, like.’
‘So what you sayin’?’ Mal’s voice was flat. ‘You want me gone, is that it?’ Half rising, he began to repocket the money. ‘ ’Cos if me money’s not good enough to get you to treat me with respect, I’ll—’
‘No!’ Stevo held his hands up quickly, his eyes swivelling furtively as he considered how best to get rid of Mal and at the same time get him to leave the wad of dosh behind. He badly needed it to pay his own dealer off. He was due any minute and he’d kick off good-style if Ma
l was still here.
‘Look, Mal,’ he said after a minute. ‘I can get ye any amount ye want. Just let me know what ye need and it’s yours. But just now, I’m no being funny, but y’ cannae hang about. Y’understand, don’t ye?’
‘So what have you got on you right now?’ Mal asked coolly.
Stevo jumped up and pulled his last bag out of his pocket. Inside this there were four tenner bags. His dealer would be bringing more, but he wouldn’t leave it unless Stevo had the money he owed for the last lot – which he didn’t. But Mal did.
‘Look, this is all I’ve got,’ he said. ‘I know ye want more, so I’ll do ye a favour . . .’ He dangled the bags from his fingers so Mal could see the white powder through the plastic. As he expected, Mal’s eyes lit up. A proper coke-fiend! Stevo grinned inwardly. This should be easy.
‘As y’ know,’ he went on, as sincerely as possible, ‘I don’t normally deliver. But for ye, mate, I’ll make an exception. What y’ after altogether? A quarter? Half?’
Mal eyed the bags greedily. ‘Depends how much you’re asking for it.’
Stevo did a quick calculation and said, ‘I’ll let you have a quarter for five.’
Mal nodded slowly, ticking it over. ‘Sounds okay. How much off for a half?’
‘Aw, come on,’ Stevo moaned. ‘I cannae go any lower than that. I’ve already knocked thirty offa the quarter, an’ that’s ma absolute rock bottom – I won’t make a single penny at that price!’ He paused, considering his next words carefully. ‘Only thing is, I haven’t got it all here anyhow, see. So what I’ll have to do is take the money off y’ now, and bring the whole lot round to ye later.’
‘You what?’ Mal stared at him incredulously. ‘You reckon I’m gonna leave a grand with you and trust you to bring me the stuff? You must think I’m off my bleedin’ head, mate!’
‘Aw, come on,’ Stevo whined. ‘I’ve never ripped y’ off, have I? I always give ye good deals. And, look.’ He shook the bags temptingly. ‘You can take these now, and I’ll only charge ye half for them. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
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