“I mean the drugs.”
“I didn’t put them there if that’s what you’re trying to say,” he sniffed.
“We both know Norrie isn’t a drug dealer. He’s practically everything else you can think of but not that, he was always too frightened of what the big boys would do to him if he tried.”
“This is much bigger than Norrie. Big Malc’s gone into opposition against Toni McVay and set up shop.”
“You serious?” he frowned.
“I am. I had the Queen of Sheba herself swan into my office demanding I try to talk Malc round, get him to give up the business and stick to his nightclubs and weed. I would have told you when we spoke on the phone but you hung up on me.”
“I was busy and because you saved Malc’s life she thought he might listen to you?”
“I wish I’d just let him drown now. At least then I wouldn’t have Toni McVay up my arse.”
“She’d probably enjoy that. So Norrie got that coke from Big Malc, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I am and apparently someone on Toni’s own firm is helping Malc.”
“I’m not surprised, he’s so thick he can’t even scratch his big melon head without assistance.” He sighed and dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it. “You see, it’s real.”
“It looks weird.”
“It’s modern, you wouldn’t understand. This was supposed to be a simple nick, get an old warrant out of the way. Now you’ve turned it into sodding gang warfare.”
“That’s what it is. Did you lot have no idea?”
“I didn’t. Maybe the drugs boys did. I’m going to have to call them in now, have them going all gung-ho on my bloody nick. Why do you have to make everything so complicated Brodie?”
“It’s no’ my fault the criminals are committing crimes. Maybe if you did your job better they wouldn’t be out committing crimes then there’d be no crimes being committed.”
“Shut up, you’re giving me a headache.”
“In that case, I’ll leave you to clean up here. We’ve done our bit and we do have other cases to work on.”
“Aye go on, before you make my headache worse.”
Brodie nodded and walked past him to the door, pausing to tug at the back of his friend’s head.
“Ow,” exclaimed Pete. “What the hell was that for?”
“Just making sure it’s attached to your heid,” Brodie grinned before ducking back into the living room. “Job well done,” he announced to his team. “Coffee’s on me.”
“Bugger,” muttered Brodie as the coffee leaked out of the flimsy plastic lid and onto his hand. Hastily he put the cup on the ground and sucked his fingers before they could burn and frowned at the empty spot before him. There was no huddled figure wrapped up in a sleeping bag or perched on the step with their head bowed and a begging cup in their hand. In all his years he’d never seen that prime spot vacant before. First Fred, then Robbie, now the mad harpy.
Deciding he needed to know what was going on, he tramped around the corner with his coffee and onto the next street where Nick had been for years.
“Why’s no one on the main street?” Brodie asked him.
A face in a bobble hat peered up at him. “No one will sit there now.”
“How?”
“Because it’s unlucky. The devil took the last three who sat there.”
“Last three? You mean that mad woman’s gone too?”
He nodded, rubbing his nose and jiggling his leg up and down. “Devil came for her. Mark saw him.”
“He saw him?” exclaimed Brodie. “Where is Mark now?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Gonnae gie us a quid for a cuppa? Hey you bastard, I told you stuff,” he called when Brodie ran off, leaving behind only a half-empty coffee cup.
Brodie was now grateful that he’d taken the time to get to know the local homeless community. Mark frequented the underside of a railway bridge and fortunately he was still there.
“Oy, I heard you saw the devil?” he called to a man sitting cross legged on the pavement, puffing on a cigarette.
“What are you talking about?” he frowned.
“The man who took the mad woman who was sitting in Fred’s spot?”
“You’ve been misinformed,” replied Mark, who was very well educated. He’d been quite high flying in his day, until a drink and drug habit had led him to losing everything. “I saw the man who took Robbie,” he said casually.
“What did he look like?”
“Why should I tell you?”
Brodie thrust his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty pound note.
“That’ll do it,” said Mark, hastily pocketing the note.
“Well?” exclaimed Brodie when Mark returned to smoking his cigarette.
“I couldn’t see him, it was dark.”
“Is that the best you’ve got? I gave you twenty quid.”
“Well, I could tell it was a man,” he shrugged.
“Oh well thanks, that rounds it down. Can you describe him? Tall, short, fat, thin?”
Another shrug. “Dunno, just average.”
“Fat lot of fucking use you are.”
“It was dark,” he frowned.
“Did he go willingly with him?”
“Yeah, there was no fighting or shouting.”
“Did you overhear any conversation?”
“Nope.”
“Which way did they go?”
“Away from town.”
“Did anyone else see them?”
“How should I know?”
Brodie’s teeth grated together with frustration. “Was anyone else there?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Bugger,” said Brodie. “That makes three. It’s a massacre.”
“Eh? What are you talking about?” he called as Brodie ran off.
“Stay under your bridge, it’s safer,” Brodie added before he turned the corner.
Bill frowned when a man strode into the Face in the Frame exhibition, looking a little wild-eyed. Usually he wouldn’t be here this time of day but he was doing a double shift to cover for a colleague whose wife was ill. He’d jumped at the chance to spend more time with Sylvie. Although he was supposed to patrol the whole museum he kept ending up back here, wanting to be close to her. The museum was due to close in half an hour and it would be a relief. He couldn’t bear all these strangers staring at his Sylvie, pressing her button and laughing when her beautiful eyes opened and she started to talk. Didn’t they realise she was so much more than a novelty for their own amusement?
He watched the wild-eyed man reel around the exhibition, peering at all the faces but not bothering to press any of their buttons. He kept returning to the face of one old man in particular, staring at it before shaking his head and doing another round of the faces. To his relief the man barely paid Sylvie any attention, which just went to prove how mad he was.
Wanting to be sure the man wasn’t going to cause any trouble, Bill decided to approach him. He hitched up his belt, drawing himself up to his full six foot, although the stranger looked to be taller than that. He wanted to put on a good show for Sylvie, to show her he was capable of taking care of her.
“You looking for something?” he growled.
The man turned to him with an annoyed expression. “Yeah but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
He appeared to be on the verge of telling him something before deciding against it. “Never mind.”
“Alright, just take it easy will you pal, you’re making everyone twitchy.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, the ferocious look at odds with his words. “Have any new faces joined the exhibition recently?”
“No but I do know that Lucas is preparing a new exhibition,” Bill replied, proud to be able to use Lucas’s first name, making it sound as though he was a close personal friend. Lucas had been in twice since they’d first met and he was always friendly and talkative.
&nbs
p; The man’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “He is?”
Bill nodded. “It’s for his return to London,” he said, non-plussed by how electrified the man looked.
He just stared at Bill then clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks pal,” he said before rushing from the room.
Bill watched him go, shaking his head. “Prick,” he said to himself before returning to Sylvie. That loon had made him feel even more protective of her.
Pete was astonished when a breathless and slightly wild-eyed Brodie burst into his office.
“The mad harpy’s gone missing now,” he announced.
Pete leaned back in his chair twiddling a pen and frowned. “Who the hell is the mad harpy? And why do you stink of rat piss?”
“Homeless people are going missing all over the place.”
Pete shrugged. “They move on, find pastures new. They’re not called transients for nothing.”
“For Christ’s sake, why will no one listen to me? Fred and Robbie have been around here for donkey’s years. Then they both suddenly decide to up sticks and do one at the same time. Now the mad harpy. I don’t know her real name.”
“Alright, that is a bit odd, maybe.”
“And it happens just as Lucas Thorne comes to town. Not only that, but Fred’s face is in the exhibition. Well, I think it’s Fred. It looks like him but it’s hard to tell without all the dirt and stubble.”
“Not this again,” sighed Pete.
“I’ve just been to his exhibition. The security guard told me he’s preparing more faces for a new exhibition in London, which is why he took Robbie and the mad harpy. I tell you, he’s killing them, cutting off their faces, sticking them up in his exhibition and calling it art.”
“Brodie, will you please stop this?” sighed Pete, massaging his temples.
“Why should I? Everyone needs to know that he’s a murdering prick.” He opened Pete’s office door and bellowed to the CID team, “Lucas Thorne is a murdering prick.”
Pete leapt up to slam the door shut. “Will you catch a grip of yourself? You can’t go around accusing a man like Lucas Thorne of things like that without evidence. Do you have any?”
“No,” he reluctantly admitted.
“Well shut that huge, flapping gob of yours.” His eyes narrowed. “Cass shagged him, didn’t she?”
“How should I know?”
“Brodie,” said Pete in a warning voice.
“Alright, I think so.”
“Well that explains why you ran in here and started shouting hysterically.”
“I do not get hysterical,” pouted Brodie, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to get a search warrant for his home and business premises now before he hides the evidence.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m missing, evidence. Get me some then I can get a bloody warrant.”
“I haven’t got any yet but I will.”
“I’m not going to convince you that this is mental, am I?”
“No because I know I’m right.”
“So you don’t think it’s jealousy because of Cass?”
“No. Yes. Alright, I’m crazy about her but I’m not a moron.”
“You told one of her boyfriends that you’d twist his nob off.”
“Because he was cheating on her. Imagine having a goddess like her then screwing around with some tacky tart with a face like a spanked arse.”
“Look, you’ve got to control yourself. If you go around accusing Thorne of stuff like that then not only will he get a restraining order but you’ll make yourself look like the local loony and possibly alienate Cass at the same time. Plus the Chief Constable will nail my bollocks to the wall, he’s a big Lucas Thorne fan.”
“Yeah, well he’s a prick as well. I see what’s going on here, you’re too busy protecting your career to catch a murderer.”
“You don’t know that he is a murderer,” exploded Pete, rapidly losing his patience.
“I thought I might have got back up from you after everything we’ve been through.”
“Give over, you make us sound like a bloody couple.”
“You’re too high maintenance for me,” he retorted.
“Oh funny.”
“Did you run a background check on Thorne?”
“No because you’ve still not given me anything concrete.”
Brodie’s amber eyes hardened. “Well, if you’re not going to do anything about this then I will.”
Pete grabbed his arm and pulled him back when he tried to leave. “You’ll sodding well leave the man alone.”
“He’s a serial killer,” Brodie snarled in his face. “Would you be so blasé if it was rich bastards going missing? No but because it’s homeless people you can ignore it. Well they’re still people and they mean more to me than ten wanker bankers or twenty silver spoon, tight-arsed, chinless, cabbage-brained toffs.”
With that he stormed out the door. Pete stood in the doorway of his office, watching him go, wishing he’d handled that conversation better. “Brodie, come back. We can get through this together,” he called. Realising how gay that sounded and that his entire team was staring at him in gleeful amusement he glared at them all. “Get some bloody work done you lazy bastards,” he roared before slamming the door shut, a blush on his cheeks.
CHAPTER 12
Brodie stalked the streets, scowling at everyone who got too close, feeling betrayed by his so-called best friend. In his heart he knew Pete was right, he had nothing except supposition and his gut feeling, but he knew he was right. Well Pete might be content to sit on his fat arse while Cass danced with death but he wasn’t. The trouble was he had no idea what he could do about it, so he decided to burn off some frustration at the gym.
When Brodie started to tire after just twenty minutes on the treadmill he became even more annoyed. He’d always prided himself on keeping in good shape, he refused to allow himself to go to seed like most of his ex-colleagues, developing a beer gut and man boobs. But since he’d hit forty everything seemed so much harder. The sight of all the buff young twenty-somethings posing in their tight lycra made him feel like an old git. When one of the pricks went arse over tit on his treadmill because he was too busy drooling over himself in one of the many mirrors that lined the walls, Brodie’s laugh rang out loud and clear across the room.
Just as Brodie was getting back into his stride, watching the moron pick himself up off the floor, a voice behind him said, “Toni wants to see you.”
Brodie rolled his eyes, jumped off the treadmill with an agility that pleased him and turned to address the source of the voice. “Hail Caesar,” he called out, his voice echoing even louder than his laugh had.
“I’m getting sick of that huge gob of yours,” growled Caesar. “One day I’ll shut it. Permanently. Toni will get bored of your pish at some point.”
“Not today. Right now she needs me because the men she’s got working for her are a bunch of big jessies.”
“Go on, just one more insult,” said Caesar, thrusting his face into his.
“Or you’ll what? Invade Celtic Britain?”
“I really hate you. Look at you, a washed-up old polis, single, lonely. I have a different woman on my cock every night. What do you have? An unrequited crush on a woman fourteen years younger than you and a crap car. And here you are in the gym trying to compete with men half your age. You sad poser.”
“Poser? That’s rich coming from someone wearing sunglasses indoors and his hair coated in Just for Men. Better not keep Her Majesty waiting,” he added when Caesar opened his mouth to retort, puce with fury.
Brodie took his time in the shower, knowing Caesar was waiting outside the door for him and enjoying the fact that he would be getting funny looks for loitering outside a men’s changing room. When he finally emerged clutching his gym bag Caesar was apoplectic.
“You took your time on purpose,” he exploded.
“I’m just thorough in the shower.” He sniffed the air around Caesar and wrinkle
d his nose. “You should do the same.”
“Have a good fondle, did you?”
Brodie grinned. “Imagining it, were you?”
“Let’s just go,” said Caesar, stomping to the door, Brodie’s grin broadening as he followed him outside.
“Finally. I don’t like being kept waiting,” said Toni.
She was reclined on an actual chaise longue that sat against a wall of her office in the rear of the five star restaurant she owned. She wore a long white dress, the slit up the side revealing a lot of milky thigh, her cleavage bulging over the top of it. Her long black curly hair tumbled around her shoulders. She was being fed grapes by a leggy blond in a tight white dress that ended just below her bottom. Every time the adoring blond placed a grape in her mouth Toni made a point of sucking lasciviously on her fingers. Brodie was forced to admit Toni was a looker and she knew how to play on it. He got the feeling this had all been arranged for his benefit.
“What, no palm frond?” he commented.
Toni tilted her head his way and smiled but made no move to get up. “I’ve been toying with the idea of getting one. Thank you for acquiescing to my request for a visit.”
“Caesar left me little choice.”
“Yes, he can be very assertive when he wishes to be,” she smiled, running her hand up and down Caesar’s thigh. “Leave us, both of you. I wish to talk to Mr Brodie in private.”
“It’s just Brodie,” he sighed, getting ignored as usual.
“Don’t disappear,” she told Caesar and the blond. “As soon as Mr Brodie’s gone I want you both back in here. Together.” Her lascivious smile said it all.
“Urgh,” commented Brodie as the blond and Caesar filed out, the latter throwing him daggers.
Toni sat up, suddenly all business, the sensuous look dropping from her eyes to reveal the hard, psychotic woman beneath.
“Your talk with Malc didn’t do much good,” she began. “He got hold of my cousin Colin and snipped all the toes off his right foot.”
“That’s Malc’s thing, feet.”
Face in the Frame Page 12
