The Deep Dark Sleep l-3

by Craig Russell

I nodded, dispelling the image of masked raiders escaping with twenty pounds in half-crowns and a crate of Darjeeling. Although the thought did cross my mind that teashops probably had been the target of hold-ups in Glasgow. Everything else was. Any business that handled cash was seen as fair game by the city’s armed robbers. I had once met an ex-bank teller-turned-policeman who told me that one of the reasons for his career change was that as a copper he was much less likely to find himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

  ‘He’s maybe even out of Glasgow,’ Ferguson continued. ‘Someone told me some story about him being a ghillie on some country estate somewhere. Or a gamekeeper.’

  ‘He must stand out from the others,’ I said. ‘I mean, he’ll be the only gamekeeper with the barrels sawn off his shotgun. Anybody else you can think of that might give me a steer, Jock? What about the witness?’

  A roar of laughter from a bunch of flat-caps behind us swelled the clamour and Jock made out that he hadn’t heard me.

  ‘What about the witness you mentioned? The van driver?’

  ‘I don’t know his name offhand,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’ll get back to you with it. I’ll tell you what, you should speak to Archie McClelland about it.’ Ferguson referred to the retired policeman I had hired to ride security with me on the wages run. ‘Archie was in the force back then. I’ve no doubt that he can tell you something about it. Now … I think you owe me another pint …’

  I smiled resignedly and, shaking my empty beer glass, turned to Big Bob, who was at the far end of the bar.

  I arrived on time for my meeting with Donald Fraser, the solicitor. Disappointingly, he was pretty much as I had expected from his voice: unremarkable and dour. He was tall and dull looking in the way only lawyers and bank managers managed to look dull, dressed in an expensive blue serge suit that was very carefully just out of fashion. It was also several cloth weights too heavy for the time of year and the elbows had glossed with too much desk leaning. Like his elbows, the dome of his skull seemed worn and his scalp shone through the thinning dark hair. The small, beady eyes that watched me through wire-framed spectacles had a look that I guessed was meant to be superior or intimidating. It didn’t work. He took half a dictionary to ask me to sit down and I did, taking my hat off and hanging it on my knee.

  ‘I was fortuitously supplied with your name by Mr George Meldrum, a colleague of mine,’ said Fraser.

  ‘I know Mr Meldrum,’ I said, without adding that I was surprised that Fraser knew him professionally. Everybody knew George Meldrum by reputation, of course: he was Glasgow’s most flamboyant defence lawyer and had represented some of the more colourful members of the city’s underworld, his principal client being Willie Sneddon, one of the Three Kings. Meldrum was the kind of oleaginous creep who treated people like crap whenever he could get away with it, yet when in Sneddon’s presence displayed an obsequiousness that would embarrass any self-respecting lickspittle.

  ‘I appreciate his recommendation,’ I said as if I meant it.

  ‘Quite …’ Fraser’s tone suggested that it had been less a recommendation, more of a needs-must. ‘Mr Meldrum assures me of your discretion. Particularly with regard to the more unsavoury aspects of some investigations.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, guessing that Fraser expected me to polish up my lead-and-leather sap. ‘I hope you understand that I operate within the law at all times, Mr Fraser.’

  ‘Of course,’ Fraser said, emphatically and with a hint of wounded integrity. ‘I would not expect anything less. We would not be having this conversation if I thought otherwise.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what it is you want me to do? The thing you didn’t want to divulge telephonically.’ I threw his twenty guinea phrase back at him.

  ‘You’re American, Mr Lennox? From your accent I mean …’

  ‘No. I’m Canadian. Scottish parents but brought up in Canada.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said approvingly, as if he found the latitude of my childhood more commendable; there was a strong fraternal link between the Scots and the Canadians — as could be seen by the three-block queues of eager soon-to-be-ex-Glaswegians outside the Canadian Consulate in Woodlands Terrace. By contrast, the British generally had a distaste for the upstart vulgarity of Americans, particularly for the insolence with which they had saved Britain from defeat during the War, and then from bankruptcy after it. ‘Like Robert Beatty, the actor?’ said Fraser eagerly. ‘My wife is something of a fan of Robert Beatty.’

  ‘Not quite. Beatty’s an Ontarian. I was raised in New Brunswick. Atlantic Canada.’

  ‘I see,’ Fraser said with a hint of disappointment. I had gotten the latitude right, but not the longitude. He opened a buff foolscap folder and slid a large, black and white portrait photograph across the desk at me. An unfeasibly handsome face grinned a one hundred-watt smile at me. I recognized the face right away.

  ‘That’s not Robert Beatty,’ I said.

  ‘No … that’s the American actor John Macready,’ said Fraser, telling me something I already knew. ‘Mr Macready is over here in Glasgow at the moment. He’s been participating in a film currently being made in Scotland. The filming has been mostly done in the Highlands: an adventure story, I have been led to believe. Mr Macready will be flying back to the United States at the end of the month or thereabouts, from the new airport at Prestwick. Until then, he is resident in the Central Hotel, which I believe is directly opposite your offices, Mr Lennox.’

  ‘Where do I come into this?’ I asked.

  ‘My firm here is affiliated to Hobson, Field and Chase, a most prestigious law firm in the City of London. In turn, they represent the UK interests of the studio currently undertaking the production of the film, set here in Scotland, in which Mr Macready is appearing. I believe it is a film of a historical theme.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘What’s his poison?’

  Fraser frowned. ‘I don’t quite understand …’

  ‘Don’t you? I’m guessing that you’re looking for a chaperone for Macready. My experience is that these people tend to need a governess more than they do a bodyguard. What’s Macready’s deal? Booze, prostitutes, pretty boys or narcotics? Or all of the above?’

  Fraser looked at me with distaste, which I rather enjoyed and smiled back as insolently as I could. The beady-eyed lawyer needed me more than I needed him, I reckoned. He had been asked by someone he couldn’t refuse to dip a toe into the gutter. And that, it was clear, was where he thought someone like me belonged.

  ‘There is absolutely no need to be vulgar about this, Mr Lennox.’

  ‘Oh I know I don’t need to be … but I’m right, aren’t I? You want me to nursemaid him till he gets his flight?’

  The distaste in Fraser’s eyes didn’t abate. ‘Actually, no. The studio has sent over two of their security people to do just that.’

  ‘I see. Why do I get the feeling that I’m here to lock the stable door after the horse has bolted?’

  ‘Your train of thought in relation to things like this seems rather well informed, Mr Lennox.’

  ‘What can I say? I lead an interesting and varied life. I’m right, I take it: John Macready has done something questionable and he’s under five-star house arrest until he can be gotten out of the country. In the meantime, you’re looking for someone in the tying-up-loose-ends business. How loose are the ends?’

  ‘Very loose, I’m afraid. Mr Macready is something of a heart-throb as I believe our American friends describe it. He has sex appeal, which is bankable at the box office. And he has a reputation as an incorrigible ladies’ man and is regularly seen with some of Hollywood’s most beautiful actresses on his arm.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ I said. ‘But your reminding me of it suggests that this trouble Macready is in either relates to the truth of that reputation or its falsity.’

  Walking over to a robust filing cabinet, Fraser unlocked it with a key from his pocket. He took out a brown envelope and handed it to me before retaking his seat behind the vas
t desk.

  ‘I think you’ll see that we are in a very delicate and very serious situation here …’

  I took the envelope and braced myself before slipping out the photographs.

  ‘My God …’ I said, not enough under my breath for Fraser not to hear.

  ‘Indeed …’ Fraser’s voice was filled with malicious satisfaction. ‘I was very impressed with your cynical seen-it-all attitude, Mr Lennox, but I see it has its limits. I take it you recognize who is in the photographs with Mr Macready?’

  I stared at the photographs. For a moment, I found it difficult to take it all in. The young, bent-over gentleman beneath Macready in the photograph was clearly not having the same trouble.

  ‘I don’t follow the society pages but yes, of course I recognize him. That is the Duke of Strathlorne’s only son and heir, isn’t it? I’m guessing that’s one noble lineage that’s run its course …’ I glanced through the photographs as quickly as I could. Not quickly enough to stop me feeling queasy. ‘Blackmail?’ I asked eventually.

  ‘Yes. Or, in effect, yes. The person making the demands is not concealing his identity and is taking the utmost care to word things in a way that cannot be seen as a threat. And he is claiming that it is in the public interest that these photographs be made public.’

  ‘Unless someone buys them from him?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I don’t see Picturegoer or Everybody’s running this little tableau with the headline “Hollywood Star Penetrates High Society’s Inner Circle.” The other … party in the photographs … surely he would have more to lose. Why isn’t he the one being blackmailed?’

  ‘The other party, as you put it, and his people, are unaware of the existence of these photographs. As yet. I think you can understand that the repercussions would be profound. And they have the power to ensure that no suggestion of this appears in the British press. But the American media would have a field day. I’m sure I don’t have to point out to you that buggery and gross indecency are serious crimes. It would take a lot of nerve to blackmail a member of the Royal Family, even a peripheral member.’

  Fraser scooped up the photographs from the desk and placed them back in the envelope.

  ‘You understand, Mr Lennox, that you now have knowledge that very few people will ever be allowed to have. If you tell anyone what you have seen, I will rigorously deny the existence of the photographs — which, I assure you, will no longer be in this office — and, given the status of the other party in the photographs, you will attract the attention of individuals and organizations infinitely more dangerous than your current associations.’

  It was the most long-winded threat I’d ever been subject to. But it was effective.

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to become involved,’ I said. Truth was I wasn’t sure that I did. ‘This is more than a little out of my league.’

  ‘I quite understand why you may feel that. I have been authorized to make a payment of fifty pounds to you, should you decide against taking this assignment. In return, I will require you to sign a declaration that you will not discuss anything that has passed between us today.’

  ‘Fifty pounds?’ I grinned. ‘Please feel free to ‘phone me any time you have a job for me to refuse.’

  ‘If you take the assignment, however, I am also authorized to make a cash payment of one thousand pounds to you, with the understanding that another four thousand will be paid to you on recovery of the negatives. And we really would appreciate your professional help with this matter, Mr Lennox.’

  I blew another of those long, low whistles that large sums of cash seem to elicit from me. ‘Five thousand? I don’t get it. Wouldn’t you be cheaper paying the blackmailer off?’

  ‘Do you really think that the ransom asked for these images is anywhere near five thousand pounds? These photographs could command heaven knows how much on the open market. And, of course, a blackmailer is a blackmailer, no matter how he couches it. I would not for a moment imagine that we would hear the last of it if we meet his initial demands. But even if no further demands were made, we could not be guaranteed that all copies and negatives had been destroyed. What we are paying you to do, Mr Lennox, is to hand over the money, secure the negatives and make sure all copies, other than those I have here, are destroyed.’

  ‘And the blackmailer?’

  ‘Quite frankly, Mr Lennox, we would wish the person responsible for these photographs to be made fully and unequivocally aware of the seriousness of our intent.’

  ‘I see.’ Fraser’s halo of rectitude was slipping: it looked like I was going to have to polish my sap after all. ‘I don’t know what George Meldrum told you, Mr Fraser, but I am no hired thug. But I’m sure, given his other associations, that Mr Meldrum knows a great many people better qualified for that kind of work-’

  Fraser held up a hand. ‘This is not a job for a thug, Mr Lennox. I am assured that you are an ex-officer and a man of some intelligence as well as … well, having a robust approach to your work. You have seen the photographs and understand the gravity of the situation. We need someone who can conduct themselves decisively but discreetly. Now, Mr Lennox, do I pay you fifty pounds or one thousand?’

  I watched his forgettable face for a moment.

  ‘I have other work on at the moment. Other commitments.’

  ‘I expect you to forget about everything else until you have recovered all originals of these photographs.’

  ‘That I can’t do,’ I said. ‘I have a Friday wages run.’

  ‘I’m sure you could find someone to stand in for you.’

  ‘No. I handle the run personally. And I have another case that I need to pursue. I’ve also been paid in advance for that. It wouldn’t make many demands on my time, but I can’t drop it. I can still do this for you, depending on what leads you can give me, but I won’t drop my caseload.’

  I used the word ‘caseload’ instead of jobs a lot these days: it sounded professional. More like a lawyer and less like a plumber. ‘Anyway, dealing with these other cases is my problem, not yours.’

  ‘I’m afraid we would see that exactly as being our problem,’ said Fraser.

  ‘We?’

  ‘The studio, my colleagues in London and myself, of course,’ said Fraser. ‘You will deal directly with me, Mr Lennox.’ He leaned across the desk and handed me a visiting card. ‘You can reach me on one or either of these numbers, twenty-four hours a day. If you have anything to report, I want to hear it right away.’

  ‘Of course. Listen, Mr Fraser, I am more than willing to undertake this for you, but I repeat that I cannot promise to work on it exclusively.’

  Fraser watched me for a moment with his beady lawyer’s eyes.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, as if indulging a child, but in that moment I realized he had no choice. Whoever we really were, they were desperate.

  ‘You say you have a name for this extortionist?’

  ‘Paul Downey. He is a photographer. Of sorts. And, apparently, some kind of aspiring actor. He has dropped out of sight and has left instructions for all “bids for his scoop”, as he puts it, to be mailed to a PO box at Wellington Street post office.’ Fraser dipped into the file again. ‘Here is his last known address and a photograph of him. Reasonably recent, I’ve been led to believe.’

  I looked at the photograph. Downey was a young man in his early twenties, and had the Iberian Celtic look of a Glasgow Catholic: dark hair, pale complexion. He had a faintly girlish appearance with his black hair a little too long but not Teddy Boy style, largish, soft eyes, a weak mouth and a soft chin.

  ‘Mr Downey is also a …’ Fraser left the word hanging in the air. ‘He is also involved in that world.’

  ‘I see.’ I thought it over for a moment. ‘And you say the other party in the photographs is unaware of their existence?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘How long, exactly, is Macready going to be in Glasgow?’

  ‘He has very little still to do in the way of actual sh
ooting, but there are some other tasks he has to perform before he returns, technical issues and publicity matters. He is scheduled to return early next month. His flight is already booked on BOAC from Prestwick.’

  ‘If I am to take this any further, then I have to talk to him. You do understand that, don’t you, Mr Fraser?’

  ‘I supposed you would, Mr Lennox. That’s why I have drawn up this schedule of the remainder of his stay in Scotland. His personal assistant is Miss Bryson. Here …’ Fraser handed me a sheet of paper. ‘I don’t suppose there is any way you could avoid the necessity of your discussing this directly with Mr Macready?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Those photographs you showed me weren’t taken in a rush. I smell a premeditated set-up. Whoever took them knew what they were doing. And I guess that, knowing who Macready was entertaining, they have been fully aware of the stakes they’ve been playing. I’m going to have to ask Macready some difficult questions.’

  ‘I know that this is of no interest or concern to you, Mr Lennox, but distasteful as any right-minded person finds that aspect of his life, it is my opinion that John Macready is a good man.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s a faithful pilgrim,’ I said. ‘From what I could see from the photographs he certainly adheres to at least one Christian tenet.’

  Fraser frowned questioningly.

  ‘It looked to me like he truly believes that it is better to give than to receive.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I wanted to find out more about Donald Fraser, and before heading back to my office I decided to telephone Jock Ferguson from a telephone kiosk on the corner of Blythswood Square. It was the regulation Glasgow ’phone box: its exterior inexpertly coated in thick red paint that was flaking where it had bubbled; its interior fuming with the regulation Glasgow call box odour of stale urine, forcing me to prop the heavy, spring-loaded door open with one foot. For some reason, Glaswegians had always been confused about how the word urinal differed lexically from telephone kiosk, bank doorway, swimming pool or the back of the raincoat of the supporter in front of you at a football match.