by Bill Daly
‘Right.’ Hamilton grabbed his phone. ‘Margaret, get Mitch Kenicer of the Met’s Counter Terrorism Command on the line for me – right away.’
‘The story is D-noticed, Ms Gibbons,’ Charlie said.
‘You don’t hang about, Inspector,’ Fran said, transferring her mobile to her left hand so she could pick up her pen.
‘All broadcasters and newspapers have been advised accordingly.’
‘How long do you think you can keep the lid on it?’
‘Probably not for long, but at least it’ll buy us some time.’
‘I’d be prepared to bet you lunch that the story will be on the Internet before the day is out.’
‘That’s outwith my control.’
‘As I had the decency to warn you before the story broke, surely that entitles me to an off the record briefing?’
Charlie hesitated. ‘Not on the phone.’
‘How about that lunch?’
‘Òran Mór?’ Charlie suggested.
‘Twelve thirty?’
‘I’ll see you there.’
Nigel Hamilton was sitting in front of his terminal, replying to an email, when he heard a tentative knock on his open office door.
‘Come in!’ he called out, swinging round in his seat.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting you, sir?’
‘What do you want, Stuart?’
‘Could you spare a minute?’
Having driven up and down the side streets looking for somewhere to park, Charlie had to settle for a spot in Dumbarton Road. From there, he had to walk the length of Byres Road to get to Òran Mór.
When he went into the bar he spotted Fran Gibbons sitting beneath a stained glass window, two alcoves along from where he’d had lunch with Tony. She was reading a paperback and nursing a tonic water.
‘It’s quiet in here today,’ Charlie commented, looking around as he took the seat beside her.
‘It wasn’t ten minutes ago,’ Fran said, putting a bookmark in her place and closing her book. ‘The place emptied a few minutes ago when everyone trooped downstairs for “A Play, A Pie and A Pint”.’
‘Would you like to eat in the restaurant?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’d be just as happy having something here.’
‘What do you fancy?’ Charlie asked picking up the menu card from the table and handing it across. ‘I can recommend the cullen skink.’
Fran scanned the choices. ‘I’ll settle for a cheese sandwich.’
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, holding up her tonic water.
Charlie crossed to the bar and ordered two cheese sandwiches and a pint of Guinness. Kylie took his order, but showed no sign of recognising him from his previous visit. Having paid for the food and his drink, he waited until the Guinness had settled before picking up the glass and carrying it across to the alcove.
‘So, Inspector,’ Fran said quietly, ‘what’s all this about anthrax?’
Charlie looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. ‘You understand that this is strictly off the record?’
‘Of course.’
‘A consignment of anthrax spores was smuggled into the country last week. It was being transferred to London by a courier when it was intercepted.’
‘Can I assume the courier was the guy who was murdered on the London train?’ Charlie nodded. ‘Who’s in possession of the anthrax now?’
‘We believe it to be in the hands of a dissident Irish Republican group.’
‘Really?’ Fran exhaled softly. ‘How much anthrax are we talking about?’
‘We have no idea. All we know is that a consignment was intercepted.’ Charlie broke off as the barman arrived with their sandwiches on a tray, which he put down on the table in front of them.
Fran waited until the barman had moved out of earshot. ‘The victim on the train had his hand amputated. Do you know why?’
‘We believe the anthrax was in an attaché case handcuffed to his wrist.’
‘In which case, I can understand that there was a reason, albeit grisly, for cutting off his hand. But what’s the connection between that murder and the first two?’
‘We don’t know for sure, but we suspect they may have been a diversionary tactic.’
‘Do you know why the amputated hands were sent to you?’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Surely you must have some idea who’s trying to terrorise you and your family?’
‘Not a fucking clue.’ Snatching up his Guinness, Charlie took a long, slow swig.
CHAPTER 17
‘We can’t arrest Terry McKay without substantive evidence,’ Hamilton stated. ‘His legal team would make mincemeat of us.’
‘I’m sure he murdered Harry Brady,’ Charlie said.
‘What about the other victims?’
‘We don’t have anything to connect him with them. But one murder charge is enough to be going on with.’
‘Do you have any reason to believe McKay has links with the FFF or any other Irish paramilitary organisation?’
‘No. But he’s never been fussy about whose money he takes. Kenicer’s theory is that the Irish hired a contract killer to do their dirty work for them. McKay’s muscle, Alec Hunter, would fit the bill perfectly.’
‘That’s all hypothetical. And even if your suspicions are correct, we wouldn’t be able to offer any proof.’
‘Maybe not at this stage, but I still think it’s worthwhile bringing McKay and his sidekick in for questioning.’
‘That is not a sensible approach. It wouldn’t get us anywhere.’
‘It’s worth a try.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Anderson. I told you – that would get us nowhere!’
Charlie summoned O’Sullivan and Stuart to his office.
‘We’re going to pull McKay and Hunter in for questioning. Hunter’s not the sharpest tack in the box and if we split them up, it’s possible we might get something out of him. Harry Brady told me they do their collection round in Woodlands Road on Tuesday afternoons.’ Charlie checked his watch. ‘We’ll meet downstairs in the car park at two o’clock.’
Charlie took the wheel with O’Sullivan and Stuart in the back seat. He drove down Pitt Street, along Bath Street, then swung right at the Charing Cross traffic lights before filtering left into Woodlands Road. Driving slowly, he found a place to park between Ashley Street and Arlington Street, twenty metres from Harry Brady’s hardware store.
‘From what Brady told me, this is more or less the middle of their patch,’ Charlie said, switching off the ignition. ‘It’s just a matter of hanging about and waiting for them to put in an appearance.’
They had been sitting in the car for more than half an hour, Charlie’s fingertips drumming incessantly against the steering wheel as he continually checked his watch. Glancing into his rear view mirror for the umpteenth time, his fingers froze in mid-tap when he saw two tall figures striding along the pavement towards them. ‘This is it, boys,’ he said. ‘Get ready.’
Charlie kept his eyes fixed on his rear view mirror as the distance between the approaching figures and the car diminished. When the two men were almost level with the vehicle, he flung open the driver’s door and stepped out onto the pavement in front of them while O’Sullivan and Stuart scrambled out from the rear seats and moved round behind them.
‘Nice day for a walk,’ Charlie said.
McKay and Hunter stopped in their tracks. ‘What the fuck do you want, Anderson?’ McKay wheezed, glancing back over his shoulder at O’Sullivan and Stuart.
‘When did you last see Harry Brady?’
‘Who the fuck’s Harry Brady?’ McKay said.
‘You’re trying to tell me you’ve been collecting protection money from someone for the past five years and you don’t even know his name?’
‘You’re talking through the hole in your arse, Anderson. As usual.’
‘I noticed that you walked straight past Brady’s shop just now. Didn’t even
give it a sideways glance. How did you know he wouldn’t be there?’
McKay’s left eye twitched as his hand snaked towards his inside jacket pocket. Stuart was the first to react, bending low and launching himself horizontally, taking McKay around the hips and driving him like a human battering ram into the red sandstone wall. There was a dull thud as McKay’s skull crunched into the wall, his neck twisting at a grotesque angle. He lay motionless on his back, his eyes open wide, staring unseeingly, as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his gaping mouth. There was a stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Stuart’s rapid breathing as he lay prone, his arms still wrapped around McKay’s thighs.
O’Sullivan stepped forward to help Stuart to his feet. Stuart’s features were chalk white. He turned to Charlie. ‘You saw him, sir?’ His look was imploring. ‘You saw him reaching for his gun?’
‘He was going for his fucking inhaler!’ Hunter shouted. ‘Terry never carried a gun in his life. That was murder, Anderson – and you fucking know it!’
Charlie made eye contact with O’Sullivan.
‘I saw his hand move, sir.’
‘This is a stitch up!’ Hunter roared. ‘That was cold-blooded fucking murder!’
Charlie exchanged a nod of recognition with the uniformed officer who was sitting beside the door of the interview room in Pitt Street.
‘They’re queuing up to give evidence,’ Charlie said as he walked across to the table in the middle of the room where Alec Hunter was sitting, his eyes glued to the floor. ‘At the latest count, half a dozen shopkeepers in Woodlands Road are prepared to testify that McKay and you have been running a protection racket for the past five years.’
Charlie eased himself down onto the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘The forensic boys have given the hacksaw blade we found in the boot of your car the once-over and they found your prints on the handle and traces of Harry Brady’s DNA on the blade. You can either sit there like a cat who’s lost his tongue or you can try to save your miserable skin.’ Hunter continued to stare fixedly at the floor. ‘I know you and McKay killed Brady. Why did you kill the others?’
Hunter looked up quickly, meeting Charlie’s gaze full on. His eyes were flashing. ‘I don’t know anything about any others.’
‘Come off it! Four victims – all of them with their left hands amputated – and all four hands sent to me and my family. And you’re trying to tell me you don’t know anything about them? Pull the other one.’
‘They were nothing to do with me.’
‘Have it your own way.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘One murder rap – or four. It doesn’t make a great deal of difference.’
‘I didn’t kill Brady.’
‘Give me a fucking break, Hunter! Your prints are on the handle of the hacksaw and Brady’s blood is on the blade. That’s better than a signed confession.’
‘Okay, okay. I was there when Brady was killed – and I did cut off his hand. But he was already dead when I did that. I didn’t kill him.’
‘Are you telling me McKay killed him?’
Hunter hesitated, then nodded quickly. ‘He stuck his flick knife into Brady’s throat.’
‘I want that in writing.’ Hunter’s eyes clouded over. ‘Why did McKay kill him?’
‘Brady refused to pay his protection money. We told him we’d got hold of his daughter and we threatened to do her in, but he still wouldn’t pay up.’
‘Did you have her?’
‘No. I went round to her place to try to get her, but she’d done a runner. Brady must have tipped her off.’
‘Why did you chop Brady’s hand off?’
‘McKay told me to do it.’
‘What did you do with his hand?’
‘We drove over to your house and stuck it under your windscreen wipers.’
‘Why?’
‘McKay wanted to scare the shit out of you.’
‘Did McKay tell you to chop the hands off the other victims as well?’
‘I’ve already told you. I don’t know anything about any others.’
‘Who are you trying to kid? It was the same routine every time. Someone was murdered, their left hand was chopped off and it was sent to me or my wife. Are you trying to tell me there’s another nutter like you running around the city?’
‘How often do I have to say it? I know fuck all about any other murders.’
‘Could McKay have killed those people when you weren’t there?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is they were nothing to do with me.’
‘What did you do with Brady’s body?’
‘We buried it.’
‘Where?’
‘In the Campsies.’
‘Are you ready to take us to it?’
Hunter nodded slowly, then his gaze sank back down to the floor.
Charlie got to his feet and went across to the door. ‘Arrange for this one to be transferred to Barlinnie,’ he said to the uniformed officer.
‘What the hell were you playing at, Anderson?’ Hamilton seethed. ‘I expressly forbade you to arrest McKay and Hunter.’
‘At least six shopkeepers in Woodlands Road are prepared to testify that they’ve been paying protection money for the past five years. Hunter is going to turn Queen’s evidence. He’s admitted chopping off Harry Brady’s hand and he’s prepared to point the finger at McKay for Brady’s murder. By my reckoning, that’s a result.’
‘That does not justify you countermanding my instructions!’
‘I knew from Brady that Tuesday afternoon was McKay and Hunter’s pick-up time in Woodlands Road. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I tried to call you to clear it with you,’ Charlie lied, ‘but your phone was engaged.’
‘What about the other murders? Has Hunter admitted his involvement?’
‘He claims to know nothing about them, but we’re still working on him.’
‘Do you believe all four murders are down to McKay and Hunter?’
‘I don’t know. If the Tinker, Tailor, Soldier theory is correct, Brady’s murder doesn’t fit into the pattern. And it appears that a different hacksaw blade was used on the fourth victim, though that, in itself, isn’t conclusive.’
‘I think it likely that McKay and Hunter were responsible for all four,’ Hamilton stated. ‘Copycat murders and mutilations are rare – and McKay had every reason to want to get his own back on you because you sent him down for ten years. If the FFF had come to McKay looking to hire a contract killer, he would’ve been prepared to offer them Hunter’s services if the price was right.’
Charlie frowned. ‘If Hunter was the hit man, what does he stand to gain by admitting his involvement in Brady’s murder while denying all knowledge of the other three?’
‘You said Hunter has admitted to chopping Brady’s hand off, but he’s claiming it was McKay who killed him?’
‘That’s correct,’ Charlie said.
‘He knows we’ve got incontrovertible proof from the hacksaw that he was responsible for cutting off Brady’s hand, so pointing the finger at McKay might be a ploy on his part to try to avoid facing a murder rap. Keep the pressure on him and see if you can get him to crack.’
‘What’s the situation with Malcolm Stuart?’ Charlie asked.
‘There will have to be a disciplinary hearing,’ Hamilton said. ‘In your assessment, was his action justified?’
‘When we confronted McKay and Hunter in the street, McKay’s hand definitely moved towards his inside jacket pocket. I realised he was reaching for his inhaler, but Stuart thought he was going for a gun and he reacted accordingly. It all happened in a split second.’
‘How are the press treating it?’
‘The breaking news on television is calling it an understandable mistake. McKay had few friends in the media, it seems.’
‘I’m holding a press conference at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Make sure your team are all present in case there are specific questions for them.’
‘How did it go upstairs
?’ Tony asked when Charlie got back to his office.
‘As well as could be expected, under the circumstances. I got a bollocking for ignoring Niggle’s instructions and going after McKay and Hunter, but the fact that Hunter’s prepared to turn Queen’s evidence ameliorated the situation somewhat. Niggle thinks McKay and Hunter were responsible for all four murders and pinning them all on them will allow him to close out four murder investigations in one fell swoop. As far as he’s concerned, that’s a higher priority than establishing the facts. He’s holding a press conference at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and we all have to be there to witness him lording it over the media. One thing you can be sure of, he’ll be milking it for all its worth.’
‘Would it be worth our while having another go at Hunter?’
‘It can’t do any harm.’
‘Perhaps it’s just as well it ended the way it did,’ Tony said. ‘The prospect of having McKay back on the streets, even in twenty years’ time, is something we could all do without.’
‘Fair comment,’ Charlie nodded.
‘I reckon Malcolm’s going to have trouble coming to terms with what happened, considering McKay wasn’t carrying a weapon,’ Tony said.
‘Did you think McKay was going to draw on us?’ Charlie asked.
O’Sullivan shrugged. ‘His hand moved toward his inside jacket pocket. I’m sure of that. A split-second decision. If Malcolm hadn’t gone for him, I might well have. Will Malcolm be okay?’
‘As a matter of procedure, there will be a disciplinary hearing. The question that has to be addressed is whether or not the force he used was proportionate. Hard to say how that will go.’
‘Do you need me for anything else today?’
‘Why? Have you got another hot date lined up?’
‘If only! My father called me half an hour ago to let me know my Mum’s not feeling great.’
