Black Mail (2012)

by Daly, Bill

  Archie Glen got off the train at Paisley Gilmour Street station. It was dry but bitterly cold as he limped the length of Moss Street and made his way up the High Street, into the teeth of the wind, as far as the Bruce Arms. When he went into the pub there was the usual buzz of conversation, but not the level of animation he’d expected to find. He checked his watch. Well after ten. Surely news should have filtered through by now?’

  ‘The usual, Archie?’ the familiar voice from behind the bar called out.

  ‘Make it a large one, Andy. It’s fuckin’ freezin’ out there. Anythin’ on the news?’ he asked casually as a large Famous Grouse and a jug of water were placed on the bar in front of him.

  ‘The news?’ Andy chortled. ‘Since when have you been interested in the news, apart from the racing results?’

  ‘Just thought there might’ve been somethin’,’ Glen mumbled. He paid for his whisky and downed it in one gulp before hurrying outside. Lighting a cigarette in the shelter of the pub doorway he cupped it in both hands to try to warm them as he limped along the pavement towards his tenement close. He made his way slowly up to the top floor, gripping the handrail and dragging his club foot up each step behind him. Unlocking his front door he went straight to the kitchen to pour himself another stiff belt of whisky which he threw down his throat. He considered making a phone call to find out what had happened, but thought better of it. Shivering, he stripped off his clothes in the unheated bedroom and changed into his pyjamas. He shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. As he stepped inside, the door closed behind him and the butt of a handgun crashed into the back of his head.

  Glen’s unconscious body was carried back to the bedroom and placed between the sheets. A jerrycan of petrol was used liberally to soak the bedclothes, curtains and carpet, then a match was struck and dropped onto the bed.

  *

  Gerry Fraser was curled up in bed when he heard a sharp rap on his front door. He switched on his bedside lamp and squinted at his watch. It showed half-past twelve.

  ‘Who the fuck can that be?’ he muttered under his breath as he switched the lamp off. The knocking became louder and more insistent. ‘You can piss off, whoever you are!’ he shouted out, turning over and pulling the bedclothes over his head. The knocking turned to hammering and then there was a loud bang, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Fraser sat bolt upright in bed, trembling fingers clutching the blankets to his chin. His whole body broke out in a cold sweat when he saw the tall figure framed in the bedroom doorway.

  McAteer flicked the bedroom light switch on. ‘You would save yourself a lot of money in repair bills if you answered your fuckin’ door, Fraser.’

  ‘What do you want?’ he bleated.

  ‘No need to wet yourself. I huvny come to gie you a doin’. I just need somewhere to kip down.’

  CHAPTER 14

  Thursday 23 December

  ‘I don’t believe this!’ Kay Anderson hurried down the hall to the kitchen clutching the Daily Record that had just dropped thorough the letter box. ‘You were nearly at that match, Charlie.’ Her hand was shaking as she handed him the newspaper. ‘Hugh was at that match.’

  Charlie grabbed the paper from her grasp and scanned the front page story. ‘An attempted bomb outrage at Celtic Park last night was thwarted when an anonymous phone caller tipped the police off about the planned atrocity.’

  Charlie snatched up the phone and called Bill Turnbull’s mobile. ‘I’ve just seen the Record. What the hell happened to the press release about the faulty timing mechanism and the cleaner coming across the Semtex after the match?’ he demanded.

  ‘That’s the story Special Branch were planning to go with, but it was far from ideal. For one thing, Craig’s a pro. It’s highly improbable that he would’ve messed up the timing device. In addition to that, what’s the likelihood of a cleaner actually looking inside a toilet cistern? If they’d gone with that scenario there was a risk the loyalists might put two and two together and suspect that there was an informer in their midst. However, when we managed to get a fix on Glen, that all changed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘If you turn to page ten in the Record you’ll see a story about a tragic accident. Archie Glen, a security guard, burned to death in his flat in Paisley last night. The story goes on to say that the police suspect that Glen had too much to drink and that he set his bed alight with a cigarette.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake! Glen’s loyalist colleagues are never going to buy that! There’s no way in this world they’re going to think his death was an accident!’

  ‘Of course not. But they’ll never know for sure if he tipped off the police – and if he did – did he then top himself or did Special Branch take him out once he’d outlived his usefulness? Information has been leaked to the paramilitaries that Glen was on Special Branch’s payroll and when they check up they’ll find a large sum of money was paid into his bank account last week.’

  ‘How the hell could that have happened last week when we didn’t discover his identity until last night?’

  ‘It’s called transaction backdating, Charlie. It’s a Special Branch speciality.’

  Charlie, accompanied by Tom Freer, rang Laura Harrison’s bell just after half-past eight. She came to the door in dressing gown and slippers.

  ‘You might have warned me you were coming, Inspector.’

  Charlie studied her bruises and the ugly scar down the side of her face. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, stepping across the threshold. ‘You had an accident.’

  ‘I … I walked into a glass door.’ Laura’s fingers traced the scar. ‘I thought it was open. I … I didn’t have my contact lenses in,’ she stammered.

  ‘This must be the most accident-prone city in the world,’ Charlie said, tugging off his coat. ‘People knock their teeth out when changing light bulbs and they walk face-first into glass doors. But there’s one amazing coincidence. These things only seem to happen when Billy McAteer’s in the vicinity.’

  As Laura’s knees started to buckle, Freer stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm to steady her.

  ‘I think it’s about time you came clean with us, Mrs Harrison,’ Charlie stated, taking her by the elbow and guiding her along the corridor towards the lounge. Laura settled on the settee, Charlie sitting down beside her.

  ‘This is Detective Constable Freer,’ Charlie said. ‘He was watching through the window yesterday afternoon when you gave Billy McAteer a large sum of money.’ Laura’s body stiffened visibly. ‘He saw McAteer slap you about and if it hadn’t been for his presence of mind you probably would’ve been raped.’ Gazing wide-eyed at Freer, Laura buried her face in her hands, silent tears running down her bruised cheeks and seeping through her fingers. ‘We know your husband was shot with McAteer’s gun, Mrs Harrison. But what I want to know,’ Charlie said, ‘is why you paid McAteer to kill him?’

  Laura let out an involuntary yelp and started sobbing violently, rocking back and forth on her seat.

  ‘Find the kitchen and make her a cup of tea, son,’ Charlie said quietly to Freer. ‘Lots of sugar.’

  ‘Has school broken up?’ Tony O’Sullivan squinted sideways at Sue as she dragged the visitor’s chair from underneath his hospital bed.

  ‘Today’s the last day of term. The heidie’s taking a special assembly this morning to deliver his traditional Christmas message.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Anyone caught stealing during the holiday period will get the living daylights kicked out of them in the New Year. I can afford to give it a miss. I’ve heard it all before. Anyway, I’m not planning to pinch anything over Christmas.’

  ‘What about Jamie?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware he’s not planning to nick anything either.’

  Tony held on to the bandages around his ribs. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Sue. I meant, how is Jamie getting to school?’

  ‘My neighbour’s giving him a lift.’

  ‘It can’t be easy bringing up a kid on your
own.’

  ‘It certainly isn’t,’ Sue said with feeling. ‘Especially when he’s at that difficult age – born, but not yet left home.’

  Tony smiled. ‘How did you find out about this?’ he asked, pointing towards his face.

  ‘Mum called me first thing. You just can’t let anything get past you, can you?’ she said, tapping the side of her nose with her index finger. ‘I had a broken hooter, so you had to have one too. I realise imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery but this is taking things a bit too far. Anyway,’ she pouted, angling her head and studying his face, ‘my break’s much more subtle. It’s only a few degrees off the vertical. I reckon yours is closer to a right angle.’

  Tony touched his nose gingerly. ‘They’re going to reset it later when the swelling’s had a chance to die down.’

  Sue pulled a bunch of black grapes from the paper bag she was carrying and placed it in the bowl on the bedside table. ‘Nothing if not original, that’s me!’

  ‘Grapes of wrath, I presume?’

  ‘I must admit, at nine o’clock last night you were not my favourite person in the whole wide world. I’d spent an hour studying the menu, salivating between the roast guinea fowl and the braised duck – only to end up back home tucking into lukewarm chicken chop suey and egg fried rice. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. I stuffed Amanda at Scrabble.’

  ‘I really am sorry, Sue. I’ll make it up to you as soon as –’

  ‘Sssh,’ Sue whispered, reaching across to place her index finger across his lips. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Battered and bruised, but it’s the blow to my pride that hurts the most. I still can’t believe I let the bastard duff me up. I even had him cuffed, for God’s sake!’ Twisting his whole body round so he could face her, Tony winced when a twinge of pain pulsed through his ribcage. ‘However, a broken nose and a few cracked ribs is nothing compared with the bollocking I’m going to get from your old man.’

  ‘Mum told me he’s coming in to see you later this morning.’

  ‘I can feel a coma coming on.’

  ‘That’ll only postpone the evil hour.’ Sue switched to her parade ground voice. ‘Take your punishment like a man, Sergeant O’Sullivan!’ she boomed.

  Several heads in the ward turned towards them.

  Laura Harrison had stopped weeping but she continued to dab at her puffy eyelids with a soggy tissue as she nursed a steaming mug of sweet tea.

  Charlie took out his notebook and pen. ‘Would you like to tell me all about it?’

  Pulling a fresh tissue from the box on her knee, Laura used it to wipe her nose. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. ‘I hired McAteer to deal with a blackmailer, but I’d no idea it would turn out to be my husband.’

  ‘Your husband was blackmailing you?’

  ‘Not directly. He targeted Simon Ramsay, my brother-in-law.’ She blew on her tea before taking a sip, screwing up her face at the unwelcome sweetness. ‘Simon and I have been having an affair.’

  ‘How long has that being going on?’

  ‘A couple of years. It all started off innocently enough, meeting up for the occasional drink in Rogano’s and a mutual bitching session about our respective spouses. From there it developed into a bit of drunken groping in the car on the way home and before I really knew what was happening we were booking into the Hilton as Mr and Mrs Petrie every other Friday night when Mike stayed over at Ronnie McGavigan’s place after his poker school.’

  ‘What about Mr Ramsay? What excuse did he have for staying out all night?’

  ‘He didn’t need one. Jude doesn’t give a damn what he gets up to as long as he doesn’t flaunt it. She’s got plenty going on the side herself. But Simon screwing with me is a completely different kettle of fish,’ Laura added, forcing a sip of tea between her lips. ‘If Jude finds out about that she’ll go ballistic.’

  ‘How was Mr Ramsay being blackmailed?’

  ‘It would appear that someone found out about our Friday nights in the Hilton and managed to conceal a camera in the bedroom. He got all the sordid details on film and sent Simon an email with a sample photograph attached. He was demanding fifty thousand pounds or else he threatened to sell the story to the tabloids.’

  ‘And the blackmailer was your husband?’

  Laura crinkled up her face. ‘Logically, I suppose it had to be him, but I still can’t make any sense of that. Mike was the most insanely jealous person you could ever meet, Inspector, and he had an extremely violent temper. If he thought for one minute that I was even looking at another man he’d go berserk.’

  ‘Did he ever resort to violence with you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Her hand strayed towards her cheek. ‘Normally only when he had a drink in him. I used to worry myself sick about what he would do if he ever found out about Simon and me. I really thought he would kill us both.’ Laura broke off to dab her eyes with a tissue. ‘It’s completely out of character for Mike to plot a cold-blooded revenge like blackmail,’ she continued. ‘Having said that, he was desperate for money. He’d run up significant gambling debts and, unknown to me, he’d sold off everything we owned. And he was in Kelvingrove Park at the time the handover was supposed to take place, so I can only assume he was the blackmailer.’

  ‘And you hired Billy McAteer to kill him?’

  ‘I hired McAteer to deal with an unknown blackmailer, who turned out to be my husband.’

  ‘By “deal with”, you mean “kill”?’

  Laura sunk her teeth into her quivering bottom lip. Fighting to hold back the tears, she gave a quick nod of the head.

  ‘How much did you pay McAteer?’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘If your husband had sold off everything, how were you able to lay your hands on that kind of money?’

  Laura hesitated. ‘My father gave it to me,’ she said in a little more than whisper.

  Charlie put away his notebook. ‘I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to Pitt Street and make a full statement. You will be formally charged with conspiracy to murder.’

  ‘Is it all right if I get changed first?’ she asked, tugging on the lapel of her dressing gown.

  ‘Of course. Is there anyone you want to phone?’

  ‘My father, I suppose,’ she stammered, a shiver running the length of her spine. ‘I don’t want to phone him, but I think I’d better.’

  When Laura called Jim Cuthbertson’s Glasgow office she was told he was on a business trip to Aberdeen. She asked for the number of the Aberdeen office and dialled again.

  ‘This is utterly ridiculous, Inspector!’ Charlie, notebook and pen in hand, was seated on an upholstered leather chair in Simon Ramsay’s office. Opposite him, Ramsay sat behind a wide desk, an unlit cigarette dangling from his nicotine-stained fingers. ‘I admit Laura and I were having an affair, but everything else is a complete fabrication on her part. I can only assume that this is her twisted way of getting her revenge. Either that or she’s having some kind of breakdown.’

  ‘Why would she be looking for revenge?’

  ‘Last week I told her our affair was over. She took it very badly. Screaming tantrums and all that.’

  ‘And you weren’t being blackmailed?’

  ‘Blackmailed? I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in all my life!’

  ‘So you didn’t go to Mrs Harrison and ask her for help to pay off a blackmailer?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘In her statement she said that a blackmailer, who she thinks was her husband, sent you an email with a compromising photograph attached, threatening to expose you. She claims you showed her this photo and talked her into hiring a hit man to murder the blackmailer.’

  ‘What am I supposed to say to that?’ He raised his eyes to the heavens and spread both arms wide. ‘Hell hath no fury…’ He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t know what’s got into Laura lately,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘I told you that I suspected Mike was beating her up. I
can only conclude that it all got too much for her and she hired this hit man, as you call him, to solve her problems.’ He paused to suck on his unlit cigarette. ‘I don’t imagine for one minute that she has given you a shred of evidence to substantiate her wild claims? After all, how could she? For example, has she produced a copy of this so-called “compromising photograph”?’

  ‘In her statement she said she set fire to it in Rogano’s.’

  ‘How very convenient! It would appear that Laura hired someone to kill her husband and, out of spite, she’s trying to drag me down with her. I haven’t spoken to her since last week when I told her our affair was over.’ Charlie put away his notebook and pen. ‘Inspector,’ Ramsay said slowly, ‘the fact that Laura and I were having an affair …’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose it would be possible for that to be …’ He broke off.

  ‘To be what?’

  ‘To be hushed up, is what I was about to say, but I didn’t mean it like that. What I wanted to know is – does my wife have to find out about the affair? I mean, it’s not as if it has any relevance to the murder investigation?’

  ‘I can’t comment on that. What comes out in a court of law is a matter for the prosecution and the defence lawyers.’

  ‘Of course, of course, I understand that.’ He coughed harshly into his fist. ‘I realise everything will have to be out in the open eventually. I was just hoping to be able to break the news to Jude myself – before she hears it from someone else.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave that too long if I were you, Mr Ramsay,’ Charlie said, rising to his feet. ‘Once the press get wind of an arrest, things tend to move pretty quickly.’

  Tony O’Sullivan heard Charlie’s voice before he saw him. He slipped the paperback he was reading under his pillow and feigned sleep as Charlie’s footsteps came clomping down the ward.

  ‘I know you’re awake.’ Charlie pulled out the visitor’s chair, turned it round and straddled it. ‘If you don’t open your eyes right now, Sergeant O’Sullivan,’ he said in a mock stage whisper, ‘I’m going to tickle you in the ribs.’