‘I know that only too well, Duncan.’
‘But some things are worse than others.’ Fearney was clearly in reflective mood, despite the circumstances. ‘There are jeest certain things ye can never get oot o’ yer mind, and ye can never tell anyone about. D’ye know what I mean?’
Daley didn’t answer. He knew Fearney was confessing, but to what he wasn’t sure.
‘Are ye no’ goin’ tae interrogate me?’ Fearney asked, ending the silence. ‘No doubt ye found that arrogant bastard, Bentham?’
‘Yes. Why did you do it, Duncan?’
‘Because he wiz a bully an’ a fucking killer, Mr Daley. I couldnae take it any mair,’ Fearney said, his voice earnest. ‘I cannae take any o’ it any mair.’ He looked at the policeman. ‘I’d nothin’ tae dae wi’ a’ that stuff wi’ your car, Mr Daley, honestly. He wiz crazy.’
‘How did you even get involved with him, with all of this, in the first place, Duncan?’
‘I found something oot, Mr Daley, jeest by chance ye understan’, a few years ago.’
‘We have plenty time, Duncan. Just tell me what all this is about.’
Fearney bowed his head and let out a sob. His shoulders began to heave as he wept uncontrollably. ‘I wiz an only child, Mr Daley,’ he managed to say. ‘Ma folks lost three weans as infants; I wiz the only wan that survived. Ma mother wanted another child, efter me, but the doc told her she coudnae have any mair.’ He took a steadying breath and wiped away his tears. ‘She wiz fae the East End of Glasgow, Mr Daley,’ he blurted.
‘Really? What part?’ said Daley, his instinct screaming at him to allow this man to speak.
‘Och, some hell o’ a place,’ Fearney said in disgust. ‘I’ve always hated Glasgow. A’ cities, come tae that.’ He shook his head. ‘She adopted a wee boy. Well, I’m no’ entirely sure it was done by the book, but things were different in those days, Mr Daley.’
‘They sure were,’ said Daley, deliberately keeping his responses brief.
‘Aye, well, I wiz nearly four years old when he arrived, so we just grew up the gither, ye ken, like brothers.’ He started to cry again.
‘What is it, Duncan? You need to let this out, man.’
‘He wiz very different fae me, Mr Daley. Good looking, confident.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I wiz supposed tae be the big brother, but he wiz the one who wid stand up fir me, you know, in fights an’ that. Aye, he turned oot tae be as hard as nails.’
‘What happened to him, Duncan?’
‘Aye, that’s the thing,’ said Fearney. ‘I cannae believe you’re the first person I’ll tell this.’
‘You’d be surprised what people have confided in me,’ Daley said honestly.
‘When I wiz older . . . in my late teens an’ efter.’ He began to choke up again. ‘I started tae—’
‘Please, Duncan, get it off your chest. You’ll feel better.’
Duncan Fearney cried like a man who had lost the most precious thing in the world. ‘I loved him. I fucking loved him, Mr Daley.’ Fearney was shouting at the top of his voice, as the secret he’d held inside for so many years eventually broke free.
‘Did he know?’ Daley asked.
‘Aye, no, I don’t know. He tried tae kiss me wance, when he wiz pished, but we never did anything, or said anything. Jeest went on, laughin’ an’ jokin’ – me at least – pretendin’ we were the way brothers were supposed tae be.’ He held his head in his hands, as though the weight of it was too much to bear. ‘Whoot is it they say, Mr Daley? The love that dare not speak its name, is that no’ it?’
‘Yes,’ said Daley, forcing thoughts of Liz from his mind. ‘That’s right, the love that dare not speak its name.’
The two men fell into silence.
Fearney was the first to speak. ‘Eventually, he got himself a girlfriend. Bonnie lassie, a’ blonde hair an’ big blue eyes. A real stunner.’
‘And how did that make you feel?’ Daley asked, wincing as he remembered that question being asked so often of him during his anger management sessions.
‘I wiz devastated. I knew I had tae get away, away fae him. It wiz breaking ma heart.’ Fearney’s voice trembled as he relived the emotions of so many years ago.
‘So you came to Kinloch?’ Daley asked.
Fearney nodded. ‘I had an auld uncle doon here who had a sma’holding. Jeest enough tae keep a roof o’er his heid, aye, an’ mine tae for a wee while, until I met Sandra. Her faither was dying, an’ he had no sons. We got married.’
‘And what about your brother, Duncan?’ Daley asked. ‘And how does that bring us here?’ He gestured into the darkness.
Fearney took a few deep breaths, as though trying to collect himself. ‘I’m here cos o’ ma ain foolishness, nothin’ mair. I thought I could find oot whit had happened tae him. I wiz so wrong.’ He stopped again. ‘Bastards like Bentham and that fucking Tommy.’
‘What? You killed Tommy because of all this? I don’t understand.’
‘I snapped, Mr Daley, plain and simple. I did tae Tommy whit he wiz goin’ tae dae tae me. Aye, he thought I wid just stand by an’ let him, like some daft wee laddie.’ Fearney looked desperate. ‘I wiz the weak link. Gettin’ caught, I mean. He wiz feart I wid blow the whole thing; turn Queen’s evidence, or whootever it is you ca’ it. They needed me oot o’ the way, Mr Daley, just in case.’
‘So you killed him. And then you sent him down the wire to distract everyone while you made your escape.’
‘Aye, though as soon as I heard the weans screaming, I regretted it.’ He lowered his head. ‘I had tae kill him. It wiz either him or me. I knew folk wid come up tae the roof when nothin’ happened. He thought I wiz weak. But he found out differently.’ Fearney’s face was the picture of defiance in the gloom; defiance mixed with shame at the thought of what he had done.
‘It wasn’t a pleasant spectacle.’ Daley answered, in a more censorial manner than he intended. ‘But why did you do it? I still don’t understand.’
‘He was in on it tae, Tommy. The drugs, I mean.’
‘Drugs? What did you have to do with that, Duncan?’
‘Nah, I stayed away fae a’ that, Mr Daley. Well, as much as I could, anyhow.’ Fearney looked contrite. ‘The drugs – aye, an’ the tobacco – wur left on deserted beaches, a’ aroon the peninsula. I jeest accepted the deliveries. I stored the fags an’ a’ that. I selt some o’ it tae, jeest cos I know so many folk, Mr Daley. Tommy wiz jeest a fetch-and-carry merchant, though he liked tae think he wiz in charge.’
‘So who was in charge, Duncan?’
‘Aye, I’ll tell you it all, Mr Daley. Just be patient,’ Fearney said, standing up. ‘Here, ye might as well take this. I’ll no’ be getting oot o’ here.’ He handed the gun to Daley.
‘What do you mean?’ Daley placed the weapon at his side and remained seated.
‘My folks both died,’ said Fearney, ignoring Daley’s question, ‘an’ I never even went tae their funerals, cos I knew he’d be there. He carried on wi’ oor faither’s ferm – no’ that he wiz very successful, fae whoot I hear; near bankrupted the place. Then he just disappeared – vanished. The police came tae see me, since I wiz his next o’ kin. Well, the only one they could find.’ The look on Fearney’s face was one of disbelief and pain. ‘Of course, there wiz nothin’ I could dae tae help them, wi’ no’ seeing him for so long.’
‘So he was there one minute and gone the next?’ Daley asked. ‘Did none of his friends or family know anything? When did this happen?’
‘Oh, six years ago, somethin’ like that,’ said Fearney. ‘Turns oot she’d left him years before, an’ took his son wi’ her, and he kept himself tae himself. They never kept in contact, an’ naebody could find her. The polis telt me he’d probably killed himself – no’ an uncommon thing fir farmers tae dae these days, Mr Daley.’ Fearney broke off as he started to sob again. ‘He left a sma’ fortune, tae. I’ll never understand it – nearly fifty thousand pounds in cash, in bags a’ ower the ferm.’
�
�You’ve no idea where it came from?’
‘Nah. The police reckoned it was the proceeds o’ crime, so them an’ the tax folk got their hands oan it, an’ since there was naebody . . .’
‘That’s strange, Duncan.’
‘Then, a while later, I wiz watching TV . . . I just couldnae believe whoot I saw.’
‘What?’
‘I saw the news – a trial in Glasgow. I couldnae believe it. There wiz oor Angus, plain as day. Other guys tae. The one who gave the evidence, I saw him later, aye, an’ no’ on the telly either.’
‘What? Where did you see him, Duncan?’
At that second, something caught the detective’s eye; a flash of red light flickered across his vision, then appeared on the other man’s shoulder.
Fearney, with his back to the source of the light, didn’t see it, and opened his mouth to speak. ‘Oh, you know him a’right, Mr D—’
There was a sharp crack, and the farmer’s chest erupted. For a moment he stood completely still, before tumbling towards the policeman like a demolished building. Daley managed to catch the falling man and, struggling to hold his weight, laid him on the ground.
‘This is DCI Daley. Cease fire!’ he shouted, and leaned over Fearney. Even in the gloom it was easy to see that the light had gone from his eyes, his revelation dead on his lips.
31
Sarah MacDougall was lying on a threadbare couch, using a dirty knitted blanket as a cover. Through the window she could see the first grey light of dawn break through the darkness of night. She had dozed fitfully, her mind taken over by her thoughts and fears. When she dreamed, she saw Cisco, her oldest brother, sitting on the bottom step of a stairwell in a dank Glasgow multi-storey, covered in his own blood. She could see the blood seeping from livid slashes all over his body, pooling at his feet in a crimson puddle. Despite this, in her dream he smiled, urging her towards him with his left hand. As she got closer, a suppurating wound ripped open across his face, sending a spray of blood across the white dress she wore. His features transformed from those of the sibling she had loved into those she despised. She had the same dream every night.
In the midst of this brooding, she heard a familiar sound, a distant chime, which drove the dream from her mind. Her mobile phone was ringing.
DS Scott sat in the passenger seat of a police car as his colleagues spread around the derelict shipyard. His head hurt nearly as much as his heart, which pulled at the centre of his chest like an enormous, heavy knot.
He knew his friend was safe, but equally he knew everything was wrong. The whole scene, at which he had arrived belatedly on foot, felt unreal. Donald was standing tall beside a police van, talking into a mobile phone, his features stern and unyielding. Scott had arrived just as the superintendent had given the order to shoot the gunman without warning, because of the perceived risk to one of his officers. Though Donald would have to answer for his actions, Scott could think of no man better suited to mealy-mouthed squirming before a disciplinary panel. And going on past form, he would probably get a promotion and commendation for his speed of thought and sangfroid.
Despite this reasoning, Scott still felt ill at ease. He watched as a tall, bulky figure moved towards him in the ethereal light of dawn. Even from a distance, it was clear that Jim Daley was not happy. Scott could see his flushed cheeks and furious expression. His tread was purposeful, leading directly to the car in which Scott was sitting.
‘A’right, Jimmy-boy?’ Scott enquired with forced bonhomie. ‘A bit too close for comfort, eh?’
‘Never mind that, Brian,’ Daley said, leaning into the open window on Scott’s side of the car. ‘Tell me what happened to Frank MacDougall.’ His face was devoid of any signs of sympathy, a look Scott had seen on many occasions but never directed at him. He watched as Daley walked round the front of the car and eased his body into the driver’s seat.
His face was expressionless as he listened. ‘Aye she’s here, but wait a minute – nae “How are ye, how ye doing?” or “Yer sounding better than the last time I saw ye?”’ He strode, phone in hand, into the small room where Sarah lay on the couch. ‘Och, come on, my man. D’ye think I wid dae that tae such a nice wee lassie?’ he said. ‘Ye know me.’ With a smile on his face he handed the phone to Sarah.
‘Hi, Daddy,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. This monster doesn’t—’ Her words were cut short as the phone was snatched from her grasp.
‘See, my old friend, Daddy’s little girl’s doin’ just fine. Fir now, at any rate.’ He smirked as though he was staring into the face of Frank MacDougall himself. He listened to MacDougall’s reply, then snorted with derision and clicked the phone off. He turned to smile at the girl who sat on the dilapidated couch, embracing her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. ‘There ye are, darlin’. Daddy’s on the ba’ a’ready. Pity he wisnae so keen on helping the rest o’ your family.’
‘I don’t want to talk about Cisco,’ she said.
‘Naw, I was referring tae yer brother Tam,’ he said, clearly enjoying this.
‘What?’
‘Yer faither’s threatenin’ me doon the phone, tellin’ me I’ll get ma throat cut, the same as Tommy.’ He grinned broadly. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but tae me, once yer throat’s cut, yer prospects at longevity are severely curtailed.’
She looked up at him, noticing the silver sparkle of stubble on his chin picked out in the thin light.
‘He caught me unawares,’ Scott answered, exasperated by Daley’s repetitive questioning.
‘So you say.’ Daley’s face was blank as he stared at the face of his subordinate.
‘Whit are ye tryin’ tae say?’ Scott shouted, loud enough to attract concerned looks from two uniformed cops standing thirty yards away.
‘Come on, Brian,’ said Daley, a look of disgust on his face. ‘Your old neighbour – a buddy from your childhood, not to mention one of Scotland’s most dangerous criminals – just happens to pick you to effect his disappearance, just as you’ve been issued with a firearm and a set of borrowed car keys.’
‘Have ye seen the fuckin’ lump on the back o’ ma heid, Jim? I struggled aff ma sick bed when I heard ye wiz in trouble. An’ ye accuse me o’ bein’ corrupt? I cannae believe this is you speakin’, Jim. Whitever happened in that shipyard must’ve done somethin’ tae yer reason.’ Though Scott was almost shouting, his eyes spoke of a different emotion as he implored his friend to believe him. ‘If ye remember, it wiz me who nabbed MacDougall in the first place.’
‘Oh yes,’ answered Daley, after a pause. ‘And I have to admit, Brian, I wondered about that at the time too.’
‘Listen, sir,’ said Scott. ‘I don’t fuckin’ know whit’s wrang wi’ ye, but I’m no’ sittin’ here wi’ a banging heid just for the pleasure o’ bein’ knocked tae bits by you.’ He moved to open the car door.
‘Stay where you are,’ Daley ordered. ‘Whatever I may think or not think, Brian, you know as well as I do that that bastard over there will be all over you like a rash as soon as he clears things up here.’ Daley’s voice was much quieter, as he massaged his temples, feeling the exhaustion of the last few days catch up with him.
‘Don’t worry aboot him, Jim,’ said Scott. ‘He’ll be tae busy covering his back efter this carry-on.’ He nodded towards the mortuary van that had just pulled up in the yard.
‘Yes,’ Daley replied thoughtfully. ‘You would think he would.’
‘Whit d’ye mean?’ Scott looked sidelong at Daley.
‘I don’t really know what I mean,’ Daley answered. ‘There’s something going on here, something I’m missing – something that’s been gnawing away at me for months, if you must know.’
‘Oh,’ said Scott, looking out of the car window as the sun spread golden rays over the loch, turning it from dark blue to a light green. ‘Right,’ he added, rubbing his chin.
32
She struggled to keep up with him as he strode down to the little jetty where th
e boat was tied up, bobbing in the swell in the clear morning light. She watched as he swung a large holdall aboard with ease, then carefully laid a metal-bound case on the deck of the small craft.
The sea was calm, slate grey, not yet reflecting the cold blue of the sky in which gulls circled, squawking loudly in the still air. The jetty itself was slick with white frost, as were the small windows in the wheelhouse. He grabbed Sarah roughly and bundled her on board. Bulked up with clothes against the chill, he looked even more formidable.
‘Take a wee seat, an’ we’ll set off an’ see Daddy,’ he said, pointing to a little bench at the side of the tiny cabin. ‘Who’d have thought Frankie an’ me would take tae life on the ocean waves, eh? What does he fish for, again?’
‘Just for pleasure, he’s not making a living out of it,’ she said. ‘You try living in this godforsaken place for years with nothing to do.’
‘Oh aye.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve been having the time of my life for the last few years, darlin’. Been a blast.’
‘Better than being dead, I imagine.’
‘Don’t know, I wisnae there,’ he said, misquoting the philosopher.
‘At least you had time to improve your mind,’ she said.
‘D’ye think so? Mebbe I learned things that I didnae know before, but as far as my mind goes, well, ye cannae improve on perfection. Right, just you hold on tight. It’s time tae put things right.’ In a puff of blue smoke and mechanical rattling, the diesel engine roared into life.
John Donald hated satnavs. They had taken him up hill and down dale over the years, so he was surprised when the small car park next to the bay appeared in view. He parked facing the ocean, then took the mobile phone from his pocket and looked at it anxiously. He had a signal – as they had promised – though no new messages. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as the strains of Mendelssohn’s ‘Scottish Symphony’ soared from the speakers, lending even more drama to the scene outside. In the distance, a large sea freighter punctuated the horizon and the white sail of a lonely yacht slanted into the distance.
The Last Witness: A DCI Daley Thriller Page 20
