by Bill Daly
‘When we spoke on the phone, you told me that Jim Colvin was behind this,’ O’Sullivan said.
‘That was just between us girls,’ the landlord said quietly, tapping the side of his nose.
‘Okay, let me ask you another question, just between us girls. If one of Colvin’s heavies was going to sort a client out, do you think Colvin would be present himself, or would he keep well out of the way?’
Before responding, the landlord glanced again in the direction of the darts’ and the dominoes’ players to make sure they were well out of earshot. ‘Colvin’s a fucking sadist,’ he said, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘He actually prefers it if his clients don’t pay up on time so he can watch them squirm when they get claimed. He wouldn’t miss a punishment being doled out for all the tea in China.’
‘Thanks,’ O’Sullivan said. Flipping his notebook closed, he slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve probably got time for a quick one,’ he said.
‘What’ll it be?’
‘Make it a soda water and lime, with a lump of ice.’
‘Last of the big spenders.’
Having phoned ahead and arranged to be at Malcolm Steel’s house at half-past four, Tom Freer parked his car in the street and walked up the short drive to the semi-detached bungalow in Newton Mearns. When he rang the bell, Steel came to the door.
Freer introduced himself, showing his warrant card.
‘This shouldn’t take very long, Mr Steel,’ Freer said as they sat down on chairs facing each other in the lounge. ‘Inspector Anderson has asked me to follow up on his meeting with you yesterday, sir,’ Freer said, taking out his notebook. ‘There’s just a couple of things we need to clear up so we can eliminate you from our enquiries into John Preston’s murder.’
‘Does that mean I’m a suspect?’ Steel queried.
‘Not at all.’
‘That wouldn’t be at all unreasonable, officer,’ Steel said. ‘After all, I had fallen out with John.’
‘We’ll be putting the same questions to everyone who knew the deceased, sir. Basically, all we need to know is where you were, and who you were with, at ten-thirty on the evening of Saturday the third of September.’
Steel looked perplexed. ‘I…. I don’t actually remember.’
‘Have a think about it, sir. It was only last Saturday.’
Steel got to his feet and walked slowly across the room to the coffee table. Picking up his diary, he thumbed through the pages. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. How silly of me.’ Closing the diary he slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘I was in the Ubiquitous Chip in Ashton Lane, having dinner with a friend.’
‘Could you give me the name and address of your friend?’
‘I could.’ Steel bristled. ‘But I won’t.’
Freer looked at him enquiringly. ‘Can I ask why not?’
Steel sank back down onto his chair. ‘If you must know, officer, he’s a married man. I don’t want the police bothering him.’
‘We would be discreet, Mr Steel. We would only ask him to confirm that he was with you in the Ubiquitous Chip on Saturday night.’
‘I said ‘no’, officer.’
‘You do realise that it will make it more difficult for us to eliminate you from our enquiries if you’re not prepared to cooperate, sir?’
‘Then I’m afraid it’s just going to have to be more difficult for you.’ Steel got to his feet. ‘Is that everything?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘In which case….’ Turning round, Steel gestured towards the door.
*
Tom Freer drew up in a parking place in Byres Road, opposite Hillhead Subway station. From there, he walked the short distance up the cobbled lane to The Ubiquitous Chip. When he went into the restaurant he saw several members of staff were setting up for the evening meal. He showed his warrant card to one of the waiters and asked if he could speak to the manager.
She came through from the kitchen.
‘What can I do for you, officer?’ she asked.
‘Would it be possible for you to check a dinner reservation for me?’
‘For what date?’
‘Last Saturday, the third of September.’
‘Was the reservation in the main restaurant or the brasserie upstairs?’
‘I don’t actually know.’
‘In which case, let’s start with the main restaurant,’ she said. ‘That reservation book is here. What do you want to know?’
‘Did you have a booking for two men, made in the name of Malcolm Steel?’
She flicked back through the pages. ‘Yes, here it is. Mr Steel. A booking for two people at nine o’clock. They were allocated table C2.’
‘Do you know Mr Steel?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s not one of our regulars.’
‘Do you know at what time he left the restaurant?’
‘I wasn’t here on Saturday night,’ she said. ‘I was at my niece’s birthday party in Perth. I could check with the staff who were on duty, but there’s no guarantee they would be able to remember something like that. We’re always very busy on Saturday nights.’
‘Do your staff have a fixed set tables that they serve?’
‘It’s not as rigid as that. They have an area of the restaurant that they cover – and they interact with the customers as and when required.’ She paused. ‘However, there might be a way to find out the approximate time that Mr Steel left,’ she said.
‘How?’ Freer asked.
‘If he paid his bill with a credit card, the transaction would be dated and timed.’
‘Would you still have the records for last Saturday?’
‘We keep vouchers going back years – in case anything goes wrong with the banking system,’ she added with a smile. ‘Hold on and I’ll fetch last week’s.’
When she came back, she thumbed her way through a box of vouchers.
‘Here we are,’ she said, lifting a voucher out. ‘A payment was made by credit card by Malcolm Steel on Saturday the third of September at twenty-two forty-three.’
‘Could you let me have a copy of that voucher?’
‘No problem.’
‘Just one more question,’ Freer said. ‘This confirms that Mr Steel paid his bill at ten forty-three. Is there any possibility that he could have left the restaurant for quite a long time – say, thirty minutes – before coming back and paying his bill?’
‘As I said, I wasn’t here, but I’m sure the staff would remember if something like that had happened. The team who were working last Saturday will be on duty again on Friday night. If you could come back then, round about this time, they should be able to answer your questions.’
‘Thanks.’
Thursday 8 September
Andy Carter checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t late as he pulled up outside the Black Seven snooker hall. The text from Jim Colvin had been brief and to the point. ‘My office – Thursday morning – ten o’clock’.
The bouncer standing by the door waved in recognition when he saw Andy approach. Hurrying across the empty snooker hall, Carter trotted up the flight of stairs to the first floor landing. He saw that Colvin’s office door was closed. With a mounting sense of trepidation, he knocked on it tentatively.
‘Come in!’ Colvin barked.
Turning the handle slowly, Carter blinked his eyes to adjust to the glare as he walked into the brightly-lit office.
‘I’ll get back to you soon,’ Colvin said into his mobile phone. ‘I have a bit of urgent business I need to attend to.’
Disconnecting his call, Colvin placed his phone down on the desk in front of him before pulling himself to his feet. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’ he demanded, gripping the sides of his desk as he leaned across, his face florid.
‘Playing at?’
‘Don’t come the smart arse with me, Carter,’ Colvin snapped. ‘Why did you tell the cops that you and your nephew nailed M
ulgrew in The Jaco?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘It doesn’t matter a fuck who told me!’
‘There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist, Jim.’ Beads of sweat were forming on Carter’s brow. ‘I didn’t involve you.’
‘Jesus Christ! Everybody knows you’re on my payroll – and that includes the police. If you’re involved, then I’m involved.’
‘My brother’s boy needed an alibi for Saturday night, Jim, so I told the cops he was with me when I sorted out Mulgrew. But I told them I was operating on my own. I told them Mulgrew owed me money.’
‘And what happens when Mulgrew blabs his mouth off? What happens when he tells the polis I was there?’
‘He won’t do that. I’ll make sure of it.’
‘That’s not the way I operate, Carter.’
When Colvin depressed a buzzer on the underside of his desk, the rear door of the office swung open. Two men were standing in the doorway.
‘You don’t ever do anything like that without clearing it with me first,’ Colvin stated.
‘Okay, Jim,’ Carter stammered. ‘I understand that. It won’t happen again.’
‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t.’
The two men approached the desk. On Colvin’s nod, the taller of them grabbed Carter’s arms and pinned them behind his back. Spinning Carter’s body round, his stocky companion launched a vicious punch into the pit of Carter’s stomach, causing him to retch.
‘There’s no need to overdo it, boys,’ Colvin said with a sneer. ‘Just give him enough to make sure he remembers the next time.’
Half a dozen punches rained into Carter’s face, blackening both his eyes and splitting open his bottom lip.
‘Is that okay, boss?’ the man holding Carter’s arms asked.
Colvin smiled cruelly. ‘Och, how about one for the road?’
A sickening punch was thumped into Carter’s midriff before his arms were released.
Sinking slowly to his knees, Carter cupped his face in his hands, blood seeping out from between his trembling fingers.
CHAPTER 20
Malcolm Steel came out of the school gates at lunch time and hurried a hundred yards along the road before pulling out his phone. He hesitated to collect his thoughts before clicking onto a number.
‘It’s me, Gordon,’ he said when the phone was answered. ‘Is it all right to talk?’
‘As long as you’re quick. Suzie’s gone to the shops, but she could be back any minute.’
‘It has to stop, Gordon,’ Malcolm blurted out. ‘I can’t go on like this any longer.’
‘What are you talking about? What has to stop?’
‘My credit card,’ Malcolm stammered. ‘I need to have it back.’
‘That’s not what we agreed, Malcolm. Have you forgotten our deal? I keep quiet about your grubby little secret – and I get to spend five hundred quid a month on your credit card.’
‘I can’t afford for that to go on any longer.’
Gordon’s voice hardened. ‘Believe you me, Malcolm. You can’t afford not to.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Malcolm shouted into his phone.
‘Threatening you?’ Gordon chortled. ‘I’m not threatening you, Malcolm. All I’m doing is reminding you that we have a deal. And if you try to welsh on it, there’s a distinct possibility that the world and his wife will find out that John Murdoch, or Preston, or whatever the hell he called himself, wasn’t the only teacher in the school who had something he wanted to keep hidden.’
‘You’ve got to give me a break, Gordon! I had a visit from the police yesterday.’
‘What did they want?’
‘They wanted to know where I was – and who I was with – on Saturday night, when John was murdered.’
‘Are you a suspect?’
‘They said I wasn’t – but until they find the killer, everyone who had anything to do with John is a suspect.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I almost panicked, then I remembered what I’d seen on my credit card statement. I told them I was in the Ubiquitous Chip with someone, but I didn’t say who it was.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the cops where you really were?’
‘I… I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’ Gordon laughed out loud. ‘Were you with your special friend?’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Malcolm snapped. ‘It doesn’t matter where I was or who I was with.’
‘It doesn’t matter to me, Malcolm. But apparently it matters a great deal to the cops.’
‘What time did you leave the Chip on Saturday night?’ Malcolm demanded.
‘I don’t remember. Round about eleven o’clock, I think. Why are you asking that?’
‘I just want to know.’
Gordon paused. ‘Oh, yes, I get it now,’ he said slowly. ‘You need an alibi for Saturday night, don’t you? That’s why you told the cops you were in the Chip. Is that your cunning plan?’
‘No – it isn’t.’
‘I think it is, Malcolm. I think you’re terrified that the cops will find out what you were up to on Saturday night, which can only mean one of two things. Either you were shagging your pal – or else you murdered Preston.’
‘It was nothing like that!’ Malcolm shouted.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘Because I don’t imagine for one minute that you would appreciate me contacting the cops and letting them know you weren’t in the Chip on Saturday night, now would you?’
‘You wouldn’t do that!’
‘Of course I wouldn’t – not as long as my credit limit’s extended to, say, six hundred quid a month?’
‘For fuck’s sake! You can’t do that!’
‘I’m sorry, Malcolm,’ Gordon interjected. ‘I have to go now. I hear Suzie’s car in the drive.’
The line went dead as Gordon disconnected. Malcolm Steel’s whole body was trembling as he stood staring at the phone clutched tightly in his white-knuckled fist.
Charlie Anderson called Jack Mulgrew’s number from his mobile. ‘This is Inspector Anderson, Glasgow CID, Mr Mulgrew,’ Charlie stated when Mulgrew took the call. ‘You and I need to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘I need some information from you regarding the complaint you filed about Andy and Gavin Carter assaulting you in The Jacobite Arms.’
‘I told the sergeant in London Road what happened.’
‘I realise that, but I still need to talk to you. I got your address and phone number from your complaint form, so how about I come round to your place? I could be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘I… I won’t be here. I’m on my way out.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘I’m not sure. Late – very late.’
‘In that case, I’ll come to see you first thing tomorrow morning. Would nine o’clock be all right?’
Mulgrew exhaled noisily. ‘I suppose so,’ he muttered.
Swearing under his breath, Mulgrew cut the connection.
*
Jack Mulgrew opened his front door in response to the persistent ringing on his doorbell. His jaw dropped when he saw who was standing there.
‘What do you want?’ he stammered.
‘I need to talk to you,’ slurred out from between Andy Carter’s swollen lips.
Before Mulgrew had time to react, Carter had stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him.
‘What happened to your face?’ Mulgrew said, narrowing his eyes.
‘I got on the wrong side of Jim Colvin. And I don’t even owe him any money,’ Carter added. ‘If you think this is bad,’ he said, pointing to his bruised face, ‘just imagine what will happen to you if you upset Colvin.’
‘I willny upset him,’ Mulgrew whimpered, backing off.
‘If you say one word to the polis about Jim Colvin being in The Jaco when you got nailed, you’re as good as dead. Do you understand t
hat?’
‘Aye – I understand!’
‘Who attacked you in the pub?’
‘Eh.. you.’
‘And who else?’
‘Your boy.’
‘Not my boy, my brother’s boy.’
‘That’s what I meant to say,’ Mulgrew stammered. ‘You and your brother’s boy – Gavin.’
‘Don’t you ever say anything else to anybody,’ Carter snarled.
‘I willny, but….but the cops are coming here tomorrow,’ Mulgrew whimpered.
‘What the fuck!’ Carter grabbed Mulgrew by the lapel of his jacket. ‘Why are the polis coming here?’
‘I don’t know. An Inspector Anderson phoned me. He said he needed to talk to me. He told me he’ll be here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He said he wanted more information about the complaint I filed. I said I’d told the polis in London Road everything, but he still insisted on coming to see me. I tried to put him off. He wanted to come here tonight, but I said I was going out, so he told me he’d be round here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. What am I going to do?’ Mulgrew yelped.
Carter tightened his grip on Mulgrew’s lapel. ‘You’re going to do exactly what I told you to do. You’re going to stick to your story, no matter what. When Anderson asks you who nailed you to the bog door in the Jaco, it was me and Gavin. When he asks you why we nailed you, you’re going to tell him it was because you owed me five hundred quid. Have you got that? You owed me five hundred quid. You do not, under any circumstances, mention Jim Colvin’s name. Have you got that?’ Carter repeated, releasing Mulgrew’s lapel and prodding him hard on the chest.
‘I’m shittin’ myself,’ Mulgrew whimpered.
‘You’ll be doing a lot more than shitting yourself if you mess this up,’ Carter snapped. Turning on his heel, Carter let himself out.
