by Jay Stringer
Lambert had visited the home once before, on a call-out for a robbery, and had told the managers that they should keep the exterior lights on after curfew. This was one time he was glad his advice had been ignored. He caught another movement in the grounds and saw a shape heading his way. It formed into a tubby security guard. The gates had rattled as Lambert climbed them, and he guessed the sound had drawn the guard.
Tubby walked straight past Lambert, who was ten feet away on the grass and holding his breath. Lambert fought the urge to squat down while Tubby inspected the gate, because any movement might give him away in the grey night air. Instead, he stayed still and held his breath as the guard finished his inspection and walked back in the direction of the building, dissolving into the shadows as he rounded the far corner and walked on.
Lambert remembered that Jim Ireland’s room was at the rear of the building, overlooking the lawn, but it was on the first floor, and Lambert wouldn’t be able to climb up. He needed to get inside the building first. The large wooden door at the front of the building was locked. He risked a look in through the window to the side of the door and saw two members of staff at a reception desk, flicking through magazines and holding a stilted conversation. The door itself looked like a heavy-duty operation. It probably stayed locked all night, which meant the guard would come and go through a different entrance. Lambert headed off in the direction the guard had taken.
Around the corner was another stretch of wall, with more parking spaces to the right. Lambert pressed on, walking as quietly as he could, and passed beneath an archway that connected the old building to a more recent extension, out of sight from the road. Soon he saw the shape of the guard again, walking slowly away from him, occasionally whistling some tone-deaf tune. Half of it sounded like a football standard; half of it sounded like a broken nose.
Lambert picked up his pace as he got more confident, sure enough of himself that the guard wouldn’t hear him and wanting to be close enough to see the combination to a door or to stop it shutting after the guard stepped in. Once he was within five feet of the guard, the whistling stopped. The guard coughed and then spun on his heels. Lambert was close enough now that he could see the guard smile.
‘This the guy?’ the guard said.
He wasn’t speaking to Lambert.
‘That’s him.’ Joe McLean stepped out from the side of the extension. Gilbert Neil followed suit from the other side, the way Lambert had come. ‘Good work, Tommy. Andy, keep your fucking hands where I can see them, aye?’ Joe produced a gun. ‘I’d really rather not use it. Gunshots attract attention.’
Joe pointed for Lambert to keep going in the direction he’d been headed, and the guard led the way. They walked along the building in silence, with Lambert trying to think of his next move, and then through an archway at the other end of the extension, onto a path that led through the overhanging trees.
Joe raised his voice to speak to the guard, who was a couple of feet ahead of Lambert. ‘Tommy, how’s your ma doing?’
‘Oh aye.’ Tommy turned back and nodded. ‘She’s fine, thanks, Mr McLean. The new hip’s worked out well for her. She likes it so much she wants to get the other done.’
‘And your old man—he still working in his allotment?’
‘Aye, down there every night, so he is. Can’t complain. I get some pure good homebrew out of it—he does great things with sprouts.’
‘Sprouts? Can’t abide them. They’re like snot on a plate. Ever since I was a wee boy, I’ve had a thing about them.’
‘So I shouldn’t bring you any of his sprout beer at Christmas, then?’
‘Best not.’ Joe was talking like a friendly old man, and Lambert felt like laughing at the absurdity of it all. ‘Well, thanks for your help, Tommy.’ Joe handed him an envelope as they came out of the trees on the other side. ‘Give my best to Rosa.’
‘Will do, sir.’
The guard headed away, back the way they had come, whistling the tuneless tune again.
They were standing on a field at the far end of the care home’s grounds. The grass had been ripped up in this corner, and there were mounds of soil and some freshly planted trees. Ahead of them was a hill made out of stone circles and soil, heading up in layers to a peak. Next to the hill was a large round pit, big enough to fit in a couple of cars side by side.
‘Landscaping,’ Joe said. ‘This whole bit is going to look great when it’s done. We’ll put a pond in there, on top of you, and a small waterfall can come down the hill. A few benches where we’re stood. Perfect little garden for the old folks to come and sit in the summer, read books or whatever.’
‘People will look for me.’
Gilbert snorted. ‘Not here they won’t.’
Lambert looked down at the dirt at his feet, then at the grass and debris around him. Somewhere in all the mess he hoped to see a weapon. A spade, a hoe, anything large enough. He needed to stall for time until he could figure something out.
‘How did you know I was coming?’
‘Once we figured out you’d killed Nick we asked around. You were spotted talking to Sam in the Nevis Bar, and she’s been arrested at Hillcoat’s house, so I figured you might try here. It’s the only play you have left.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Jim Ireland is here. Don’t make me have to explain what you already know.’
‘But how did you know Jim was here? I only know because I came here on a call-out once, saw him.’
‘I own the place, dum-dum.’ Joe was laughing but there was no smile on his lips. ‘How else do you think the fees would be affordable to the Ireland family? I arranged a discount for them years ago, keeping him looked after.’
‘Keeping an eye on him, you mean.’
‘Sure, that too.’
‘Because you don’t know where his evidence is.’
‘You really want to do this? Okay. Fine, yes, because of the evidence. It’s not going to be a problem much longer, though. I’ve found a good lawyer, and after tonight all the loose ends will be tied up.’
Lambert stopped scanning the ground and stared at Joe. The tone in his voice said he had all his bases covered. There had been a hint of nervousness to him at the house and on the boat, but it had gone. He knew his way out of the situation now, and Joe was good at coming out on the winning side. That made something inside Lambert die. Maybe it was hope.
‘You’ve spoken to Fiona Hunter?’
‘I have. And her partner. They’ve pointed out that if Jim Ireland set up the evidence to be released in the event of his death, and it’s something his daughter didn’t know about, then it’s going to be tied up in his will. All we need to do is get to the executor of his will and we’re free and clear.’
‘Sam?’
Joe nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Or Phil, the son. Or if it’s not either of them, they’ll know who it is. So we get to them, we get to the will, we solve the problem.’
‘But you said Sam was arrested?’
‘We threw a little party at Hillcoat’s house. The police are never going to come looking for us now—they have no reason to. All the dead bodies can be explained. Sam got there just before the police, which worked out well for us. We’d been trying to figure out a way to get her, and she fell into our laps.’
‘But if she’s in jail, you’ll need me to—’
Joe shook his head once and then raised the gun in the space between them, pointing it at Lambert’s face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Like I said. We have a good lawyer now. And we have a deal. Show of commitment from both parties. They’re going to take care of the Ireland kids, and we’re going to take care of you. No more loose ends.’
Lambert took a couple steps backwards—putting an extra two feet of distance between him and the gun, which would make no difference at all. He felt the earth slip at his heels and turned to see he was on the edge of the pit.
&nb
sp; He tried to think.
Options.
Options.
Just one fucking option, please.
‘You said you didn’t want to use a gun,’ he said.
Joe hesitated. He lowered the gun. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
Lambert saw hope. He went in for one last play.
‘Please. Jess is pregnant. We’re having a baby.’
Joe took a step back and turned to Gilbert. They smiled at each other, and Gilbert patted him on the back.
‘You hear that, Gil? I’m going to be a grandda.’
‘Aye, well in, Joe. Congratulations, big man.’
‘I hope his stepdad is better than the real thing.’
Joe turned back towards Lambert. There was an odd sound, like metal sliding out of metal. Joe waved something in front of Lambert’s face. Lambert coughed. His throat was wet, phlegmy like a cold. He felt water running down his neck. Joe held a knife up in the space between them and smiled. Joe touched his hand to his throat and felt the blood running between his fingers, the air sucking through the wound. He staggered backwards. His last thought was It’s probably okay to feel squeamish right now.
Fifty
Sam
My dad used to brag about how many times he’d been arrested. It was a point of pride for him. Each one, as far as he was concerned, was an occasion when he’d been better at his job than the cops were at theirs. A time when he’d got to a scene before them or found a clue they’d missed. He’d tell stories about each of them, and his voice would crack with mischief as a smile flicked the corner of his mouth.
But it was a new experience for me.
They’d taken me to the big police station on Helen Street. This was where they’d interrogated the suspects in the airport terrorist attack and where the Prime Minister’s communications expert had turned himself in over the phone-hacking scandal. I allowed myself to feel a wee bit like a celebrity as they led me in through the door. They’d separated Phil and me at the house. They’d been rougher on him as they arrested us. His size made people nervous, and they overcompensated. He’d been bundled into the first car that pulled up, the one in the driveway, while I was led out to a car waiting in the road.
In the station I was booked in, my possessions were taken and I was led straight into an interrogation room and left on my own.
Or I assumed it was an interrogation room, anyway. It was a room—that much I was comfortable with. There was a table in the middle, with two plastic chairs on each side. But there was also a sofa pushed against a wall, and a water cooler in the corner. There were pictures on the wall, with photographs of old Glasgow buildings.
Was this how they got the terrorists to crack, by being nice to them? It was pretty cunning. I helped myself to a cup of chilled water and sat on the sofa, leaning back into the imitation leather. When the two police officers walked in, they both smiled at me and nodded at where I was sitting.
‘Comfortable?’ asked the older cop. He was middle-aged and mostly bald. ‘I like that spot too.’
‘Mind if we join you?’ The other cop was an Asian woman. She was younger and looked like she worked out. Her suit was cheap, like a Primark special, but who was I to judge?
I held my hands out to say, sure, why not? ‘It’s your place,’ I said. ‘I’m just the guest.’
They both smiled at this. The woman sat down beside me, leaving a proper amount of space between us, showing she was well trained, while the man pulled over one of the plastic chairs from the table and sat in front of me.
‘Sam,’ he said. ‘Can I call you Sam? Knew your father. He was a good cop. A better detective. We should have promoted him, not let him go. And the lad in the other room, the one who keeps talking about wrestling and comics, that’s your wee brother, right?’
‘Aye.’ I nodded. He was being nice, and it was unnerving.
‘Sorry, I forgot the introductions. I’m John Cummings. This is Hanya Perera. She’s English, but don’t hold it against her.’
‘I’ll try.’
Perera smiled at that. ‘We’d like to talk to you about what happened at the house,’ she said.
I looked from one to the other, then over at the empty table. There was something missing from every film and television scene I’d seen. ‘Shouldn’t we be recording this? I mean, for evidence?’
Cummings waited a second. He leant back and pulled a digital recorder from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Sure, if you like.’
‘The thing is,’ Perera leant in closer and talked quietly, like she was sharing gossip, ‘I think you’d be better off just talking to us for a while before we do all of that.’
What the hell, I’d hear them out. I’d been found in a house I didn’t own, stood next to two dead bodies. I decided I could afford to take a few risks.
‘Listen to this.’ Cummings pressed a few buttons of the digital device and then a recording started to play. It was a call to the emergency services, recorded from the receiving end. I recognised the conversation straight away, because it was the one I’d had earlier. It was a copy of the anonymous tip I’d called in about the Copland Road house. Why were they letting me listen to it off the record?
‘I find this interesting,’ Cummings said. ‘I’m sure we wouldn’t have a hard time proving that this is your voice. Or that we wouldn’t have a hard time proving it just enough to make a case, at any rate.’
‘Go on.’
‘And it was a tip about a brothel. Yes, we know what it was. We’d be pretty bad at our jobs if we hadn’t known about the place, right? The property’s in the name of Robert Anderson. When our colleagues got there, the place was on fire, but the fire service did a good enough job that we could tell there was a lot of blood at the scene. Blood, but no body.’
I didn’t answer, but my silence also lacked any denial. I was going to keep following, see where this led.
Perera took up the story. ‘And a short while ago, we received another anonymous call—no idea who made it at the moment—that led us to the home of Ryan Hillcoat, whom we found dead, along with Dr Elizabeth Carter, a colleague of many people in this building.’
‘Hillcoat’s name is on a watch list,’ Cummings said. ‘I have a few special projects. Open files on certain individuals and certain crimes. When the call came in, it flashed up from my list. Any other day, I’d have been the first one to the scene. But at the time I was already attending a crime scene. Someone dumped two bodies in a lock-up in The Gorbals and torched them. You sensing a pattern here?’ He mimed explosions with his two hands and made a brief whooshing noise. ‘We have a house set alight that has blood, but no body. We have a lock-up set alight that has two bodies, but no murder weapon. And then this thing with Hillcoat.’
I played ignorant. ‘So?’
‘We spoke to Dr Carter earlier today. She was visiting the same patient as us in hospital, someone who later escaped.’
‘Malcolm Jack Mackie,’ Perera said.
I’ve never been very good at poker. The name must have triggered a brief reaction in my face, because I saw them both notice it.
‘Mackie had a bullet wound,’ Cummings said. ‘In his leg. So that’s another crime without a weapon. But he’s known for cutting people up. Famous for it, really. And we have a whole lot of blood, and three out of the four bodies are people who’ve been cut up.’
‘And Mackie himself,’ Perera leant in again. ‘He’s nowhere to be found.’
I looked from one to the other. I clicked my fingers and pointed at each of them. ‘You’ve practised this, haven’t you. The whole back-and-forth thing. You’re doing it well. Slick.’
I could see how they were piecing it all together, though. Someone was doing a very good job of tying the whole mess up into a neat trail that led right to Mackie. They’d got away with pinning a murder on him before, and it was simple to do it again. But ho
w did I fit into all of this?
‘You want me to fill in the blanks?’
‘Maybe.’ Cummings stood up and walked over to the table. He placed the recorder in the middle. ‘If you have anything we can use to fill them. Look, Sam, I like you. I liked your dad. You and I both know you didn’t kill anyone. You’ve been working a case and got mixed up in this. We have enough circumstantial evidence to make your life difficult for a while, but why would we want to do that? We can work together on this.’
‘This is how we think it can work.’ Perera stood up and joined him on the other side of the table. She pointed to the empty chair opposite them. ‘When we start the official interview, trust us. Let us guide you through, and give us answers to the questions we ask, and we can all go home at the end. Do we have a deal?’
I joined them at the table and eased into the empty seat. The easy thing to do, the common sense thing to do, was to play whatever game they wanted and then go home free to a warm bed. Let them patronise me and control me, and help them set up an innocent man.
But I couldn’t go home to a warm bed because the real killers knew where I lived. And if I helped them all get away with it, I’d be doing their job for them and setting myself up to quietly disappear.
And to top it all off, these smug fuckers thought they could use memories of my dad as a way to manipulate me.
‘How it will work,’ I said, ‘is the law. You’re going to follow it. I’m going to answer questions. And it’s going to take however long it takes. Now, I think you should stop messing around and start the actual interview. One thing, though, before you do? Go and get my phone from the locker. There’s a recording on it that I think should be part of our interview.’
An icy silence dropped between us. They stared at the table, then at their hands, then at each other. Neither of them looked at me. Cummings drummed his fingers on the table and then turned and nodded at Perera.
‘Fine.’ Perera walked over to the door. She left the room, and the temperature at the table dropped even further.
