‘Can the murder charge be re-raised in the future?’ Isla asked.
‘Technically, yes,’ I said. ‘But it won’t. I’ve told the Crown that Callum’s alive and given them proof of it. They’ve even agreed not to prosecute you for attempting to pervert the course of justice by your false confession.’
‘You broke your promise,’ Isla said. I hadn’t really expected any thanks. ‘You said whatever I told you would be confidential.’
Mrs Clegg came forward, her wrinkly face a wriggling mixture of emotions. Before she could say anything, Mr Clegg stepped forward. ‘Thanks, son,’ he said, taking my hand and shaking it. Then, gently but firmly, he steered his wife away leaving me and Isla alone again.
‘Anything you told me about the case is still confidential,’ I assured my ex-client. ‘You didn’t tell me Callum was alive, I found that out for myself.’ Mrs Clegg couldn’t have argued with that logic.
‘Splitting hairs,’ Isla muttered, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
It would make an interesting case for the newly-formed Solicitors Complaints Commission – I’d like to complain: my lawyer told the truth and saved me from life imprisonment.
A mad bleeping of metal detectors announced the arrival of Fiona Faye strolling through the security gate. Behind her, outside the plate glass, the gentlemen of the press were already starting to drift away. ‘I see you’ve sent the paparazzi homeward to think again,’ she said, giving me a solid slap on the back. She noticed Isla’s tears. ‘Can’t say I blame you, dear. Must be a great relief. Cornton Vale prison. Great view of the Wallace Monument, but who wants to look out through the bars at a huge phallic symbol every day when you’re banged-up with three hundred women?’
‘Isla has certain… issues… about the outcome. How they might affect her husband.’ I explained.
‘The not dead one?’ Fiona laughed, totally misreading the situation. ‘My first husband – should have killed him on the honeymoon – would have saved a fortune and I’d be eligible for parole about now.’ She laughed again.
Isla looked set to dissolve. I could just about put up with a weeping woman when the legal aid meter was running - not when I was being paid hee-haw. Time for me to go. My work here was done. I took Isla’s hand, the one not holding the soggy tissue, and tried to shake it.
‘Good-bye, Isla,’ I said, waggling her limp unresponsive fingers.
I’d always assumed cross-stitch to be a fairly sedate sort of a past-time. I’d never given any thought to the developmental effect that hour upon hour of lifting even something as insubstantial as a needle might have on the bicep.
‘All the best,’ I had started to say, when my former client pulled her hand from my grip and hit me a solid blow to the side of the head that sent me reeling. I staggered backwards into the supportive arms of Fiona Faye who ushered me away.
‘Some clients give their lawyers bottles of whisky,’ I complained as the Q.C. steered me towards the exit.
‘Just be thankful,’ Fiona said, as with a pat on the head she gave me a gentle shove out of the door.
‘For what?’ I asked.
‘That there wasn’t a screw-driver handy.’
CHAPTER 56
Apart from the slight swelling above my left eyebrow, I was so pleased at the way things had turned out that I very nearly gave the staff the rest of the day off. Instead, I took them for a drink after work and things improved even more when I invited Zoë back to my place for a bite to eat and she agreed. I was thinking pancakes and trying to remember if I had any syrup in the cupboard, when we arrived to find supper all ready for us and lying on a plate in front of the telly.
‘Dad’s getting to me big time,’ Malky said, after we’d eaten. ‘He’s a great guy and I’m very grateful, but, between him and all his mad pals, if I see another football DVD I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.’
I gathered the dirty dishes and carried them to the kitchen.
Malky followed me through. ‘The chef never washes up, right?’
I wasn’t convinced that slamming a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven qualified Malky for the title of chef, but there being only a couple of plates, an oven tray and a pizza-cutter to wash, I couldn’t see any point in arguing. Leaving him to keep Zoë entertained, I put the dishes in the sink and ran the hot water tap over them. I had no sooner squirted some washing up liquid into the stream of water and rolled up my sleeves than Malky came into the kitchen again and stood beside me. ‘Nice girl,’ he said. ‘Pretty. He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Robbie… about me and Cat—’
The phone rang. I ignored it.
‘Might be important,’ Malky said. ‘Could be Jake. I’ve still not been paid for that publicity shoot.’
That would be right - Jake Turpie calling to remind me that he owed me money? The phone stopped ringing as soon as I picked up. Then again - I wondered - Jake had told us to go down to his place the night before. I’d been so busy thinking about my trial and Isla’s predicament that I hadn’t remembered. If I waited any longer then, applying Jake’s twisted logic, he might say we’d somehow broken the deal.
‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll nick down to Jake’s and see him about my, I mean, your money.’ Then I remembered Zoë and changed my mind. ‘Actually, it can probably wait.’
‘No worries. You stay here. I’ll go,’ Malky said. ‘I expect you’d quite like me to get lost for a while.’
I was certainly keen on Malky making himself scarce, but going down to Jake Turpie’s yard late at night and chinning him about money?
‘It’ll keep ‘til tomorrow,’ I told him.
‘What’s wrong? You’re not worried about me are you?’ He took me in a head lock and rubbed the top of my head with his knuckles. ‘It’s my money, and anyway the man idolises me.’
‘Admiring your football skills is one thing. Parting with cash is quite another,’ I said, breaking free from his grip.
‘Away you go. He’ll be fine. I’ll autograph something for him. Where’s that old Rangers jersey I saw lying around?’
Malky went through to the bedroom and came back with the football top. He lifted my car keys from the fruit bowl and before I could say anymore he was putting on his jacket.
I returned to the livingroom where Zoë was sitting on the couch watching TV. I went over and sat beside her. Then I jumped up again. ‘Be right back,’ I said, and ran down the hall to the front door and threw it open. ‘Remember! It’s three and a half grand!’ I called to Malky. ‘Try for four but don’t let him give you less than three and a half - and it’s got to be cash.’
He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and climbed into the driver’s seat. I rushed out, ran to the car and rapped on the nearside window as he was starting the engine. ‘And don’t take fifties unless you check the serial numbers!’ He flapped a hand at me again and drove off.
As I stood at the kerbside watching him go, I realised that the recent spell of good weather had almost run its course. It was still warm with only a light breeze blowing, but, as I gazed up into a low steel-grey sky laden with thunderclouds, I could tell that the good-old Scottish climate was about to make up for lost time.
‘You’re needing to chill,’ Zoë said, upon my return to the couch. ‘Switch-off for five minutes can’t you? If the phone rings again leave it. Let other people fend for themselves.’
She was right. I sank back into the cushions beside her. I felt a yawn and a stretch coming on. I’d no sooner casually raised an elbow than my mobile bleeped. I thought it would be the cops with news of a recent arrest and answered automatically expecting the dulcet tones of the custody sergeant.
‘Robbie. It’s me.’
It took a moment to recognise Kieran Doyle’s voice on the other end of the line. He paused. I heard him strike a match, inhale deeply. ‘I’m phoning about Angie.’
‘What about her?’
‘I want to make sure you’re still going to take her case on.’
‘Did you not hear? I’m no longer acting.’ My being sacked was beginning to reach epidemic proportions.
Zoë sighed loudly.
I smiled apologetically and took my phone out into the hall.
‘Angie’s just after telling me what happened,’ Kieran said. She’s sorry. If you’ll take her case back on I’ll be more than happy to pay whatever it costs.’
Music to my ears. Of course I’d act. Kieran Doyle was a private patient who I knew wouldn’t scrimp on legal fees when it came to the defence of his gun-running daughter. I didn’t have to like my clients to act for them. All the same, I didn’t want to sound too willing. Some reluctance on my part would make it more difficult for him to complain later about my hourly rate.
‘Look Kieran, I’m kind of busy tonight. Let me think it over and I’ll give you a call in the morning when I get to the office – okay?’
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Don’t hang up. I know Angie was out of order, but she’s seen sense at last. She’s back home where she should be. You and me, we had an agreement. Remember? You said you would do the trial if I helped you sort out things between Dexy and Malky.’
‘True enough, then again you’ll maybe also recall that my trip across the water wasn’t what you’d call a roaring success.’
‘Please Robbie. It would put my mind at ease if you’d say you’ll do it.’
‘Call me tomorrow.’
Was I sounding a little too reluctant? After all I didn’t want him taking the case elsewhere. There were plenty other criminal defence lawyers out there who knew how to run a Romeo and Juliet defence. I was about to accede to his request when Kieran said, ‘about your brother, I think you should know: Angie’s been staying at Dechlan’s place for weeks now.’ I sensed a bad moon rising. ‘She says there’s a contract out and someone’s been tailing Malky the last few days.’
‘Who?’
‘The only person loyal enough to Dechlan these days to take it on. The lanky eejit that hangs about with him. The one who got Angie into bother with the guns.’
The boy in the green and white hoops.
‘He’s just waiting for his chance,’ Kieran said.
Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo? I put the phone down. I had to warn Malky.
CHAPTER 57
Zoë and I left in separate taxis. My driver wouldn’t take me further than the end of the dirt track leading to Jake Turpie’s yard. The rain was torrential, the potholes filling quickly and the cabbie must have reckoned the likely damage to his car’s suspension out-weighed the more uncertain prospect of a tip.
Thus abandoned, I walked up the grass verge towards the huge corrugated iron gates and skirted the chain link fence through which I could see, flood-lit in the distance, Jake’s pre-fab HQ with mangy guard dog chained to the foot of the steps. Parked outside was my car; it having apparently negotiated the rutted driveway. As I drew closer I could see that Jake had been busy. An area of the yard was cleared of scrap, newly surfaced and fenced off. Neatly parked within this compound were row upon row of second-hand motors.
The mutt started to bark. It must have heard my approach, for I’d have been surprised if it could smell anything over the tang of fresh bitumen. I pressed onward. The far off bright lights made the area outside the yard and especially my immediate surroundings seem extremely dark in contrast. I could hardly see where I was going. Once I stubbed my foot on a stone embedded in the turf, nearly fell flat on my face and from there on edged my way forward warily. In the distance a slash of yellow light appeared and widened as the door to Jake’s H.Q. opened and two figures, one tall and slim the other short and squat, stood silhouetted. The shorter of the two dark shapes come down the rickety steps. I heard Jake curse at the dog. The barking ceased immediately and I thought I could make out something else. I stopped. There it was again. Nearby. Someone whistling. Softly. I took another tentative step and something hit me, or, rather, I hit it: a car, parked half on the verge, half on the track. The noise of the collision and my involuntary yelp elicited another volley of barks. Jake peered through the rain into the gloom beyond the fence. I glanced down at the car. It was long and sleek. Although I couldn’t make out the colour, I guessed it was emerald green. The door opened and in the faint gleam of the courtesy light, I saw the illuminated profile of Romeo pulling the hood of a black training top over his head. There was a dark shape in his hand.
‘Who’s there?’ Jake yelled.
I dropped and lay flat on the grass verge, keeping out of sight. Had Romeo seen me? He had to know someone was there given that I’d probably dented the car bodywork with my knee. After a moment or two I raised myself onto all fours. A train rumbled past on the boundary of the yard. I was readying myself for a quick dash across the track to take cover in the bushes on the other side when I felt cold steel press against the back of my neck. A hand grabbed me, tugging at my jacket, hoisting me to my feet. Without a word, I was shoved forward, tottering up the rough track, encouraged by the occasional jab of a gun barrel to the top of my spine.
‘Who’s there?’ Jake yelled again.
Romeo said nothing, just kept me on the march until we were through the gates and into light. Over to my right a couple of pieces of large plant machinery were parked and the acrid smell of Tarmac was even stronger, drifting in the night air, catching my throat.
‘Robbie!’ Malky yelled. He ran down the steps to join Jake. The gun left my neck and pointed over my shoulder. Drops of rain dripped from the muzzle.
‘Step away,’ Romeo said to Jake who was now standing only a few yards away between Malky and the pistol, blocking the path of a bullet.
‘You’re making a big mistake, son,’ Jake said.
‘Shut it. Lie face down and put your hands on the back of your head.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Jake said through his teeth. The dog growled, straining at the chain.
Romeo pointed the gun at Jake again. ‘I said, get down.’
Jake began to shake, not with fear but in anger. A vein bulged on his forehead and his left eye twitched madly. I could feel the weight of Romeo’s arm resting on my shoulder. The sinews tightened. He was about to pull the trigger. I jerked back as hard as I could. He recoiled instinctively but the back of my head connected with his chin and I heard the click of teeth as his jaw snapped shut. Birling around, I threw myself at him, trying to knock him off balance. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. I fell, grazing the heels of my hands and tearing a hole in the knee of my jeans. I rolled away from him and was halfway to my feet again when a long leg flicked out and a boot caught me below the ribs, ripping the breath from me. Another struck me on the back of the head, just behind my left ear. I sprawled full length and was expecting another blow, or worse a bullet, when I heard a loud growl. I thought at first it was the dog but it wasn’t, it was Jake, head down and on the charge, three yards away and closing. Romeo was tall and lean and very fast. With a side-step a matador would have been proud of, he avoided Jake’s rush, simultaneously bringing the butt of the pistol down hard on his bullet head. Most men would have fallen under such a heavy blow; not Jake. He stood there, stunned, blood streaming down his face, over one eye and into his mouth.
Romeo took a step back and pointed the gun at the bleeding head. He was scarcely out of breath. Dexy Doyle had chosen well. I began to think how lucky I had been the night in my kitchen when I’d flattened him with the pancake girdle. The element of surprise I supposed.
Malky advanced hesitatingly. Romeo swung the gun forty-five degrees.
‘Don’t,’ he said, and Malky came to an abrupt halt. Romeo returned his aim to Jake, whom he’d rightly identified as the most dangerous of his three captives. He came around to where I was standing, bent over, trying to catch my breath. He knee’d me in the kidneys and pushed me forward with the sole of his boot, sending me tumbling once more to the wet ground. Now he had all three of us in front of him, not far from the foot of the steps. The rain continued to fall.
‘Get up,’ Romeo ordered me. I struggled to my feet. ‘We’re going in there.’ He flicked the barrel of the gun in the direction of the pre-fab cabin. ‘And we’re going one at a time. Very slowly. Got that?’ He pointed the gun at me. ‘You first.’
I staggered forward, Jake's mutt snarling, jumping, testing the chain to its limit as I made my ascent, holding my side with one hand, gripping the wooden rail with the other. Once we were all inside the hut Romeo would kill us. I climbed the steps slowly, my head buzzing, trying to think what to do, wondering if I could lay hold of a weapon.
‘Press your hands and face against the window,’ Romeo called to me. He had it all worked out. When I’d done what I was told, he sent Malky up next. There were windows either side of the door. I was at one, staring through the racing raindrops, my breath fogging the glass. Malky came in and took his place at the other.
Romeo gestured to Jake who turned and put his foot on the first step. As he did, I saw Romeo’s arm stretch out and straighten. The young man in the black hoody was a professional. He thought he could handle Malky and me: dispatch us simply, quickly. Jake, he must have reckoned, would be a problem once we were all together in the cramped cabin. Though it would have been neater, tidier and a lot less noisy to kill us all inside, Romeo had assessed the situation and decided that confronting Jake in the close confines of his H.Q. was a risk not worth taking.
I battered my fists on the window, hoping to distract the man with the gun and give Jake an opening. A fat lot of good it did. Romeo was standing five or six yards from his target. There was no way Jake could cover that distance before he was on the receiving end of a couple of slugs.
Then suddenly, to my right, headlights. Full beam. Bouncing up the pot-holed track, through the gates and onto the forecourt. Romeo looked over his shoulder, the gun still pointed at the back of Jake’s bleeding head. The lights kept coming at a slow even speed. They shone across the yard, onto the compound, illuminating the exterior of the fence along which a gaudy sign proclaimed, JT Motors Ltd, and beside it a life-sized cut-out of Malky and Jake smiling and shaking hands.
Relatively Guilty (Best Defence series Book 1) Page 26
