Heads or Hearts

by Paul Johnston

  ‘Via the Dead Men, it would appear. Who exactly are they?’

  Andrew Duart’s eyes were on me, but he nudged his colleague in what he thought was a subtle fashion. I’d been expecting something of the sort.

  ‘That is confidential Glasgow information and how many people have the initial “H”?’ Hel said. ‘All right, I can tell you that the Dead Men are criminals we forced out of the city – those we didn’t kill. I’ve never had any personal contact with them.’ She gave a twisted smile. ‘Apart from one I stabbed in the heart.’

  I saw Duart’s eyes spring wide open. It looked like his sidekick had let her iron grip loosen for a moment. I couldn’t waste the opportunity.

  ‘Did you remove the said heart with your knife?’

  I turned on my heel before I was thrown out.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Davie was waiting for me, as I’d asked.

  ‘You look like a kid who’s chucked a live rat at a tourist.’

  I told him what had gone down.

  ‘We’d better get a move on,’ was his response. ‘Your Council authorization might soon be withdrawn.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. Amazing though it seems, the senior and finance guardians are in the dark about the gambling racket. And because it’s linked to the hearts – and probably the heads – they still want me to solve the case. I hope.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Davie, as he accelerated up the Canongate. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘Obviously we have to talk to the citizens named by Peter Stewart and Muckle Tony. The problem is there are … how many?’

  ‘The number’s up to forty-one, thirty-five males.’

  I sat back in my seat. ‘We need to narrow things down. Get your people to check if any of the forty-one have family, personal or work connections with that fucker John Lecky.’

  Davie passed the order on. By the time we got to the command centre, a guardswoman had already turned up a link.

  ‘This citizen, Gary Weaver,’ she said, holding out a cardboard file. ‘He lives two doors down from John Lecky, in West Pilton. The place is in his wife’s name.’

  ‘Good work,’ I said. ‘Keep at it.’ We’d sent a squad down to Lecky’s registered abode, but the place was deserted and hadn’t been lived in for months.

  Davie arranged for Weaver to be taken to the interview room. As we were heading there, Guardian Doris turned up, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ she said, waving Davie on. ‘Could you have made this directorate look any more useless to my colleagues, never mind the outsiders?’

  ‘What do you mean? They’re running scared now.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The people behind the gambling and, very likely, the heads and hearts.’

  ‘You wouldn’t care to share their names with me?’

  I raised my shoulders. ‘I don’t know them. Yet. By the way, are you close to Alice Scobie?’

  The guardian looked away. ‘We’ve known each other for some time, yes.’

  ‘I recommend distancing yourself from her at speed,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got the proof yet, but I think she’s into this up to her oxters.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it? Maybe we should look into her whereabouts when the heart was left at Tyneside.’

  Doris laughed. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you.’

  ‘It’s imagination that solves difficult cases. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to interrogate one of the gambling guys. Feel free to listen in.’

  She got the hint – ‘don’t think you’re asking any questions yourself’. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, it was that Davie and I had developed techniques that almost always bore fruit. We had a quick chat about how to proceed.

  Davie led me into the confined room. The citizen chained to the chair on the other side of the table was middle-aged, overweight and bald. He also looked like he didn’t give a shit. That was about to change.

  I looked at the Guard file and then smiled as beatifically as I could. ‘Gary Dale Weaver, address 22b West Pilton Park, married to Jean, children Duncan, fourteen, and Jessie, twelve. Occupation, Supply Directorate clerk, level 3c.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the citizen. ‘Whit d’ye want?’

  As arranged, Davie rammed his service knife into the table an inch from Weaver’s hands, making the prisoner jerk backwards.

  ‘Cooperation,’ I said. ‘And answers.’

  ‘Or your bollocks,’ Davie added.

  ‘Ye cannae …’

  Davie pulled his knife out and held it against the citizen’s crotch. ‘We fucking can,’ he growled. ‘Now talk. And no hesitating.’

  ‘Question one – where’s John Lecky?’

  ‘Ah … Ah havnae seen him for mo—’

  Davie pushed the point through Weaver’s trousers. As they were citizen issue, that didn’t take much effort. The skill was in not drawing blood. At least, only a little.

  ‘Where’s John Lecky?’

  ‘I heard he wus in Liberton, near the old school.’ Which had been a victim of the drugs wars. It was also only a few hundred yards from the city line.

  ‘Address?’

  ‘Em … 357 Gilmerton Road.’

  ‘Question three – who’s your boss in the EPL gambling scheme?’

  ‘The whit?’ Then the prisoner screamed. This time Davie’s knife had cut skin.

  ‘You heard me,’ I said.

  ‘Aaah … Luke … Luke Lawrie. He works in the Supply too. Ah dinnae ken who he answers tae, honest, Ah dinnae.’

  We went out of the door, to be met by Guardian Doris, file in hand.

  ‘Luke Lawrie’s not in custody.’

  ‘Typical,’ I said. ‘Still, at least we got a fix on Lecky.’

  ‘If you can trust it.’

  ‘I think we can,’ I said, looking at Davie as he finished cleaning his knife.

  ‘That was rather extreme, commander,’ the guardian said. ‘But, given the circumstances, permissible.’

  ‘And effective,’ Davie added.

  ‘So, what about Lecky?’ Doris asked me.

  ‘We get after him now.’

  ‘Even though it’s dark and there are very few lights in the far south?’

  ‘We can’t risk him getting away. Besides, he and his men are probably out on business. If we neutralize anyone left behind, we’ll have the advantage of surprise.’

  ‘I leave it to you,’ the guardian said. ‘I’ve plenty of other things to be getting on with.’

  I asked her the question that had been nagging at me for days. ‘Why haven’t you appointed a deputy guardian to help out?’

  She flushed and then raised her shoulders. ‘Haven’t got round to it. Delegation’s never been my strong point.’

  We watched her walk down the corridor.

  ‘She just delegated Lecky to us,’ Davie observed.

  ‘True, but maybe she wants to wash her hands of a potential disaster. Those head-bangers won’t give in without a fight.’

  ‘Bring it on,’ Davie said ebulliently.

  ‘Make sure you take a backup Hyper-Stun, will you?’

  That got me a good guardsman’s glower.

  An hour later we were in position about a hundred yards from the house in the south of the city. There were three guardsmen in the back of our 4×4, and another to the rear of the building in the backstreets of Moredun. The rain was coming down in sheets and the place was dark, apart from the dim glow from the curtained windows of the few residents who’d remained. Most of them would be involved in illicit activities. No one else would volunteer to live in Sioux Central, as it was known.

  ‘You know what the danger is?’ Davie said in a low voice.

  ‘Apart from getting our heads sawn off?’

  ‘Well, yes. That they’ve left a sentry with a phone to warn them if anything goes bosoms to the sky.’

  ‘And how do you intend to overcome that problem, commander?’ I asked sternly, aware of sniggering in t
he back.

  ‘Cut his or her head off first, citizen,’ suggested one of the heavies.

  I looked round. He was young, bull-chested and pimply.

  ‘And what if the sentry has to make a regular call to the others, guardsman?’ I asked.

  ‘We get the time and number out of him and then cut his head off,’ was the supplementary suggestion.

  ‘Did you train this lot personally?’ I said to Davie.

  ‘I did not, but if they don’t get a grip they’ll be howking tatties first thing tomorrow morning.’

  No one liked potato-picking, especially given the state of the fields in the Big Wet. Besides, that would involve demotion to citizen rank.

  ‘I’ll do this myself,’ Davie said, clearly lacking confidence in his men.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said.

  ‘Only if you do exactly what I say or signal, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Davie was more up to date about field operations than I was, though I’d carried out plenty when he was not much more than a kid.

  We got out of the 4×4, closing the doors quietly, and moved into the shadows. Davie took the lead, his bulky frame in what looked like an uncomfortable crouch, but I knew he could keep it up for hours if necessary.

  ‘This must be it,’ Davie whispered, stopping outside a two-storey building that was scarcely visible in the gloom. ‘I counted from the last place that was numbered. Squat down by the fence while I check it out.’

  I did so, my heart pounding after he disappeared round the side. We both had torches with narrow beams and I saw the odd flash of his. I heard what sounded like a sash window being moved. Then everything happened very quickly. The front door opened and a tall figure dashed towards the gate. I waited till it was almost alongside me, then put in the best rugby tackle I could manage, my legs straining. My target went over and I heard what was probably a knife blade clang on the pavement. Then the young guardsman with more spots than brain cells was on the writhing figure. It was a middle-aged man.

  ‘Get him inside,’ Davie called, in a low voice.

  I let the other two guardsmen help their comrade, while I reached out for the knife and ran my finger along it. The blade was long, unusually thin and well honed, but not serrated.

  Inside, the curtains were all drawn so we were able to use our torches. The place was musty and there was little furniture in the front room.

  ‘Give me that,’ Davie said, holding his hand out for the knife. ‘I’ll find out if he has to call in.’

  I left him and his subordinates to that and went through the other rooms. The kitchen floor was covered with empty food packets and there was a half-consumed pan of porridge on the hob, but nothing specifically to suggest that the builders-cum-killers had been there. Then I went up the creaking staircase. There were sleeping bags in the front rooms, six in total. I breathed through my mouth as it was obvious the bathroom no longer had running water. It was the back bedrooms that made me gape.

  ‘What the …’ Davie said from behind me.

  ‘Fuck, don’t do that.’

  ‘Sorry. The scumbag doesn’t have to call in, or so he says.’ He grinned. ‘I believe him. He’s bound and gagged now and I’ve got his phone. The guardsmen have taken up defensive positions.’

  We played our torch beams over boxes that had been neatly stacked. My heart sank after Davie opened some with his knife. The contents matched the numbers and letters stencilled on the outside.

  ‘Automatic rifles, rocket launchers, grenades, machine-guns and sidearms.’

  ‘Someone’s out to start a war,’ said Davie.

  ‘You got that right. But there’s quite a distance from chopping some heads off to armed insurrection.’

  Davie was looking closer. ‘The rifles have been oiled recently.’

  ‘This keeps getting better.’

  He looked across at me. ‘It changes the situation, Quint. We can’t risk Lecky and his pals taking us out and getting away with these.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Then again, we could turn them on the bastards. No, we need to get more people out here. I’m calling the guardian.’

  ‘Wait a minute. This is a big find, I know, but there might be others across the city. If we go in guardian-handed, we could make the situation worse. Apparently there’s been rioting in Inverness.’

  ‘It’ll be a lot worse than rioting if people start using these beauties.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Stick to the Hyper-Stun, and on the lowest effective setting. We need these assholes alive.’

  We went back downstairs and waited. The sentry wriggled occasionally and got a kick from the greater spotted guardsman for his trouble. He’d been searched and had no identification on him, but there was a packet of Glaswegian cigarettes – St Mungo’s Delight – in his shirt pocket. Without interrogating him, I couldn’t be sure if he was an Edinburgh citizen or an outsider. That would have to wait. At least we knew Lecky and his builders were locals.

  I had nodded off when Davie nudged me. It was still dark.

  ‘They’re coming.’ He looked around. ‘From all directions. Told you I should have called for backup.’

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘At least five. The squad at the rear is watching two of them. Here, take this. It’s on the setting you wanted.’

  I felt the plastic grip of a Hyper-Stun in my right hand and changed it to my left. Pulling a trigger with the stump of a forefinger is hard. Then again, my aim has never been great on the sinister side.

  Then a buzz came from Davie’s pocket. He took out the sentry’s phone.

  ‘What do you say?’ he said, pointing his Hyper-Stun at the bound man’s groin and pulling down his gag.

  ‘Aye aye,’ the captive croaked.

  Davie looked unconvinced, but he couldn’t get anything else out of the head-banger. He pressed the Answer button and said the words.

  ‘The connection was cut straight away,’ he said. ‘Prepare for incoming.’

  I crouched under the front window, moving the curtain slightly. It was impossible to make anything out in the dark and rain. I let the damp material fall back and then heard a sound near the door. Several sounds, heavy boots on the cracked paving.

  Then the key turned in the lock and a figure appeared.

  ‘Skank? Where are ye?’

  Davie tried a mumble, but the guy didn’t buy it and turned away.

  ‘Ambush!’ he yelled, then collapsed halfway down the path after Davie stunned him.

  ‘Where’s the rest of them?’ the chesty guardsman asked from the kitchen.

  ‘Right behind yeh,’ came a reedy voice, then there was a loud blast.

  Davie ran out and I heard the Hyper-Stun’s characteristic crack. Then it sounded again and again as the remaining guardsmen got in on the act. After about a minute things went quiet.

  ‘Davie!’ I yelled.

  ‘Here,’ he called.

  I went to the kitchen and shone my torch. The little I saw of the over-enthusiastic guardsman’s exploded head on the wall was enough. Davie pushed past and asked if the others were all right. They both responded. Then a hail of bullets came in the kitchen and other ground-floor windows. I dropped to the filthy floor, my hands over my head. I heard Davie’s boots pound up the stairs, then frequent cracks from his Hyper-Stun. Eventually everything went quiet again. Davie came down, then started swearing loudly.

  I got up and went into the hall. The guardsman there was lying in a pool of blood. The other one, in the front room, had taken at least one shot to the region of his heart.

  ‘All three,’ Davie said. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ He ran out and opened the back door. ‘Mari!’ he shouted.

  ‘Nello,’ came the response from the Guard personnel to the rear.

  Peter Marinello had been a star forward for Hibernian in the late 1960s and eventually played for Hearts too. But had we really got to the stage that the Public Order Directorate was using footballers’ names for the daily code word?

  Davi
e didn’t care about that. He was incandescent about the loss of his people – a guardswoman from the backup squad had been killed as well.

  At least we had John Lecky and three of his builders, all of them unconscious. Lecky had nearly got away, but was hit by a middle-aged guardsman with his truncheon – no modern technology necessary. The question was, had anyone else vanished into the grey and drenching dawn?

  The four prisoners were taken to the castle and put in separate cells. By the time they were locked up, they were starting to come round. Davie went off to supervise the transfer of the arms we’d found. Guardian Doris came to look at Lecky and his men. They had been chained to the walls next to the rickety wooden beds.

  ‘Any IDs?’ she asked.

  ‘No, but their photos match their Housing Directorate files. I remember them well enough from when they came after us.’ I wondered where Lecky’s hacksaw was. It hadn’t been found at the house, suggesting he might have another base. Shit, maybe he and his pals were all over the place.

  Guardsman Rab, the day warden, had just come on duty. He came up to us.

  ‘Such a parcel of rogues, eh, guardian?’

  Doris nodded, then I saw the light.

  ‘In here,’ I said in a low voice, leading them into an empty cell. The previous occupants had been sent off to a secure facility in Beaverbank on the grounds that we’d be needing the space for new villains.

  ‘I just had a thought,’ I said, aiming the Hyper-Stun I still had at the guardsman and relieving him of his knife. ‘Secure him, please, guardian.’

  ‘What is this?’ the big man said as Doris took his night-stick and got cuffs round his hands and ankles – these were then chained to a ring in the wall.

  ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Raeburn 97,’ I said.

  He played dumb, but not very effectively.

  ‘You were the one who delivered messages to and from Muckle Tony.’

  ‘That’s pish!’ he shouted, his face red. ‘Utter pish!’

  ‘No, Rab, Muckle Tony was a Leith Lancer. Or were you working for the Porty Pish too?’

  ‘I was not. Where’s your proof, smartarse?’

  I looked at the guardian. ‘Proof is not essential in City Guard investigations, as you well know. But in this case, I’m sure we’ll find copies or notes of the messages in your quarters or your locker. The thing is, we’re in a hurry. Play ball and you’ll be treated more favourably. Not the mines, maybe.’ I aimed the Hyper-Stun at his face. ‘Otherwise, I’ll fry you.’