“That’s a fair step up for them all right boss, to be getting in tow with two nasty bastards like Brennan and Reid. This has got Meechan’s dabs on it all over; they’ve obviously come to his attention, probably been used as drugs runners and then been offered a chance to cut their teeth on something a bit more serious. It doesn’t get more serious than murder, though.”
“Aye, you’re right there, Gus my boy. But the question is what do we do with them next? I’ve held off calling Henry Farrell over at the East, as I thought you’d prefer to speak to me before we go giving him a lead he scarce deserves. That said, Gus, he is the enquiry officer for the Browns’ shooting and with the HOLMES unit now in full flow, the lead is going to have to be handed over to him, and by that I mean when I come off the blower to you.”
Thoroughgood had been waiting on tenterhooks all weekend for his superior’s call, not sure whether he would go straight to Farrell with the identities of the gang, or whether he would come to him first.
Possibly Tomachek’s intense dislike of Farrell had made his decision for him; nevertheless, Thoroughgood was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thanks for belling me, boss. Can I offer my opinion?”
“That’s why I’m calling you, Thoroughgood. Get on with it, dear boy,” ordered Tomachek.
“I think you’ve got to get the boys out and bring them all in on Section Fourteen detention, boss. Apart from anything else, you’ve got Brennan stoating about with a sawn-off shotgun and at least one of the three others was carrying a sawn-off, if memory serves. But first, you bring the two kids in and leave enough time for the jungle drums to beat so that the wind gets well and truly up Brennan and Reid.
“Obviously we’ve got to exploit the kids’ naivety and inexperience. Okay, we’ve got fuck all in the way of evidence and witnesses, but you know yourself that Morse’s info was spot on. As far as the two kids are concerned, hopefully even a twat like Farrell will be able to break them and get something incriminating from their detention.”
“I’m with you on all of that Gus,” said Tomachek, “keep going.”
“The other thing here, as I’m sure you are aware, is that we, the police, have to be seen to be doing something. ‘Police make four midnight swoops on murder suspects’ is the type of front page headline the Chief Constable will want to wake up to tomorrow, not ‘Police fail to make any moves on triple slaying,’ wouldn’t you agree, boss?”
“I would indeed, dear boy. Pray continue,” quipped Tomachek.
“As for Brennan and Reid, well, you know you’re going to get fuck all out of them, and so will Henry Farrell. That would give you a lever, boss, if you were so inclined, to suggest to Farrell that he leaves Brennan and Reid to Hardie and me.
“I’m sure if you were to stress the part my informant played in bringing the four suspects to our attention and underlined the fact that the detention of Brennan and Reid is a thankless task that will yield fuck all, then that weasel would be quite happy to sit back and twiddle his thumbs, especially if he has burst either Jarvis or Simms.”
“All right, Thoroughgood, you’ve put together a compelling case. I’m going to call Farrell; poor bastard will be on his third twelve-hour shift on the bounce at London Road, good enough for him I say. I’ll tell him what the plan is: he can liaise with West End CID at Partick. I’ll be demanding that he has Jarvis and Simms detained before midnight tonight; knowing that bastard, he’ll try and drag things out so he can make maximum ovvies.
“I’ll also be ordering him to keep me personally up to date, as I will probably have to do likewise with the ACC Crime and the Chief Constable. Rest assured, Gus my boy, your name will be mentioned in despatches. Right, I suggest that you call that sidekick of yours, Hardie, and make sure he’s on his toes for once. Keep your mobile at your side, Gus, I will be in touch presently,” Tomachek concluded.
Nine p.m. and Thoroughgood’s mobile went off again.
“Right, Thoroughgood, I’ve filled in Farrell and it’s all systems go. I’m afraid you and Hardie are going to have to get your fingers dirty right now. West End are men down in CID and so are Anderston. Apparently they were all out for a curry last night, and the whole bloody lot of them have the trots bad. You and Hardie are going to need to get your arses into Partick and link up with the uniform that will be accompanying you. You’ll be delighted to know Farrell is already there coordinating things.
“One last word, Gus: just be bloody careful. I don’t want you and Hardie involved in your second shootout of the weekend, understand? I had a look at Brennan’s PC’s and he is one nasty dangerous big bastard. That said, dear boy, I expect him in the Stewart Street office or City Centre as they call it now, on a Section Fourteen before midnight. I’ve agreed with Farrell that he can take Jarvis and Simms back to London Road while you keep your bodies in the Central at Stewart Street nick. That way you can stay out of each other’s way.”
“Suits me, gaffer. I assume you’ll be wanting a call when we have the bodies in place?”
“You assume correctly, Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood, so until then, toodle pip.”
At nine-thirty p.m. Thoroughgood and Hardie rendezvoused in the shiny new CID office at Partick Police station in Dumbarton Road.
“I liked the old Marine,” moaned Hardie. “It must be like working in a bloody toilet, it’s that bright and shiny in here. Christ, there must be enough disinfectant splashed all over this place to keep an army of pensioners smelling fresh as daisies.”
“You’ll be a pensioner yourself soon enough, faither!” responded Thoroughgood. “Try and remember we’re just passing through. Anyway, did I tell you old Tomachek has wangled it for us to take Brennan and Reid back to Stewart Street?”
“That was nice of him. So tell me, gaffer, what happens if your new best mate, Frankie Brennan, recognises you from your midnight parley the other night? That should make spending six hours with him a real treat, eh!”
“That is precisely why, faither, you will be taking two uniform officers to his home address and, just to be on the safe side, you will have Tactical Firearms Unit backup into the bargain. I’ll be taking the same with me to Reid’s in Earl Street.”
“Cute,” admitted Hardie. “So Reid stays in Earl Street, do you think we could pin the Bible Johnny murders on him while we’re at it?”
Thoroughgood, used to his partner’s flippancy, ignored the quip and continued:
“Just snaffle Brennan, don’t wind him up and get yourself back to Stewart Street.”
“Message received loud and clear.”
With that the two detectives split up, accompanied by their uniform back-up in two unmarked CID vehicles, both vehicles followed at a discreet distance by TFU vehicles. Any attempt at subterfuge was pointless, as the locals almost knew the unmarked polis vehicles better than the CID themselves.
Earl Street was less than a mile away from the Partick nick. Thoroughgood and PC’s Flynn and Grant arrived outside number fifteen just before ten p.m. The street was empty, cleared by the torrential rain. After a nod to the TFU officers when they had taken up suitably unobtrusive positions, Thoroughgood tried Reid’s buzzer without success, but Mrs Ritchie in the ground flat right was happy to oblige him with entry to the close. No reply to repeated knocking at Reid’s first floor flat, and no signs of life through the letterbox. Thoroughgood popped a calling card asking Reid to contact PC Flynn at Partick office regarding a routine matter. No doubt Reid would get the word he’d had visitors when he did elect to return home.
Thoroughgood and his two new uniform mates split up to do door-to-door round the three-storey tenement. Only Mrs Ritchie on the ground floor appeared, although Thoroughgood would put good money on there being at least one other resident home but reluctant to speak to the polis.
Admitting defeat, Thoroughgood waved the TFU officers off, jumped into the back of the unmarked Astra and radioed Hardie. “No luck at Reid’s, you in position at Brennan’s?”
“Eh
, no,” was the embarrassed reply from Hardie.
“What do you mean no?”
“We haven’t managed to get out of the backyard at Partick nick, cos we’ve got a tank full of diesel in an unleaded Focus,” Hardie admitted reluctantly.
“No one ever tell you that not all Strathclyde Police Fords are diesel?”
“I know that now, gaffer.”
“Forget about it, faither, I’ll be right back with you. Reid was out for the night and there is no info from any of his neighbours, so we might as well join up and go get Brennan together. In any case I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see me.”
After Thoroughgood had returned to West End Office at Partick, they checked the address they had for Frankie Brennan. It was a flat twenty floors up, in the high rise at Lincoln Avenue, Knightswood.
When he heard this Hardie was decidedly upbeat.
“Well, there’s only going to be one escape route there, Gus—oot the windae! If he’s in we’ve got him. Especially as we are goin’ team-handed and with TFU back-up, I think even Brennan is gonnae think twice about having a go.”
“Never mind that; my guess is Brennan won’t be home so I think we can dispense with the TFU boys. It’s odds on him and Reid will be laying low somewhere safe until they see how the wind blows. Anyway, forget about that, faither; after your cock-up with the diesel it’s your turn to read him the Section Fourteen caution. Have you got your aide-memoir card or do you have it off by heart?” asked Thoroughgood with a wink.
“Eh, well, as it happens that’s a no to both, but I’m sure either Constable Flynn or Grant here will be able to help me with that one,” said Hardie, turning to their two uniform colleagues.
“I’ve got one here down the inside of my notebook cover, DC Hardie,” said Flynn. “There you go,” and he handed it over to the grateful Hardie.
The giant shadow cast by the multi-storey towerblock was now looming large, and Thoroughgood wanted to make sure everyone knew what they were doing. When the CID vehicle pulled into the side of the road just outside the flats, he decided upon a last-minute briefing. Turning round from the passenger seat, he let his eyes sweep over Hardie, Flynn and Grant.
“Okay, all bullshit aside, we just don’t know what we are going to get with Brennan. Just two nights back DC Hardie and I observed him in possession of a sawn-off shotgun, and although I don’t think for one minute he is silly enough to be tooled up inside his own flat, his record is extremely violent. So remember, you get no medals for bravery. We have a job to do, which is to get him, willing or not, to Stewart Street nick under Section Fourteen detention.
“I would prefer it if we could manage that without any trouble. He is not the type of boy we want to be rolling about the bottom of a lift with. Let’s make sure we don’t go saying anything that could upset Brennan and turn this whole business into something out of a Frankenstein film. Do you understand me?” asked Thoroughgood, but his eyes were resting solely on Hardie.
A moment later they were in one lift, heading up to the twentieth floor and a date with Frankie Brennan. When the lift light flashed at floor twenty the two uniform officers and Hardie made their way out. Thoroughgood remained in the lift, holding it ready for the anticipated return of his colleagues and one Francis Patrick Brennan. There were four flats per floor, and the lift was diagonally opposite Brennan’s door. Hardie looked round and gave Thoroughgood a wink, then pressed the doorbell.
After what seemed like an eternity but was in fact less than thirty seconds, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming to the door, and the scraping of a key being turned, and the door was open. There, stooping to avoid knocking his head on the top of the door frame stood Frankie Brennan, an insincere look of surprise written over his face.
If he could have, Hardie would have turned round and let Thoroughgood know just what he thought of his judgement call right there and then, but the last thing he wanted to do was to alert the giant to his gaffer’s presence.
“Officers, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Have you got the right flat, aye that’s it ye’ll be on the wrong floor surely?” Brennan grinned with malice.
Hardie soon made it clear to Brennan that the mistake was his.
“Francis Patrick Brennan?” he asked.
“To be sure,” came the reply.
“We are here to detain you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure (Scotland) act 1995. If you will listen to me it’s my duty to caution you to that effect …” and Hardie, with the help of PC Flynn’s aide-memoir card was off and running.
Brennan was all smiles:
“Listen officer,” he said with dripping sarcasm, “I can tell you now that on the night in question, at the time you have detailed, I was fishing for salmon on the River Forth near Kinlochard, and I have witnesses to that effect. But if you want me to come into the station to help you with your enquiries, it’s no skin off my nose to be sure. After all the telly is crap this time on a Sunday night. But surely you have something better to do with your time?”
Hardie was all business. “I’m afraid not, and according to our information, Frankie boy, you have been a very busy big sod this weekend, you and your fishing buddies.”
For the first time recognition almost broke out on Brennan’s face, but the big man persisted with his act of innocence.
“I’m sure this all some kind of misunderstanding, detective but hey, let’s get on with it,” he said, spreading his palms out.
PC Flynn, a probationer “not long out his wrapper,” as the phrase goes, showed his lack of experience with an ill-considered lunge for Brennan’s wrists with his handcuffs. Grabbing the officer’s cuffs by the rigid central section, Brennan kept a hold of them for a few seconds to make the point that he wouldn’t be putting any cuffs on if he didn’t want to.
Unfortunately PC Grant, another rookie, sensed the threat of violence: he immediately unholstered his CS gas spray and pointed it in the direction of the giant Irishman. Brennan just smiled.
“Now listen, sonny, there is no need for any of the hard stuff. I’m gonnae be comin’ all peaceable like, it’s just that yer mate here gave me a fright with the way he whipped out his cuffs here.”
Nodding to PC Flynn, Brennan said,
“On you go, sonny, but please not too tight, I bruise easy,” and he winked in a way that suggested any discomfort to his wrists would be redressed at a date to be determined in the future.
Hardie reasserted himself.
“Listen big fella, let’s just all stay calm. The boys here are a bit green and they are just trying to do their job. The sooner we get you down Stewart Street nick, the sooner we can get this whole misunderstanding sorted out and your alibis established. So if you don’t mind letting PC Flynn put the cuffs on,”
Hardie gestured to Flynn to try again, “we can be moving on quite nicely.”
Brennan smiled and held his hands out again. PC Grant reholstered his CS spray canister, and the mounting tension seemed to drain from the twentieth floor landing. Flanked by Grant and Flynn, Brennan headed towards the open door of the lift, and it was then he clapped eyes on Thoroughgood.
Chapter 22
If Frankie Brennan recognised Thoroughgood, he showed no sign that was the case. The combined weight of four police officers and one six-foot-five-inch male suspect was way too much for the council lift to contend with, so it was decided that PC’s Grant and Flynn would make their way down the stairwell to the ground floor.
Brennan remained motionless, like a giant statue of some cruel ancient Roman god, in the corner of the lift, nothing but a slight sneer playing across his features. The lift started off on its twenty-floor journey to the ground floor, and Thoroughgood saw the giant move his eyes in an upward direction. The DS followed the giant’s gaze and noted the camera situated in the ceiling of the lift. Brennan’s gaze dropped, this time resting on Thoroughgood:
“Convenient, isn’t it, that the camera never works in this lift?”
Then he sm
ashed his head into the bridge of Thoroughgood’s nose and everything went dark. Hardie hadn’t seen the attack coming either, and as Brennan’s forehead impacted on Thoroughgood, he watched in stunned disbelief as his mate immediately crumpled onto the lift floor, knocked cold by the power of the blow, his nose spewing blood.
“Now why did you have to go and do that, Frankie? That’s a nice little charge of Police Assault you’ve just earned.”
Brennan turned and looked at Hardie.
“Ye see detective, Frankie Brennan never forgets a face and yer man there would be well advised to remember that. I would say that would be us equal for the dunt he gave Gazza Reid on the head back in them woods at Loch Ard.”
With that the giant smiled benignly, quite happy that revenge of some sorts had been meted out. But Hardie was equally good at pulling off a surprise: as Brennan stood staring straight ahead, his piece said, Hardie played his joker and smashed his right knee up into the giant’s privates. Brennan let out a slow groan as his knees began to give way but slowly, with great effort, he straightened himself up.
“Likewise, Mr Brennan,” said Hardie.
Thoroughgood remained slumped against the wall of the lift like a ragdoll, opposite Brennan’s towering frame. Hardie kept his eyes trained on the criminal, acutely aware he was vulnerable enough without dropping down to check on his mate. Judging by the rasping sound coming from the giant, he was still in some pain and more occupied with his own discomfort than any thoughts of exacting retribution on Hardie.
The ping of the lift bell announced its arrival on the ground floor, and to Hardie’s relief and delight, PC’s Flynn and Grant were both waiting, albeit puffing, in the foyer.
Hardie beckoned to the cops. “Here, take our man out and put him in the back seat of the motor between you, DS Thoroughgood needs a wee bit of a hand here.”
Parallel Lines Page 14
