“Good man, Gus. Bit of a sore one mind you about the car, complete write-off you know.”
Thoroughgood winced as he tried to adjust himself to a more upright position.
“Bastard! If I don’t do anything else in this life I’ll nail that fucker Meechan. Now what are we going to do about setting the trap, sir? With respect, this can’t wait anymore. Meechan obviously thinks he is above the law, and we can’t let this go unpunished.”
Tomachek raised a hand. “My dear boy, I can safely say the time has come to take matters into our own hands. A spot of summary justice is what is required, and Hardie and I have spent the run over from Stewart Street discussing exactly how we are going to set and spring our little trap.”
Hardie spoke. “We think we have the ideal place to act as a safe house and see what we can lure out. Obviously it needs to be somewhere we can take observations on, and somewhere the public aren’t going to get caught in the middle of a firefight if it all goes tits up.”
“I don’t know if you remember the old King’s Stables boozer out on the Forth canal just before you come to Kirkintilloch? Well, it’s gone to the wall and the place has been bought by an old mate of mine, John Kennedy. I’ve made the call and as long as we foot the bill, he’s quite happy to let us use it for our little job. It’s ideal because there’s only one road in and out and you get a pretty good look at it from the first floor of the building which surprise, surprise, was an old farmhouse and stables.”
Tomachek continued with the outline of their plan: “The whole thing will be set in motion tonight. I’m attending a meeting with ACC Crime Cousins at Pitt Street this evening and DCI Farrell will be there. I’ll feed in our plan there and we’ll hopefully be off and running.”
A look of concern soon knocked the smile from Thoroughgood’s face as he began to assess the implications of the plan springing into action with such immediacy:
“But who are you intending to use as the stand-ins for Jarvis and Simms sir?”
“That’ll be myself and Ross McNab,” said Hardie. “Gus, there is no way you’re going to be fit by Sunday night.”
Tomachek continued. “We need to bring this one to a head, and as soon as possible. It’s going to take us a couple of days to have the stables and farmhouse shipshape, but Farrell will be made aware that Jarvis and Simms will be relocated there on Sunday at five p.m. and then we’ll just have to wait and see how long it takes Meechan to try and get to them.”
Thoroughgood looked far from happy and it had nothing to do with his ribs: “Can I ask what arrangements you’ve made for DCI Farrell, sir?”
“You can indeed Gus. Naturally DC Hardie here has put me in the picture regarding your full suspicions, and it does seem there is a chain of events here that go beyond the mere realm of circumstance. This morning I had a very interesting chat with Detective Superintendent Moira Gary, who is head of the CHIS; she assured me that they have no informant at the present, or at any time, registered by DCI Farrell.
“As you know I’ve no time for the man, and I will be taking a personal interest in his movements over the next few days. Arrangements, as you could call them, are already being made to have his mobile phone records secured. But you have my word Gus, if Farrell is involved he will end up behind bars, enjoying a fate that may well end up worse than death.”
With that, Detective Superintendent Valentino Tomachek pulled himself up to every inch of his impressive six-feet-three-inches, arched his back, stretched out his right paw and administered the Masonic handshake he insisted on giving the non-Masonic Thoroughgood from the first day he had met him. Then Tomachek turned to Hardie:
“I expect you’ll want a couple of words with Gus? Radio for a uniform car to pick you up when you’re finished.”
Tomachek held out his hand for the car keys to the Focus they had arrived in. Hardie couldn’t help his scowl, but Tomachek clearly enjoyed pulling rank and smiled benignly:
“Remember Kenny, an ace beats a king every time, as I think you will find out at Parkhead this weekend when the glorious Bhoys vanquish the Forces of Darkness in convincing fashion.”
Turning his back on both of his junior officers, Tomachek exited whistling the Celtic anthem The Fields of Athenry. Never one to let another enjoy the last word, Hardie shouted after him:
“I look forward to taking your tenner off you, boss.”
Tomachek’s index finger shot up behind his back in a single eloquent gesture.
“For fuck’s sake, faither, you’ve got as much chance getting a tenner of Tomachek as he has off you!”
Thoroughgood let out a groan as he attempted to re-adjust his position in the hospital bed. His gaze wandered out into the corridor just beyond Ward Ten: standing there, staring straight back, was Sara Spencer. She walked in and took his previous bedside companion’s place in the cheap and slightly rocky bedside seat. She smiled at him and placed her hand on top of his:
“Are you okay, Gus?”
“I’ve been better, Sara, but now your beautiful face is here sitting beside me, I feel a whole lot better.”
She leant forward and kissed him on the lips and he couldn’t help but detect a sense of sadness, which she seemed to be wearing like some old item of clothing, one you couldn’t bear to be parted with while knowing that it had to go.
“Are you sure everything is all right, Sara? You seem a bit down.”
This time her smile seemed to dissipate like the fading of the sun on a cold winter’s day. She lowered her head for a moment then gradually lifted it until their eyes met:
“It’s my job Gus, the opportunity I told you I was hoping would come my way to run my own show has finally arrived.”
Thoroughgood smiled: “That’s great news, Sara, whereabouts?”
“Sierra Leone.”
The smile was gone from his face almost as soon as it had settled. His look of surprise and then disappointment could not be hidden by the many years of police training he’d had to conceal his emotions.
Eventually Thoroughgood managed to find some words:
“Sierra Leone, bloody hell, it’s not exactly around the corner, Sara!”
“I guess not but I did tell you there was always a good chance I would be moved abroad sometime in the next year. It’s just that the end of next month is a bit sooner than I’d expected. But it’s a huge opportunity in career terms, and if I turn it down then I’ll set myself back at least five years. Basically if I don’t take it, Gus, then they’ll leave me behind.”
“Yeah, I know all that, I guess I just thought we would have more time together to see where things would take us. I know it’s been early days but I thought we really had made a connection. I mean Sierra Leone, it’s not as if I can pop over for the odd long weekend, is it?”
“That’s true, but just where were we going anyway, Gus? After Tuesday night you’ve hardly had time to reply to my texts, never mind give me a call. That’s not exactly the way to go about letting a girl know you want to make a future with her, is it?”
Thoroughgood knew she was right. He’d sent out negative vibes to Sara and now her dream career ticket had arrived, and what was there keeping her in Glasgow?
Sara’s ran her fingers through her long brown locks; clearly she felt guilty about having a go at him when he was confined to a hospital bed.
“Look, I’m sorry Gus, I’m being unfair. I know you’ve been through a lot today and it’s not right for me to be taking potshots at you, it’s just that you’ve been so hot and cold. I guess I don’t really know where I stand with you, and that’s why I’ve got to take the job in Sierra Leone.”
He knew there was only going to be one conclusion at the end of this conversation, but it didn’t stop him trying to mount a desperate salvage operation.
“I know I’ve been a bit erratic, but it’s the job. This week has been something like I’ve never experienced in my whole career. We’ve had seven murders and an eighth fatality by shooting in one week, and I nearly joined them
all in the city mortuary this morning. I could go through the remaining eighteen years of my service and never experience anything like it again but, as they say Sara, shit happens, and it certainly hit the fan this week. I hear what you are saying. Your job is every bit as important to you as mine is to me. I guess what I’m wondering is, does that mean, we’re going to be apart for a while or that I’ll never see you again?”
“It’s a twelve-month posting with options to extend, depending on how it works out, but the Civil Service are very good to their employees and they subsidise the purchase of a home back in the UK, if you want to buy. I like Glasgow and I think I might want to come back here when I’ve finished out there.”
Sara paused and watched a slight smile creep back onto Thoroughgood’s shellshocked face.
“Maybe it’s for the best Gus, because I think you still need time to work out if you really are over Celine. That’s what’s behind all this, isn’t it? It’s not the shootings or your job, you just haven’t moved on, have you?”
For fuck’s sake, was it that obvious? He asked himself. But this was no time for the truth:
“Nope, that’s not true, Sara. Sure it wasn’t nice seeing her with Meechan like that the other night, but that was always going to happen at some stage. I can tell you this is a helluva lot harder to take. You said you’re due out by the middle of March, so where do we go from here?”
“The sooner you work out what your priorities are in life and where you stand with the whole Celine business, the sooner you’ll know if there is going to be an ‘us.’
“I just don’t want to get into a situation where I’m putting everything into a relationship and it isn’t coming back, Gus. I’m thirty-two now and I want a family, but I don’t want to make a mistake with a guy who isn’t sure what he wants in his life. It’s okay for you but the clock is ticking for me. Quite frankly, taking the job in Sierra Leone is the safer option.”
Thoroughgood could see how tough it was for her to get these last few words out; the tears that had been gradually welling up in her eyes now burst their dam and were running down her face. He reached out a hand and stroked the side of her face.
“Listen, I understand, but would you mind if I write to you?”
“That would be great Gus, but only when you’re clear in your mind where you’re going. I’m sorry, but I’ve been hurt once and I just don’t want to go through that all again.”
She stood up and leaned over him, kissing him on the forehead, and he could sense the subtle difference from the kiss she had given him when she had first arrived. He watched as she walked away and as she exited the ward, she turned and blew him a kiss then walked out of his life and he knew it was probably forever. He mouthed the words,
“Goodbye Sara,” but they were wasted.
Lying in his hospital bed, he realised tears had been running down his cheeks for some moments and immediately tried to wipe them away, embarrassed. What for? There was no one there to see him for the ward was empty:
Just like my life, thought Thoroughgood.
Chapter 41
Bandaged, bruised and with two broken ribs, Thoroughgood winced his way out of the Western at lunchtime the next day. Waiting in the car park below, Hardie pushed the Mondeo’s door open and gave his gaffer a welcoming smile:
“How are the busted bones today, gaffer? You sure you’re doing the right thing?”
“Judging by the encouragement I got when I told the sister I was intending to leave today, I’d say she agreed with my decision.”
“Aye, it’s a bit of a thought that gaffer, but here’s another one that will maybe cheer you up. I see Thistle are at home today, against Clyde in the derby, so since the Old Firm game isn’t until tomorrow how about I come along with you to Firhill to watch the Jags get another stuffing?”
The laugh which escaped caused Thoroughgood to grimace in pain, and his hands shot up to his fractured ribs and the support bandaging coiled around his middle:
“You at Firhill? Is that some kind of joke?”
“Not at all, I just thought there wasn’t much point in leavin’ you wallowing at home when you could go and do it at Firhill!”
Thoroughgood shook his head and pointed to the road ahead:
“Speaking of home, can you get me there sooner rather than later? More importantly, what’s happening with the safe house? Has Tomachek slipped Farrell the bait?”
Hardie smiled. “Yeah, it’s all in hand. They had the meeting with ACC Cousins yesterday and I spoke to old Val when he got back to Stewart Street. Farrell has all the details, and we just need to wait and see if he’s bitten. Tomachek will fill you in himself, because after we’ve dumped your stuff at the ‘hoose’ we’re meeting him for a liquid lunch in the Rock.”
“Excellent, that will be the first time I’ve ever been debriefed by a Superintendent on an ACC’s meeting in a boozer! How the fuck did you manage to organise that, faither?”
“To be fair to the old boy it was his idea. You never know, he might even join us at Firhill and then you’d have a Billy on one side and a Tim on the other!”
“You’re okay, Kenny, I don’t think I could stand the embarrassment.”
But as he sat in the passenger seat and contemplated the afternoon ahead, Thoroughgood’s spirits rose visibly. Maybe his life wasn’t as empty as he had thought less than twenty four hours back as long as he had his friends, and old faither, although he would never admit as much to his face, was certainly one of them.
“My dear boys, how nice to see you both. I hope you’ve both got hearty appetites to set you up for the big game? What’s your poison?” boomed Detective Superintendent Valentino Tomachek.
“Kronenburg,” was the chorused answer.
They selected a seat next to the window. Thoroughgood had always wondered what Tomachek would be like when he was out of his working clothes, as apart from on duty and at the odd re-trial do, he had never seen his superior officer in casual wear and found the idea hard to get his head round. A pair of brown brogues, deep green cords and a thick deep red Pringle jersey was not the look he had imagined his boss would go for.
After making themselves comfortable and ordering two scampi and a rump steak, all accompanied by the compulsory serving of chips, the conversation soon settled down to Tomachek’s meeting with ACC Cousins and DCI Farrell.
“Farrell is one cold fish all right,” said Tomachek. “Never once did he display the slightest bit of emotion or surprise the whole way through the meeting. Just kept cleaning those bloody glasses. But he’s got all the information he needs to make sure Meechan bites. In fact, the cheeky bugger’s only query was why we needed to shift Simms and Jarvis in the first place. Can you believe that? He’s getting information fed to him which will no doubt help line his bank account, and he has the cheek to complain! I’ll have that bastard’s balls before this is all over.”
By two p.m. they had finished their grub and a second round; when Hardie offered to head to the bar for a third, Thoroughgood placed a restraining hand on his wrist.
“Sorry Kenny, I’m going to leave it. The other thing is, gents, I don’t think I am quite ready for Firhill. I’ve got to be honest and say it’s a bridge too far, and admit I need my kip. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to head back over the road and get the head down.”
It was hard to say who was the more shocked, Hardie or Tomachek. The latter was first to articulate his thoughts:
“Well done, dear boy, well done. It’s good to see you letting common sense prevail. I thought it was asking a lot of you so soon after being through a major smash and with the broken ribs and all. No, I’ve absolutely no problem with that at all. I’ll bell Mrs Tomachek and say I’ll meet her at the shops and win some much-needed brownie points.”
Hardie, swilling the remains of his pint around the bottom of his glass, added:
“Nae bother, gaffer. It’s understandable, plus it means I can save a few bawbees for the Old Firm game at noon tomorrow.”
> Tomachek was taken by surprise for a second time within minutes:
“My dear Hardie, you’re not telling me you’re going to Parkhead only six hours before a major operation?”
“Look at it this way, boss, it might be the last time in my life I ever see the ’Gers gub your mob on their midden. How can you expect me to pass up on that?”
All three of them laughed but there was an edge to the laughter.
When they reached the front of Thoroughgood’s tenement, Hardie was soon enquiring as to just what was behind his gaffer’s decision to take it easy:
“So what about tomorrow night, Gus? You heard the old man say he was keeping it tight, it’s gonnae take some work to get you inside.”
Thoroughgood turned and offered his hand to Hardie.
“Let’s just say I’ll sleep on it, but if there’s any way I think my presence would jeopardise the operation I won’t be near the Kings’ Stables. I’ll call you at ten-thirty a.m., I assume you won’t have left for Parkhead by then.”
“Okay, Gus, that’s a fair call, I hope you get a decent kip.” Thoroughgood opened the security entry and headed into the close, aware that the call he was going to make in the morning was likely to end in an answer he didn’t want to give.
He must have slept for a couple of hours when the doorbell rang, for it was almost four-thirty p.m. His room in total darkness except for the red figures displayed on the clock radio, he debated the need to get up and answer it. Who was it going to be? Morse, having decided he couldn’t live on egg and chips at the Hardies’ forever? Hardie himself come to check up on him like some clucking old mother hen, or maybe Meechan come to finish the job his henchmen failed to complete?
After what seemed like an eternity in which the doorbell rang twice more, he decided he might as well answer it. Pulling on his black Thistle robe to provide some cover for the Rush t-shirt and boxers he slept in, he headed out into the hall, shielding his eyes against the daylight flooding through the blinds into the hallway.
He reached the door, disregarded the spyhole, so ignoring the first rule of crime prevention. After all, what did it really matter if Meechan himself was standing outside the door waiting to gut him? Thoroughgood removed the chain and unlocked the Yale before pulling the inside door open: it was not Declan Meechan who was standing in front of him but his fiancée.
Parallel Lines Page 28
