Into the Dark

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘That’s the end of the parade. Do you think you saw the person in question? If so, can you give me the number?’

  ‘Jeezo, that was tough, like. Honestly, I’ve got no idea. I’ve only seen the fella on crappy CCTV,’ said Morgan.

  ‘It’s number two, I think,’ I said, though I was far from certain. If I’d been a witness, she wouldn’t have confirmed if I’d been correct, just recorded the results and sent them for processing with the case file, but as this was just for fun, she told me I was right. ‘Can you bring Mr McStay up on the screen again for a moment?’

  She obliged and now that I knew it was our guy, he seemed to stand out from the stand-ins. A bit bigger and a bit meaner. He did not look pleased to be turning for the camera. Luckily his VIPER image was already on file as there wasn’t enough to have had him brought in for capturing. The brute turned first to the left and then to the right. I noticed something I hadn’t clocked the first time around. An area of his neck was pixelated. The blurred section moved slightly around that part of his neck as he turned.

  ‘What’s going on there?’ I said.

  She paused the screen and saw what I was referring to. ‘Yes, sometimes that’s done to cover up an obvious scar, tattoo or perhaps a birth-mark or something. The court wants a witness to recognise the suspect’s face, not just some small part.’

  We thanked the lady and joined Mr White back at reception before driving him back to his house. He was doing us a favour and so rather than have him make his own way across town, I’d made sure he was collected and returned safely.

  ‘Where does that leave things?’ asked Morgan as I pulled out of Mr White’s street.

  ‘Back at square one, really. We might get lucky with someone else reporting something similar, but for now it leaves this particular lead dead in the water.’

  ‘Is police work always this frustrating?’

  I thought about that for a minute. ‘Often, yes. That’s why you grab hold of any and all little victories when they come along; you don’t know how long it’ll be ’til the next one,’ I said. Then I began to think. ‘Do you have the crime report with you?’

  ‘Somewhere, yeah. Gimme a second.’ Morgan reached into the back seat and produced his folder. I had one much like it. I worked out of it for about the first two and a half years of my service, most cops did. It’s a bit like buying a new bag and pencil case for the new school year. It’ll remain shiny, new and organised for a while then order is abandoned over convenience. Soon the lad would be carrying around scraps of paper and hunting for a working pen like the rest of us. ‘Yeah, I have it. What do you need?’

  ‘Did you include McStay as a suspect on the system?’

  ‘I did, yeah.’

  ‘What address did it have for him?’

  He flicked through the pages of the report. ‘Uh … There’s a few, but most recent is in Merchiston.’

  ‘Merchiston? Nice. What’s the address before that?’

  ‘Let’s see, there’s one in Dalry, then before that Wester Hailles.’

  ‘He’s working his way up. Why don’t we go see Mr McStay? See if he’s home in Merchiston?’

  ‘We can do that?’

  ‘Of course we can.’

  Morgan looked a little nervous at the idea. I asked him to bring up the address on his phone, my own route map through the city still a little vague, particularly as we wanted to avoid anything to do with the city centre and the festival.

  We stayed to the west and soon were driving through neighbourhoods. Flats and tight terraced houses were replaced by driveways and detached homes.

  ‘Left here, then the house is about halfway up on the right.’ I pulled into the street and was hit by a pang of jealousy. The first thing I noticed was that there were no parked cars on the roadway, not one. It was almost unheard of in Edinburgh. The reason for this became clear; each of the detached homes had its own drive tucked behind iron gates. We found the house and I parked up just beyond. I called in our location to control and we stepped into the drive of number fourteen, where two identical black Range Rovers were parked. Both had private reg plates trying to spell out McStay 1 and 2 but you really had to use your imagination.

  ‘You OK?’ I said. Morgan was chewing frantically on his bottom lip.

  ‘I’m fine, yeah.’

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ I said and pressed the bell next to the large front door, also black. The bell was one of those with a camera and an electrical chime, perhaps alerting a mobile phone somewhere, but there was no answer. I stepped back to get a look at the windows, nothing was moving in the large bay, Georgian panes. The drive continued past the house to our right.

  ‘There must surely be someone home. Unless there’s a McStay 3 somewhere. Come on,’ I said and followed the drive round to a separate building. A large double garage, newly built but trying to stay in keeping with the rest of the house. I wondered if he’d bothered to get planning permission. There was some knocking and clattering coming from within. The large white garage door was pulled down, but there was a gap underneath which I was just about to reach for when a voice came from back up the drive.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a woman said.

  I stood from my crouched position and put on my best innocent smile. ‘Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, I’m looking for Colin McStay,’ I called and started back towards her. She stood with her hands on her hips looking unimpressed.

  ‘You want wi’ him?’

  ‘Just a chat. Is he around?’

  ‘Chat about what, exactly?’ Her accent was Edinburgh, but not the accent of her neighbours. There was a definite twang of housing scheme. She was around fifty, her hair blonde and straightened within an inch of its life.

  ‘We’re looking into something and Colin’s name came up. Just wanted a word.’

  ‘Away back inside, hen.’ Another voice, again making us turn. Colander McStay walked towards us from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. My pulse quickened at the sight of him, so I wondered what was going on in Morgan’s head. He wore combat shorts and a dark blue vest with the emblem of some gym on the front, but too faded to make out properly. His arms bulged grotesquely.

  ‘You sure? Should I call David?’

  ‘Naw, naw, it’s fine. Away inside.’ The woman left us. I wondered who ‘David’ was. Muscular backup? A lawyer perhaps? ‘Get you guys a drink?’ he asked, tossing the rag on top of his wheelie bin.

  ‘No thanks, Mr McStay, we won’t take up too much of your time,’ I said. I was trying to look him in the eye, but it was impossible. I couldn’t stop looking at that part of his neck that had been pixelated. He’d been in the sun, a lot it seemed, his skin that angry-bronze colour you get just before burning sets in. At least, most of him was. Below his chin and to the left, was a mess of white lines, you could even see the spots where some heavy-duty stitching had been applied. Someone had really tried to put this guy in the ground. I suspected someday, if it hadn’t already come, whoever was responsible would wish they’d tried just that little bit harder.

  Further marks peppered his shoulders and one nasty-looking one right in the centre of the left bicep.

  ‘Come on through,’ he said, and opened a wooden gate. We followed him though to a garden that was, I thought, the place where taste came to die. There was some grass, but mostly it was decking, multi-coloured paving, faux-alabaster sculptures and yes, it took a moment to see, but there was a hot tub. Again, I wondered about his neighbours; I imagined some petition somewhere, signed by the entire street, but nobody brave enough to post it through the letterbox. ‘Sure you don’t want a drink? You must be dying in that getup?’

  It was warm and I felt sticky under the uniform, but again I refused. He motioned at a glass garden table and we sat.

  ‘So, what’s this about?’ He folded his blocky arms across his massive chest. He looked at me with one eye closed to the overhead sun.

  ‘We’re looking into a cowboy operation. Bunch of guys in white vans purporting
to be legitimate tradesmen but fleecing unsuspecting pensioners out of … well, their pensions.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And how is it you ended up at my door?’

  ‘Your name came up during our investigation,’ Morgan said.

  The one open eye shifted to the lad. ‘And who the fuck mentioned my name?’

  ‘I, uh, I can’t really—’

  ‘Clearly that’s not something we’re going to divulge, Mr McStay, but we’re duty-bound to follow up every lead, you understand,’ I said.

  ‘Aye, I know how it goes. And I have a record and all that, but I’ve been legit for some time now. Think it’s time for you lot to respect that. You no think?’

  ‘What is it you do these days, Mr McStay?’ I said.

  ‘You can cut that shit oot. It’s Colin.’

  ‘All right. What line of business are you in, Colin?’

  ‘Consultancy work,’ he said.

  ‘Consulting on what?’ I said.

  He took a moment to answer and in that moment any attempt at convincing me he was in any way ‘legit’ evaporated.

  ‘Security,’ was his reply. Almost as vague as his first answer. It was pointless pursuing it.

  ‘So not landscaping?’

  ‘Landscaping? Does it look like I’m a fucking gardener? I’d have decked over that patch of grass if it wisnae for Dex.’

  ‘Dex?’

  ‘The dog. He won’t go on the artificial stuff, so I keep that over there as his piss patch.’

  ‘So, no gardening equipment kicking about then, Mr … Sorry, Colander?’ Morgan said. It was an accident and you could see in his face he wanted desperately to take it back, but it was out there and there was no putting it back in the bottle. A sinister smile grew on the face of McStay.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr McStay, I didn’t mean any offence,’ said Morgan, there was a small waiver in his voice.

  ‘You don’t hear me using nasty nicknames, do you? Like, fucking pig bastards. Someone might call you that. That would be a bad one, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Mr McStay, there’s no need—’ I said.

  ‘Cunts in blue. That’s another one.’ He was on his feet now and I was getting to mine. I wasn’t worried about him attacking us, not really, but his neck seemed to thicken as he spat insults and I was ready to get out of there.

  ‘Come on, Morgan. I think we’ve taken up enough of the man’s time.’

  ‘Aye, that’s it, away and fuck off the pair of you.’

  I opened the gate to the drive and saw that the garage door was still slightly ajar. It was a futile request, but I asked anyway: ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting a look inside here?’ I said.

  ‘Course you can, just pop back with a fuckin’ warrant.’

  ‘Thought not.’

  ‘I wonder if you’ll make it back to the road before I introduce you tae Dex. Let’s see, will we?’

  We didn’t meet Dex, though we didn’t dawdle on the way back to the car. By the time I pulled out, there were a dozen faces on the street having a good look. Perhaps now one of them would find the courage to deliver that petition?

  ‘I’m so sorry. That was so bloody stupid of me.’

  ‘Relax Morgan, it’s not a big deal.’

  ‘I really messed that up.’

  ‘You didn’t mess anything up. All that was going to happen is we were going to dance around the issue of him probably being responsible for these scams. The real purpose of the visit was to get a look at where he lives and to let him know we’re on to him. Even if we can’t get him for these current crimes, it might be enough to make him think twice about continuing.’

  My words of reassurance didn’t seem to help much. The lad stayed quiet all the way back to Drylaw station. Raising Morgan’s confidence was not going to be easy. I left him in the canteen, sulking into his sandwich, and returned to my office where I sank into my chair. I stretched the encounter with Colander out of my arms and back and felt like I could sleep. I reached for my phone, thinking I’d just take a peek before settling into a few hours of checking through the team’s crime reports. There was a text message from an unknown number:

  Don, this is Michelle at Pennywell Care Home. Vic gave me your number, said I should let you know when Martin was talking sense. He’s up and about this morning. In case it’s important. X

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Just a Word

  Michelle met me at the front door of the care home and took me through to the canteen where the residents were eating lunch. There was a general buzz of conversation and clanking of cutlery and crockery.

  ‘Vicky’s not working today?’ I asked.

  ‘Backshift. I’m switching with her in about an hour. She’d told me to message you if she was off duty and I found Martin “back in the light” as she calls it. I wasn’t sure if you were still interested?’ she said.

  I wasn’t sure either. Alyson’s reaction had somewhat knocked the enthusiasm out of me, despite what I found on the force systems. Still, I’d come and hadn’t really considered not coming. ‘Martin’s over by the window. Can I get you something to eat?’

  I thanked her, but refused, though she insisted on getting me some tea. Martin was talking to another gentleman. Both had finished their meals, their empty plates awaiting collection.

  ‘Good afternoon, gents. Lovely day,’ I said.

  ‘It is, aye. Hey, if you’re here for me you’re goin’ tae have to use that baton, I’m no comin’ without a fight,’ the man I didn’t know said.

  I laughed. ‘No danger. I only pick battles I can win.’

  He laughed in return and was kind enough to realise I needed to speak to his companion, so made his excuses and left us alone.

  ‘Sergeant, isn’t it?’ Martin said.

  ‘That’s right. How’re you doing?’

  ‘Fine, fine. I’m sorry, I don’t quite remember your name.’

  ‘It’s Don Colyear.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m fairly certain you’re the first Colyear I’ve come across.’

  ‘There’s a few of us around, but not many. You’re keeping well?’

  ‘I’m doing all right, Sergeant, yes. So, have I been back on that damned phone again?’

  A staff member arrived with my tea and we sat in awkward silence while he cleared the plates away. ‘Are you up to a walk?’ I said.

  ‘If you don’t mind me taking your arm, a walk would be very pleasant.’

  I had meant around the garden, but Martin saw this as an opportunity to get out of the place altogether. Rather than walk around the housing scheme, I suggested we take the short trip to Cramond. Michelle was a little nervous about leaving him in my care, but I agreed to call at the first sign of any problems and that was good enough for an afternoon pass for Martin.

  ‘Have you ever been in one of these before?’ I asked as he fixed his seatbelt in place. A few of the staff were having a giggle from the office window and taking photos with their phones as we drove off.

  ‘A police car? Once. I was a bit of a drinker in my thirties, went around with a bunch of rockers, fancied themselves as a gang, but it was nothing so organised. Anyway, we’re in a bar in Galashiels of all places and a bunch of scooters arrive in the carpark. It wasn’t much of a fight to be honest, but the landlord got a fright. I don’t know what he said down the phone but within minutes the place is surrounded by bobbies. I wasn’t involved in the fight as such, but I spent a few hours in a cell before they sent me on my way with a flea in my ear.’

  ‘You surprise me, Martin. I thought you scholars were too busy with your noses in books for that sort of thing.’

  ‘Ach, I’m sure even policemen get up to no good when they think nobody is watching.’

  ‘I can neither confirm nor deny.’

  He laughed. ‘That incident was enough for me to turn something of a corner. By then Angela was pregnant with our Alan and I was starting my PhD in Edinburgh. It was time to do a bit of growing up.’

  ‘Angela was your
wife?’

  ‘Yes. Lost her to breast cancer when she was in her fifties. Gosh …’ he said.

  ‘What?’ He was looking away out of the side window, deep in thought.

  ‘I just realised it’ll soon be twenty-five years since the horrible disease took her. I remembered I have a big birthday coming in a few weeks and so the maths is easier.’

  ‘So, what? Eighty?’

  ‘Yes, eighty. A fortnight today actually.’

  ‘I hope the staff will be organising something?’

  ‘Most likely, but I’ll probably be absent at my own party, so they needn’t bother.’ His tone had gone glum.

  I changed the subject. ‘Alan, he’s in the States?’

  ‘He works in business analytics. As far as I can tell he’s well regarded.’

  ‘That sounds like one of those jobs that I wouldn’t really understand even if you explained it to me.’

  ‘I don’t know all the ins and outs myself, but as I understand it, companies employ him to take a good look at their practices and he identifies where they could be better. For his large fee they often find they’re paying out less on overheads and profitability goes up. That’s the theory.’

  ‘He’s kept busy then?’

  ‘I’m guessing the staff told you he’s not over to see me too often?’

  ‘There was mention,’ I said and slowed as the line of traffic in front came to a standstill for no apparent reason.

  ‘I really don’t mind. I’d be more concerned if he was wasting his youth sitting at my bed. He’s better where he is.’

  ‘Any grandkids?’

  ‘No. It’s just never been a priority for him and his partner. Do you have to sit in this traffic like everyone else? Can’t you use the thingymabobs?’