by Tom Benson
MARTIN CAMERON LEFT HIS DIRTY WASHING AT HIGHLAND HEAVEN - LOCH LOMOND
“Boss,” Eddie called. “Do you know who put this envelope on my desk?”
Sam came out and looked down at the note. “Ah, for fuck’s sake ... now what?”
“It looks simple, but something is disturbing me.”
“It’s a note, Eddie. We’ll give the Argyll and Bute guys a call. It might be nothing.”
“The message isn’t a worry,” Eddie said. “It’s the delivery I’m thinking about.”
“Don’t get fucking paranoid, mate.”
“Anything handed in at the front desk is dealt with by the duty personnel.” He slipped a pencil inside the envelope to lift it. “Before it comes upstairs, somebody writes a coded reference and their initials.”
“Let me see the other side.”
Eddie held the envelope up. No postmark, no reference, and no initials.
Sam said, “Don’t call mate. Go downstairs and talk to them. If it wasn’t put through the system, we have a problem.” He surveyed the others in the large open office area, all working on case files. “Somebody in the building put it there anonymously.”
“We might have to consider another possibility.”
“Like what?”
“Like somebody from outside placed it on my desk.”
“Now there’s a fucking disturbing thought. You check out the envelope, and I’ll call the Argyll and Bute force.”
Rachel gave Phil a ride back to her place to pick up his car, but he accepted the offer of a brew which brightened Rachel’s day. While they relaxed for a while, Phil asked how she ended up in such a beautiful place alone. It wasn’t pertinent to ask on his previous visit.
“As they say in the movies ... it’s a long story.”
“I’m listening,” Phil said.
Rachel told him how her parents had both loved her, until Uncle Eric’s death. When her father told her mother to leave, she did and made no further contact. It left Rachel and her dad.
As a diver with the oil rigs in the North Sea, it was easy for her dad to pay the mortgage. They’d discussed it, and agreed he would continue, and come back every few weeks. He preferred Rachel to remain living there, and an informal arrangement was made with an aunt to live with Rachel for a while.
Rachel demonstrated with the story how she’d achieved a matter-of-fact way of dealing with significant issues. She tackled a problem head-on, which to others of her age would be a crisis. As she continued, she held Phil’s gaze with rare confidence. As many good things did in Rachel’s life, it all ended abruptly. Phil’s phone buzzed.
“Hello,” he said, continuing to look at Rachel. “Okay Ameel, slow down, mate.” Phil shook his head. “When are they coming? Right ... I’ll deal with it. Bye.”
“Am I sensing another mission?”
“You are sensing another mission,” he said. “I have to send a clear message.” He dialled a number. “Hi Tommy, could I have the first van again? Thanks, mate. I’ll get there by 17:00. Bye.”
“Are we on today?”
“No, but soon,” Phil said. “Excuse me one moment.” He dialled another number. “Hi. Are you free to attend a briefing? Great. I’m at Rachel’s place.” He smiled. “Don’t be disgusting. We’ll see you in about twenty minutes. Ciao.”
“What was the, ‘Don’t be disgusting’ all about? Don’t I reach your standard?”
“Rachel, you’re above my standard. Please believe me.” He smiled and held her hand briefly.
“I suppose I’d better get another cup ready, and clear the dining table.”
Phil laughed.
Rachel got on with preparations for the following strategy session. She worked with a smile. For a while, she’d host two of the most important people in her life.
It was 20:00 on Saturday evening before Smith could focus on the world around him. Until he’d been given sufficient pain relief, he couldn’t stay alert for longer than a few minutes, before passing out. The shattered ankle was serious and painful.
He was in a private room. On the bedside locker beside him were a jug of water and a glass. There would be no cards or flowers. There had been a brief visit from Cameron, but Smith wasn’t sure if it was real or a nightmare. In Cameron’s case, it could be either.
Smith had tubes and wires attached to his upper body and one arm. His lower right leg and foot were wrapped in a mass of white bandages, and suspended from a wire pulley. The pain was returning. He had to be due for more pain-relief.
A nurse came into the room pushing the door open with her back and putting a mask over the lower part of her face. Below her tiny white hat, fair hair hung in a ponytail. When she turned, the only features on view were her beautiful brown eyes and shapely eyebrows.
“How are we feeling now Mr Smith?”
“I could do with more pain-killers; otherwise I’m fine.” He squinted and licked his dry lips. “Why are you wearing a mask ... have I got a disease?”
“You mean a contagious infection,” the woman said. “No.” For a moment, she busied herself with a black marker pen, writing something on the white cast on his leg.
“What were you writing on my dressing?” He stared as she approached him.
“I wondered if you had any recollection of what happened to you?” She lifted the long white cord and toggle which hung near the bed. She tied it in a loose knot to the frame over the bed—out of reach, and glanced at her wristwatch.
Smith stared at her because something wasn’t right. It registered—a nurse wearing a wristwatch. When he looked up, her dark eyes were gazing at him.
“You’re no fucking nurse.” Smith stretched an arm to reach the white emergency cord. It was a futile gesture, but like any desperate man, he continued to try.
“Oh dear,” Annabel said. “You can’t ring for assistance. Think back to the unfortunate people you’ve beaten to death.” She produced a pair of pliers from within her uniform and held the jaws around the wire pulley which was supporting Smith’s right leg.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Perspiration oozed from Smith’s forehead.
“I want to know who gives Cameron his orders, and I want you to co-operate fully with the police when they turn up.”
“Why would the police turn up, I’ve had an accident?” He glanced at the water jug on the cabinet. Could he grab it, and get enough power behind the swing?
“It wasn’t an accident,” Annabel said. “On Monday morning the lab guys will inspect the damaged bone fragments. They’ll find a small piece of metal, which is part of a 9mm Parabellum bullet, and they’ll inform the police.”
“How the fuck do you know it’s a 9mm Para—” the words died on his lips.
Annabel leant forward. “I put it in your ankle.”
Smith’s eyes flicked towards the large jug.
“Would you like a drink?” Annabel said.
He ignored the question. “What if I don’t tell you who Cameron’s boss is—and I don’t assist the coppers in their fucking enquiries?”
“It would be unfortunate because it would make me angry, and I’d have to pay you a final visit.” Annabel lifted the large jug and poured a glass of water. She lifted the glass.
“A final visit?” Smith’s body temperature was going from one extreme to the other, and his breathing was erratic.
“Being a criminal,” Annabel said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of such things as the lethal injection. It’s one of the barbaric methods used by our American cousins. You know, when they’re dispatching a particularly nasty piece of shit.”
“This isn’t fucking America, and I haven’t been convicted.”
“Let’s say for the sake of argument ... I don’t give a fuck.” She poured the glass of water over his head.
“You’re fucking crazy.” Smith’s tongue licked eagerly as the water dripped past his lips. He stared at the bogus nurse.
Annabel glanced at the door and turned back. “Well anyway, a cocktail of
chemicals is used, but I won’t bore you with all the technical details.”
Smith stared in silence. This bitch was serious.
“I’ll come back in the night,” Annabel said. “I’ll wake you, and inject a large dose of Potassium Chloride into your drip.” She nodded to the bag on the stand. “I’ll miss out the sedative and pain-killer, but by God, you will experience the other drug. Wow!”
Smith stared at the tube leading to his arm. His tongue stuck as he tried to lick his lips.
Annabel whispered. “Without the other chemicals, it fucking hurts.” She moved to the end of the bed. “Now, you get one more chance.” She raised the pliers to the pulley. “Who is Cameron’s boss?”
“I don’t know. He stays in the background—”
Annabel shook her head and squeezed the pliers. The injured leg fell, because of the weight of the dressing. Smith passed out.
The thug came around, saturated, and breathing heavily. The crazy woman was standing over him with the water jug. Having poured the water over his head, she stood with the empty jug above his bandaged ankle.
“You have three seconds before I start beating your ankle.” She raised her left arm to look at her watch.
“It’s fucking Hartley,” Smith gasped. “His name is fucking Hartley.”
“Now remember, if you don’t help the police, I’ll be back.” She winked and placed the jug on the cabinet. The mask, white hat, and apron were removed as she left the room.
Smith was saturated with a combination of water, and perspiration. The hospital robe was drenched, and clinging to his body. His face was ashen when a regular nurse arrived two minutes later.
The young woman closed the door and turned. “You don’t look as well as I expected Steven.” She looked from the dressing to his wide-eyed stare. “How did this happen?”
Smith shook his head but didn’t speak.
“Somebody has left a message on your cast.” The nurse was wearing a watch dangling upside down from her uniform—as it should be. She reached up to free the emergency cord. “A gentle tug is all you need on here.”
She wasn’t wearing a mask, but Smith didn’t remember her. He continued to stare.
“Right, let’s get this drip changed—”
“Don’t touch it!” Smith croaked. “Get me a doctor.”
“Please calm down, Steven—”
“Don’t fucking touch it, I said,” He used both arms to support himself. “Get me a fucking doctor—now!”
The nurse’s lips trembled. She backed off and ran down the corridor to report to the Ward Sister.
.
Sunday 21st July
Phil woke up refreshed and was anticipating an exciting day. He checked the weather map after the news to judge his choice of running outfit.
As he jogged across Glasgow Green towards Nelson’s monument, he saw Amy approaching from the right in her steady stride. He was glad he’d opted for a running vest and shorts. Amy was in her white shirt and shorts, her ponytail dancing around behind her lovely head. Like Phil, she was carrying a bottle of water.
“Hi there,” Phil said, as he fell into step with her.
“Hi handsome,” she replied and looked him over. “You’ve opted for the stripped-down outfit today.”
“There’s no point in dressing like Rocky Balboa if I’m running with Paula Radcliffe.”
“She runs five thousand metres, not long-distance.”
“She might not at the moment,” Phil said, “but mark my words—she’ll be good at long distance. It’s what a lot of the good middle-distance runners do.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“What are we doing today?”
“It’s a route I use for checking my personal best over ten miles.” Amy’s breathing was steady enough to allow chat. “We’ll leave the park, and go east on London Road.”
As they left Glasgow Green and joined London Road, the pace opened up. Phil wouldn’t be complaining—he’d get on with it and observe.
For a while, they ran in companionable silence, except for the sound of their rhythmic breathing, and the soles of their training shoes tapping lightly on the paving. As they passed the Sandyhills Golf Club Amy checked her watch. “We’re doing okay,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I was worried about you keeping up the pace.” They both laughed, but notably, Amy laughed louder, and longer.
When they were on Aitkenhead Road, Amy checked her watch. “Halfway and we’re on the thirty-minute mark.”
“It’s good timing ... isn’t it?” Phil said, feeling his breathing rate increase.
“It is.” Amy turned to nod and increased the pace. “Left at the junction,” she said. “We return past Baillieston, and back in on Edinburgh Road.”
From there, neither spoke, both concentrating on their pace and breathing. Amy was on target to beat her best time. Phil wanted to be with her when she finished.
They ran into the park and pushed until they reached Nelson’s monument. Both of them slowed. Phil was the first to place his clenched fists on his hips and walk to catch his breath correctly.
He turned to Amy. “How did we do?”
“We did well my friend.” She checked her stopwatch. “fifty-nine minutes ... we beat my best time by two minutes.”
“What do you put the improvement down to?”
“Trying to show off to you, plus we didn’t talk on the second half—we pushed each other harder.” She made it obvious she was appraising him. “For you, it was about being beaten by a girl in her twenties.”
Phil laughed. “Was it obvious?”
“You may be quiet, but you’re a macho type.” She walked around for two more minutes, instead of stretching. “Before we part company, I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner this evening.”
“I’d be delighted.”
Amy handed him a folded piece of paper. “See you at seven. Dress casual.” She set off, but called back, “It’s only the two of us.”
Phil read the address and set off home at a gentle jog.
Davenport was at his desk at 10:00 on Sunday morning, reading recent reports and asking himself why he was in the station. His phone buzzed.
“Chief Constable Davenport.” He heard the caller talking to somebody in the background. The voices were muffled. The ill-mannered caller was Hartley, and Davenport wished he’d never picked up the phone.
The gangster was on the phone a minute, reiterating the suggestion Davenport should find the trouble-making vigilante. It was, however, Hartley’s first question which was haunting Davenport. Had he seen the Sunday newspapers? Davenport didn’t have long to wait.
It was 10:20 when DI Griffiths and his sidekick DS Monroe arrived at the Chief Constable’s office.
Sam said, “Good morning, we’re sorry to disturb you, Sir.”
“Go on,” Davenport said. His day had already been ruined by a phone call.
“We have a corpse in a Bed and Breakfast hotel outside Luss.”
“Luss is in the Argyll and Bute area,” Davenport said. “It’s got nothing to do with us.”
“I’m afraid it has,” Sam said. “We had reason to believe our local villain Cameron had dealings with the place. I called yesterday, and asked the guys up there to check it out.”
“Why are we hearing about it now?”
“They had a missing child on Ben Lomond, and all available personnel were on a search with the Mountain Rescue Team. Nobody checked our request until this morning.”
“Is the corpse the owner of the B & B hotel, or a guest?”
“He’s neither. No guests appear in the Visitors Book, and the owner is missing—Mrs Lindsey Watt.”
“Who is the corpse?”
“The corpse is a hit-man—Ted Taylor, aka ‘The Terminator’. He was stabbed in the neck with a piece of a mirror—on reflection, he might now be known as Ted, the Ex-Terminator.”
Eddie covered his mouth and coughed.
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br /> “A death isn’t funny gentleman, irrespective of who it is,” Davenport said. “Since we have no computer system, I suppose you’ll have to go and find out the details.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Was there something else?”
Sam turned to Eddie, who handed a Sunday newspaper to the Chief.
“Fucking hell!” Davenport shouted.
“We’ll be on our way, Sir,” Sam said. He and Eddie made an exit but stopped outside the office.
In the office, Davenport stared at the headline. ‘GLASGOW POLICE CHIEF IN GAY SEX ORGIES SCANDAL’
Davenport closed his eyes. “You bastard, Hartley!” He read the article, which was a follow-up to the previous weekend paper. No pictures had been used, but he’d have to publicly deny the ‘rumours’ put about by an anonymous person out to discredit him. His face was crimson as he considered how much of a hold Hartley had over him.
Davenport read the story on page five. It was two columns, supported by pictures, all related to the recent gangland murders.
‘IS THE VIGILANTE A GOOD MAN?’ the article was headed. A survey suggested 70% of Glasgow’s citizens thought the vigilante was doing the city a favour.
One war veteran was quoted: ‘This vigilante fella’ is doin’ a better job than the f***g police because his hands aren’t tied by bureaucracy.’
Davenport wondered if he could get in touch with the vigilante. “I might have a job for you, Mr Hawk.”
Eddie had already walked away, but Sam was outside the door. He’d overheard the Chief’s exasperation and waited. After hearing his boss’s second statement, Sam left.
20. Visits
Following his long run with Amy, Phil showered had breakfast and went next door to his ops room. He had enjoyed the planning session on the previous afternoon with Annabel and Rachel because they were both excellent with ideas—and questions.
