by Tom Benson
Four doors from Smith’s private room in the Royal Infirmary was a small room with a Staff Only sign. The room was used for storing equipment and was one door away from Prescriptions.
Phil strolled along the corridor in a suit and tie. He was wearing steel-rimmed glasses. He walked past people sitting in a line of chairs near the prescription desk. Two older men sat staring straight ahead, both with bandaged hands. A teenage girl with bruises on her face sat fidgeting and biting her fingernails. On the end sat a woman in a blue dress.
Phil’s interest was in the woman in blue, reading a magazine. He appraised her from the long dark hair, slowly past her impressive cleavage, and on to the shapely legs and stilettos.
Annabel turned the page of the battered copy of Cosmopolitan, glanced up at Phil, and nodded imperceptibly.
Phil paused to check his watch, looked around, and disappeared into the recently unlocked door of the equipment store. He located the coat-hanger containing his outfit. Two minutes later, he opened the door and caught Annabel’s gaze. She looked up and down the corridor and nodded.
When Phil emerged into the corridor, he was still wearing the glasses, but he was wearing a doctor’s white coat. He had pens in his pocket, an ID badge hanging from his lapel and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. In his left hand, he carried a clipboard with notes attached. He caught Annabel’s smile before he headed to one of the private rooms.
“Good morning,” Phil said, as he opened the door. “Mr Smith isn’t it?” He closed the door and strode across the small room.
Smith struggled to sit up. “I haven’t seen you before—” He focused on the short black rubber cosh before it hit his skull. He came around a few minutes later but was unable to pull on the emergency cord, because his hands were tied to the sidebars of the bed.
Phil said, “I’m going to remove the gag in a moment. If you shout, I’ll kill you.” He opened the white coat to uncover the automatic pistol tucked into his waistband.
Smith nodded wide-eyed.
“I don’t care who’s been to see you, and what offers they’ve made.” Phil put down the clipboard and stepped closer to the bed. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know when I remove the gag, I will put it back in.”
Smith’s brow creased and his eyes half-closed.
Phil went to the bottom of the bed, where he inspected the dressing on the damaged foot. “I will turn your injured foot to face the wrong way.”
Smith winced and perspired. Being a big, hard man was no good when you were in a hospital bed.
Phil said, “If afterwards, you don’t talk when I bring you around, I’ll turn your undamaged foot—well you get the idea.”
Smith’s eyes widened. Had this doctor trained with the nurse with beautiful eyes?
Five minutes later, Phil left the private room with confirmation of a name, and two locations to remember. He revisited the storeroom and left in a suit, but without the glasses or the clipboard. Phil was checking Annabel out when she looked up.
She was smiling when she followed him along the corridor.
Smith sat in bed staring at the door, tears pouring from his eyes. Those eyes had viewed many horrors he had perpetrated as the muscle for an enforcer.
Since being admitted to the hospital, he’d been visited in the middle of the night by his boss. Cameron had organised the room - and threatened to kill Smith if he talked. The next visits were by a bogus nurse, two deranged policemen, and a doctor who made the other visitors appear sane.
An attractive idea was forming. Make peace with the law, empty his bank account, and get a flight to Australia.
In the hospital car-park, two men in suits sat in a blue Vauxhall Omega.
“Do me a favour, Eddie. Nip in, and see if Smith is alive.”
Eddie left the driver’s seat as if it was on fire.
Sam meanwhile watched the attractive woman in blue with the nice walk, to see if she was with the man in the suit. He couldn’t remember Phil working with a woman, but it wouldn’t stop him now.
“Oh well,” Sam said aloud. “It was an idea.” He watched as his old mate Phil walked out of the car-park, and the woman got into a red VW Golf GTi.
Phil stood in front of his wall map and checked the approximate location of Rob Roy’s grave. The map didn’t show masses of detail, but Balquhidder appeared more like a village than a town. Whatever the size, it required investigation, and if Smith were lying, he would be rewarded by living through Phil’s threatened actions. The other location was nearby, and it would be easy to check. He’d do it before his meeting with Amy.
At 12:50, Phil parked in the multi-storey at Cambridge Street. Five minutes later he bought an Americano in the coffee shop. He found an area where three vacant tables occupied a corner; ideal.
Amy arrived ten minutes later and approached with a tray. She placed her latte and sandwich on the table and took off her jacket. She’d already changed from her white uniform shirt and chequered cravat to a pale blue blouse.
“I hope you don’t mind if I eat while we talk,” Amy said. “I wouldn’t normally.”
“You eat and drink when the opportunity arises,” Phil said. “Why am I getting the impression you’re stressed?”
“I’ve let you down,” she said, staring at her sandwich.
“Calm down, eat your lunch, and take your time explaining.”
“Your main targets were Cameron, and whoever might pull his strings. I used a word-processor to make a document on a disc. I wanted to remove it if anybody caught me snooping.” Amy un-wrapped the sandwich and chewed as if in an eating contest.
“Eat,” Phil said, and touched her arm, “but slow down.” He finished his coffee. “I got here early to give us plenty of time.” He studied her features and thought back to their Sunday night together. She was energetic in every activity.
“One of the known associates was removed from the filing system, and I checked another.” She turned to Phil, her eyes glazed. “I didn’t want to let you down—”
Phil put an arm around her shoulders and lifted her chin up with his free hand. “If you don’t get a grip, I’ll tear your clothes off, and have you on this table.”
Amy burst out laughing and pressed herself against him. “Don’t be a tease.” She accepted the white hanky he offered and wiped her eyes. “It didn’t feel like it normally does. I felt more pressure to get a result for you.”
Phil put his hand up and gently turned her face towards his. “Point one, I’m alive. More importantly, you’re alive. Anything else is a bonus.”
Amy smiled, and the weariness disappeared from her eyes.
Phil said, “Finish your sandwich, and tell me what happened.”
There was no conversation as Amy ate and drank. She took a breath and started. “I found out a few things about Cameron going back a long time. He’s stepped up through the years from petty crime, and he now appears to be the main connection for organised crime.”
“How many activities do the authorities have suspicions about?”
“Drugs, protection rackets, loan sharks, prostitution, people-trafficking—you name it. Nobody has ever pinned anything on him. Since he was twenty-three years old, he’s been brought to court twice, and he got off both times on a technicality.”
“What age is he now?”
“He’s thirty-two,” Amy said. “Why would his age be relevant?”
“A lot of these people have known each other for years,” Phil said. “Has he always had the same solicitor?”
“No. It was when he changed his solicitor he became untouchable.” Amy turned to Phil. “You are in the wrong line of work—or maybe you’re not.” She laughed briefly.
Phil nodded slowly. “Go on.”
“Apart from the solicitor, it’s as if Cameron has a guardian angel. He works under orders from somebody else, but nobody is certain who. Whoever it is, they get protection from high up.”
“Did you find anything on the solicitor?”
�
�The name is Kevin MacDonald. The link I thought you might be interested in is to do with the other name you gave me - James Flannigan.”
Phil leant forward and nodded.
“There isn’t much to go on regarding Flannigan,” Amy said. “He once went to court in Glasgow on suspicion of smuggling but got off on a technicality. Would you like to hazard a guess at his solicitor’s name?”
“Mr MacDonald,” Phil said, “which leaves the third name—Hartley.”
“When I attempted to trace William Hartley, I was blocked with a high-level security warning. The files are kept secure. They can only be accessed by a senior officer.”
“The name continues to appear, but the man is a mystery. I don’t want you putting yourself or your career at risk Amy. Please, be careful.”
“I suppose in years to come, security firewalls will improve and tracing connections will be easy, but for now, this task is becoming a hard slog.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done already, and I realise the pressure you put yourself under. Was there anything else of interest?”
“Our police computers are evolving, but because the files were archived before the system was put in place, I worked from a different angle. I went into a room full of old classified files. I found a word-processor and used it to list my information, but before I could get out of there, somebody caught me.”
“Who?”
“It was DI Griffiths. He came into the room and said, ‘Shut it down and come with me’. He stepped outside to wait for me.”
“Did you get the disk?”
“Yes, I took it out straight away and slipped it inside my blouse. I went outside, and the DI took me to one of the interview rooms.”
“Did he have a witness?”
“No, which was strange,” she said. “He locked the door and told me to sit. He told me whatever I said would go no further. He sat opposite me and said he’d already switched off the CCTV and recorder.”
“He is the one person I didn’t want to upset.”
“I was worried because he’s respected by everybody.”
“Did you tell him about the list of names?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mention you. I said I’d worked out connections between names and I wanted to follow them up, which was partly true.”
“Did he ask who was on your list?”
“Yes, and I told him.” Amy pursed her lips and closed her eyes briefly. “He asked me if I had connected the name Phil McKenzie and the vigilante, the Hawk.”
“What did you say?”
“I admitted I’d made an attempt, but couldn’t find much to go on.”
Phil raised an eyebrow, and his lips curled into a smile.
Amy said, “The DI told me he was aware of me altering the vehicle details we held on your Transit van. He was right because apart from the forensic report, nobody else had access to the paperwork except him and me.”
“What did you change?”
“I changed one or two serial numbers on the file. Later it would look like a typing error, but it would throw the team off the scent for a couple of days.”
“I’m grateful for all you’ve done Amy, but don’t put your career on the line.”
“I explained to the DI, like any good police officer I didn’t agree with vigilante action, but this was different; more clinical, and righteous.”
“What did the DI say?”
“He said, if I’d worked out Phil McKenzie was the Hawk, I was to do everything in my power to cover his arse.”
“What happened with the name you couldn’t follow?”
“I wondered if Hartley might have known the others at some time in the education system. I spent a couple of hours in the library, but I couldn’t find a Hartley who fitted the age group. I reckoned, simply by qualification, the solicitor had to have gone to university.”
“Clever girl,” Phil said. “How did the search go?”
“I think you’ll like this,” she said. “Kevin MacDonald was at the same University as Robert Davenport.”
“Chief Constable Davenport?”
“Yes.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Phil said. “Information which should be confidential is being leaked, and other information is being kept under wraps.”
“Hartley is the bloody invisible man,” Amy said. “I was going to check MacDonald’s client list, but something came up, and the DI told me to get out of the station early. He said I was to make sure you got the information you wanted, and I should keep my distance from those names I investigated.”
“You’ve given me more than I could have hoped for,” Phil said. “I also know, apart from you, I’ve got one of the strongest allies on the planet. Sam Griffiths doesn’t let people down.”
“He did say one other thing before he left the station,” Amy paused. “He said, ‘If Phil is the Hawk, tell him I love the codename’, and he laughed, and went to his office.”
“Does the DI drive a Vauxhall?”
“Yes, a dark blue Omega. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Phil smiled.
Phil and Annabel arrived at the People’s Palace within two minutes of each other. At 14:58 they were sitting at a table in the Encore Cafe, to one side, near the windows. Behind them was the extensive collection of trees and plants from around the world. The greenhouse effect of the big glass building increased the heat of the afternoon sun—even with the efficient cooling system in place.
Phil said, “Rachel isn’t usually late. I hope everything’s okay.”
“She was here before you,” Rachel said, “but it’s nice to know you care.”
Annabel smiled when Phil turned to the lone girl sitting at a nearby table. Rachel was wearing blonde shoulder-length hair, instead of her usual brunette. She was also wearing black-framed glasses and a navy blue trouser suit with cream blouse.
Rachel lowered the magazine she’d been pretending to read. “Would you mind if I joined you?” She stood, lifted her coffee and leather shoulder bag, and moved.
Phil indicated the vacant chair at their table. “Please do. Did this transformation come naturally, or have you been taking private lessons?”
“We girls don’t discuss such things,” she said. “Do we Annabel?”
“No, we don’t,” Annabel said, turning to Phil. “I think it’s your turn to buy the cream cakes.”
Phil sensed a strong camaraderie between the two women, noting the ‘Alpha’ nickname had been dropped. It had been in place purely for the early days to protect the agent, but she trusted Rachel. Phil went to the counter for the cakes.
In Phil’s brief absence, Annabel was studying her protégé.
Rachel said, “My disguise worked with Phil, but do I look alright?”
“You are better than alright, and you suit the blonde look.”
“Mmmm,” Rachel said. “I’ll remember, in case you come back for dinner.” She arched an eyebrow and licked her lips.
Annabel smiled at Rachel. How serious might she be?
“Did I hear an invitation to dinner?” Phil said as he placed a tray on the table.
“Rachel was saying this was the closest she’d get to a dinner date with you.” Annabel turned and grinned at Rachel.
Phil commenced the session by asking about Jake’s condition, and how the operation at Cameron’s place had gone.
Rachel told them both about the mission and felt it had been a success. She’d seen Cameron’s face on the local BBC News in the morning, and in the Daily Record. He’d been arrested near his house for possession and intent to supply. According to reports, he had far too much hashish for it to be personal use.
She related the course of events rapidly and explained about taking Jake to the Accident and Emergency Department. He had X-rays, which confirmed he doesn’t have a broken rib, but the bruising is pretty bad. He’d been strapped up but asked Rachel to say he wanted to be involved as much as possible in any missions.
Rachel’s report held detail
, but she wasn’t prone to exaggeration or promoting her own involvement.
“Well done,” Phil said. “I’m pleased Jake wants to play his part. We have to continue applying pressure to the bad guys, and I’ve found out important details which will help.”
Annabel said, “Those we left in the ice-cream vans seem to have kept their mouths shut. Reports have been made about their arrests, and they’re being charged with possession with intent to supply, like Cameron.”
“I’d like you to bear with me.” Phil turned from one to the other. “We’re close to locating Hartley, who I believe is the top dog. I need to ensure we have everything in place to nail him.”
Rachel said, “Could you give us a hint about the details you’ve uncovered?”
“It’s significant. The key players have been well protected from the authorities since about eight or nine years ago. It brings the solicitor into play, but it begs the question—who or what brought them all together?”
“Do we all play a part?” Rachel asked as she lifted her cream cake.
“Yes,” Phil said, “and it will be a coordinated effort.” He lifted his cup.
When Phil wasn’t looking, Rachel drove her tongue into her cream cake and glanced sideways at Annabel, who shook her head and suppressed a smile.
Phil sipped his coffee. “We have a couple of days of preparation, and I’m hoping by Sunday we’ll be celebrating the Godfather’s demise.”
Annabel said, “Do we have a timescale worked out?”
“Yes,” Phil said. “Tomorrow, I’d have liked you to take a rest day Rachel, but it might be a good idea to do a ‘recce’ on something. You’ll have an important task on Thursday, with Jake.”
Rachel said, “Surely the crime will continue after the Godfather is caught?”
“It will,” Phil said. “For a while, they’ll be disorganised, because he gives all his lieutenants confidence. His power and money keep them out of prison.”
