Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  Annabel handed a sheet of paper to Rachel, who glanced at it, and put it away.

  “Are you okay?” Annabel said.

  “Yes,” Phil said. “It was good news and bad news, but we continue.”

  “The guys are up to speed on everything,” Annabel said. “We’re waiting for you.”

  “We have a couple of days left to finish the job,” Phil said. “Our main target is now Hartley. I have a meeting at noon today, and I’m hoping to confirm where Hartley might be found.”

  Phil was aware his colleagues were staring, so he tried to sound cheerful. “Annabel will give you both a lift home. Jake, I’d prefer you rested until the final debrief.”

  “I’m not 100%,” Jake said, “but I’ll be on standby as long as I can walk.”

  Rachel winked at him and pressed a welcome hand on his thigh.

  “You’ve got the right attitude mate,” Phil said. Compliments worked wonders.

  “Rachel,” Annabel said. “On the way through the city, I’d like you to drop this off at Pitt Street. I’ll wait for you.” She handed her an envelope addressed to ‘DS Monroe’.

  Phil said, “I’d like you on standby over the weekend Rachel, on one condition.”

  “Name it, Boss.” Rachel leant forward.

  “Get some bloody rest, or you’ll be no good to us.”

  Annabel and Jake laughed, and a tangible sense of relief was in the air. Perhaps the team leader wasn’t annoyed with any of them after his phone call.

  “I’ll be ready when you need me,” Rachel said and grinned.

  “Annabel,” Phil said. “I’d like you to conduct the follow-up you suggested on the west coast. Stay overnight if necessary.” Phil turned to meet the gaze of each team member.

  “What happens after my meeting today is dependent on the intel I gain. I aim to locate Hartley’s lair today and hit it tomorrow. It goes against the grain to cut you guys out, but I don’t want you involved in this final stage. You’ve all been great—and I don’t want to lose anybody permanently.”

  It sounded like a suicide mission, but the others knew better than to question Phil’s judgement. He had decided it was a high-risk scenario, and wouldn’t brook discussion.

  “Unless it goes pear-shaped,” Phil said, “we’ll have our next team meeting on Monday at 08:00. At the briefing, we’ll establish how successful we’ve been, and if we’re continuing.”

  “I reckon it’s already a success,” Rachel said. “We’ve cleaned up a lot of shit from our city’s streets.”

  “Get out of here,” Phil said and winked at Rachel.

  When Phil was alone, he stared at his map of Scotland. “Cross me this time Chameleon—you fucking die.”

  Friday was a good day for DI Griffiths and DS Monroe. It had taken hours of scrolling through CCTV footage before Lindsey Watt was finally spotted on a tape from the Central Station pile. Eddie spotted the missing B & B proprietor.

  He was delighted to have seen Lindsey, but things improved when he also noticed Kirsten Novak on the same section of tape. He called the DI’s attention to the footage, and they went through associated tapes for the same day. They couldn’t find anything to connect them to the car park where the Mazda was located, but they discovered the two women boarding a train bound for Birmingham New Street.

  “It’s all I had to see,” Sam said. “Well done Eddie. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

  It was late in the morning when Eddie went outside for a smoke. He coughed as he lit up, but it was only his third cigarette of the day. No female officers were out, and he stood alone. He turned toward the main entry/exit barrier.

  A girl with blonde hair and glasses in a dark jacket and mini-skirt was approaching, and she had nice legs. It was fifty metres to the red and white pole barrier. The blonde approached the nearest patrol car in the station car park.

  By the time Eddie had stepped down from the doorway to walk to the car park, the girl had lifted a windscreen wiper on a car and trapped a manila envelope under it. Eddie walked rapidly toward the gate and the vehicle. The girl blew him a kiss as Eddie ran towards the barrier.

  The blonde ran around the corner, glancing back once. She was quick on her feet. Eddie reached the corner, but the blonde was gone. A red VW Golf GTi screeched away from the kerb twenty-five metres away and joined the traffic flow. Eddie burst into a coughing fit, and couldn’t focus on the registration number.

  As he returned to the car park, he loosened his tie and undid his collar. “Fucking cigarettes ....” A uniformed officer was about to remove the manila envelope. “Don’t touch it!” Eddie shouted. “Who told you to collect it?”

  “Nobody,” Constable Downie lied. “I saw it, and thought I’d hand it in.” She backed off and went into the station. She stopped briefly on the way through the door to speak to the duty collator. “DS Monroe got to the envelope first, Amy.”

  “Thanks, Janet.” Amy grinned. “He would have got it anyway.”

  Eddie walked past the pretty collator a minute later. “Hi, Amy,” he said, without turning on his charm. Five minutes after collecting the envelope from the windscreen, the DS was emptying the contents onto Sam’s desk. Eddie’s face was red and his breathing erratic.

  Sam said, “Did you see the courier?”

  “It was a good-looking blonde. She got into a red VW Golf, but it pulled into traffic. We could check out all the VW Golf owners in Glasgow.”

  “Did you get a registration number?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t worry about it mate. If it’s registered outside the city, you’ll end up tracing every red Golf owner in the country.” Sam laughed. “This is more important mate.” He nodded to the contents of the envelope.

  Eddie lifted the first of two sheets of pasted newsprint and read aloud.

  “Hash farm - Bain Street.” He lifted the second. “Hash factory. Mattsani. Black warehouse - Uddingston.”

  Sam said, “Unless I’m misreading this. Our secret contact has given us where the shit is grown locally, and where it’s processed.”

  “This is fucking gold dust, Boss.”

  Sam pulled on his jacket. “I have a lead to chase up, and I’ll be gone for the rest of today, and maybe tomorrow. If Davenport asks, tell him I went out to lunch.”

  “What do you want me to do about this latest information?”

  “Check it out first, and investigate the suspect address. Take somebody along, in civvies. As you know, the best location to grow the gear is in attics, in extreme high temperature, away from prying eyes. Organise a team of the extra uniform lads to be in plainclothes. Put them on a twenty-four-hour stakeout in Bain Street, but they report to you.”

  Eddie was already running a finger across the map on Sam’s wall. “There it is, Boss. It’s a short street bridging Gallowgate and London Road.”

  “Watch out for any old tenements. Those attic farms use a lot of electricity, and the power consumption has to be disguised within a large building.”

  “What about the warehouse in Uddingston?”

  “Use the same tactic, but there are at least three industrial estates out there. Send a couple of lads out in plainclothes, and get them to report back when they find a black warehouse. I don’t want uniform and patrol cars scaring these bastards off.”

  “How about a shift system to observe the place?”

  “Yes mate. Go out there yourself and make some discreet enquiries. We’re particularly watching for any place the Mattsani ice-cream vans check-in, but keep an open mind.”

  “Those two Mattsani drivers we arrested are due to be released from custody today.”

  “Charge them with walking on police property, or misplace their paperwork, but fucking hold onto them. Mention the black warehouse and see the response. Take all day setting up if you have to. We’ve been saved hundreds of man-hours. We’re in no hurry.”

  “Okay, Boss.” Eddie paused. “Sam.”

  “Yes mate,” the DI stopped, and turned.
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  “Keep in touch, and be bloody careful.”

  Sam winked at him and left.

  After the envelope delivery, Annabel drove straight to Drumchapel to drop Jake at home. She next headed for Scotstoun to drop Rachel. The two women were several years different in age, but on a similar wavelength on many things.

  They talked openly when alone, which both found refreshing. No hidden agendas. Annabel turned into Dunglass Road, and following a slow and careful drive along the tree-lined road, she pulled up outside Rachel’s house.

  “When does your dad make another appearance?”

  “In two weeks I think,” Rachel said. “I don’t keep too close a track on it.”

  “You’re happy, as long as he keeps a roof over your pretty head.”

  “You should be careful with those compliments.” They exchanged a look. “An impressionable young woman could take it the wrong way.”

  “Get out, before I put you over my knee,”

  “Tease,” Rachel said and laughed as she opened the car door. She wiggled her backside as she walked, and glanced back when she reached the door.

  Phil went to the same coffee shop where he’d met Amy twice before. He bought an Americano. The policewoman was sitting in the corner they’d used previously. When Phil approached, Amy got up and moved around, aware he liked to keep an eye on those coming and going.

  “Hi Phil, I didn’t know if you’d get to our dead-letter drop before somebody else. I thought I’d write, ‘same time and place’ and hope for the best.”

  “I was away yesterday, but I took a jog through the park this morning. Thank you for sticking with it. If you ever give up police work we have a couple of government departments which would be happy to recruit you.”

  “I may have solved one of your mysteries.”

  “Go on.”

  “The reason Hartley has been hard to trace is that he isn’t listed in police files. He hasn’t always been known as William Hartley. In 1977, he was up on a multiple murder charge under his real name, Billy Harrison. From what I’ve pieced together, he was facing a life sentence, but a deal—”

  “A deal was struck,” Phil interrupted, nodding. “Harrison gave up the rest of his gang and said he’d take the authorities to the stolen jewellery.” Phil used his right thumb and forefinger to rub his eyes. “While travelling between the police station and the court, the police van was ambushed, and Harrison disappeared. An unarmed police officer was shot dead.”

  “How come you know—” Amy gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my God, Phil, the McKenzie couple. Were they related to you?”

  “My parents,” Phil whispered. “I was seventeen, and at college.”

  “Phil I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You couldn’t be expected to know.” He shook his head. “When did Harrison, or Hartley as he is now, come back to Scotland?”

  “I’m sure it’s the same person, and he returned eight, or nine years ago.”

  “Did you find out anything about his time away?”

  “I called colleagues in a couple of the stations in Greater London. It took a while, but it sounds like he was taken under the wing of one of the top names down there.”

  “It would make sense. He’ll have joined the big time as a foot-soldier, and learned his trade before returning to Scotland to establish himself.”

  “Exactly my thoughts,” Amy said. “It’s hard to work out who he was in contact with first. His return fits in with your theory about a couple of these people knowing each other for a long time. It also works with the timing of MacDonald taking on Cameron and other undesirables as clients. You’ll remember I figured MacDonald was at university with our Chief Constable?”

  Phil nodded.

  “I couldn’t work out how either of them could have known Hartley,” Amy said. “When I traced the name Harrison - he was at school with Davenport.”

  “It’s beginning to look like Hartley/Harrison has a hold on your Chief Constable, or the solicitor MacDonald, or both.”

  “I got a moment alone with DI Griffiths. Knowing he’d support you, I told him how far I’d got. It took him less than twenty-four hours to find out our man Davenport has a couple of weaknesses - and one of them is the roulette wheel.”

  “You’ve done a bloody marvellous job Amy, and I’m grateful. Protect yourself now, and leave it alone.”

  “I’d like to help in the future.”

  “I don’t know yet if my private enterprise has a future. If it does, I promise you’ll be a part of it. I don’t suppose you found out where Hartley lives now?”

  “He lived in Glasgow until he built up his reputation, and gradually removed heavy opposition. He now lives in a small place called Balquhidder.”

  “Rob Roy’s Grave, which supports a snippet I got from Smith when I visited him in hospital.”

  “I don’t understand.” Amy’s brow furrowed.

  “The famous Jacobite outlaw, Rob Roy McGregor is buried there. Smith didn’t know where the grave was, but he remembered hearing Hartley lived near the grave of his folk hero, Rob Roy.”

  “Please be careful, Phil. I’ve got no hold on you, but I’d like to see you around—maybe go for a run occasionally?”

  “We will,” he said and stood. He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you.” Phil walked away from the coffee shop, and anger he’d suppressed for years had returned to the surface. He already wanted to reach Hartley to make an example of him, but now his hardest decision was how to kill him, but for it to take the longest time for him to die.

  Joe Conroy had been in Hereford for ten years. He’d lived in the barracks as a single man for four years, but spent the next six in a house he’d bought with his wife, Marie. Sunny afternoons in the summer were sometimes spent in the beer garden at the back of the local pub - as long as Joe wasn’t away on a mission or a training course.

  Having Lindsey and Kirsten stay with them changed their routine, but it was no hardship for the Conroys. Lindsey had known the couple years before, when Ken, her late husband was alive. Joe had a wonderful sense of humour, and it appealed to both guests.

  When the front door chime sounded, Joe turned to Marie. She glanced out through the side of the curtains.

  “Joe, it’s Sam Griffiths—alone.”

  “Action stations girls!” Joe ran up the stairs and dropped the loft ladder. They’d all been put through their paces often enough by Joe. In true SAS spirit, Joe believed time spent on rehearsals was never wasted. By the time the base of the ladder touched the floor, Kirsten was on her way up, and Lindsey was right behind her.

  Downstairs, Marie poured Kirsten’s wine into hers, and Lindsey’s into Joe’s. She put the empty glasses in the dishwasher. Joe came back downstairs, and when the doorbell rang a second time, he was there.

  “Clockwork,” Joe said, as he reached for the door handle. Having been given the heads-up by Phil, he was wary but relieved to see a familiar face.

  “Viking,” Sam said, as the door opened. “Long time no see, mate.”

  “Bloody Hell,” Viking said. “Sam. Come in, mate—Marie, get a beer for our guest.” The two old comrades shook each other’s hand with genuine affection. They’d spent many hours in life and death situations together, and the bond never faded. Viking ushered Sam on ahead and out to the conservatory where Marie was waiting.

  Marie wrapped her arms around a man she hadn’t seen in years. They kissed each other on the cheeks. “I was trying to get this one to marry me when you were serving here. My God Sam, you’re looking good.”

  Sam was wearing a suit as usual, but his tie was undone, and he looked tired. He removed his jacket and threw it onto a chair before he accepted a beer from Marie. The train journey down the country to Hereford had been tedious, changing trains at Birmingham New Street.

  Viking said, “It’s a bit of a surprise seeing you, right out of the blue.”

  “First,” Sam said, raising his beer. “To fallen comrades ....”

  They r
aised their glasses in unison, toasting men like Ken Watt, who would never be forgotten as long as any of these people could take a breath.

  Sam said, “I’m a DI with the Strathclyde Police, but before I say more, this isn’t an official visit. I want you to know any secrets you share with Phil, are safe.”

  Marie forced a smile. How much did Sam know?

  Viking said, “I hope you’re giving the bad boys a hard time.”

  Sam explained in brief about certain events unfolding in Scotland, and how the underworld was being badly shaken by a vigilante known as Hawk.

  Viking smiled. “We’ve always said, it’s what this country needs to help the police. You guys have your hands tied behind your back with bloody red tape.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Sam said, “but I agree with you.” Sam didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know but made them feel better about the situation. He told them about Lindsey going missing and said he wasn’t worried as long as she was safe.

  “Well remember, Sam,” Viking said, “we take care of our own.” The two men exchanged a knowing look, and Marie held her breath. The moment passed.

  Sam stayed for two hours, during which he had a bite to eat. During a visit to the bathroom, he made a rapid check of the rooms upstairs. There were telltale signs of more than two adults living there. Sam left, reminding his old friends they hadn’t seen him. He promised to return and bring his wife. An open invitation stood for Joe and Marie to visit Glasgow.

  In the spacious driveway of a mansion in Balquhidder, two black, chauffer driven Lexus cars pulled up. William Hartley, Lawrence Metcalfe, and a bodyguard got out of the leading vehicle. The second car was carrying Kevin MacDonald, James Flannigan, and another bodyguard. The bodyguards and both drivers were armed.

  The four in golfing attire were congregated outside the house when another car arrived on the scene. Chief Constable Davenport got out and was given a warm welcome by the others. One of the bodyguards drove Davenport’s car around to the back.