by Tom Benson
“I’d like to confirm something,” Rachel said, addressing Ian and Eva across the table. “For a while, we’ll be keeping Phil and Annabel in the loop regarding our activities.”
“Are you emailing, or phoning?” Ian asked.
“Neither,” Rachel said. “One of us will take a hard copy in an informal report, and use a dead-drop.” She nodded to Ian when he grinned. “We know it’s old-fashioned, but they believe a physical message is more secure than electronic methods.”
“From what I saw of those two guys,” Eva said. “I think a little bit of covert messaging will appeal to them.”
“It will,” Rachel said, and grinned. “They’ll get the updates, and if they see any possible issues, they’ll be in touch with one of us. Whoever is free will liaise in person with either Phil or Annabel.”
Ian said, “Do we continue to allow the codename Hawk to be used for our activities?”
“Yes,” Jake said. “It creates continuity on several levels, although Phil will not be physically involved.”
Both Ian and Eva nodded. Although the most recent members of the team, they’d participated in sufficient activity to understand the culture, and they’d proved themselves. They’d come from two different levels of covert operations, but both had put their lives on the line to serve justice.
Rachel said, “You’ll remember Mental Mickey McGinley being taken out by Annabel at the end of the Braemar operation. Our intel reports from Freddie have confirmed the widow, Carol McGinley is established at the helm.”
“It feels strange having Freddie working for us,” Eva said. “I know he’s an ex-soldier, but he had worked with the bad guys at one point. Are we confident he wouldn’t turn double-agent if offered enough?”
“We’re giving the guy a chance,” Jake said. “He’s never been here at our HQ, and while he’s producing good intelligence, he’ll continue on probation. I’m confident he’ll make the grade.”
Rachel said, “Freddie understands his position and ours, and he’s willing to risk his life to prove himself. His loyalty to us was initiated by Annabel wounding him when she had the opportunity to kill him.”
Eva nodded. “I suppose he still has the incentive of knowing the gangsters caused his mate Geordie’s death.”
“I believe in Freddie, and he’s keen to be one of us,” Ian said.
“Okay, we’ll move on,” Rachel said. She flicked a button on the remote, and a large picture appeared on the projector screen. A stern, but handsome woman in her forties stared hard at something off to her left. Rachel used the zoom function to highlight the face on the screen.
“You’ll see a small scar situated between the right eye and the ear,” Rachel said. “In her teens, Carol led a gang of bloody ruthless girls. The opponent who gave Carol this scar was later found with a face no man would admire.”
“Would it be better to think of Mrs McGinley as a female version of her late husband?” Ian said.
“Exactly right,” Rachel said and flicked the remote again. “Never allow appearances to throw your decisions.” She nodded to four more pictures of Mrs McGinley on the screen. Two were head and shoulders, while the other two depicted her in smart outfits looking glamorous.
The other operatives nodded, as they gazed at the pictures of the gangster's widow.
“One of McGinley’s men has been a loose cannon; a guy called Joe Garside,” Rachel said. “His hatred of the police is well-documented, and he openly boasted he’d like to kill a police officer.” She flicked the remote, and a beautiful blonde police officer appeared on the screen.
“This is WPC Catherine McCarthy,” Rachel said. “She disappeared while on duty several weeks ago. Only because of our contacts in the force, we know her disappearance was hushed up while being investigated.”
“Surely family or friends would have queried it?” Ian said.
“I spoke to Amy, and she said the missing officer lived alone. They figured the best method of catching her killer would be to watch and wait. Unfortunately, it didn’t pay off because Garside hoodwinked the police team. A second female officer was abducted, but on this occasion, a body was found.”
“The police arrested Garside under suspicion,” Ian said. “In fact, he appeared in court a couple of days ago, but walked out a free man.”
“He was whisked away from the rear entrance of the courtroom,” Rachel said.
Ian’s brow furrowed.
“Somebody took Garside away from behind the courtrooms on a big, shiny motorbike,” Eva said and smiled at Ian.
“Shit,” Ian said.
Jake nodded slowly.
Rachel said, “I took Garside to a remote location where an interview took place with Eva and me. We found out where Catherine’s body had been buried, and where Garside’s policewoman trophies were kept.”
“Remind me not to cross either of you,” Ian said. “Where is Garside now?”
“We’re hoping to see his name mentioned in the news,” Rachel said. She glanced at the clock. “We’ve got twenty minutes if you’d like to give us your update, Ian.” Rachel placed the remote in the centre of the table.
“Okay,” Ian said. “You’ll all remember Norrie Simpson. He was the big ugly guy who took our Eva here, but he was dropped by one of the Mental Riders, and Rachel.” He lifted the remote and pressed a button. “This is his twin brother, Brian.”
“He was mentioned in a briefing before,” Jake said.
Ian said, “He was the man who murdered Smith in Australia, and then he got to the estate agent in Spain.” Ian glanced at Rachel. “I was sitting with Rachel at a cafe a couple of hundred yards away, observing the estate agent offices. It was behind the offices in a car park where Simpson killed the guy.”
“Wasn’t there a distinctive recognition feature with Brian Simpson?” Jake asked.
“Two different coloured eyes,” Ian said. “One is blue, and the other brown, but other than that, he’s as ugly and brutal as his dead twin.” He flicked the switch. “This was Brian Simpson’s visit to his brother’s grave a couple of weeks ago.”
“How did you manage to get the picture?” Eva asked.
“It was thanks to Jake’s theory. Most of these bad bastards are sentimental about family so it would be a matter of time before Brian visited Norrie’s grave. I got in touch with our probationer, Freddie, and set him up in a flat near the cemetery, and it became a waiting game.”
“You clever sod,” Eva said.
Ian nodded in appreciation. “Freddie got in touch when he’d eyeballed the big guy, and then he followed him to a tenement block in the east end of the city. Simpson had been holed-up in a flat on Greendyke Street, on the edge of Glasgow Green. He’s since moved on.”
Ian pressed a button. A picture came up alongside Brian Simpson.
“Last Saturday,” Ian said. “Simpson went to the north coast of Scotland after renting a car. He had to be on a mission. I briefed Jake, and I headed off in pursuit.”
“Surely he’d have spotted if he was being tailed,” Eva said.
“No,” Ian said. “I used a car, and kept in touch with Freddie, who took over occasionally, but he was riding a motorbike.” He nodded to the screen. “Simpson searched for and located this guy. His name is Des Grant.”
“I don’t know him,” Eva said, and turned to query Jake and Rachel.
“Grant had been working in the private clinic, which held high-security prisoners,” Rachel said. “Grant disappeared after the death of the incapacitated crime Godfather, William Hartley.”
Eva nodded slowly.
“So where are Simpson and Grant now?” Eva asked.
“I left Freddie on the case a couple of days ago,” Ian said. “He’ll report this morning.”
“Good work,” Jake said.
“I’d like to refresh our general scenario,” Jake said. “In Braemar in July, we dealt with Cameron and associates, which included Henderson, McGinley, and Norrie Simpson, who was Cameron’s right-hand man.” He pa
used. “We confirmed the existence of Brian Simpson the twin when he killed twice—same MO made the murders unique.”
Jake nodded towards the pictures still on the screen.
“There, we have the hunter, and the hunted. Brian Simpson, and Des Grant. Unless any of you can come up with a better theory, I don’t believe Simpson’s target is Grant. Simpson is an accomplished killer, but he’s not blessed with a high IQ. Either he or somebody hiring him thinks Grant knows something of importance.”
The other three nodded.
“I spoke to Annabel about this briefly,” Jake said. “She is the only person from our organisation whom Grant has met. Annabel visited Hartley as he sat helplessly in his wheelchair.”
“Hold on,” Eva said. “If Annabel visited Hartley and Grant remembered her—could it be that Grant has contacted this big guy Simpson and told him he has information, but he wanted to be abducted to make it look good?”
“I don’t think so,” Jake said. “According to Annabel, Grant is a lecherous slime-ball, but it’s doubtful he’d have the brain for working out a strategy.”
“Maybe we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on when Freddie calls,” Ian said.
“My money is on the same result,” Jake said. “For now, I suppose we’ll have to be patient, or we’ll end up with a dozen theories.”
He flicked the switch to bring up the picture of Joe Garside.
“Now, this guy Garside,” Jake said. “The girls interviewed him and left him out to dry close to his boss’s place on the south side. We now know he murdered the two policewomen, which I don’t believe will go down well with Carol McGinley. If she’s like her late husband, she’ll have wanted to keep a low profile while running the territory.”
“She doesn’t mind brutality,” Eva said, “as long as it’s been sanctioned by her.”
Jake nodded.
“Three minutes to news time,” Rachel said. “I’ll get the coffees organised.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Ian stood.
When they were all nursing a fresh coffee, Jake flicked the projector off, and the TV monitor on.
‘Good morning. I’m Sandra McVicar reporting for Glasgow Today, your local TV news programme’
The lovely, dark-haired reporter glanced over her right shoulder as her camera operator panned across the road. Blue and white police incident tape fluttered in the breeze around the forecourt of a filling station and the adjoining car wash.
‘It was late last night when a man’s mutilated body was discovered in this car-wash in the Partick district,’ the crime reporter continued. ‘According to early police reports the victim had been stabbed to death. I’ve heard unconfirmed reports he was tortured before being fatally wounded.’
Ms McVicar performed the ritual of screwing up her eyes and turning again briefly towards the scene of the discovery.
‘The police have confirmed the body is that of the recently acquitted murder suspect Mr Joe Garside. Mr Garside was charged with the abduction and murder of two policewomen, but he walked free from court two days ago. Until his body was discovered he had not been seen since leaving the court.’
The four BTL associates watched the outside broadcast and listened to the theories being spouted by the melodramatic reporter
Rachel said, “We delivered him injured, but very much alive.”
Eva said, “We left him on a side street near the McGinley gang’s favourite bar.” She raised her eyebrows. “He had a single wound, padded with a large ice pack.”
“Right,” Jake said. “You two know what you’re doing, so there’s no way he could have described you?”
“No,” Rachel said. “We both wore wigs, and I wore an excessive pair of falsies under my T-shirt.”
Eva smirked at the idea of Rachel’s chest requiring enhancement.
“Which bike did you use?” Ian asked.
“I borrowed a red Honda Goldwing at short notice. I thought something comfortable and easy for a witness to remember would be best. When we were finished, I took it back and parked it close to where I stole it from. The owner would be less likely to cause a fuss.”
“In our actions, we’ve continued to send a message to the underworld,” Jake said. “We’ve let them know we’ll find them.” He tasted his coffee and looked at each of his companions. “If Garside was tortured and killed, I believe McGinley is sending back a message.”
“She’s telling us to bring it on,” Rachel suggested. “She’s prepared to kill her own if they’re too weak. It seems strange the body was left on the north side of the river.”
Jake said, “McGinley is sending out a message, and distancing her gang from the murder.” He switched off the TV.
Eva’s lips parted, but she remained silent when Ian’s phone rang.
“Hi Freddie,” Ian said. “I’ll put you on speaker mate. I’m with the other guys.”
“Hello everybody,” Freddie said. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything important.”
“No, please go on Freddie,” Jake said.
“Right, before I continue,” Freddie said. “Ian, am I right in thinking you’ve told the team about Simpson?”
“Yes mate, we’ve been waiting for your call.”
“Okay, this undercover game is relatively new to me.” Freddie took a deep breath, which came across clearly on the speaker. “Simpson abducted Grant on Saturday, and drove off into the mountains.”
“Could he have seen you?” Rachel asked.
“No chance,” Freddie said. “I’d studied the local map and area. When the car turned off the main tourist route, I noted the junction, and passed by on my bike.”
“What else have you got for us?” Jake said.
“Before the car turned off the main road I saw a reflection on a hilltop. On my way to find a good observation point, I checked out the suspicious location. I found tyre marks made by an off-road bike, and beside a tree, I found a heap of cigarette butts.”
“Well done mate,” Jake said. “Were you able to see the Simpson hideout?”
“There are few buildings out there, and the place had no garage. The white BMW gleamed in the sunlight.”
“Did they have any visitors on Saturday?”
“No, but on Sunday a red van and an off-road bike turned up. The three guys were tooled-up. Two of them took Simpson and Grant away in the van, along with the dirt-bike. The third man led the way for a while, driving the BMW, and then ditched it in a village car park with the keys.”
“How do you know he left the keys?” Rachel asked.
“I checked the car after they’d all left in the van.” Freddie gave a short laugh. “I don’t understand why they ditched the car, but it made life easier for me because I had to retrieve my transmitter.”
“Were you able to find out where the red van went?” Jake asked, shaking his head.
“No need,” Freddie said and gave another little laugh. “The driver was the red-haired arsehole Geordie, and I had been teamed up with in July. Rachel will remember him.” Freddie paused. “I think his name is Renwood or Renton.”
“I remember him,” Rachel said. “Why did you decide not to follow?”
“The other two guys in the van work for the McGinley outfit.”
“Great work Freddie,” Jake said. “You sound tired mate.”
“I’m bloody knackered, Jake.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “We’ll switch off the speaker now, but stay online and pass the van details to Ian please, mate. Call me direct tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you guys later.”
“Bye, Freddie,” the two girls said, and Ian lifted the phone to take the details.
“Thanks, mate,” Ian said into his phone one minute later. “Go get some sleep.” He ended the call.
“This is shaping up to be a show of control by the McGinley, widow,” Jake said.
“It sounds like McGinley is in control,” Eva said. “Do you think she’ll kill those other two guys?”
&
nbsp; “No,” Jake said. “She might think Grant is a waste of space, but I reckon she’d get along with Simpson.”
“Perhaps she’s had both of them lifted for different reasons,” Rachel said.
“She’s up to something,” Jake said. “We’ll thrash out some ideas while Ian checks out the van details and its whereabouts. We have to consider our next move.”
5. An Unholy Alliance
.
Wednesday 22nd September
King’s Park
Glasgow
“A couple of days ago when your boys paid me a visit,” Simpson said. “I was in two minds about a meeting. I’ve worked freelance for a long time.”
“I told them to tread carefully, Brian. I knew if they went in like normal you’d probably bloody kill them.” McGinley grinned as she lifted her mug of strong tea and took a gulp. McGinley had never been a China tea set person.
“It was close,” Simpson said. “Having said that, your man Renton showed empty hands when I opened the door.” He tried the tea and nodded before he drank more.
“I hope your hire car was in good condition when you got it back last night.”
“It had been cleaned inside and out and refuelled,” Simpson said. “Who did you send back for it?”
“I sent Renton and one of the two who were in the van. God knows why they parked it instead of driving it down here in the first place.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to work out how a man’s mind is working.”
McGinley nodded. “Especially somebody like Renton.”
The pair appeared ordinary, relaxing in the large conservatory at the back of the McGinley house. The garden took up half an acre, had an abundance of colour and was well-tended. It gave the widow and the hitman something to focus on as they chatted.
“Yes,” McGinley said. “Renton had a bit of a scare not long back. He’s had to grow a new pair of balls to be in my revised organisation.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve got bigger balls than some of your men.”
