by Tom Benson
She sent a reply to her co-conspirator—‘Go to next stage.’. Crawford left her Inbox and checked the identity of the unfortunate person who’d attempted to hack into her system. Her customised anti-virus programme had noted the hacker’s IP address, before blocking further entry.
“Hello Roger Gillespie,” she whispered as the details appeared. Crawford conducted a rapid search and found apart from being a novice hacker, Mr Gillespie was a forty-year-old man who had a lovely wife and two teenage children. Due to being away from home, he was active on social media, showing regular photos of his prowess at various outdoor activities when not working with clients.
“You’ll learn not to fuck with me, Roger my dear,” Crawford said. She looked up to see a young man in the coffee shop uniform. “Would you be a darling and bring me a latte, please?”
“Of course, madam,” the youth said, and tripped over his feet to fetch the attractive customer a fresh drink.
Ten minutes after checking out her hacker’s details, Crawford enjoyed her new latte and put the finishing touches to a photo-shopped picture of Roger Gillespie leaning over a desk. In the new version, he still bent over the desk, but now appeared to have no trousers, and his hips were being gripped by a naked male colleague directly behind him, grinning over Roger’s shoulder.
“Let’s see how many of your three-hundred friends care enough to ‘like and share’ it now,” Crawford said and hit the Return key. She packed away her machine, finished her latte and left. On her list of things to do was the rental of furnished accommodation hidden from prying eyes. There were several reasons for Crawford to have privacy since her return to the UK. None of those reasons were in the public interest.
.
Monday 27th September
King’s Park
Glasgow
“Go through to the conservatory, Brian,” McGinley said. “I’ll fetch us tea, and you can tell me about your proposed plan.”
“Right, thanks, Carol,” he said and paused to look at the laptop on the table before he took a seat. The Internet was already on the screen, showing what he assumed was his host’s homepage. His eye skimmed across the screen, but McGinley wasn’t logged into anything interesting. Three websites on the toolbar were regular social network titles, but there were two other websites he didn’t recognise.
“Are you messing with my computer?” McGinley said as she approached with a tray.
“I’ve been known to use computers in internet cafes, but I never mess with anybody’s bloody machine,” Simpson said. He accepted the large mug of strong tea and took a seat.
“I can just about get by myself,” she said. “Why do you use internet cafes?”
“It means I can go online to send or receive messages and I’m not on the phone.”
“You said earlier your clients had to use special nicknames for your targets, so I suppose all the details are sent in a message?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You don’t have to be a whizz-kid to send and receive messages.” He smiled. “How have you managed with this up until now?”
“If it goes haywire, I have to get Callum to help me. The younger generation is always better with these things.” “Mickey might have looked and acted like a Neanderthal at times, but he was bloody good on this machine. He always intended to show me how he saved stuff with special names, and how to access all the information.”
“Have you been in there often since you lost Mickey?”
“I manage to get on, but most of the jargon is a mystery to me. I log into messages once a week, but there’s a lot of information in notebooks which is copied in here.”
“I know the basics,” Simpson said. “If you don’t want Callum to see any sensitive stuff I’ll give you a hand. If there’s anything you don’t know, I’m sure we could work it out together.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks. Have you considered my intentions regarding this bastard vigilante?”
“I thought about it over the weekend, and I’ve got an idea for you to consider.” He lifted his mug of hot tea and enjoyed a long slurp. He watched his new boss as she drank her tea and stared at the laptop. Simpson wondered if she was as hard as she portrayed herself. Yes, she could order a hit, but was she capable of actually killing?
“Let’s hear it, big man?”
“I’m in agreement with the idea of going after this Hawk guy, and his colleagues, because he definitely doesn’t work on his own.” He drank some tea to drag things out.
McGinley said, “You really believe we could pull it off?”
“It has to appear natural as if you’re carrying on with business, unafraid of this guy and whatever team he controls—as I said, I’m sure he has a team.”
“I like the way you think, Brian.” She nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve come up with an idea for the bait?”
“To put this together, and to consolidate the hold on your operation, I think you have to consider a new place for gatherings where you expect to have several of your best people involved.”
“Yes, that’s one of the issues I brought up with Mickey a few months ago. The bloody cops are a constant headache. Go on.”
“From what you’ve told me, if there’s a meeting it takes place in one of your warehouses, or in the backroom of a club, and each time you get reports of your guys being followed?”
“Yeah, and it makes me worry about whether they can get listening devices near us, so I’m paranoid about using the same places we’ve always used. Like you said the other day, the coppers would only need to gain access once, and we’re fucked.”
“I was thinking, how about renting, or maybe buying a place they’d never think of checking.”
McGinley squinted but nodded.
Simpson said, “I’m talking about having a venue where you could get everybody together, and the cops wouldn’t know. Apart from anything else, you could plan how to get this team of vigilantes.”
“You’re giving me the impression you’ve got somewhere in mind Brian.”
“Martin Cameron, or Gordon Fitzpatrick as he became known, had the right idea. A castle or something similar would be a good idea, but he went overboard, and it stood out. I thought, instead of a castle to renovate like he did near a small village—how about a ruin?”
Carol continued to nod slowly.
“We’ve got bloody castle ruins all over Scotland,” Simpson continued. “If you were to grease the right palms, I reckon you could gain access to a ruin, but a remote place where there were a couple of useful floors for your purposes. It also wouldn’t be as expensive as a building in good condition.”
“Brian, that is a fucking genius idea,” she said. “We’ve got enough money stashed away, and if my mind was at ease, we might interest more of the regional guys for a meeting. The way things are now, I have to speak to individuals for security purposes.”
“Do you want to leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find, and then you can choose?”
“How long will you need?”
“I reckon a week or two would be long enough. It might be best if I stay on the move as I check it out, or the cops are going to see you and me together at some point.” He grinned. “Wearing glasses, a hat, and carrying a briefcase is a necessary disguise, but has been good enough since my first visit to you.”
“How will we stay in touch, since we know it’s easy for them to catch our phone conversations?”
“I’ll pick up a cheap one of these things,” he said and nodded toward the laptop. “If we have a couple of different email addresses it will make it harder for anybody to know who’s talking to whom.”
“Okay. I should be capable of getting in and out to messages.”
For the next twenty minutes, Simpson observed as Carol logged in, and out of her primary email account, and her main files. More than once, he placed a fingertip on the screen unnecessarily to point out a symbol, while he looked elsewhere to memorise information.
“I don’t think you’re as bad as you m
ake out,” he said when satisfied. “We’ll go through it again before I go if you like.” He paused. “While I’m on the road I’ll consider ways to draw out the vigilantes. Leaking the news of a meeting, and maybe the venue might help, but we can work out later how to deal with those people. We don’t want the coppers turning up.”
“Good idea,” she said. McGinley gazed out at the vast garden.
“Are you okay?” Simpson asked.
“Aye, Brian. I was lost in thought for a minute.” She paused. “I know your brother Norrie worked for Fitzpatrick, but did you ever see Mrs Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes, she was a handsome woman before her husband buried her alive and nearly bloody killed her. I saw pictures of her in the newspaper after the big shootout in Braemar.” He gazed at her. “Why did she come to mind?”
“Is Fitzpatrick the sort of woman who might entice a fella into an affair?”
“Before she was hospitalised, she was, but I don’t know if she’s recovered back to what she looked like before.”
“You sound very sure about her.”
“She murdered a Spanish estate agent’s wife so she could have the husband, which means she was attractive to men, and a bit of a wild one.” Simpson didn’t add that at a later date, he had carried out the contract to murder the Spanish estate agent.
“Do you know where Mrs Fitzpatrick is now?”
“She’s being rehabilitated and protected somewhere before extradition to Spain.”
“I’d appreciate a little favour if you didn’t mind, Brian.”
He nodded.
“Find out if she can identify the vigilantes, and if she seduced my Mickey.”
“Would you like me to reduce the chances of her extradition?”
“You have a lovely way with words,” she said. “Aye, Brian, I’d prefer it if she never made it to Spain for trial.” She stared into the garden. “Mickey went to a lot of meetings at short notice in the weeks before the Fitzpatrick kingdom came tumbling down.”
“Being freelance has meant my clients are international,” Simpson said. “Of course, I’ve never had anybody depending on me to come home to them.”
“I’ve never been further than the Costa del Sol,” McGinley said. “Tell me about some of your favourite places.”
Simpson indulged the woman and for a while told her about hits he’d completed in faraway places. The pair chatted and had more tea. By mid-morning Simpson had enthralled the widow with his exploits abroad, but suggested it was time to be on his way.
“Thanks, Brian. I’ll wait for your messages.” She opened the front door, and Simpson walked to his car.
He turned and waved before driving off.
“Aye, it’s good to have a trusted big man again,” McGinley murmured. She wouldn’t have believed that at the same time, her new man was trusting somebody he hardly knew.
7. Questions
.
Monday 27th September
BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
On the north side of the River Clyde, the members of the vigilante team were assembled in their briefing room. Each had compiled notes which they’d made after a weekend of inquiries at several levels of humanity.
“Right guys,” Jake said. “We’ll go around the table and see if we can put some meat on the bones of what we know. Eva, you first please.”
“Nothing much to report, I’m afraid,” Eva said. “I went to a couple of the clubs I’ve been before with Ian and Rachel, but apart from the occasional small package passing hands, there’s nothing significant going on.” She paused. “I mean, there’s nothing major anybody at street level seems to know.”
“Thank you,” Jake said. “Ian?”
“I went to a couple of bars where we know some of the independent big-hitters socialise in Bearsden, Kelvinside, and the city.” Ian paused. “I may be wrong, but there’s a calm atmosphere.”
“You mean generally?” Jake asked.
“Yes, it’s as if they’re pulling in the money from their individual operations, and they’re happy not having a Godfather figure calling the shots.”
“How many places did you check out?”
“I reckon about twelve. I paired up with Freddie so neither of us would appear to be loners, and it allowed us to act naturally. We checked clubs, looking for specific characters who like to show their wealth, and we visited five pubs and snooker halls in the housing estates on the north side of the river.”
“How did you avoid suspicions regarding either of you?” Jake asked.
“I told people I wasn’t long released from a Spanish jail, and Freddie was helping me get to know my native Scotland again. It helped cover my Edinburgh accent when I said I had to learn a bit of Spanish to get by, so it destroyed my accent. It made most of them laugh.”
“Good work,” Jake said. “It sounds like you’re doing well with Freddie, so we’ll keep him occupied with tasks. He’s shaping up.”
Jake turned and nodded to his partner in work, and more recently in private.
Rachel gave a brief nod and addressed the two people across the conference table. “On Saturday, I went to a secret location to meet Max. He told me there was no word of anybody trying to establish themselves to the north of the river.”
Eva said, “Surely there must be a power vacuum following the termination of the top names in July?”
“We have several gang leaders who are continuing their operations,” Rachel said. “For the time being, we believe they’ll maintain the status quo. If none of them is beholden to somebody higher up, the individuals might not get greedy, but we’ll see.”
Ian said, “The bikers are in tune with most of the action, so why do the gang bosses never try to get them onside?”
“They’re recognised as independents,” Rachel said. “The Mental Riders and gangs like them could work alongside one group for a week, and then change allegiance the following week. I have a feeling we have a special relationship with Max’s guys, and in good faith, I told him we’d keep them in the loop.”
“You’ll all have seen the headlines and the newspapers regarding the appointment of Sam Griffiths as the new Chief Constable.” Jake paused. His lips curled into a smile. “Sam is coming to Glasgow, having spent a couple of years in different appointments at the Police Academy in Tullieallen.”
“I read in the newspaper he was ex-SAS,” Eva said. “Perhaps he’ll know Phil.”
“Sam is a close friend of our founder, and they served together in some dangerous situations. Both Rachel and I were invited to Sam’s house yesterday, along with Phil and Annabel for a barbecue.”
“I like it,” Ian said. “Your second research day consisted of enjoying a barbecue and rubbing shoulders with the new Chief Constable.”
They all laughed as Jake held his hands up.
“Suffice to say,” Rachel cut in. “We had a good day, but we had an informal chat after the food and drink. Sam is already on board, but you’ll hear his official line when he appears on TV making a press statement.”
“During our unofficial discussions,” Jake said. “Sam and Phil were of the opinion it wasn’t going to stay quiet for much longer. It’s the nature of the big players to want more. They’ll always say they’re happy with their lot, but they rarely are.”
“It’s a waiting game then?” Eva said.
“Yes,” Jake said. “Our bet at the moment is somebody has already started a course of action. We have to be patient and watch, but the south side is showing early signs.”
“You mean regarding the two bodies which have turned up recently?” Ian asked.
“Yes, and we found out at the weekend it will be DCI Eddie Monroe and DI Amy Hughes, who are going to Vancouver to assist the RCMP. Eddie and Amy have a better grasp of our gang leaders of recent times.”
“Why do you think the Henderson woman was killed in Vancouver?” Ian said.
“It looks like the intention is to discredit us,” Jake said. “We’re seen by a lot of t
he underworld and the public in Scotland as the unofficial gatekeepers of justice.”
Eva said, “I suppose the good news is that the important people know it wasn’t us.”
All three of the others nodded.
“If there is something bigger underway,” Rachel said. “Stephanie Henderson and the guy found with her are part of a smokescreen.”
“Do you think there will be more bodies turning up?” Eva asked.
“Apart from us, Phil, Annabel, and of course Freddie, there aren’t too many folk alive who bore witness to the massacre in Braemar.” Rachel paused. “The Mental Riders should also be kept in mind because they were working alongside us.”
“I told Freddie he’d be safe,” Ian said. “His only connection to the gang was when he was with Geordie at the old ruin in Balloch.”
Rachel said, “I’ve warned Max to brief his guys to be extra vigilant, but unfortunately, being bikers they welcome trouble.”
“Is there anybody else?” Eva asked.
“Fitzpatrick’s wife,” Jake said. “She’s still recovering and been moved to a secure facility. As soon as she’s okay, the authorities will send her to Spain to answer murder charges. It’s a waiting game with her.”
“There is one other thing on the subject of waiting,” Rachel said. “We’ll be out of touch with Phil and Annabel for a while. They’re flying to New Zealand, and they’ll be away for the whole of October.”
Eva said, “It’s normal for folk to go away for several weeks if they go to Australia or New Zealand on holiday.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not a holiday,” Rachel said. “Annabel last saw her parents a long time ago. They completed their service with the Foreign Office and settled in New Zealand. Annabel’s mother died last year, and now her father has been in touch to say he’d like to see Annabel before he dies. He’s terminally ill in hospital.”
“Oh my,” Eva said. “That is so sad. I hope they get to talk.”
