Black Mail (2012) (16 page)

‘Anybody. I want a witness.’

‘You want a witness?’ Charlie snorted. ‘Well tough titties, sunshine. We’re understaffed. Everybody’s gone for lunch. So for the next hour, you miserable little runt, it’s just you and me.’

‘You can’t do that!’

‘Try me.’

‘What do you want?’ McCulloch whimpered.

‘I want names. I want to know who you buy from – and who you sell to.’

‘I’m sayin’ nothin’.’

‘The fuck you are!’ Charlie roared, grabbing him by the shirt collar and twisting hard. ‘I said I want names, you little shitbag – and I want them now!’ He ground his fist hard into McCulloch’s windpipe.

‘Get a fuckin’ grip!’ McCulloch gasped.

‘Anything to oblige.’ Charlie dug his knuckles in deeper.

McCulloch tried unsuccessfully to prise his fingers between his shirt collar and his neck. ‘I buy from Gerry Fraser,’ he spluttered.

‘Fraser’s small beer. Who does he work for?’

‘How the hell would I know? For Christ’s sake, Anderson! You’re chokin’ me!’

Charlie relaxed his grip. ‘Who do you sell to?’

‘Nobody in particular,’ McCulloch wheezed, twisting his head and massaging the bruise forming on the side of his neck.

‘How many of those nobodies are children?’

‘I don’t sell to kids.’

Charlie’s raised his fist high above his head and brought it hammering down on the table. ‘Wrong answer!’ McCulloch cowered down, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘A ten year-old boy is dead because of you. Did you know that?’ Charlie roared at the snivelling figure. ‘Do you even know his name?’ Charlie thumped his fist down on the table again. ‘It’s John O’Hara – remember that name – because it’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life. I’m going to make sure you get put away for a long time, McCulloch. When you eventually get out I’ll be long retired. But I’ve got a good memory – and I’ve got contacts – and I’ll be keeping in touch. And if I ever find out that you’ve been seen within a mile of a school playground, I’ll come after you, you miserable wee nyaff, and there won’t be a badge standing in my way.’

When Charlie arrived back in Pitt Street he found Tony O’Sullivan waiting for him in his office.

‘How did you get on with McCulloch, sir?’

‘I’m going to have that bastard,’ Charlie growled, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I know he sold cocaine to John O’Hara.’

‘That reminds me,’ O’Sullivan said. ‘There was a phone call while you were out from a Miss Appleton – she left her mobile number and asked if you would call her back as soon as possible. She said it was to do with John O’Hara, but she wanted to speak to you personally.’

Charlie picked up the phone and dialled, switching to loudspeaker mode so O’Sullivan could listen in. ‘Miss Appleton?’ he enquired to a background of childish chatter. ‘This is DCI Anderson. You left a message for me to call?’

‘Hold on a minute, Inspector, while I go out into the corridor. That’s better,’ she said as the hubbub died away. ‘This morning
one of the boys in my class told me he had information for you,’ she said, ‘but he made me promise not to tell you his name.’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s a café called Trento’s, about two hundred yards from the school. He says he saw John O’Hara in there a couple of times talking to a scruffily dressed guy in his thirties.’

‘Would he be able to ID the guy?’

‘Probably, but he’s too frightened to talk to the police. However, I know Trento has a CCTV system installed so he can identify kids who try to steal stuff. I thought that information might be useful?’

‘Very useful, Miss Appleton. Thank you. We’ll follow it up.’

‘Check it out, Tony,’ Charlie said as he replaced the receiver. ‘See if you can get your hands on Trento’s footage for the month preceding John O’Hara’s death. And when you’ve done that,’ he added, ‘nip over to Glasgow airport and meet Bjorn Svensson off the Stockholm flight. It’s due in at half-past five.’

‘What’s the score with him? Do you reckon he’s got something to hide?’

Charlie shrugged. ‘Just a gut feeling. It might be nothing, but I’d like to get a statement out of him about where he was on Saturday morning before his wife gets the chance to prime him.’

‘If she wanted to do that surely she’ll have phoned him in Stockholm?’

‘Possibly – but she might not have bothered if she assumed she’d be seeing him before we got to him.’

O’Sullivan was sitting in the café near the airport arrivals’ area, stirring sugar into his coffee, when the announcement came over the public address system that there had been a further delay to
the incoming flight from Stockholm. The latest ETA was given as 18.45. He cursed under his breath as he did the calculation. On the ground at 18.45, passengers disembarking by 19.00. Assuming he could get into the baggage retrieval area it would take him five minutes to get a statement out of Svensson, which would leave him twenty-five minutes to get to Glasgow Green. He fingered the tickets in his inside jacket pocket, then cursed again when he burned his tongue on the scalding coffee. Digging his mobile out he checked Sue’s home number and dialled. A cheerful female voice answered.

‘Hello!’

‘I assume I’m talking to Sue’s babysitter?’

‘You most certainly are.’

‘My name’s Tony O’Sullivan. I’m supposed to be meeting Sue at half-past seven to go to the Radiohead gig but I’m running late. Do you know if she has a mobile and if so, do you have the number?’

‘The good news is that she does have a mobile and I do have the number. The bad news is that her phone’s sitting on the coffee table in front of me. She put it on charge and forgot to take it with her.’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Can I take a message in case she calls home?’

‘No. Thanks all the same. I’ll do my best to get there on time.’

‘I’m not kidding. I thought I was going to have a heart attack when that cop marched up to me in the arrivals hall waving his warrant card.’ Indicating right for the Bearsden Switchback, Bjorn Svensson drifted into the outside lane on Great Western Road. ‘I was sure my programming changes must’ve come to light. I couldn’t think of any other reason for the reception committee.’ Bjorn applied the Mercedes’ brakes smoothly as the Anniesland Cross traffic lights up ahead changed to red.

Helen Cuthbertson tugged down the sun visor to check her make-up in the vanity mirror. ‘I can imagine. A bit strange that Mr Plod went to all the trouble of going out to the airport to meet you, don’t you think? What was there that couldn’t have waited until this morning?’

‘Search me. It’s not as if he had any earth-shattering questions to ask. Where was I at eight o’clock on Saturday morning? Who was I with? That was about it.’

When the lights changed, Bjorn turned right and accelerated up the hill. Stretching her hand across, Helen started caressing the front of his jeans. ‘Just as well he didn’t insist on knowing what you were doing at eight o’clock on Saturday morning.’

‘Stop it, Helen! Not when I’m driving!’ He pushed her hand away. ‘Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be in mourning?’

‘For my dear departed brother-in-law?’ Helen pouted her lips. ‘Pull the other one.’ She pawed again at his trousers. ‘Though I’d rather pull this one,’ she squealed. Bjorn tried to drag her hand away while at the same time wrestling one-handed with the steering wheel. Helen unclipped her seat belt and plunged across, burying her face in his lap. When she started blowing loud raspberries against his crotch they both dissolved in laughter.

Laura Harrison carried a tray with three cups of coffee into the lounge where Helen and Bjorn were seated. ‘What happened to you, Helen?’ she asked as she put the tray down on a side table. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

Helen tossed back her hair. ‘I came out in a bit of a rush, sis.’

‘That’s not like you.’

‘My fault, Laura,’ Bjorn said. ‘I insisted on leaving early to beat the rush-hour traffic.’

‘There was no need to do that. You could’ve waited until the traffic eased off and come across later in the –’ Laura broke off, tears welling in her eyes.

Helen sprang to her feet and wrapped a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulder. ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she whispered in her ear.

Laura knuckled away a tear. ‘God knows, it’s not as if I’m heartbroken because Mike is dead. I don’t have to tell you that. It’s the sheer frustration that he made such a bloody mess of things. He gambled away everything, you know – and I mean everything.’ Helen and Bjorn exchanged glances. ‘Even the
mortgage is more than the value of the damned house!’ Laura took a deep breath to try to control her breathing.

‘Christ, I need a drink! Anyone care to join me?’ she asked, lifting the gin bottle from the drinks trolley and holding it up.

‘It’s a bit early in the day, sis. Even for me.’

‘How about you, Bjorn?’

‘No thanks, Laura.’

Laura poured herself a stiff measure, adding a splash of tonic. ‘Will you be able to lend me the money?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’

Helen made eye contact with Bjorn. ‘I’m not sure we can.’

‘You know I wouldn’t ask you unless I was desperate. I’ve nobody else to turn to.’ She pleaded with her eyes. ‘I’ve got to have ten thousand pounds by Friday.’

‘We’d like to help you,’ Helen said. ‘We really would. But we can’t do anything as quickly as that. All our assets are tied up in investments. Even if we were to accept early withdrawal penalties it would be at least a fortnight before we could transfer the money to you.’

‘That’s no use.’ Laura’s teeth sank into her quivering bottom lip. ‘I must have it by Friday.’

‘We could probably come up with a banker’s order or a
post-dated
cheque by Friday. Would that do?’

Laura looked away to avoid her sister’s eyes. ‘It has to be in cash,’ she said in little more than a whisper.

‘In the name of God, Laura! What sort of trouble have you got yourself into?’ Laura turned her back and stared out of the window. ‘Won’t you tell me what this is all about?’ Helen insisted.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why don’t you talk to Dad?’

Laura spun back round. ‘No way!’

‘Tell Dad what’s happened. Explain to him that Mike has left you with nothing. Now that Mike’s no longer …’ Her voice tailed off. ‘You know what I’m driving at. One conciliatory gesture from you and Dad would welcome his prodigal daughter back into the fold with open arms – and he’d sort out your financial problems in no time.’

‘I couldn’t go to him. Not after ten years.’

‘Then let me talk to him. I’ll act as the go-between.’

‘No! I don’t want you to do that.’

‘What other options do you have?’ Silent tears were seeping down Laura’s cheeks. Helen took her in her arms and cuddled her in close.

Tony O’Sullivan rapped on Charlie’s open office door and walked in.

‘No luck at Trento’s, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘There is a CCTV system in the café but he doesn’t keep the data for more than a week.’

Charlie let out a world-weary sigh. ‘How did you make out with Svensson?’

‘His plane eventually landed the back of nine. The runway in Stockholm was iced up and they took off four hours late.’

‘What did he have to say for himself?’

‘Not a lot. Basically, he confirmed everything his wife had told us.’

‘Did he sound convincing?’

O’Sullivan shrugged. ‘He was pretty relaxed about it all.’

‘Bit of a wasted evening, then?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Well, look on the bright side. At least it saved you from pissing your money away in the pub.’

Billy McAteer watched from the corner of Canniesburn Road as Bjorn Svensson’s Mercedes pulled out of the drive. Turning his back on the traffic as the car sped past he hurried towards the house, then checked to make sure he wasn’t being observed before striding up the drive and pressing the bell push.

‘I told you not to come here!’ Laura tried to push the door closed but McAteer had already inserted a blocking foot. Forcing the door wide, he stepped inside and slammed it behind him.

‘I want my money tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow’s Wednesday – you said Friday!’

‘Now, I’m sayin’ tomorrow. I’m goin’ to have to make myself scarce an’ I need the cash.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t have the bloody money!’

Grabbing Laura’s jaw in his fist McAteer squeezed hard, forcing her onto her tiptoes. ‘I know how you got your sore face.’ His manic eye drilled into her. ‘Your auld man telt me he had to teach you a lesson from time to time because you had a nasty habit of chattin’ up other blokes. Well, if you think he gave you a hard time, you ain’t seen nothin’.’ McAteer pressed his fingers so hard into Laura’s cheeks that her eyes bulged. ‘You’ve got until tomorrow afternoon to come up with the money. That’s enough time if you put your mind to it. I’ll be here at four o’clock sharp.’ Producing a flick knife from his jacket pocket he snapped open the blade. ‘You’d better have the money by then,’ he said, slowly rotating the tip of the blade an inch from her eyeball. ‘Because if you don’t come up with the cash …’ The blade stopped turning.
‘There won’t be a single bloke in Glasgow who’ll be interested in chattin’ you up.’

Charlie walked up to the desk in Partick Police Station and spoke to the duty officer. ‘Are you still holding Tosh McCulloch here, Andy?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir. He’s due in court this afternoon.’

‘I’d like a word with him.’

‘No problem,’ he said, stretching for the cell key and handing it across. ‘You know the way. Cell number four. Let yourself in.’

McCulloch scrambled to his feet when he heard the cell door opening, then cowered against the far wall when he saw Charlie enter.

‘There’s a change in the charge sheet for this afternoon, McCulloch,’ Charlie announced. ‘As well as buying drugs in Argyle Street we’re going to do you for supplying cocaine to John O’Hara – and that’s a murder charge.’

‘I telt you already, Anderson. I don’t sell to kids.’

‘That won’t wash, McCulloch. We have it all in glorious Technicolor. You didn’t know there was CCTV in Trento’s café?’ McCulloch stared open-mouthed. ‘The whole café is covered. I’ve just been across to see the footage of you and John O’Hara together, including a clear shot of you handing the stuff across.’ McCulloch’s jaw tightened. ‘If you’re going to stick to your
half-arsed
story you’re looking at a life sentence,’ Charlie continued. ‘On the other hand, if you make a full confession the procurator fiscal might be prepared to negotiate a charge of manslaughter. What’s it to be?’

All the colour drained from McCulloch’s features. ‘You’re bluffing, Anderson.’

‘Fine! Have it your own way.’ Charlie snorted and turned to leave. ‘I don’t know why I’m even wasting my time.’

‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie paused with his hand on the door. ‘I telt the kid …’ McCulloch said hesitantly. ‘I telt him how much he should take.’

Charlie fixed McCulloch with a glare. ‘You told him how much he should take?’

‘Aye,’ McCulloch said in little more than a whisper.

‘You told him how much he should take?’ Charlie repeated the words slowly, measuring every syllable.

‘It’s no’ ma fault the stupid wee eejit overdosed,’ McCulloch whimpered.

Grabbing McCulloch by the shirt collar, Charlie yanked him up on to his tiptoes, their noses almost touching. ‘So that’s your defence? The boy was ten years old, for fuck’s sake!’ Charlie’s features were florid. ‘You told a ten-year-old kid how much cocaine he should fucking-well take!’

‘It’s no’ ma fault he’s deid,’ McCulloch spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to twist from Charlie’s grip. ‘There’s no way you can ca’ that murder!’

Slowly relaxing his fists Charlie released his grip, allowing McCulloch to sink to his knees, sobbing heavily. Without a backward glance Charlie spun on his heel and strode from the cell, slamming the door behind him and turning the key in the lock. Exhaling loudly, he removed the microphone from under his lapel and switched off the recording device in his jacket pocket.

Tony O’Sullivan found the number he was looking for in the telephone directory.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have any teacher called Anderson, sir,’ the school secretary said in reply to his query.

‘Susan Anderson was her maiden name. I don’t know her surname. She was married to someone called Paul who taught in your school, but she’s a widow now.’

‘That’ll be Susan Paterson.’

‘Would it be possible for me to speak to her?’

‘I’ll check her timetable.’ There was a short pause. ‘Sorry. Mrs Paterson takes her class to the swimming baths on Tuesday mornings. Can I take a message?’

‘No, thanks all the same. I’ll try to catch her at home this evening.’