Crow Bait (20 page)

Davie waited until he heard the front door close then slipped into the hallway to ensure they were gone. As soon as he walked back into the sitting room he said, ‘Shouldn’t’ve done that, Aud.’

‘Frank told me they know all about you and Lomas and Harris. He says they’re convinced you had something to do with their deaths.’

Davie thought,
they’re not wrong.
He said, ‘Why is Frank telling you all this?’

‘Because he’s a good guy, Davie. He doesn’t agree with them – he knows you better than you think. I think since you got Clem Boyle that night he’s studied up on you. He told me to get in here and break this up somehow. Telling him I was with you was the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment.’

Davie shook his head. ‘That was the Black Knight, you know him?’ She nodded and Davie continued, ‘If he finds anything to link me to that graveyard last night, you’ll be in deep trouble.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’

She looked so calm, so confident and he knew he was falling for her all over again. It scared the hell out of him. ‘He’ll tell your husband.’

‘What makes you so sure?

‘You pissed him off, he’ll want to get you back.’

She thought about this. Her face clouded for a second then cleared. ‘I’ll handle it.’

*  *  *

‘What the fuck was that all about, Frank?’ Knight was furious. He rounded on Donovan as they descended the stairs. ‘What? Could you no keep a wee slip of a lassie away for longer than five minutes?’

‘What was I supposed to do, pin her by the arms?’

‘You do anything you bloody have to when I’m interviewing a fuckin suspect.’

‘You’re not even supposed to be interviewing him, you’re there unofficially, remember? Anyway, you’ve got nothing on him and you know it.’

‘He could’ve burst…’

Donovan began to laugh, the idea of Davie McCall being so overtaken with guilt that he spontaneously confesses being worthy of a stand-up comedian. He’d seen it happen, but not to guys like McCall. They never burst. Knight glared at him.

Donovan said, ‘He’s not the type to use a knife, you know him.’

‘First time for everything, Frankie boy.’ They were moving together down the stairs towards the street now. ‘You think she was with him last night?’

Donovan nodded. ‘She’ll not lie to you.’ However, he knew she had not been with Davie until 8pm, because he’d seen Davie in the street fifteen minutes before that. He was certain McCall had nothing to do with Lomas’s death but he had a copper’s nose just like Knight. He knew there was a jigsaw here and he didn’t have all the pieces.

Knight asked, ‘They shagging?’ Donovan gave him a reproving look. Knight held his hands up in defence. ‘She’s tasty. I would.’

Donovan sighed. Knight would hump a hole in a barber shop floor if he had to. ‘They were an item, years ago. When Clem Boyle shot me he was aiming at her. But it all ended when McCall was inside.’

‘Her man’s on the job, I hear?’

‘Aye, a
DC
at Stewart Street.’

‘Fraser, Fraser…’ Knight tried to place the name. Donovan knew he had the kind of mind that retained names and faces and he was accessing it now. ‘No, Les Fraser, is it?’

‘Aye,’ said Donovan.

‘He’s okay, that guy.’

‘Yes, he is. Don’t tell him about this.’

‘Won’t breathe a word, unless I have to.’

They were in the street now and Donovan gave Knight a look that told him he didn’t believe it. ‘Jimmy, there’s nothing going on between them, I guarantee it. Don’t cause trouble unnecessarily.’

Knight’s eyes were dancing with amusement as he regarded Donovan. ‘Frankie boy, I’ll decide what’s necessary…’

Donovan nodded. ‘Why don’t we take it to Gentleman Jack, then? See what he thinks.’

Knight paused to smile, but there was a chill in his eye. He knew his boss had asked Donovan to speak to McCall. It had annoyed him but events had moved on. ‘I wouldn’t, Frankie boy. Bannatyne’s asked me to look into this under the radar. He’s obsessed with McCall because of his connection with Joe Klein. You know why he’s asked me? Cos he knows I’ll get the fuckin job done. You know why he didn’t ask you? Cos he knows you won’t. You go tellin him tales, he’ll no be best pleased, know what I’m sayin?’

Donovan knew Jack Bannatyne used Knight like a Rottweiler, setting him loose on jobs that needed his special talents. Bannatyne thought Davie could be mopping things up and feared where that would end. But Donovan didn’t believe McCall was a killer. Maybe, one day, if he was attacked, but he wouldn’t set out deliberately to kill. Donovan looked into Knight’s smiling face and not for the first time wished he could pound it into mush.

‘I’ll make my own way back to Baird Street,’ he said.

Knight shrugged and walked towards his car. Donovan turned towards Duke Street without another word. He really hated working with Jimmy Knight.

22

VARI HAD THOUGHT
about turning up unannounced at Davie McCall’s door a few times, but each time had decided against it. She’d been invited to the party for one thing and one thing only and she had performed as expected. But something about him had stayed with her. Sex for her was something she enjoyed, when it was done right, which was seldom if truth be told, but in the end it was still only a shag. There was no mystery to it, no shame in doing it if she felt like it, not now at least. She was glad Alice hadn’t really seemed interested, God rest her soul. If Davie McCall had been ugly enough to turn milk she’d not have gone near him, no matter what Bobby Newman wanted, but he wasn’t bad looking. It was those blue eyes of his that got her going, so sad, so distant. They hadn’t been cold when they were together but she’d bet her life they could turn frosty when he wanted. And he seemed a nice guy, too. She’d heard the stories, how he was a ned, a hard man, a bad guy, but she hadn’t sensed that in him. When they’d been together he was gentle and considerate. He seemed almost caring. She’d been with guys for whom a shag was more like a wrestling match; pinning her down, almost forcing themselves into her. But Davie had been tentative, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her. For the first time in a long time she wanted to see a guy again. That was why she’d thought about going round, but something told her he wouldn’t welcome that kind of approach.

Vari knew men. She’d had enough of them, starting when she was twelve years old with her uncle – pillar of the church, local councillor. He’d felt her up two or three times over the months and then finally, one night when they were alone, he’d climbed into her bed and done the deed. She’d never told anyone about it, not at first, they’d never believe her anyway, he was such a
decent
man. He told her that, all the time. They’d never believe her. She’d be seen as a liar, a dirty wee lassie with sick thoughts. Her family was deeply religious, she’d heard her mum and dad discuss the distressing nature of society with its lack of morals, its over-emphasis on filth and permissiveness. She knew they wouldn’t understand. She knew what her uncle said was true.

He came back for more whenever he could over the next year or two, leaving her presents each time, money sometimes, more often clothes, perfume, records. She began to think it was the way life was, that it was normal. He told her that, too. He said she’d’ve been surprised how many girls did their uncles wee favours.

Finally, though, it came out. She was fourteen by then and her mum found a pair of crotchless panties her uncle had given her. He’d wanted her to wear them for him, under her jeans. The idea that only he would know about them seemed to excite him. She’d never actually worn them, but she told him she had. She could remember that Sunday dinner when he’d breathed in her ear, asking her if she had them on, and she’d simply nodded, just to get him away from her. He sat across the table from her and every time he looked at her she knew he was thinking about those panties. She’d felt sick then and had to be excused. She hid the underwear right at the back of the wardrobe but her mum found them and everything came out.

He was right, they didn’t believe her. At least, they said they didn’t. Her uncle denied it all, saying he’d seen Vari out at night with boys. He’d tried to help her, he claimed, but she enjoyed being with them, enjoyed touching them and letting them touch her. He said he’d never told her parents because he hoped it was just a phase. He’d never, ever, touch a young girl like that, not like that. But she saw the look in her dad’s eye as he listened to his brother’s protestations and Vari knew he had his doubts. In the end, though, they sided with her uncle and she was branded a wee whore by her own family. A dirty slut who wore disgusting underwear.

She left two years later. Just ran away one night, unable to take the cold looks anymore, the continual suspicion, the checking up on her every move. They didn’t come looking for her. Something told her they were relieved she was gone. Four years ago, when she was eighteen, she’d written them a letter letting them know she was okay. They didn’t reply.

Her uncle, though, was still a pillar of the church, still a local councillor, still a decent man.

She fantasised that one day she would tell Davie McCall about it and he would find her uncle and beat him bloody. She’d heard Davie McCall did things like that. He’d do it for her, she knew he would. He’d liked her, she could tell, not just because of the way he responded to her physically (that was to be expected because he was a guy after all), but because of the way he’d spoken to her, the way he’d looked at her. With tenderness. And he’d said he’d call her, he’d promised. He hadn’t yet, but it had only been a few days.

So when she got back to her Dennistoun flat that evening after work, she was not surprised to find an envelope pinned to her door. She opened it on the doorstep and smiled when she read the words.

Meet me at Alexandra Park gates, 8pm.
Davie

A ripple of excitement washed through her as she looked at her watch. 6.30pm. Time enough to have a shower, make herself respectable. As Vari unlocked the front door to her one-bedroomed flat, she couldn’t believe how excited she was.

*  *  *

Liam Mulvey steered his truck along the narrow country road above Girvan, his mind on Danny McCall and their conversation just before he left the house. McCall had phoned him at home, given him another number and hung up. Liam knew he had ten minutes to get a call box and dial that number. It was the first time they’d spoken since the day Newman and Davie McCall had paid him a visit.

‘Where the fuck are you?’ Liam had asked.

‘Glasgow,’ said Danny McCall.

‘I need you down here.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘It’s all set up, with McClymont. Tomorrow night.’

‘You know what to do.’

Liam frowned. ‘You not going to be here?’

‘You don’t need me. You made sure you’ve got enough muscle?’

‘Stringer’s bringing a coupla boys down from Kilmarnock.’ Liam was very much a one-man operation, although he had ambition, but if he had such a thing as a right-hand man, it was Stringer. That’s all anyone knew him as. If he had a first name, Liam believed even Stringer had forgotten it.

‘That going to be enough?’ There was doubt in McCall’s voice.

‘Believe me, it’s enough. Big Rab and whoever he brings with him will be crow bait by the time I’m finished.’

Liam could tell McCall remained unconvinced, but he didn’t give a damn. The guy didn’t press it. ‘You made sure all the weapons are clean?’

‘Aye,’ said Liam, a hint of irritation in his voice. It had cost him a fortune to get the weapons, not that he was paying for anything. McCall was bankrolling this whole thing. He’d tried cutting a deal with the armourer, hoping to skim a bit off for himself, but the bastard had stuck to his price. Liam hated parting with money, even when it wasn’t his. That much he shared with Big Rab.

‘Then get it done,’ McCall said. ‘Don’t mess about tomorrow night, when they show up, put bullets in their heads, the lot of them.’

‘What if your boy’s there? You want him done too?’

‘He won’t be there. He’ll have other things on his mind.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure. Don’t let me down, Liam. And don’t mess about either. Get in there, get it done and get out, understand?’

‘Don’t worry, for fuck’s sake. I told you, Rab McClymont’s a dead man…’

But Danny McCall was already gone. Now, as he replayed the conversation in his head, Liam wondered just what McCall’s game was. He knew the sleekit bastard wasn’t telling him everything. He didn’t know what the fuck his whole plan was, only that it would get Liam back to the city and into the big money, but whatever it was it had better work. McCall wanted to control everything and Liam didn’t like being controlled.

His headlights picked out a hedgehog skittering across the road up ahead. It didn’t look squashed, so he veered and did the job. He hated fucking hedgehogs.

*  *  *

When Vari saw the figure at the gates of the Park where Alexandra Parade meets the Edinburgh Road, she thought it was Davie. It was dry, but dark clouds threatened rain. He smiled as she came closer and she realised this guy was older. ‘Vari,’ he said, ‘Davie sent me.’