Referendum (32 page)

“We need to follow them. Help me with this, Chris.” Arbogast ran to the far side of the reception area where a pile of scaffolding poles were stacked. Chris immediately understood what he meant and lifting the metal beams the two men rammed the window. The alarm went off immediately and the detectives knew the security firm should respond within five minutes, so they had to act fast. The force of the steel pole repeatedly battering the window at first made it go opaque and then the window crystallised and fell to the floor like a glass waterfall. The two men ran back to the car. Arbogast saw Murphy drive off towards the motorway. He thought they still had time to catch him.

Arbogast took the wheel. He hadn’t bothered with the belt and the car’s automatic alarm was telling him to ‘please strap in’. The constant
ding ding ding
was maddening, but safety was the last thing on his mind. Guthrie was terrified. Strapped in, he gripped the side of the passenger seat and braced himself for the pursuit. He thought Arbogast was driving too fast, taking hand brake turns to get round the tight corners of the industrial estate and then out onto the relief road. A car screeched to a halt, missing them by inches, “Slow down, John, you’re going to get us killed.”

“It’s too late to worry about that, Chris. He can’t get away, he’s gone too far.”

Chris Guthrie reached behind the chair and took out the magnetic blue light, unwinding the window, he threw it on top of the roof, the siren was on and they were in full pursuit, and out on a limb.

Niall Murphy hoped that he’d bought himself enough time but he could see the detectives had been quick to follow. He glanced across at Davidson who he had put behind the wheel at gunpoint, “Do you think your friends are going to catch us?”

Despite the drama, Davidson felt calm, death was no longer something he feared, he’d already gone through that, in a way it would be a welcome release if it came. “I don’t give a shit either way, you’re fucked and you know it.”

“We’ll see, just keep driving, and get going, they’re making up ground.”

Ian Davidson put his foot down and the car accelerated, he dodged through cars and headed directly into oncoming traffic.

“What the fuck’s he doing?” Chris Guthrie watched as Murphy’s car veered off the carriageway and sped into a line of cars which were moving off from a green light in the opposite direction. They’d just passed Shawfield dog track and were on a long stretch of straight road. Arbogast matched them for speed; he wasn’t going to give ground. In front the car veered back out into the path of the oncoming traffic and smashed into the side of a dumper truck. Orange sparks flew off the side of the car as metal scraped against metal.

“You’re going to kill us you crazy bastard, what are you doing?”

A deranged grin had spread across Davidson’s face; he just wanted the pain to end.
Maybe this is my time?
He couldn’t hear anything save for the beating of his own heart. He watched as Murphy’s hand reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, a last ditched effort to pull them back across to the other side, but they both knew there was nowhere left to go. Davidson pushed hard against the wheel and the car swung between the wheels of the truck. The last thing he heard was a thunderous roar.

Arbogast watched in horror as the car in front was crushed beneath the truck’s wheels. The vehicle was tossed into the path of traffic coming the other way, before being catapulted down the carriageway. Arbogast was transfixed, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the unfolding disaster; it all seemed to be taking place so slowly. He heard Chris shouting something about the brakes but by the time he thought to act it was already too late. Murphy’s car was spinning from end to end down the road. By the time it struck the bonnet, Arbogast wondered if anyone was going to miss him. In the background he heard Guthrie scream.

44

Charlie Spiers was running late. He’d been shifting earth at the Games Village as part of landscaping work and the load was long overdue. Weighing in at more than 40 tonnes the Bell B40D was built for power. The vast yellow dumper truck was rarely challenged on the open road, something that helped to clear the way on busy days like today.

Turning onto the A728 he didn’t have far to go. The load was being sold to developers at Oatlands, a couple of miles down the road. He was pushing the rig to its top speed of 33mph. He noticed the Ford Focus just after Shawfield dog track. It veered out onto the lane and was trying to find a way past.
This guy must be in a real hurry.
The lights had changed and a stream of cars was bearing down on the carriageway.
You’re gonna have to wait, pal.
But he didn’t. Instead, the Ford accelerated headlong into traffic. Looking down Charlie could see two men arguing in the front seat, the car was parallel to the rig. He thought they might still have time to pass if he slowed down but then the car swung right underneath him. His instinct was to accelerate. If he braked the car would be crushed, so he put his foot down and hoped for the best. There was no room for manoeuvre, with so many cars on the opposite carriageway the best he could hope for was minimum damage.

The crunch of impact made Charlie Spiers feel sick. In 23 years he’d never been involved in a crash.
I hope to God those guys are OK.
The nose of the Ford clipped off the two massive front wheels, with the fierce momentum pushing the car down as its rear end lifted from the tarmac. The noise was horrendous and Charlie struggled to keep the wheel as the impact violently shook the cab. Looking out of his rear view mirror he saw the car flip out from under the truck and watched as it spun head over heels towards the encroaching traffic before crashing back to earth. Charlie slammed on the brakes.

Outside on the road, there was silence. Dozens of cars had screeched to a stop. Dazed drivers were starting to emerge to see what had happened. No-one spoke. The only sound was the Ford’s creaking back wheels, which were still spinning in mid air. Charlie walked slowly towards the car which had landed on top of another vehicle behind him. He hoped no-one had died, thought maybe he should have slowed down and let the guy past. There wasn’t much left of the Focus, it looked like it had been almost completely crushed at the front, although the back end was still recognisable.
There’s no way the men could have survived
.
In the car below, though, there might still be a chance
. The roll cage was more or less intact although the Lexus was still taking the strain of two tonnes on top of it. Charlie had left his mobile in the cab. Beside him a woman had appeared with her phone outstretched.

“Rather than recording the bloody crash maybe you could phone the bloody ambulance?” She looked annoyed, but she made the call, ashamed she hadn’t thought to do it herself.

Bob Ellway had been called to the new Police HQ. The alarm had been tripped and it was his turn to check it out.
It’s probably nothing.
There had been a few break-ins with people trying to steal copper piping but it was too early in the day for that.
It’s probably a tripped wire or something.
The traffic was terrible and Bob phoned into Security4U, “Listen, it’s going to take me a while to get round there. There’s been an accident and the road’s blocked off. I’m going to need to go round the long way but I can’t move just now, I’m stuck in traffic. If there’s anyone else you can send, feel free to pass the gig on, but they’ll need to go through town rather than from Junction 1A.”

Bob didn’t think it would matter much, but he was wrong.

Graeme Donald had counted three shots; he’d taken three bullets and was still alive. He laughed but it hurt him, every spluttered chuckle sent waves of pain coursing through his body.
I guess I’m not in shock any more. Must have been the alarm that woke me up, when are they going to turn it off? They must be on their way. I can’t feel my body. Why’s it so cold all of a sudden?
And what’s that? Is the floor moving?
The bright light streaming through the windows was making it hard to see much. Donald noticed a crack in one pane of glass and wondered how it had happened.
It must be late, it’s getting darker, time to sleep perhaps – I’m very tired.

His body wasn’t discovered for another two hours.

By the time the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service arrived at the scene of the crash it was clear there were survivors. The Ford Focus was lifted from the top of the Lexus by crane; both driver and passenger had been crushed in the crash and were pronounced dead at the scene. The impact of the accident had pushed down the front of the car and trapped the two men below. They were both unconscious but showing signs of life. While medics tried to stabilise them the effort to cut away the car took three hours. Eventually, Arbogast and Guthrie were removed and taken to Glasgow Royal Infirmary.

45

Rosalind Ying was worried. She had expected to hear back from Arbogast before now. They’d agreed to spring the trap on Donald and then wait to see what he did next. The last she had heard from John, he had been tailing him to the East End. But that was two hours ago.
Something’s wrong.

Although she had heard about an accident near to the M74 she hadn’t put two and two together until she saw the mobile phone footage on the BBC website. There had been a bad smash, a
car flipped by a lorry.
Glad I’m not involved in that one.
But then the shaky footage made her start. There were two people trapped in a second vehicle. She looked on, grimly fascinated as the Ford Focus appeared to have landed on top of what looked like a Lexus; it was difficult to tell through the ripped metal. But then something happened which made her skip a breath. The camera panned down to the ground to show the registration plate which had been ripped off and thrown about 15 feet from the car.

S0 PS11

It was a Police registration plate. Checking the log her fears were realised. It was Arbogast’s car. As she grabbed her jacket to leave for the scene her phone rang. She hesitated, nothing could be that important that it couldn’t wait. She walked to the door but then cursed herself and changed her mind.
What if it’s about the crash, it might be important.
The news she received wasn’t what she expected. They’d found Graeme Donald’s body.

“John Arbogast, if you’re not dead, I’m going to kill you myself.” Whatever it was that had happened, Rosalind Ying was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it.

The Forensics team arrived at the Dalmarnock Police HQ at around 12:30pm. The roads were gridlocked while the accident was cleared and it had taken them longer than normal to fight their way through the traffic. Dressed from head to toe in her white plastic overalls, Kath Finch was admitted to the building with a feeling of dread. What she saw didn’t make her feel any better.
There are some cases that you just get on with, some that stay with you, and others that you know are going to follow you around for years, the cases people would always ask about, and this is definitely one of those.

Graeme Donald’s body was found in the north eastern corner of the fourth floor. Ironically this would have been his office after Pitt Street closed down. He was wearing a dark blue pin striped suit and a stone coloured raincoat. She could see there was one bloodied hole in his coat which looked close to his heart. But he was swamped in his own blood. His body had been brought into focus by a thick red pool of blood which had seeped into his jacket, turning it a pinkish red, while the blood in his hair was already starting to matt. Kath noticed he had cut himself shaving, probably the last of his worries.

“Is he dead?” Linda Gold already knew the answer but she couldn’t believe someone would have killed their top cop.

Kath gave her a break, she felt the same way, “About as dead as they come, Linda.” Lifting back the raincoat she could see another two entry wounds, “Jacket must have closed over him when he fell. It’s a hell of a way to go.” Kath knew what the autopsy results would say, what she couldn’t tell is what had happened. She had never really liked the guy, he was arrogant and rude. But he was one of their own and there would be questions to answer. Looking out across the Clyde she could see the recovery operation for the pile-up. Blue flashing lights and Police cordons had closed off the surrounding roads. She suspected the two incidents were linked. Her colleagues would be able to tell her more once they had cut the bodies from the wreckage. She just hoped Donald’s killer was already dead.

46

September 17
^th
– the day before the Referendum

Events moved quickly after it got out that Graeme Donald had been murdered. Sandy Stirrit knew it was the perfect story. ‘Scotland’s top cop killed in new Police headquarters’ pretty much wrote itself. The details had been vague. The first thing had been the crash. A colleague at the scene had phoned to say she thought his friend, John Arbogast, was one of the bodies pulled from the wreckage. The reporter said she thought he was dead, but she quickly corrected herself when she saw the man was being given oxygen.
Arbogast did say he was going to deal with Murphy, could this be related?
Then it emerged that Graeme Donald had been killed less than a mile away and Sandy began to piece together an idea of what might have happened. But he wouldn’t know for sure until he spoke to Arbogast and that didn’t look likely to happen anytime soon – if at all – because his friend was in a coma. He’d been told that he might not pull through.