Riven (22 page)

‘So, that’s the update. Oh, one more thing: I’m thinking of bringing in some outside help,’ Stewart smiled. ‘I want our department to be seen to be accessing every resource available to us.’

‘You don’t think we’re working fast enough?’ said Ross. ‘It’s been all of five minutes since we found the body.’

‘This is
extra
help, Ross. It’s no reflection on the team. It’s doable, something we can access immediately and more importantly be seen to be doing.’

‘By HQ,’ muttered Ross.

‘By HQ,’ Stewart repeated.

‘And we can afford to bring in outside agencies?’ Ross didn’t sound convinced. ‘I thought overtime was cut. Budget, cutbacks, all that sort of thing. How come we can afford this?’

‘Special budget, special rates.’ Stewart sounded irritated. ‘Trust me.’

‘And who’s the special rates guy?’

‘He’s a friend who used to be on the force. Does a bit of pro bono now and again.’

Ross groaned. ‘An old timer.’

‘No, he isn’t retired – he chose to leave the force. He wanted to explore other avenues. Believe me, he’s a professional. Remember the Blackwell case?’

Wheeler did. ‘He got ten years, but it should’ve been double.’

‘There wouldn’t have been a conviction at all if it hadn’t been for Pete Newton.’

‘But bringing in an outsider?’ Ross asked. ‘Won’t it damage morale on the team? All this “work as a team” stuff, and now we haven’t got there fast enough, so you bring in an outsider.’

‘Don’t be so bloody sensitive Ross, Pete Newton’s not just
anyone.
I mean he’s a bloody good professional and by Christ, we need professionals around here.’

Ross huffed and said nothing.

Wheeler thought for a moment, before the penny dropped. ‘He’s a psychologist, a criminal profiler, isn’t he?’

‘Aren’t they called BIAs now?’ said Ross.

‘Right,’ she waited.

‘Behavioural Investigative Advisers.’

‘I’m glad we’ve got that settled.’ Wheeler looked at Stewart. ‘Whatever they’re called, I’m right, am I not?’

Stewart snorted, ‘We need to use every resource we have. Do you understand what I’ve been saying to you both?’

She nodded.

Stewart had Grim’s article spread out before him and he jabbed his finger at the paper. ‘“Despite the horrific murder, Police have no new leads . . .”’

‘With respect, I don’t think the team want a BIA from outside to tell them how to do their job.’

‘With all due respect, Wheeler, have you anything new on Gilmore’s murder?’

She studied the floor.

‘Are there any more suspects you’ve still to interview?’

‘No.’

‘And other than a partial fingerprint which doesn’t seem to match anything on our database, and two anonymous callers, what do we have?’

Wheeler and Ross were both silent.

‘Well then, we’ve nothing to lose by giving Pete a try,’ Stewart looked at her, held eye contact, smiled, ‘have we?’

She walked to the door, pushing past Ross.

‘Give him a chance, he’s a good guy,’ Stewart called, reaching for the phone. A minute later he spoke into the receiver, ‘Hi Pete. Yeah, I’ve spoken with the team and they’re all very enthusiastic about a meet-up – they jumped at the chance of liaising with a psychologist.’ Stewart waited until the laughter at the other end of the line subsided before continuing, ‘Seriously Pete, we could do with the input; how quickly can you get here?’ He paused, listened to his friend reply and then nodded, ‘Great, looking forward to it. See you tomorrow.’

Stewart stood and crossed to the window. Outside it was dark; the lights of the houses shone in the distance and he could see the twinkle of Christmas lights. The orange street lights threaded their way down the London Road, casting a weak light into the darkness. Stewart crossed to his chair and pulled on his jacket. On the way out he hit the light switch before closing the door.

Lizzie Coughlin opened the door, and a blast of freezing air hit her. ‘Shit but it’s cold,’ she complained, ushering her friend Steffy inside before double-locking the door and putting the snib on. ‘That bastard’s not getting back here. Fucker tried to kill me.’ Her voice rasped. She fingered the scarf that she’d tied around her swollen neck.

Steffy held up a bottle. ‘I got us a wee vodka, hen. Thought you might need cheering up. He’s a fucking waste of space that Mason.’

Lizzie eyed the bottle of vodka. ‘Whit’s this? Thought you’d nothing till next Wednesday? Did Kenny gie you child support at last?’

Lizzie snorted.

‘Or wee Sammy or Vinnie?’

Steffy snorted, ‘You’re joking, right? Hell’ll freeze over before I see a penny from them fuckers. Naw,’ she patted the bottle, ‘I got this wee baby from the Co-op. Some poor wee auld soul fainted and they had to call an ambulance. So I just nipped in and helped myself. Wee drink to toast you being a single wummin again. We can go out on the razzle together next week when your neck’s better. Be like old times.’

Lizzie was confused. ‘Dae they no have CCTV in the Co-op but?’

‘Smashed – that wee sod that tried tae ram-raid the place last week, he smashed it. Wee nutter, did us all a favour.’

Lizzie got two glasses and watched her friend pour vodka to the top of both. ‘Cheers hen, but who’s watching the weans?’

‘Angelica’s at my da’s and Tamzyn and Nathaniel are at my ma’s.’

‘Where’s the baby?’

‘She’s with wee Sharlene next door. That lassie’s a wee pet. An’ she’s great with the kids.’

‘Should mibbe have her own then.’

‘Nae chance. I hope she’s always there tae help wi mine. It’s no likely though is it, Lizzie, that she’ll have her own. You’ve seen her, right?’

‘Aye well, she could dae more with herself, I suppose,’ Lizzie suggested tactfully.

‘And I repeat, Lizzie, you’ve seen her, right?’

Lizzie relented. ‘Right enough, she’s a pot-ugly wee cow. Anyhow, she’s better off without men. I should know.’

‘Is it no awfully quiet in here?’ Steffy looked around. ‘Where’s the wee bird? Did you not have its cage in here?’

‘The cage is in the shed in the garden.’ Lizzie’s eyes filled up.

‘How’s that then, hen?’

‘That bastardin’ shite killed her.’

‘Mason killed wee Duchess?’

Lizzie nodded.

‘How come?’

‘’Cause he’s an evil bastard.’

‘That much you knew already, but why did he kill the wee yellow thing?’

‘Harmless wee pet, he just opened the door and grabbed her. Broke her neck.’

Steffy shuddered.

Lizzie sniffed, ‘She never stood a chance against the fucker.’

‘Naw, she’d have nae chance,’ Steffy repeated.

Warmed by the vodka, Lizzie took off her scarf. Her neck was swollen and the purple bruises had begun to ripen. ‘He threatened tae kill me.’

‘And after you waiting for him to get out of the jail?’ Steffy tut-tutted. ‘That cunt’s nae manners.’

‘And, I spoke wi Sonny down at the Smuggler’s. Mason’s been in there flashing the cash and chatting up the twins.’

Steffy shuddered. ‘Filthy, manky bitches – hope he catches something painful.’ She took a long draw from her glass. ‘Got any fags?’

Lizzie threw her the pack. ‘Two-timing me with them slags.’

‘But the cash, though, where’d he get it?’

Lizzie took a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply, ‘Fuck knows, it’s no like they hand them a load of cash when they get out of the Bar-L. He’s got a plan. Thinks he’s coming intae big money.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘No chance he’d tell me. Said I wis history. Something happened inside the Bar-L. He’s got together with somebody. Now he thinks he’s going intae business with Stevie Tenant and he’s come over all Mr young, free and fucking single.’

‘He’s a shite.’ Steffy puffed furiously on her cigarette. ‘You’re better off without him.’

‘I want to get him done, Steffy. It’s him or me. I don’t feel safe with him having it in for me. Wee Duchess was a warning. Next time he’ll come after me.’

‘But how? And mind you remember what he was in the jail for – you need tae be careful, hen.’

‘Aye, I know what he did, but he’s got this coming.’

‘Right enough, but how?’ Steffy repeated as she scratched thoughtfully at a scab on her arm, watched the blood pool, spat on her fingers and wiped it. ‘You should go down tae the Royal, go intae Accident and Emergency. Go now, show them the bruises. Then call the polis. Get him done for assault and battery.’

‘You mad, Steffy? That the vodka talking? Whit can they dae? It’s a domestic – they’d no get involved. Gie him a warning, mibbe.’ The vodka had hit home and Lizzie started to cry, ‘I miss my wee Duchess.’

Steffy reached across and patted her friend’s arm. ‘Aye hen, I know but there’s nae point in going to the polis about Duchess, it’s only a wee bird. They’d piss themselves laughing. And even though they hate his guts, they can’t really arrest him for killing it.’

Lizzie pointed to her friend’s arm. ‘Gonnae no get blood on my settee, Steffy, it’s no even paid for yet.’

‘Sorry hen.’ Steffy licked the blood from her fingers and then sucked at the scab.

Lizzie sipped her drink.

Steffy studied the scab. ‘Clean enough now?’

‘Aye, fine hen, but I want revenge for him doing this tae me and for killing ma wee bird.’

‘You’re your father’s daughter, right enough Lizzie.’

‘Mason forgets I know where the bodies are buried.’

‘Whit bodies?’ Steffy’s voice was too high.

‘No literally, ya numpty. It’s when you know a lot about somebody. Stuff that can get them into trouble.’

‘So, how’s that work then?’

‘Speak to somebody.’

‘Who?’

Lizzie blew a whorl of smoke into the air and watched it float. ‘Andy Doyle. If Mason’s going into business with wee Stevie Tenant, then it’s got tae be drugs.’

‘Thought you had tae marry intae the Tenant clan?’

‘Stevie must be expanding, going out on his own. My guess is the two of them are going up against Andy Doyle.’

Steffy coughed up some of her vodka, ‘Christ, Lizzie. Andy Doyle.’

‘Aye, I know,’ Lizzie agreed.

Steffy stubbed out her cigarette and reached for the bottle. ‘Let me just fill us up again hen – if you’re getting involved with Doyle, I think you’re going to need it.’

Outside the storm had returned and a thick curtain of rain fell from the dark sky. A flash of light accompanied a siren as an ambulance sped into the night, illuminating the road for an instant before plunging it back into semi-darkness.

Mason stood in the shadows behind The Fern Hotel. There was a smoking shelter and a bin for butts but most of the smokers had tossed them onto the concrete. Stella had driven around the back of the hotel and parked the four-by-four. In the distance, the sound of a police siren faded into the night. Stella approached him. He bared his teeth in a smile. ‘Stella doll, good of you to come. Sorry we cannae meet in public.’

She waited.

He tried to make conversation, his voice friendly. ‘Did you not used to be called Maggie?’

Stella’s voice was sour. ‘What’s it to you?’

His tone changed as he tapped the video. ‘Stella, Stella, star. That why you changed it, you wanted tae be a star?’

Stella chewed gum, stared at Mason through narrowed eyes, waited.

‘Well, I suppose you have become a kind of a star, Stella,’ he paused. ‘You mind of Davey Tenant? Good-looking boy. Ended up doing time in the Bar-L?’

Stella waited.

‘That’s where we met,’ Mason continued. ‘He’s got a nickname in the jail – they call him Pretty-Boy. It wisnae very pleasant, if you get my drift, so Pretty-Boy needed a bit of protection. See, he needed to pay me to keep the worst of the vultures away from him. A boy that good-looking gets passed around. My protection cost, though. And Pretty-Boy didnae have much. Only one thing that he thought might be worth something. And it was on the outside. Any ideas what your ex-boyfriend had, Stella?’

Silence.

‘A wee home-made video. But I can get it copied onto a DVD. Anyway, I think the correct term for it is sex tape. You and him had a wee fling. Pretty-Boy Davey was specific about the dates.’

She waited.

‘See and the dates mean that you were two-timing Andy Doyle. Can’t think of him being pleased about that.’ Mason’s eyes shone. ‘What do you think, Stella-star?’

Her jaw moved rhythmically, gum being pushed around her mouth. ‘It was a long while ago. I was a different person then.’

Mason held out his hands palms up. ‘Fair enough, then Doyle won’t be too bothered that the lassie he’s shacked up with has the starring role in a wee home-made porn movie. See if this gets out, every gangster in Glasgow will be laughing at Doyle. How do you think he’ll take to that? Don’t know about you, Stella hen, but I’m guessing, not very well.’

Silence. Stella chewed, stared at Mason unblinking. Ground the heel of her shoe into the ground.

Mason continued. ‘The stuff ye get up to in that wee film, I wis dead impressed.’

‘Davey’s a bastard for recording us.’

Mason shrugged.

Stella chewed.

Mason kept his voice pleasant. ‘You on the stage now an all?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Mibbe it’ll help them see you in a new way. For different roles, I mean. More exotic.’ He cast a sly glance at her breasts, then held her gaze. ‘Ye understand whit I’m getting at?’

‘I’m already an actress, Mason.’ The rhythmic chewing, the steel in her voice, the hate in her eyes.

‘You did a good job of looking like you were enjoying it.’

‘Everyone’s had sex. It’s not a big shock.’ Stella’s voice held. Almost.

‘Aye, mibbe not, but you’re Doyle’s property now. And Davey Tenant’s wee brother Stevie is up against Doyle for territory. Think it’s getting a bit complicated? You having sex with the enemy?’

‘It’s not like Andy thought he was getting a virgin.’

‘Aye but what happens in private is one thing – see, this wee video nasty makes it public. See, it’ll look like you’re soiled goods. Kind of second-hand.’

Stella looked hard at Mason. ‘So, big shot, what is it you want?’

He reached across and stroked her arm. She flinched. ‘Don’t be like that, Stella doll, let’s keep this friendly.’