Snapshot (39 page)

This time the increase in cold and damp came as no surprise: he was getting deeper and darker into Grahamston or the Central foundations or whatever it was. The low brick walls, the boiler supports, the rough ground, the arches, the running water and the years of dust. He was getting close.

He found himself looking out for the discarded Diet Coke bottle. That would be his landmark, the X that marked the spot. The narrow corridors had gone and it was all open and dark with unseen horizons. Close, very close. The bit he was in now looked familiar but then lots of it did in the dark. He switched the light from left to right, picking out what was around him as much as what was in front. There it was! Two empty litres of sugar-free soft drink with aspartame. He moved the torchlight to his left and sure enough it found the contours of the storage cupboard that he was looking for.

For a few seconds, he steeled himself and waited for a scurry of rats to appear under the door frame and charge towards him but thankfully none appeared. Just him and the dust and the Coke bottle and the body of Ryan McKendrick.

The obvious temptation was to look inside the cupboard but he doubted he was any more dead than he was the day before. Anyway, the rats had probably furthered their feast and he wasn’t too sure he wanted to see the effects. It could wait. He was down there to rig up the camera and get the fuck out. It was more than enough to be getting on with.

Where was the best place to position the camera? Facing the cupboard or from it? Or inside it? Suddenly he found himself wishing he’d brought more than one, if only for the certain heart attack it would give Lenny Lewis when he found they were gone. But one was all he had so the location was going to be crucial.

He scanned the room with the torch and spied a likely looking beam where he could get a decent angle towards the cupboard door and probably even inside if he got the angle right. There was a support column too that would hide the laptop and let it record the images without anyone seeing it. Yes, that would do the job.

The angle was going to be the vital bit and he lined up a spot at a height that he was sure would let it see straight through the door, assuming it was open. The further the camera was away from the object then the less light it would throw on the subject but that could always be improved later. The tech guys couldn’t turn water into wine but just about anything else was within their capabilities. His guess was that this was easily close enough that the camera would grab whoever came near that cupboard.

He took one last look towards the door, making sure that he’d positioned it just right when he was aware of something in his peripheral vision to his right. Nothing more than a flicker of shadow or movement and no time at all to react.

It meant the crash against the side of his head came as a surprise. In the split second that he was aware of his brains rattling against the inside of his skull and his senses spinning out of control, he had just about enough time to taste blood in his mouth before plunging into a pool of darkness that swallowed him up.

He was vaguely aware of a second thump as his head hit the floor but that was all happening to someone else as he drifted far away.

Someone was standing over him.

Consciousness came slowly, along with confusion and a crashing headache. Behind closed eyes, Winter sensed the mother of all hangovers pounding at him and it took a moment to remember that he hadn’t drunk ten pints of Guinness and half a bottle of Ardbeg. Instead there was the vague recollection of the dull blow to the back of his head and the sudden realization that he was still alive. And in trouble.

As he peeled back his eyelids, the world came back into focus an inch at a time, from blurred views of his own chest to fuzzy horizons. Shaking his head warily and screwing his eyes shut again in an effort to focus them, he became aware of someone beside him and another in front. He could also feel his hands behind him, tight together, tied together. The person next to him was lying motionless. Still and bloody and smelling bad. Ryan McKendrick. Winter was inside the storage cupboard.

He lifted his head slowly, seeing his own feet bound together with cabling, then someone else’s legs standing there, then hands, hands holding a rifle pointed at him, a chest, shoulders, face. Expressionless, cold, looking for shock on his face and disappointed when he didn’t see any.

‘You don’t look surprised to see me,’ he said quietly.

Winter just shrugged.

‘Was it me you came looking for, Tony?’

He sounded anxious, more nervous than a man with a gun needed to be.

‘I came to find the killer.’

‘Well, you found him.’

He motioned with his head towards McKendrick’s body.

‘Aye?’ Winter asked him.

‘Aye,’ he answered. ‘I know that you found out about his brother. Can’t blame him for wanting revenge really. Can you?’

‘Probably not. I never had a brother, wouldn’t really know but I guess you’d want some pay back.’

‘Pay back?’ The man’s eyebrows shot up scornfully. ‘Revenge, that’s what you’d want. Fucking justice. I’ve got a brother, ten years younger than me. Anyone did that to him I’d be after them. Can’t blame him at all.’

‘Did something happen to your brother?’

He lashed out a boot, catching Winter hard on the ankle, making him recoil with the pain.

‘Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, you prick. Nothing happened to my brother. What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You take a couple of photographs and you think you are a cop? Is that it? Always wanted to be one of us?’

‘No. I told you. I just came to find the killer.’

‘But why? What the fuck has it got to do with a wanker like you?’

Colin Monteith was getting less anxious and more angry. Winter realized that probably wasn’t good.

‘Too many people have been killed. And shot. I thought I knew where to find the guy that was doing it.’

‘Shot? Your bum chum Addison. Is that it? That long streak of pish had it coming for years. It’s only a wonder that no one tried to kill him before now. And how the fuck can you say that too many have been killed. Eh? Too many drug dealers and scumbags are dead? Halle-fucking-lujah. It’s barely a fucking start.’

Monteith’s eyes were wide now, almost bulging.

‘Too many?’ he continued ranting. ‘Well, seeing as you’ve never been a cop. Too many my arse. Too many of these bastards have got away with it for too long. Killing people with that shit that they peddle, getting minted and we’ve been able to do fuck all. Don’t greet for those cunts, Winter. They don’t deserve it.’

‘So you think it’s okay what McKendrick did?’

‘He should get a fucking medal. I’ve spent years cleaning up the mess left by bastards like Quinn and Caldwell. Couldn’t lay a fucking glove on them even though we all know what they do. They bring drugs into Glasgow, we can’t touch them. They sell the shit, we can’t touch them. They have people killed, we can’t touch them. They launder money, run protection rackets, break legs, bribe cops, we can’t touch them. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach.’

Winter was suddenly reminded again of Addison’s lecture about only asking questions that you know the answer to.

‘So why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t the police do something before McKendrick started killing?’

Monteith laughed derisorily.

‘You think it’s that easy? You stupid sod. We can do nothing. The law’s there to protect these bastards and stop us doing our job. They’ve got better lawyers than we have. More expensive lawyers. Vermin. And even without them, too many cops are just too scared to do anything about it. They’ve got families and are scared shitless that the bampots will come after them. It’s a small city and it’s awfy easy to find out where they live.’

A picture of Rachel flooded Winter’s mind and he tensed his wrists, causing the ties to bite into them.

‘Not everyone can be too scared,’ he said. ‘You’re not scared are you, Monteith?’

A tight grin stretched across the cop’s face, followed by another vicious kick to Winter’s ankle.

‘Don’t taunt me. You’re in no position. No, I’m not scared. But for every cop that’s got the bollocks to do something about it, there’s another one in his way that’s deep in the pockets of scumbags like Quinn and Caldwell and Riddle. It makes me fucking mad. I’ve never taken so much as a penny but there’s cunts who have.’

He levelled Winter with his stare. ‘Like your pal Addison.’

‘Addy isn’t dirty.’

Monteith laughed again.

‘How do you know that? What the fuck do you know? Addison’s name and phone number was in Sturrock’s mobile. In his contacts folder. How do you explain that? That cow McConachie, she was on the take too.’

‘I know Addy enough to know he wouldn’t.’

‘Bollocks. You know nothing. Snap your clever little photographs and fuck off home and think you’re part of it all. You’re not. You’re just an annoying wanker that gets in the way of cops trying to do their job. Sturrock had your pal’s number right there in his phone and now I’ve got his number. I’ve seen it with my own fucking eyes.’

He stopped, realizing he’d said too much.

‘With your own eyes?’ Winter asked. ‘Sturrock’s phone? The cops don’t have that. They only have Addison’s. How did you see it?’

Monteith bit his lip and spun away from him, as if hiding from some unwelcome truth. He came back full circle, staring him down angrily and directing his rifle at Winter’s head, lifting the barrel up and down a couple of times as if making his mind up. He held his breath. He clenched his teeth.

Monteith must have made a decision because he pointed the rifle straight between Winter’s eyes then spun on his heels again and left the cupboard, the door swinging closed behind him. The silence that he left behind washed over Winter, leaving him in a cold sweat, breathing hard.

He sat still, waiting for Monteith to come back, his ears straining for any sound or suggestion of what he was doing. There was nothing beyond dripping and running water, the distant rumble of a train and the pounding in his chest. That was the loudest of them all, compounded by the blood thumping in his ears.

What the fuck did he think he was doing? Danny had tried to warn him off doing anything stupid, Rachel too by the sound of it, but he was just too pig-headed to listen. He was supposed to be behind the camera. The observer. See the city through a lens. That had been the idea.

Winter tested the ties on the cabling that held his wrists. There was a bit of movement but nothing too encouraging. He was stuck there, waiting. Monteith could do whatever he wanted.

The door burst open and the cop stormed through, the rifle still in his hands but – Winter breathed again – it was pointed at the floor.

‘Well done, fuckwit,’ Monteith scowled at him. ‘I wasn’t sure how I was going to let you get out of here but now I can’t do it. What the fuck are you doing down here, you stupid bastard?’

Nothing to lose now, Winter thought.

‘Looking for you.’

The cop stared at him.

‘I came looking for you, Monteith.’

He just continued to stare.

‘What happened to him?’ Winter asked with a nod to McKendrick.

Monteith looked from him to the body and back again, wavering, deliberating.

‘An accident,’ he said finally. ‘An accident.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Why the fuck should I?’ Monteith barked at him, suddenly furious. ‘Why the fuck should I tell you anything?’

‘Because I think you want to tell someone and there’s no one else here. You just said you can’t let me go so there’s nothing to stop you telling me.’

‘You always were a smart arse, Winter. You and that twat you palled about with. In fact you can thank him for this. If he hadn’t opened his big gob then I’d never have found McKendrick. At least not so quickly.’

Winter felt even more uneasy than he had up till then.

‘Not as smart as you think you are though, eh?’ Monteith taunted. ‘Didn’t know that, did you?’

Winter said nothing. ‘It was your pal that mentioned the bruise on your cheek. The one that you made up some half-arsed excuse about. He said that there was no way you’d slipped like you said you had. He said you’d been punched or more likely kicked in the face. I didn’t think too much about that on its own except that you probably had it coming.

‘But then I heard of a woman phoning to complain about a Sergeant Winton giving her son a hard time. They got hold of Eddie Winton over in London Road but he had no idea what they were talking about and anyway he was on a course the day this McCabe woman said. Everyone else thought nothing of it but I thought of you. Winton . . . Winter. Close enough and I didn’t like the smell. I thought maybe you were up to your eyes in it all.’

‘You went through my photographs.’

‘I sure did. Quite a collection of shite you’ve got there.’

Winter bristled and wanted to punch his lights out but that wasn’t going to happen.

‘All those pictures of car crashes and glassings and stabbings. What the fuck is that all about, eh? You get your kicks from all that blood?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Hit a nerve, have I? You are a sick bastard, Winter. And what the hell is it with those photos of people in the background, especially cops? You’ve no fucking right to be taking those. None whatsoever. You’re not fit to kiss their feet never mind photograph them when they are doing their job.’

He lifted the barrel of the rifle level with his head but this time Winter had no sense that he was going to use it. He was simmering but he wanted to shoot his mouth off, not the gun.

‘Yeah? Well I was doing my job, too. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Oh, I understand better than you think, sicko. I had a good look through everything you had stowed away there. You like it too much. All those close-ups of wounds, all that blood. You don’t need that much detail for court. That’s just for you, isn’t it?’

Winter’s stomach turned because he knew the answer was yes but he wasn’t admitting that to this psycho.

‘It’s my job, I told you. And you had no right going through it.’

‘No right?’ Monteith laughed wildly. ‘I am a police officer. I am investigating a series of crimes. I have the right to do whatever the fuck I want, look wherever the fuck I want. And I found even more than I could have hoped for. Didn’t I?’