The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) (20 page)

Greig pulls up outside the large house that Shug owns. A big double garage. It has two cars inside it, another two on the driveway. His network of garages creates the kind of credible front that
allows him to live a good life without questions being asked. Greig parks his Mondeo on the street and feels rather insignificant. He doesn’t know a lot about cars, but the two on the
driveway are both worth good money. One is a BMW M5, the other one he thinks is a TVR Tuscan. He knows Shug has a Ferrari California, but it’s obviously in the garage. The most expensive two
get the protection of the garage. He walks to the door and rings the bell.

The door is answered by one of Shug’s mates. There’s a bunch of them that hang around with him, and have done since they were at school. They were all petrol-heads together, and have
been together since they were teenagers. Now they all help in the business. A close-knit group. Close enough to treat like family, to trust like family. It’s what makes Shug’s operation
so strong. The chubby bearded fellow – the stereotype of a car nerd – nods for him to come in. There’s no conversation; the man knows this is business. Greig follows him into the
house. Expensive, nice place. The garage is Shug’s; the house is his wife’s. She too has expensive taste. Nice, kindly woman, apparently. Another boost for his image.

He’s led through to what’s been previously called Shug’s office. It’s a loose term. Maybe some work is done in there, but it looks a lot more like a large playroom to
Greig. He’s said that to Shug before, and got a loud laugh in reply. Shug’s full of laughs. Doesn’t take anything too seriously. He admits it. His kids have a playroom, so why
shouldn’t he?

‘Paul, come in, take a seat,’ Shug’s saying, on his feet and offering a hand. Always friendly. Always on first-name terms.

‘What’s up?’ Greig’s asking. Time to get down to business. No messing around; not here to be friends.

There are two other men in the room with Shug, plus the friend that led Greig in. Shug nods and two of them leave the room. Now it’s Greig facing Shug and his right-hand man. David Waters,
known to everyone as Fizzy. Another jolly fellow. Another with a tough core. Those two are sitting on a leather couch against one wall, with Greig in a swivel chair opposite. It feels relaxed, as
it’s supposed to. But he wouldn’t be there if they were relaxed. A criminal doesn’t invite a cop to his home if he’s feeling relaxed about life.

‘I wanted to ask you about a crime that happened yesterday sometime,’ Shug’s saying to him. ‘A friend of mine. I’m a wee bit upset about it.’

The Winter hit leaps immediately to the front of Greig’s mind, but he pushes it back. Implausible. Nothing to do with Shug. Must be something more innocuous. Something that Greig
isn’t aware of, flown under his radar. That happens a lot. What look like little crimes to a guy like Greig feel like something big to a guy like Shug.

‘Lewis Winter was shot dead in his house,’ Shug’s saying, and Greig is struggling to hide his surprise. ‘Looks like a professional job. What do you know of it?’
It’s asked with a tone filled with innocence. A friend asking about a friend. Asking a cop that he doesn’t think has anything to do with it.

How much does Shug know? Why does he care? Does he know that Greig was first on the scene? Might do, if he has another cop on his books. What does that matter? Why should he care a damn? Is Shug
trying to muscle in on getting a share of the Winter estate? No. No way. That ain’t Shug. He doesn’t push his luck. Not ever. He doesn’t muscle in on areas that don’t
concern him. Never been involved in a crime beyond the car ring. Something to do with Zara Cope? Nah, not that, either. He’s a loyal husband, everyone knows that. Gives a wide berth to all
those cheap temptations. So what?

‘I didn’t know you knew Lewis Winter,’ Greig’s saying to him. It’s the only way – go straight for an answer. Normally he wouldn’t, but he has a deal
with Cope and he doesn’t want it falling apart because of Shug. He’s asking awkward questions only because there’s money in it for him.

‘I knew him,’ Shug is saying. Not happy to be asked, but not surprised. ‘Wouldn’t say I knew him well, but I knew him a wee bit. Heard he got hit by a pro. I’m
concerned about it. I feel like I need a wee bit more detail on the subject.’

Greig’s nodding along. Fair enough. You know a guy, he gets hit, you ask a few questions. But you don’t send everyone but your right-hand man out of the room. You don’t drag a
cop round to your house at the first opportunity.

‘He was hit by a pro,’ Greig’s saying, ‘no doubt about that. Textbook. Very well done. I doubt they’ll catch the guys who did it. Guy leading the investigation is
DI Fisher. Good copper,’ he says grudgingly. ‘If there’s no clue to find, though, you don’t catch the guy.’

Shug is nodding. He doesn’t know what sort of facial expression he should have. He doesn’t know what Greig would expect of him. He goes for poker-face. Give nothing away.

‘You said guys? There was more than one?’

Greig’s nodding. ‘Two-man job. One to keep watch on Winter’s girlfriend, the other to do the killing.’

It’s turning into a curiously nervous conversation. Each man seems to be trying to hide much from the other. They both know it.

‘Do you know much about the case?’ Shug is asking him. ‘I’d like as much detail as I can get.’

Greig’s nodding, playing along. Still unsure what Shug’s motives are. ‘I know Winter and his girl were out clubbing. They came home. Winter was pissed out of his skull. She
dumps him upstairs, goes back down. Two guys kick the door in. They don’t say anything, they’re well covered up. One goes upstairs and shoots him. He was passed out, they say.
Wouldn’t have seen it coming. Certainly didn’t put up a fight.’

The last question. The one that matters most. ‘So, do they have any idea who might have done it? Do they know what it was about?’

Greig’s shrugging his shoulders. A little petulance in response to what feels like a stupid question. ‘Drugs, obviously. Winter was a dealer. Sooner or later he was going to upset
the wrong person. That’s how it goes in that business. You’re always playing with fire. We’re not aware of any other reason that someone might want him dead.’ He’s
pausing. ‘Are you?’

Shug’s shaking his head. ‘No, no. I suppose that’s what it probably was.’

Greig’s making his way back down the path to his car. Not concerned with looking at the cars in the driveway any more. Concerned with the man who owns them. Why the hell is Shug Francis
interested in the death of Lewis Winter? It shouldn’t matter. Out of his sphere. Not his problem. But he’s making it his problem. You start asking questions about a dead guy, and people
start to think you’re somehow involved. Shug knows that, Greig’s thinking as he gets into his car. He knows that by asking questions he’s getting involved in something serious.
Something that goes beyond his comfort zone. Greig’s driving along the street and a worrying thought is settling in his mind. Shug is involved. Somehow he’s involved in the death of a
dealer. Either he had him killed, or Winter was killed because of him.

Who do you go to? You can’t do it all by yourself. You have two bags of drugs that are worth some money, but you must get rid of them. You have to find a buyer quickly,
before someone catches you out. The money you put in a bank. You set up a new account. You don’t hold onto it, though, that’s the worst-case scenario. You can’t be found with
unexplainable money. So you need help. You need someone else to go to the bank and set up the account for you. You need someone else to take the drugs off your hands. The police won’t be far
away. They’ll stay close for some time. They’ll want to speak to you regularly, every time they turn up a new piece of evidence.

Sitting in a strange flat. Looking at a bleak future. Picking out the people who could help. Zara knows people. She hasn’t spent so long hanging around these men without knowing who
matters. She could go to someone near the top of the tree. A big mover. They could give her protection, but what does she have to offer them? Herself? No, she’s not offering, and she’s
realistic enough to know it wouldn’t be enough. They’re not going to risk getting involved in a murder case just for her. The drugs aren’t worth enough for them. The information
about Lewis and his contacts that she could give them wouldn’t be worth enough. It has to be someone more easily impressed.

There are many of them. The industry is full of the impressionable, the deluded and the easily led. It’s never hard to find someone willing to take a risk. A pretty girl, the chance of
making some money – there are plenty of men who would be suckered by that. Stewart? No, has to be someone inside the business. He took the drugs and cash, but that was then. He needed to get
out of the house to protect himself. Selfish. She was standing naked in front of him. Easily led. He’s a last resort. It would be easy if it were him. An innocent mind. A blank canvas.
Perhaps. Just perhaps.

Someone in the business. Someone who would know how to handle this. Two people spring to mind. Two people she knows would help. Each sends a shiver through her, but for different reasons. One is
Marty Jones. A pimp. A loan shark. A scumbag of the very lowest order. He’s sniffed around her a couple of times in the past. He’d have no problem handling the cash and the drugs.
He’s well connected. Does a lot of work for Peter Jamieson. The prospect of working with him is sickening. She knows what he would want in exchange. Maybe worse than that. Maybe worse than
just sleeping with him. He sends a lot of women into the world of prostitution. High-class parties for rich arseholes. Good women. Women who had no intention of falling into so dark a world. No,
the price would be much too high.

The other option is scarcely more appealing. Nate. Nate Colgan. The father of her child. The man with whom she spent years of her life. A man she loved, to a point. A man she feared in the
extreme. He never hit her. Not once. He just hit everyone else instead. A cold man of terrifying brutality. He seemed emotionally dead so much of the time they were together. Just glimmers that
there was a human heart in there. A practical man. He gets things done. That’s why so many people hire him. But they’re all afraid of him too. That’s why he never lasts anywhere.
Why no relationship he’s ever had has lasted. He fears himself. He never said it, he would never be that open, but she saw it in him. He fears what he might do, and what he might do to
someone he loves.

It has to be Nate. She knows that he’ll help. He won’t ask for anything in return. She’s given him a daughter he loves and visits every weekend. That buys her the help she
needs. She’s asked nothing of him until now.

Getting the shoebox. Out of the flat. Along the road to the bus stop at the corner. Taking the bus to the east end. Funny how people drift apart. For so long she had been afraid of splitting
with Nate. Afraid of his reaction. But he had known it was time. He accepted it. She had thought he would try to keep in touch, try to win her back. But no, that hadn’t happened, either. He
had let her go. Almost as if he didn’t much care any more.

Now she’s going to him for help. As she walks up the path to the door of his terraced house, in an ugly part of the city, she’s wondering if he’ll even want to help. Surely.
They have a connection. She’s looking at her watch. Nearly ten o’clock at night. It’s dark. There’s the familiar noise of kids shouting in the distance. He might not be at
home. There’s no doorbell that she can see, so she knocks. She waits. Nervous. Wishing she’d made more effort with her appearance. Would that matter? It’s not as though she has
anything he hasn’t seen before. What if he has a girlfriend? She has no idea. He might have a woman in there with him. She knocks on the door again. This is feeling like a bad idea. The idea
of manipulating Stewart to help suddenly appeals more. A harmless character. A decent human being. He likes her. He revelled in the occasion. He could be persuaded. A light comes on. The door
opens.

Nate’s standing there, looking back at her. That stern face. Handsome, but never inviting. His expression doesn’t change when he sees that it’s her. Is he happy to see her? Who
could guess from that look in his eye? Just looking at her, as if he’s judging her.

‘Hi, Nate, it’s me, Zara.’ She says it with a giggle. That’s nerves, not flirting. He’s not susceptible to flirts, and she knows it.

He nods his head. ‘You’d better come in,’ he says and steps aside. It’s funny, he looks the same as ever, but he sounds older. He’ll be thirty-five now. He always
had the blunt, dark and slightly lined look of a man in his early forties. A man of the world. A man who knows things worth knowing. His voice is a little gruffer now. More strained.

Into the house. Into the living room. Zara stops. Toys on the floor. A doll’s house with little animals in it. A little stable with plastic horses. She looks back at Nate as he follows her
into the room.

‘I’ve just put her to bed,’ he’s saying without concern. It all seems easy to him, but it scares Zara. Would her daughter even recognize her? She doesn’t want to
find out. ‘I’ve got her for the weekend. Your parents are on holiday. Lake District. Back on Monday.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Zara’s saying hurriedly, letting him know that she’s not here to see the child.

‘I didn’t imagine that you did,’ he says, and she spots that familiar edge to his tone.

He’s a very intelligent man. Reads books in his spare time. She always thought him an intellectual. Speaks very well for a man of his background too. All that adds to the sense of
intimidation that he provides. He nods to a chair, an instruction to sit. He does the same.

‘I heard about Winter,’ he’s saying. He’s keeping his voice down, doesn’t want his little girl woken for no good reason.

‘Word travels fast round here,’ she’s saying with a sigh.

‘It does.’ He says nothing else. He’s putting all the pressure on her. He has an idea of why she might be here, but he doesn’t see why he should make it easy for her. Let
her explain things. Let her do the hard work.