Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) (19 page)

I shake my head;
already my heart is thumping. ‘Heard what?’

‘The
polis have raided Marcus’s house. Got him out o’ bed in the middle o’ the night.
One o’ my drivers was taking hame a fare, saw it happen. Saw them kick the door
in, officers storming upstairs and round the back o’ the property. Bollock
naked he was, like he’d been dragged oot of his bed.’

‘What,
ye mate saw him?’

‘In
all his fuckin’ glory, his missus beside him, covered in nothin’ but a sheet.’

Ken’s
disgust matched mine: ‘I know, ye’d think they’d let them get dressed before
they drag them outside but humiliation’s all part of it, Son. The shame o’ the
neighbours seeing them like that, their kids too probably.’

‘Christ,’
I put my head in my hands; I barely dare ask the next question: ‘What

happened
next?’

‘Paul,
the driver I wiz tellin’ ye aboot, he dropped off his fare and on his way back
pulled over outside the property. Marcus was dressed at this point, or at least
had
some
clothes on, and was lying on the floor cuffed, some cop sitting
on his legs. They’d brought trackers dogs but they mustn’t have been able to
find anything ‘cos they looked bored shitless.’

‘Aw
Jesus Ken, I need to get over there, can you take me?’

‘I
thought’d ye’d say that,’ he says, ‘I’m already downstairs.’

Nothing
could have prepared me for the state the house is in. The front garden has been
dug up; mounds of soil litter the driveway mixed with decorative gravel. There
are several large craters with nothing but mud and dirty water at their base,
as though an indecisive person has tried installing a pond.

‘They
do it to make a point,’ Ken mutters.

I
don’t reply, I’m still taking it all in. There is a light on behind every
window in the house. Every curtain and blind is open revealing squint pictures
and empty shelves, a curtain rail has been pulled from its fixings in one of
the upstairs rooms, it leans in across the window like a wooden pole vault. I climb
out of the car.

‘De
ye want me to wait?’ Ken asks and this time I nod. I can feel his eyes on me as
I move towards the house; the place is eerily silent save for the click of his
lighter followed by his first long drag on a cigarette. I’m grateful to Ken for
staying, I’ve no idea how Marcus will react to this, or how he’ll react to me
turning up uninvited once more. The front door hangs open and I step inside
timidly.

The
police have done a good job of gutting the place. They’ve pulled back carpets and
lifted floorboards which they’ve placed back down unevenly. A leather L-shaped
settee has been cut open along the back, its yellow stuffing spews out like a
boil that’s just burst. A giant plasma TV has had its moulded plastic back
prised off then reattached badly. Wires hang out at the side.

The
place is uninhabitable.

There’s
no sign of Gemma. Ken’s driver had said she’d driven off with the kids, the wee
one screaming because one of the officers had ripped the head off his teddy
bear. After a fruitless search and a failure to rile him they’d had to untie
Marcus, one of them muttering ‘Let that be a lesson to ye,’ like they’d done
something worthwhile.

I
find him walking unsteadily from room to room like a prospective buyer. Only
very drunk, and very angry. I follow him into the open plan lounge where he
weaves his way towards the settee, planting his feet wide apart to maintain
some sort of sitting position. He looks me up and down as though sickened by
the sight of me and blinks slowly.

He
may be pissed, but he’s extremely lucid.

‘Jesus
Marcus, can I help?’ I ask meekly.

‘Are
you havin’ a laugh?’ He asks, waving his arms around the room; I feel like a
dog having his nose rubbed in his shit.

‘I’m
so sorry.’ I say honestly.

‘I
didn’t need to help you.’ He says, reverting to his normal accent, after all
there’s no one else to hear it.

‘I
could have said no, or strung you along then handed you over to the filth or
better still, I should have fuckin’ wiped you out the day you came snivelling
on my FUCKIN’ DOORSTEP.’

‘You
were being watched?’ I gasp.

‘Are
you for real?’ he splutters, ‘Of course I was being watched! It’s an
occupational hazard, but one I can deal with, NORMALLY, as long as my private
life and business world don’t collide.’

‘But
how-’

‘-How
WHAT?’ he snaps

‘How
did they know-?’

‘They
saw you here.’

It
makes no sense. ‘I….I was careful,’ I stammer, ‘made sure no one was following
us.’

‘They
didn’t need to follow you. My home was under fuckin’ surveillance!’

Shit
.
There’d been stuff on the news about the National Crime Agency, some politician
spouting on about targeting gangs shifting drugs around Edinburgh, dedicated
teams watching them around the clock but I hadn’t paid it any mind. I mean I
had my own bloody drama to deal with. I thought I’d been so careful when I came
to Marcus’s home unannounced, was so focussed on the cops looking for me I
hadn’t stopped to think that they’re always after Marcus, biding their time.
Then I stroll up, a serial killer on the run, aw, Jesus, I handed Marcus to
them on a plate.

‘They
were searching for the guns.’ I said flatly.

‘Yup.
Reckon I’m planning on starting a turf war.’

‘If
I’d had any idea this would happen Marcus…’ My voice trails away as I

recall
Brad saying something similar to me about the robbery at the factory. If only
he’d known the shit it would cause…even earlier than that, cornered in the cell
with MacIntyre: If only I’d known what would happen when I told him I’d seen
him with Daz…

If
only.

‘You
did this.’ Marcus’s voice is low, steady, loaded with accusation. He looks like
he wants to kill me but there’s a part of him that isn’t in the room at all. I
look around at his decimated home, the laughter and love and aeroplane sounds
noticeable by their absence.

I
hang my head. ‘I know.’

I
have to fix this. I can’t go about destroying everything I touch. ‘Marcus,’ I
say suddenly, ‘I can help you.’

He
looks almost sorry for me, ‘No,’ he says, ‘really, you fuckin’ can’t.’

‘Marcus
seriously, please, let’s think about this just for a minute.’

He
looks at me stupefied. ‘What is there to think about?’

‘This
is all connected, can’t ye see? Look, de ye mind if I sit down?’

Marcus
shrugs, glancing round the decimated room. ‘Be my guest.’

His
phone beeps and he glances at the screen. My heart quickens. If that’s Devlin
and Barrington on their way I don’t have long. They’ll be hungry for revenge
and anyone close by will do.

‘This
is all connected-,’

‘-I
fuckin’
know
that,’ he glares.

‘Not
in the way you are thinking!’ I blurt, ‘Aye, I know I’m the common link between
everything that’s been happening but I’m not the only one.’

‘Meaning?’
Marcus’s eyes are like slits.

‘Meaning
the cop that’s after me.’

‘You
think he goes about settin’ the national agencies after
me
?’ Marcus
laughs, ‘He’s a plod!’

‘Right
enough,’ I agree, ‘but he can provide information to them. They’d listen to
him.’

‘What
information?’ Marcus still looks at me suspiciously, ‘Did you tell anyone what
you were doin’ for me?’

‘Nut.’
I say quickly, pushing Brad from my mind, after everything that’s happened I do
actually trust him. ‘But I didn’t have to tell anyone. All they needed was an
excuse to come round here tonight, do you agree?’

Marcus
shrugs, ‘Suppose.’

‘Well
think about it,’ I say stubbornly, ‘why now?’

‘OK!’
he grumbles irritably, ‘Make your point.’

‘When
I turned up here that day, if they’d any idea who I was at the time they’d have
called it in. Pickin’ me up would have been a result in any agency’s books, and
it could have been done discreetly. I could have been picked up while I was
standing on the doorstep – all they had to do was get a patrol car to
‘coincidentally’ pass by. It would’ve worked, I’d have been banged up and the
surveillance guys wouldn’t have had to show their hand.’

‘So?’

‘So
the National Crime Agency, or whatever they’re calling themselves didn’t know
who I was. Tonight’s raid has come on the back on local information.’

‘Does
it fuckin’ matter?’ Marcus snorts. ‘Do you think Gem’ll give a shit who was behind
this?’

He
has a point.

‘Just
bear with me.’ I plead. I’m trying to work it out myself as I speak so I’m not
much more confident than Marcus of where this will lead. ‘Remember I told ye
MacIntyre was in cahoots with a junkie?’

Marcus
nods.

‘That
same junkie has seen us drinking together in the VA a coupla’ times now,

and
I know for a fact he gets a premium rate off MacIntyre for any information
about me.’

A
shrug. ‘OK….’

‘So
MacIntyre works out I’m working for you again, remember he was the cop that was
behind the sting at the garage? The sting I took the rap for….’ I remind him.

Marcus
finally sees where I’m going. ‘So he works out I’m the one who helped you
disappear.’

It’s
my turn to nod. ‘He’ll hate that.’ I tell him, ‘He’ll want to teach you a lesson.
All he has to do is tell the NCA I got the gun that shot Malkie from
you
….’

‘I’ll
kill him.’ Marcus barks, ‘and the scuzzuie junkie.’

‘No!’
I object, reddening when Marcus glares at me.

‘At
least not yet.’ I say hastily, ‘I have to clear my name first, then I’ll deal
with them.’ As I say the words I know them to be true, MacIntyre’s done too
much for me to watch someone else bring him down. When the time comes, that
pleasure will be all mine.

‘I’ll
make him pay,’ I promise.

Marcus
glares back in reply.

‘And
you’re goin’ tae help me.’ I tell him.

It’s closing time
when I arrive at the bookies beside Tam’s café. I’m careful as I get out of
Ken’s cab to turn my face away so Tam doesn’t see me if he looks out through
the café window. I wanted to go see him but Ken talked me out of it; the more
people I speak to, he reminded me, the higher my chances of being picked up by
the cops. He’s right, I know that, but I hate the thought of someone thinking
I’m not only a scumbag, but a murdering one at that. It irks even more when I
see that the girl who had the job before me has been reinstated; I can see her
slouching about wearing my apron, moving between the tables half-heartedly
serving the diners. I don’t blame Tam, better the devil you know after all.

Inside,
the betting shop is every bit as grim as I remember. Hard up men in no hurry to
leave, as though returning home will catapult them back to the lives they were
trying so hard to get away from. I used to come in this place with Dad. He’d
ask Mum for a fiver, say he was taking me for an ice-cream then make me sit
under the counter out of the owner’s sight while he prayed for one of the
horses he’d bet on to come in.

‘Let’s
play Hide and Seek, Davy,’ he’d say, ‘See what number ye can count to before I find
ye.’

‘But
you already know where I am.’ I’d say, unimpressed, ‘Aye,’ he’d counter ‘but
I’ll no’ start looking for ye until after the horses have set off.’

Some
of the punters felt sorry for me curled up on the floor, gave me old sweets
they’d find in their pockets, fluff covered lozenges or brittle chewing gum and
I’d eat them gratefully, anything to stave off the boredom. The woman behind
the counter would slip me a mug of hot chocolate she’d made in the back, ‘But
only ‘cos the boss is oot, if he comes back and finds ye, I didnae know ye was
there.’

Daz’s
wife, Julie, stands at the counter jiggling her baby on her hips. She’s wearing
the same clothes she had on the other day, lank hair scraped back in a
ponytail. Her skin is blotchy like someone has slapped her with a nettle.

‘I
know he’s been in,’ she accuses the teller behind counter, ‘because he’s taken
the fuckin’ electric money.’

It’s
the most I’ve heard her say, her voice thick with anger she’s trying to keep at
bay. The child begins to whimper, the first sounds I’ve heard him make too. I
wiggle my fingers at him but he’s having none of it; he glares at me angrily
like I’m the cause of his mother’s angst.

The
manager comes through from the back room; face blank, glancing at his watch as
though he has a pressing appointment. He’s about the same height as me, with
white hair around his temples like a badger and heavy black brows practically
joined in the middle.

‘Can
I help?’ he asks smoothly, although less sincere words have never been uttered.
‘Jimmy,’ Julie begins, her tone implying the cavalry has arrived. ‘He’s taken
the money I need for the bairn, have ye seen him?’

Jimmy
lifts the counter top and moves over towards Julie and the baby, smiling as he
does so.

‘You
know this place is like the confessional, hen.’ He begins, hand placed firmly
into the curve of her back, moving her effortlessly towards the door as he
speaks quietly into her ear. ‘I canny comment on what goes on in here, nor
confirm or deny who’s been in.’ I can tell from the blank look she gives him
he’s lost her but then he pulls a wallet from his jacket pocket, unfolds a
twenty-pound note and places it in her palm, just as the child’s wails get
louder.

‘I’ll
lend ye this tae tide ye over.’ He says pleasantly, ‘I’ll take it oot o’ his
next winnings.’

‘Thank’s
Jimmy,’ Julie says as she shuffles through the door, already anticipating that
afternoon’s hit. Jimmy shakes his head. ‘Ye canny help some people.’ He says to
no-one in particular.

I
clear my throat.

‘Yes?’
the cashier behind the counter barks at me.

‘S’OK,’
I tell her, ‘I’m here to see him.’ I nod at Jimmy who, about to retreat into
the back room, turns to look at me. ‘Do I know ye?’ he asks suspiciously,
glancing at the cashier who smirks back at him.

‘No,
but you know a pal o’ mine,’ I say mysteriously, ‘told me to look you up.’

Jimmy’s
face falls as though he’s worn out all his happy muscles being nice to Julie
and a scrote shooting the breeze is a step too far.

‘What
is this?’ he sneers, ‘Long Lost fuckin’ Families? Get out, son.’ He nods his
head in the direction of the door as he heads toward the back office.

‘That’s
a shame,’ I say brightly, ‘only my pals out there said you’d be a lot more
hospitable.’

Jimmy
peers over the opaque glass to see Brad and Devlin waiting in all their
menacing glory. He pauses as though there really were options he could weigh
up, then swivels round till he’s eyeballing the cashier: ‘Fuck off,’ he tells
her stonily, waiting while she grabs her belongings and slams out of the door.
The shop is empty and Jimmy turns the sign on the door to closed.

‘OK,’
he says warily, ‘What’s all this aboot?’

‘I
want your CCTV tapes,’ I tell him, ‘going back about a month.’

Jimmy
studies me. ‘That it?’ he asks. Already I can sense his relief.

‘For
now.’ I tell him.

‘Come
through to my office then,’ he says all friendly, making the best of a bad
situation. We go through to a box room with a desk and chair against one wall
and a free standing safe against another. A small window with bars across it
lets in minimal light. A baseball bat is propped up in the corner of the room
and I make sure I stand between it and Jimmy in case things get a little
heated.Although small, there’s enough room on the desk for a calculator, a mug
with several brown rings in it, a pile of receipts on a spike and a TV monitor.
A photograph in a wooden frame sits on the furthest edge of the desk. A formal
family picture by the look of it, Jimmy and a woman with frizzy blond hair sit
either side of a fireplace, a girl and a boy placed between them, grinning like
models in a toothpaste ad.

‘I
thought your camera would be in the front of the shop,’ I observe, pointing to
the wall above the door where a small lens peeps out behind a metal grille.

‘All
the interesting stuff goes on in the back,’ Jimmy replies, ‘no fun watching
people lose their rent money.’

‘So
what do you use it for then?’

Jimmy
shrugs, ‘People forget the promises they make when they’re down on their luck.
It helps to keep a reminder of any agreements we come to. S’funny how they get
amnesia when they’re winning.’

Jimmy
glances at his watch again, then rubs his hands together as though his body
temperature has dropped.

‘Am
I keeping you?’ I ask.

‘Not
really,’ he says, studying me, ‘just, you know, I need to cash up before I can
go.’

‘Right
enough. Well,’ I reassure him, ‘this won’t take long.’

Jimmy
continues to stare at me. ‘I know who you are.’ He says slowly.

‘What?’

He
points to the newspaper in the waste paper bucket beneath his desk. ‘It disnae
matter to me,’ he says quickly, ‘I’ll no’ tell anyone.’

‘So
why tell me you know then?’ I ask irritably. All I want is the memory stick and
to be out of there.

‘I…I
just meant to say that you’ll get no trouble from me.’

‘Good.’

Jimmy
opens the desk drawer and pulls out one USB stick, then reaching behind his
computer monitor he pulls out the other. ‘We just rotate them,’ he says
sheepishly.

‘Fine.’
I snap. Asking him questions about MacIntyre is going to be risky now he knows
my identity. I’ll need to try a less direct approach.

‘Was
that Daz’s missus in here before?’

‘Aye,
soft cow.’

‘She
looks like a junkie.’

‘Aye,
she is.’

‘I
thought they were on the green stuff now?’

Jimmy
nods. ‘They are. But junkies have addictive personalities – I should know,’ he
laughs, ‘I take enough off Daz in here every week. They take whatever shit they
can lay their hands on.’

‘Where
does he get the money to keep a habit like that?’

‘I
dinnae know,’ Jimmy shrugs, but his face gives away the lie.

He
leans against his desk, he’s more at ease now we’re on safe ground; dissing a
smackhead and his slovenly wife. I stand by the door, all the better to make a
run for it should the police get wind of my whereabouts or Jimmy gets hold of
his bat.

‘Is
Daz pally with many of your punters?’

Jimmy
searches my face, ‘I really don’t think it’s-’

‘Forget
it!’ I snap, moving towards the desk to pick up the memory sticks. I need to do
something to make sure he stays onside otherwise two seconds out the door and
he’ll be on the phone to MacIntyre.

I
pull out my phone.

‘Just
one thing,’ I add; taking a leaf out of Devlin’s book I point it at the framed
photo of Jimmy’s happy family and press a button. I pause in the doorway,
holding the phone out to him so he can see their smiley faces on my screen.

‘Yeah?’
He whispers, the colour draining from his face.

‘No
one must know I’ve been here Jimmy, ye get that?’

‘I
do now.’ He says, all traces of his smile gone.

We
watch the CCTV footage crowded round a laptop Ken uses to do his invoicing
which he picked up from his place on the way back to the townhouse. ‘I didn’t
realise it would be boring,’ moans Brad, as we see Jimmy arrive every morning
with a coffee and a bacon roll, lunchtimes he’d pop out for half an hour and
return with a carry out from Greggs.

‘What
did ye expect?’ Ken asks, ‘A man’s got tae eat.’

‘Keep
fast forwarding,’ I instruct Brad, who insists on operating the controls.

‘I
am doing!’ Brad says impatiently, ‘All he does is eat and shit, hang on a
minute tho....’

‘What
is it?’ we all lean into the screen to see MacIntyre walk into Jimmy’s office.
He’s in uniform, his face is partially blocked by his hat which he leaves in
place and he angles the chair before sitting on it so his back is to the
camera. Even so there’s no mistaking him. ‘Thank fuck for that.’ Brad mutters
as Jimmy can be seen opening a drawer and lifting out an envelope which he
hands to the cop.

‘The
nets starting to close in on him, Davy.’ Ken says encouragingly and I nod my
head, too frightened to jinx the moment.

‘Fast
forward to a week from that date.’ Ken orders Brad. ‘His visits will be weekly,
I reckon.’

‘I
know that!’ Brad pouts, doing as he is told anyway and sure enough there is
MacIntyre paying another visit to Jimmy in his back room. We get to the end of
the memory stick so Brad inserts the second one into the laptop’s USB port and
begins to scroll through. Occasionally the odd punter is brought through to
Jimmy’s office by the cashier on the counter and they usually leave five
minutes later, their faces cheesing or tripping them depending on whether
Jimmy’s extended their credit or not. By the end of the second disk we have
enough evidence to show that MacIntyre’s visits are as regular as clockwork, each
time Jimmy handing him an envelope. Even though we don’t see what the envelopes
contain it’s hard to imagine what else it could be other than cash. Besides,
the look on Jimmy’s face as I left the bookies tells me I’ll have no problem
getting him to confirm this when I need him to.

Brad
and I leave the townhouse with Ken; Brad’s in the mood for getting off his face
and even though it’s the middle of the day I think we deserve it. Ken’s keen to
get home for some shut eye before his next shift so I chum Brad to the Tesco
Metro to buy whatever’s on offer. We emerge with a cheap bottle of rum and own
brand coke and already I’m anticipating the headache I’ll wake up with.

‘Davy,
wait.’ Brad says sharply.

‘Huh?’

He’s
pointing to a car parked across the road from us. There’s no driver; I look
back at him puzzled.

‘What
make is it?’ he asks.

I
glance at the distinctive design on the front grille. ‘An Audi.’ I reply.
Already I know what he’s thinking but I’m so determined not to let anything
spoil our result today he’s going to have to spell it out for me.

‘Didn’t
Ken think an Audi had been following him the other day?’ Brad reminds me.

I
nod unhappily. I’d seen one too but couldn’t bring myself to mention it.

‘It’s
parked opposite the hideout Davy; chances are it followed us here when Ken
brought us back.’

My
shoulders sag in disappointment. ‘Could be a coincidence.’ I say lamely.

The
Audi is an old S reg, black, seen better days by the look of it, the driver’s
door has several dents as though it’s been kicked several times.

‘S’a
cop’s car.’ Brad says confidently.

‘Aye,’
I nod, looking up and down the street to see if I can see its owner.

‘We
need to get out of here quickly,’ I add, grabbing him by the arm to steer him
across the road to our hideout but he pulls his arm away. ‘Dinnea lead them to
it, ye knobhead!’ he hisses, ‘we need to go in the opposite direction.’

He
has a point. ‘Probably need to split up too.’ I tell him. Brad saunters off in
the direction of the St James’ Centre, ‘I know a couple of the guys on
security,’ he says shaking the carrier bag containing the rum and coke, ‘I’ll
go and have a drink with ‘em.’

I
begin to walk towards Queen Street half-heartedly. ‘Davy!’ Brad calls out,
‘take it easy, OK?’

We
agree to meet back in the same spot in an hour, but instead of scarpering I
stay put, my curiosity getting the better of me. I walk over to an optician’s
shop facing out onto the road. It has a huge display window and I stand in the
doorway pretending to look at their frames, waiting to see who returns to claim
the Audi. I know I’m taking a risk, that someone could be watching my every
move, but why leave the car unattended? I look around to see if there are any
transit vans where a surveillance team could set up camp, then kick myself
–this street is full of hotels and wine bars, at any one time there’s a refit
going on as new owners come and go, the only vehicles along this stretch
are
transit vans, belonging to the shop fitters.