The guilty parties, p.11
The Guilty Parties, page 11
‘Clarissa, stop.’
She halted almost instantly and then turned slowly.
‘Don’t do this,’ he said, approaching her. ‘Don’t. This is not a good course of action. You can’t do this. This is not you. Not the way we do things. This is . . .’
‘Seoras, the way we’ve done things, it hasn’t worked. We investigated them. They cut Patterson’s throat. Remember? I was there. I had to hold on to him. He bled all over me. Nearly killed your Jane. They’ve shot Angus. Murdered again. They’re going to murder more. They didn’t need to kill Patterson, didn’t need to try it. We didn’t bat an eyelid. Patterson, Jane, Angus. I’m doing it for them and you. Look what they’ve done to you.’
‘But I’m still an officer. I’m still a DCI. I’m still holding it together.’
‘Who are you kidding?’ fumed Clarissa.
‘I passed it to Hope. I passed it to her.’
‘What is she going to do, and who’s she going to do it with? You’re running out of people. How long until Cunningham gets taken out? How long until Hope? These people need stopped.’
‘You’re not some sort of thundering vigilante,’ said Macleod, struggling to keep his voice down. ‘We’re police officers. We do our duty. You and I, we follow the law. The law is everything. If we don’t have the law, we have nothing.’
‘I was happy,’ said Clarissa. ‘I was working the art scene. People there, they’re thieves. They might rough the odd person up, but you brought me into a world of nutters, psychos. How many bodies do I need to see? How can you keep going?
‘Last time, they covered them with dog faeces. This time, they hang them up. They kill them in front of everyone. They kill people who don’t kneel fast enough. I’m sick of it, Seoras. I’m sick of it. We picked them up afterwards, but this time, they came after my friends. This time, they’re destroying you. They’re destroying Ross, Angus, and Jane, and they destroyed Patterson.’
Macleod put his hand forward onto her shoulder. ‘You don’t think I get it? You don’t think I get the pain? I don’t know if she’s going to survive the night, but it was important enough to come to you, because this will destroy you.’
‘They did that when they cut Patterson’s neck, when I had to sit there amongst the blood and keep him alive. They destroyed me then.’
‘No,’ said Macleod. ‘You’re a police officer.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Clarissa. ‘I’m a friend. Now I know where the masks were brought from. I can get at these people, but I can’t wait for procedures and . . .’
‘You just intimidated him. You just . . .’
‘Well, I don’t want you to know what I did, but I’m good with it,’ said Clarissa. ‘Just let me be. Go to Jane, make sure she’s fine. Make sure she heals up.’
‘But you’re still a police officer. You still believe in it. You know what we have to do and how we have to do it.’
‘No, Seoras. I stepped away, remember? I’m not an officer anymore, but I’ll sort it. I’ll get you what you need. Take care.’
She turned away and strolled down the street into the little green sports car without even looking back and tore off through the night. Macleod dropped to his knees. What do I do? he thought. It’s all falling apart around me. What do I do?
Chapter 15
Ross looked at the stack of papers in front of him, cutouts of crosswords, some recent. He was up to date with most things, but Angus being shot had knocked him for six. Normally, he was methodical: sit down, look at what he had to do, plan out how he was doing it, then work his way steadily through. He didn’t need some moment of inspiration—he just needed to be dogged.
But now he found when he stared at certain pieces of paper or some sort of puzzle, he drifted. He went to Angus sitting in his hospital bed, back to when Angus was shot with his child somewhere in the house behind him. At first, he’d felt angry at the protection unit. They hadn’t stopped the shooter. Yet, they’d taken a real battering and got back up to knock off the shooter. They’d done just enough so that the bullet ripped through Angus’s shoulder and not through his heart. Logically, he should thank them, but logic didn’t always cut it when emotions were this raw.
He blamed himself for being chased, for blowing his cover. He blamed himself for being a detective, for not taking the warning more seriously. It wasn’t just Angus, either. Jane was fighting for her life. He remembered Macleod’s face on hearing the news, seeing him at the hospital when Ross had left him to come back and look after Daniel.
Macleod was hollow. That’s the only way he could think to describe him. The chief inspector was always a focused man, quiet, not a lot of mirth, but very determined. He looked rudderless suddenly. Ross had seen him through a lot of things, had been there with him when bad things had happened, but this was worse than normal. This was as bad as it had got.
The wee one was sleeping, and Ross was finally going to get a bit of time to work his way through some of the crosswords. He wouldn’t have been bothered, but Macleod had asked Ross. Really, he deserved the time to sort his family out, but Macleod had asked. And if Macleod could ask when he was sitting awaiting news about his partner’s potential fight for life, then Ross could make the effort. If Hope had asked, well, that would’ve been different.
Ross had fielded a phone call from Clarissa.
‘Als,’ she’d said. Even now she couldn’t call him by his proper name. ‘Are you okay? Do you need anything, Als?’
All that Ross needed was an occasional babysitter while he went up to see Angus, and he was thinking he was going to take Daniel with him, anyway. If he was looking at a potential babysitter, Clarissa would not be one of those people. She wouldn’t have had the patience for it.
But she’d sounded different. She’d sounded more than grumpy. Angry, truly angry. It was a voice that gave Ross concern.
Ross looked down at the crossword from the Oban paper and filled in the last of the clues. Messages were probably still being passed. In fact, he knew they would be, but the coding must have been slightly different because on this one, it made no sense. Not the old method he’d been using. The cipher was different.
Ross looked at the crossword and tried to bring himself back to the moment. He sought his happy place, that place where he just stared and letters moved, patterns emerged. Slowly, he took a breath. He closed his eyes and then slowly opened them, letting them wander across the letters.
They picked out pieces here and there, moving them round and then saw if they sat well. Usually, they didn’t. Usually, there was a load of nonsense, but sometimes it worked for him. He opened the eyes, letting them drift. He saw the word hotel spelled out.
Okay, so we’re five along this time, and we’re coming down and across. Ross wrote a quick note of the cipher he thought he was using. Now he followed it, Hotel. Bradshaw’s. That was a relatively new building on the edge of Inverness. He scanned and saw the word Inverness. Who is it? Who is it? he thought.
Ross worked backwards through the puzzle, seeing where the first letters were coming from now. Jones. Jones, who was Jones? He typed Jones into Google. Then he typed Money, Finance.
Jones Pensions was a pensions company, or was it more of a hedge fund? Ross wasn’t sure, but it certainly looked like something. He clicked to their website. There was a company meeting, a getting together. They were bringing all the staff together.
‘Oh, hell,’ said Ross. He continued to work through and found the date. Today? Today! He reached for the phone.
‘This is Macleod. What’s the matter?’
The boss must have been sleeping, Ross thought. He sounded tired. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘Yes, you did. I was up part of the night, Alan. I was . . .’
‘How is she?’
‘Just the same. Just the same.’
‘Look, I’ve been going through crosswords like you’ve asked. I’ve got a match. Today. Jones Pensions. The company is at Bradshaw’s Hotel for a conference. Do you want me to call Hope as well?’
‘Hope’s headed off to Oban,’ said Macleod. ‘Taken Cunningham with her. No, I’ll go. I’ll get this.’
‘I can get the constables to go, get the Desk Sergeant to . . .’
‘No. No, I’ll go,’ said Macleod.
‘I’ll come if you need me.’
‘You’ve got the wee one. You’ve got no cover. Stay at home. No, it’s fine. It’s fine, Ross. Good work though. Good work. I’ll get on it.’
* * *
Macleod hauled himself up off the plastic seating in the hospital. He swung to his feet. How long had he been asleep? Maybe four, five hours?
He tore off down the stairs, picking up his mobile phone again and calling the Desk Sergeant. He asked for help to send as many cars as possible out towards Bradshaw’s Hotel. This wasn’t about catching people in the act. This was about protection, safety, and clearing that hotel.
Macleod made it out to the car park and then realised, once again, he didn’t have his car. Should he run over to the station, grab it from there? Instead, he hailed a taxi.
‘The Bradshaw’s Hotel,’ he said. ‘Fast as you can.’ He pulled his warrant card out. ‘We need to get there as fast as you can.’
The taxi left the hospital, and as it went out onto the road, it was suddenly engulfed by other police cars racing past it, sirens blaring. The drive was less than ten minutes. When the taxi driver pulled up, Macleod could see several police cars already there, constables rushing in towards the hotel.
Macleod climbed out, threw the driver some notes, and marched over towards the hotel. It was a reasonably minor affair, quite small for a conference venue, but that didn’t matter. Ross had done the numbers, and they had ended up there. Macleod entered the hotel. He saw two police officers heavily engaged with the receptionist. He strolled over towards them.
‘What are we doing? Clear it. Clear everything. No risks.’
‘Morning, sir. I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.’
‘What do you mean not necessary?’ asked Macleod. ‘I said clear the place.’
‘You also said there was a conference on, there’s not.’
‘Jones Pension Company,’ said Macleod. ‘Here at Bradshaw’s Hotel. It said here today.’
‘No,’ said the receptionist. ‘You’re six months early.’ Macleod froze. ‘They booked for six months’ time. Sorry, but I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s nothing happening here today,’ said the receptionist.
Macleod stopped for a moment. He turned and walked to the door and looked out at the countryside beyond him. What were these people at? he thought. They sent a message out through the Oban paper. Are they just checking? Are they just checking to see what . . . He grabbed his phone.
‘This is Hope.’
‘Hope, it’s Seoras. David Moore, find him now. Find him now because I think he’s been compromised.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hope.
‘Ross found a message in the Oban letter, sent me over to Bradshaw’s Hotel to cover a meeting of the Jones Pensions Company. It’s not happening today. It’s happening in six months. They’re checking and I’ve just turned up with police cars. They’ll know he’s been compromised. Whatever he’s doing is compromised. You know what they’ll do.’
‘On it, Seoras, on it.’
* * *
Susan Cunningham looked over at Hope. The woman had answered the phone quickly, and then her face had become deeply agitated.
‘David Moore’s cover’s been blown,’ said Hope. ‘We need to find him. We need to find him quick.’
‘Well, we don’t know what he works at,’ said Susan.
‘We go to his address. We need to go to his address.’
The two women took off in the car, arriving at the address for David Moore, which was a small house near an industrial estate. It looked pretty run down. Hope arrived, banging loudly on the door.
‘This is the police. We believe your life’s in danger, Mr. Moore. Open up. Open up.’ She continued banging on it until a neighbour appeared over a small fence between the houses.
‘Did you say you’re the police?’ It was an old woman. ‘Because you’ll not find him here. He goes out for his walk. Wanders down to the piers. He likes to go down, see where the ferry runs across, walk down by the RNLI station. Got the big ferries coming in too. That’s where he’ll be, down at Oban pier.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hope, and turned, telling Susan, ‘Do not hold back on the speed to get there.’
They raced through the traffic, which wasn’t that busy. They arrived at the pier, stopped the car, and walked through an opening to get onto the different piers. Hope could see someone at the far end of one and several people approaching him. The first man was wearing a jacket and looked like he was out for a walk. As for the others, Hope could see grey habits.
‘There, Susan, there. Come on.’
She took off with Cunningham in her wake. Hope approached the end of the pier towards who she thought was David Moore being attacked by three men. The men had masks on, and when Hope ran up behind them, she drove a fist into the back of one. There was a cry of pain before the second one turned to face her.
Cunningham jumped on the third, but he was strong and knocked her off. Hope had her attacker down to the ground and was about to handcuff him when she felt a blow to the back of the head. She stumbled towards the ground but managed to roll away. Hope stood up and took another attacker head on, driving her knee up into his midriff, spinning him round, and then throwing him to the ground.
She kicked out at the second one approaching her and dived on the first, placing handcuffs on him. He was face down, and Hope only just stood back up before she was attacked again. She put up a blocking hand but took a blow to the face and then another couple to her midriff. She was pushed backwards and clattered into Cunningham. Together, the two of them fell to the floor and received a couple of kicks.
Hope stood up at the edge of the pier boards. She spun and grabbed Cunningham’s attacker, throwing him behind her where he tumbled into the man that had gone to the ground. The two men stumbled over each other, then one produced a knife racing at Hope with it. He slashed forward as she stepped to one side, grabbed his wrist, and snapped it hard. He cried out in pain, but the other man kicked her, causing her to drop slightly.
‘Come on, we need to get the hell out of here.’
She saw them run to their other colleague, who was driving himself back up onto his feet, even though he was still handcuffed from behind.
‘Get him. Don’t let them go,’ Hope cried out to Cunningham. Then something else caught her eye. David Moore had stood up. He didn’t look relieved. Instead, he walked calmly and jumped off the pier into the water.
‘Susan, back, get back here. He’s just gone in.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘He’s just thrown himself into the water. Get the Coastguard. Get the authorities. I’m going in after him.’
Susan Cunningham stood in the moment of shock. Over her shoulder, three men in masks were running in front of her. Her boss was diving off the pier into the cold water of the harbour. She picked up her phone, and dialled 999. As she relayed the details and the help she required, part of her mind was trying to work out why David Moore would suddenly jump into the water. As she did so, she wandered over to the edge of the pier and saw a redhead coming up to look at her.
‘Can’t see him, diving for him.’
Hope disappeared back under the surface. Cunningham stood and watched because there seemed so little else she could do.
Chapter 16
Ross trundled upstairs in his house and placed his wee one into the small bed. It had done Angus good to see him. Both of them. It had done Ross good, too. Angus was awake. He was talking. He was okay. His worst problem was he was bothered by the policeman on the door of the hospital room. Macleod had asked for one to be put there just in case somebody came back to finish the job.
Macleod hadn’t been there. He’d taken off after Ross had passed on the information. He hadn’t returned during Ross’s visit. Ross wandered back down the stairs of the house, made his way into the kitchen and put on a coffee. He watched as the filter machine dripped what looked like dark and muddy brown liquid into a small flask. It was insulated, and the coffee in it would stay warm for the next four or five hours.
Angus had bought it. Previously, Ross always had a normal filter machine with the glass jug at the bottom, but the coffee was always cold after an hour. Angus had one now where the coffee could sit for three or four hours and still be piping hot when it came into your cup. It was just one of the many things around the house that Angus had done. That’s what he was good at, little touches. Ross always appreciated little touches.
He glanced down at the phone that he’d just brought out of his pocket. He saw a message from Macleod detailing everything he knew about a David Murray, a man who had been putting crosswords into one of the Oban papers. That was the one that Ross had picked up that day and then solved and passed to Macleod. Now, Macleod was asking him to look deeper into Murray.
Believing there was enough liquid in the collecting flask, Ross poured some into a cup. He put the vessel back underneath to collect the remaining liquid yet to drop. Once settled down in front of his computer, he typed in David Murray, and he typed in finance and then pensions. At first, most of the links didn’t seem to show anything, but one was linked through to a Twitter tweet, a run about financial irregularity with a small link from it.
Ross clicked through on the link and found a small article in a rather unknown paper. There was a photograph of David Murray. Ross sat and read the article. Murray’s father had pension money tucked away with his job, but the pension had collapsed. The article didn’t say why but blamed the number of parental firms.
Ross noted down the dates and the times, and any other information he could. Now he looked into public records and financial accounts. It wasn’t long before a red flag had been put up. He could see that the pension company had allowed pension money to be used to bolster other companies in the group, instead of paying out. There’d been a reprimand, but nothing had been proven. The company was still trading.
