Crow Bait (23 page)

‘He said…’ she began and he waited. She tried again. ‘He said… that I was to give you a message.’

He felt something stab at him then. His father did this just so she could give him a message. Cat and mouse. Playing a game. Pain and fear. Davie closed his eyes and sucked in a halting breath, trying to block out the rising sound in his ears and the growing pressure on his chest. Danny McCall had hurt this young woman simply because she had been with Davie once. And he did it because he could.

‘Davie!’

He lowered his head once more, straining to catch her words for she was fighting to remain conscious. Her voice was hoarse, the words slurred but he managed to make them out. ‘He said this is only the start…’

Her eyelids fluttered and her head slumped as she sank into a dark pit Davie knew from his own childhood. There was no pain there, he knew, but there were memories which would never die. The sound of rushing feet in the hallway made him look up as two uniformed police officers filled the doorway. They looked at the girl on the floor, saw Davie cradling her head and then one of them said, ‘Right, you bastard, what the fuck have you done?’

25

DAVIE HAD BEEN
in rooms like this before. It was small, poorly lit and smelled of despair and fear and rage. A uniformed cop leaned against the wall, absently picking at a hangnail on his right thumb. He looked bored and Davie could understand why. Other suspects might have engaged him in conversation, talked about the football, the telly, the weather even, but Davie was not like other suspects. Such conversations were not for him even when he did not have other things on his mind.

An anonymous call had sent the two uniforms to Vari’s flat. The male caller had mentioned something about a girl crying out but that could have simply been something on the telly. As their report would later state in the formal manner of police officers everywhere, on arrival at the locus they discovered the main door to the flat lying open. Upon entering they found in the living room a white male with the badly beaten body of a white female. The male was identified as David McCall and was duly cautioned. He made no reply and was conveyed to London Road Police Station for further inquiry. Medical assistance was summoned for the injured female, subsequently identified as the tenant of the flat, Varinia Simmonds, known as Vari, who was conveyed to Glasgow Royal Infirmary. She had suffered severe contusions to the face, head and body and early indications were that she had also been sexually assaulted.

At London Road Davie was charged and held for questioning. They asked him if he had a solicitor and he dredged up Gordon Spencer’s name. A look of distaste creased the face of the sergeant at the uniformed bar, but he said nothing as he wrote the lawyer’s name down. Davie knew the cop had dismissed Spencer as a ‘ned lawyer’, but it was the only name he could come up with. A tall, thin Detective Constable with the look of a man who found the whole thing utterly dreary made a half-hearted stab at questioning Davie in the interview room but received nothing in return. Davie had the impression that the
DC
was merely going through the motions, waiting for someone else to arrive. That mystery was solved half an hour later when Frank Donovan came into the interview room, jerked his head to the uniform to leave them alone, then sat down opposite Davie at the table. Even though this was London Road and Donovan was a Baird Street cop, Davie assumed there was some kind of flag against his name that Donovan was to be alerted if he was ever lifted. He was alone, he didn’t start the tape recorder that was bolted to the wall beside them and he wasn’t taking notes, so Davie guessed this was an informal chat.

‘So what happened?’ Donovan asked, his brown eyes boring into Davie’s face. Davie said nothing. He was good at that. ‘Davie, I can’t help you if you don’t help me. Now, what happened?’

Davie stared back. ‘You think I did that to her?’

Donovan held Davie’s gaze, then shook his head. ‘No. But you know who did. And you need to tell me.’

Davie held his silence again, his mind working. Audrey trusted this guy, which meant something, but he was still a cop.

Donovan sighed. ‘Davie, look… this is a mess. We’ve got three bodies and they all lead back to you somehow. Now there’s this lassie…’

‘How is she?’

‘She’s in a bad way, but she’ll pull through.’

Davie nodded, relief allowing him to relax slightly. But only slightly. Then he realised what Donovan had said. ‘Three bodies?’

Donovan sat back in the plastic seat and drummed his fingers on the tabletop, clearly trying to decide how much to say. Still watching Davie carefully, he said, ‘That girl beaten to death in a flat over in Springburn? The scene was identical to the night your mother was murdered.’

So Donovan had pieced that together, well done. Davie tried not to give anything away but something must have guttered in his eyes for the detective leaned forward again. ‘Davie, what do you know? For Christ’s sake, man, people are dying out there and you know something about it. You want to get out of here? Then tell me.’

Davie kept his eyes on Donovan’s face as he struggled with himself. He knew he should tell him everything but that ingrained suspicion of the law proved too strong. He held his silence. He saw anger rise in Donovan’s eyes.

‘Okay,’ said the detective, ‘that’s the way you want to play it, fine. Here’s what we’ve got. We’ve got a young girl almost battered to death, we’ve got her blood on your clothes, we’ve got a neighbour who saw a man answering your description entering the close earlier, we’ve got your history of violence. It’s looking very tight, son. We’ll hold you over for court on Monday – don’t even think about Spencer getting you out on bail, cos that just isn’t going to happen. And in the meantime, the guy who actually did this, and the one who I think killed that girl in Springburn and killed Lomas and Harris and maybe others, will still be out there and God knows who’s going to be next.’

Davie tensed. ‘Others?’

‘Maybe, down south. Three other women, all the same as your mother and Virginia McTaggart.’

Donovan glared across the table at him. Davie knew he was waiting for him to speak but he was too shocked to say anything. Another three women. And his father responsible. The cop sighed, mistaking Davie’s silence for lack of co-operation, and stood up. ‘You people,’ he said, shaking his head, then stepped towards the door.

He had his hand on the door handle when Davie said softly, ‘It’s my father…’

*  *  *

Davie retrieved the envelope with the photographs of the murder scene from where they were wedged between two of Joe’s old record albums. Donovan flicked through them, his face clouding. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this before?’ Davie didn’t answer and Donovan nodded, knowing the answer. ‘And what was it that Vari said?’

‘That it was just the beginning.’

Donovan frowned. ‘The beginning of what?’ Davie shook his head. Donovan stared at the photographs thoughtfully. ‘What’s he trying to do? He kills poor Virginia here, he kills Lomas, he kills Harris, all presumably to get at you, or implicate you, or whatever the hell is going through his head. If I’m right, he killed those other women too. But why?’

Davie had been thinking a lot about that but had no answers. His father was not sane, he knew that for certain now, but if Sammy was right, he had some aim in mind. However, at this stage, Davie was as much in the dark as Donovan.

‘So what now?’ Donovan wondered. ‘Where does he go from here?’

Davie had been wondering that, too.

26

‘DON’T LIKE THE
fuckin countryside.’

Rab stared through the window of the Range Rover, Bobby in the driving seat. They had driven through Girvan and then taken the hill road inland, following Liam’s directions. They had found a turn-off from the single track country road onto a bumpy track which led to a conifer plantation operated by the Forestry Commission. As promised, the gate into the forest was unlocked and they had bounced along for about ten minutes before they reached a clearing, where they parked up. It was late afternoon and already growing dark. Above them they could hear crows calling. Rab was looking at the spiky evergreens crowded around them in the gloom with mistrust.

‘Something about it just gives me the heeby-jeebies,’ he said. ‘Too many trees.’

Bobby looked surprised. ‘You’ve got trees in your garden at home, for Christ’s sake.’

Rab stared through the window at the darkness crowding around them. ‘These are different. These are wild…’

‘And what are yours? Housetrained? A tree’s a tree, big man.’

Rab grunted and Bobby grinned at the back of his head. ‘Dendrophobia,’ said Bobby, and Rab twisted his head away from the view outside to look at him. ‘Fear of trees,’ Bobby explained. ‘Read it in an article.’

‘Didn’t know the fuckin
Beano
had articles like that,’ said Rab.

‘It was a magazine that Connie gave me.
Cosmo
, I think.’

‘Oh, aye? And did you take the quiz on how big your man’s willie was, too?’

Bobby ignored him. ‘She thought it was interesting, all these phobias, and there’s names for them. Dendrophobia is the fear of trees, Geniophobia is a fear of forests. You’ve got both of them, Rab.’

‘Never said I was feart of them, just said I didn’t trust the countryside. There’s something unsavoury about it.’

‘I think it’s because you’re scared of the trees, that’s my opinion.’

‘Don’t want your fuckin opinion.’

‘Allodoxophobia – that’s a fear of opinions.’

‘Is there a word for the fear of me smashin my fist into your teeth?’

‘Just trying to educate you, big man, no need to get shirty.’ Bobby smiled broadly. They had been friends for a long time and only he could get away with talking to him like that. Davie, too, if he was the type who said much. Not that Bobby would have done it if any of the guys were around, but Rab had vetoed the idea of bringing extra muscle. Liam Mulvey was a cheeky wee scroat, he’d said, and the day he couldn’t handle the likes of him was the day he’d hang his coat up for good. They fell silent again for a moment. Rab was back to looking out the window again when Bobby said, ‘Arachibutyrophobia.’

Rab turned back again and said, ‘Bet you can’t say that again.’

Bobby inclined his head, conceding that point. ‘No even going to try. Proud as punch I managed to say it once.’

‘So what’s it a fear of?’

‘Peanut butter sticking to the top of your mouth.’

Rab began to laugh. ‘Who the fuck would be scared of peanut butter sticking to your mouth?’

Bobby laughed too. ‘Beats me, but somebody must be, otherwise why have a word for it?’

Rab was intrigued now so he and Bobby discussed other phobias while they waited. They both fell silent when they saw headlights bouncing along the track towards them.

‘Showtime,’ said Bobby.

As they climbed out of the Range Rover, the crows above them spun around the air like hungry buzzards. Rab looked up at them and said, ‘You know what they call a lot of crows? A murder of crows. Or a slaughter.’ He caught Bobby’s look and said, ‘What? I can read, too, you know.’

‘Wasn’t thinking that, big man,’ said Bobby.

‘What were you thinking then?’

‘That it was a fucking cheerful thought…’

*  *  *

Luca was used to seeing visions of Joe in the café, but when a real-life ghost stepped through the door from Duke Street, he felt what he could only describe as cold-blooded dread. Luca had come to terms with his fear of Davie McCall and what he might do, but the man before him had truly unsettled him.

‘Hello, Luca,’ said Danny McCall. ‘Long time, no see, eh?’

Luca had his hand on the pick axe handle he kept under the counter. It was highly unlikely anyone would try anything, not with him, but you never knew. So he kept the heavy club nearby just in case. He didn’t keep anything more lethal, for Jack Bannatyne’s visits had made him ultra cautious. All the same, the sight of Danny McCall after all these years made him wish he had an automatic down there.

Danny McCall’s instincts remained as keen as ever, for he held his hands up in a placating manner and said, ‘Down, boy – no need for unpleasantness here.’

Old nerves tensed in a way Luca had not felt for a long time. He cast his eyes at the customers packed into the booths then at Enrico in the kitchen and said quietly, ‘What are you, nuts? Coming back here?’

Danny smiled. ‘No place like home, Luca. Be it ever so humble.’

Luca lowered his voice even further. ‘You’re still hot, Danny, you must know that.’

Danny made a dismissive motion with his hands. ‘What’s life without risk? Joe used to say that, remember? Anything worth doing was worth taking a chance.’

Luca’s hand was still wrapped round the pick axe handle. If McCall took as much as one more step towards him, he would come out swinging like Ty Cobb. ‘Why’d you come back, Danny?’

‘Been back for a while, off and on.’

‘Where’d you go? Back then, after…’ Luca’s voice trailed away, for some reason not wishing to put into words what Danny McCall had done.

McCall smiled and leaned closer conspiratorially, keeping his voice low. ‘You mean after I murdered my wife? It’s okay, Luca, you can say it. I know what I did.’