Fire in the Blood (21 page)

Chapter 43

As Jack entered the small café, which was crowded with people who were grabbing a bite to eat, before heading on to their evening classes at the City of Glasgow College, he spotted a young woman who was on her own. Sitting on a stool at the window counter, with a large black portfolio case lying at her feet.

‘Hi … Angela Jones?’

‘Yes,’ said the young woman, looking up warily.

‘I’m Jack Davidson. Look, thanks for agreeing to meet me at such short notice. I really appreciate it.’

‘My lecturer, Mags, said that you’re okay, sort of.’

‘That’s reassuring, I think,’ said Jack, smiling.

‘So, did my parents send you?’

‘Yes they did, Angela. They’ve been looking for you for quite a while. But you’ve done a pretty good job of dropping below the radar.’

‘I changed my name, that’s how pissed off I was with them. I’ve also moved around a lot over the last couple of years. You know, working lots of different jobs, usually for cash, so no records. Until I reached Glasgow last year and suddenly got the urge to start painting again. I don’t know why.’

‘Yeah, there must be something in the air, because they do say that Glasgow’s full of artists,’ said Jack, smiling again. ‘Although, they’re mostly piss artists. But seriously, my ex says that you’ve got real talent. It’s a great thing, a gift, being able to paint like that. You should stick in and see where it takes you.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to make a living at it. There’s loads of competition out there.’

‘I’m not an art critic, but I thought the two paintings that I saw were terrific, honestly.’

‘Look, I’m not going home, if that’s what you came to ask me. It would just lead to more endless arguments with my mother. She would start treating me like a child again and it totally does my head in. So that’s simply not negotiable, end of story.’

‘Did you know that your mother has cancer?’

‘Oh my God. No, I didn’t. So, how is she?’

‘I understand that she’s had treatment and it’s now in remission. So, fingers crossed.’

‘I didn’t know. I’m confused, I don’t know what to do,’ said Angela, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

‘Look, I’m sure if the clock was turned back, you would probably both do things differently, right? But all that’s in the past. I think it’s probably time to move on. What do you think?’

More tears fell, as she stared out through the misted café window and searched through her pockets for a paper handkerchief.

Touching the young woman gently on the arm, Jack said, ‘Look, your parents really care about you, Angela, and they’ve spent a small fortune trying to find you. So I think the least you can do is make one phone call. You don’t have to go home, that’s not the deal. They just want to hear that you’re doing okay, that’s all. Trust me, I guarantee you’ll feel better after you’ve done it. Go on, here, use my phone. Call your old mum and cheer her up.’

Jack rang the home number for Angela’s mother, then handed the young woman his phone and walked outside, leaving her to speak privately.

Chapter 44

Jack and Annie discussed their options and Jack argued that it was definitely time to try and bring matters to a head, by making himself the bait in a trap that he felt would be irresistible to Thomas Burke. He knew that it would come down to this, because it was always about him and Burke. The question was, who would be the last man standing after the dust settled? The plan was that Jack would act as bait, with Annie watching from a safe distance, ready to warn Jack and alert the police if Burke actually showed up.

Annie had activated the vehicle tracker on the Land Rover and then they drove around Glasgow city centre for a couple of hours, in the hope that Burke would still be monitoring the device. After the extended city tour they made their way out to Rossbank Park.

The previous evening Annie had spent half an hour online researching Glasgow’s public parks, using Google maps, in order to short list a number of suitable locations. Jack had then refined her selections, before finally settling on Rossbank.
From the pin sharp satellite image on Annie’s laptop, it ticked all the boxes, with a fairly large public car park, in an exposed location, surrounded by a semi-circular stand of mature trees. Access to the car park was by a narrow road, maybe sixty or seventy yards long, from the nearby main road. On the face of it, this spot appeared to be almost perfect for their purpose and, at least during daylight hours, was likely to be fairly quiet apart from dog walkers and the occasional jogger.

When they reached their destination, Annie stopped the Land Rover at the park entrance. As she was getting out Jack gave his partner a final warning about keeping her wits about her and then joked that, for the first time in a fortnight, he would now be able to listen to any music he wanted, without receiving dog’s abuse.

He then climbed into the driver’s seat and drove into the middle of the car park, where he turned around and parked facing back towards the entrance. This position gave him good three hundred and sixty degree vision and, with Annie on spotter duty, safely hidden in the trees, the trap was set. It was then just a matter of waiting.

Jack lit a cigarette and then reached behind him and pulled over into the front passenger seat a life-size blow-up doll, with big hair and bright red lips, which had been acquired during their drive around the city centre. This was Annie’s idea and the doll, which had been immediately christened Cheryl, was intended to look, at least from a distance, as if Annie and Jack were sitting together in the front seats.

As she got out of the Land Rover, Annie had teased him saying she was positive he had a large collection of similar blow-up dolls at home and had offered to lend him her puncture repair kit. ‘Just in case you get a bit carried away, like, when I leave you alone with old Cheryl. You know what’s she’s like. It says on the box that she’ll let you do absolutely
anything
if you pump her up and then put your tongue in her ear.’

Two hours later Jack was bored stiff. Cheryl hadn’t laughed at any of his jokes, so far, and his stomach was starting to rumble with hunger pangs. This at least did take his mind off the numbness affecting his buttocks, due to a chronic lack of padding in the seats of the old Land Rover. The only interest had been provided by a thirty-something woman who had driven up and parked two spaces away from the Landy. When she got out of her car, it became obvious that this dame was a serious runner. Lean and fit, she was dressed in a black skin tight Lycra running suit that left little to the imagination. Jack watched with increasing interest as she unselfconsciously began an exhaustive routine of stretches and bends, in the space between their two vehicles.

‘Excuse me, do you mind if I put my foot up on your back bumper for a minute?’ said the woman, pausing with hands on hips.

Momentarily confused, thinking that this was perhaps the current password of the local dogging fraternity, Jack slid open the passenger window and said, ‘Sorry?’

The woman then pointed to the rear of his vehicle and explained. ‘Your back bumper … it’s the absolutely perfect height for me to stretch my hamstrings.’

Jack nodded in agreement and, one finely honed athlete comparing notes with another, said casually, ‘Oh yeah, right, I use it for that myself all the time, but I’m out of action at the moment, unfortunately. I must have pulled something.’

With a twinkle in her eye, the woman replied, ‘Yes that can happen so easily, can’t it? If you don’t take the time to warm up properly.’

‘Anyway, help yourself, but please watch out, it’s really filthy back there,’ said Jack, concerned at the thick coating of mud and ordure, which was plastered over the rear of the vehicle.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t mind a bit of filth now and again,’ said the woman.

This just gets better and better, thought Jack, his imagination flipping into overdrive as he briefly considered stripping down to his vest and pants, for a wild romp through the woods, trailing in the wake of this vision in Lycra.

Then, having completed her hamstring stretches, the runner walked round to the front of the Land Rover and for the first time became aware of Jack’s companion, blow-up Cheryl, who was sitting staring vacantly through the windscreen. The woman smiled knowingly at Jack, before she winked and said, ‘I have a little St Christopher medal in the front of
my
car. But hey, why not? Any port in a storm, right?’

Jack blushed furiously and spluttered with embarrassment, ‘Look, it’s not what you think, Cheryl’s just …’

‘Just good friends? Yes, I know dear, of course she is. But do remember what I said before. Warm up properly first, in case you pull something
else
, okay?’

An hour later Jack was seriously considering pulling the plug on the car park stakeout, and calling Annie back to the Land Rover, but he decided to give it another fifteen minutes.

However, boredom quickly turned to concern, when Annie failed to send him an expected text message on time. He had been using the stop watch on his mobile phone to remind him when the next text was due. And she hadn’t missed the agreed ten minute cycle once in almost two hours.

His first thought was that maybe she was bored stiff, and probably just day dreaming. I mean who wouldn’t lose concentration after this length of time? Especially a rookie like Annie who was unused to this kind of work. But, although there had been no movement of pedestrians or vehicles in or out of the car park, for at least twenty minutes, all of a sudden he had an unexplained feeling in his gut that something had gone badly wrong. This was a feeling, an instinct, that he couldn’t rationally explain, but which he trusted implicitly. It had served him well on numerous occasions, back in the day as a serving policeman.

Jack opened the door of the Land Rover to go and see what was going on, when his phone buzzed. When he saw Annie’s name light up the screen, he relaxed and muttered, ‘Thank God.’ But instead of a routine text message, what he saw instead was a selfie headshot, taken on her phone, of Thomas Burke leering at the camera, as he posed cheek to cheek with Annie. Her mouth was covered by duct tape and her eyes were big as saucers, silently pleading for help. Instinctively zooming in on the picture for possible clues, Jack could see that Burke was bleeding from a fresh cut on the bridge of his nose, indicating that his partner had not been taken down without a fight.

Jack was momentarily stunned and frozen by the image in his hand, and as he was trying to process what had just happened, his phone suddenly rang. He hesitated, then pressed the receive button and an eerie voice from the past calmly said, ‘Hello there Jack, I just wanted to make sure that you got my little text. Isn’t this new technology grand? I mean, to be able to send a message along with a picture of somebody I’ve just attacked and then tied up, is quite amazing. It makes what I do
so
much more enjoyable, being able to instantly share my pleasure with other people. You’ll have to excuse my childlike enthusiasm, Jack, because, of course, where
I’ve
been for the last eighteen years, all these exciting developments in technology, and everything else, have passed me by. I always think that gadgets are a bit like women. I mean it’s nice to be able to read about them and look at the pretty pictures, but it just isn’t the same as being able to actually
touch
them and
use
them, don’t you think?’

Jack attempted to sound calm and unconcerned by the sinister sub-text to the psychopath’s ramblings. ‘This is a really fascinating trip down memory lane, Thomas, but you must know what you’re doing is going to get you sent straight back to jail for the rest of your life. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Just let me speak to the girl, before you end up doing something really stupid.’

Grudging respect was evident in Burke’s voice as he replied, ‘She’s a real handful
that
one. I mean she doesn’t look like much, to be fair, but even after I hit her with a couple of decent shots, she still kept on coming back at me. I mean, I like a bit of rough as much as the next man, but for fuck’s sake. Of course, I should have remembered the bitch is from Glasgow. First she nearly caught me with a knee in the balls and then, when I finally managed to grab hold of her, she nearly ripped the front right off my jacket. And, to put the fucking tin lid on it, while I was wrapping her in duct tape, she manages to sit up and caught me right in the coupon with the old Glasgow kiss. But don’t you worry, Jack, I’ll make her pay for
that
later
and
I’ll be sending you the pictures for your mantelpiece.’

‘Come on now, Burke, she’s got nothing to do with this, you know that. She’s just a kid,’ pleaded Jack.

‘Despite what you think of me, Jack, I’m a pretty good judge of character. I reckon this girl means a lot to you. In fact I’m betting you would do just about anything to get her back in one piece. Sadly, that might not be possible.’

‘Look, just let her go, you know it’s me you really want. Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there as fast as I can. I give you my word, there’ll be no police, no back up, just me. I’ll even bring my own can of petrol, if that’ll swing it.’

Burke chuckled. ‘You’re a funny man, Jack Davidson, I’ll give you that. Not many people can crack a decent joke, when their tits are caught in the wringer, the way yours are.’

‘I can’t help it, it’s always been my way of dealing with things.’

‘I can relate to that, Jack, I
really
can,’ said Burke. ‘Every single night as I lay awake in my prison cell,
my
way of dealing with things was thinking about the best way to kill you when I finally got out. And I can tell you, it wasn’t a straightforward decision, because I can easily get hold of a gun, or buy a nice big butcher’s knife, or even use my bare hands, if I have to. But all the obvious ways seemed too quick, far too easy on you. And
then
it came to me, the best way to balance the books is not to kill you straight away, but to let you die by instalments, wracked with guilt and shame, as I murder all the people you care about, one by one. Starting with the skinny blonde bitch, then both of your children and your ex-wife, followed by the old rat bag who runs the Royal Bar. That’s as far as my little kill list goes at the moment, but I reckon by the time I’m finished, you’ll be locked up in a padded cell somewhere, screaming and begging to be put out of your misery. What do you think, Jack? Does that sound like a plan to you?’

‘You’re completely stark raving mad, of course. You know that don’t you?’

‘Now that’s not a very nice thing to say, Jack, you’ll be giving me a complex, so you will. And after those nice prison psychiatrists telling me I’m now completely cured of all my nasty sociopathic tendencies, and ready to become a useful member of society.’

‘Look, it’s not too late to stop. I know you don’t want to go back to prison, because they’ll throw away the key if you go through with this. You could still walk away right now and make some kind of life for yourself as a free man.’

Burke chuckled and said, ‘It’s been great talking to you Jack, catching up and all after eighteen long years, but I’ve got a very
hot
date tonight and it’s rude to keep a beautiful young lady waiting, don’t you think? And, just between you and me, I’ve got a feeling this could be my
lucky
night. Know what I mean, Jackie boy?’

‘Wait, please don’t hang up. I’ll do
anything
you want, just tell me.’

‘But, don’t you see? This is perfect, you’re doing it
already
, Jack.’

‘I don’t understand, what do you mean?’

‘You’re
begging
Jack. You have no idea how good that sounds to me, after eighteen years spent rotting in prison because of the damn lies you told about me in court. And
my
prison was bad enough, but I survived it and came out even stronger than the day I went in. But I think
your
prison will be much worse, because it doesn’t have any bars and the guilt trip will consume your every waking minute. You’ll be grieving because of what’s
already
happened, and worried sick about what’s
going
to happen to your loved ones who are still alive. I think you’re going to be my best bitch from now on.’

Jack tried to suppress the overwhelming feeling of helplessness and panic which was coursing through his veins and attempted to keep Burke talking, hoping that he’d be carried away in this moment of victory and would inadvertently let slip something, any piece of information that might give away where he was holding Annie. But the man seemed totally calm and focussed, almost as if he was reading from a prepared script, and he gave Jack no opening to manipulate the conversation.