How To Kill Friends And Implicate People (19 page)

FIFTY-SEVEN

SAM

10:00

Hanya joined us for breakfast.

She’d come straight from the scene of the explosion, and carried the smell of petrol and fumes. She’d asked if she smelled bad when she sat down with us. I’d said,
No, of course not
. Phil had said,
Yeah, totally.

See that?

Teamwork.

‘Gartcosh is taking the case,’ she’d said as she sat down.

‘Different team?’

‘Nope.’ She stretched away the morning’s work. ‘Same guys. Starting to wonder if they’re cloned. Maybe everyone there is a duplicate of Dasho and Robinson, and they just send out a new one for each case.’

‘But you’re still on the arson?’

She took a sip of coffee. ‘Yup. Though that’s more my case in name only, it seems. I’m getting pressure to close it. The insurance company is ready to sign off and pay, and the water fairies want to call it, too.’ I sensed a
but
, and left her to keep going. ‘There’s a couple things that don’t stack up. An old lady who lived up on the top floor said some guy saved her cats, she described him.’

‘So? Maybe a visitor?’

‘Where she says she met him was right by the apartment that the fire started in. And guess who leased that one?’

Phil said, ‘Michael Keaton?’

Hanya laughed. She looked tired, and the laughter came out wrapped in a sigh. ‘No, Martin Mitchell.’

‘Marxist Martin?’ I said.

Phil said, ‘I liked mine better.’

‘The voices on the second tape,’ Hanya said. ‘I listened back to them on the drive over. One of them sounds a lot like Martin.’

‘The recording is in that room?’ My mouth flapped a little. That made enough sense as to feel blindingly obvious. ‘Whatever Paula got, thought she got, was in the building that got torched.’

‘Right.’ Hanya added one more thing before tucking into a bacon sandwich. ‘And one of our uniformed guys outside took possession of the cats. He was teased for it at the time, because he put the lady and the cats in his car and drove them out to one of her relatives. The guys said he was on the pull. But he caught a look at the guy who carried them down, and it sounds nothing like Cal Gibson.’

Who was it?

Each time I thought I could see how the jigsaw fitted together, someone threw in another piece.

‘I’ve got a lead on Cal,’ I said. ‘I know who his banker is. I’ll let you know if I find something.’

With Hanya munching through her food and thinking over what I’d said, Phil took the chance to fill the silence. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘About Superman.’

Oh god.

‘So, here’s the thing, right? Krypton is going to explode.’

‘Do planets really explode?’ I said, hoping to sidetrack him.

‘What?’

‘Well, they heat up and cool down. They die. They get wiped out by expanding suns. But do planets actually explode, or is that just in the films?’

Phil gave me look. Picking plot holes with comic book characters was his shtick, not mine. I was treading on his toes. I smiled. ‘Sorry.’

‘Anyway. So, the possible inaccuracies of explodey science aside, Kal-El’s home planet goes boom, right?’

‘No idea,’ Hanya said through a mouthful of bacon.

I doubted she’d ever touched a comic book in her life, and superhero movies weren’t really her style. I once found out she didn’t even know who Obi-Wan Kenobi was.

‘Yeah, it does. Now, Kal-El’s dad is this super genius scientist. Cleverest man on the planet. He’s like Super Boffin. He’s been trying to tell people that the planet was going to explode, but everyone ignored him.’

‘Like climate change,’ Hanya said.

‘Exactly, grasshopper.’ Phil turned in his seat to face Hanya. ‘Are you sure you don’t have a cute brother?’ Hanya laughed and shook her head. Phil continued. ‘But because he’s Super Boffin Man, he builds a spaceship, to escape from the planet before it all pops. But,’ he held up his forefinger, emphasising the point, ‘he’s got a wife and a baby, and he only builds a ship big enough for the baby.’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen the films,’ I said. ‘That’s how he gets here.’

‘Well, yeah. But my point is, this guy is a super genius. He’s clever enough to build a rocket, all on his own. And he knows they’re going to need it, to escape. And yet, still, he just makes one big enough for the wean?’

I decided to play along. It was easier that way. ‘I get you. It’s pretty mean. He could at least have made it big enough that his wife could fit in, too.’

‘Exactly. See what I mean? How would that conversation go? “Honey, good news, I’ve built a rocket ship to escape.” “Great, I’ll go pack a bag.” “Ah, well, there won’t be room for a bag.” “How no?” “Well, actually, there won’t be room for both of us, either.” “You expect me to leave you behind?” “Well, no. What I’m meaning is—” ’

Hanya joined in. That surprised me. ‘“What I’m meaning is, we’re going to take this wee boy here, and throw him out into space, in a tube, on his own.” I hope she gave him a good kicking.’

‘That bit seems to be missing from the literature,’ Phil said.

‘Men,’ I said.

I sat and waited. I was sure Phil was going to follow up his speech, like he usually did, but he stayed quiet.

‘And?’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘What?’

‘No deeper meaning for me to take from this? No big moral lesson?’

He pretended not to know what I was talking about, but I could see from the slight smile in his eyes that he understood. ‘Just that Superman’s ol’ da was a bit of a fud,’ he said.

‘You’re not trying to say that I need to build a bigger rocket? That I need to let more people in on my journey and start to trust a wee bit more again?’

Phil blinked. He turned to Hanya and made a show of being confused, sticking out his bottom lip and shaking his head.

‘I don’t know, Sam,’ he said. ‘I was just talking shite about comic books. You got something you want to say?’

‘Men,’ I said, pushing back hard into my seat with a sigh.

Hanya chuckled beside me.

‘But really, though,’ Phil said. ‘He had all that technology. I mean, how come nobody else on Krypton had a rocket? Nobody else had a way to get off the planet? He had the knowledge, and chose not to share it with anybody.’

‘What a dick,’ Hanya said.

‘Maybe the planet didn’t actually explode,’ I said. ‘Has he ever checked? Maybe he was just a whiny brat who wouldn’t shut up about stupid things, so they fired him off into space, and they just told him the planet was doomed to get rid of him.’

Phil thought about that. ‘No, we see it explode, too, in the stories, aye? It happens.’

I checked the time.

Lebowskis would be open by the time I cycled there. Time to trigger the ejector seat on this geeky conversation. I needed to go see Gary Fraser.

FIFTY-EIGHT

ALEX

10:52

Alex walked home.

It was five miles, and he covered it in just over an hour and a half. He’d decided that one bus journey was a calculated risk. Two was pushing it. He could tell from checking the internet on his burner that the news of the explosion was already the main feature of the Scottish section of the BBC site.

He hadn’t been named yet. His own image wasn’t splashed across the news. But it wouldn’t be long before that changed. Walking allowed him to take shortcuts and alleys, to change directions if there was a crowd and to stay off the beaten path. He took the long way round to his house. He circled the base of the hill at Westerton, and then walked up through the woods, coming to the back wall of the property.

He could hear chatter and radio squawk. The police were at the front of the house, and he could tell people were also moving around in the small lane beside the property, the one he’d used earlier. He crouched behind the bushes and moved a few inches to his right, to take a look.

At the end of the lane he could see a large flatbed truck, with the burned-out shell of his car strapped down on the back.

Between the truck and Alex were three people he assumed to be cops. They were wearing the white overalls that covered their whole bodies, with blue mouth guards pulled down around their necks. They were smoking and chatting.

‘Too soon?’ One of them said, holding her cigarette in the air.

One of the others turned to look toward Alex’s car. ‘I don’t think he’ll mind,’ the guy said.

All three of them laughed. Then the third one, shorter and rounder than the others, said, ‘Now
that
is too soon.’

As Alex watched, the three of them reacted to something he couldn’t see, maybe a signal from the front. They dropped their smokes to the dirt and rubbed them out. A man in a jumpsuit, maybe a fireman, walked past them and climbed up into the cab of the truck. The engine rumbled into life and the large vehicle started to pull away.

‘Now would be the wrong time to start a bush fire,’ the woman said.

‘Eh,’ the taller guy said. ‘What damage can it do at this point? The vic already has a tan.’

They walked around to the front of the house laughing. Alex listened as the doors to another vehicle opened and closed a few times, then another engine started. They were leaving.

Alex climbed to take a look over the wall. He could see Kara through the back patio window. She was talking to two cops. Or rather, they were
trying
to talk to her. Following Kara around the room as she pushed away, and shouted.

One of them reached out and put a hand on Kara’s shoulder, but she turned and lashed out. Even at this distance, Alex could hear her screaming for them to leave her alone.

Both cops nodded. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and walked out of sight toward the front door. Kara turned to stare out the patio window, and Alex dropped down out of sight. There was a click as the glass door was opened, and then a few soft footfalls as Kara stepped into the yard.

Alex heard her sniff a few times, but couldn’t tell if she was working through full-blown tears. Then the sounds receded. She was gone when he looked again.

He eased over the wall and lowered himself onto the large mound of dirt that the builder had left there. Finally, there was some use to the idiot’s laziness. The patio door was still open. Alex stepped into the living room quietly. He heard the sound of Kara going up the stairs.

Singing?

She was singing?

Grief did strange things to people.

He took a look out the front window. There was a car parked across the street. It was unmarked, but the two people sitting in front were clearly police. Alex pulled away from the window to avoid being noticed.

He walked to the front door quietly, conscious that he was the only other person there, and eased the bag up slowly off the floor. He slipped it over his shoulder and headed back to the rear of the house.

The doorbell rang.

Alex froze.

He crouched down below the kitchen counter and waited. The doorbell chimed a second time. Kara called from upstairs,
Just a minute.
After the bell went a third time, Kara ran down the stairs and answered.

‘Hey, babe,’ a male voice said. Young. Alex half recognised it. ‘Permission to come aboard?’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Kara said.

‘It’s cool,’ the guy said. ‘I told the polis out there that I’m here to see if you’re okay.’

‘Hang on. I’ll get them to go farther down the street, put on my crying face and ask for some privacy.’

The door closed. The stranger was still inside, Alex could hear him breathing a little heavily. The door opened again, and Kara stepped back in. She shut the door, and there was a loud thud, as if she’d been pushed into it.

Was she being attacked?

Alex stood up, ready to charge. Then he heard something else.

A kiss.

Soon they were fumbling about on the stairs.

‘Not down here,’ Kara said, squealing a little at whatever the kid was doing. ‘Someone might see.’

Alex heard a second kiss.

FIFTY-NINE

FERGUS

10:00

Joe tells me to meet him at the Carlton Place suspension bridge. It’s a thin, pedestrian-only job, stretching across the Clyde. It’s a great spot for controlled meetings. You have a view of who is coming at you at all times, and it’s public enough that nobody ever wants to try anything funny.

It’s never a good sign to be asked to a meeting on that bridge. It means the other person wants to be able to see you coming. They can spring a trap at any point by closing off the ends. If the call had been from anyone else, I would have ignored it. But as long as I’m in town, I play by Joe’s rules.

He’s already on the bridge by the time I get there. Walking onto it from the Clyde Street side, I see a big bearded guy in a suit. Looks like a bouncer or barman, but smells like a cop. He’s trying not to look like he’s eying me, but I’m too experienced to fall for it. On the far side I can see another guard. A slender blond guy, also trying not to be obvious.

Joe is in the middle, leaning against the railings and looking out west toward the tall buildings and the old shipyard crane. I join him, leaning with my back to the same railing and looking in the other direction, toward Glasgow Green.

‘The city pretty much raised me,’ Joe says. ‘Never knew my parents. Mike Gibson was the closest thing I had. And Cal, I spent half my life keeping him out of trouble.’

Well, at least he wasn’t going to have that problem anymore
. . .

‘I’m taking over,’ Joe continues. ‘Glasgow is the family business, and it’s my turn. And if I’m willing to kill the closest thing I ever had to a
brother
, you can imagine how I’ll feel about anyone else.’ He looks at me. ‘Did you do the Pennan job?’

I’ve been expecting this question.

‘The thing on the news? Car explosion? I didn’t kill that guy.’

See what I did there?

Didn’t even need to lie. No way can he tell that I’m bluffing, because I’m not.

‘Any ideas who it might be?’

I make a show of thinking about it. Breathe in deep. Sigh. Total Academy Award stuff. ‘To be honest, the only person I know who can pull of a job like that is me. So if it’s not me who killed him, I really don’t know.’

He rubs his face. I watch in profile. He’s not looking good. Tired. Worn down. Joe makes a job out of always looking in control and on top, but right now he’s looking like his battery needs recharging.

‘Are you okay, Joe? I mean, no offence, but you look, well, you know.’

‘Aye.’ His voice changes a little. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges. ‘It’s this thing I’ve got tomorrow. I’m not going to get much sleep until it’s finished.’

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small plastic bottle. He pops the child-proof lid and dry swallows two small pills.

‘Got a fucking ulcer,’ he says. ‘Doctor says it’s stress, like that’s a new thing. He says I need to do more to relax, lighten my workload. I didn’t know my GP was a comedian. Anyway. This thing with the explosion. Could you ask around? See if any of your, uh, colleagues did it?’

‘I gotta be honest with you, Joe. This isn’t a really social job. We don’t talk to each other much. We tried it once. A bunch of us all got together to have a party, maybe get to know each other better.’

‘What happened?’

I pause. Think how best to put it. ‘We accidentally triggered a civil war in Cambodia.’

That kills the conversation for a second.

‘I might need you for something else,’ he says.

I push off from the railing, ready to walk away. I don’t want to raise suspicions. If I tell Joe I’m
retired
, he’ll start asking questions about the timing. It’ll look like I’m up to something. So instead, I go with, ‘I’m not taking any jobs right now. I need a break.’

‘You fucked this up,’ he says. ‘And you lied to me. I had eyes on Martin’s building. Backup. I knew you’d let the lass go, and I knew you lied about it. The only reason you’re up here, and not down there,’ he nods at the water, ‘is I managed to clean it all up. I got my boys to kill her.’

‘The two trying not to look like cops at the ends of this bridge?’

He smiles. ‘That’s them.’

Okay. So now he has cops killing people. What does he need me for?

He looks back down at the water. ‘Cal came looking for her. I think they’d caught wind of what we were up to, wanted to try and get proof. I’m not sure what he thought he was going to do with it – I’ve got the papers onside, nobody would take the details.’

For all Joe’s big thinking, he suffers from the same blind spot as most of the top names in Glasgow. He forgets this city isn’t the world. My years away, especially living in New York, had given me a perspective that these guys lack. Joe has the local media on a leash, and that means he’s got control over what slips out in Scotland. But down south? He has no power. If someone has proof of what he’s up to, all they’d need to do is take it down to one of the editors in England.

Or put it on the internet, and let it grow from there.

But Joe, like everyone else around here, forgets that Glasgow is in a bubble, and the rest of the world isn’t in it with us.

‘Seems to me, you’ve got a leak problem,’ I say. ‘If this lass knew, and Cal knew. And clearly, Martin or Dominic Porter knew, otherwise why would the whole thing be happening. You’ve got a leaky pipe somewhere.’

He hands me a piece of paper. A list of names.

‘Those are Cal’s friends,’ he says. There’s a sadness in his voice. If they were tight with Cal, that means this is a list of his old friends, too. ‘Cal’s never had a thought in his life without someone giving it to him. One of these guys will know where the information came from. Find out who.’ He leans in close. ‘Find it, and then you can take as much time off as you need.’

I point to the big guy at the end of the bridge. ‘Joe, you’ve got actual detectives on your payroll. Can’t you get them to do it?’

‘They’ve got other problems to deal with.’ He smirks. ‘And so have you.’

Now what does that mean?

He pulls out his phone and swipes through to a photo. A CCTV still of me handing the cat baskets over to the old lady.

Shit.

‘There’s a cop on the lookout for these,’ he says, showing a second picture. ‘If she places you at the scene, you’ll end up in cuffs. By 1 p.m. tomorrow I’ll be calling all the shots. It’ll be me that decides what happens to you.’

A rock and a hard place. Like one of those old cartoons, where Daffy Duck has an angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. Except I have a devil on both sides. Joe on my right, threatening to turn me over to the cops, and Alex on the left, ready to mess up his whole plan at any moment.

Okay, Fergie
.

You’ve been in worse scrapes.

I just need to do this thing for Joe. Find Alex.

Keep everything from exploding.

Simple, aye?