The Good Provider (23 page)

Hugh Affleck wasted no time on casual chat but got down at once to business; and the business on hand concerned those notoriously ugly villains William Skirving and Daniel Malone.

It was common knowledge to detectives in the City of Glasgow as well as Greenfield Burgh that Malone and Skirving were ‘the brains’ behind a whole parcel of robberies, housebreakings and assaults, but it had so far proved impossible to lay them by the heels and muster sufficient evidence to bring a case to court. They were not much smarter and no less vicious than the brutes who nobbled tallymen in dark closes or bashed in the heads of bookies’ runners but they had, somehow, bought the loyalty of their accomplices and had even spread corruption into the ranks of the police. Behind Skirving and Malone were clever and unscrupulous gentlemen who provided a ready-made market for gold, silver and works of art, stolen treasures beyond the scope of the average burglar and one which made Skirving and Malone’s criminal endeavours highly lucrative. One of those gentlemen, Hugh Affleck believed, was none other than Maitland Moss.

Because Danny and Billy did not now prey on ‘average’ citizens but concentrated on the mansions of the well-to-do, all sorts of idiotic tales were put about concerning their derring-do and they were regarded with awe and admiration; a nonsense, of course, for Malone and Skirving were and always would be nothing but violent, ruthless men who would cut anybody’s throat for ten bob.

Hugh Affleck hated them, coldly and professionally. It galled him that he had not been able to lay a glove on either of the villains in spite of several years of effort and endeavour. He was sure that the carriers’ quarters in the Kingdom Road was the capital of Malone’s shadowy empire and on two occasions had placed plain-clothes detectives in work there. Though they had been groomed for the job and were experienced in such operations, Danny had sniffed them out almost at once and had given them marching orders without apology or explanation. It was murmured that somehow or other Danny had known what was going on and had been on the look-out for ‘narks’; and that meant that a copper in Glasgow or the Greenfield had been paid for the information, and relations between the officers of Greenfield Burgh and the City of Glasgow had become somewhat strained because of it.

At last, though, fate seemed to have dealt Hugh Affleck a high card and he had brought the sergeant here tonight to advise him on how he might best play the hand.

‘Is it sure you are, Hughie, that the youngster is deeply enough involved in Malone’s dirty work to be of use to you?’ said Sergeant Drummond.

‘I’m not that sure of anything, Hector, but he’s got eyes and ears and he might be persuaded to use them on our behalf.’

‘How might that be done?’

Hugh Affleck shrugged. ‘In my opinion the young man is fundamentally honest. He’s a country lad, not long in Glasgow and I’ve the feeling that he knows right from wrong.’

‘Will you threaten him, is that it?’

Again the detective shrugged. ‘I might do a bit of that, yes, but I think I can persuade him where his duty lies.’

‘If it’s done badly,’ said the sergeant, ‘the youngster will simply tell Malone and we’ll have stepped back instead of forward.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Hector,’ said the detective. ‘But I have to take the chance.’

‘What can the lad tell you?’

‘How Malone transports stolen goods about the streets, for one thing.’

‘Which policemen are being paid to turn a blind eye?’

‘Improbable that the lad will be privy to that sort of information,’ said Hugh Affleck. ‘What he might be able to do for us is put the finger on Malone, tell us in advance when a job is to be done.’

‘If you could catch either one of them red-handed,’ said the sergeant, ‘they might blow the gaff on all the rest.’

‘It’s possible,’ Hugh Affleck said, ‘but I doubt it. Danny and Billy have both served time—’

‘No,’ the sergeant corrected. ‘Malone has never been in prison. He has been up on three charges, when he was younger, but nothing has ever stuck.’

‘Yes, of course. I always tend to think of them as a pair.’

‘They are separate individuals,’ said Sergeant Drummond. ‘I feel that loyalty might evaporate if only they could be caught with blood on their hands. Billy and Danny might not be daunted by a stretch behind bars but the thought of the rope might loosen their tongues.’

‘Murder?’ said Hugh Affleck. ‘Oh, they’re capable of it. In fact, I’m damned sure that Billy has killed more than one man in his day but I wouldn’t want to set a trap that put any life at risk.’

‘Och, no,’ said the sergeant.

‘And I would much prefer to have them arrested within the jurisdiction of the City of Glasgow.’

‘It would be a High Court trial in any case.’

‘Probably,’ said Hugh Affleck. ‘But I’d like to make sure.’

‘What do you expect from this youngster, from Nicholson?’

‘I’ll have to talk to him.’

‘Would you use him as a witness?’ said the sergeant, frowning.

‘Only if I could be certain that he would be safe.’

‘If I were a youngster I’d be too scared of retribution to put my nose in a witness box, even if Danny and Billy were locked up tightly.’

‘Nicholson may not know that he’ll be in danger.’

‘Will you not tell him?’

For a moment Superintendent Affleck did not answer, seemed to ponder his reply.

The sergeant said, ‘Look what happened to your last informer.’

‘I’ve no wish to discuss that matter.’

‘You never even told me his name.’

‘I told nobody his name,’ said Hugh Affleck.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Vanished.’

‘Vanished into the Clyde in a weighted barrel?’

‘Perhaps. I don’t know about Malone,’ said Hugh Affleck, ‘but Billy Skirving would certainly knife a nark as quick as winkie.’

‘So it’s dangerous.’

‘I don’t deny it.’ Hugh Affleck sipped his whisky and stared bleakly out across the river, shrouded in rain and almost dark. ‘What sticks in my gullet, Hector, is that Skirving and Malone are so damned cocky. They strut about as if they were above the law, as if they owned the Greenfield. By God, but they must have made a packet of money from sale of the stuff they’ve stolen.’

‘Aye, the Ming stem cup – what was it valued at?’

‘Four hundred pounds.’

‘And yon Dragon vases?’

‘Five,’ said Hugh Affleck. ‘The solid silver wine-cooler from Lord Cunningham’s house; God, you could hardly lift it with a crane. I mean, it’s not all being melted down. It’s being sold intact to foreign collectors, I’m sure.’

‘By Maitland Moss?’

‘Oh, probably,’ said Hugh Affleck. ‘And I find that very ugly, very ugly indeed; the idea of a couple of brutes like Skirving and Malone thieving precious articles on the instructions of a so-called gentleman, and none of them caring a jot whose head gets smashed in the process.’

‘In my personal opinion,’ said Sergeant Drummond, ‘I think you will be very fortunate to bring Mr Maitland Moss to trial at all.’

‘I know it, Hector. I’ll settle for putting Skirving and Malone behind bars for a long, long time.’

‘Catch them in the act?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Use the youngster – Nicholson – to help you set them up?’

‘It’s the first real bit of luck we’ve had.’

‘Aye, but will this young man agree to help us?’

‘I won’t know until I’ve talked with him.’

‘When will that be, Hughie?’

‘Soon,’ Hugh Affleck answered. ‘Very, very soon.’

It came as a great shock to Kirsty to find Mr Affleck on the doorstep. There was no twinkle in his eye, no teasing in his manner. He seemed taller too, and younger. When he informed her that he had come on business and not as a friendly visitor, Kirsty’s apprehension increased.

‘What sort of business?’

‘I’m a policeman, Mrs Nicholson.’

He held out a black book the size and shape of a postcard; his name was prominently printed upon a certificate of identity attached to the book’s forepage.

‘I have credentials,’ he said, ‘as you can see.’

‘Mrs Frew didn’t tell me what you did,’ said Kirsty.

‘Nessie’s somewhat ashamed of my profession.’

‘What do you want, Mr Affleck?’

‘To talk to your husband.’

‘You’d – you’d better come in.’

She led him into the kitchen. She noticed how he glanced about the room, casually but with intent, as if he were looking for something.

‘My husband – Craig’s not home yet.’

‘How long will he be?’

‘I’m expectin’ him soon.’

‘May I wait?’

Kirsty could contain herself no longer. ‘What’s Craig done, Mr Affleck? Tell me, please.’

‘He’s fallen in with bad company.’

‘It’s that man, that Malone, isn’t it?’

‘Why do you say that?’ Mr Affleck said.

‘He gives Craig money, extra money. Money for night work.’

‘Night work?’

‘Moonlight flittin’s, shiftin’ furniture for folk who don’t pay their rent. Is that a crime?’

‘A misdemeanour,’ said Mr Affleck. ‘Nothing serious.’

‘Are you an inspector, Mr Affleck?’

‘Superintendent.’

‘Is that not a high position?’

‘Fairly.’

‘Then you’re not here because of moonlight flittin’s?’ said Kirsty. ‘What are they movin’ in the night-time? Is it stolen goods?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Oh, God!’

He patted her arm consolingly and put other questions to her.

Kirsty answered him as best she could. She tried to hide the fear that she was being disloyal to Craig. If she was calm and truthful she might somehow save Craig from punishment, from prison. The quarter of an hour before Craig arrived was like a bad dream. Rain pattered on the window, the clock ticked, pots bubbled on the range just as they had done before Mr Affleck had knocked upon the door, but everything had changed; her existence was suddenly threatened. She was not sure how much uncertainty she could stand.

It had been bad enough screwing up her courage to tell Craig about the baby. He had not reacted with delight, had backed away, had eaten his supper with hardly a word. When they had gone to bed she had wanted him to make love to her but he had backed away, sat up, arms folded, and had talked in a stern voice about money. He had barely mentioned the baby. Kirsty had cried, in spite of her resolve not to, and Craig had got up and made her tea and brought it to her and had sat by the side of the bed and held the cup for her and murmured to her to turn off the waterworks, that he didn’t really mind about the baby, after all. Eventually he had climbed back into bed and had put his arms about her and held her, awkwardly, and, at that moment, Kirsty did not know whether he loved her at all or, what was worse, whether she loved him.

‘Is that your husband now?’ said Mr Affleck.

She heard the clump of boots on the stairhead, got up quickly and ran to the door to open it before Craig could use his key, to give him warning.

‘What’s up wi’ you?’ Craig said. ‘You’re white as a bloody sheet.’

‘There’s a man here to see you.’

‘A man? What man?’

‘Mr Affleck.’

‘Mister who?’

‘From the boarding-house.’

‘Oh, aye. What does he want?’

‘Craig, he’s a policeman.’

In that split second Kirsty had seen guilt in Craig’s eyes, a flash of panic, and realised that he had not told her the truth about what went on at the carriers’ yard or what things he was required to do for Daniel Malone. She clutched at his arm as if to prevent him from bolting out of the house.

‘What have you told him, Kirsty?’ Craig hissed.

‘I didn’t tell him a thing.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Craig said, under his breath.

He squared his shoulders and went into the kitchen where Hugh Affleck waited, seated on a kitchen chair with his back to the bubbling pots in which the dinner was wasting. To Kirsty’s surprise Mr Affleck rose and offered his hand and Craig, nonplussed by the gesture of friendship, shook it.

‘Sorry to call on you at this late hour,’ said Mr Affleck, ‘but I’m making enquiries into a certain matter that I think you might be able to help with.’

‘What certain matter?’

Kirsty removed the pots from the range and took an ashet pie from the oven and set the dish on the side of the hob to keep warm. Behind her she heard the man and her husband speak, haltingly but without heat.

‘Concerning what goes into and out of Maitland Moss’s yard.’

‘All sorts o’ things come an’ go,’ said Craig.

‘Late at night, Craig.’

‘I don’t know nothin’ about that.’

‘Come on, Craig, let’s not waste time beating about the bush,’ said Mr Affleck. ‘You do some of these night runs.’

‘Did
she
tell you that?’ Craig turned angrily to Kirsty. ‘Did
you
tell him that?’