The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) (11 page)

There are many men in the business he would be worried about leaving alone in that situation. A pretty woman standing naked and compliant. A young man already battered and in fear of his life.
There are many who wouldn’t resist the temptation. Couldn’t resist. There are many who would take it too far. Not George. He knows his job. He knows what he has to do. No messing
around. Don’t speak. Don’t do anything you don’t have to do. There for a job. There’ll be ample opportunity to have fun in your own time, and without doing anything that you
might have to feel guilty about later. That’s why Calum can leave him alone in that situation.

Clearly Winter isn’t in the living room. It’s not hard to judge what’s happened: the way they led him in; the lights going on and off. They took him upstairs. They dumped him
in his and Cope’s bedroom, and they came downstairs. They wanted to be alone. He was out of the way. On his own. Isolated. Ideal for the job in hand. Without saying a word Calum turns and
makes his way out of the living room. You take nothing for granted. You never know what might be lurking behind every door. He expects Winter to be crashed out. He expects an easy hit. But
he’s not taking it for granted.

Up the stairs. Gun gripped, but not too tightly, don’t cramp your hand. It’s dark. Listen for any sound, anything suspicious. Winter may have heard the door being kicked open. If he
did, then he’s had two minutes to prepare for you. Time enough to grab a gun, if he’s got one. Time enough to grab some sort of weapon and lie in wait. If he heard the door. If.
Calum’s at the top of the stairs. Pause. Let your eyes get used to the darkness. Two doors on his left, one on his right. One directly facing him at the end of the corridor. No light from
any. At least one door will be to a bathroom. At least two of the other three will be bedrooms. Work out where you are. The light that went on and off upstairs was on the front left of the house.
So that should be second on your left. Should be.

Downstairs, George is staying silent. Alone with the two witnesses. Say nothing. Do nothing that could identify you. Take absolute care. He’s been holding the gun up; making sure
it’s visible to Cope. He lowers it slightly; no need to strain your arm if there’s no immediate danger. He’s moved back three paces closer to the door, giving him a better view of
the young man. Cope he expects no trouble from. She’s still standing beside the couch, her arms crossed. She’s made no effort to cover herself up. That ship has sailed.

She had started by trying to look defiant. Now she’s trying to look bored by the whole thing. She wants to give the impression that she sees this sort of thing every day, no big deal. Not
impressed. No fear. The harder she tries, the more afraid she looks. She is very pretty. George has made every effort to avoid the sort of women who hang around the industry he works in, but he can
see the attraction of this one. He would have liked to tell her she has nothing to worry about, but he can’t. Nothing that could identify him. Shame. He wants to tell the young man on the
floor to stop crying and pull himself together, but that is also out. So silence. Enjoy the view. Hold your position. Cover the targets. Wait.

Second on his left. Calum pushes the door slowly open. It’s dark inside. Gun raised. Pause. If he heard you come in, he could be behind the door. Silence. Then a snort. A low, rumbling
snore. The snore of a middle-aged, slightly overweight man, filled with alcohol. Calum’s stepping slowly into the room, confidence growing. His gloved hand reaches out and finds the light
switch. Winter is lying on the bed, on his back. His arms are stretched out on either side of him. He’s snoring uncomfortably. There’s an angry look on his face. Calum can smell the
urine. He steps up to the bed, the gun held firmly at his side, and looks down on the target. Sometimes you get the feeling you’re doing them a favour. You see the life they live, a snapshot
of what they have to put up with on a daily basis, and you feel you’re helping them.

Always do it differently. That’s been Calum’s approach. Some people shoot their target in the same place every time. Almost like a signature move. Why leave a signature? Sometimes
Calum would shoot in the side of the head, sometimes the front, sometimes upwards from the chin or down from the crown. Sometimes you shoot a person once. Sometimes multiple shots are required.
Sometimes you shoot them many times even when it’s not required, just to give the impression of a desperate attacker. This time, with the target lying flat out, it’s a simple choice. A
single bullet, up through the chin. He won’t even know it’s happened. Winter groans and snorts pathetically. That angry look stays on his face. Doing him a favour.

Calum is pressing the gun up against the chin. There’s a little loose flesh there. He pauses, turns his head slightly sideways and pulls the trigger. The bang is always unsettling. It
doesn’t matter how many times you hear it. There’s a puff of blood from the bottom of the chin. Winter’s body jerks rigid and relaxes. Calum looks closely. There’s no exit
wound. The bullet has stayed in. There are times – when the bullet comes out – when you can retrieve it, take it away from the scene. Doesn’t stop them working out what gun was
used, but it slows them down. This time, nothing. He’s stopped, looking down at Winter. Not a moment of reflection, just making sure. Dead.

They all hear the bang. Cope looks at the doorway, then looks away. She knew it was going to happen. It still hurts to hear it. The young man has gone silent. His worst fears are being realized.
He thinks he’s going to be next. George knows that the job has been done. Now, escape. He holds the gun up a little higher. He’s a little more tense now. The escape is always the part
that can go wrong. People hear the gunshot and react stupidly, put themselves in danger. The raised gun is a warning. Patience. So hard to have. The neighbours may well have heard the gunshot.
You’re no longer working to your own timeframe. He hears movement on the stairs. The last, illogical worry. What if it’s Winter coming down the stairs after catching out Calum? George
is looking over his shoulder, his eyes off Cope and the young man.

Calum walks out of the bedroom, switching off the light. He walks steadily. For him, the worst part is over. The target’s dead. Now they need to get out. There’s still the danger of
being caught, but the danger to his life has almost passed. Down the stairs. George is standing by the doorway, his gun raised, looking back over his shoulder. Calum nods. Time to go. George turns
and looks at Cope, makes eye contact. He means it as a sign that the danger is over for her. She thinks he’s going to shoot her. Her eyes widen. Her hands fall to her sides. George is
realizing the mistake he’s made. Never mind. He turns and follows Calum out the front door, pulling it shut behind him. The door bounces against the frame, the lock broken.

In that moment she had thought she was going to die. When they burst in, she knew they were there for Winter. She didn’t know who they were, or exactly what it was about,
but she knew it was for him. His expansion plans had pissed off the wrong people. It happened. It was the threat of the business. She had been afraid, but not of being killed. They were so
obviously professionals. They wouldn’t shoot her if they didn’t have to. When Stewart had made a run for the door, she had cursed him under her breath. Stupid. Unforgivably stupid. They
certainly weren’t going to kill him if they didn’t have to, and yet he was encouraging them. Her fear was something else.

There are so many men in the business who are little better than animals. They have no care whatever for other people. The lives of others are playthings, to be ruined at their will. She was
naked. They had the power. One of them went upstairs. The other stood and watched her. She knew he was watching her a lot more than he was watching Stewart, even though Stewart had tried to run. He
could have done anything. She couldn’t resist. She wouldn’t. He had a gun. He was a professional. Do what it takes to stay alive. But he did nothing. A real professional. Not an animal
like so many others. These people were very good at what they did. She had worked out how professional they were by the time they left.

No words. The only sound, the whimpering of the naked man behind the chair. They didn’t even have to ask where Lewis was. They knew. Somehow, they knew exactly where in the house he was.
Perhaps they knew the layout. Perhaps they had been to the house before. Could they be people she had met? Possibly. She has met plenty of people in the business over the years. She didn’t
recognize them. Then the gunshot. She had been waiting for it, but it still shocked. Knowing that Lewis was up there, dead. He was the one she was most likely to settle down with. She had resigned
herself to that. This meant starting again. Then the killer came downstairs, nodding to the other one. The other one turned and looked at her. Why would he look unless he had one last job to do? It
was the one moment in the whole experience when she had thought she was going to die. Then he left. Safe.

Now it’s just her and Stewart. He’s still on the floor, silent since the gunshot. Zara turns and sits on the couch. She needs to sit down before she falls down. An exhaustion has
taken hold of her, a weakness. She’s not sleepy, but painfully tired. She wants to cry. She feels that she should. But there’s nothing. There’s emotion, but no tears. She catches
movement out of the corner of her eye. Could they have come back? No, it’s Stewart. He’s getting up. He looks pale; he looks like he wants to burst into tears. What happened to the
confident young man who strutted across the dance floor and danced her away from Lewis? So full of himself. Gone.

Stewart stands up. He shakes his head. What’s the right thing to say and do in these circumstances? He wants to know if he’s safe. He wants to know if they might come back. He
can’t ask, that would seem callous. He mustn’t be selfish. He has an image of the older man she was dancing with in the club. He had gone across to dance with Zara; he had been sure the
man couldn’t be her partner. Then she invited him back. Everything was fine. Better than fine. Now this. The worst experience of his life. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a little
voice is telling him otherwise. What a story. What a thing to tell the guys. Ploughing a beautiful girl, when two hitmen burst in and murder her partner.

‘Are you okay?’ he’s asking her. He doesn’t realize that he’s breaking a silence. He’s heard the sound of his heart thumping throughout this short ordeal.
He’s heard a ringing in his ears from the thump to the head that he took. It just seems like the right thing to ask.

Zara looks up at him. So pretty. ‘Yeah,’ she nods. ‘They didn’t touch me.’

The way she looks at him. She’s not impressed with how he handled it. Stewart feels embarrassed. A man’s dead upstairs, but he’s concerned about looking pathetic in her eyes.
He knows it’s wrong, but it’s how he feels. He walks to the couch and sits beside her. He puts an arm round her bare shoulder, rubs it gently.

‘It’ll be okay,’ he tells her.

The words mean absolutely nothing. He must realize how stupid it sounds to say it, she’s thinking to herself. He’s saying what he thinks he ought to. He doesn’t know if
it’ll be okay. He doesn’t care. He’s only thinking about himself now. She looks at him. He’s rubbing her shoulder. His hand is moving in widening circles. She sees that
he’s getting excited.

‘You should put your clothes on,’ she tells him coldly.

Stewart is getting slowly to his feet. Probably not a bad guy. Just not someone with anything useful to offer. Not any more. She has a feeling that she needs to be safe. She’s not under
any particular threat, but she wants safety around her. It won’t come from him.

Stewart gets dressed quickly. Suddenly the selfish thoughts can’t be pushed back any longer.

‘Had you better call the police?’ he’s asking her. There could be a trial. Certainly a large police investigation. A man was murdered. He would be called as a witness. His name
would be in the papers and on TV. They would ask him what he was doing there. It doesn’t seem so funny any more. They would be laughing
at
him, not with him. This could even affect
his career prospects. He would forever be associated with it. The panic that had consumed him earlier is coming back. Not as powerful, but more long-lasting.

Zara looks at him, and starts thinking. The police. They’ll be here at some point. Maybe the neighbours have already called them. Think. Think clearly. What do you need to do? What can you
do to salvage something from this? You have no money of your own. All you have belongs to Lewis. He won’t want you to be left with nothing. How to get it out of the house? Stewart – he
could be useful. Would he be willing? She could make him willing. She stands up, aware of her nudity. She walks quickly across to Stewart and throws her arms around him.

‘You have to help me,’ she says with a slight sob. She’s looking up into his eyes now. She reaches up and kisses him passionately. His hands go round her back. One goes down to
her bum. God, it’s so easy.

Zara pushes him away. ‘We have to protect you,’ she’s telling him, talking breathlessly in the passion of the moment and with her desire to help him. What a wonderful woman,
even at a time like this. ‘There’s no evidence that you were here,’ she’s telling him. ‘You could get out and nobody would ever know. You don’t have to be
dragged down by this.’ It’s so obviously what he wants to hear. He’s nodding along. He thinks she’s just wonderful. Thinking of him, instead of herself. What chance that he
would ever meet a girl like this again? ‘You can go out the back,’ she’s saying to him. ‘Over the back wall, into the garden opposite. You go left and you’re onto the
next street. You’ll be safe,’ she’s telling him, and they’re kissing again. His heart is racing. This is magnificent. He wants to stay with her, but he has to get away. He
turns for the back door. ‘Wait,’ she says, ‘you can help me too.’

Stewart is standing in the hallway. Zara has run upstairs. She’s told him to wait there. He watches her run naked up the stairs. His heart is still racing so fast that he can hear it.
There’s a dead body upstairs. The police are coming. He really needs to get out of there now, if he’s going to get out of there at all. Maybe he should just go. No. She wants him to
help. Helping is the right thing to do. This gorgeous woman. This woman who had to suffer a life tied to a drunkard. This woman who’s just had to go through a traumatic experience. The least
he can do is help her in some way.