The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) (16 page)

So you hear nothing, and the investigation is wound down, and nothing happens. Other times you get cops who chase after you for years, but they have nothing to go on. They might even suspect the
right person, but they can’t find the evidence they need to take it to court. It’s infuriating for them. They think they know who did it. Everyone keeps telling them the same name, but
it’s all rumour. They have nothing that they can put before a jury. You simply can’t go before a court with a hunch. There’s a lot of cases like that. They’re damaging
because you don’t want to be a gunman with a cop looking over your shoulder.

The first two weeks. That’s when there’s nothing but uncertainty, and worry. You’re thinking about what everyone else is doing. You’re wondering how close to you the
police are. You’re worrying that this might be the crime that tips you over the top. You go from being off the police radar to being in their sights. You become the target. It’s almost
bound to happen at some point. Calum tries to be as careful as he can, but one really smart cop might come along and catch him out one day. Technology may move forward and catch him out, not just
on one job, but on every job he’s ever done. He’s met people who committed crimes twenty years ago, thought they’d got away with it, and are now terrified that the police will
reopen the case and catch them with modern technology. ‘Modern technology’ have become dirty words to some in the business.

He’s wondering what the others are doing. He won’t be able to find out. George will be going about his business as he always does. He’ll be making sure that he does nothing to
suggest he ought to be in hiding. Jamieson and Young may or may not know that the hit has happened. Sometimes they find out within a few hours. Word goes round, police contacts tell people in the
business, and they find out. Sometimes it takes an age to find out. The person’s body isn’t discovered as soon as you would expect. The police keep things under wraps. For some reason
your employers don’t find out for a couple of days. They just have to trust. So do you.

The key is not getting twitchy. You trust them not to bottle it; they trust you to do the same. You don’t call them up to find out how things are going. You don’t get in touch to let
them know you’ve done the job. Such is the job. Silent trust. They will find out at some point that you carried out the hit, and that you did it about as well as it could be done.
They’ll know, they’ll be happy, but they’ll keep it to themselves. You don’t go near them for at least a couple of weeks. Maybe longer. Depends on the developing situation.
If there’s heat, then you might not go near them for a month, and even then only through a third party. You have to get paid. Established people like Jamieson don’t screw you over on
the money. If they do, and word gets out, then who wants to work for them in the future?

The last thing they want is you calling them or turning up to see them. What if the police check phone records? So, Mr Jamieson, why did Calum MacLean telephone you the day after he murdered a
man? The police have their link. They know who ordered it. Your stupidity brings down many powerful people, who won’t forgive and forget. They could be watching you. They could be watching
Jamieson. You must be careful, and give them nothing. So you sit tight. The clock ticks. The world goes on around you. You do nothing.

Fisher is run off his feet. That frantic period, in the immediate wake of a killing, when there’s so much to do. This is the bit he enjoys. You can see it in his face, in
his mood. He’s loving this. He knows it won’t last, for one thing. He’ll either catch the killers, the investigation ends and he goes back to more mundane things while he waits
for the next one, or the investigation will run out of steam. Depends on how good they are. Depends on how good he is. For now, though, there’s everything to do. Revel in it. Immerse yourself
in it. This is what makes it worthwhile.

He’s on his way to meet Zara Cope again. She slept at the station last night, she’s still there. Just a few more questions, little things. Find out what club they went to, for one.
Get CCTV, if there is any. Find out what taxi they took home, what driver. Find out who the other passenger was. See what these people have to say for themselves. He already knows who the first
plods on the scene were. One of them was Paul Greig. Jesus fucking Christ! That crook seems to be able to stick his nose into places it shouldn’t be, even when he’s just doing his job.
Fisher knows him well enough to know that he shouldn’t trust him. Not one single damned word. Okay, Greig hasn’t done anything wrong in this case, yet. Wouldn’t put it past him,
though. There are cops who are paid to be the first on the scene, remove any evidence left behind. Fisher knows it happens. Wouldn’t be surprised if Greig was one such cop. It’s always
worth being suspicious when that lying bastard is first on the scene. Why has nobody complained about him yet? Why in hell hasn’t he been kicked out of the force?

Back in the station. Little bit of paperwork. Boring, stupid paperwork. A report about the contents of the house waiting for him. Nothing deemed suspicious by the detective constable who looked
around. No drugs found. Little bit of money, but just loose cash. Nothing that would raise eyebrows. Going to take longer to work out the other details. How much money does Winter have in bank
accounts, and can we prove that it came from drugs? Difficult with a dead guy. Difficult if he didn’t leave any easy evidence behind. Initial search of the house suggests that he
didn’t. Disappointing. Someone else will decide what happens with his assets, and whether they can be taken.

As he walks down to the suite where Cope’s stayed the night, he’s annoyed that he has nothing to throw at her. No drugs. No suspicious documents. No suspicious money. Not a huge
surprise. A dealer of Winter’s experience would know how to be careful, would know how to hide the things that need to be hidden. They plan for the worst-case scenario. Doesn’t get
worse than this. If there had been drugs, he would have her over a barrel. He could ask her whatever he wanted. Put the pressure on. Get some proper detail from her.

People would scowl if they knew how he was thinking. He knows what people make of his attitude. You mustn’t be so aggressive towards the woman. She’s a witness. She’s a victim.
She had a gun pointed at her. You must treat her with the sympathy that she deserves. Bullshit! Complete bullshit. She’s the girlfriend of a drug dealer. She lived with the man. She knew that
he was a dealer, a peddler of filth. She went along with that. It’s inconceivable that she doesn’t know some detail about the business he was involved in. Names. Dates. Amounts.
She’ll be sitting on all sorts of information. Smart little girl. Knows that she can’t give too much away. Knows what’s safe for her and what’s not. If something had been
found, then he could dangle it over her. Not now. Not yet.

He’s knocking on the door and waiting outside. The female cop answers it, nods to him, invites him in. He can’t remember her name. Not important. Cope is sitting on the couch again.
Dressed properly now. Someone must have brought her clothes. No family with her. There usually is, morning after something like this. People rush to comfort.

‘How are you feeling this morning, Zara?’ he’s asking her. He sounds like he’s concerned. He’s not. Years of practice.

‘Okay, I guess,’ she says with a nervous shrug. She looks afraid. She is.

‘There’s just a few little questions I want to ask you about last night,’ he’s saying to her. ‘A few details I need to know, then we can let you go. Do you have
somewhere you can go to?’ he’s asking her, presuming she knows that the house is out of bounds for a few more days.

‘I’ll find somewhere.’

He’s trying to put on his sympathetic face. That’s just for form. He suspects she’s smart enough to see through it. You don’t live the life she has without learning what
a liar looks like.

‘I should ask you if you would like a lawyer present, before I continue,’ he’s saying, ‘although, of course, I’m only going to ask you a few wee questions about
what you saw. You’re just a witness. But if it would make you feel more at ease.’

He’s presenting it as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, but she knows it would make it look like she has something to hide. ‘No, it’s okay,’
she’s saying, her tone attempting to suggest that she doesn’t think a lawyer is at all necessary. Why would it be? She’s done nothing wrong.

He’s nodding, looking at the sheet of paper he has in front of him. Doesn’t look, from where she’s sitting, that it has much written on it.

‘Before we begin,’ he’s saying, ‘is there anything you remember from last night, anything that you want to tell me?’

She’s shaking her head. He made it sound like he expected her to have something new to say, but she doesn’t. ‘No. No, nothing. I’ve thought about it. A lot. But
there’s nothing.’

‘That’s okay – it was just in case anything had come back to you,’ he’s saying. He’s trying to sound like the consummate professional, the sympathetic copper,
but there’s an underlying tone that he can’t disguise. She’ll probably notice, he’s thinking to himself, but he doesn’t much care. He never solved a case by sucking up
to a dealer’s bit of skirt.

Down to the useful stuff. Oh, how he wishes there was something better to throw at her than this. Maybe there will be. Maybe the people who are examining the laptop found at the house will
discover something that incriminates her. Anything at all would be nice.

‘Zara, I need to know what club you and Lewis went to last night. Can you remember the name of it?’

‘Er, yeah. Heavenly, in the city centre. Do you know it?’

‘I know of it,’ he’s saying. Big place. Should have proper CCTV. That could help.

‘We go there now and again. Just to unwind. Just a night out. You don’t think they were there, do you? You don’t think they followed us?’

‘I really don’t know,’ he’s telling her.

She’s not as tearful as she was the night before. Understandable. Appropriate. If she’s performing, then she’s judging it well.

‘I wonder if you know the taxi driver who took you home? I need to talk to him, in case he saw anything on the street after he dropped you off. He might have noticed people, or a
car.’

‘I don’t know,’ she’s saying, shaking her head.

‘That’s okay, it was a long shot. Did you call him, or was he just waiting outside for random pickups?’

She’s running a hand across her forehead. ‘I think he was just outside. I don’t remember calling. I think he must just have been outside.’

‘That’s fine. The club should know who waits outside regularly. I can find out from them.’

So far so good, she’s thinking. No lies. Nothing to trip me up. But there’s one more. She knows he’s going to ask about Stewart, and she’s going to have to lie. This is
when she has to be at her most cautious. The danger is real. If she’s seen to be evasive or difficult, then they’ll get twitchy, they’ll start to press her. Once that happens,
she’s in trouble. She’s a suspect.

‘The last thing I wanted to ask you about was the man who shared the cab with you. Do you know the man? Do you have a name for him? An address, perhaps, where I could reach him?’

‘No,’ she’s saying, shaking her head. ‘I’d never met him before last night. I think I danced with him earlier in the evening. He was leaving at the same time we
were. That was it.’

Fisher is nodding. ‘Okay, Zara, thanks for that. I think the forensic team will be at the house for at least another twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. We’ll let you know. If you
have nowhere else to go, then you can stay here another night. I’m sure that would be fine.’

She’s sitting on the couch, thinking bitterly about it. She has nowhere else to go. Her friends are all fair-weather ones; she wouldn’t turn to them in an emergency. She’s had
almost no contact with her parents in the last eight years. They’re bringing up her daughter, and they seem happy to do it without her getting in the way. They have more contact with Nate
than they do with their own daughter. Nate. An appealing prospect. She would feel safe with Nate. Would he want to see her? They haven’t spoken for almost a year. He’s always polite,
respectful. There’s always that underlying danger with him. The fear. No. Get the money from Stewart, use it to get a place of her own. There must be somewhere she can rent. She’ll sell
the house, if the police don’t take it. She’s not going back there.

John Young is in a pub when he hears the news. It’s half past ten in the morning, and he’s not there for a drink. One-third of the pub is owned by the Jamieson
organization, and it appears to be the only third that isn’t making any money. It’s remarkable that the other two owners would try such a thing. That they would think they could get
away with it. But then, some people are stupid. They came to him because they were in debt. In debt to bad people. They made Young an offer. One-third share in the pub to make the debt collectors
go away. He took it. The pub had the potential to make money. Easy money in a legit business that could be used to filter more ill-gotten cash.

This is Young’s area. He picks out the right businesses to invest in. He’s the one with the head for this. So when it goes wrong, it reflects on him. He doesn’t like things
that reflect badly on his judgement. Who does? The pub is making money, as he was sure it would. They were cleaning bad money through it, as he thought they could. A call from an accountant had
suggested that the money the pub was making was not being split evenly between all three parties. Remarkably the two other owners, who still run the place, handling the day-to-day stuff, think they
can screw Peter Jamieson.

They will get one warning. Just one. The pub’s a useful place to have, and Young doesn’t want to have trouble with it. Kicking the other owners out and taking it for themselves would
mean trouble. It is the next step. If they really think they can hide money from the people they ran to in the first place, then they’re kidding themselves. They need to understand that. Make
them understand. If they try it a second time – which very few ever do, having already been warned – then they will be punished appropriately. They only have their share in the business
because Young did a deal with the debt collectors. He didn’t pay the full amount owed, but the other owners don’t know that. All they know is that they owe him.