Picture Her Dead (Rhona Macleod) Read online

  ‘There’s nothing broken.’ He observed her worried expression. ‘Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  He laid his head back wearily.

  ‘I was escorted from the premises for trying to involve its owner in money laundering, and taught a lesson. I never got a chance to say why I was really there.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Brogan was all smiles at first. Offered me a Cuban cigar, a brandy. Asked about the money. I played along for a while, then requested we talk in private, hoping he’d remove the bouncer from the room. The bouncer did leave but he took me with him. Next thing I know I’m round the back and three guys are scoring goals in my stomach. I passed out. Came to on my doorstep.’

  ‘So they know who you are?’

  ‘And where I live.’

  ‘And why you were there?’

  ‘That I don’t know. It may be that Brogan did suspect I was looking for a money-laundering story and decided to warn me off.’ He caught her worried eye and pulled himself up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Brogan’s dead. Shot at point blank range through the head.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just come from the crime scene.’

  She watched as he processed this information, trying to figure out if it was a surprise to him. ‘I told Bill we were at the club.’ He was waiting, anticipating more. Rhona paused, afraid to voice what would come next. ‘McNab was at the club. I saw him just after you went with Brogan. He was very angry to find me there and insisted I left. He said you would both come to my flat after he’d spoken to Brogan.’

  ‘I had no idea he was there.’

  Rhona studied him closely. He’d lied before or, in his own words, omitted to tell her the whole truth. Was he lying now?

  ‘I take it McNab never turned up at your place?’

  She shook her head. ‘I went round to his hotel. He’s not there. The night porter said he left with a big guy who sounded like Solonik.’

  ‘Dj’ fulsins Helviti!’

  ‘They’ve got him, haven’t they?’

  Petersson wouldn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  16

  ‘OK, so what are we looking for?’

  Ben sounded eager, as though he was playing one of his online computer games.

  ‘I don’t know. The porno said ‘Olympia Bridgeton’ on the label. Jude must have been here.’

  Liam looked up at the red sandstone building. The impressive curved and porticoed entrance had weeds growing from its cracked stones, the windows and doors boarded up.

  ‘How do we get in?’

  ‘You mean you don’t have a sonic screwdriver?’ Liam said sarcastically.

  Ben observed him grandly. ‘Word of advice, mate. You don’t diss the Doctor. You never know when he might come in handy.’

  Liam shook his head. Ben might be a computer genius but at times Liam wondered if he was actually living on this planet.

  ‘How did Jude get in?’ Ben said.

  ‘I don’t know. Talked to the council or something.’

  ‘We could try that?’

  ‘And how long would that take?’

  Ben must have been able to see Liam was worried. ‘We’ll find a way in. Let’s take a look round the back.’

  The right wall of the building faced the main road and was plastered with fly posters. Hard on its end was a white building containing offices, followed by another sandstone one. Neither offered any obvious access to the rear of the Olympia.

  The other side street looked more promising. There were two doors, both obviously former exits from the cinema. Both were padlocked. At the end of the building was a concreted back court, surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence.

  They stood in silence, neither wanting to voice the opinion that it was hopeless.

  ‘OK. What if I pick a padlock with my sonic screwdriver?’ Ben offered.

  ‘Fuck off.’ Liam was in no mood for joking.

  Ben, unmoved by the expletive, pulled out what looked like a mini-screwdriver. ‘I told you, don’t diss the Doctor.’

  He took himself back to a padlocked door. ‘OK, stand in front of me and act casual.’ He glanced up at the tenement and corner pub opposite. ‘Anyone taking an interest in us, we move off. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ Liam assumed what he hoped was a casual stance, glancing about occasionally as though waiting for someone.

  ‘Take my advice, bro. Don’t audition for the RSAMD,’ muttered Ben from behind him. ‘You can’t act for shite.’

  Liam heard a click, then a rattle as the chain was pulled free. Seconds later they were in, the door shut firmly behind them. They stood in the dark, panting and smothering laughter.

  Liam switched on the torch. ‘Holy shit, you’re good.’

  Ben grinned. ‘So now we’ve done the breaking and entering bit, what next?’

  ‘We find the projection room.’ Liam shone the beam up a set of concrete steps. ‘Follow me.’

  They climbed up either side of a metal railing. The beam bounced off glossy red walls. When they reached a landing they paused.

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Give us a chance.’ Liam surveyed the landing walls searching for the ‘No Smoking’ sign he knew would indicate the location of the projection suite. Here the ceiling plaster had partially collapsed. The smell of damp was overwhelming, nothing like the warm stuffy dryness of the Rosevale.

  ‘Well?’ Ben urged, just as the beam caught a double door. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Probably the balcony.’

  ‘Let’s take a look.’ Ben pushed open the door.

  They moved from pitch darkness to a diffused light. It was the balcony, still full of rows of plush red seats. Below was a full view of the old auditorium, the light coming from a cupola on the top right-hand side of the exposed roof.

  ‘Wow!’ Ben said, gazing round.

  The ceiling was badly damaged and various broken items were scattered about the auditorium floor, but the proscenium arch was still spectacular, despite the cheap hand-painted banner that hung limply across it: Glasgow Suite Centre Open 7 days.

  ‘It must have ended up as a furniture store before it finally closed,’ Liam said.

  ‘Shame. I could imagine watching a cool movie in here.’

  Liam swivelled round to look at the back wall, spotting the telltale portholes. ‘The projection room’s up there. Come on.’

  The higher they climbed the more apparent the damage became. Blackened and burned in places, the roof was obviously letting in the rain big time.

  ‘God, this place stinks,’ Ben said.

  ‘Not as badly as the Rosevale.’

  ‘It smelled like this?’

  ‘Believe me, dead bodies have a smell all their own.’

  ‘You think we’ll find another body?’ Ben said, half eager, half afraid.

  Liam stopped suddenly and Ben bumped into his back.

  ‘The projection suite.’ Liam directed the torch at a wooden door with a heavy brass closer. Above it the sign emphasised ‘No Smoking!’.

  ‘The holy of holies. Cool.’

  The door had a heavy bolt which slid back easily.

  ‘Weird. It’s the only thing not rusting round here.’

  Liam pulled the door open and they stepped inside. The brass closer immediately swung the door shut behind them.

  ‘Shit!’

  The beam picked out Ben’s startled face.

  ‘It’s OK, we’re not locked in,’ Liam assured him.

  ‘If you say so.’ Ben made big eyes at him.

  Liam ran the torch round the room. It looked much the same as the one at the Rosevale. The only difference was the existence of two empty projector stands and the fact that the space was cleaner. Much cleaner.

  ‘Someone’s tidied up in here,’ Ben remarked. ‘It doesn’t smell so bad either.’

  ‘Bone dry,’ Liam looked up at the ceiling. ‘No leaks.’

  ‘No nothing,’ said Ben, swivelling
round to check the entire space.

  ‘So where did Jude find the reel of film?’

  The torch lit on a metal cabinet, doors standing open. Liam went for a closer look. Three shelves, all empty. On the floor in front was a half-smoked cigarette.

  ‘Jude doesn’t smoke, does she?’ Ben bent to pick it up.

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘DNA?’

  Ben liked that. ‘Cool. Ultra cool. So what do we do? Bag it and deliver it to your mum?’

  But Liam’s attention had settled on the cabinet. The lock looked as though it had been oiled, the interior was dust free. He eyed the width of a shelf. The reel would have fitted it easily.

  Ben was following his thoughts. ‘You think Jude found the reel in there?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So what? Gay pornos aren’t illegal.’

  ‘Back when that one was made, they were.’ Liam shook his head. Nothing made sense. Jude visited this place and took home an old porno film, then she went to the Rosevale and disappeared.

  ‘Are you going to tell Rhona about this?’

  ‘She’s got her hands full with the body,’ Liam said sharply. ‘Unless Jude turns up dead, I don’t think she’ll be interested.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  Liam stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘What about the cigarette?’

  ‘Leave it.’

  They made their way down the stairs. Once outside, Ben re-padlocked the door.

  Liam watched, deflated and depressed. He had no idea what he’d hoped to find at the Olympia; he’d just wanted to prove to himself that he was doing something, when the truth was he was running around like a headless chicken.

  Jude’s intense little face came into his mind. How he longed to see it again.

  ‘You’re not giving up, are you, mate?’ said Ben.

  When Liam didn’t answer, Ben slipped an arm round his shoulder. ‘OK, I suggest we go for a pint and plan our next move.’

  ‘What next move?’ Liam said, moodily.

  ‘Jude was on Facebook.’

  ‘Was she? How d’you know that?’

  ‘Because I’m one of her cinema friends.’ Ben grinned. ‘Don’t look so freaked. We have a mutual passion for sci-fi films, that’s all.’ He paused. ‘I take it you’re not on Facebook?’

  ‘No.’

  Ben looked askance and shook his head. ‘It’s time you entered this century, bro. I vote we use Facebook to try and find her.’

  ‘Use Facebook?’ Liam was still trying to process this new aspect of Jude. The sci-fi fanatic. He was beginning to suspect he didn’t know anything about her. Or at least, he only knew what she’d chosen to tell him.

  ‘Watch and learn, bro. Watch and learn.’

  17

  Bill stood in the Super’s office, sure that he must look as though he had a bad smell under his nose. He did, and it was generated by Detective Inspector Geoffrey Slater.

  Slater hadn’t improved in looks since his departure. If anything he’d put on more weight, and grown meaner looking. Or maybe he was trying to project a tough-guy image to give himself more authority. It wasn’t working on Bill, who hated everything about the man. It was, in his opinion, Slater’s fault that McNab had been shot in the first place. If Slater hadn’t released Kalinin that night, or had at least warned McNab, Bill doubted they would be standing here now with another murder on their hands.

  ‘Sit down, gentlemen.’

  Bill would have preferred to stand, but the look on the Super’s face suggested that wasn’t an option.

  Sutherland waved the stranger in the room to a seat first. He’d been introduced as Harry Black, and was a fresh-faced, smart-suited DI from SOCA.

  ‘I know you understand how important it is that we co-operate with SOCA on this?’ The remark was directed at Bill.

  ‘The shooting occurred on our territory, Sir.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, Detective Inspector,’ Superintendent Sutherland said smoothly.

  The argument over jurisdiction in McNab’s case had rubbed salt in the wound for his team, after the shock of the murder itself. In retrospect, Bill could appreciate SOCA’s motives. The Serious Organised Crime Agency needed McNab as a witness in their high-profile case against Nikolai Kalinin. That gave them precedence over their Scottish equivalent, the Scottish Crime and Drug Agency. So SOCA had spirited the seriously injured McNab away, nursed him back to health, then hidden him. It was a neat trick, or would have been if it had worked.

  They all took their seats. The Super’s room, for all its airy size, was hardly big enough for the combined force of adrenaline and testosterone present. Bill thought to himself that if McNab had walked in at this moment the place would have ignited.

  As he observed in silence, Bill wondered who was really in charge of the investigation into Brogan’s shooting: Slater or Black? Slater had made mistakes the first time round, but then SOCA had lost the soldier Fergus Morrison even when they had him in a safe house.

  The truth was, Kalinin and his gang were running rings round all of them. Only recently the Metropolitan Police Commissioner had publicly stated that some of Britain’s wealthiest and most dangerous criminals were operating with complete impunity, and that policing had a meaningful impact on just ten per cent of the 6,000 crime gangs operating across Britain. Intelligence had identified 68 criminal organisations that each held assets of £10 million or more; Kalinin, Bill suspected, had a bigger bank balance than even they could imagine.

  And now with Brogan, yet another witness was conveniently dead. Which left only McNab.

  ‘Tell them what you told me,’ said Sutherland.

  Bill cleared his throat. ‘Dr MacLeod arrived at the Poker Club with Einar Petersson at around nine o’clock yesterday evening. Their intention was that Petersson would approach Brogan and ask him to testify against Kalinin.’

  Black got in first. ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘McNab had been in touch with Rhona … with Dr MacLeod, and revealed that Paddy Brogan had been in the car the night he was shot. He thought if Brogan was made aware that he was alive and would testify, Brogan himself might be brought onside. The other sweetener was that Kalinin’s conviction would get him off Brogan’s back.’

  Black was sitting forward in his seat, his interest and excitement obvious. Slater was more wary, circling the revelations with suspicion.

  ‘Einar Petersson has a history of messing in things that don’t concern him,’ Slater said.

  ‘Others might say he has a better track record than the authorities at bringing crime-lords to book.’

  Sutherland darted Bill a warning look which he chose not to acknowledge before dropping his bombshell. ‘When Petersson went to speak to Brogan on the pretext that he was an Icelandic banker with money to launder, Dr MacLeod discovered DS McNab was in the building.’

  There was an audible intake of breath from the other two men. Bill had waited until this morning to tell the Superintendent, hoping they might locate McNab first, but Rhona’s phone call had put an end to that.

  He weighed up their reactions. Slater, he deduced from his smile, either already knew this or was delighted by it. Black’s response was harder to decipher. He went on: ‘DS McNab insisted Rhona go home, where he and Petersson would meet her later. He never turned up, and is still missing. Brogan pretended offence at being asked to launder money and Petersson was violently ejected from the premises. Petersson maintains he neither saw McNab nor had any idea that he was there.’

  Bill stopped there, seeing no need to reveal Rhona’s mad dash to the Poker Club or her concern that McNab could have been either the victim or the perpetrator.

  Silence descended. It was a lot to take in. Bill suspected Slater would stick his oar in first, which he did with barely suppressed glee.

  ‘I take it McNab has a firearm?’

  ‘No, not unless SOCA issued him with one.’

  Black looked momentarily uncomfort
able. ‘One gun was unaccounted for after DS McNab’s disappearance from the safe house.’

  From Slater’s expression he was already writing McNab into a firearm’s charge, perhaps even a murder charge. But Bill hadn’t finished yet.

  ‘In the early hours of this morning DS McNab was witnessed leaving a hotel in Bath Street, where he’d been staying. He was in the company of a man who might have been Ivan Solonik, Kalinin’s right-hand man.’

  That was news even for the Super.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘We’ve brought the night porter in for further questioning, but it’s fairly conclusive.’

  A heavy silence followed. Nobody said McNab could already be dead, but they were all thinking it. Bill’s chest was so tight at the thought that he could barely draw air into his lungs.

  ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector Wilson,’ Black said formally. ‘Myself and DI Slater will take over from here.’

  Bill had been anticipating this moment, but it didn’t make it any easier. He opened his mouth to protest, however useless that might be, but the Super stalled him.

  ‘How are things progressing on the body found in the cinema?’

  ‘It was transferred to the mortuary this morning, Sir. The PM’s this afternoon.’

  ‘Good. Let me know what happens.’ Sutherland stood up pointedly, followed by the others. Bill was being summarily dismissed. The idiots who’d endangered his DS first time round were intent on finishing the job.

  He walked stiffly to the door.

  The incident room fell silent as he passed through. Everyone knew something was up. DS Clark followed him into his office.

  ‘I have to ask, Sir. Rumour has it the Russians have picked up McNab. Is it true?’

  Looking at her strained face, Bill thought it would have been better for them all to go on believing McNab was dead. Burying a colleague and friend once was more than enough.

  ‘We don’t deal in rumour here, Sergeant.’

  Janice nodded. ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said, and retreated.

  Bill waited until the door closed, then swivelled his chair to face the window. Who was he kidding? There weren’t many men who could fit Solonik’s description, although there was something about that weasel of a night porter that had made him uneasy.