“What can I do for you?” he asked, with the sense of trepidation you got from dealing with someone you knew could have you in a body bag with a phone call, legally, without having to bury you in the woods or explain themselves to the likes of him.
“I’d say in this case Detective Inspector, it’s more a case of what I can do for you.”
“Really?” he asked, wondering if he looked like he needed put down.
“Really,” she confirmed. “And don’t look so nervous. I’m not planning on having you fitted for concrete boots or anything.
“The thought hadn’t entered my head.”
She smiled her knowing smile once more and continued. “What do you know of Leon Williams?”
He let this sink in for a second, taking time to respond. How did GCHQ, MI5 or whoever else know what they were investigating?
“Not a great deal,” he said finally, deciding there wasn’t much to give away. “He is the subject of an ongoing murder investigation, given the fact he has a spot in our city morgue.”
“Quite, but what do you actually know about him?”
“I’m not sure where this is going. What is it you want to know? Is there a reason you’re investigating him?”
“In a sense yes,” she replied. She was probably a good poker player, Burke decided.
“In all honesty we don’t know a hell of a lot,” he admitted. “Ex-marine commando, injured in Afghanistan, seemingly got mixed up with the wrong people after he left the forces and wound up here. We’re not sure what he got mixed up in but it looks like some kind of drug war.”
The spook nodded slowly as he spoke and Burke knew he wasn’t telling her anything new.
“You’re right of course, in a sense. He did get mixed up with the wrong people,” she said with a sigh. “He was one of ours.”
He eventually summoned the energy to take a trip out into the cold. He took a skulking DC Jones who had been hanging around his peripheral vision since this afternoons visitor had presented herself, presumably wanting to know the script. She managed to skirt around the subject, all the way from Gayfield Square to Karpov’s palatial home in Bruntsfield. He wasn’t biting. She’d have to try harder than that.
The headlights shone on the dark hulk of a house now making it look as if it had been abandoned for years, aside from the scene of crime notices which were too bright to be anything but modern. They entered via the front door, disabling the alarm system and fumbling for the lights in the hallway. The place still reeked of carnage
Something moved to his left. He turned to see a figure emerge from the gloom before it knocked him sideways. They burst through the front door as he turned trying to follow but lost his footing. A crashing sound behind told him there was a second intruder. He turned again to see another figure in black run towards him. Jones tried to get in the way but only managed a glance blow to the side of the runner. The man let out a growl as he ran for Burke who stood his ground knowing he had a weight advantage. His heart lurched as he saw something glint in the black gloved hand. He held on for a second more before shifting his weight sideways as the man threw himself forwards, top heavy, swinging the blade. The knife caught his left hand as it moved outwards to counter the side-step and he let out a yelp as he swung the rest of his body back round, catching his assailant with a well-placed blow to the side of the head sending him staggering headfirst into the doorframe. The man’s head made a sickening thump before his body gave way beneath, collapsing into a tangled heap on the floor. He felt the sting in his hand and he was only prevented from aiming an angry kick at the slumped would be ninja by Jones, who got in the way in her efforts to get the bastard cuffed.
Once he was suitably restrained, they removed the balaclava from his head to reveal the face of what could not have been more than a teenager.
Andy woke again, hearing the commotion outside. Had another plane landed? He’d heard trucks come and go; feed trucks, oil tankers, the kind of thing that wouldn’t normally cause him to bat an eyelid down here but now everything seemed to have a double meaning. Every movement, noise, flicker of disrupted light through the slatted wall, it all seemed like a sign of something, and all of it gave cause for alarm.
His life was now an endless night punctuated by a succession of shocks and starts. He was no longer sure what he’d dreamt and what was real at points.
In his more lucid moments he’d begun to take stock. His life played out before him, not so much in a montage as they said it did before you died, more like a very deliberate purge of hard drives. Every misdemeanour, from the seemingly insignificant, like the time he broke his mum’s favourite vase, to the gut wrenching, like the time he slept with Davie’s ex and hadn’t had to blame anyone as it still lay buried in the back of his conscience, unattended, along with everything else. It wasn’t so much a closet full of skeletons as a bone collection, like that church in Prague he’d read about at school while he should have been studying for his higher history exam. That was what he enjoyed above all else, apart from the sex and the alcohol and the cheap thrills that were part of the human condition. If they were to tell him he never had to work again, that he’d won the lottery that was what he’d do, not for money but just the sheer pleasure of it. He’d research the things he was interested in; history, politics, world wars, the industrial revolution, communism, fascism, capitalism and socialism, the rise and fall of empires and everything else in between.
That was what they said, wasn’t it? Work out what you would do to while away the hours if money was no object. That was it. In between girls and beer he would most like to find out about stuff.
But money would never be no object, that was the point, and anyway it looked as though he was going to end his days here. He’d have thought someone might have missed him, but then the parents were still away and his sister was at Vet school during the week. He wondered where Davie and Colin thought he’d got to though. He’d have thought he could have counted on those two, feckless arseholes that they were. In the darkness and encroaching cold of the now nearly empty prison, he had made himself a promise. If he ever did make it out of here he would go and study history and politics. Not agriculture, as he was sure would have made more sense, not business, which might have given him a broader outlook career wise, but history and politics, for the love of it and for the fact he had another shot and would not waste it. Not in between beer and girls.
That had been hours ago, maybe days ago for all he knew and it had kept him going since. Planning, considering each possibility in depth. What if he became a lecturer or a professor or something? Then he could nothing but study the things that interested him for the rest of his days. Was that even doable for a country bumpkin? Surely he had to have a good knowledge of tweed jackets or speak in a certain way to get on in that world. Did it pay well? Did it matter? They would probably have to sell the farm anyway. His sister wasn’t planning on taking it on and there wasn’t the income for both of them. The possibilities though, they were something that he clung to.
The commotion got louder outside it sounded like the goon squad were trying to move something. It almost sounded like livestock, like a struggling sheep who didn’t fancy the idea of getting sheared or a cow that didn’t want to go down the race to get its injections. A boom echoed round the lifeless room as the ancient steel door came to life on its rusty wheels. The winter sun had long since departed and the room was flooded with white halogen light. Three silhouettes emerged from the blazing artificial glow and he knew in his heart his time had come.
He hunkered down as best he could with his hands tied, keeping his eyes closed. He would not give the bastards the satisfaction watching his terrified expression as he waited.