Ten minutes later David was sat in a cell, no shoes, his belongings in a sealed bag at reception, staring at a cell door thinking of Beaumont and of Wheeler’s face as he fell to the ground. He hadn’t said a word. He knew it made sense for them to make sure. The Police Inspector had made it clear that he was personally going to make sure that no assassin got past him on his watch, not after Liverpool and certainly not after Perth last night.
David looked around. He’d sat in customs holding cells with suspected smugglers, but this was the first time he’d been locked in a cell. It was small square and yet high. Fifteen feet from the ground there were opaque glass windows in the ceiling, thick oblong slabs in grill pattern. They let in a grey washed light. The thick steel door had a drop down flap about chest height. A policeman had checked on him through it. The floor was stone and the bed he sat on was a board. There were brown blankets and a rolled up thin blue mattress. It was a holding cell. There was a half walled area with a metal toilet and a flush button. Opposite the bowl was a spy hole similar to that of a domestic door. No privacy and no chance of escape; he’d felt that when the door locked. He had to wait whilst they checked his credentials. He wanted to know how Beaumont was.
He sat there thinking over the incident and each flash of memory brought butterflies to the stomach. After twenty minutes in the cell, the memory repeating itself over and over he made for the metal bowl, noting briefly an eye at the viewing hole in the wall opposite and big man as he was he bent over and was violently sick retching up porridge and coffee.
The time passed with David seeing Beaumont folding to the floor and his fingers twitching as he recalled the single shot opening the hole in Wheeler’s head. With an empty stomach he retched each time the memory of the dead man’s fall popped into his head.
Monty Lawton parked his dark green Mondeo in the visitor’s car park of the police station at Port Dundas Place half an hour after David’s arrival there. He’d had a busy morning. First he’d seen Wheeler, whom he’d been watching for all the previous day. He had also been told to look for Stanton. It was just before he’d been called out today that he’d got through the train station CCTV. His sharp eyes and quick mind had noted the man at Motherwell station, right where he lived. A CCTV backtrack within a ten mile radius had flagged up the lorry at the race track and he was about to call the police when the window inset live stream had shown Wheeler back at the bus station. He’d tried to call McKie, but the phone was engaged. Beaumont’s phone had just asked for messages, since it was still attached to the laptop in the Thistle Hotel. He’d watched with horror the unfolding drama at Buchanon and made a call to Jack. He’d rushed out jumped in the car and driven into the city.
In reception he told them who he was and they’d asked him to wait and whilst waiting his phone rang. The desk sergeant gave him a frown.
“Hi Monty here.. Yes Jack…I’m waiting…You called them yourself… Good…No… Is he? Good. Good… That’s two dead then… Stanton… No idea…but I’ve to get the police here to check a lorry at Hamilton Race Course… I think Stanton’s in the area… Okay… yes, “ he looked over at the desk guiltily “… Yes I am and ready at that. Okay I’ll have him out in a moment. Alright…” The inspector appeared at the desk then the door opened. “Right I’ve to go now. I’ll call back.”
“Mr Lawton?”
“That’s me right enough.”
“Inspector Searle.” They shook hands. “You boss identified this man as one of your own. He’s got some pull your boss. He came off the phone and then the Home Secretary called. Sorry we had to hold him, but we weren’t sure who was who at the bus station.”
“Doesn’t he have a pass like this?” He handed the inspector his pass.
“Yes, but we couldn’t be sure, not after Perth.”
“Sure enough.”
The inspector handed the pass back.
“This pass gives you diplomatic immunity. I’m therefore not able to hold him for the shooting of that man at the bus station. In fact right from the top it says to let him go even though he shot that man, who your organisation are saying is Wheeler, a man picked up after a road accident and found to be armed. He escaped yesterday.”
“Sure enough the man killed by McKie is Wheeler one of the illegal immigrants and according to our organisation a hired assassin.”
“Is that so? I’m not exactly sure who or what your organisation is?”
“You’re not meant to, but take it from us the country’s a better place for that man being dead. I do commend your thinking on holding David until you were sure. Our communications network shows that the Mersey marina murderer managed to get onto a flight this morning using one of our passes and a disguise, so good thinking.”
At that point David came out and was handed his shoes, bag with watch and money in, his pass and his Sig and holster. He was handed a third bag with Beaumont's Sig in it.
“David. I’m Monty Lawton. Glasgow branch.” They shook hands. “Jack Beaumont’s stable, shot through the lung. He had a tricky half hour, but he’s looking good for it right now. I’ve to take you over there.”
“Thanks. Did Wheeler die?”
“Yes he did.” Monty patted his shoulder. “It’s not easy killing a man, it was kill or be killed, plain and simple; it was you or him and he had shot your partner.” David nodded silently.
Lawton took David to the hospital from the police station. The room had been quiet and Beaumont was asleep, wearing a respirator over his face and wired up to a heart monitor. Yellow sunlight brightened the room through angled blinds and hospital noises were distantly muffled by the door. It was a cocoon of quiet, even the heart monitor was set to silent in the room. It crossed David’s mind that it could have been him. He felt a wave of guilt and shame flush through him. He should have taken his laptop. He should have checked his Sig before he left. He should have checked with Lawton by satellite phone. He felt that he had lost the edge he had started out with. He wondered if he had the capacity to do the work. Spencer’s death, the fear of Stanton at the station and a lack of sleep had eroded his mental and physical edge. If it happened once it could happen again. He watched Beaumont breathing for a while as a new father watches the baby and dare not look away for fear it may cease. Lawton gently called him away.
Once back at the hotel David showered and drank a cup of sweet tea. When he was dressed he stood behind Monty Lawton as he sought evidence of Stanton’s whereabouts.
David stood uneasily behind the chair at the desk in the Thistle Hotel. Lawton was logged on to Beaumont’s laptop and was checking the latest communiques. For David it was hard to focus on the screen as the uneaten slice of cake sat accusingly next to Beaumont’s laptop.
“Stanton has gone to ground, there’s no trace after the rail station. He’s either in a house nearby or has stolen a car. I’ve checked reported car thefts, but there’s nothing in my area. Stanton’s good. It makes you wonder just how good DIC are if we can’t track them fast enough to be there waiting for them.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re more used to this intensity and pace.” David said.
“It’s possible. The one that scares me is Mason. He completely disappeared shortly after entry, there’s only that footage at the industrial park and the stolen Alfa found in Glasgow, after that nothing. He must have disguised himself well.”
“That’s true enough, but we did pick them up at point of entry which is better than not at all.”
“True, true,” Lawton logged off. “You’d better call Jack and see what his instructions are. I’ll go and wait in the lobby, I’ll pay the bill.”
“I’d like to go to see my father. He lives in Motherwell, Sunflower Gardens.”
“Some coincidence that’s round the corner from me, I’ll drop you there and you can pop back round after your visit and we’ll sort out what Jack wants you to do.”