Face in the Frame (13 page)

“Aw Jesus, don’t cry,” said Brodie, pulling his phone out of his pocket while Norrie quietly sobbed.

“What are you doing Bossman?” said Cass, who had returned downstairs with Mags.

“Calling Pete. This situation just got a little more complicated.”

CHAPTER 11

Half an hour later Pete strode into Norrie’s house followed by three uniformed officers and two detectives.

“I thought I told you to come in low key,” said Brodie. “You couldn’t have made more of a spectacle if you’d arrived in an ice cream van.”

“You seem to forget Brodie, you’re not a detective inspector anymore but I am and I say how things happen.”

“Alright, keep your wig on.”

“I do not wear a wig,” thundered Pete. He rounded on his two detectives when one of them sniggered but, as he had no idea which one was responsible, he just glared at them. “Get some bloody work done and search the house,” he barked at them. He looked to the uniforms. “Get that in the car,” he said, pointing at Norrie

“I want to make an official complaint,” blustered Norrie as he was cuffed and hauled to his feet. “These people burst into my house and attacked me.”

“It’s not true,” said Brodie. “We knocked on the door to ask for directions, he invited us in for a brew then I recognised him from his wanted poster and he went mental. We were in fear for our lives, weren’t we?”

Cass, Ross and Christian all nodded while Pete rolled his eyes.

“I was hit,” cried Norrie. “Look.”

“Look at what?” said Pete.

“My injuries.”

“What injuries?”

“He hit me round the back of the heid and knocked me out,” he said, pointing to Christian with his cuffed hands.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Touch it. I bet there’s a lump there.”

“I’m not touching you,” said Pete, screwing up his face. “Get this clown out of here so we can get the job done and go home.”

While a protesting Norrie was led out, Pete took Brodie by the arm and escorted him into the kitchen.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at Brodie?” he said after slamming the door shut behind him.

“I’m doing my job. You’ve been after Norrie for months so I thought I’d do you a favour. Only a prick like that would give up his freedom for a quick leg over with a manky tart.”

“I mean the drugs.”

“I didn’t put them there if that’s what you’re trying to say,” he sniffed.

“We both know Norrie isn’t a drug dealer. He’s practically everything else you can think of but not that, he was always too frightened of what the big boys would do to him if he tried.”

“This is much bigger than Norrie. Big Malc’s gone into opposition against Toni McVay and set up shop.”

“You serious?” he frowned.

“I am. I had the Queen of Sheba herself swan into my office demanding I try to talk Malc round, get him to give up the business and stick to his nightclubs and weed. I would have told you when we spoke on the phone but you hung up on me.”

“I was busy and because you saved Malc’s life she thought he might listen to you?”

“I wish I’d just let him drown now. At least then I wouldn’t have Toni McVay up my arse.”

“She’d probably enjoy that. So Norrie got that coke from Big Malc, is that what you’re telling me?”

“I am and apparently someone on Toni’s own firm is helping Malc.”

“I’m not surprised, he’s so thick he can’t even scratch his big melon head without assistance.” He sighed and dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it. “You see, it’s real.”

“It looks weird.”

“It’s modern, you wouldn’t understand. This was supposed to be a simple nick, get an old warrant out of the way. Now you’ve turned it into sodding gang warfare.”

“That’s what it is. Did you lot have no idea?”

“I didn’t. Maybe the drugs boys did. I’m going to have to call them in now, have them going all gung-ho on my bloody nick. Why do you have to make everything so complicated Brodie?”

“It’s no’ my fault the criminals are committing crimes. Maybe if you did your job better they wouldn’t be out committing crimes then there’d be no crimes being committed.”

“Shut up, you’re giving me a headache.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you to clean up here. We’ve done our bit and we do have other cases to work on.”

“Aye go on, before you make my headache worse.”

Brodie nodded and walked past him to the door, pausing to tug at the back of his friend’s head.

“Ow,” exclaimed Pete. “What the hell was that for?”

“Just making sure it’s attached to your heid,” Brodie grinned before ducking back into the living room. “Job well done,” he announced to his team. “Coffee’s on me.”

“Bugger,” muttered Brodie as the coffee leaked out of the flimsy plastic lid and onto his hand. Hastily he put the cup on the ground and sucked his fingers before they could burn and frowned at the empty spot before him. There was no huddled figure wrapped up in a sleeping bag or perched on the step with their head bowed and a begging cup in their hand. In all his years he’d never seen that prime spot vacant before. First Fred, then Robbie, now the mad harpy.

Deciding he needed to know what was going on, he tramped around the corner with his coffee and onto the next street where Nick had been for years.

“Why’s no one on the main street?” Brodie asked him.

A face in a bobble hat peered up at him. “No one will sit there now.”

“How?”

“Because it’s unlucky. The devil took the last three who sat there.”

“Last three? You mean that mad woman’s gone too?”

He nodded, rubbing his nose and jiggling his leg up and down. “Devil came for her. Mark saw him.”

“He
saw
him?” exclaimed Brodie. “Where is Mark now?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Gonnae gie us a quid for a cuppa? Hey you bastard, I told you stuff,” he called when Brodie ran off, leaving behind only a half-empty coffee cup.

Brodie was now grateful that he’d taken the time to get to know the local homeless community. Mark frequented the underside of a railway bridge and fortunately he was still there.

“Oy, I heard you saw the devil?” he called to a man sitting cross legged on the pavement, puffing on a cigarette.

“What are you talking about?” he frowned.

“The man who took the mad woman who was sitting in Fred’s spot?”

“You’ve been misinformed,” replied Mark, who was very well educated. He’d been quite high flying in his day, until a drink and drug habit had led him to losing everything. “I saw the man who took Robbie,” he said casually.

“What did he look like?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Brodie thrust his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty pound note.

“That’ll do it,” said Mark, hastily pocketing the note.

“Well?” exclaimed Brodie when Mark returned to smoking his cigarette.

“I couldn’t see him, it was dark.”

“Is that the best you’ve got? I gave you twenty quid.”

“Well, I could tell it was a man,” he shrugged.

“Oh well thanks, that rounds it down. Can you describe him? Tall, short, fat, thin?”

Another shrug. “Dunno, just average.”

“Fat lot of fucking use you are.”

“It was dark,” he frowned.

“Did he go willingly with him?”

“Yeah, there was no fighting or shouting.”

“Did you overhear any conversation?”

“Nope.”

“Which way did they go?”

“Away from town.”

“Did anyone else see them?”

“How should I know?”

Brodie’s teeth grated together with frustration. “Was anyone else there?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Bugger,” said Brodie. “That makes three. It’s a massacre.”

“Eh? What are you talking about?” he called as Brodie ran off.

“Stay under your bridge, it’s safer,” Brodie added before he turned the corner.

Bill frowned when a man strode into the Face in the Frame exhibition, looking a little wild-eyed. Usually he wouldn’t be here this time of day but he was doing a double shift to cover for a colleague whose wife was ill. He’d jumped at the chance to spend more time with Sylvie. Although he was supposed to patrol the whole museum he kept ending up back here, wanting to be close to her. The museum was due to close in half an hour and it would be a relief. He couldn’t bear all these strangers staring at his Sylvie, pressing her button and laughing when her beautiful eyes opened and she started to talk. Didn’t they realise she was so much more than a novelty for their own amusement?

He watched the wild-eyed man reel around the exhibition, peering at all the faces but not bothering to press any of their buttons. He kept returning to the face of one old man in particular, staring at it before shaking his head and doing another round of the faces. To his relief the man barely paid Sylvie any attention, which just went to prove how mad he was.

Wanting to be sure the man wasn’t going to cause any trouble, Bill decided to approach him. He hitched up his belt, drawing himself up to his full six foot, although the stranger looked to be taller than that. He wanted to put on a good show for Sylvie, to show her he was capable of taking care of her.

“You looking for something?” he growled.

The man turned to him with an annoyed expression. “Yeah but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He appeared to be on the verge of telling him something before deciding against it. “Never mind.”

“Alright, just take it easy will you pal, you’re making everyone twitchy.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, the ferocious look at odds with his words. “Have any new faces joined the exhibition recently?”

“No but I do know that Lucas is preparing a new exhibition,” Bill replied, proud to be able to use Lucas’s first name, making it sound as though he was a close personal friend. Lucas had been in twice since they’d first met and he was always friendly and talkative.

The man’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “He is?”

Bill nodded. “It’s for his return to London,” he said, non-plussed by how electrified the man looked.

He just stared at Bill then clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks pal,” he said before rushing from the room.

Bill watched him go, shaking his head. “Prick,” he said to himself before returning to Sylvie. That loon had made him feel even more protective of her.

Pete was astonished when a breathless and slightly wild-eyed Brodie burst into his office.

“The mad harpy’s gone missing now,” he announced.

Pete leaned back in his chair twiddling a pen and frowned. “Who the hell is the mad harpy? And why do you stink of rat piss?”

“Homeless people are going missing all over the place.”

Pete shrugged. “They move on, find pastures new. They’re not called transients for nothing.”

“For Christ’s sake, why will no one listen to me? Fred and Robbie have been around here for donkey’s years. Then they both suddenly decide to up sticks and do one at the same time. Now the mad harpy. I don’t know her real name.”

“Alright, that is a bit odd, maybe.”

“And it happens just as Lucas Thorne comes to town. Not only that, but Fred’s face is in the exhibition. Well, I think it’s Fred. It looks like him but it’s hard to tell without all the dirt and stubble.”

“Not this again,” sighed Pete.

“I’ve just been to his exhibition. The security guard told me he’s preparing more faces for a new exhibition in London, which is why he took Robbie and the mad harpy. I tell you, he’s killing them, cutting off their faces, sticking them up in his exhibition and calling it art.”

“Brodie, will you please stop this?” sighed Pete, massaging his temples.

“Why should I? Everyone needs to know that he’s a murdering prick.” He opened Pete’s office door and bellowed to the CID team, “Lucas Thorne is a murdering prick.”

Pete leapt up to slam the door shut. “Will you catch a grip of yourself? You can’t go around accusing a man like Lucas Thorne of things like that without evidence. Do you have any?”

“No,” he reluctantly admitted.

“Well shut that huge, flapping gob of yours.” His eyes narrowed. “Cass shagged him, didn’t she?”

“How should I know?”

“Brodie,” said Pete in a warning voice.

“Alright, I think so.”

“Well that explains why you ran in here and started shouting hysterically.”

“I do not get hysterical,” pouted Brodie, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to get a search warrant for his home and business premises now before he hides the evidence.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m missing, evidence. Get me some then I can get a bloody warrant.”

“I haven’t got any yet but I will.”

“I’m not going to convince you that this is mental, am I?”

“No because I know I’m right.”

“So you don’t think it’s jealousy because of Cass?”

“No. Yes. Alright, I’m crazy about her but I’m not a moron.”