Gallowglass (5 page)

NINE

‘D
on’t get your prints all over it, ya eejit! Here, gie me it.’ Sangster had taken a big hankie out of his pocket and reached for the gun. He grasped it by the barrel and inspected it. It didn’t take him long.

‘It’s been fired!’ Then he pointed down at the bullet hole in Gibson’s head. ‘You shot him, Brodie!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sangster. Why would I do that?’

‘Well, we’re going to find out, aren’t we?’ He pulled himself erect. ‘Douglas Brodie, Ah’m arresting you for the murder of Sir Fraser Gibson. You don’t have to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. But Ah’m sure you know a’ that, Brodie.’

There was a malicious light in his eyes. I was equally certain he didn’t really suspect me, but he was sure as hell going to enjoy every turn of the screw.

‘I’ve nothing to hide, Sangster. Sheila Gibson employed me to deliver a ransom and free her husband. Just ask her.’

He looked at me sceptically. ‘Funny,
Lady
Gibson didn’t mention that. And where’s this ransom then?’

I stared at him. What? Her ladyship called the police after all? While I was out trying to deliver the ransom? Did she think I’d run off with it? What was she playing at?

‘Sangster, whoever did this coshed me and stole the money.’

‘Convenient, Brodie. Is that a’ you have to say? What else have you found, Constable?’

Not to be outdone by his pistol-finding buddy, cop number two stuck his palm out to show off the glinting pile of bullets. He passed them to the other cop and dug back into my pocket. He pulled out some papers and scanned them.

‘Sir! These look like ransom notes.’

What? What the hell was he talking about? Couldn’t he read? They were surely just the slips of paper from the kids sending me running round Govan? Sangster grabbed them with glee.

‘Ah see. So let’s think now. You’ve always been a bit of smart-arse, Brodie. A bit of a wide boy. Thought you’d make a few bob from a spot of kidnapping and ransom?’

‘Sangster, you are aff your heid! Even by your pathetic standards that’s the most preposterous deduction you’ve ever come up with.’

He flushed and his lips became thin lines. That may not have been the most tactful way of putting it. Not in front of his impressionable men. I started again.

‘Look, Sangster, this is crazy—’

‘Enough! Cuff him and take him away. Book him at the station. Ah’ll interview him in the morning after he’s spent a night in our cells.’

They wrestled my hands behind my back and clipped the cold steel cuffs round my wrists. I fought down the panic and made one last effort as the bobbies began to march me to the door.

‘I was coshed, Sangster. I’ve got a lump the size of an ostrich egg on the back of my head. Take a look.’

He turned my head, glanced at it and grinned triumphantly.

‘Nae sign of blood, Brodie. Any injury ye could have got wrestling wi’ pair Gibson here. Ah’ll see you later.’

As well as Sangster’s squad car they’d come with a Black Maria, ready to fill it with kidnappers. I was hauled into
the back of the van and made to sit facing one of the coppers. The ride was long and hard. My wrists were aching and chafed by the time I stumbled down the van’s step on to the pavement outside Central Division in Turnbull Street. I hoped none of my pals was around. Then I hoped for one pal at least to appear: Duncan Todd. He’d sort this out. I went through the laborious and demeaning booking procedure in front of the desk sergeant – no one I knew, thankfully.

‘I’m allowed a phone call to my lawyer, sergeant.’

‘Oh, ye’ve yer ain lawyer, huv ye? Go on, make the call.’ He plunked the black handset on the counter in front of me.

There was no point phoning Sam at home. She was still in Edinburgh. But I had a number for her chambers. I could at least get a message to her. Though God knows what to say. When I got through to her clerk I told him where I was and – in very sketchy terms – why.

They released the cuffs, removed my belt and tie, then took me off down the cold corridor to the cells. The solid-steel door groaned on its hinges, clunked shut and I was left to contemplate my sins. They were mainly of stupidity and naivety. Stupid to get involved with the ransom drop in the first place. It was just the sort of thing Doc Baird had warned me about. Naive not to spot I was walking into a trap. But who had set it? And why? Naive about puncturing Sangster’s tender but inflated ego in front of his men.

I sat on the hard bench and put my head in my hands. My mind was spinning. My head throbbed from the blow and from the turmoil of fractured memories and unanswered questions. Why had Sheila Gibson called in the police even as I was delivering the ransom? Why hadn’t she mentioned me to Sangster? How did Sangster know to come to Marr Street? Had Cammie been following me around, picking up information from the people I’d met? Why did the kidnappers kill Gibson and not me? They couldn’t have known I’d have a
gun, if indeed it was my gun that killed him. Was this a setup from start to finish?

Finally, the most tormenting question of all: if my gun had shot him, who had pulled the trigger?

Could it have been me
?

TEN

‘W
ell, you’ve excelled yourself, Douglas.’

‘I expected a wee bit more sympathy from you, Sam. Not to mention some top-class legal advice on getting me out of here.’

‘As for the sympathy, you could have said
no
to Sheila Gibson!’

‘It was a story. Just a story.’

‘
Scoop, Brodie
, was it! That would have been fine, but then you had to get involved.’

‘Is that your top legal advice? I should just have walked away?’

She coloured, always a pretty sight on her pale complexion.

‘Not walk away. Just not jump in
heid first
. Like you usually do. Was she pretty?’

‘You think I’m so easily seduced?’

She raised a withering eyebrow.

‘She might have been. Once.’

‘Ha!’

‘How about the legal advice then?’

She shook her head. ‘My legal advice is to say nothing until we find out where the bullet came from and hear what
Lady
Gibson has to say. If it’s as you say, she’ll corroborate your story and you’ll be out of here in a trice.’

‘If? If! My
story
? Do you think I’m making it up?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just how it looks to the likes of your pal, Sangster. You know he’s never forgiven you for showing
him up last year. In fact this year too, come to think of it. You’re no diplomat.’

‘He’s an eejit. I don’t think he ever quite worked out which were the bad guys: the Glasgow Marshals or your old flame the dishonourable Charlie Maxwell.’

‘He was never a
flame
. Barely a damp squib.’

‘Talking of pals, I’d hoped Duncan Todd would have stuck his smiling face round the door. Just to see how I was doing. Maybe bring me a fish supper.’

‘I spoke to him. He’s been told, on pain of instant reduction to the ranks, not to come near you.’

I wasn’t surprised. ‘Sam, I tried to call you last night to sound you out. After Sheila Gibson picked me up and asked me to help. I needed your advice. I couldn’t get you.’

The spots of pink on her high cheekbones widened.

‘We were working all the hours preparing for today’s trial. I got your message this morning but I was on my way to the court.’

‘How did it go? I need to know I’m hiring the best.’

‘Oh, he went down.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘The prosecution case was watertight. I think he missed being inside. All his pals were there and at least he was getting fed. I did get him down to the lower end of the tariff. I swear he looked disappointed.’

‘Why didn’t he just plead guilty?’

‘He thought he was entitled to a trial. Didn’t want to make it look easy. Crooks have their pride.’

‘Hmmm. I’m not sure that convinces me I’ve got the right advocate. Assuming I need one.’

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. All her bluster was worry.

‘I can’t get you out on bail tonight. But things will look better in the morning. I’ll be here first thing. Try and get some sleep.’ Her voice softened. ‘I’ll miss you. I was looking forward to coming home tonight.’

I gripped her hand. ‘Me too. Look, it’s late. Grab a taxi. I’ll be fine. This is all stupid and we’ll clear it up in the morning.

She left and I lay down on my side on the thin mattress and gazed at the rough concrete walls and steel door. I couldn’t switch off the overhead light. It would be put out in half an hour. Not that I could sleep. Sam had provided me with some aspirin and had demanded and got a cold damp towel for my swollen head. The physical pain had receded somewhat but my brain was whirling with anxiety and questions. And a sheer, raw anger at being dragged back down into the pit again. That’d teach me to be happy.

I lay nursing my grievances for a while, trying to convince myself I’d be out in the morning after Lady Gibson had cleared the air. Yet those little gaps in my memory still niggled. What had happened in Marr Street? Why couldn’t I recall for certain whether I’d used my gun or not? Why does the old Scots saying always seem so apposite when it comes to me:
Enjoy it the noo, it’ll no’ last…

Somehow I slept.

I woke several times in a lather of headaches and bad dreams. I thought I’d scoured those demons from my head. Seems they’d only been hiding, waiting for some new turmoil in my life to pounce. Just as Doc Baird had predicted. Christ, I was fed up with this yo-yo existence.

I was allowed a shave and a basin to wash in. Sam had left me a clean shirt and underwear. They gave me breakfast in the form of a mug of tea and a buttered roll with slice sausage. No sauce, otherwise a decent enough start to the day. I made myself smile in the steel plate that passed for a mirror and tried whistling:

But the words stuck in my brain and no sound came out.

They took me along to the interview room. Sam was waiting, freshly scrubbed and in her smart dark business suit. She also wore her don’t-mess-with-me look. It would be needed. Across from her side of the table were Sangster and a constable with a pad and pencil. Sangster’s gaze swept over me as if he’d rather have me for breakfast than a slice sausage sandwich.

‘Over there, Brodie.’ He pointed at the vacant seat next to Sam.

Sam bridled. ‘It’s
Mr
Brodie, please, Chief Inspector. My client is innocent until proven otherwise and deserves common courtesy.’

Sangster’s grin vanished. ‘Innocent, you say. We’ll see. Anyway,
Mister
Brodie, sit doon and let’s get on with this.’

He turned to his constable. ‘Yesterday afternoon at precisely three fifteen,
Mister
Douglas Brodie was arrested and formally cautioned. He was taken into custody and charged with the kidnap and murder of Sir Fraser Gibson. This interview is the first to establish the case for bringing Douglas Brodie in front of the Sheriff Court. Are we all agreed?’ He waited for Sam.

‘Let’s establish some facts here, Chief Inspector. You claim that Sir Fraser Gibson was murdered. What proof do you have that it
was
Sir Fraser?’

‘Whit? Of course it wis him. Ah’ve seen his face in the papers. He was kidnapped, wisn’t he?’

‘Has there been formal identification?’

Sangster swallowed and then he got his confidence back.

‘Aye, there has, if you must know. His wife, Lady Gibson, identified his body this morning. At the police morgue. Does that satisfy you?’

‘Thank you. Has the police doctor established how he died?’

‘It didnae need much medical training. He’d been shot in the head at close range by Brodie’s gun.’

‘That’s a rather sweeping and unfounded accusation, Chief Inspector. Would you care to withdraw it, please, unless you have independent evidence that A, the cause of death was a bullet to the head, and B, that the bullet came from the gun found at the scene, and C, that the gun found did indeed belong to Mr Brodie here.’

Under different circumstances I would be enjoying Sam’s gentle evisceration. Sangster spluttered.

‘Aye well, we’ll soon have proof enough of yer A, B, C.’

‘But in the meantime, you don’t have any proof that links Mr Brodie with Sir Fraser’s death?’

‘He was there, wasn’t he? He had a gun. We took it off him. It had been fired. Fraser Gibson was lying wi’ a hole in his heid from a bullet. Q. E. D., you might say.’

‘But you don’t know when, and you certainly don’t have proof that it was that particular weapon that killed Gibson.’

‘Look, Miss Campbell, if you think Ah’m letting this yin oot o’ here just because we huvnae exactly dotted a’ the Is and crossed a’ the Ts, you have another think coming.’

‘Chief Inspector, the rules of arrest are quite clear. Unless you have solid grounds for holding a suspect, you must let him go. I want my client released immediately or I’ll get a court order this morning to force you to follow the procedure.’ She kept cool and waited.

Sangster sat back and lit himself a fag, before delivering killer blows.

‘Ah do have solid grounds.’ He waved his thumb at me. ‘For one, he was hinging aboot the crime scene. What was he doin’ there? How did he get there before us? Then –
coincidentally
– we find a gun stuffed up his jooks. Said weapon had just been fired; I smelt it masel’. Lastly, his pockets were fu’ o’ bullets and kidnap demands.’

‘They weren’t kidnap demands, Sangster!’ I’d had enough.

‘It’s a simple fact. My constable found them.’

‘Then they were planted on me!’

He sucked in his cheeks and leaned forward. ‘They a’ say that, don’t they?’

‘Look, it’s easy. I was acting for Lady Gibson. Just ask her.’

‘In due course. She’s no’ fit to be questioned. You can imagine how the pair wumman is feeling after seeing her man with a bullet hole in his heid. She’s taken to her bed.’

‘Well, ask her chauffeur, Cammie. He picked me up two days ago, when Fraser Gibson was kidnapped. He ferried me around yesterday with a bag full of money to pay off the kidnappers. Or Lady Gibson’s maid. She’ll tell you.’

Sangster was nodding in that infuriatingly patronising way of his.

‘Oh, we’ll get to them. But they’re looking after Lady Gibson. We’ve been asked not to disturb the household. They’re in mourning.’

‘But you’re happy to disturb me, Sangster!’

He grinned. ‘Oh aye. Anything else, Miss Campbell, before we tuck
Mister
Brodie back in his wee cell?’