Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (22 page)

The receptionist caught him off guard, “DI Arbogast?”

“Yes,” he replied, failing to mask his confusion.

“Mister Madoch has been expecting you. If you would like to take the lift to Floor 7, I will tell him you’re here.”

Arbogast was dismissed and the telephone was raised, “Sending up DI Arbogast for you now sir.” 

Arbogast watched her on the phone as he made his way round to the lifts. The ground floor had been split by a white marble partition. From outside it had looked like the desk was at the back but on the wall behind reception stood three elevators all of which lay open. Arbogast had the feeling he was being watched. He tried to find signs of hidden cameras as the elevator made its swift ascent but there was nothing obvious. The lift had doors on either side and Arbogast was again wrong footed when the exit revealed itself behind him.

“DI Arbogast?”

When he turned round he was faced by the man himself.

“John Madoch. I suspect you may know why I am here?”

“Yes of course but let’s sit down before we delve too deep into the rogue elements.”

Arbogast thought rogue elements an interesting choice of words.

“You like my new home detective? I thought if I’m spending all this money I might as well take advantage of the view.”

The penthouse was largely open plan and took up roughly quarter of the space of the floor below. The front of the apartment was broken up by white concrete pillars with a glass wall running the length and sides of the building. It was furnished in an expensive corporate style which used art deco as the inspiration and the 70s for structure. White leather loungers mixed with steel framed glass tables and dark wood fittings. At the back there were four enclosed rooms, presumably bedrooms while the exterior was surrounded by decking and an expansive balcony. Madoch led the way, leaving the flat to go outside. Arbogast followed as the manicured interior gave way to a panoramic view of the River Clyde. Madoch still had his back to him when he started speaking.

“Do you like it? The Lord Provost was here when we opened. The council were very thankful that someone finally built something here and others will follow you know. I’ve invested a lot of time and money here and good things will happen.”

“It’s the things that have already happened that I’m interested in,” Arbogast said, as Madoch finally turned to speak to him face-to-face.

“And what things would they be? Some people would like to consign me to the past. The call me a gangster behind my back, a hooligan, but that’s not me. Could a thug have achieved all this? I don’t think so.”

“And yet your name just keeps popping up Mister Madoch – why would that be?”

“I can’t answer that but you should know better than to listen to gossip.”

Arbogast changed tack, keen to try and win back the initiative, “Been away have you?”

“Yes. My business takes me across the world these days.”

“Did you go anywhere special, Turkey perhaps?”

Madoch smiled, “Where’s all this leading? I think you should get to the point.”

“Let’s just say you’re in the shit, right up to your neck. An employee of yours, Onur Kocack, has disappeared despite being under police supervision. His daughter has been smuggled into the country and apparently abducted. Meanwhile her mother appears to have been forced to work in one of your lap dancing bars. She’s gone too. All this and the daughter of another of your employees was with the girl when she vanished and now she’s skipped out of hospital and gone to ground – so many ties that bind you.”

“So many loose ends you mean. It seems to be that everyone you need to speak to has disappeared. It’s hardly textbook police work.”

“Listen Madoch – this case is being watched around the world just now. Two people are already dead for reasons unknown and I don’t want to have to deal with any more bodies – this has to stop now – do you understand? I know you’re involved and I don’t care if the Lord Provost is your fucking rent boy.” The two men were close now. Arbogast could smell the stale coffee from Madoch’s breath although the man himself was giving nothing away, “Be under no illusions that I will tie you to this and I will find the girl and her family. I can see you’ve had a good run Madoch but it’ll be ending soon make no mistake.” Arbogast backed off and threw his arms open, “So don’t get too used to this view, it won’t be Madoch House for long.” He turned and made to leave, his adrenalin pumping, when Madoch shouted back at him.

“I’ve lost out of this too you know. Kocack’s a good man, well connected. I’ve had property destroyed and questions were asked after John Clark’s body was found. I can’t afford any more bad publicity. Be assured, though, that you do not want to dig too deep Inspector, you never know what you might uncover.”

Arbogast kept walking.

The melting ice was leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Scotland was not a country that planned for an extended deep freeze. Ice had made its way through cracks and joins in roads and pavements, seeping way down and under the tarmac and forcing it into shapes it wasn’t designed to cope with, exerting pressure and destroying the grand design. Then as temperatures rose and the ice melted the roads were left to sink and disintegrate, leaving a sea of potholes and broken roadways. Arbogast cursed the system as he ran into a deep hole which sent a violent judder through the car. He turned down the radio to listen for damage, fearful the jolt had burst a tyre, but after a few seconds he was satisfied there was nothing wrong. As he drove through the streets of Glasgow he knew that they would need to stay close to Madoch. The investigation was still in full swing but the absence of Rosalind had slowed things down, sapped the morale of the team. They still couldn’t understand exactly why she had been attacked. Perversely it had also strengthened their resolve to catch whoever was responsible, but with so little progress being made it was starting to become difficult to see when the case was going to break. The loss of Rosalind had been hard to take. She had been dazed and confused and hadn’t been making much sense since the incident at Tower 12. The doctors said that she had suffered some kind of breakdown and she had not spoken to anyone yet, she hadn’t seemed able. It was to her bedside that Arbogast was heading.

Generally speaking Rosalind Ying was not looking her best. Arbogast had been shocked to see how pale and sickly she seemed, lying in her bed staring into space. The Doctor said there was nothing wrong with her but that she had yet to communicate what had happened at Red Road. Arbogast stood silently inside the door. He had bought flowers from the hospital shop but saw that several people had already had the same idea. Her bedside was covered with cards and messages from concerned friends and family. He thought again of his mother and her situation,
‘What if it had been me?
’ That was the first thing he had thought of,
‘Selfish John, selfish,
’ yet the question remained.

“Is that you John?”

Arbogast looked up and saw Rosalind was looking at him, “Hi Rosalind. I thought I’d—’

“I was hoping you’d come.”

“—What happened? Look I know it’s been hard but I need to know, this case is slipping away.”

“It was him John, the man in the flat. It was him.”

 “John Madoch?”

“No John, it was Onur Kocack. I’m sure of it. I didn’t see him for long but I’m sure it was him.”

“Onur Kocack? You do know he’s gone missing.”

“Oh John I feel I’ve failed everyone. It all happened so quickly,” Rosalind said. She couldn’t face him anymore and was on the verge of tears. “The door was open and then there was this face – his face – and then he just lunged at me, I thought it was the end of me.”

“You’ll be OK Rose.” He had never called her that before and wondered if he might have overstepped the boundaries of their friendship but she made no comment so he decided to try it again.

“Rose, I need to know if you are a hundred per cent certain it was Onur. Forensics has found multiple traces of DNA but nothing that connects with anyone we have on record.”

“I’m sure it was him. The only thing that was different was the rage. He seemed so passive when we spoke to him. This time though...”

“I’m going to go after him Rose. I think I might have a chance but I’ll need to go my own way. I tried this by the book once and it didn’t bring me anything but a headache. I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”

“Be careful John, these guys aren’t shy. Don’t leave yourself wide open or they’ll nail you. They’ve shown they aren’t frightened. I don’t want a bedfellow John.”

“Really? Well maybe you don’t know what you’re missing.” He winked at Rosalind, who blinked back slowly. They both had their own thoughts on what might just have happened but that would need to wait.

Onur sat in darkness, considering where it had all gone wrong. His relocation was supposed to have been temporary but as time went by he could sense things would not be changing for the better anytime soon. Eric Sanderson had been sympathetic to his plight but Onur had drunk too much, glad nonetheless to have finally confided in someone. Onur felt that none of this was his doing, that he had simply been drawn into some kind of conspiracy; a pawn in someone else’s game. Eric said he could help and that it would all be OK after the Tower but so far nothing had changed. Hours had turned to days and Onur was aware that he couldn’t leave now, he couldn’t even go outside. Eric Sanderson had said the Police were looking for him, that they’d been here asking for him. Of course he had said nothing, how could he. As Onur sat waiting he suspected that Eric was a far more accomplished actor than he appeared. And so the waiting game began for Onur. He waited for news, waited for food. He waited and kept waiting.

Bishopton, February 23
^rd
2010

The signs of decay were obvious and Eric Sanderson knew that it would only be a matter of time before his world crumbled around him. He had ventured inside the house for the first time in several months the day after the crack had widened. The temperature felt warmer and for the first time in weeks he could feel his face when he worked outside. Eric had noticed a change in his old home when the snow first came. The house itself had sunk slightly, only by an inch or so, but it was undoubtedly starting to shift again. The surveyors had identified an old mine shaft beneath the house but he never thought the void would claim the home which had always seemed invulnerable. But as he made his way through the ground floor Eric Sanderson could see the extent of the damage. The house was not carpeted but had rugs throughout, to mask the ancient floorboards. What had once passed for the living room was now dominated by a huge crack which had splintered the floorboards wide apart, big enough that you could put your fist through the hole. Eric knew that he shouldn’t be here, that it was dangerous, but he sensed his misfortune might still present an opportunity, if he played his cards wisely. From the basement Eric could see the damage went deeper than he feared. The floor, which had been cut into a limestone base, was cracked wide open too. He dropped a nail down to see if he could gauge the depth of the hole. The distant clatter indicated it was worse than he thought. What he needed were the right tools.

Sandy Stirrit had driven out to try and talk with Eric Sanderson but there was no-one home. He had been struck by the farmhouse which, having looked so well cared for in his archive footage, now seemed on the verge of collapse. He took the opportunity to have a look round. The shower block remained although it had seen better days. The caravan sat alongside it.
‘Maybe he used the water supply from there?’
Something was missing though. It was a few minutes before Sandy realised that the well had been removed. Looking around it seemed obvious to Sandy that someone had been here recently. The snow had turned to slush and there were newly made tyre tracks which looked like they had been made by a 4x4. Sandy knew he was wasting his time.
‘Maybe the editor was right?’
He stopped on his way out and thought for a moment, while the engine hummed against the cold, steam rising from the bonnet. Sandy took out his camera and spun it in the direction of the house. While he was here he might as well take some footage. If anything came of this it would be good to have some wintry GV’s. But Sandy wasn’t alone. From the top floor window of the condemned house he was being watched.

He thought the only way it could have gone any better would have been if the policewoman had died, but you couldn’t have everything. He now had them all in place and it had been much easier than he could ever have imagined. He had used the intricate system of dungeons which he had inherited to keep them within feet of each other, yet completely blind to the reality of the situation they were facing. He drugged the woman at night while the daughter was left to wonder. The old man seemed to like her but those games couldn’t be allowed to continue. He would end this tonight. They had waited long enough. He would make it easy on them, give them a choice. Tonight had been a long time coming. Treachery and assassination had failed to win the day and so it had come to this. They had agreed of course. He could not have acted without their support and their connections had been invaluable. Of course they had pinned the whole thing on the wrong man. It hadn’t been hard to copy his writing and his personal details had been easy to get hold of. Just a simple trip into the bank – a transaction to move funds, sanctioned by him of course and there you had it – embezzlement.  The type of deal Mr Eser didn’t take kindly to. And so the wheels had been put in motion. The hounds were out to find my brother and I am leading the pack. Thinking back to the Tower he wondered if the police had seen him, would they be able to identify who he was? He doubted it was likely. If anyone, they would link this to his brother.
Karim knew that he had played this perfectly.

19

Glasgow, February 22
^nd
2010