The thing got messy after that, very, very messy, in fact. Grandpa wasn’t involved, thank God, but Sauce was, and when he found out that I’d been less than honest with him, I reckoned we were finished. He’s a lovely guy though. I cried on his shoulder, literally and for real, and he took me back. He laid down the rules, though. One of them is that he never meets my grandfather. Grandpa can live with that so I can too.
I’ll admit to being a bit worried when Grandpa gave me a message for him. I wasn’t keen on doing it at the time, but he told me to trust him, that he had his reasons, so I went along with it, then forgot all about it. I’d never heard of the man that he mentioned, and I didn’t expect any progress reports from Sauce, so when he asked me to pass on a few supplementary questions in return, I was surprised to say the least.
Having started it, I felt obliged to carry on. Sauce still refused to deal directly with my grandfather so I set it up that we would go away for the weekend and that I’d call in on Dundee en route. That’s what we did. Before we left Edinburgh I called Grandpa to make sure he’d be in; once we were there I dropped Sauce on Discovery Quay and headed for his place.
You hear stories about gangsters, especially the Glasgow kind, having houses that look like Disneyland palaces or medieval fortresses. Grandpa’s is an ordinary-looking detached villa on a CamMac development, and the only extraordinary things about it are those you aren’t aware of: the garden motion sensors that are part of the alarm system, the infra-red beams that cover the house like tripwires when it’s activated, and the fact that it would take an anti-tank missile to penetrate the glass.
‘Come away in, lass,’ he said, as he unlocked the door. He seemed as fit as ever, lean and trim, the result of regular sessions in the Black Shield Lodge health club. He wore a polo short with its crest on the front. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Grandpa. Don’t I look it?’
‘Aye, but I really meant how’s your relationship?’
‘It’s great.’ I paused and looked at him. ‘I wish we could be like normal people, Grandpa, and that I could bring him here, but he says as long as he’s a cop, it’s more than his career’s worth.’
He shrugged. ‘We will never be normal people, Cameron. You can be, Sauce can be, but not if I’m part of it. Your boy’s right: I’m the pitch that he cannot touch lest he’s seen to be defiled. The only thing I can do for the pair of you is be spotless from now on, and that I’m trying my best to be.’
‘In which case,’ I ventured, cautiously, ‘Sauce passed on your message to his boss, in just the way you asked. But it hasn’t been plain sailing. He’s been sent back with a couple of questions.’
Grandpa’s face changed; it seemed to darken. I’ll never be scared of him but when he looks like that I can understand why people are. Funny, I’ve met Sauce’s boss, the chief constable, and he makes me feel exactly the same. ‘Such as,’ he said, quietly.
‘First,’ I continued, ‘when you gave me your message for him about the man called Bass, did you know that somebody else, a man called Freddy Welsh, was involved in the business?’
‘Freddy Welsh,’ he repeated.
‘Yes. Also, do you know this man, and if so, what do you know about him?’
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘No, that’s all. Sauce is waiting for me at the Discovery; we’re going away for the weekend from here. If you’ve got anything to tell him, you can tell me, and I’ll pass it on. He’ll phone his chief from Oban.’
His frown was deeper than I’d ever seen it before. His expression was. . ominous. I’d expected that the answers would be short and sweet, ‘No’ and ‘No’, but it wasn’t shaping up that way. ‘Well?’ I asked.
He looked at me. His face softened and if it had been anyone else I’d have said his eyes went a wee bit misty. ‘What the hell have I done to you, love,’ he murmured, ‘with my fucking ruthless, reckless life? You and your boyfriend go on to Oban. If you’re not booked in anywhere, go on up that coast for a wee bit till you come to a country house hotel called Glen Cameron.’
The name was familiar. ‘Isn’t that. .’ I began.
‘Yes, it’s one of ours; you’re a director of the company that owns it. I’ll call the general manager and tell him you’re coming. You two have a nice weekend.’
‘Thanks, Grandpa,’ I said, ‘but what will I tell Sauce about Welsh?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied, firmly. ‘No, don’t do that. Tell him that he’s out the picture and so are you. Tell him that from now on I’ll be dealing with a higher authority.’
Lowell Payne
The man McGuire decreed that he and I would pay the call on the Varleys. He was head of CID so it was his decision.
I couldn’t argue with his reasoning. ‘It’s not one that I can delegate,’ he said, ‘but there’s no need for more than two of us. Lisa, Special Branch or not, you’re still on overtime and we have to keep an eye on that budget. DCI Payne, I still want an outside officer on this. So,’ he looked at Mackenzie, ‘David, thanks for your significant input to the investigation so far. For now, you can go home to Cheryl and the kids and collect some brownie points.’
The ex-Bandit nodded and murmured, ‘Thank you, sir,’ but I could tell he wasn’t happy to have been excluded. He’d wanted to be part of the end game, and share the credit. I thought I’d seen a certain frisson between McGuire and him earlier, and his reaction confirmed it. I’m a natural sceptic, and I’d been doubtful about the ‘reformed character’ story from the beginning. I’m pretty sure I’m right, but time will tell on that one. One thing I do know for certain; if it does come to a pissing contest between those two characters, Mackenzie will wind up wet and smelly.
We took McGuire’s car. It was a Lexus, four-by-four hybrid, brand new, the kind that gets attention, especially when a cop’s driving it. He caught me looking at it and read my mind. ‘It’s Paula’s,’ he explained, without being asked. ‘Company car. She runs the company, so she can have what she likes, and with a baby on the way she wants something big and safe. Mine’s an Alfa Giulietta,’ he added, ‘much more modest.’
It would have to be Italian, I guessed, since the Irish don’t make cars.
The Lexus was impressive, and very comfortable, but it couldn’t fly over the Saturday shopping traffic in west Edinburgh or in Livingston, where there’s an enormous shopping complex that attracts people from all over central Scotland.
‘Have you been to Varley’s place before?’ I asked as we broke clear of what I’d hoped would be the last traffic queue and headed towards a housing estate.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I’ve programmed the postcode into the satnav.’
As he spoke a male voice, not the usual patiently polite woman, told him to turn right in three hundred yards. ‘There’s a speech style option,’ he said. ‘It seems that Paula prefers the bloke; I must ask her about that.’
One turn later, we were in a cul-de-sac, and our navigator told us that we had reached our destination. ‘Obviously, mate,’ McGuire muttered.
He didn’t tell us which was the Varley home, though; we had to find that out for ourselves.
‘Number seven, wasn’t it?’
I nodded.
We had pulled up outside number three. The big man rolled forward, counting as we went, until we found ourselves in front of a detached villa, facing back down the short street. It was the last house in town, literally; behind it we could see open fields. ‘That’s it.’
There was a car in the driveway, a blue Nissan from the last century: not what you’d expect from somebody with going on for a hundred and fifty grand in an offshore bank account.
The chief superintendent didn’t give it a second glance as he braked, switched off and climbed out. I followed him up the path to the front door, crunching small white pebbles under my feet. He rang the doorbell and we waited.
And waited, then waited some more. I pressed the button second time around, with the same non-result. ‘Shopping, God damn it,’ I said.