‘Were you curious? Did you look in the back?’
‘Of course. It was full of fags in cartons; the papers said they were goin’ tae a bonded warehouse in Birmingham.’
‘Were you stopped at the port?’
A small sneer touched his lips. ‘Nah. This country’s an open door, mister.’
Sad but true, I thought. ‘So,’ I continued, ‘you got home free and clear. What happened then?’
‘I met Freddy,’ he replied. His tongue was well loosened by that time; he couldn’t tell us enough. ‘He said well done. He said that I could keep the fags, sell them myself, ken, for whatever I could get for them and that there would be a wee bit of cash in it for me as well. That’s why I was in Lafayette’s; I was to meet him there and he was going to pay me.’
‘So what else was in the truck? He wasn’t paying you for nothing. What were you really bringing in for Welsh?’
‘A box. That’s all I know, honest. A big wooden packing case, about four feet by two, and maybe two deep; I’ve no idea what was in it. There was a secret compartment in the truck, under the floor. Freddy opened it, we took it out and I helped him carry it into his store. It was heavy.’
I tightened the cuffs a little. ‘Where did you take it?’ I asked.
‘I can’t remember. It was dark.’
Another twist, then one more until pain registered in his eyes. ‘Kenny,’ I murmured, ‘people have been trying to lie to me for thirty years and not succeeding. I’m a world expert in spotting bullshit. I tell you again, this is important. If you think I would not break both your wrists, then you’re wrong.’ As a demonstration I twisted even harder.
He screamed. ‘It was a house! It’s in Livingston, in a street called the Pines. There’s a big extension in the back garden and Freddy’s store’s under that.’ I eased the pressure once more. ‘What the fuck are you guys up to?’ Bass squealed.
‘What do you mean? Why should we be up to anything?’
‘I went back there,’ he said. ‘I was curious. There was too much I didn’t know. I wanted to see who owned the place. I knew it wasnae Freddy’s. So I parked there and I waited, till the guy who lives there came home. I recognised him. Your guys asked me about him yesterday. He’s a polis; his name’s Varley. I know him because when I had my massage parlour, he used to come in there. I’d give him freebies with one of the girls; pay-off like, for having a friend on the force. I wasn’t the only mug either; that bastard never paid for a thing on his patch.’
I let him go. ‘You’re an idiot, Bass. You could have told us all this the day you were lifted.’
‘Aye sure,’ he snorted, clenching and unclenching his fists to set the blood flowing through them again. ‘Then one of Varley’s pals visits me in my cell and I commit suicide.’
‘Varley doesn’t have any pals,’ I told him.
‘Hmm. And I’ll believe that. You guys are all the fucking same.’ Clyde pushed himself off the wall and leaned over him. ‘If we were, mate,’ he said, ‘you’d be having a fatal seizure round about now.’
I opened the door and called to Bass’s escort; he was at the end of the corridor outside with the man who had brought us across. ‘What do I get for this?’ the prisoner asked.
‘Keep your mouth shut about Varley when you give evidence about Welsh,’ I replied, ‘and you’ll get a suspended sentence for possession of contraband.’ I winked at him. ‘Opening it might be suicidal.’
We said nothing as we were led back to the prison reception area, nor until we were back in Houseman’s car. ‘What do we have?’ he asked.
‘Nothing for sure, only a possibility; no, several possibilities. One of them is that Smit and Botha might not have brought Cohen’s body through to Edinburgh. He might have died here, before or after they paid a visit. To test that out, we need to interview Freddy Welsh.’
‘But who is he?’
I looked at him as he reholstered his weapon, and pointed to it. ‘You know the phrase, “Gun for hire”. It applies to guys like Cohen, Smit and Botha. Freddy’s guns aren’t for hire, though, they’re for sale. He’s a very discreet, very low-profile arms dealer. I’m told that he’s operated under our radar for years, and it seems, under yours.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Some things, Clyde, I’m keeping secret, even from you, but my information is that if Beram Cohen wanted weapons for his operation, there’s every chance he’d have gone to Freddy Welsh.’
He frowned. ‘Are you certain?’
‘No,’ I admitted, ‘not one hundred per cent. In theory my source could be spinning me a yarn, but everything fits. The timing, Cohen’s corpse showing up in Edinburgh, the pay-off to Kenny that was aborted by Varley’s phone call, it all fits. I know what was in that box that the sap Bass brought back in his truck, and Welsh stashed in Jock Varley’s house. With a wee bit of luck,’ I said, ‘it’s still there. But I wouldn’t bet on it.’
‘Where do we find him, this Welsh?’
‘In a holding cell in my headquarters, I hope. He was due to be arrested this afternoon. Inspector Varley was on his payroll; we can prove that now, and that gave me enough to have him lifted. We talk to him, and the whole thing’s wrapped up.’
‘Not quite,’ Houseman protested. ‘We’ve still got the threat to Theo Fabrizzi.’
I checked my watch; it showed five forty-five. ‘He’s okay,’ I told him. ‘If anything had happened so far your people would have alerted you. He’ll be at the concert hall very soon, assuming he makes it, and if he does, that’s where they’ll be trying to hit him. Only he won’t be there; not on stage at any rate. I’ve taken care of that.’
‘How, for Christ’s sake?’
‘Never you mind. Come on, let’s get ourselves to Fettes. Take a left when we get out of here then first right; it’s not far.’
I was smiling. I really did think it was going to be that easy. My over-confident grin was still on my face when my phone sounded, and I saw that Mario McGuire was calling; I pressed the ‘accept’ button; Clyde’s Bluetooth system paired automatically and picked it up.
‘What’s up?’ I asked, cheerily.
‘Are you at home, chief?’ His tone was enough to remind me that complacency is a police officer’s worst enemy.
‘No. I’m on the road. Are you going to ruin my day?’
‘That depends on the mood you’re in, and on how you really feel about Jock Varley. We’ve found him and his wife, shot dead. The bodies were burned beyond recognition, but the pathologist, whom you know, has just ID-ed him.’
‘The wife too?’ I repeated.
‘Afraid so. The van they were found in. .’
I had a moment of prescience. ‘Belonged to Freddy Welsh?’
Mario laughed. ‘Have you got a crystal ball in your car, boss? How did you know that?’
‘Pure fucking guesswork, honest. Do we have Welsh?’
‘No, and that’s the bugger of it. He’s vanished; he didn’t go home last night and his wife’s wetting herself about him.’
‘Was he in the van too?’
‘No, chief, there were only the two bodies.’
‘What have you done so far about finding him?’ I asked.
‘I’m doing it right now,’ he replied. ‘I’ve already put a nationwide call out for him, and Lowell Payne’s tracing all vehicles registered in his name as I’m speaking. Next, I’m going to send Stallings back out to his house, just in case he does show up there. While she does that, I’m going to check out Varley’s place. I’m kicking myself, I should have gone in there this morning when we got no answer to the door. Boss,’ he exclaimed, ‘what the fuck is up here? Have you any idea?’
‘You know me, mate. I never have a clue.’ Okay, I was lying about that, but one thing was true: I knew exactly what Mario would do if I told him what I suspected. He’d go straight through to Glasgow like a Chieftain tank and cause all sorts of chaos. The way things were, the last thing I needed to do was to panic him. Besides, I told myself, Fabrizzi was taken care of; the concert hall will be safe because there will be no target, so no danger there.