‘Client confidentiality is like the shite because both can be knocked out of you in the cells at St Andrew’s Square.’
I found it interesting that McNab and Hammer Murphy, although on opposite sides of the criminal justice fence, had the same approach to my professional ethics.
‘You know something, McNab?’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. A year or two ago you could maybe have gotten away with that, but I don’t play in that end of the playground any more. I’m a respectable businessman.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I reckon. But that’s not the only reason I don’t think that will happen. You’ve come up here on your own and without due cause to arrest me, so why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here? I’m sure it has to do with Strachan, but there’s something odd in the ether.’
Despite the assurance with which I said it, I was surprised when McNab did sit back down. He took out a packet of Navy Cut and lit one. After a moment’s thought, he offered me one.
‘No thanks,’ I said, more because I was taken aback by the offer than anything else. ‘I want to be able to speak tomorrow morning. What’s the deal, Superintendent?’
He took off his trilby and threw it onto the desk.
‘Lennox, you and I have had our moments. I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But one thing about you that I’ve noticed is that every time I’ve tried to get information from you, you’ve risked a beating or jail time by telling me where to go. So I suppose you have your own code of ethics, no matter how bollocksed-up they may be. You know I dug the dirt on you from your time in Germany after the war. That German black-marketeer who ended up face down in the harbour, for example. The one the Military Police suspected was your business partner …’
‘Is there a point to this character analysis, McNab?’
‘I don’t care what happened in Hamburg, but I care what happens in Glasgow. Joseph Strachan murdered Charlie Gourlay. He gunned him down in cold blood and I want to see the bastard swing for it.’
‘But he’s dead, Superintendent. Officially, legally dead.’
‘You don’t believe that shite any more than I do. That wasn’t Joe Strachan at the bottom of the Clyde. I can’t prove it, but I know it. Strachan was too clever to be caught, and he was too clever to be topped by one of his own team.’
‘So whose bones were dredged up?’
‘I don’t know. But they weren’t Strachan’s, I’ll tell you that. Listen, Lennox, I’ve been a copper in this town for nearly thirty years. I’ve dealt with some of the hardest, most vicious bastards ever to foul the Earth with their presence. I’ve put a noose around the necks of over a dozen men: from kiddie-fiddlers to professional killers, from psychopaths to razor gangs. I’ve seen every type of fiend and monster you can imagine. But Joe Strachan is out there in a league of his own.’
‘Is he?’ I decided to play dumb. ‘From all of the “Gentleman Joe” crap you hear, and the way he’s idolized by every crook in Glasgow, you’d think he was some kind of folk hero.’
‘Do you know, we don’t have a single photograph of him on record? Or his fingerprints? He was questioned a dozen times but never arrested, far less charged. But do you know why we kept bringing him in? Glasgow criminals back then weren’t the brightest or most capable of villains. The basic principle was to batter the fuck out of something until you got money from it. Most of the stuff we dealt with was razor gang stuff, or small time robbers getting caught because they didn’t have the basic brains to plan a job properly. Things have changed. Now we’ve got your pals, the so-called Three Kings. Things have become organized. And do you know who started that? Who gave them the idea for that? Joe Strachan. But he was much, much better at it than they are. He didn’t try to control everything, to make every protection gang pay him protection, the way Sneddon, Cohen and Murphy do. Strachan assessed the risks and the rewards. He only went for the big hit, the big money. And he picked only the very best for each job.’
‘All of this I already know,’ I said.
‘Aye? Well what you probably don’t know is that some people talked: a handful of disgruntled crooks whose noses were put out of joint because Strachan didn’t pick them. One of them was already a paid informant. All of them turned up dead. Or presumed dead. Never a body to be found. No traces.’
‘Strachan killed them?’
‘His enforcer did. Someone else with no record. A name we never got. All we got from our informant was that this enforcer was young, and a protege of Strachan’s. Strachan only ever called him the Lad. His apprentice. He may have been young, but he kept everyone who worked for Strachan in line. Like I said, he was a cool and professional killer. From the little we got, we know that Strachan treated him like a son.’
‘Hammer Murphy worked for Strachan for a while …’ I kept the dumb act going.
McNab laughed. ‘No way. Murphy was building his own wee empire with his brothers. They did jobs with Strachan, but not for long. My guess is that Strachan realized what a psychopath Murphy was and stopped using him because he was unstable. And that meant unreliable. If there was one thing Strachan demanded from his teams, it was reliability.’ McNab paused to take a long draw on his cigarette. ‘Who hired you to look into this, Lennox?’
‘Now, Superintendent … you know I’m not going to tell you.’
‘It would be in your best interests.’
‘What … to avoid a beating?’
‘No. Listen, Lennox, sometimes you’ve got to put the past behind you, along with your personal feelings about people. Sometimes people who would never have thought it possible have to work together.’
‘What are you proposing?’
‘I know you’ve been tapping Detective Inspector Ferguson for information. That’s a dripping tap I can turn off permanently. But, for the moment, I’m going to do nothing. I’m also not going to put a man on your tail, twenty-four hours a day, following your every move and visiting every client we see you make contact with.’
‘That’s good of you, Superintendent. I’m guessing there’s a quid for your quo?’
‘I retire in two years, Lennox. I’ve bought a place out in Helensburgh and me and the wife are going to move out there, away from the city, after I leave the job. I want to have a quiet, peaceful retirement. But I’m not going to be at ease if I know that Joseph Strachan is still out there, enjoying life without paying for murdering Charlie Gourlay.’
‘Then why not just accept that that was Strachan at the bottom of the Clyde?’
‘Because I know it wasn’t. And, like I said, I’m pretty sure you know it wasn’t.’
This was a surprising conversation. It was about to become even more surprising. Ferguson took an envelope out of his pocket and dropped it onto my desk.
‘There’s four hundred pounds in there, Lennox. That’s almost exactly what a City of Glasgow police constable earns in a whole year.’
I picked up the envelope, more to convince myself it wasn’t an hallucination.
‘You want to hire me? Or is this from the City Police’s snout fund?’ I asked incredulously. Why was everybody so keen to throw cash at me all of a sudden …
‘This isn’t informer cash. It’s my money, not the Force’s. Yes, I do want to hire you. I have spent nearly twenty years trying to bring Strachan to justice. As much as I hate to admit it, I need someone like you, someone who isn’t a police detective and who can get to information that I can’t.’
I tossed the envelope back onto the table in front of him.
‘I can’t.’
‘You won’t, you mean? Listen, Lennox, you help me out on this, and I’ll make sure that there are doors stay open to you in the City of Glasgow Police long after I retire.’
‘Okay, listen. I would help you, but there could be a conflict of interest.’
‘You mean whoever’s hired you already?’
‘Something like that.’ I sighed, this was complicated and confusing. I was having a conversation that I never would have envisaged myself having with McNab. ‘Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve been hired by Strachan’s daughters to confirm or otherwise that that was Gentleman Joe who was dredged up.’