Chapter 49
As DI Rob Brennan pushed his face from the dirt-strewn yard, a new feeling engulfed him: embarrassment. Lou and Bri had DS Stevie McGuire restrained; as he waved a hand in protest, Brennan got his feet under him, raised himself from the ground and started to brush the dirt and soil from his jacket and trousers.
‘Let him go for Christ’s sake,’ he said.
‘Are you sure, sir?’ said Lou.
Brennan walked towards the three officers; his head hurt and his jaw ached. The shame he felt at being struck by McGuire had started to subside as he regained his sense of himself; he knew who was in the right and who was in the wrong. As the DI pointed inside the door, his words came like grunts, ‘Get in there!’
‘What for?’ said McGuire.
‘Go on, take a look.’ Brennan staggered a few steps towards the DS. ‘See what’s behind the fucking door to the yard, Stevie.’
Lou and Bri let down their arms; the unrestrained McGuire pushed himself away and shrugged past the DI on his way to the back door. As he went, sirens from police cars started to rake the cold air all around them. Collins came running from the bottom of the close, nodded to the others.
Brennan rubbed his jaw as he watched McGuire. ‘Well, what do you see?’
McGuire looked like a petulant child as he peered behind the lee of the door. ‘Another door… Under the stairs.’
Brennan shook his head, raised a finger and pointed it in McGuire’s direction. His voice roared, ‘A fucking coal cellar! Test the door, I bet it’s open!’
McGuire obliged him, the door opened in his hand. ‘You’re right.’
‘I fucking know I am… Where did I tell you to stay put, Stevie? The back close, and if you had, the bastard wouldn’t have been able to hide in the cupboard under the fucking stairs with Elaine whilst you ran up to the flat, would he?’
McGuire’s stare seemed to lose all intensity, he wet his lips, ran the back of his hand over his mouth, then closed the door. ‘You don’t know that for sure.’
Lou and Bri huffed, shuffled past McGuire; the two officers’ shoulders barged the DS as they made their way out, forcing him flat against the wall. He suddenly looked an isolated figure.
Brennan waited for Collins to join the others on their way to the front of the building; when he was sure they were out of earshot, he said, ‘All you had to do was what you were fucking told, Stevie.’ He placed a hand on McGuire’s arm, spun him round. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get out there.’
‘She’s gone, sir…’
Brennan prodded McGuire in the back, ‘Get moving, Stevie, I want you in that car and on the road in under a minute.’
‘But what if we don’t find her?’
‘I don’t do what ifs, laddie… Get your arse into gear!’
McGuire removed the car keys for the VW Passat from his trouser pocket, broke into a jog. Brennan followed at his back, rubbing at his jaw as they went. On the street, Lou and Bri were already in their car, revving the engine and pulling out in front of the DI and the DS. Lou rolled down the passenger’s window. ‘Where do you want us, sir?’
The DI halted in the street; he pitched his fingers under his belt and tucked in his shirt tails. ‘Get out to Crawley’s house… It’s a fucking long shot but you never know.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘And stay in contact; if the plan changes I’ll want you both right away.’
Lou nodded towards Brennan; the wheels screamed on the car as he raced up the street. As Brennan turned, McGuire already had the Passat in gear and pulled up beside him. ‘Where to?’ he said.
Brennan opened the passenger door, stepped inside and buckled his seatbelt. ‘Head out Liberton way…’
‘Sir?’ It was a question, McGuire obviously had doubts.
‘Do it, Stevie… now!’
The car took off down the road, turned a hairpin into Duke Street. The burning stench of car tyres filled Brennan’s nostrils, made him feel queasy again; he reached for the button to lower the window and stuck his face against the gushing air. The cold wind seemed to help, buffeted his hot brow and aching jaw. The DI raised his fingertips to where McGuire’s fist had connected; he felt the swelling, knew there would be a bruise, but it was the damage to his self-esteem that mattered more. Brennan had taken a risk leaving WPC Docherty alone in Angela Mickle’s flat. He had used her as bait. He now wondered how he could have been so reckless. He knew McGuire had every right to blame him for what had happened; in the final analysis it had been his decision to mount the operation and he would have to take responsibility for that.
Brennan raised a hand to the roof as McGuire spun the wheel through the roundabout at the top of the Walk. He punched an imaginary brake with his right foot as the Passat veered towards the back of a black cab, then the DS dropped a gear and overtook in the left-hand lane. The DI made a glance in the McGuire’s direction, caught sight of the locked gaze he presented to the windscreen. Brennan knew McGuire wasn’t the only one who would hold him responsible for tonight’s failures: there was the Chief Super to consider. He felt his fists tightening and his lower lip curling over his teeth as he thought about the prospect of explaining himself to Benny. He had nowhere left to go with his superior; he had exhausted all options on the case and the sting at Angela Mickle’s flat was — he understood perfectly — his last opportunity to get it right. The Chief Super was already looking for a way out of the mess: there would be an inquiry into the Gallagher affair, certainly the Fiona Gow case would be re-examined and those of Lindsey Sloan and Angela Mickle too. Brennan knew he was in the clear — he had taken few liberties on the job — but he also knew how the force worked: scapegoats were sought and found. If it came down to it, Benny would fight to protect himself, and Chief Superintendents brought more weight to the ring than Detective Inspectors.
McGuire flashed his headlights at a Lothian bus driver, blasted the horn and stuck his head out the window. ‘Move your fucking arse!’
Brennan snapped out of his introspection as McGuire gestured angrily at the flashing blue light on the roof. ‘All right, Stevie, take the middle lane and keep the head.’
McGuire dropped a gear, rolled the car towards the centre of the road. He was still cursing as he found an open stretch of Nicolson Street and pressed the accelerator down.
‘This traffic is hellish… Are you sure about coming out this way, sir?’
Brennan gripped the seatbelt, ‘Just keep going, head for the A720, and then lap the area…’
McGuire shot a glance in Brennan’s direction; the DI and the DS seemed to share thoughts for a moment, but neither wanted to give voice to them.
Brennan’s heart rate had reduced, his focus had returned, but his thoughts had taken him to a place he would sooner not be. WPC Docherty had been snatched by Crawley, that was the fact they were facing. He knew why it was his first instinct to head for the fields at Straiton: Crawley was a serial killer. He had killed two young women and was ready to kill a third — Angela Mickle — to silence her and his urges. Brennan knew Crawley could only suppress his urges to kill for so long before he needed to strike again — both Lorrimer and Wullie’s experience had confirmed that — it was more than probable Crawley would act on his instinct to kill when confronted with Elaine Docherty. It was reckless, but if he thought she was a prostitute, he could afford to be reckless. He also had his protector, or so he believed.
The radio silence was broken by Lou’s voice: ‘Sir, we’ve reached the Crawley residence… All quiet.’
Brennan looked at McGuire who slapped an open palm off the wheel and grimaced. The DI picked up the handset, ‘OK, Lou, what’s occurring back in Leith?’
The line crackled, then, ‘No reported sightings. Uniform’s moving on foot round the Mickle flat and we’ve got the dogs out…’
Brennan touched his head with the edge of the handset. ‘OK, Lou — join them.’
The car neared the roundabout at the bypass and Brennan craned his neck towards the dark fields. As McGuire flicked the headlights to full beam, Brennan felt his shoulders stiffen. The thudding of his heart increased
