Eventually he got to me. Alec Kirkwood reached out for my hand and looked into my eyes, a smile playing on his lips. He didn’t say anything, just nodded. Placed his other hand over the one that was holding mine. Felt like I was being blessed by the Pope or measured for size by the Devil.
Held my hand. Held my eye.
All sorts of thoughts. Most of them bad.
I had been on the edge of Kirky’s world and that had suited me fine. Knowing people who knew people who knew him had been close enough. Now he was in my world and me in his. Glasgow’s two scariest men, some would say. Face to face, hand in hand.
Except I wasn’t scary. Not in my head. Not in my scary head. I was just me, doing what I had to do. He was a professional psychopath. He was in front of me and in my way. I was in front of him and in his sights.
Kirkwood had taken my hand with a knowing smile and released it the same way. All the time I wore my best dead look. Cold eyes, corpse expression. Nothing inside, nothing to read.
Still, he smiled and nodded as if I was an open book.
He moved on into the cab office and Tobin followed him. He too looked at me as if he knew something.
But they couldn’t. OK, they could but if they did then why slow-play their hand? Why not string me up and electrocute my bollocks or whatever they did? Maybe Kirkwood was being cute, wanted to be sure, wanted to flush me out. He knew where I was – right where he wanted me. I wouldn’t, couldn’t go anywhere. He was trying to unnerve me, break me.
Shit, if that was his game then I was playing right into his hands. Get a grip.
Kirkwood had been buying up private hire firms all over Glasgow, it was obvious he was the monopoly wolf. No surprise then that he bought out Cammy. Coincidence. And all he had done was smile at me. No more than shake my hand and look at me. Get a grip.
If Kirkwood knew then I would be dead. He was my boss now and I was on his radar as well as his payroll but that was it. Grip. Stay calm, give nothing away and it will all be OK. Being crazy wasn’t helping.
Yet all the time, a voice called to me, telling an old joke that wasn’t funny. Being paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.
CHAPTER 36
The Daily Record. Saturday, 4 April 2010. Page 4.
Calls for Cutter cop to stand down
By Keith Imrie, Chief Reporter There have been calls for the officer leading the hunt for The Cutter to stand down from the investigation. DS Rachel Narey is coming under severe pressure to excuse herself from the hunt for the five-time killer who is terrorising Glasgow. It is believed that DS Narey’s bosses have already asked her to consider stepping aside for the good of the investigation and the force. A source close to the case said that officers are openly questioning her ability to lead The Cutter hunt and are asking why a detective sergeant continues to run an inquiry which is now the biggest in the history of Strathclyde Police. ‘No one is saying that DS Narey is incompetent but they are wondering if she is in over her head. We are getting nowhere with this case and maybe it is time for more experience or someone with fresh ideas to be taking the lead.’ Demands for DS Narey to stand aside have also come from families of The Cutter’s victims. Agnes Hutchison, widow of bookmaker Billy Hutchison, said yesterday that she would welcome a change at the top of the investigation. ‘It is nearly a year since my husband was killed but the police are getting nowhere. It is over a month since anyone from Strathclyde Police even talked to me or my family. I don’t think that’s good enough. ‘I have grandchildren asking me when the man who killed their papa will be put in jail. What am I supposed to tell them? ‘I am sure that Ms Narey is doing her best but there must be plenty of officers in Strathclyde with a lot more experience that could take this on. It wouldn’t be about her if someone else took over. Catching this killer is the only thing that matters.’ A spokeswoman for Strathclyde Chief Constable Andrew Chisholm would not comment on whether DS Narey’s position was under threat but did say that the entire case was constantly under review. ‘We do not comment on operational matters of this kind nor on the role of individual officers within an investigation. However, every case, particularly one of this importance, is continuously reviewed and monitored. We always have an open mind on the direction it will take and are completely aware of the level of expectation of the general public in catching this killer.’ DS Narey would not comment on the issue of her being replaced when contacted by the Record yesterday.
CHAPTER 37
Funny thing. The newspapers were going on and on about the whole of Glasgow being terrified of the man they were calling The Cutter. All except me.
Me? I was getting scared of a man called Alec Kirkwood.
I hadn’t expected fear. Had thought that was an emotion that had gone along with others. I’d told myself that I was already dead inside, that he couldn’t kill me. He’d hurt Jimmy Mac badly but that hadn’t worried me too much. He’d done worse to Hutton than kill him and Hutton hadn’t done anything. What would he do to me?
I was getting some hints. There’s a pub in Royston called the Star Bar. I’d passed by it often enough but had never ventured inside. Probably just as well. It’s the kind of pub, once you get out of the city centre, that Glasgow specializes in. The sort that if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably take one look and think it had been closed down. The windows were boarded up even though they also had bars on them. Belt and braces Royston-style.
No bouncer on the door. None needed.
I’m told that inside the bar looks like any other dodgy dive in the city. Torn fake leather upholstery, sticky floors, mismatched chairs, a fruit machine and galleries stocked with ‘house’ spirits. It smelled rancid but if you drank there often enough then you didn’t notice. Or if you drank enough.
Any face that didn’t fit or wasn’t recognized was guaranteed hard stares and would be well advised not to go to the toilets alone. The staff stood for no shite from anyone except friends of the management. They could do what they liked.
The Star had the worst karaoke in Glasgow. Women in their sixties singing Tammy Wynette and Madonna like drunken cats. Nobody having the heart or the balls to tell them how bad they were. Suggestion like that in the Star is reason enough for husbands or sons to want to stab you.
Want anything? Get it in the Star. Drugs, a dodgy telly, guns, a house burned down, a new fridge, someone’s legs broken. But don’t ask if you’re not known. That will only get you a doing.
My info on the Star Bar came from Ally McFarland. He had managed to become a bit of a regular there through his shady mates and was happy to bump his gums about the place. Ally loved the idea that he was in with that crowd. He was someone who knew someone. He did favours for important people. He could get nods back from guys at the bar. He’d get chat.
Suited me of course that he did. Ally talked, I listened. I asked questions too, almost without him realizing it. With a man like Kirkwood on your tail, it pays to know some of what he knows. Forewarned, forearmed.
Ally had also told me before about the basement at the Star Bar. Told me what happened sometimes when last orders were called, when the place was cleared of drinkers and the lights in the bar turned off. Ally had been there.
Sitting on Royston Road, it’s a typical, big Victorian pub. Purpose-built for the job with a basement that had been big enough to take every barrel of ale that a drayman wanted to drop off from his wagon.
These days it was kitted out for a different purpose altogether. Once a month, groups of men gathered in the bowels of the Star. Under the street, deep down where a century of brick kept in the noise. And there was plenty of noise. The Star Bar was owned by Alec Kirkwood and he used the basement as home turf for dogfights.
Ally loved it. Not just that it was seriously dodgy and that he had an invite. That would have been enough in itself for Ally to get his rocks off but he actually loved the fights. He had bloodlust. He’d tell me about what went on in detail that made me squirm.
I know. Irony.
