Quinwell and Cald. Caldquinn and Well. Blood and more blood. He fell into one of those strangely drowsy, part- dreaming, thinking-too-much states that go on for ever and you’re never sure what is awake and what is dreamt. It ran for nearly two hours till it was shattered by cold flesh slapping him immediately awake.
Rachel had crawled back into bed, freezing cold and wideawake tired, wrapping herself round him despite his half-hearted protests. How could a woman so hot be so cold? The shock of her chill had him fully conscious in a split second.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled into his shoulder.
‘For what?’
‘Being here and being warm.’
‘You’re welcome. Freezing but welcome. Want to talk about it?’
‘In a minute. Let me heat up first.’
She hugged herself in tighter, the frost of a Glasgow night sneaking into his skin as she stole his warmth. Her long brown hair tickling his face, smelling of the chill that she had brought home with her. Winter knew she was thinking before she spoke to him, debating with herself just how much she was going to divulge. He was hoping it would be everything. He wanted to know every detail of Quinn’s killing. The who, what, where, when and why. The facts and the speculation. Danny had given him some but he wanted more. She wanted to tell him the lot, he was sure of that, but police protocol was always the problem. So what was she going to settle for?
‘It was mental out there,’ she said at last, burying her head even deeper into him before coming up for air. ‘People running round like headless chickens. Some of them are shit-scared of what’s coming next. Not a good night.’
He knew from experience that the best thing was just to shut up and let her talk. Asking questions would either annoy her or cause barriers to come down. Winter was on the payroll but he wasn’t a cop. It wouldn’t pay for him to remind her of that by saying something stupid.
‘Shirley was already at the scene by the time I got there. You know it’s serious when he’s dragged out of his bed at that time of night.’
Alex Shirley was the chief superintendent. Variously known as ‘Shirley Temple’ or ‘Don’t Call Me Shirley’ by the troops. The way Tony heard it from Rachel and Addison, he was liked and respected, which was no mean feat for a chief when the Indians were a bunch of cynical, moaning-faced Glaswegian smart arses.
‘He looked spooked, to be honest. Never seen him that way before. Hardly surprising, I suppose. Just one day after Cairns Caldwell gets shot and one of the city’s other main dealers goes down the same way. Enough to shake anyone, never mind if you are the one who has to clean the fucking mess up.
‘Not that he wasn’t in control of the situation. He was. Just that he looked rattled. He gave a uniform a hell of a bollocking for not keeping the locals back when they fell out of their pits to see what was going on. Poor guy looked like he was going to shit himself when the Temple gave him what for. Not like Shirley to do that.’
She fell silent for a moment, her head falling back toward his shoulder, thinking again. He silently pleaded for her not to stop.
‘No sign of who had done it,’ she eventually continued. ‘No real idea of where the shot came from except that it was a mile away. Maybe literally. That was what was bugging the Super as much as what might happen next. I’m sure of it. It was the same scenario as Caldwell. Exactly the fucking same.’
Trust Danny, Winter thought, bang on the money as per usual. Then, even though he knew he shouldn’t have, he asked the question.
‘So you’re thinking it wasn’t a revenge hit for Caldwell?’
She rolled away from him, falling face down onto the bed.
‘I’m tired. Long, long night.’
‘Okay, come here and I’ll warm you up,’ he tried.
After a bit she pulled herself back into him, legs round and over him. She lay with her head on his chest, her eyes fixed on some spot on the far wall, her head rising and falling with his breathing. Winter ran his hand through her hair and her eyes closed but he knew her mind was still racing.
‘He’d been coming home from some night out,’ she said at last. ‘A meeting was all his crew would say. He had walked halfway from the car to his front door when the bullet caught him bang in the middle of the back of his head. He was on his way down before anyone heard a sound. The guys with him threw themselves to the pavement but that was all there was. A single bullet. The Mighty Quinn died immediately. Dead before he hit the path.
‘Some woman across the street saw it and began screaming her lungs out. After that the hired help had no option but to call the cops whether they liked it or not. Weren’t exactly forthcoming at helping the polis with their inquiries, funnily enough. Some of them were shaken big time. If some bastard could take out Malky then they were all at risk, that’s what they were thinking.’
Winter couldn’t help himself again.
‘If they could hit big Malky then all the wee Malkies were in deep shit?’ he suggested.
Thankfully she laughed a bit.
‘Ha ha, very good. Big Malky was the hand that fed them, like I said. The one that was supposed to keep them all safe and put bread on the table and drug money in their pockets. If he’s fucked then they’re all fucked. Unless one of them steps up to the mark and takes over. And whoever has the balls for that better do it soon before some other fucker decides to help himself to Quinn’s business.’
‘That what’s happening? Someone after Quinn and Caldwell’s operations?’
‘Don’t know.’
Her reply was curt.
‘Far too early to know. But someone will be after the business whether he was the one who pulled that trigger or not. It’s the way of the jungle and there’s far too much money not to have someone do it. Fun times ahead, that’s for sure.
‘The Temple took Bobby McGurk into London Road for questioning. Malky’s second-in-command. Not that he particularly thinks Bobby had anything to with killing Malky but maybe he fancies him for having done Caldwell. Maybe. Maybe he was just fishing. Hard fucker, McGurk, but he was knocked off his feet by Quinn getting shot. Not exactly shitting himself but his jaw dropped all the same. Couldn’t take his eyes off Malky’s head. He watched that blood spreading over the path like he was hypnotized.’
Winter let her linger for a bit. Not pushing, waiting.
‘Press will have a field day too,’ she said eventually. ‘Newspapers and TV were there within half an hour of us getting there, crawling over the place like locusts. Shouting out pish like “turf wars” as if they were going to get an answer. I hate those turds.’
Rachel had got a raw time from the media when she led the investigation into the Cutter murders and she still held it against them. Not that she’d ever been their biggest fan but since she was publicly slated when a serial killer randomly murdered six people in the city, she hated them with a passion. They hounded her from the minute she took over, questioning why a mere detective sergeant was in charge, why she couldn’t catch the guy, until they finally got her turfed off the case. She wouldn’t talk about it but Winter knew it still grated.
‘If those morons think I am spending my day fielding their idiot questions then they’ve got another think coming. They can talk to media services all day long if they like but they can get tae as far as I’m concerned. This shit is bad enough without them making it worse. Know that Lindsey Richardson from the Express? Addison told her to fuck off. No messing. She asked him about vendettas and who’s next. Got to admire your pal’s attitude sometimes. He wasn’t a happy bunny out there tonight.’
‘How come?’
‘How many reasons do you want? Got my own theory but you better ask him yourself.’ Winter raised his eyebrows by way of a question but she blanked him and he knew he was getting nothing. Their relationship had always been based on the concrete fact that she was police and he wasn’t. There was blue and white police tape between them and she’d have arrested him if he tried to cross it.
‘Anyway,’ she went on. ‘Dead gangsters, who needs it? At least I’m back in bed. Forensics will be picking pieces of skull and tissue off Kinnear Road for the rest of the night.’
‘Who was on camera duty?’
She shook her head wearily.
‘Mulgrew and Burke.’
‘Fucking forensics,’ he spat out, more angrily than he knew he should have.
