all. The problem was that nobody had an answer for them.
Winter spent most of Sunday afternoon filing everything he had to file so he popped into the Nightjar operation room late on and was basically chased along. If you’re needed, we’ll call you, otherwise fuck off, camera boy. He got the message.
Winter could feel the sudden chill, the wind picking up and the grumble of approaching thunder. His sgriob was itching and he couldn’t ignore the voice that was whispering in the back of his head. It’s quiet, too quiet. The calm before the storm. Be calm before the storm.
He got a drunken phone call from Addison late on Sunday night after the DI had emerged empty-handed from Viper, more or less demanding to know why no one had been shot while he’d been inside trying to get his end away.
‘What is it with this fucker?’ he slurred at Winter. ‘Where’s he hiding himself? Eh? Where’s he hiding, wee man?’
‘I’ve no idea, Addy. You looked under the bed?’
‘Ah, a comedian, just what I need. And for your information, the night is still young and I’ll be looking in a bed before it’s finished. The mountie always gets his woman. Anyway, that’s not why I phoned. I know you’re up to something you little scrote. I know your game. You’re hiding something.’
What the fuck? Winter hesitated a fraction too long.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Addy. You’re pished. Away and get yourself home.’
‘You know what I’m talking about alright, wee man. That bang on the cheek you had on Friday night? Slipped in the bathroom, my arse. How do you explain the big bruise at the back of your head?’
‘Fuck off, Addy. I don’t need this.’
‘Can’t answer, huh? You’re up to something and first thing in the morning I’m gonnae find out what it is. I know you and it’s something to do with your photographs. You know something you’re not telling.’
‘You’re mental. Get yourself some chips or something.’
‘Good idea, wee man. I’m starving. Might nip over to the Philadelphia. Hey, you know Graeme Forrest, the inspector that works out of Anderston? Never showed up for his shift today and no sign of him anywhere. I reckon he’s done a bunk with that wee blonde WPC, whatsername, Sandra something? You know her?’
‘Nope. No idea who she is.’
‘Tidy wee bit of stuff, can’t say I blame him. Anyway, don’t change the subject, wee guy. I’m gonnae find out what you’re up to, whatever it is. And what about the shooter? What’s his game now? He’s been far too quiet for my liking.’
‘Maybe he takes the weekend off?’ Winter suggested.
‘Yeah, very fucking funny. Now fuck off. I’m starving.’
And with that Addison hung up and disappeared somewhere into the night leaving Winter wide awake and wondering what was to come.
CHAPTER 30
Monday 19 September
The Nightjar operation room lay dark and empty, the last person having called it a day just before midnight, six hours earlier. All that could be heard was the impatient hum of technology: fax machines, telephones and computers on stand-by, all left to guard the shop and await any news of the man who rendered the same office full of noisy, nervous energy during the day. If an empty room could ever be described as a coiled spring then this was it.
At 6.04 a.m. the quiet was disturbed by the angry ringing of a telephone in the middle of the office. It was the hotline set up for members of the public to call if they had any information on the sniper killings. On the eighth ring it stopped and the answering machine kicked in, a flashing red light the only indication that a message had been left. For a further hour, the red signal throbbed in the gloom of the locked-down office like a lighthouse sending out a danger signal that no one could see.
Nancy Anderson was first through the door at seven, the civilian admin assistant in before any of the CID. She had worked on farms all her days, first in Glasgow then in the Borders at Lauder, before her MS had forced her to finally take an office job. She could never get out of the habit of rising early though and was almost always first into work. Her husband Colin was forever telling her to take it easy but she knew he was already up too, doubtless ready to fuss over their grandchildren.
She threw on the lights and pulled her hand through her greying hair as she tutted at the mess the cops had left the place in the night before. There were coffee cups everywhere and newspapers lying on the floor. She guessed she would have to be the one to tidy the room up as per usual. So much for swapping the farm for an easier job, this one brought its own problems.
She picked up a tray and began piling paper cups inside each other, going from desk to desk and making a mental note of the worst offenders, fully intending to pull them up about it when they came in. It was only when she got to the desk in the middle of the room did the flashing light register. There were unlikely to be any officers in for another hour so she would have to deal with that as well. Oh, it could wait another few minutes, she had to open the blinds and let a bit of light into the room. That done, Nancy grabbed a notepad and turned almost reluctantly to the phone, trying to guess whether it would be a message from a nutter, a timewaster or both. She punched the message button and listened.
The first few seconds was nothing more than crackling on the line. Then a man’s voice spoke, slow, deliberate and heavily muffled.
‘More bodies.
‘End of Lawmoor Road.
‘Dixon Blazes Industrial Estate.
‘Courtesy of the Dark Angel.’
Nancy stood stock-still for seconds that seemed like minutes. She looked down at her notepad and tried to make sense of what she had just heard and written down. She began to edge away from the phone but took a deep breath and returned to press the play button again with a shaky hand. The same muffled voice delivered the same measured words. With a final glance at her pad, she spun on her heels, nearly slipping to the floor as she ran across the room as fast as she could to her own desk where she knew her phone was programmed with the speed-dial numbers she needed. Seconds later, the tired and testy voice of Superintendent Alex Shirley came on the line.
‘Nancy? What the… this better be good!’
‘It isn’t, sir.’
Within minutes, unshaven cops dived into cars across the city. Addison had given Winter two minutes to be ready and said that if he wasn’t on the pavement when he turned up then he was going without him. Winter was ready and waiting before he arrived.
He jumped into the passenger seat, the Audi lurching away long before he’d closed the door. They’d burst through the red light at the slip road to the motorway by the time Winter managed to fasten his seat belt. By the look on Addison’s face and the drift of beer and whisky that was coming Winter’s way, the DI probably shouldn’t have been driving. Just as well there was no cop likely to be asking him to blow into a breathalyser.
He looked rough, eyes strained and red as if he’d knocked back his last half just five minutes before. There was a fierce anger around his eyes. Winter knew the look. Addison was trying and failing to hold it back, he wanted to burst, ready to boot someone’s head in. Instead he kicked his foot to the floor, battering the car towards Rutherglen.
He only spoke once all the way there. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, just spat the words at the windscreen.
‘I’m fed up with this cunt. I’m going to bring him to his fucking knees. He’s finished. Last job.’
He didn’t utter another word until they hammered into Dixon Blazes and roared down to the far end of Lawmoor Road, passing warehouses, offices and industrial units, heading for the last plot before the railway line.
Two blue and yellows and a couple of unmarked cars were the X’s that marked where the spot was. Addison
