he’d see to that.
Suddenly something hissed to the side of him and he spun his head to see a single rat standing on its hind legs in the doorway. It didn’t flinch when Winter looked at it, maybe sensing his fear or just angry at him for keeping the hordes from their meal. What it couldn’t know, whatever it smelled, was that Winter wasn’t afraid of it. The rat might have scared the shit out of him earlier but now it was way down the list of things that frightened him.
He got halfway to his feet and began to move towards it, like a dog chasing a car, having no idea what it would do if it caught one. It was enough and the rat whipped round, disappearing in a whisk of its pink tail as if it had never been there.
Winter fell back, letting himself thud into the wall, comforted by the chill of it, and considered the paucity of his options. He decided that if the rat was a hint for him to get the hell out of there then he was going to take it.
He fished the compact out of his back pocket again and, calmly as he could, photographed each of the print- outs in turn. Any pretence at calm disappeared at seeing the pictures of Rachel. He needed to get out of there and back up above ground. He needed to do that really quickly. Grahamston, Alston Street, Central Station, wherever he was, it was closing in on him fast and he was developing a claustrophobia that he’d never known before. He had to get out.
He tossed the blanket back over McKendrick’s body, not particularly worried about replicating the placement of it as the rats had doubtless already moved it and would do so again. The printed photographs were back in their pile and the boxes were back where he’d found them. Exhaling hard, he backed out of the storage cupboard and set his sights on the way he’d got there. He was pretty sure of the way back out, knowing there were only two points at which he’d need to choose between alternative ways to go. The thought made him realize that there must have been a number of ways in because the metal sheet that he’d moved behind McDonald’s looked like it hadn’t budged in a long time. Not only that but he only noticed the footprints that had disturbed the dust on the floors once he was a fair way down and in, obviously having picked up another path.
He knew he could try and follow the footsteps and see where they’d entered but didn’t want to hang around down there and anyway, it wouldn’t matter. He’d got in, McKendrick had got in and so had his killer. It didn’t make any difference if there was one entry point or three. All that mattered was Rachel.
He scuttled through the passageways as quickly as his legs and the light would allow him. Round, along and up. Double doors and damp hospital corridors, by the recess with the generator, the white tiles then the yellow ones, passing under the walkway on Union Street which was now lit by neon. It was only then that the fear gripped him with the realization that someone could have replaced the metal sheet over the hole. Either a deliberate ploy to keep him in there or just some civic-minded twat with nothing better to do with their time. Getting out again had never occurred to him but if the sheet was back over the hole then he’d never shift it.
It was only when he passed through to the faintly moonlit hallway that he breathed again, knowing that the sliver of pale light meant the sheet was as he’d left it. He climbed the stairs gratefully and popped out onto the overgrown corridor behind the burger joint.
As soon as he was out he reached for his phone and was glad to see that the buildings weren’t cutting off his signal. He didn’t have time to go through his contacts and trusted his fingers to punch in the numbers quicker. Come on. Thank Christ, after four rings she answered.
‘I can’t talk just now. I’ll need to phone you back.’
She hadn’t used his name, meaning there was probably someone else there. Someone who couldn’t be allowed to know she was talking to him.
‘No. I need to talk to you now. Right now.’
‘I can’t do that, sorry. Things are really busy.’
She lowered her voice.
‘There’s been another shooting.’
‘Fuck. Who? In fact it doesn’t matter, just listen to me.’
‘I have to go.’
‘No! This is really important, Rachel… Rachel. Rach! You have to get away. Listen to me-’
‘I’m going into a press conference. I’ll call you once I’m home. Bye.’
‘Fucksake, Rach!’ He was talking to himself. She’d already hung up. He switched the phone to text and began frantically typing in a message.
He scrubbed it. Would just scare the hell out of her. And pose too many questions. He started again.
Don’t go home. Go to my place and text when on way.
Again he deleted it. The press conference would last a while and it would be at least half an hour, probably longer still, before she left Pitt Street. At least she’d be safe there. Instead he hurried back to his car where he’d left it off St Enoch’s Square, immediately turning the radio on when he got there and pushing the button for Radio Clyde.
Good timing. The presenter was announcing that they were interrupting the programme to go to a live news conference at Strathclyde Police Headquarters where there was news about the killing which they’d exclusively told their listeners about earlier. Another voice took over but only got out a few whispered words of unnecessary explanation before loud familiar tones began to talk above it. Alex Shirley.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending at such short notice. I am going to read a prepared statement then take questions but I must warn you in advance that there are operating issues that I cannot and will not discuss. I’m sure you understand that and I thank you in advance for your co-operation in this matter.’
Shirley paused and Winter could imagine him glaring at the press and daring them to disagree.
‘At 20.30 hours this evening, officers received a 999 call from Causewayside Street in the Tollcross area, just off London Road. On arrival outside the premises of Eastern Salvage, they found the body of a man they identified as Alastair Riddle, the owner of the scrapyard. He had been shot in the head at point-blank range and was already dead when officers reached the scene.’
Winter could hear a flurry of background noise breaking out and Shirley paused until there was silence again.
‘Mr Riddle was twenty-five years old and a known associate of members of Glasgow’s criminal fraternity and had close connections with Malcolm Quinn. Owing to the specific characteristics of Mr Riddle’s injuries and the nature of his business, we are – subject to full and proper forensic examinations – linking his death with the others under the remit of Operation Nightjar.
‘The investigation into the other killings are ongoing and a matter of the utmost priority for Strathclyde Police. We are working round the clock to apprehend the person or persons responsible for these killings and will not rest until they are in custody. We are determined this will be done as quickly as is possible.
‘Now I’ll take questions.’
‘Who found the body, Chief Superintendent?’
‘Two local men heard the shot and they were first on the scene. I am not prepared to release their names at this stage.’
‘Will they be available for interview later?’
‘I doubt it. We’ll let you know if that situation changes.’
‘Can you reassure the public that you have firm leads in this case?’
‘I can reassure them that everything that can be done is being done. We have several leads and every one of these is being fully explored. I cannot say that an arrest is imminent but I can say that we are closer to an arrest than at any other time during this investigation.’
‘Can you tell us what information leads you to say that?’
‘No.’
‘Can you tell us the nature of this information?’
‘No.’
‘Chief Superintendent, the Dark Angel case has attracted worldwide publicity. Is this something that Strathclyde Police are comfortable with?’
‘The Nightjar investigation has now involved the deaths of fourteen individuals and that is something we are not comfortable with. The extent of the publicity these killings has received is perhaps inevitable but it is not something that affects this force one way or the other.’
‘Chief Superintendent, are you happy that drug dealers and crime bosses are being shot? Many members of
