‘But none of this helps me. I still have four dead bodies and a missing baby.’
Wullie got to his feet. He eased back his broad shoulders, spoke: ‘Well, take a few steps back the way, Robbie… What were you telling me a minute ago about your inquiries?’
Brennan crossed over his leg, twisted his ankle in his hand. ‘Well, we’ve had Tierney’s known associates in, put the thumbscrews on them… Nothing.’
‘How hard have you turned them?’
‘Bloody hard.’
Wullie put a hand on the wall, leaned over and punctuated his words with the point of his finger. ‘Then you have to ask yourself why they’re not talking.’
Brennan let go his ankle, showed palms. ‘That’s obvious: they don’t want to go the same way as Tierney.’
‘Correct!’ Wullie took a long cigarette from a packet of B amp;H 100s, put it in his mouth; it moved up and down as he spoke. ‘Tierney’s connection is higher up the tree than you’ve been looking.’
‘You think I should start climbing a bit.’
Wullie lit his cigarette, pointed to an ancient television screen in the corner of the room. ‘After last night’s performance, the bastard might be climbing down himself… Make sure you bump into him on the way up, eh.’
Brennan put both feet on the floor. He kept an eye on Wullie as he removed his mobile phone, dialled the station.
‘Lou, it’s Rob.’
‘Hello, sir.’
Brennan kept his tone businesslike, but his mind was sparking. ‘Any movement from those scrotes you brought in again?’
A pause on the line. ‘It’s like they’re in shutdown, boss.’
Brennan nodded to Wullie. ‘Right. Turf them out. All at once — I want them to be bumping into each other in the fucking street as they go.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Now he let the emotion into his voice: ‘And when that’s done, I want every dealer who might once have sold Tierney an ounce of puff hoiked in.’
Lou couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice. ‘That’s a lot of dealers. There must be dozens of them he could have scored from.’
‘Start at the top. Ones known to be dealing skag in Muirhouse. Don’t go to their delivery boys — right to the top, Lou, and go in hard… I want them rattled until their ears bleed, get me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Brennan was about to hang up Lou spoke again: ‘Sir, I don’t know if there’s anything in this, but we took a call and…’ He stalled, seemed to be searching for the right words.
‘Go on,’ said Brennan.
‘We took a call from a woman in Dean Village who says she saw someone on the night of the shootings.’
‘ And?’
‘It’s not much of an ID, but she insists she saw a limping man soon after the shots were fired.’
Brennan felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. ‘How sure is she?’
‘Very. She seems reliable too.’
‘Okay, Lou, circulate that to the team… And all the other channels.’
He laid down the phone, put eyes on Wullie. The old man seemed to be a step ahead of him already.
Chapter 43
Brennan checked his watch when he got onto the street — it was approaching 6.30. Bryce’s celebration for Lauder and their team would be in full swing at the Bull. He really didn’t fancy it; just thinking about seeing Lauder and Bryce gloating was enough to make him want to throw up. His mind was awash with thoughts of the Limping Man; Lauder had never traced him, never came close. Brennan knew he was better than Lauder, he had more invested in catching the bastard, but pros had a way of ducking under the radar and this guy was obviously good, very good.
Brennan crossed the road at the Foot of the Walk. The town was being dug up to make way for trams that never seemed to materialise. He played with the idea of skipping Bryce and Lauder’s celebration, but there was a definite advantage to be had from seeing them with their guards down. He made his way to the Bull. The tram works had been going on for years, had driven some of the firms on the Walk out of business, and now there was talk about the trams only going as far as York Place because of a financial crisis. It made Brennan shake his head as he looked at the statue of Queen Victoria. What the hell was going on with this city? he wondered.
In Pitlochry he had been reminded that there were other places to live, places with clean air and clean buildings. Green spaces and bins that got emptied. Drunks safely tucked away in their middle-class homes instead of spilling from every shopfront. He had grown tired of the city, was exhausted by it. As he put his hand in his pocket he felt the picture that Lorraine had given him. He toyed with the idea of removing it, looking at his growing child, but he didn’t want to risk being seen by someone. Instead he removed his mobile phone, dialled Lorraine’s number.
‘Hello, Rob.’
‘This is getting ridiculous.’
‘What is?’
‘Oh Christ, stop with the shrink-speak.’
‘If you like.’
Brennan moved the phone to his other ear. ‘I need to see you.’
A note of sarcasm: ‘At last a window opens in your diary.’
‘Say when.’
‘Tonight?’
Brennan sighed. ‘I can’t make tonight.’
‘Brilliant! Why did you call, Rob?’
‘Look, I do need to see you. I just can’t make tonight.’
‘Well, when?’
‘How about Monday?’
She raised her voice: ‘Are you trying to be funny?’
If he was, he didn’t get the joke. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Rob, you have an appointment with me on Monday… I am still your doctor, remember?’
He had forgotten about the session, must have pencilled it in before he was handed the case by Galloway. ‘Well, Monday it is then. I’ll try to be on time.’
‘Don’t try too hard.’ She sounded harsh. ‘Goodbye, Rob.’
She hung up. Brennan watched the phone’s light go out, then moved off at a slower pace than before.
The Bull was a cellar bar, dark and dingy. When he arrived DC Stevie McGuire spotted him coming through the door and went to greet him. ‘Hello, sir.’
‘You can drop the honorific, Stevie, we’re off duty.’
‘Okay, boss… I’m kidding! What can I get you?’
‘A pint, heavy.’ Brennan watched McGuire order up the drinks and scoped the bar for familiar faces. Lauder and Bryce were already knocking them back, holding court in the window seats. Prominent positions so no one could miss them. As Lauder caught sight of Brennan at the bar he raised a glass in salute. Brennan nodded, pressed out a weak smile. The bastard was having a laugh with him.
McGuire brought his pint, sat it on the bar counter; Brennan retrieved it, supped. He always stuck to just one pint on these occasions. It didn’t do to get drunk in front of colleagues. It was a weakness and that was the one thing everyone on the team was looking out for. Wullie had always told him, ‘Have a drink, enjoy a drink, but don’t
