up on the case so far. He was parking up over the road; I left him to get on with it, went in and ordered up some coffees. For the first time in months I felt like food: all my appetites seemed to be returning. I took that as a good sign – so long as the main one could be held in check.

‘Could you do me a bacon roll too?’ I asked.

Got some nods. Waitress shouted the order through the serving hatch.

I sat in the far corner, away from the window. It didn’t do to be seen with Fitz in public. We were both agreed on that. When he came in he was sweating hard, his face was flashed red and thin wisps of grey hair stuck to his brow. He looked aggravated, ready to blow off some steam, perhaps.

‘Fucking Festival… when’s it going to be over?’ he said.

‘Not soon enough.’

‘Annual fucking jamboree of midgets and poofs on our streets. ’Tis enough to make ye go postal.’

I stifled a laugh; the PC brigade hadn’t reached this end of town yet.

The coffees arrived. They were instant. I didn’t complain – meant a reprieve from the usual fifty-seven different varieties of coffee you get listed in most city caffs. You asked for a mocha in this joint, they were likely to think you were taking the piss, or ask what the fuck it was.

I tucked into my roll. Fitz turned up his shirtsleeves; his arms were wet with sweat.

‘So,’ I said. ‘How’s Colin doing?’ Didn’t see any point in hanging about, or playing the slow build. We had business to do, and time was a major factor now.

Fitz creased his brows. The mention of his nephew seemed to calm him a bit. He widened his eyes and let out a slow trail of breath as he spoke: ‘He’s holding up… The lad’s rattled, though.’

I didn’t want to press him further. It was a sensitive issue. Fitz knew what the Craft was capable of – had seen it in action – but the young lad was new to the game, didn’t know what to expect next. I wondered if that was how it had been with Ben. ‘And what about you, Fitz,’ I changed tack, ‘did you get a look at those faces?’

He leaned forward, acted conspiratorial. I could see beads of moisture sitting in his eyebrows. None of this came easy for him. At his stage of the game, his time of life, he was looking to take things easier, not going full pelt at the top brass… again. ‘I did, yeah.’ He held back, made a pensive sigh.

I prompted, ‘And?’

Another, longer sigh. ‘As we thought… there’s some faces in that picture that found their way onto the force. Fucking fast-tracks. Two of them, Henderson and Bowman, are top dogs in the Craft…’

‘Hang about – Charles Henderson?’

‘Aye, we call him Chick… or Chief Super to his face.’

‘We’ve met.’

‘Y’wha’?’

I felt my mind drawn back. ‘At Calder’s hanging.’

And?’

‘He was by the book… firm. Never so much warned me off as advised me what might be good for my health.’

Fitz wheezed an indrawn breath, his shoulders tensing, ‘I did some digging about, and yer man Calder was at the uni the same time as Chick Henderson and Bowman. The lad that got hanged back then, he was best mates with that group.’

It figured – knew it would. The scene was a little less hazy. I could see how Calder was involved, where his compulsion to cover things up had come from – but had he got fed up being leaned on? Thirty-odd years to keep a secret like that under wraps was a long time. Maybe he grew tired of it all, got spooked… and it cost him his life. ‘Fitz, do you know about… the Seriatim?’

He rolled eyes, was an almost dismissive gesture. ‘Bills itself as a debating chamber… More like posh twats’ buggery and business school. They do a sideline in recruiting for the Craft.’

‘How did you come by that information?’

‘Ah, feck, Gus… you know better than to ask. All I will say is this: according to Ben Laird’s file, every statement that was taken on the night of his death came from boyos in that feckin’ group… and none of them conflicted.’

Seemed like the mob were well versed in police procedures. Of course they fucking were – they had experience of it to go on – and the filth were leading them by the hand. I felt myself drawing fists. I was surprised I had the energy to still be angered. But, by Christ, I was. ‘Okay. What else can you tell me?’

‘Bowman, he’s away down south, some big shot at the Met, but Henderson, his career’s running away with him here. Hasn’t he more fucking stars than the Man U squad!’

‘You think he’s the one pulling the strings?’

Fitz laughed. ‘I’d bet my fucking bollocks on it!’

It all fitted into place. Proving it would be another matter. But that wasn’t my concern. I was after Ben Laird’s murderer. What happened after I found that out wasn’t for me to think about. When I found the killer, I’d light the blue touchpaper and retire. In every way, this case had just about killed me and I was in no fit shape to take on any more. I wanted to crash the rig and walk away, hopefully in one piece… and with Amy.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ I said.

Fitz eased back in his seat, took up his coffee. His face was a blank sheet, impossible to read. ‘I’ve no plan, Dury.’

I amped it up: ‘You just want to see this swept under the carpet?’

A tut, then a huff. ‘What would you like me to do, call in Internal Affairs?’ He started to laugh. ‘Christ on a fucking rubber cross, Dury, this mob run the force… we do things their way, or no way. What you can do is find yer boyo’s killer and, at best, get the other cases looked at. Don’t count on bringing any of this lot down – they’ve had too long to get their fucking act together.’

It didn’t sound like the right move. My face must have gave away what I was thinking.

Fitz’s voice was higher now: ‘Look, if there’s one thing I do know… when these bastards fuck up, like Calder and the Laird lad… their own take care of them.’

I was curious. ‘What do you mean?’

He lowered his voice again. ‘What I mean is… the Craft doesn’t like having attention drawn to itself. They have ways and means of dealing with those that bring it down. They have their own kind of justice.’

‘What you’re saying to me is… if I blow this up, that’ll be enough? Those that protected the killer will be punished by their own?’

Fitz nodded. ‘They’ll face harsher justice than any court… but let me give you a warning.’ He put down his cup, wet his lips with his tongue. ‘They will do everything they can to cover their tracks, Dury – including kill. If you push them too far, they won’t give a second thought to blotting you out.’

I grinned. ‘Yeah, plenty have tried before them. I’m still here.’

Fitz stopped me raising up my cup by placing a hand on my arm. ‘I mean it… be very careful. You don’t know who you’re messing with here, Dury. These people are the worst sort of dangerous… they’ve lots to hide, and more to lose.’

Chapter 34

I HAD A HANDFUL OF Harry Hills to take after my latest trip to the hospital. Took a scoop of them and half expected to see them again, but managed to keep the lot down. Thanked Christ for the let-off. The last twenty-four hours had been an eye-opener – in more ways than one. Couldn’t say I was having difficulty coming to terms with my new status coupled off with Amy, but it did make me think about the way I’d been battering myself to bits. There was a time for drinking and despair, for raging against the world; now didn’t seem like it. I kept replaying the old Lennon interview where he’d been asked if he’d found it harder to write now that he had fame, wealth and happiness. His reply had been a resounding no – that he’d found it much easier to write with cushions around him. I took his point; I’d been dining out on the wreckage of my career, marriage and life for so long that maybe it was time to let all that go. I was definitely on the mend, if not yet physically, then mentally – the clearest indicator perhaps being that I’d suddenly stopped listening to Joy Division.

Hod and I had holed up back at his gaff in Porty. He wasn’t overly keen on the idea, but I gave him a guarantee

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