Gallery Whispers

20

'Is Special Branch always like this, Inspector?' asked Karen Neville.

'Nah,' Mario McGuire answered. As he spoke he kept his eyes firmly on the rear-view mirror, watching the road behind. The angled, four-way Leadbum junction lay two hundred yards beyond their parking place.

'Most of the time it's the sort of stuff you've been doing; checking on known or potential troublemakers, surveillance, VIP protection.

We rarely get to do action things.'

'You don't sound very excited by the prospect.'

'That's because I'm not, sergeant. Five years ago, I might well have looked forward to a bundle with an international terrorist, but not any more.'

Neville frowned. 'What happened to change you?'

'I got married, for one thing. I like going home to the wife at night with all my bits in place.' His mouth twisted wryly. 'I suppose getting shot might have affected me too.'

'You were shot!? When?'

'A few years back; in a good old-fashioned gunfight.'

'Were you badly hurt?'

'Oh aye. When you're on the floor, feeling numb all over, listening to the blood bubbling out of your chest and someone says to you, "It's okay, son, take it easy…" you know you're badly hurt. The thing I remember best is Bob Skinner talking to me. He said all the right things, but I could see from the look in his eyes that he was just doing his best to reassure me.'

He laughed. 'Practical to the end, that's the boss. I remember him saying, "the Royal Infirmary's right next door". Funnily enough, that was the thing that made me feel better.'

'You went through that,' said Neville, 'yet here you are in SB, carrying a gun and waiting for a bad guy? Couldn't you have asked for a uniform job?'

'Sure I could. But if I had, then that bullet would have taken more out of me than blood and a bit of lung tissue. I have to do the job the way I've always done it, for my sake; but that doesn't mean that I have to relish it.'

'Don't you worry about…' She hesitated. 'Should I worry?'

McGuire read her thoughts. 'Should you be worried in case the action starts and I freeze up?' he asked. 'No way, Karen. One thing getting shot does for you; it makes you very keen not to get shot again. Freeze, and that's what's going to happen.'

'Have you ever shot anyone?' she asked, quietly.

'I don't know, to tell you the truth. We were all blazing away that night. I might have hit the guy, I suppose, but I don't think so.'

'Has anyone else on the team?'

'That's not a question you should ask. Those who have don't like to talk about it. But since you have asked it… Andy Martin and Brian Mackie have. They got the guy who shot me. The boss has too. He put another guy down that night in the hall. Andy had to do it another time as well… and don't, in your daftest moment, ever ask him about that. Oh aye, and so did Brian.'

'Brian Mackie?' Neville's surprise burst from her.

'Aye, the Thin Man; never batted an eyelid either. He's the best shot on' His eyes narrowed as he looked in the mirror. 'Hold on. A red car just came round the bend in the distance.'

The sergeant turned to look out of the rear window. 'Yes. I see it. A silver car, then a green one, then red. It looks like a Vauxhall too.'

'Okay, look this way now. Don't give the driver any idea that we might be waiting for him. Eat your apple or something.' Quickly, from a pocket in the driver's door, he took two miniature football boots, joined by a white cord and slung them round the rear view mirror. 'Some of the lads take the piss out of me about my theory, but I can't think of a better way of disguising an unmarked car. Could you imagine a cop wagon with windscreen ornaments?'

'How about a nodding dog on the back shelf?' Karen suggested, dryly.

'Nah, nae use. The bad guys might think it was Mcllhenney.'

'Don't you knock Neil. I think he's nice.'

'I'm allowed to knock him. He's my best pal.' He glanced in the side mirror, as he tugged the ring-pull to open a can of Pepsi and raised it to his lips. 'This is the guy all right.' He drank from the tin as the red car swept past. 'Delta Echo Whisky 4357,' he read, switching on the engine of his Nissan as he spoke. 'Get ready.'

Less than thirty seconds later, the rear off-side door of the car was jerked open and a man slid quickly into the back seat. 'Hello Joe,' said McGuire. 'This is Karen Neville.' He handed the can of Pepsi to the newcomer. 'Finish that for me.'

Slipping into first gear, he slid from his parking place on the verge and moved smoothly into traffic, behind a blue Volkswagen. Ahead of them, the red Vauxhall took a left turn at the junction. 'Heading for Penicuik,' the inspector muttered. 'Okay, Joe. Tell us all about it.'

'Haud on a minute, son,' the veteran, grizzled Detective Inspector Impey grunted, breathing heavily from his short sprint to McGuire's car. 'I need this.' He raised the Pepsi and threw his head back, emptying the can in a single swallow. 'Hah, that's better.

'Right, about our man.' He tapped his colleague on the shoulder.

'Don't get too close now, Mario.'

'Teach your Granny,' the other man growled.

'Dinna be so touchy. Here, son, I don't think your boss likes me.'

'Joe, there'll be someone else doesn't like you if you don't get to the bloody point!'

'Aye, okay, okay. This is the wey it happened. We were watching the Irish ferry coming into dock at Craigryan, lookin' at the folk through binoculars, like. All of a sudden. Ah sees this bloke. He's a dead ringer for one of those photofits that your boss gave us. Ginger hair, big thick moustache. You ken the one ah mean.

'Then, while I'm watching him, he gets up and walked across the deck, and he's got a limp. Ah'm really interested then.' He paused.

'Got ony mair Pepsi?' Neville reached into her bag and handed him a can. 'Thanks, hen,' said Impey as he opened it. The sergeant fought off an urge to make clucking noises.

'Normally we give a' the cars coming off the ferry a quick once over, looking for familiar faces from the circulation list. Things might be quieter in Ireland these days, but old habits die hard, like. My oppo was up the ramp, and I was at the exit with a uniformed polis. It was fine till we got taste this bloke. He takes a look at the uniform coming towards him, shouted something at him and put his foot down. Ah didnae have time to wait for my oppo. My car was handy, so I jumped in it and got after him.'

'Why would someone like Hawkins panic at a police ferry check?'

Neville asked casually.

'How the bloody hell would I know, hen?' Impey snapped at her, then turned once more to look at the back of McGuire's head. 'I couldnae be sure where he was going until he turned off the A74 for Moffat. That was when I phoned Mcllhenney, only he wisnae in, so I phoned your boss.'

'He told me,' muttered McGuire, as he drove into the centre of Penicuik. 'I don't suppose you called anyone to ask for a number trace.'

'Naw,' Impey replied. 'Ah was concentrating on the subject, wasn't Ah.'

'That's okay, for we did. Our man's driving a hired car. We're trying to dig up someone in Eurodollar to give us the hirer's details. Bugger.'

He swore softly as the traffic lights in the middle of the small Midlothian town turned to amber. As he watched, helplessly trapped behind two other vehicles, their quarry hit the accelerator and shot across the junction.

'Pull out and go through,' Impey urged.

'Don't be daft, Joe. If he looked back and saw me do that, he'd rumble us for sure — if he hasn't already that is. Patience, man, he's got traffic in front of him; we'll catch him up.'

Like a watched kettle, the lights seemed to take forever to change, but eventually the three police officers resumed their pursuit. For a time it seemed that McGuire's confidence had been misplaced, as they found themselves trapped behind two articulated lorries which had pulled out of a small industrial estate just beyond the town centre.

They had reached Glencorse Barracks before the road cleared far enough ahead to allow overtaking, but once they had passed the obstruction, the inspector was able to put his foot down.

They were nearing a stretch of dual carriageway, when Neville pointed to a coach less than two hundred yards in front of them. 'I think he's in front of that bus. I caught a flash of red just then.'As if to prove her right, the red Vauxhall pulled into the overtaking lane of the widened roadway and speeded up. McGuire accelerated steadily, keeping pace with it but being careful not to be drawn too close.

Their target led them down the straight road towards Edinburgh, reaching, after five minutes, the double roundabout of the Straiten junction with the city bypass. At the second of the huge islands, the suspected Hawkins indicated right and swung off the Edinburgh road, heading eastwards.

'Why are we going this way, I wonder?' McGuire mused aloud.

'He's heading away from the posh end of the city.'

'Maybe he's going south?' Impey suggested.

'Maybe, but I doubt it, Joe. If he was heading, say for Berwick, he'd have taken another route. Unless, of course, he spotted us way back and he's been pulling our chains ever since. We'll find out when we get to the end of the bypass.'

'How's that, like?'

'Because if he heads for Leith, he's probably close to his destination.

If he heads down the Al, then he's taking the piss and I'm going t have him. You got your firearm handy?'

'Ah'm not carrying, Mario,' Impey confessed, sheepishly.

'Christ, are you going out of your way to wind up Bob Skinner?

Did you not hear his instruction at that briefing?'

'Aye, but Ah just dinnae like guns. Ah had a mate once shot himself in the leg with his.'

'I hate to think where the boss'11 shoot you if he finds out you've ignored his order. Okay, Karen's armed and able to back me up, and we're only going after one bloke, but if we'd been after a team, you could have put us all in danger.'

Impey growled. 'Ach you city polis. Yis are all fuckin' cowboys.

Excuse my French, hen.'

'C'est rien,' Neville replied.

In a little under ten minutes they came to the junction which marked the end of the bypass. McGuire drew the Nissan a little closer to the red car, ready to cover his move, whether he headed north or south.

Beside him, his sergeant shifted edgily in her seat.

Their quarry took neither option. Instead he headed straight through the junction and turned into the service area on the other side of the wide Al. 'Going for petrol,' McGuire guessed. He slipped quietly off the roundabout, hanging back as far as he dared, then turned into the narrow access road, slowing to check that the Vauxhall had not turned into the motor lodge car park, but had indeed carried on to the filling station beyond.

There were six pumps on the forecourt, all occupied. The red car stood a little back from them, waiting for one to clear. As he slid quietly behind him, McGuire could see the driver clearly for the first time, in profile as he looked at the pumps. He had lit a cigarette; his right arm was leaning on the open window. 'I can see the likeness right enough, Joe. And yet…' Something gnawed at the back of his mind.

'Mario.' Karen Neville touched his arm, interrupting his search of his memory. 'One of the pumps just cleared. Why isn't he moving up?'

'Maybe he needs diesel?' Impey suggested.

'Unlikely in a hire car. Maybe he's just finishing his fag before he goes to fill up. Whatever, he's off guard and I'm having him. Otherwise I'll have to buy bloody petrol or he'll twig us. Karen, you take the passenger side. Joe, you stay here.'

Mario McGuire was a big, easy-going man, until the action button was pressed. He opened his door and stepped out of the car, his gun in his hand in an instant. Swiftly and noiselessly, he closed the gap to the red car.

The man inside was drawing on his cigarette; he started in surprise as Karen Neville stepped into his line of vision. In the same moment the inspector reached through the Vectra's open side window and pressed the cold muzzle of his Walther to the back of the man's head.

'Good evening, sir,' he said, in a quiet, conversational tone. 'Just in case you're in any doubt, we are police officers and that thing you feel against your skull is not a piece of pipe, or a banana or anything like that. It's a real gun, and they make me nervous, so if you move the wrong muscle you won't move any others, ever again.

'Now, I want you to step out of the car, keeping your hands in the air; then I want you to lie face down on the ground.'