Stay of Execution

56

As was the case with many pubs, Monday was the quietest evening of the week in the Wee Black Dug. There were fewer than a dozen customers in the saloon when McGuire walked in and Malky Gladsmuir was behind the bar with only one assistant.

‘What can I get you, sir?’ he asked, eyeing the detective up and down.

‘A pint of seventy and your undivided attention.’

‘Oh, aye?’ said Gladsmuir, giving a slight smirk as he started to draw the beer.

The detective looked him dead in the eye. ‘I want you to think hard about this,’ he said, under his breath. ‘Do you want to cross me? I mean it, do you reckon you want to get on my bad side?’

‘Fancy yourself, do you?’ Gladsmuir growled, but there was a tiny flicker of hesitation in his voice.

‘All the fucking way, Malky, and any time you like. Now you listen, and take note; the name is Detective Superintendent McGuire, and I’m not here to bring you good news. My predecessor probably came across to you as a guy you could keep stringing along. A wee bit of info here, another wee bit there, and you were left alone to get on with whatever fucking scams you run in this place.’

‘Ah run a straight pub. You ask your guys.’

‘Like hell you do. You hammered that drug-dealer because he moved gear in your bar. .’

‘That’s right. See what I mean?’

‘. . without giving you a cut,’ McGuire concluded. ‘Greg Jay might have placed too much trust in human goodness to have figured that one out, but I’m not like him. So if you want any sort of slack. . and that will not include drugs being dealt in here, by the way, not ever again. . you will do what I tell you.’ He took a deep swallow of the beer. ‘Not bad,’ he conceded. ‘The first thing I’m going to tell you is this. We pulled a friend of mine out of the Albert Dock this morning.’

‘Another copper, I hope,’ the bar manager mumbled.

‘In your office, now.’ McGuire pointed to the door behind him and stepped through the hatch. He followed Gladsmuir into the private room, closed the door behind them, and in one continuous movement swung his right fist up and buried it in his belly. The breath left him in a groan and he sat down hard on the floor.

The detective stood over him, glaring down with angry, dangerous eyes; Malky Gladsmuir had the good sense to be scared. ‘You might be a hard man in your own league,’ McGuire said quietly, ‘but you’re not in mine, so don’t you ever show disrespect to a police officer in front of me. As I was saying, we recovered the body of a friend of mine from the water this morning. There are a few questions in my mind that still need answers, and I want you to help me. My pal left my partner’s place at about ten last night. . she lives in the warehouse conversion just off Great Junction Street; you know the one I mean. He walked from there, back to the Malmaison Hotel, only he never went in there. They’re trying to say he jumped, and maybe he did, but I need to be certain. We called in here for a pint earlier; you were off duty, but there were a few people in. On his way back, he’d have gone past this place, more or less. I want you to ask around, and I want you to find out if any of your regulars remembers seeing him. He was about six feet tall, slim built, but he was wearing a big heavy jacket so he’d have looked quite bulky. If that does ring any bells, I need to know also whether there was anyone else around, anyone, or maybe more than one person, who might have been following him.’

Gladsmuir looked up at him from the floor. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He winced.

‘No, you’ll fucking do it. I’ll bet Greg Jay gave you his direct line number, didn’t he?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, that’s my number now. Call me on it as soon as you’ve got anything for me. And don’t get cute and make up any stories to get me off your back. So far you’ve only seen my friendly side.’