Gallowglass (23 page)

FORTY-SEVEN

W
e declined the lift and headed for the wide staircase. Harry and I took them two at a time, while Smyth puffed after us. We got to what I recognised were the executive offices on the top floor. Suddenly the lino became carpet, good quality. I hoped it came from Blackwood and Morton in Kilmarnock. If it was good enough for the
Titanic
it was good enough for the Scottish Linen Bank.

Smyth opened the glass-paned door into a long corridor. The hush was profound. The walls were burnished wood panels. Former chiefs of the bank scowled down at us in dull oils. We walked past the doors marked ‘Finance Director’, ‘Treasurer’ and ‘Gentlemen’. We stopped outside a door bearing the legend ‘Managing Director’. Smyth’s eyes filled with terror. It might as well have said ‘Pearly Gates’.

‘After you, Smyth,’ said Harry.

Smyth tapped timidly on the opaque glass panel, turned the handle and half opened the door. A female voice asked, ‘Yes?’ As in,
How dare you open my door without advance notice?
Gingerly, he pushed his head round, expecting to have it chopped off.

‘Sorry to bother you, Miss Pringle, but…’

By this stage Harry had had enough. He pushed the door the rest of the way back and shouldered Smyth aside. I followed. Miss Pringle was halfway to her feet, glowering at us from above her specs.

‘You cannot just barge in here. Who do you think you are?’

Full on Kelvinside. I recalled Wullie saying that Clarkson had brought his own ‘girl’ with him. But I doubted he had much choice. She seemed more like his jailer.

‘Good morning. Miss Pringle, is it? This is who I am.’

Harry handed over his card and let her read and digest. Her face slid and she dropped back into her chair. A frown became a look of fear, then something else. Acceptance? Of what? She fought back.

‘Would you like me to make an appointment, Mr Templeton?’ It was a game effort. Harry smiled back.

‘That won’t be necessary. We’ll just stick our heads round the door.’

She half rose, but subsided, and nodded. Harry marched to the door, gave it a smart rap and opened it. I was barely two seconds behind him. There was a yelp and I was in time to see a small man leaping to his feet out of his much-too-big chair. There was a look of panic and guilt on his face, like a wee boy caught playing with himself. Maybe that’s what he did in this grand room, overcome with his own exalted status.

‘Who are
you
? What’s the meaning of this?’

I answered before Harry could. ‘Your nemesis, Clarkson.’

Clarkson’s brow furrowed on the word. Harry explained.

‘To put it more simply, my name is Harry Templeton and I’m from MI5. This is my colleague, Chief Inspector David Bruce. We have some questions for you.’

Like his secretary, Clarkson subsided in his chair, punctured. Then I noticed how red his eyes were, as though from lack of sleep. Was he expecting this? I suddenly felt sorry for him. A wee bit. He gathered himself.

‘What’s this about, gentlemen?’

Harry nodded to me. I took the cue.

‘I think you know, Clarkson. It’s about stolen money. It’s about secret accounts. It’s about pay-offs to crooked businesses. And, finally, it’s about kidnap and murder. Shall we sit over here?’

I walked across to the comfy armchairs surrounding the gleaming low table. Harry followed me. We stood waiting. Clarkson had no choice but to drag himself over to join us. We sat, Harry and I on one side, Clarkson on the other.

‘Nice office,’ I said.

‘Aye, so it is.’ He looked around, perhaps sensing that he ought to enjoy every last minute in it. I followed his eyes and took in the painting on the wall. The one described by Wullie. Sir Fraser Gibson in his pomp. His piercing eyes stared at me, daring me to sully his office with accusations.

‘Is this the pay-off? Is this what Fraser Gibson promised you if you did what you were told?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Sure you do. Downstairs in the accounts department, Mr Templeton’s team of highly trained investigators are ploughing through your ledgers. Are you really suggesting they won’t find anything?’

His eyes were all over the place. His knuckles clenched white on the chair arms.

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Money being drained from the bank’s main loan accounts into your old boss’s account so he could pay off his gambling and whoring debts. That sort of thing.’

Clarkson grasped his knees and pulled them up. He sat rocking like a child who’d gone into a dwam.

‘Mr Clarkson,’ prompted Harry. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘What’s it got to do wi’ me?’

‘We expect to prove you were the counter-signature to this embezzlement,’ Harry went on. ‘It will go easier with you if you confess now, rather than deny it.’

He looked at us in turn, his head on one side. Then he nodded in some sort of acceptance. All the denial left his face.

‘Will it? Will it really? Ah don’t expect so. Ah think it will all go awfie badly.’

FORTY-EIGHT

W
e looked at him, saw resignation. This was going to be easy. Unpleasant but easy. His accent had shed its veneer. Dropped back into the Ayrshire of his youth.

I asked, ‘Why did you do it? What did you get out of it?’

He snorted. ‘Ah wis nuthin’. Just another wee boy stuck in Maybole.’

‘Maybole? Like the Gibson boys?’

‘Oh, aye. Do you think Ah was born with this accent? Ah used to run aroon’ with Fraser and his gang. Ah got away. Ah had an uncle who took me on in Ayr. Ah did my articles and Fraser ca’ed me up and gave me a job. Kept promoting me. A’ the way up.’

‘The branch manager in Maybole didn’t mention you. Didn’t say you were a local boy. Why was that?’

‘Why do ye think, Chief Inspector?’

‘He’s in on this? Good God! Why didn’t he warn you?’

He shook his head. ‘Ah didnae mean that. McCutcheon hates the idea that Ah made it this far. Jealous, Ah suppose. He phoned me yesterday to say he’d had a visit. He probably enjoyed that.’

‘Did he say what we were looking for?’

‘Naw. Just that the polis had been asking questions.’

‘But you didn’t make a run for it?’

‘Where to? Ah don’t have a passport. Ah don’t have a stash
of money. Just some savings from my salary. A good salary, mind. Ah didnae do it for the money. Fraser was hard to say no to. Ah owed everything to him. But Ah always knew it would end like this.’

He said it wistfully as though three witches had stopped him on a blasted heath one day and forecast the whole pattern of his life. He’d accepted that it would be his fate, while all the time hoping to avoid it. I turned to Templeton.

‘Harry, it looks like you’ve got the makings of the embezzlement case. Can we turn to the kidnap?’

‘Help yourself.’

‘Colin Clarkson, let me ask you directly: were you involved in the kidnap and murder of Sir Fraser Gibson?’

He looked me straight in the eye. ‘Naw. Naw, Ah wisnae. Why would Ah? What was the possible benefit to me?’

I blinked. I cast a hand round the room. ‘All this. You got the top job. That will seem a strong enough motive to any jury.’

‘They’d be wrang. Did you ever meet Fraser? Big guy with a big ego. A steamroller.’

He glanced up at the painting. Why hadn’t he had it removed? Still under Gibson’s thrall?

‘So?’

‘Look at me. Do you think Ah could follow in his footsteps? Ah’m scared shitless, Chief Inspector. Ah’m no’ sleeping. Ah’m oot of my depth. Ah would have been found out soon enough.’

‘That’s easy to say now. It wouldn’t have stopped you wanting the job. Wanting it so badly you’d conspire to get rid of Gibson.’

‘Well, Ah didnae.’ His small jaw was set.

‘What about the ransom? Sheila Gibson called you and you promptly sent round twenty thousand pounds. A ransom apparently. By day’s end her husband was dead and the ransom had vanished.’

‘You’re no’ going to believe me, but Ah didnae ken it was ransom money. In fact Ah didnae ken Fraser had been kidnapped.’

‘You’re right. It’s unbelievable.’

He sighed. ‘You don’t un’erstaun’. Ower the years Ah’ve had to accept that a request from Sheila Gibson – Lady Gibson – was as good as a request from Sir Fraser himself. Twenty thoosand was a great deal of money. But it wisnae that unusual. She phoned me and Ah arranged it without question. Fraser had plenty in his account.’

‘Regardless where it came from?’

He pursed his lips. I pressed on.

‘When did you first hear of the kidnap?’

‘Later that day. That afternoon. My secretary came in and told me about the murder. Then the whole story came oot.’

I studied him. I was minded to believe him.

‘What about the earlier payments? The one-offs and the regular amounts from Fraser’s many accounts to dodgy companies? You initialled those transactions.’

‘How could you…? How did you…?’

Confusion mounted in his face. I piled it on to get the breakthrough confession.

‘What about the money you sent three days
after
the murder? That’s why we were in Maybole asking questions. The ten thousand was credited to a bank account in Maybole in the name of Mungo Gibson. It was then transmitted to the bank account of a company called High Times. You authorised it.’

He put his hands up to his face and then pulled them down, as though washing it. His shoulders jerked and his breathing became a pant. Then the tears started. They turned into sobs that racked his skinny body.

‘Sorry, sorry. Ah’m that sorry.’

Harry and I could barely look at each other, far less at Clarkson. Finally the sobs stopped. He pulled a big hankie out of his pocket and blew his nose.

‘Ah need the toilet. Ah’ll no’ be a minute.’ He got up and went out.

‘Should we follow him? Is he going to run?’ I asked.

‘As Clarkson himself said, where to? No. Give him a chance to get his composure back.’

I nodded. The Gents was just outside. We waited. I wondered if this was the end of the story for me. All the evidence that I’d been framed was beginning to pile up. That Gibson had been kidnapped and murdered by an unholy alliance of a jealous wife, an over-ambitious number two and some petty gangsters. I still needed to find out why Clarkson had sent money to High Life
after
his boss’s murder. But the overall picture was taking shape. Clarkson would fill in most of the blanks and then we’d start on Sheila and Gus Fulton.

The shriek from outside cut through my hope-tinged reverie. Harry and I shot to our feet and launched ourselves at the door. We ran through the secretary’s office and into the corridor. At the far end where the stairs and balcony were, people were already clustering.

‘Oh, shit!’ I said as I ran towards them. I barged through the growing crowd and looked down. Far far below, another crowd was gathering. Women were screaming. At the centre of the eddying wave of people lay a small body, spread-eagled across one of the large desks in the ledger hall. Some of the people were looking up at us and pointing at the flight path Clarkson had taken to meet his fate. I saw Airchie Higgins staring up at me. His mouth was open and he was shaking his head.

Then I saw movement on the edge of the scene. Newcomers sweeping in. In blue uniforms. I was transfixed by the eddies. They pushed aside the clerks and the MI5 agents and gathered round the body. Then one man, wearing the full uniform of a real chief inspector looked up. A detective overly fond of the trappings of rank who never missed a chance of swapping
shabby civvies for silver pips on tailored black. He searched the faces ranged along the balcony until he found what he was looking for.
Who
he was looking for. Sangster stared straight at me.

FORTY-NINE

I
had time enough to see Sangster point at Airchie and issue an order. Two constables grabbed him. Then Sangster started barking new commands to deploy the rest of his unit. He directed three officers towards the signs to the emergency exit and the back stairs, and another two towards the lift. He personally led the charge towards the wide main staircase. They knew what they were after;
whom
they were after. All my exits were blocked.

‘Harry, I’ve just lost my get-out-of-jail-free card. Unless you have powers that override the local police, I’m heading back to prison.’

‘I can argue with them but I can’t trump them, Brodie. You know that.’

‘We still can’t prove who killed Gibson. Until we can, I’m in the frame. I need time. Give me a hand.’

I pulled him with me and we grabbed the skylight ladder from the wall. We hauled it to the balcony edge and raised it up against its catch on the skylight. It was much easier with two of us. As I moved to put my foot on the first rung Harry slipped something into my pocket.

‘Keys. The lead Morris.’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ I shouted as I started up. ‘Move this back when I’ve gone, Harry!’

It was a variation on the Indian rope trick. I scrambled up the ladder and shoved the skylight open. I dragged myself
through it and slammed it shut behind me. I peered through the glass and could see the ladder swinging back down. No sign yet of the boys in blue. Harry would use his authority to clear the bank officials away from the landing and back into their offices. He could then stall Sangster and his crew long enough for me to get away. Maybe.

I slid down the roof to the wide gutter and walked quickly to the dividing wall. The efficient maintenance staff had removed my patented skid-proof mat and rubbed off the varnish. Rain from a brief summer shower glistened on the smooth curved flanks. I had no time to size it up or think about how far I’d slide to my death. I jumped up and on to it. Even as my weight began to drag me down I flung my leg over and pushed. It wouldn’t have won a gymnastics gold medal on the horse, but it got me sailing through the air. I hit the wet tiles on the roof of the furniture store and crashed to my hands and knees, slithering and sliding until I hit the gulley. And stopped.

I lay panting for a moment, the adrenalin coursing through my body. I shoved myself to my feet and found myself shaking. I stepped along the roof edge and grabbed the top of the fire escape. Quickly I clambered round on to it and began my descent. When I reached the last piece of ladder, I unclipped it and let it run to the ground. I was half down when the Alsatian leaped at me, barking with fury and clashing its teeth. My break-ins had been reported and they’d increased their security. Bastards.

I hung above the slavering hound for one second, then jumped. It was him or me. I landed with a foot striking its head and the other bouncing off its back. It howled and rolled away. I hit the ground and fell over. I was on my feet in an instant and running for the wall. Once more, sheer fear gave me spring heels. I could see myself as a cartoon figure, practically running up the wall. However I did it, I was just in time to avoid the furious onslaught from the angered hound.
Clearly I hadn’t broken any of its bloody bones. Its teeth snapped an inch short of my trailing foot as I got my body over the top of the wall. I pivoted round and dropped, sprawling, into the back alley, not knowing if Sangster had had the nous to station a couple of coppers there. He hadn’t.

I got to my feet, my body dented by the cobbles. I hobbled off down the lane into the downhill street. I stopped and brushed my suit down. It was damp down the front and scuffed, but not torn. I wiped the beads of sweat from my brow and adjusted my tie and smoothed my hair. I’d lost the specs somewhere en route. Not that I needed such a simple disguise any longer. The hunt was on, the game afoot.

I took a deep breath, and calmly walked round the corner into St Vincent Street. Ahead was one police car and a Black Maria parked askew just behind the two Morris Tens of MI5. A growing crowd was gathered on the pavement, peering up at the part-open doors. So much for keeping the raid low key and out of the papers. My stomach was churning as I walked towards them listening for police whistles and the sounds of hue and cry behind me or from inside the bank. At any moment I expected the doors to crash open and a platoon of coppers to burst out on the hunt for me.

I kept my pace steady until I was past the police wagons. Then I walked out into the road between the two Morris Tens. The door to the lead car was unlocked. I got in and inserted the key in the ignition. I released the handbrake and let the car begin to move. I put my foot down on the clutch, turned on the ignition, and waited till I had enough speed up. Then I slotted into second gear and let the clutch out. The engine jerked, coughed and spluttered into life. I accelerated down St Vincent Street, across Hope Street and was on my way.

But to where? Sangster now knew I was alive. He’d have police watching Sam and my few good friends like Wullie. I couldn’t risk going back to Shimon’s store and I had no way of contacting Eric in a hurry. The plan was for him to phone
into Wullie at noon and get my directions. It was just after ten o’clock.

I had a little while before Sangster would put out the order to look for this car. Percy Sillitoe had introduced radio cars, damn him. Then I’d be ducking every police motorcycle in the area. But that assumed Sangster would notice one of the MI5 cars had gone. Harry wouldn’t tell him. Whatever, I needed to warn Sam and Duncan. I needed a phone box.

I found myself driving across Glasgow Bridge. The road signs for the A77 triggered my homing instinct. I could keep the car pointed south, towards Kilmarnock. But I had no intention of holing up at my mother’s. The last thing I’d do was put her in harm’s way. She’d put up a fight but the thought of her being hauled away by the polis for harbouring a fugitive was simply unbearable. I found a box on Pollokshaws Road. I called the house. I knew Sam was at home today, waiting to hear how our bank assault went.

‘Sam? It’s me. The balloon’s gone up.’

‘Thank God! I had a call from Duncan. He was panicking. Said there’s a police raid on.’

‘There sure as hell is. Clarkson began confessing everything. He wanted a toilet break and took the chance to throw himself off the top floor.’

‘Oh God! Poor wee man!’

‘Shame he didn’t wait a couple more seconds. He could have landed on Sangster. The bank is flooded with police. They’re not as slow as we thought. Sangster was looking out for me and saw me. He knows I’m alive and he’s after me.’

‘But you got away! Where are you now? What are you doing?

‘I haven’t decided yet. I borrowed a car from Harry.’

‘Do you want me to meet you? Shall I pack for us both? We can be in England by tonight, France tomorrow. Come get me!’

‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re a wee marvel. But I’m not putting you through that. We’re not going on the run. I’m close to a
solution. I just need to buy time. Look, can you get a message to Wullie? Eric will call him at midday. Tell Eric to steer clear of Glasgow. He’s to lie low on Arran until I get in touch.’

‘Where will you go, then?’

‘I’m going to seek sanctuary.’ I explained my plan, such as it was.

‘“As ye sow…”’ she began.

‘“. . . so shall ye reap.” I hope so. Can you call Shimon and arrange it? Take care. Don’t answer the door to Sangster.’

I replaced the receiver and let the spare coppers run through. Then I dialled Central Division and asked for Inspector Duncan Todd.

‘Duncan, it’s me.’

‘Ah’m all ears.’

‘Sangster’s just raided the bank and I got away.’

‘Ah knew aboot the first and Ah’m glad to hear aboot the second. Ah left a message with your lady friend. They had a wee look below a certain tombstone.’

‘Shame it’s not Easter. That would have thrown them.’

‘That’s quite enough blasphemy for one day. What can I do for you?’

‘We’re going to have to flush out Sheila Gibson. Face to face. But first I’m going to ground. I need some thinking time. Can you be on standby tomorrow? With a squad car?’

‘That can be arranged. Anything else I should know?’

‘Clarkson killed himself. Jumped off his fourth-floor balcony into the ledger room. He didn’t bounce.’

‘Oh, shit!’

‘Just missed Sangster.’

‘Pity.’

‘You live by the books, you die by the books.’

‘Glad you’ve still got a sense of humour.’

‘It keeps me going.’

‘Ah could do with a drop masel’ when my boss gets back with no arrests and a top executive’s suicide to explain.’

‘One arrest. He picked up Airchie Higgins. See what you can do to help. He’s a wee hero.’

‘Airchie Higgins, a hero? You’ll be telling me next you’ve seen the light and you’ve converted to the true faith.’

‘Things aren’t that bad, Duncan. Got to go.’

‘Keep in touch.’