Mark sighed. Remembered the Excel spreadsheets he’d opened and disregarded that first night. Then remembered being at Taylor’s office. ‘And I told you I knew the password.’
Taylor nodded.
Mark rubbed at his forehead. ‘Where’s Fisher now?’
‘I don’t know. He only usually comes here during the day.’
Mark thought about that.
‘OK, we’re going to the police.’
‘I need to go to hospital.’
‘Police first, then hospital.’
Taylor looked at his shoulder. ‘I don’t think I can drive.’
‘Try.’
Taylor just sat there. Mark jabbed the butt of the gun into his face again, at the broken cheek. Taylor let out a yelp.
‘OK, OK.’
He started the engine and pushed the parking brake off. Then leaned over, breathing heavily, and stuck the car into gear with his right hand. Sat back and grimaced.
‘You’re going to tell the cops everything you just told me,’ Mark said.
Taylor was shaking. He stank of piss and blood. ‘Fisher will kill me if I do that.’
Mark stared at him.
‘I’ll kill you if you don’t.’
Taylor drove east, struggling with the gears.
Mark kept the gun stubbed into the side of his skull. He wondered about Taylor’s injuries. Confession under duress. Mark could get charged with armed assault or maybe attempted murder. He tried not to think about that. Or about the repercussions of Nathan shooting the man at the flat. But for all that, the police was surely the right way to go. Any attempt to cover this up would just come back to bite them.
He presumed Ruth and Nathan were at the police station already. He phoned Ruth’s mobile. No answer.
He called Portobello Police Station. It went straight on to voicemail. Either the guy on the front desk was asleep or he was speaking to someone, or there was no one at reception. How could there be no answer from a police station? Manpower cuts?
He called the flat, just in case. No reply.
Then he called Ferguson. Voicemail.
He tried Ruth again. No answer.
Fuck.
Mark watched the blur of streetlights outside. Checked the clock in the car. 3.15 a.m.
‘Slight change of plan,’ he said. ‘We’re dropping in to my flat first.’
‘No way,’ Taylor said, crunching the gearbox. ‘I need medical attention.’
Mark tapped the Browning’s muzzle against his temple.
‘Just drive.’
They drove for a while in silence, then Taylor spoke. ‘Fisher is going to kill both of us.’
Mark thrust the Browning into Taylor’s neck. ‘He won’t get a chance, the police will arrest him.’
Taylor laughed, not a happy sound. ‘You don’t understand, he’s a psycho and he’s well connected. He’ll still get to us.’
Mark examined his cut hand. It was scabbing over already. ‘How did you get involved with him in the first place?’
Taylor didn’t answer.
‘Fine,’ Mark said. ‘I don’t give a shit. It doesn’t matter.’
Taylor sighed. ‘School, believe it or not. Heriot’s.’
‘The pair of you went to Heriot’s?’
Taylor nodded stiffly. ‘He was a bully. I was glad to see the back of him. Lost contact for years. Then one day he turned up in the office and I didn’t have any choice.’
‘You had a choice. We all have choices.’
‘Do you have a choice just now?’
Mark thought about that. He flicked his head back the way they’d come.
‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself back there. I wonder what your wife and kids would think of that.’
They drove on in silence again before Taylor spoke.
‘Fisher will do anything to protect his interests.’
‘Me too.’
Mark looked out the window as a taxi chugged in the opposite direction. They skirted round the back of Arthur’s Seat, the side the tourists never see. Just a looming presence in the darkness, an absence of stars.
‘How big is this whole thing?’
Taylor swallowed but stayed silent.
‘You might as well tell me,’ Mark said. ‘You’re fucked now anyway.’
Taylor winced as he changed gear again. ‘It’s worth millions.’
‘And the police don’t have a clue?’
Taylor laughed. ‘Half the police force use Fisher’s places, it’s not in their interests to shut him down. And no one’s ever been done for trafficking or laundering in this country.’
Mark stared at Taylor. ‘How do you square it with yourself, being a part of all this?’
Taylor shrugged. ‘I did what I had to do to protect my family. Just like you’re trying to do.’
‘And how does that fit with sleeping with trafficked prostitutes?’
They hit a stretch of speed bumps in Duddingston, then the cobbles of Brighton Place slowed them down. Not a single person on the streets out here in the suburbs, the same as they turned along Porty High Street.
Mark felt his stomach tense up as they neared the flat.
As if sensing something, Taylor spoke.
‘You’re fucked, you know, you’re way out of your depth.’
‘Pull in here.’
Taylor squeezed in across the road from the flat, right next to the church. Bumped on to the kerb like every other car.
The wind was hurtling up Marlborough Street from the sea, bustling the Lexus. Taylor killed the engine and slumped back into his seat holding his shoulder. His face was ashen.
The car groaned and squeaked with the gusts of wind. Mark looked up at the windows of the flat. The living-room light was on, curtains closed. Same with the bedroom. He tried to remember how they’d been when he left, but couldn’t.
He shuffled sideways in his seat but kept the gun on Taylor. ‘Out the car.’
Taylor climbed out, leaving a sodden mess of blood on the upholstery, then Mark slid out the car after him.
‘Come on.’
Mark walked with Taylor in front, gun pressed into his back.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Taylor said.
‘Just move.’
The bottom door was closed. He unlocked it and pushed Taylor forward by the crook of his good arm.
He shushed Taylor. Listened. Nothing but the buzz of the striplight in the stairwell.
They walked up the spiral staircase.
The door to the flat was closed but the catch on the lock was hanging off. Still like that from the first break-in.
Mark kept the gun pointing at Taylor and touched the door open.
He didn’t know whether to speak out or not. Nathan and Ruth were probably at the police station, right? He just wanted to make sure.
Mark was standing in the doorway, Taylor beside him, when the door flew open then back at him with force, the wood smashing off his skull and throwing him off balance.
The gun was knocked from his hand, then the door opened and closed again, someone heavy behind it, and Mark’s arm and chest were crushed between the door and the frame, squeezing the breath out of him. He felt his legs crumple as he stuck his head round the door to see who was there. He saw a flash of light as a heavy torch swung down and connected with his cheek and mouth, splitting his lip.
He fell to the floor and took another blow, this time to the side of his head, then he felt two kicks to his ribs and he lost all balance and sprawled out in the hallway, struggling to gasp air into his lungs.
He scrambled around feeling for the pistol he’d dropped, then a boot stamped on his fingers. He yowled and yanked his hand into his armpit.
He was dragged by his legs to the living room, kicking feebly out, then he was flung into the middle of the room, followed by a couple more boots to his lower back, his kidneys taking the brunt.
He struggled to breathe. Tried to focus. The room was bright, the light on overhead. The stench of blood, shit and piss filled his nostrils. Also something else. Cologne. Expensive cologne.
‘Hello, Mark.’
A man’s voice. Controlled. Mark hadn’t heard the voice before but he knew who it was and his skin crawled.
He struggled on to his knees and looked up.
Fisher was sitting in the same chair Mark had been tied up in, hands on his lap.
The dead man was still lying on the floor nearby, the spread of blood reaching out all around him.
‘Daddy.’
He turned. Nathan and Ruth were on the sofa. Both had been crying. Ruth’s face was red, like she’d been hit. Nathan was still in his replacement jammies, another pair that were too small for him. His bare feet pulled up under him looked so vulnerable and frail. Confusion and fear on his face. Mark cursed himself for ever leaving the flat.
He shuffled over to the sofa and scooped Nathan into his arms. Held him tight against his chest and felt the boy shake.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in the boy’s ear.
Fisher spoke. ‘This is such a mess.’
Mark turned. Taylor and the guy in the blue hoodie who had run away earlier were standing at the door of the room. Blue had a torch in one hand and Mark’s pistol in the other. It had been so easy.
Mark was stupid, stupid, stupid.
But he was thinking. Thinking how he could get Nathan and Ruth out of this. Calculating his odds if he rushed one of them, if he managed to grapple the gun from Blue.
Fisher’s eyebrows rose when he saw Taylor’s shoulder and face. He smiled and shook his head. He turned to Mark. ‘You caught up with Gavin, then. I want you to know, this is not what we do.’
Mark stared at him. ‘Kill people?’
‘Precisely.’
‘You prefer human trafficking.’
Fisher frowned at Taylor and sucked his teeth. ‘All my girls work voluntarily. They are paid very well for what they do. And they don’t have to work on the streets, with dangerous, violent punters who rape and beat them. We only deal with the best patrons.’
‘Let us go,’ Mark said.
‘I wish I could.’
Taylor stepped forward into the room, hand on shoulder. ‘I need to get to a hospital.’
Fisher turned and pulled a gun out of his coat pocket and pointed it at Taylor.
‘Actually, this is all your fault.’
Taylor put a hand out towards Fisher. ‘Wait a minute.’
‘If you’d been more careful at Caledonia Dreaming, none of this would’ve happened.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘I didn’t kill Lauren.’
Mark bristled at the mention of her name.
Taylor continued. ‘There wasn’t supposed to be any killing.’
Fisher glanced at Blue. ‘That was a mistake.’
Mark remembered what the dead man had said. That his partner had killed Lauren. Not exactly a reliable witness. But still.
Fisher sighed. ‘And now we have all this.’ He waved the gun around, at the dead man, at the three of them on the sofa.
Mark caught Ruth’s eye. Couldn’t work out what she was thinking. Probably hating him for letting her daughter get killed and getting her grandson into this unholy mess. He couldn’t blame her.
Mark turned. He had Nathan in his grasp and he was five feet from the living-room door. Then another ten feet down the hallway to the front door. Fisher and Blue had guns. Taylor was in between them. Blue was pointing the Browning at Mark, while Fisher waved his gun around.
Mark wondered.
Then the buzzer went.
Everyone flinched.
Fisher got up and went to the window. Peeked out the side of a curtain. Looked back in the room and shrugged.
The buzzer went again.
Fisher looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Twenty to four in the morning. He waved the gun at Blue to head towards the front door.
‘Should I answer it?’ Blue said.
‘No. Just get behind the door.’
Blue went out to the hall.
The buzzer went a third time, longer, more persistent.
Mark could feel a chance coming. He was at the edge of his nerves, but he was ready, he felt ready. His body ached where it had taken a beating, but he drew energy from Nathan’s touch, from the boy’s heartbeat through his jammy top.
The flat was silent. All listening.
Footsteps up the stairwell. Mark must’ve left the bottom door open.
How many people? Mark couldn’t tell.
He kept his eyes on Fisher, who was creeping forward, looking at the hallway, watching Blue behind the door. Blue had his torch raised, shoulder prepped for slamming into whoever came in, same as he’d done to Mark.
Fisher’s attention was on the hallway. That’s where his gun was pointing too. Mark stared at it. Taylor was also watching the front door.
Mark listened for anything from the stairwell and kept his eye on Fisher’s gun.
A knock.
With the lock broken, the door swung open a little. Light bled in from the stairwell. The door opened out the other way from the living room, so Mark couldn’t see who was there, just Blue waiting, torch above his head.
‘Hello?’
Ferguson.
‘Mr Douglas?’
The door opened wider, Ferguson’s shadow blocking the light from the stairwell, the hallway thrown back into darkness.
Then she was in the doorway. Mark saw her head and neck as she peered round.
Blue pushed his shoulder into the door, which rammed into her, knocking her against the door jamb so that she dropped to the floor.
But just as he was about to bring the torch down on to her head, the door was flung open again, knocking him off balance.
Another cop.
It was the uniformed kid she’d been with last time, at the doorway, flinging punches behind the door, landing a few on Blue.
Mark looked at Fisher. He’d edged into the hallway and was wondering what to do. He didn’t have a clear shot. Taylor had moved in the opposite direction, backing away from it all and further into the room until he stumbled over the corpse then righted himself.
Mark saw his chance.
He held Nathan’s hand tight and flicked his head to Ruth, indicating the front door.
Then he got up and ran, hauling Nathan with him, Ruth close behind.
They were already out the room and into the hallway when he heard Taylor.
‘Fisher.’
But Fisher didn’t have time to turn. Mark brought his fist down on Fisher’s hand, making him drop the gun, then threw a shoulder at him on the way past, enough to knock Fisher off balance so that he had to lunge at the wall with his hand.
Ferguson was struggling to her knees. The door was wide open now. Blue had the kid cop by the throat, but the kid was swinging a baton and as Mark got there, the baton connected with Blue’s nose and his grip loosened.
Mark pushed Nathan ahead of him, turning to check Ruth was still behind.
The three of them scrambled over Ferguson crouched on the floor then tumbled out the flat and into the stairwell. They clattered down the stairs in a flurry of limbs.
‘Get them.’ Fisher’s voice.
Mark grabbed the bottom door and heaved it open and the three of them spilled out into the night.