The Last Witness: A DCI Daley Thriller Page 2

  The air was cold and exhilarating as they trudged down the hill. Daley’s knees throbbed in time to the rumble of his poorly nourished belly. There seemed to be a kind of blueness in the air, framing everything in a light that could only be that of a Scottish early winter. The still water of the sea loch below appeared more viscous than it should as it reflected the winter landscape; the scene was calm and glorious. Daley hadn’t noticed all of this on the way up, concentrating as he had been on reaching the summit without expiring, but he had to admit that his surroundings – and even, to some extent, the experience of hill walking – were stimulating. Was he beginning to fall into step with his wife’s pursuits at last?

  Well, one step at a time.

  Daley’s car was parked on a patch of waste ground near the farm gate that led to the hill. The new Toyota RAV4 had come with his new title of Chief Inspector, Sub-Divisional CID, as well as Sub-Divisional Commander (Acting), Kinloch, Y Div.

  He had just found the car keys in the depths of his new ski jacket – XXL, very expensive and a present from Liz – when he heard the tinkle of his new iPhone, another trapping of his elevated job status. Strapping himself into the driver’s seat with one hand, he took the device from his pocket with the other, squinting at the screen to see that he had an email from his distant superior, Superintendent John Donald.

  ‘Hang on, please, Liz. I better take a swatch at this.’ As his wife sighed, he remembered how to retrieve emails and started to read.

  From: Supt. J. Donald.

  To: Chief Insp. J. Daley

  Subject: Killing, Australia

  Message: Thoughts – ASAP

  Daley clicked on the attachment and the banner of the Melbourne Star newspaper burst into view. He slid his finger down the screen until the bold headline was revealed: COUPLE BUTCHERED IN CITY SUBURB. Then the byline: Husband and wife business team executed in broad daylight.

  Daley scrolled further down, wondering what this distant murder had to do with him. But when two fuzzy, passport-style photographs slid into view, all confusion was immediately banished. His audible gasp attracted a questioning look from his wife, now fidgeting in the passenger seat.

  ‘Fucking hell’, was all he could say. ‘Fucking hell.’

  3

  The Semper Vigilo logo flickered on the outsized screen mounted on the wall of Kinloch Police Office’s dedicated audiovisual room.

  ‘That’s it, sir. The boss should be on in a couple of minutes.’ DC Dunn had just connected an internal Skype call to headquarters in Paisley. ‘Just give me a shout when you’re finished and I’ll log off.’ She smiled as she stood up, flattening the front of her trousers in the way Daley had become accustomed to in the last few months.

  ‘Thanks. Any chance of a coffee? Or is that a sexist request you’re not prepared to comply with?’ He smiled at the young policewoman, who made a face at him as she left the room.

  There was a faint ding from somewhere, and the logo was replaced by the familiar figure of Superintendent John Donald, sitting behind his desk and speaking to someone out of shot, unaware that he was being watched by his longsufering DCI.

  ‘Where did you pick up these skills, Jackie?’ He was smiling unctuously at the unseen figure. ‘Buggered if I can get anything out of the damned thing. Don’t suppose you fancy giving me a quick tutorial after work? Over a drink or two perhaps?’

  Daley coughed diplomatically, making his boss jump in surprise.

  ‘Ah, Jim. Silent but deadly, as always. As you no doubt heard, I’m trying to get to grips with this new technology. I sincerely hope that you’re doing your bit in this regard? You got the new phone-i-thing, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got the phone-i-thing, thanks,’ was Daley’s curt answer. It’s not the technology you’re trying to get to grips with, you old lech, he thought. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t worked out how to perform a virtual knock yet,’ he said, smiling into the camera.

  ‘Yes, well, no doubt an issue of protocol with which we will have to deal.’ Daley could see that his superior was trying to contain his embarrassment. ‘Anyhow, to business. My time is precious, as I’m sure yours is, to a certain extent. As big a shock for you as it was for me, I don’t doubt?’

  Daley raised his eyebrows, adjusting to the sudden change to the real subject of their call. ‘You could say that, sir.’

  Donald looked at something on his desk. ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not the only shock you have in store.’ He smiled back from the large screen.

  Daley had mixed feelings about this kind of virtual meeting with Donald. On the upside, he didn’t have to suffer his close presence, but seeing Donald framed on the massive screen made Daley feel that he was having a conversation with some sort of minor deity.

  ‘As you know,’ Donald continued, ‘Gerry and Marna Dowie were partly responsible for one of the biggest successes we’ve ever had against organised crime in this country.’ He looked back into the camera, prompting Daley to nod obediently.

  ‘And then they were killed in a car accident on one of the Costas, while in witness protection – or so we were led to believe,’ said Daley.

  ‘Yes, apparently their security was compromised in Spain, so this ruse was thought up as a cover. A new life down under.’

  ‘Which clearly didn’t work.’ Daley sat back in his chair, remembering the pictures from the crime scene that Donald had emailed him. The violence was sickening and brutal; the fact that it had taken place in a suburban street in the middle of the afternoon made it seem even worse.

  ‘Our colleagues in Melbourne are no strangers to gangland violence, but I’m told even they were shocked, not just by the crime, but also the audacity with which it was carried out.’ Donald had raised his right eyebrow, indicating to Daley, who had known him for a long time, that he agreed.

  ‘I suppose our connection to all of this is pretty tenuous now though?’ Daley was anxious to cut to the chase.

  ‘No. Not at all, I’m afraid to say.’

  Daley’s heart sank.

  ‘For a start, you and DS Scott were instrumental to the case that brought the Machie family down.’

  How could I forget? thought Daley.

  ‘And of course, certain threats were made to you personally, from the dock, if I remember correctly.’ Donald smiled again, as though to drive this point home to his DCI.

  The trial of the key members of the Machie family and their associates had gone down in history as one of the most successful blows to organised crime ever administered in the UK, one that exposed the tendrils of the family’s empire from Aberdeen to Exeter.

  The case was mainly predicated on testimony from longtime gang member Gerald Dowie and his mentor, Frank MacDougall, two of Scotland’s most notorious criminals. Both men had been part of the Machie clan for many years; it had been their arrest by Daley and Scott, and subsequent deals with the fiscal that had seen them enter the witness protection programme with immunity from prosecution, in return for providing information leading to the capture of senior members of the crime organisation.

  Their evidence was spectacular. Top men like Gavin Nash and Danny Whitaker were set to spend most of the rest of their lives behind bars. And, the jewel in the crown, self-styled Godfather James ‘JayMac’ Machie was sent down to serve no less than five life sentences. Daley could still see him as he vowed vengeance on both himself and Scott, his face a study of absolute, cold hatred, as he was being taken down at Glasgow’s High Court.

  ‘Now hang on, Jim, I want you to take a look at this.’ Daley could see his boss fumble with something on his desk, then suddenly the ample cleavage of Donald’s assistant filled the screen.

  ‘Ah, well done, my dear.’ Donald’s face was just visible over her shoulder. ‘Tell me what you think.’ Daley assumed that he was not referring to the plunging neckline, which had now disappeared.

  The screen went black momentarily, to be replaced by a black-and-white image of a street filled with large houses. A 4x4 sped up the ro
ad and came to a halt. A darkly dressed figure left the vehicle and disappeared from view. Daley noticed the clock on the top right of the image: 16:11, 28 November.

  Time ticked by, and Daley was about to protest that nothing was happening, when the dark figure re-emerged from the right-hand side. The man disappeared behind the back of the vehicle and the tailgate was thrust upwards. Daley could see the car rocking slightly, then, to the bottom right of the picture, a blurred image appeared. Daley took a heartbeat to realise that it was a person’s head he had seen bounce off the pavement. During the next few seconds, the hardened police officer felt his bile rise and he had to look away.

  Despite the blurred quality of the image, the explosion of the victim’s head was all too clear; the fact that the body remained in the kneeling position as the shattered head dripped gore onto the roadway made the scene even more grisly.

  The dark figure walked towards the driver’s side of the car, this time facing the camera. He looked up and smiled. The screen, and Daley’s heart, froze in the same instant. ‘It can’t be, sir. The likeness is startling, but . . . it just can’t be.’

  ‘I understand your shock, Jim.’ Donald’s voice was disembodied; the freeze-frame image still filled the large screen. ‘As you can see, the boffins have cleaned it up and the resemblance is uncanny.’

  ‘It can’t be, sir,’ Daley repeated, staring open mouthed at the image.

  Donald’s face gave nothing away. ‘It gets worse, I’m afraid. There’s something else.’

  Something else? Daley, suddenly aware his mouth was gaping, shut it with a snap of teeth, making one of his fillings ache in protest.

  ‘Something very sensitive; so much so, it’s not something I can risk broadcasting on this . . .’ Donald made an airy gesture with his hand towards the camera. ‘Foolishly perhaps, I have entrusted vital information to your peripatetic sidekick; he’ll bring it to Kinloch tomorrow. Needless to say, this information is highly confidential. Read everything, then we’ll talk some more.’ He looked to his right. ‘I have a meeting in Edinburgh in two hours – this single Scottish police force nonsense – so I have to dash. Good luck, Jim, and let me know when you’ve digested it all.’ He gave a forced smile, then, before Daley could open his mouth, the screen went blank and was replaced once again by the Semper Vigilo logo.

  As he watched DC Dunn walk towards him with a mug of coffee Daley experienced a disturbing, out-of-body feeling.

  He had never been afraid of ghosts – until now.

  4

  Daley had been sitting in his glass box within Kinloch’s CID room for what seemed like hours. He had resisted the urge to call DS Scott the previous evening, after his virtual meeting with Donald. He would discover the horrible truth soon enough, he thought.

  Daley was a man who rarely felt frightened, but his experiences with the Machie family, especially JayMac, had caused him to experience the emotion acutely. It was not unusual for police officers to place themselves in danger’s way; in fact, it was an all too regular occurrence. More often than not the violence erupted suddenly, giving the cop little time to fret on personal safety. However, the levels of premeditated violence and downright depravity deployed by the notorious crime family in the running of their empire was, quite rightly, a factor that anyone who had dealings with them had been forced to take into account.

  When JayMac and his associates had been at large, the job of every police officer in Glasgow was a much more difficult and dangerous affair. They had worked tirelessly to get a break – some vital piece of information that they could use to unravel the labyrinthine knot of evil over which the gang presided.

  In the end it wasn’t a member of one of the dedicated squads of detectives who had cracked the case, nor was it a senior officer or member of UK security services. Daley’s right-hand man, a humble divisional DS, was responsible for the downfall of the clan.

  DS Brian Scott had made the connection between a string of construction companies throughout the UK and the Machie crime organisation. Large plant vehicles such as cranes and diggers had been used to distribute hard drugs, cash and firearms around the country. When was the last time a cop stopped a low-loader bearing a huge piece of construction machinery? The answer was simple: never. More embarrassment was to come when various police forces realised that not only had they failed to detect this scam, they had actually provided officers to escort these ‘abnormal loads’ all over Britain’s motorway network.

  Daley recalled JayMac’s sneer as this evidence was read out in court. For years, hundreds of the country’s boys in blue had inadvertently been making sure that the Machie family’s business operated smoothly.

  He looked down at the notepad on which he had been absently doodling. Without realising, he had sketched a rough cross on the page. A cross very like the one fashioned in granite that stood sentinel over a grave in a Glasgow cemetery. He quickly banished the thought from his mind.

  He was trying to focus on a report he was writing, detailing the evidence against a local farmer who had been distributing illegal tobacco, when the glass of his door was rattled by a knock. Despite the blinds, Daley recognised the formal tap-tap-tap that announced his DS.

  ‘How ye doin’, Jim?’ Scott stuck his head around the door. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking over his shoulder, ‘sir. Not tae worry, it’s only thon wee lassie, Dunn, in the office, an’ she looks like she’s fully occupied on the computer. Lucky her.’ Though a talented detective, IT specialist he was not.

  ‘Come in, Brian.’ Daley stood up from his large swivel chair. ‘How was your trip?’

  ‘How d’ye think? Fuckin’ terrible, as per usual. I’m goin’ tae ask his majesty if he’ll no’ think aboot payin’ me doon on the plane. That road wid try the patience o’ a saint. Ye never think yer goin’ tae get here, nae matter how often ye drive it. Ma arse is fair achin’.’ He rubbed his backside by way of emphasis.

  Daley pulled the guest chair out from the other side of his large desk, and indicated to Scott he was welcome to take a seat. ‘I’ll get you a coffee, bit early for something stronger. You can get a wee dram down at the County later. Annie will be pleased to see you, no doubt.’

  A smile crossed Scott’s face. ‘I cannae say I’m no’ looking forward tae a wee whisky, right enough. That’s the reason they drink so much doon here, they’re always worried aboot havin’ tae drive back up that fuckin’ road.’

  Daley sat back down. He wasn’t sure how much Scott knew. He leaned forward, looking his friend in the eye.

  ‘It’s OK, Jim.’ Scott spoke before he did. ‘I know whit yer aboot tae tell me.’

  ‘You do?’ Daley was surprised.

  ‘Aye, of course. You don’t think his majesty wiz able tae pull the wool o’er my eyes fir long? Anyhow, wan o’ the new DCs fae Springburn heard a’ aboot it in the pub.’

  ‘I must say, Brian, you’re taking it all very calmly,’ said Daley. He wasn’t particularly surprised that Glasgow’s underworld was already in possession of the information that Donald thought so essentially secret.

  ‘I daresay.’ Scott shrugged. ‘But at the end o’ the day, it’s no’ as though I wiz wan o’ Gerry Dowie’s big fans, as I’m sure ye appreciate, Jim.’

  Daley looked at his nonchalant DS. His unconventional approach to most problems sometimes made him very hard to fathom, though it was probably part of what made him such an effective police officer.

  ‘And what about our other friend, Brian?’

  ‘She wiz a nice enough lassie,’ said Scott. ‘I knew her before she got hersel’ in tow wi’ that arsehole, you know.’

  ‘Who?’ Daley was surprised by the reply.

  ‘His wife, och, whit’s her name again?’ Scott looked to the ceiling for inspiration.

  ‘I wasn’t meaning her, Brian. I was talking about the murderer.’ It dawned on Daley that Scott’s network of informants was not keeping him as well briefed as he thought.

  ‘Oh, so they’ve got a body a’ready? Quick worke
rs, these Aussies. Well done.’

  Daley closed his eyes and sighed. He hadn’t been looking forward to this conversation.

  ‘Whit’s up, big man? Were ye oot on the batter last night? Yer as pale as a ghost.’

  How apt, Daley thought. There was nothing else for it. He opened a drawer in his desk and took a red file from it, handing it across to Scott without comment.

  ‘I hate it when ye dae this tae me, Jim.’ Scott took the file and opened it, turning it on its end when he realised that the A4 image within was upside down. He screwed up his eyes and peered down at the picture. ‘Wait a minute.’ He searched the inside pocket of his jacket and fished out what looked like a brand new glasses case.

  ‘Auld age comes tae us a’, Jimmy-boy. It’ll no’ be long until you get a pair o’ these an’ a’, especially wi’ a’ that reading ye dae when yer at hame. At least I gie ma eyes a rest when I’m no’ workin’.’ He donned the glasses, scrutinised the picture and dropped it instantly.

  ‘If this is your idea o’ a wee joke, let me tell ye, ye’ve come away wi’ much better.’ Scott’s face had taken on a pallid hue.

  ‘I know it’s hard to take in. I’ve only just found out yesterday, myself. That is a video still of the murderer of Gerald Dowie and his wife, taken outside their home straight after the killings.’ He felt sorry for Scott, who was now visibly shaken.

  ‘It cannae be, just cannae . . .’ Scott started to massage his right shoulder with his left hand, wincing slightly. ‘Ye know, I’ve no’ felt a peep oot o’ this fir mair than three years. Just wan look at that face an’ the thing’s throbbing like f—’ He was stopped by a knock at the door and the emergence of DC Dunn, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee.