Tony Black - Gutted

‘Clean-cut, was it?’

A laugh. ‘Let’s say we got an early lead on it.’

‘Wonders never cease.’

McAvoy sighed, weary of me already. He leaned in. ‘Your involvement is still something of a mystery, but I’ve bigger plans for you, Dury.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Have ye now.’

Didn’t register a hit. He reached below the desk, took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. He shuffled them a while. Hummed, hawed. Pointed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, then, ‘Ah, here we are. Now to other matters.’

He placed two sheets of paper before me. Both held graphs: identical red lines highlighted on each of the two pages. McAvoy peered at them, twiddled with his cufflinks again, made sure they were on show. Said, ‘Why don’t you take a look at those, Dury? A close look.’

I picked up the pages. They were fingerprint analyses; seemed to indicate a match for the two. ‘Okay, you have two charts, matching prints for something,’ I said.

McAvoy looked pleased. Too pleased. He smiled, almost giggled, leaned forward. He removed a silver pen from his top pocket, pointed, said, ‘Now, see here… where the two red lines peak?’

I nodded.

‘That’s a definite match — one hundred per cent — that can’t be faked.’

I drew on my tab.

He pointed with the pen again. ‘And here… and here… and here… and here.’ He kept pointing to similar peaks and troughs on the two charts.

I cut him off, ‘You’ve made your point.’

‘Have I? Have I really?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

He looked at the pug, smiled. The pug smirked back like an inbred farmer’s son who’d just received a pat on the back for fucking his first sheep. ‘Are you sure you understand, Dury? I mean really understand?’

I stubbed my tab. Leaned across my side of the desk, blew out the last of my smoky breath in his face as I spoke. ‘You have my fingerprint from the murder scene.’

McAvoy’s face changed shape, and colour. His brows drooped. He said nothing, sat back and waited for me to speak.

I said, ‘I’m guessing you found this on Moosey’s wallet.’

McAvoy was speechless. I wanted to plug his mouth. He checked to see the tape was running as I spoke. I wondered what his pulse rate was sitting at. He was as psyched as a Formula One driver in the pits, raring to go.

I played it cool — what had I to lose now? ‘Yeah, I guess I must have left my prints when I took out his wallet.’

McAvoy couldn’t hold back, ‘You removed the victim’s wallet?’

‘Yes…’

‘So, you admit you were on the scene at the moment of death?’ He grabbed his notes. ‘You are telling us you were at the murder scene on Corstorphine Hill on May fifteenth, and removed Thomas Fulton’s wallet

…’

‘I called you in, if you remember.’

McAvoy nodded rapidly, said, ‘Yes… you admit being on the scene of the murder, we can place you there. We have your dabs on the corpse. What were you after in his wallet — money?’

I felt my mouth narrow to a small aperture. ‘Fuck no.’

‘You weren’t looking for more money… like you knew Fulton was carrying?’

‘What money? First I heard he was carrying money was in here.’

McAvoy swept a hand over his hair. ‘How did you know him?’ he said.

‘I didn’t.’

He looked up, flashed eyes on me, then returned to his notes and produced a set of photographs. They were pictures of me talking to Moosey’s wife, with Sid at his house, and with Rab Hart in Saughton Prison. ‘You are one of Fulton’s known associates. Why else would you be seen with this lot?’

I tapped the table. ‘McAvoy, my next answer might confuse you.. I was doing something known as detective work.’

That put the needle in him. He placed down his pen. Suddenly he seemed to remember he was here to hitch my arse to the flagpole. He lost it. ‘Right, Dury, why did you kill him?’

I laughed in his face. ‘You think I killed him…? You’re dumber than you look.’

He stuck a finger in his collar, undid his top button. ‘Stop messing me about. We have you on the scene, the victim was fifty thousand pounds lighter after you left and you are roughly that amount in hock for the pub. I think that’s enough of a reason for me to say we have you bang to rights.’

I took the cigarettes up. His lighter was still resting on the pack.

‘What you have, McAvoy, is no fucking clue.’

‘ What?’

‘I didn’t kill Moosey — I stumbled across his corpse. He was gutted before I got to him.’

‘Oh, I see, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And you’ll be able to corroborate this, will you?’

‘I can go one better… I can hand you the real killer.’

He sighed, shook his head. ‘And that would be?’

I blew smoke. ‘Well, if you and Jonny Johnstone weren’t taking a nice slice of Rab Hart’s activities, you’d have him in here by now.’

Someone had obviously been listening, through the way the door was flung open and Jonny Boy strode in. ‘Now I am fucking warning you, Dury, about your allegations!’ He was — what’s the phrase — fit to be tied.

McAvoy’s eyes widened as J.J. entered. He firmed his shoulders; for a moment I thought he would speak, but he scratched his ear instead. He rose, came round to my side of the desk, said, ‘You are wrapped up in one world of shit, Dury.’

I spun in my chair, said, ‘So, what’s new?’

‘What’s new is I’m now arresting you for the murder of Tam Fulton.’

I heard the words but they didn’t register for a few seconds.

‘You’re what?… Are you serious?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said McAvoy. He shuffled his papers again, gave me the ‘you do not need to say anything’ spiel.

I jumped out of my seat. The uniform pug approached but I flung off his arm and put a halt to any idea that I was taking his shit. ‘Now look the fuck here, McAvoy… I know your game. You are setting me up to take the fall for Judge Crawford’s son.’

Laughter from Jonny and McAvoy.

‘Oh, funny is it? Not so funny that Crawford’s hearing Rab Hart’s appeal, is it? How do you think the courts will look on that when I blow it all wide open?’

More laughter. The tape was off now.

‘Dury, who the fuck do you think is going to listen to a washed-up old soak like you? You’re finished. I am going to put you away and that’s an end to it.’

Jonny joined in, ‘Get used to the idea, Dury. It won’t be good for your mental health to be so angry when you’re in stir and I’m in my comfortable home banging your ex-wife every night of the week.’

I lunged at him. My fist got halfway to its target before the uniform pug stepped in and grabbed me round the throat.

McAvoy backslapped Jonny. He was still laughing when his mobi went off. As he answered it his face changed quickly. ‘Whoa, back up… What the fuck do you mean Complaints are on the way down?’

The smirk suddenly left Jonny’s coupon. ‘Who’s that?’

McAvoy flagged him down, listened to the caller more intently. ‘Who told them this? Where did they get the money from?’ As the information was relayed to him, McAvoy’s face firmed — his jaws seemed to pop as he clenched his teeth — and then he turned to Jonny and threw the mobile at him. ‘You fucking silly cunt!’ He ran towards him, roaring, ‘You fucking daft fuck!’

Jonny backed up, took a pelt in the puss. It was enough to put him on the floor. McAvoy weighed into him with his fists. ‘You fuck, you cunt… you fucking took it, did you?’

‘ What? What?’ Jonny was sliding along the ground, the trousers of his Boss suit creasing up.