Michael Fowler - Cold Death

“I’m not trying to wind you up DS Kerr, believe me. I made a promise to your father and I’m simply keeping it. In another ten minutes you’ll know everything.” She closed her grip. “Some of what you are going to hear is not going to sit comfortably so I’m warning you to be prepared.”

Hunter led the way into the station; he had been here before. They both flashed their warrant cards to the receptionist and she buzzed them through into an internal corridor and pointed them through to where they needed to be.

The Victim Reception Suite was where rape victims and abused children normally came to be supported, examined and questioned by video evidence. He had used a similar room at other stations elsewhere when he had been in CID.

Hunter pushed through the door into an overbearingly warm room that had been furnished as though it was someone’s front lounge. The instant he stepped into the room his mother launched herself off from the sofa and flung her arms around his neck.

Hunter felt her body convulse as she mumbled his name. It momentarily took him aback; he had never witnessed an outburst like this from his mother. He had always seen her as such a strong character.

It also had the effect of deflating his anger and frustration, bringing him to his senses. He looked over her huddled shoulders at his father who was slowly rising from one of the seats in the room, face expressionless, as if in shock.

Hunter gently eased his mum away catching the look in her face. Her eyes were bloodshot; she had obviously been crying for some time.

DCI Leggate took over the support of his mother, guiding her back to the sofa and taking up a seat next to her.

Hunter lowered himself onto the arm of one of the chairs facing them all.

Dawn Leggate flashed an awkward smile at Jock. “I’ve not told your son anything yet Jock, but now it’s time for him to know everything. We agreed that if things ever came to this then it would be the right thing to do, didn’t we?”

Jock nodded. He had a forlorn look on his face.

DCI Leggate turned her gaze back to Hunter. “Before your father tells you his bit I’ll tell you where I fit into all this.”

Hunter slipped off the arm and dropped onto the seat cushion.

“Just over three months ago two prisoners serving life for the murder of a twenty-four year old woman and her five year old daughter were released from Barlinnie prison after spending thirty-six years behind bars. Those two prisoners are Billy Wallace and Rab Geddes. I don’t know either of these two — way before my time — but I have since learned their history. Billy had the nickname Braveheart in his younger days. He had a fearsome reputation and used to boast that William Wallace was his ancestor. I’m not sure that’s true, and to be honest knowing what I now know about Billy Wallace I for one feel that it’s an insult to a great Scottish hero. Billy comes from bad stock. His father Gordon did time for a couple of warehouse robberies and was involved in the black market during the nineteen-fifties in Glasgow. Throughout the sixties Gordon built up a bit of a criminal empire and formed one of the leading gangster families in the suburbs, offering protection to pubs and clubs and at one stage he was peddling guns around to arm criminals.” She leaned forward clasping her hands intently. “Gordon introduced his son into the fold when he was about eighteen. Billy was a real tough nut who could handle himself and he quickly made a reputation for himself because of the extreme violence he would use, even when he didn’t need to. Rab Geddes was a lifelong school friend and between them they began to run the Wallace family business. Billy started to push drugs — something which was unheard of amongst the gangs and began to make himself quite a wealthy young man. Then things took a turn for the worse for Billy and his family. The police began to crack down. A few rogue cops who had been taking backhanders to turn the other cheek, or in some cases lose evidence, were investigated and dismissed and many of the different gang members had their collars felt. Rival gangs started to turn in against one another. The Procurator Fiscal together with CID from Shettlestone nick — east end of Glasgow — began looking at the Wallace gang round about nineteen-seventy and Gordon decided to call it a day, happy to live off the wealth he had amassed from his earlier criminal activities. His son Billy didn’t, and one night back in nineteen-seventy-one when he went to collect a drug debt, things boiled over. He couldn’t find his dealer who had ripped him off and so in a fit of temper he shot the guy’s girlfriend and her five-year-old daughter before setting fire to the flat. Within days snouts from opposing gangs had dropped Billy and Rab for it and detectives managed to get a breakthrough when they found a witness who had been there on the night of the murders and provided crucial evidence. The upshot was that they were both arrested and as a result of the evidence were convicted of the murders and sent to prison for thirty-six years. You will have gathered by now that Billy is a bit of a psycho, and even in prison he continued his violence. He was responsible for at least one prisoner’s murder and he was also involved in the stabbing of two others.” DCI Leggate pushed herself back into the sofa crossing one leg over the other. “He also vowed revenge against the team of detectives who’d arrested him and also the main witness who had helped convict him. And that’s where I have come in. Several weeks ago Billy and Rab disappeared off the radar after they did a bunk from a bail hostel. Shortly after, four people — three men and a woman — were brutally murdered. The man and woman were from my neck of the woods — Stirling, the other two men lived near Glasgow. The men are all retired detectives — the same detectives who were responsible for getting the convictions and putting Wallace and Geddes behind bars. My team from Stirling are involved in a joint investigation with Glasgow CID and we have enough evidence to link Billy and Rab to the murders.” She uncrossed her legs and sat forwards. “Your dad recognised Billy Wallace this evening and we have circulated the number of the grey Mondeo he was seen making his getaway in. There are a lot of officers on the ground looking for them as I speak — but then you’ll have guessed that.”

The mention of the grey Mondeo again flashed an alert inside his head. Now he remembered where he had seen the driver before. The newly grown, thinning, sandy hair had tricked him. He was the bald headed man at Staithes whom he had seen arguing with his father that morning. It was all fitting into place.

The DCI continued. “Me and my team are down here for two reasons — one to track down Wallace and Geddes, and two, and just as important, to protect the main witness from that trial back in nineteen-seventy-two — your father.” She looked across to Jock. “I’ll let you take over.”

Hunter turned towards his dad, saw him take a deep breath and glance towards his wife. He tried to search out his dad’s look but as he had done so many times over recent weeks he avoided eye contact, instead staring down at his hands, which he rolled around one another.

“This is very difficult for me son,” he began. “I’ve not tried to hide this from you I just didn’t know how to tell you what you’re about to hear, especially with the important job you have. I suppose naively I hoped it would never come to this. What do they say about the best laid plans?” He gave a resounding cough.

Hunter saw tears well up in his father’s eyes.

“You know I’ve told you all about my younger days as a boxer and how my career ended and how me and your ma came down to Yorkshire where you were born and I set up the gym?”