Stuart MacBride - Dark Blood

‘Nothing like being at home, is it, Graeme?’ Knox wiped a hand across the window next to him, clearing a space in the fog. ‘Do you still see Billy Adams’s wife?’

Danby stared straight ahead, following the stream of flickering brake lights.

‘Think he ever found out? Think that’s why he topped himself?’

The superintendent’s voice was a dark rumble. ‘Leave it, Richard. Know what I’m saying?’

‘Just wondering. Trip to a graveyard makes you think about things like that, doesn’t it? Death. Life. Betrayal.’

‘I said, drop it!’

Knox shrugged, then went back to staring out of the window.

Logan stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘He’s going to catch his death.’

Danby shifted his weight, and grimaced. ‘What a shame that would be.’

They were standing in the lee of a small mausoleum, about thirty yards from where Knox was kneeling, head bent in prayer, in front of a weathered headstone, carrier bag clutched to his chest. A gust of wind brought in another flurry of sleet, shivering the skeletal trees dotted between the graves.

The Sacro team had positioned themselves a respectful distance from Knox and his devotions — trying to control a writhing umbrella that looked determined to make a break for freedom.

Logan watched Danby rubbing his leg again. ‘You OK?’

‘When it’s really cold the metalwork in my leg contracts. Nips a bit.’

Grove Cemetery perched on a steep slope overlooking the River Dee, a huge Tesco supermarket, the Grampian Country Chickens factory, and a sewage treatment plant. Today Logan could barely see the lights twinkling on the other side of the river — the view swallowed up by the low clouds and driving sleet.

A train grumbled past on the line at the top of the graveyard, windows full of miserable faces on their way north.

Logan craned his neck looking through the trees at the bottom of the hill, towards the wee park where Samantha still kept her Portakabin-style static caravan. Not that she spent much time there any more.

Danby turned his head and spat, the wind whipping it away before it could spatter someone’s headstone. ‘Soon as we’re back at the station, call Frankland Prison: I want the name of everyone Knox shared a cell with. We’re looking for someone done for housebreaking and rape. Then crosscheck for unsolved murders where a house was burnt to destroy the evidence — two or more victims. The bastard might’ve got away with it up till now, but that’s about to change, know what I’m saying?’

Logan nodded. ‘Was already on my to-do list.’

‘Good.’

Knox still hadn’t moved.

Danby hunched his shoulders, pulling his upturned collar closer to his ears. ‘Should’ve brought a bloody hat.’ The top of his bald head was getting pinker and pinker in the driving sleet. ‘Or stayed in the car.’

The DSI turned and glowered downhill at the car park, where the scabby maroon council Transit van sat between the CID pool car and a massive black Range Rover. The surveillance team would be sitting with the engine running, heaters on full, sharing a tartan thermos of hot coffee.

Bastards.

Logan cleared his throat. ‘Why’s Knox so obsessed with DI Billy Adams?’

Danby kept his eyes on the ex-council van. ‘DI?’

‘I did some digging.’

Sniff. The superintendent sent another gobbet of spit flying. ‘Did you now.’

The only sound was the wind, slamming into the exposed cemetery, the creak of the bare trees, the distant rumble of traffic on Auchmill Road.

Ah well, it’d been worth a go.

Danby sighed. ‘Billy was a friend, known him since we were both in uniform. Never really wanted promotion, said he liked it at the sharp end. Spent three months infiltrating Michael “Mental Mikey” Maitland’s operation.’ The big man gave a small, unhappy laugh. ‘Far as Mikey’s crew were concerned, Billy was a cop on the take: ready to do favours for a reasonable price. But he was really following the money.’

‘So why’s Knox being such a-’

‘Organized crime. Clue’s in the name, know what I’m saying? They don’t make millions out of drug running and hide it under the mattress anymore: they’ve got lawyers, accountants, trust funds, offshore holding companies.’

Logan frowned. ‘But what’s that-’

‘If you’ll bloody shut up for a minute, you’ll find out.’

Silence.

‘We only started looking into Knox for the Brucklay rape and abduction because Billy tipped us off. There were rumours Mikey’s principal accountant had “unusual tastes”.’

Logan opened his mouth. Shut it again. Then turned to stare at the weaselly little man kneeling in front of the gravestone. ‘Knox worked for the mob?’

‘Graduated with a BA in accounting and finance from Northumbria University. He was their main money man. That’s why he got away with raping old men for so long; a visit from Mental Mikey’s boys tends to encourage amnesia in victims and witnesses.’

‘But…no self-respecting criminal’s going to put up with that, they’d carve “nonce” in his forehead and string him up by the goolies.’

Danby laughed, a deep rumbly sound that boomed out over the graveyard. Knox didn’t even look up.

‘Sergeant, think about it. That weedy strip of piss over there is the only person Mikey knows won’t roll over on him if something goes wrong. Knox’ll always keep his trap shut about his employer’s operation, because if he breathes a word, Mikey can tie him to at least half a dozen rapes. And prison’s a dangerous place when your ex-employer’s a vicious bastard with connections.’

Over by the grave, the man in question reached out a hand and caressed his granny’s headstone.

Logan finally got it. ‘And let me guess: there’s no way the CPS is going to turn a blind eye to Knox abducting and violently raping someone’s grandad, not even to get info on a mob operation. So he can’t cut a deal.’

‘Exactly. Long as Knox doesn’t go mad, keeps the rapes down to a couple a year, it’s manageable, know what I’m saying? Look at premier league football, never did them any harm, did it?’ Danby rubbed at his calf. ‘When we arrested Knox for the William Brucklay rape, Mikey got him the best lawyer; made sure Knox’s mum went to a good care home. And Knox kept his mouth shut. Seven years he was inside, never said a single word about Mental Mikey’s empire.’

Danby shivered as another gust of sleet battered across the graveyard. ‘Think I’ll wait in the car.’

Logan glanced over at Knox — still praying. ‘That’s why you’re up here, isn’t it? You think he’ll talk to you.’

‘That nasty piece of shite knows everything there is to know about Mental Mikey’s operation. Crack him and you could tear the whole thing apart, know what I’m saying?’

The DSI turned his back and limped towards the exit.

Logan shouted after him, ‘So…why does he keep winding you up about Billy Adams, then?’

Danby didn’t even turn around.

‘Because he’s a sex offender. Manipulating people is what they do.’

Logan picked his way between the graves, lurching as the wind strafed the cemetery with slivers of ice, joining the team from Sacro.

Mandy had her whole body hunched up, stamping her feet, huddling under the bucking umbrella her partner was holding. ‘We’re not going to have to do this every Sunday, are we? I can’t feel my toes any more.’

Harry wiped a sleeve across the underside of his nose. ‘Could be worse. At least we’re out of that mould-ridden filthy-Fuck!’

The umbrella whipped inside out: a satellite dish on a stick. Harry tried to force it back into shape while the wind hammered them.