Craig Russell - Lennox

I thought of poor Jeannie and the meagre dreams and aspirations that she may have had and felt sorry for having dumped her like that. Then I thought of how she had reminded me of Edward G. Robinson and started to laugh as I turned the ignition.

I knew I’d lost the 16HP, but I decided to trace my way back along the river-edge quays just in case. There were a hundred nooks and crannies, alleys and yards where you could lie low. But my thinking was that the driver of the 16HP had used my temporary halt to put as much distance between us as possible.

If Glasgow was the Empire’s industrial heart, then the Clyde was its main artery. I drove past Mavisbank Quay, Terminus Quay with its railyards and finally Kingston Dock. As I drove, stark white lights hovered over the ink sleek waters of the Clyde.

Even at this time of night and this far into the city the river glittered with tugs, boats and barges and I could see the occasional fountain of sparks where some nightshift sculpted steel.

I caught sight of a car pulled off the main road into a narrow cul-de-sac between two warehouses. It wasn’t my guy. The steamed windows of an ancient Ford told me hasty fornication was the motive for stealth in this case.

I drove on and into King Street, my mind no longer on my quarry but on why I was being watched by Lillian Andrews’s accomplices — and I was pretty sure that was who I was dealing with. The man behind the wheel had been the same guy who had been part of the clumsy snatch squad in the Bedford truck. Their lack of finesse didn’t fit with the professionalism with which my office had been turned over. Nor did it fit with the uneasy feeling I’d had for the last few days that I was being followed by someone who was too good to be seen. It was true that the guy in the 16HP could have been more obvious, but only if he’d had a sign on his windscreen saying, ‘I’M FOLLOWING YOU LENNOX’. Two outfits? It would fit with my Fred MacMurray lookalike and his Middle Eastern pals.

Instinctively I felt they were connected with Tam McGahern in another way, not through Lillian. But everything that Rufus Jeffrey had told me about Tam’s military service and connection to the Middle East nagged away at me. That was a link that could tie Mr Double Indemnity and his camel-jockeys in with Lillian. I drove back over Glasgow Bridge and back to where I’d dumped Jeannie. A good hour had passed and, of course, she was gone. Everything was fucked up.

I needed a drink.

By the time I got to the Horsehead Bar it was already an hour after closing time. Which meant this was the time that the Horsehead did its best business. Discreetly. I gave the knock I’d learned and Big Bob let me in. A ‘lock-in’ was a quaint British custom that made use of a loophole in the licensing laws which allowed the licensee to lock the doors and privately ‘entertain’ bona-fide friends without charging. In other words, that’s when the coppers called for their free drinks and turned a blind eye to the left-open cash till and the other ‘bona-fide friends’.

My fucked-up evening stayed true to form. I was greeted by a six-foot-six scowl from the bar.

‘Good evening, Superintendent McNab,’ I said as un-wearily as I could manage. I thought of asking McNab if I could buy him a drink, but he looked happy with his half of pale ale and his scowl. Also, I wasn’t mad on the company he was keeping: there was a capless and chinless army major and a sergeant at the bar with him. The sergeant’s cap sat on the bar and it was my least favourite colour: red.

Towards the end of what had been, admittedly, a rather colourful military career I had spent quite some time in the company of the Military Police. In many ways it had been the same kind of experience that I’d had since with the civilian police: sitting in a thick-walled room with a couple of guys who want to kick the shite out of you. The difference with the redcaps was they couldn’t, because I had been an officer.

It was as if McNab had been reading my mind. ‘Lennox here used to be an officer, you know. Captain, wasn’t it?’

I nodded.

‘Aye…’ McNab eyed me up and down. ‘He used to be a gentleman and an officer. Now he’s just a gobshite.’

The little redcap sergeant grinned. I smiled too. What I wanted to do was punch McNab in his big stupid copper moon face. But I smiled. ‘If you don’t mind, Superintendent, I won’t call on you for a character reference.’

‘And he’s a smart-arse. You know what you are, Lennox? You’re a sewer rat. You scuttle around in this city’s shite. But the fact is you get to hear things. Things I don’t.’

‘Is there a point to this, NcNab? To be honest I don’t care to be insulted by the likes of you.’ I turned square on to him. I started to weigh up the beating in the cells I would get if I busted McNab’s jaw and it was becoming an increasingly acceptable bargain. I looked at the little redcap sergeant, then at the major and successfully made the point that if I went for it, I’d make it worth my while and go for a job lot. The sergeant stopped smiling and the chinless wonder with the pips looked like he was wishing he was back in Chelsea. McNab took a step forward.

‘Fancy your chances, Lennox?’

‘Let it go, Lennox…’ Big Bob had moved up to our end of the bar. ‘He’s not worth hanging for.’

I don’t know if it had been the sudden suggestion that he might not survive the encounter, but McNab looked a little less sure of himself. Just a flicker of uncertainty behind the tight expression.

‘I’ll ask you again, McNab. Do you have a point?’

‘Steady on, old chap…’ The MP major, looking even less sure of himself, eased between me and McNab. He had one of those plummy accents that I thought were only made up for comedy effect by the likes of Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne. ‘The Superintendent suggested we come here on the off-chance we could have a word. If you’re… connected, so to speak, it might be that you have heard something on the grapevine.’

‘About what?’ I kept my gaze fixed on McNab.

‘There was a clothing warehouse broken into last night,’ said McNab. ‘Not much taken and it wouldn’t normally be a major inquiry, but it’s what has been taken that’s important. The warehouse was used by a company that supplies uniforms. Army, air force and police.’

‘So what was taken?’

‘They were very selective. They picked up separate items that would account for five police uniforms and three army uniforms.’

‘And you think someone’s planning an IPO job?’

McNab broke his gaze and sipped his pale ale. ‘That’s what it looks like. They were just uniforms, mind. No badges or insignia on either the police or the army stuff.’

‘I’ve not heard anything,’ I said and McNab gave me a look. ‘That’s the truth, McNab. But I have to say that I don’t think it would be any of the Three Kings. Impersonating police officers gets headlines. Attracts attention and stirs up you boys more than the usual brown envelopes can calm down.’

McNab looked as if he was going to take a poke at me. I grinned: I’d said it to yank on his chain.

‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘it’s not something I think they’d get into. Do a robbery in a police uniform and that’s another ten on your stretch if you’re caught.’

‘I want you to ask around,’ said McNab.

‘And why should I do that, Superintendent?’

‘Because it could make your life easier.’

‘And it could make it a lot more difficult if word got out that I was a grass. But maybe I will. I have an idea the Three Kings won’t like someone pulling this kind of stunt on their territory.’

There wasn’t anything else to say and I moved round to my usual end of the bar without taking my leave. McNab and the two redcaps drained their glasses and left. After Big Bob unbolted the door to let them out he came over to me.