Craig Russell - Dead men and broken hearts

‘Don’t you see him?’ I screamed at him. ‘Don’t you see Lang there?’

I hauled Lynch back and threw him onto the floor. I reached into my coat pocket and tossed over to McBride a length of rope I’d brought from the barge.

‘Tie him up, Twinkle. To the chair. Good and tight.’

‘Okey-doke Mr. L.,’ said McBride.

‘Why are you doing this?’ yelled Lynch. He struggled uselessly in McBride’s grip.

‘Now, now…’ said Twinkletoes, slapping Lynch so hard on the side of the head I even felt my ears pop.

‘Give it up, Annan,’ I said. And with that I could see it in his eyes. His tiny, cold, swindler’s eyes.

‘Who’s Annan?’ he protested when he recovered himself. ‘What the hell has this got to do with Frank Lang?’

‘There never was any Frank Lang. There never really was any Paul Lynch. All there was was Dennis Annan.’

He looked at me dully. Even through his fear, I could see he was assessing the situation. Deciding whether to keep the denials and pretence up or to try to start doing a deal.

‘I know who you are, Annan. Who Lynch and Lang really are. But my question is: so who the hell is this?’ I held out the photograph he had given me of ‘Frank Lang’ when I’d met with him and Connelly.

He didn’t answer, or was having difficulty remembering. So Twinkletoes started to jog his memory. I stepped out into the tenement stairwell and smoked a cigarette. I could still hear the sounds of Twinkletoes working Annan over and went back in before it went too far.

I nodded to Twinkletoes and he stood back. Lynch’s face was red and swelling up, but I could see Twinkle had done exactly what I asked: a big show, but nothing too damaging. I had been forced back into this kind of shit, but there was a limit to how far I was going to let myself sink.

I showed Lynch the photograph again.

‘His name really is Frank Lang,’ Lynch sobbed. ‘And he really does exist. He is a merchant seaman. We used to serve on the same ship, work the same galley.’

‘But he knows nothing about your little game?’

Lynch shook his head. ‘I bumped into him in a pub in Glasgow, a few years back. He was pished and started to give me his life story. So I took it. He told me how he was getting out of the merchant navy because he was married and they were about to emigrate to Australia. I stole his wallet but made him think he’d lost it. I got his union and identity cards, as well as some other personal photographs.’

‘So you set up this phoney identity and background, rent the house in his name, and use the position in the union to fabricate a working history for him.’

‘Everybody is so worried about someone stealing their money or their stuff. The real big steal is if you can rob them of their name. Their identity. That’s what I do. No one else does it.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘You’re a real trailblazer… But the real effort has been put into the other identity — establishing Paul Lynch as a committed and unimpeachable union official. That right?’

I could see the small dark eyes working. ‘Listen, Lennox,’ he said, ‘you’re in a bit of a bind. In trouble to your neck. I can help you get out of all of — ’

‘Never mind the wriggling, Annan,’ I said. ‘Just tell me how you pulled it all off.’

‘Okay, okay… I’ve been working on the Paul Lynch identity for years. I picked someone born around the same time as me but died when they were three years old. It’s mad, but births and deaths are kept in different sections of the General Register House in Edinburgh. There’s no connection between them, so you can take a dead kid and build a new life for it. That’s what I did with Paul Lynch. To start with I didn’t know what I’d use the identity for, and I just added details over time and then when the union job came up, I applied for it as Paul Lynch, with all kinds of testimonials and references and memberships of different labour mobs. It was tough going… much more difficult than ripping off a company. Union people are like aristos, they really are a closed shop. Everyone knows everybody and I had to be seen in the right places with the right people before getting the job.’ He looked up at me. ‘You want to know the funny thing? I was good at it… my job at the union, I mean. You see, in this game, you have to become what you’re pretending to be.’

I looked at Annan. Or Lynch. Or Lang. Three people mixed up in one body. He was a con man, and good at his crooked craft, but there was something wrong with him. Anyone with such a tenuous grip on their own identity was missing something.

‘So Connelly wasn’t in on it?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you. You think you’re a cut above the average embezzler but you’re not. Every con man needs someone on the inside — some unwilling dupe or willing accomplice. My money’s on Connelly either way.’

‘But don’t you see?’ said Annan, his flushed, bruised face suddenly illuminated with workman pride, ‘You’re absolutely right. I did need a man on the inside. But I was the man on the inside. Or at least me as Paul Lynch. That was the beauty of it. No one would be looking for me. They would be looking for someone who never existed.’

‘And that was where I came in…’ I said darkly. Annan fell silent, sensing another storm coming his way.

‘You hired me… not Connelly, but you,’ I continued. ‘You had it all worked out. You put me on the trail of a non-existent go-between whose work needed him to stay elusive, and fed me just enough to stumble along and too little to find out anything substantive. No one would suspect you of having anything to do with the fraud, because it was you who hired me. The only problem I have with it all is this… you — or at least you as Paul Lynch — would have to disappear eventually. Wouldn’t that point the finger? Or were you going to stay on at the union until you collected your pension?’

‘A year, maybe. Maybe less, depending on how things worked out. I was going to arrange some kind of muddle or mess to do with records. Maybe a small fire. Something where my records and any photographs could go missing but be lost with everyone else’s. There had to be time enough between the money going missing and that.’

I gave a small laugh with something like grudging respect in it. He had had it all worked out.

‘Where’s all the money you took from the union?’

‘All over. Several accounts at different banks. Listen, Lennox, let me go and I’ll take a powder. I’ll give you half of the take. No… three-quarters. You want to piss off back to Canada, and you’ve got problems with the police here… there’s enough money to get you free and clear. I can even set you up with a new identity. A new passport.’

‘Yeah? That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it? I recently got a really interesting lecture from the police about circumstantial evidence. Apparently, evidence of flight is part of it. If I disappear from sight, then the coppers assume they were looking in the right direction and don’t bother to look anywhere else.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘About Sylvia Dewar.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that…’ he said.

I took a step towards him and grabbed his shirt front.

‘Maybe I can get Twinkletoes here to make you feel a little more loquacious,’ I hissed into his face.

‘ Low-qway-shus… ’ muttered McBride behind me. I turned to see him reach for his notebook, his brow furrowed.

‘Not now, Twinkle,’ I said, shaking my head. I turned back to Annan. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. This is not the time for you to try to wriggle out of what’s coming to you from the law. This is the time for you to talk your way into staying in one piece. And I’m not talking in metaphors. Twinkle… go get your stuff.’