Craig Robertson - Snapshot

‘Don’t be shy about it,’ she mocked now. ‘It’s cool that you are so into something. The passion is a turn-on. Tell me more.’

Part of him wanted to tell her to fuck off. Not in a bad way, just in a leave-it-alone kind of way. He reached an arm around, pulling her close and feeling her body yield to his touch.

‘A turn-on, is it? Come here then.’

‘I want to hear more first,’ she continued. ‘You’ve never really told me why you are so into it.’

Yeah well, there’s a reason for that, he thought. Guilty secrets. They’d played this game too often though, and he wasn’t ready to offer up any more of himself just yet.

‘There’s something you haven’t told me about either,’ he tried, to change the subject.

‘Oh yes?’ She looked doubtful. ‘What’s that then?’

‘The hooker that was found murdered in Wellington Lane. What’s happening with her?’

Rachel’s eyes narrowed and it was obvious she didn’t want to go there, which suited him just fine.

‘You’re right,’ she conceded. ‘I didn’t tell you about it.’

‘Well?’

‘There’s not a lot happening,’ she admitted. ‘Our enquiries are continuing, as they say.’

Her tone was changing, warning him off, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d taken a kicking to veer her away from places he didn’t want her to go.

‘What is this? The ten o’clock news? That’s all I get?’

‘We’re getting nowhere with it, okay? The poor girl was left dead with her knickers round her ankles. It’s been the shittiest part of an already shitty week and I don’t want to go over it all again.’

She paused and Winter sensed a counter-punch coming.

‘I bet your creepy Mexican guy would have loved to have photographed her though…’

‘He wasn’t cree-’

Damn her. She was grinning at him and he was annoyed at himself for falling for it.

‘Come on,’ she continued. ‘Photographing dead bodies? What else would you call it?’

‘Ha bloody ha. Fuck off.’

She giggled.

‘Come on, tell me about him, then. What was his thing? And why is his thing your thing?’

No, he thought, enough was enough.

‘Forget it. Talking time is over. Playtime again.’

He made a grab at her but she easily ducked away from him, twisting her body out of reach and asking again. ‘And why have you got it so bad?’

He grabbed her, placing a hand over her mouth but she playfully bit it. He pulled her on top of him, happy to wrestle rather than talk any more. Just as he was thinking that they were heading for round two, her mobile rang and she rolled off him to answer it, laughing as she picked up the receiver.

‘Hello? Oh, hi. What’s…’

The smile froze on her face.

‘Shit… No way… Fuck. What happened? Uh huh… Right, okay. Soon as I can.’

The look on her face as she hung up left Winter in no doubt that there wouldn’t be a second round. She sat looking vaguely at the wardrobe but he knew she was looking much farther away.

‘Well?’

‘That was Addison. Malky Quinn has been shot. Through the head. By a sniper.’

‘Shit.’

‘That’s pretty much what I said,’ Narey intoned, her eyes briefly closed. ‘Right, I’ve got to go in. Happened half an hour ago. Quinn stepped out of his car to go into his converted ranch thing in Kinnear Road and bang. Place is going fucking mental.’

‘Retaliation for Caldwell?’

‘Maybe. Seems the obvious thing. Need to go see what they are saying. Love you and leave you.’

The L word hung awkwardly between them for a second until she pulled her top over her head and poked her tongue out at him.

‘Figure of speech. You be here when I get back?’

‘I was thinking I could come with you.’

‘Aye right. How are we going to explain that one, Einstein? You show up without Addy giving you a call. What you been doing, listening in to police scanners? That’s an offence, you know.’

‘Well…’ The thought that she could actually tell people that they had a relationship clearly wasn’t obvious to her at that moment. And maybe it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

‘Well, let me know what’s going on. Maybe see you when you get back, depends how long you will be.’

Rachel planted a quick kiss on his lips, at the same time grabbing at his cock under the covers. With a fleeting grin she stood up and left, closing the door behind her.

Cairns Caldwell. Malky Quinn. Either somebody had it in for the bad boys or they had it in for each other.

The man they called the Mighty Quinn was an old school thug. Not renowned for his brains but well known for his ruthlessness, he and his family ruled the east end the hard way, breaking heads and legs as he saw fit. They had the bulk of the city’s heroin trade locked up through links to Turkish gangs, a dirty business that didn’t bother them for a second. What did it matter to them if anyone was stupid enough to inject that shit into their veins?

Now Malky was lying somewhere in Kinnear Road in the east end, a hole in his head and blood on the pavement. Some lucky bastard would be photographing it, Winter thought. Probably some scene examiner who wouldn’t value it, wouldn’t see it for what it was. Would just be thinking evidence and court, dispassion and objectivity.

He wanted to follow Rachel. Sneak out of the window like a teenager and head for Kinnear Road. No point though. He knew he’d already shat on his copybook enough for one day and, anyway, it was pitch black outside. The only way he’d get any worthwhile picture was to be standing right over the body. And Two Soups or whoever was on duty was never going to allow that.

Pitch black. If a sniper took out Quinn in the dark then it was one serious motherfucker. If he took him out from the same kind of distance as they reckoned the shooter took Caldwell from then it was a professional motherfucker.

Winter turned on both the television and the radio in search of news. Nothing.

Cairns Caldwell and Malky Quinn. Even if this stopped right now it was enough to have the gutterbelly shitting golf balls for months. So much about it said it wouldn’t stop. Two of the biggest, hardest, most untouchable villains had been nailed in the most vengeful, macho-ridden city on the planet. It never stops there. There is always another one who wants his name above the door. An eye for an eye, a life for a life, somebody must die for the death of my strife. Someone else was going to be killed, he’d lay money on it.

Never mind golf balls, there would be people all over Glasgow who would be shitting bowling balls at the thought of what might happen next.

For an hour and a half he flipped between TV and radio, trying to find any mention of the shooting. It came in a trickle: police incident, reports of a shot being fired, man seriously injured. The media was way behind. His itch had subsided a bit, knowing that he’d missed the photograph and that there was nothing he could do about it, but he was still keen to know what had happened and why. Winter knew he’d get his balls in his hands if he phoned Rachel. Addison and the other cops whose names were in his phone were out too because he couldn’t explain or justify calling them. There was someone else who might know and could certainly find out though. He reached for his mobile and waited till a gravelly voice growled hello.

‘Hi, Uncle Danny? It’s Tony.’

‘Jeezus, is it Christmas already?’

‘Aye, I know. Sorry it’s been so long since I called.’

‘Aye, that’s what you always say. Don’t worry about it, son. How you doing anyway? Still photographing the ones that can’t run away?’

‘It’s the only way I can get them to sit still, Dan.’