Craig Robertson - Snapshot

‘He in the frame for killing him?’

‘Doubt it. He was much better off with Malky alive than the mess there is now. Might be too soon for him, too. And it’s stretching it a bit to think he did Caldwell as well. We’re keeping our eye on him though. Well, I say “we” but if I’m stuck with this one,’ he nodded towards the screen, ‘then it might be someone else’s job. Fuck that for a game of soldiers.’

Winter drank in Addison’s words and a game plan began to form in his head.

‘Biggest case round here in a long time…’ he began.

‘Like I haven’t noticed,’ Addison replied. ‘What’s your point?’

‘And it could get bigger yet. They really should have the top men on the job. Is that you?’

‘Damn right it’s me. There’s no way they should be running something on this scale without me being involved.’

‘So what you going to do about it, Addy?’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Go see Alex Shirley. Tell him straight out that you want it. Direct approach never fails.’

Addison looked at him thoughtfully, chewing it over in his mind. Just as he was about to answer, there was a knock at the door and Cat Fitzpatrick strolled through, all flame-red hair and sparkling green eyes. The DI’s attention to the tapes was instantly forgotten and Rebecca Maxwell switched it off when she realized he was no longer watching.

‘I was told you boys were hiding in here. Got a minute?’

‘For you, Ms Fitzpatrick, I’ve got all the time in the world,’ Addison grinned.

Cat rolled her eyes and shared a mutual look of despair with the WPC.

‘Given how discerning you are, DI Addison, that’s very flattering to know,’ she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

Addison took no offence whatsoever and misguidedly thought of it as flirtation.

‘You wanted to see my report as soon as I was done with it so here you go,’ Cat continued, handing him a folder. ‘Do you want details or highlights?’

‘Highlights.’

‘ Quelle surprise. My best estimate of time of death is half an hour either side of midnight. Cause of death was asphyxiation and the bruising to the neck indicates manual strangulation. There was also some internal haemorrhaging caused by the blow to the skull but that was not, in itself, fatal. The angle of the fingermarks suggests someone approximately six inches taller than the victim, so just under six foot. The body was, as you know, moved after death and that has been confirmed by lividity.’

‘That it?’

Cat smiled sweetly and shook her head, determined not to rise to Addison’s bait.

‘That’s it for now. You did ask for a rush job.’

‘Ah, don’t take offence, Cat,’ he soothed. ‘We’re going for a drink once we’re done here. Why don’t you join us?’

‘No offence, boys, but I’d rather not. Today has been rough enough without ruining it completely by drinking with you pair.’

‘She loves us really,’ Addison mouthed to Winter in a stage whisper.

Winter said nothing. Cat was about to answer instead when Addison broke in again.

‘You do love us, right?’

He was nothing if not persistent.

‘Boys, I love chocolate. I love Petit Chablis. I love Matt Damon. I love shoes. You two? I love cellulite more than I love you two. I’m dropping this back at the lab then I’m going home. You boys have fun though.’

‘Methinks she doth protest too much,’ said Addison as Cat left, the door closing behind her.

‘Sexy bitch and what an arse. Oh well, back to reality. Rebecca, you can start the tapes again.’ Maxwell rolled her eyes at Addison.

‘Addy, I’ve been thinking. If I’m going to sit through the rest of these tapes for you, there’s something I’d want in return.’

‘Guinness?’

‘No. Well, yes, but something else.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘You’re convinced there will be more killings by whoever topped Caldwell and Quinn, right?’

‘I’d bet on it.’

‘Well, if you speak to Alex Shirley about getting on the sniper case, then I want you to ask him if I can be designated to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’

‘Fuck’s sake, you don’t want much, do you?’

‘No, I just want to photograph anyone else that gets hit.’

‘Yeah, I heard you. Okay, I’ll ask.’

‘Thanks, Addy.’

‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ll try. Best I can do.’

‘Good enough.’

They both turned their attention back to the turgid task of viewing the tapes from the red-light district even though they both knew it was hopeless. If their man was in there then he was hidden from plain view. The area’s natural camouflage of shadows and alleyways came with the territory and meant it suited the hunter and the hunted a lot more than it did those viewing it through a lens. After another half-hour of fruitless observation, Addison called an end to it.

‘Enough’s enough,’ he muttered. ‘We’re out of here.’

‘Right, the Griffin it is then and not before time,’ said Winter enthusiastically.

‘Not quite yet, wee fella. I’m fed up with this game already and I’m going to do what you suggested. I’m going to see if Shirley is still in the building. You go ahead, I’ll see you in there.’

‘Good move,’ Winter replied, with more than half a mind on his own vested interest in the outcome. ‘And if he says yes…’

‘Christ, enough already. Will see what I can do. No promises, mind.’

‘None expected. Thanks, Addy.’

It was only a few hundred yards to the Griffin but the walk was far enough for Winter to get a proper thirst on. He wanted his favour from Addison but he also wanted a few pints of the black stuff. His tongue was aching for it. The old sgriob was working overtime. But his other sgriob, his real itch, was tingling more.

The thought of Shirley giving him the go-ahead to join the case, the only real case in town, was overpowering. Two pints of Guinness and he’d be dreaming about a hole in the middle of a drug lord’s head. And he’d like it.

The Griffin was always more Winter’s kind of pub than it was Addison’s. For him it was a local in the city centre, the kind of everyman bar that Glasgow did best. Old man’s pub, student hangout and theatre crowd all thrown in together. For Addison there were never enough women in it to keep him happy but then again there was never a pub with enough women in it for him.

It had stood on the corner of Bath Street and Elmbank Street for over a hundred years, curving round the corner in splendid wood and leaded glass. Between the Griffin and the lounge bar, the Griffinette, the exterior looked massive with more than enough entrances to make it confusing but inside it was split into three rooms making it much more intimate than it appeared from the street. The leather speakeasy seats facing each other across wooden tables meant the place filled up without a lot of people actually being in it.

That night there were maybe twenty people in the main bar and it gave it the busy, cosy feel that Winter liked. He and Addison were propped up on stools at the bar and the DI was refusing to say how his meeting with Shirley had gone, simply saying that he was waiting for a phone call and didn’t want to jinx it. Instead he was moaning about the lack of talent and suggesting they move on elsewhere. Winter dragged the conversation back to the gangster killings every chance he got.

‘Tell me more about this Ally Riddle,’ he began. ‘Is he going to be able to run Quinn’s business? Surely the hyenas will be moving in to pick over the bones.’

‘Course they will,’ nodded Addison. ‘Jo-Jo Johnstone, Bumpy Scott, Tookie Cochrane or the Gilmartins, you can bet they’re interested. Their kind always have an eye on someone else’s territory if they sense it’s ripe for taking over. But Ally Riddle is still the bookies’ favourite. The word is that he’ll be able to hold Quinn’s mob together.’