Craig Robertson - Snapshot

‘So why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t the police do something before McKendrick started killing?’

Monteith laughed derisorily.

‘You think it’s that easy? You stupid sod. We can do nothing. The law’s there to protect these bastards and stop us doing our job. They’ve got better lawyers than we have. More expensive lawyers. Vermin. And even without them, too many cops are just too scared to do anything about it. They’ve got families and are scared shitless that the bampots will come after them. It’s a small city and it’s awfy easy to find out where they live.’

A picture of Rachel flooded Winter’s mind and he tensed his wrists, causing the ties to bite into them.

‘Not everyone can be too scared,’ he said. ‘You’re not scared are you, Monteith?’

A tight grin stretched across the cop’s face, followed by another vicious kick to Winter’s ankle.

‘Don’t taunt me. You’re in no position. No, I’m not scared. But for every cop that’s got the bollocks to do something about it, there’s another one in his way that’s deep in the pockets of scumbags like Quinn and Caldwell and Riddle. It makes me fucking mad. I’ve never taken so much as a penny but there’s cunts who have.’

He levelled Winter with his stare. ‘Like your pal Addison.’

‘Addy isn’t dirty.’

Monteith laughed again.

‘How do you know that? What the fuck do you know? Addison’s name and phone number was in Sturrock’s mobile. In his contacts folder. How do you explain that? That cow McConachie, she was on the take too.’

‘I know Addy enough to know he wouldn’t.’

‘Bollocks. You know nothing. Snap your clever little photographs and fuck off home and think you’re part of it all. You’re not. You’re just an annoying wanker that gets in the way of cops trying to do their job. Sturrock had your pal’s number right there in his phone and now I’ve got his number. I’ve seen it with my own fucking eyes.’

He stopped, realizing he’d said too much.

‘With your own eyes?’ Winter asked. ‘Sturrock’s phone? The cops don’t have that. They only have Addison’s. How did you see it?’

Monteith bit his lip and spun away from him, as if hiding from some unwelcome truth. He came back full circle, staring him down angrily and directing his rifle at Winter’s head, lifting the barrel up and down a couple of times as if making his mind up. He held his breath. He clenched his teeth.

Monteith must have made a decision because he pointed the rifle straight between Winter’s eyes then spun on his heels again and left the cupboard, the door swinging closed behind him. The silence that he left behind washed over Winter, leaving him in a cold sweat, breathing hard.

He sat still, waiting for Monteith to come back, his ears straining for any sound or suggestion of what he was doing. There was nothing beyond dripping and running water, the distant rumble of a train and the pounding in his chest. That was the loudest of them all, compounded by the blood thumping in his ears.

What the fuck did he think he was doing? Danny had tried to warn him off doing anything stupid, Rachel too by the sound of it, but he was just too pig-headed to listen. He was supposed to be behind the camera. The observer. See the city through a lens. That had been the idea.

Winter tested the ties on the cabling that held his wrists. There was a bit of movement but nothing too encouraging. He was stuck there, waiting. Monteith could do whatever he wanted.

The door burst open and the cop stormed through, the rifle still in his hands but – Winter breathed again – it was pointed at the floor.

‘Well done, fuckwit,’ Monteith scowled at him. ‘I wasn’t sure how I was going to let you get out of here but now I can’t do it. What the fuck are you doing down here, you stupid bastard?’

Nothing to lose now, Winter thought.

‘Looking for you.’

The cop stared at him.

‘I came looking for you, Monteith.’

He just continued to stare.

‘What happened to him?’ Winter asked with a nod to McKendrick.

Monteith looked from him to the body and back again, wavering, deliberating.

‘An accident,’ he said finally. ‘An accident.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Why the fuck should I?’ Monteith barked at him, suddenly furious. ‘Why the fuck should I tell you anything?’

‘Because I think you want to tell someone and there’s no one else here. You just said you can’t let me go so there’s nothing to stop you telling me.’

‘You always were a smart arse, Winter. You and that twat you palled about with. In fact you can thank him for this. If he hadn’t opened his big gob then I’d never have found McKendrick. At least not so quickly.’

Winter felt even more uneasy than he had up till then.

‘Not as smart as you think you are though, eh?’ Monteith taunted. ‘Didn’t know that, did you?’

Winter said nothing. ‘It was your pal that mentioned the bruise on your cheek. The one that you made up some half-arsed excuse about. He said that there was no way you’d slipped like you said you had. He said you’d been punched or more likely kicked in the face. I didn’t think too much about that on its own except that you probably had it coming.

‘But then I heard of a woman phoning to complain about a Sergeant Winton giving her son a hard time. They got hold of Eddie Winton over in London Road but he had no idea what they were talking about and anyway he was on a course the day this McCabe woman said. Everyone else thought nothing of it but I thought of you. Winton… Winter. Close enough and I didn’t like the smell. I thought maybe you were up to your eyes in it all.’

‘You went through my photographs.’

‘I sure did. Quite a collection of shite you’ve got there.’

Winter bristled and wanted to punch his lights out but that wasn’t going to happen.

‘All those pictures of car crashes and glassings and stabbings. What the fuck is that all about, eh? You get your kicks from all that blood?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Hit a nerve, have I? You are a sick bastard, Winter. And what the hell is it with those photos of people in the background, especially cops? You’ve no fucking right to be taking those. None whatsoever. You’re not fit to kiss their feet never mind photograph them when they are doing their job.’

He lifted the barrel of the rifle level with his head but this time Winter had no sense that he was going to use it. He was simmering but he wanted to shoot his mouth off, not the gun.

‘Yeah? Well I was doing my job, too. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Oh, I understand better than you think, sicko. I had a good look through everything you had stowed away there. You like it too much. All those close-ups of wounds, all that blood. You don’t need that much detail for court. That’s just for you, isn’t it?’

Winter’s stomach turned because he knew the answer was yes but he wasn’t admitting that to this psycho.

‘It’s my job, I told you. And you had no right going through it.’

‘No right?’ Monteith laughed wildly. ‘I am a police officer. I am investigating a series of crimes. I have the right to do whatever the fuck I want, look wherever the fuck I want. And I found even more than I could have hoped for. Didn’t I?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Oh I will. Even though you know already. I found two photographs filed together. A kid called Rory McCabe and our old friend Steven Strathie. As soon as I saw the name McCabe I knew I was right. The picture of Strathie meant I’d hit the jackpot.’

He was grinning smugly. So smart. Winter wanted to smash his face in.

‘There was a link right there. Those marks on their chest. Identical. The blow-ups of them that you had left no doubt about that. Now I didn’t know what they meant but I knew they put McCabe in the middle of the case. Yet you didn’t think to mention that to Alex Shirley or Nightjar, did you?’