Craig Robertson - Snapshot

‘Colin Monteith, I am arresting you for the murder of Jan McConachie, Graeme Forrest, Harvey Houston…’

Going along the corridor to Ward 52, it struck Winter that he hadn’t been in the Royal since he’d gone to photograph the baseball bat damage to Rory McCabe’s knees twelve days earlier. A nothing photo of a nothing injury, so routine that it had bored him but he ought to have known better. Every bit of everyday crime feeds into the whole rusty machine.

He pushed through the doors into 52 and saw him straight away, sitting propped up in bed with a huge grin on his face and a nurse by his side. The jumble of gauze, bandage and scaffolding on his head didn’t seem quite as shocking now that he was awake and talking and didn’t seem to be bothering him in the slightest.

‘Awrite, wee man? Thought you were never going to make an appearance.’

His voice was slightly slurred but Winter was used to that with him. He shook his head ruefully, thinking that some things never change.

‘Good to see you, Addy.’

‘And you too, wee man. I’m forgetting my manners. This is the lovely Tricia,’ he said with a wave of his hand towards the petite red-haired nurse. ‘Tricia, wee man, wee man, Tricia.’

She giggled and left them alone, doubtless aware that Addison’s eyes followed her as she wound her way down the ward.

‘As soon as I’m out of here I’m in there,’ he grinned.

‘Are you not supposed to be ill?’ Winter asked him.

‘Oh aye, I am. But I’m only ill, not dead. A man would need to be dead not to look at that.’

‘Aye well, there are enough people dead to be getting on with.’

‘Amen, brother.’

‘What’s the prognosis on that then?’ Winter asked, nodding towards Addison’s broken skull.

‘I’ve got to keep the turban on for a while but I’ll be fine. They’ll put a plate in to replace the bit of skull that the bullet took out and they say there’s no brain damage.’

‘How can they tell? You got shot in the head and it manages to miss your brain, what does that say? I knew all the space in there would come in handy one day.’

‘Size doesn’t matter,’ he chipped back. ‘It’s what you do with it.’

‘Addy, you keep telling yourself that if it makes you happy.’

Addison looked away for a moment and when he turned back his face was much more serious.

‘You know what would make me happy?’

‘That nurse?’

Addison ignored him.

‘If that cunt Monteith was dead instead of taking my bed in intensive care before it even had the chance to get cold. It makes me sick that he thought he could just pish all over the force by doing what he did. It leaves the rest of us smelling as bad as he did. That bastard had always been bitter about what we could do and what we couldn’t with the likes of Caldwell and Quinn. He was even more frustrated than I was that we couldn’t get at the bawbags and just put them away once and for all. But I’d never have thought he’d…’

‘Addy, what if it was you that had found McKendrick rather than Monteith?’

‘What? Would have I taken on the job and done what Monteith did? Is that what you are asking me, wee man?’

‘I’m just asking.’

‘Well don’t be such a dick. Ask something else.’

‘When did they tell you what Monteith had done?’

‘Right after they asked me about Sturrock. That was the first thing they asked me when I came round. There was no, “How are you, how’s the head, can we get you something to eat?” No, it was “What’s your connection to Mark Sturrock?” straight off the bat. I had no idea what the fuck they were talking about so I just told them. The wee dickhead is an informant, my snout, my grass and why the fuck did they want to know. So they told me how the phone call that I answered was from him. Must admit I hadn’t seen that one coming.

‘You’re supposed to declare grasses on the official informants list but toeing the party line’s never really been my thing. Sturrock gave me a few tasty tidbits over the years and there’s a good few locked up in Barlinnie thanks to him. I didn’t think it was in his interest for people to know that. I’m not completely stupid though and I had documentation locked away at my lawyer’s, signed and dated, in case the shit ever hit the fan. Not that I expected it to be like this. Anyways, they checked it out and it turns out I’m not a dirty cop after all.’

‘I never thought you were.’

‘And I’d fucking hope not too. They tell me you’ve been a right little boy scout while I was asleep. I knew you were up to something but I didn’t figure it would be that. I leave you alone for two minutes and you go off chasing murderers. The sooner I get back to keep an eye on you the better. Seems like our Rachel Narey isn’t up to the job of looking after you.’

‘She did okay,’ Winter hit back, more defensively than he should have done and seeing the hint of a smirk on Addison’s face. ‘She’s close to clearing up that prostitute killing and managed that while you were in here sleeping. She’s already made an arrest in the case.’

‘But not the killer?’

‘Maybe that too but she’s nicked the girl’s boyfriend. You know Tommy Breslin?’

‘Mental twat that calls himself T-Bone? I know him.’

‘He was Oonagh McCullough’s boyfriend and Rachel has busted him.’

‘How did she manage that?’ The DI looked confused.

‘Arithmetic,’ Winter answered. ‘Breslin was the father of Oonagh’s daughter. The daughter is seven, the mother was twenty-three, Breslin is thirty-two. He was twenty-five and she was still fifteen when he got her pregnant before she ran away from home. She has done him for statutory rape.’

Addison burst out laughing.

‘Nice one,’ he admitted. ‘Sounds like you are becoming quite a fan of our Rachel.’

Addison looked at Winter knowingly, waiting for a response but he could go to hell as far as Winter was concerned. As far as anyone else knew, Narey had got a call from Danny who was worried about him and they followed him below the station. Nothing more they needed to know, she said. Addison was just fishing, probably thought that being the hero of the hour might have got Winter a sneaky lay.

‘Aye well, you better get yourself back on your feet then,’ Winter said, changing the subject. ‘I need someone to drink with in the Station Bar.’

‘Oh don’t, you’re killing me. I’d give another bit of my head to be in there right now. Talking of the TSB, that night you walked into there with that boot mark on your cheek and that load of old bollocks about slipping in the bathroom, I knew you’d taken a kicking. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Monteith though. I’m thinking that helped you get into this mess.’

‘Maybe a bit, yeah. But it helped me get out of it too. Let’s just leave it at that.’

Addison laughed.

‘Listen to Joe 90. Am I going to have to be looking out for my job?’

‘Nah, you’re safe on that count. I’m sticking to taking photographs. I know which side of the lens I want to be on from now on.’

‘Wise words, wee man. Best not to get carried away thinking you’ve cracked the crime of the century. Anyway, something Alex Shirley said to me made me think he was on to McKendrick as well so you weren’t the only one.’

‘What? You think Shirley knew about McKendrick? How can that be? You must have picked him up wrong.’

‘Aye, probably. I can’t even remember what he said, it was more the way he said it. I don’t know. I’m probably talking rubbish. I was still a bit woozy when they spoke to me.’

‘Aye, probably. And you’re a bit woozy at the best of times.’