Stringer nodded at Shorty, who produced a small craft knife. He stooped down and made a cut in a brick in the middle of the bag. He dug the knife in and prised a tiny amount of the flaky white powder out.

  ‘Look at that flake, boys. Sign of quality product, no?’ Almost as if he was selling apples at a fruit and veg market.

  ‘Aye, looking fine, pal,’ said Stringer.

  Shorty took a small piece of the powder, on the tip of the knife, and tipped it into a plastic bottle that was half full with a clear liquid. Shorty shook the bottle and held it up to the light.

  The silence in the barn was thick and turgid as they watched, the atmosphere taut and unpleasant.

  ‘There she goes,’ said Shorty, as the liquid turned a sky blue.

  ‘Looks great, let’s get loaded up,’ said Stringer, holding out his hand, which Hendrik accepted.

  ‘Nice doing business with you, my friend, how soon for re-up?’ said the Dutchman.

  ‘Soon. We’re opening a new market in Scotland, and demand is high.’

  ‘Excellent. Let’s load up, and get gone. Places to go, people to see, I’ll even help you, this is how much of a colleague I am, eh?’ said Hendrik, grinning. His English was almost flawless, but there were some peculiarities. To the uninitiated, it sounded endearing, to those in the know, it was chilling.

  Within ten minutes, each of the fifty bricks of cocaine had been stacked into the hidden space in Stringer’s van, the false floor secured into place with a nail-gun, and all the paint, ladders and dust sheets returned. Now, if stopped, they were just two painter and decorators on their way to another job.

  ‘Good doing business with you chappies, don’t be strangers,’ Hendrik said out the window of his Ford. Shorty opened the door, and the Dutchman drove off.

  ‘We’re in business, man,’ said Shorty, clapping Stringer on the back.

  ‘We are. Let’s get on with this.’ He pulled out his phone, and composed a message to Robbie. We’re ready. Let’s do this.

  The reply came back almost immediately. Tomorrow afternoon?

  Stringer grinned. ‘We’re on, man.’

  Shorty nodded. ‘He’s hot to trot, mate. We’ll turn this consignment round in fucking no time, and then we have enough to pay the man for the job, eh?’

  ‘Damn right, mate. No time to piss about. We’re gonna shake the country to its fuckin’ foundations. Let’s get it on.’ They bumped knuckles.

  He tapped out a response. Where/when?

  The response came back immediately.

  Pitlochry. Salmon ladder car park. 2 p.m.. There was a pin drop attached to the message.

  38

  ‘Not gonna lie, I’m surprised, Frankie,’ said Max, as he looked at the last remaining member of the Hardie family as he tucked his phone away.

  ‘Aye, I’m surprised myself, but I’ve changed, Max. I don’t want to be part of this world anymore, and if I grassed you up, you’d be bloody dead, and I’d be right back in the thick of it. No more, Max.’ His eyes were clear, firm and determined.

  Max grinned, although he felt like he’d been punched in the guts. This could have ended up really badly. His thoughts suddenly were full of Katie and Evie. His thoughts were whirring, and not totally connected. He opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped, unable to know what to say next.

  ‘As soon as I left the jail, they’d be back onto me. I’d be back into it, up to my neck, and I’m done with it. I’m the last Hardie, and if I go back to the old life, I doubt I’ll last a year. There’s something else, as well,’ he said, turning away from Max and staring out onto the river.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You’re a decent man, Max, and you were as good as your word last year. I’ve not always been a good man, and I need that to change. Despite everything I’ve done, you supported the transfer to Huntly, and because of that I met Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah?’ said Max, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘She’s special, Max. She doesn’t care who I was, just who I am now, and she’s willing to wait for me. We’ve a life together.’ He turned to face Max, and his face was earnest, open and honest. A total transformation from the young man he had first met a few years ago in the Hardie family kitchen, all suspicion and hostility.

  Max couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Blimey, have you found God, or something?’

  ‘Hardly. I just don’t want my old life anymore. Look what it cost my family.’

  ‘I assumed you’d blame me. At least partly, I mean, I did lock you all up.’

  ‘Aye, well, we did bad stuff, Max. You were doing your job, but you did it fair, and you did it straight. You remember I called you the only straight cop in Scotland?’

  ‘I remember. I’m not the only one, you know.’

  ‘You’re the only one I’ll deal with.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘As soon as I saw the photo, I knew you were undercover, and if I said I’d never heard of you, or worse, grassed you up for being polis, you’d have been killed. Sure as eggs are eggs, Max. Stringer Dent is a mad, bad bastard, and he wouldn’t bloody hesitate to wipe you out. In fact, he’d be willing to wipe your whole life out, so you need to take care.’ Frankie looked genuinely concerned.

  ‘Frankie, I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.’ Max stood up and walked to the river’s edge, where he leaned against the rail. The river was turning grey as the sun was suddenly covered by dark clouds. It felt warm and sticky, and the smell of ozone suggested a storm may be coming.

  Frankie joined Max at the rail, staring at the river’s surface. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘What do you want out of this? Money, early release from the jail?’ Max turned to look at the former gangster, a onetime key member of a gang that had almost cost him his life, had bugged his home, and had almost killed Janie.

  Frankie paused, and looked down at the dark and foreboding water, an uneasy tension settling like the suddenly sticky air. He looked at Max, his eyes hard. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing. I want my freedom, but only when I’ve served my time, and can truly stop being part of that world.’ He opened his mouth to continue, but the words seemed to catch.

  ‘Frankie …’ began Max, but Frankie held up a hand as he fixed him with a gaze that was full of pain, his eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Max, I’ve done some bad shit in my time. Things that wake me up at night, and then keep me awake the rest of that night. I’ve done things that make me ashamed, things that haunt my dreams, and make me wonder who the hell I even am, anymore. I want the ride to stop, so I can get off, but that’s not all.’ He stopped and wiped at his eyes.

  ‘What else can you do?’

  He took a deep breath in, and looked at Max, his eyes clear and determined. ‘I want to make things right.’

  39

  Max, Janie, Ross, Barney and Norma were all sitting around in the office clutching mugs when Chief Constable Chris Macdonald entered the room, with his staff officer Detective Chief Superintendent Miles Wakefield a few paces behind. Both wore smart dark suits, and Miles clutched a preformatted decision log.

  ‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous,’ said Macdonald, as they all moved to stand.

  ‘See what a crack, respectful team ethic I’m fostering here, eh, boss?’ Ross chuckled.

  ‘I’m always conflicted, or at least wondering if you’re taking the piss,’ said Macdonald, sitting down in one of the vacant chairs at the end of the dark and depressing office.

  ‘As if. Tea or coffee?’ said Ross.

  ‘Coffee for me, it smells nice in here. I heard you had drain issues.’

  ‘With my customary tact, I got them resolved. Building manager is now my best buddy.’ Ross stood with a grunt and made his way to the drip machine, where he poured two mugs. He handed them to Macdonald and Miles, who accepted them, sniffing appreciatively at the brew, which Norma had produced just before they arrived.

  ‘You discovered that he likes a Macallan Gold single malt, then?’ said Miles, sipping his coffee and nodding, appreciatively.

  ‘Aye. He was grateful, and our office no longer smells of sewage, so a win-win. He’s also promised to replace my knackered chair and have the windows cleaned. I take it you want a full briefing about where we are?’

  ‘It’s why I’m here, Ross. I have some very anxious SIOs looking for a break in their cases, and I also have the Justice Minister giving me pelters about what’s going on. Understandable. Three professional hits within a day or two of one another.’

  ‘Well, thanks to my inspired leadership, we have an opportunity. I’ll leave it to Max to give you the lowdown.’

  Max briefed them, quickly, succinctly, but leaving nothing out.

  There was a long pause while Macdonald drummed his fingers on the desk, his handsome face pensive, his eyes downcast.

  ‘As I see it, we do have an opportunity, and we do have some evidence on tape thanks to Max, but I’m not sure it will suffice for the Fiscal.’

  Miles Wakefield sat up in his chair, his face alight. ‘It won’t. No chance, but it does give us grounds to arrest, and search all properties, seize all devices, take clothes for forensics. I don’t see how we have a choice. The verbal suggestion from Dent that he either killed Billy Mackee or had him killed is irresistible evidence that should prompt an arrest strategy immediately. I need to brief the SIOs as soon as we can. This is an enormous break, despite the issues. We arrest straight away, and we get to make our own luck.’

  ‘With respect, boss, that’s a bad idea,’ Max said, his voice low.

  Irritation flashed in Wakefield’s eyes at this display of apparent insubordination. ‘Care to elaborate, sergeant?’ He managed to convey an enormous degree of sarcasm in the short rebuff.

  ‘If we nick them now, before the drugs change hands, we’re totally relying on luck that we find some forensics, tech or other evidence to get them remanded, and off the streets. All we have is a half-arsed suggestion that he killed, or had Mackee killed. He could easily explain that away as bluster, as well as the supplying of drugs. He could claim that he had no intention of supplying drugs, and was planning to just rip us off for cash. In short, I think he’d walk, even if he was charged, which is an outside chance at the best. We’re also ignoring the big issue here.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘These look very much like professional jobs, evidenced by the absence of leads, if what we’re hearing is true.’

  ‘So, what do you suggest?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘Let it run for a few days. They want to do the deal quickly, so let’s do the deal. A big old undercover buy-bust operation that’ll catch them red-handed with a great big pile of cash having just flogged us seventy-five grand worth of cocaine. Then they get locked up for that until trial, which the way things are right now is probably a year. We then get as much time as we need to dig into the whole thing. Who tipped them off, National Force, all the murders, the whole shebang, all while they’re locked up in Saughton, not shooting anyone else.’ Max sat back in his chair, and sipped his coffee.

  Ross leapt to his feet, suddenly animated. ‘The other bonus is, boss, we get access to all their communications, and we can even look at all the tactical options when they’re in the jail. Phone intercepts, mail intercepts, and with a bit of tactical jiggery-pokery, how do we fancy them both in the same jail cell, which we’ve got our ancient old MI5 spook to bug up first? The options are endless, and all while they cannae kill anyone else. It makes total sense.’

  Macdonald looked at Wakefield and shrugged. ‘This makes sense to me, Miles. Opinion?’

  ‘I get it, sir. I truly do, but we’re going to take serious heat from the press about the lack of arrests on the murders.’

  ‘Ross, any reason we can’t arrest for the murders to keep the press at bay?’

  ‘I’ll encourage team opinions, but it’s a balancing act. We just need to be a hundred per cent certain they won’t get bail on the drugs alone.’

  ‘Agreed, and I’ve another suggestion,’ said Max.

  ‘Go on, Max,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘They’re looking for a serious transaction quickly after the initial trial purchase of three kilos. I say we buy the three keys, and then tempt them with an almost immediate purchase of a much larger quantity.’

  ‘Christ, that’s a risk. Seventy-five grand handed over, which we may never see again,’ said Wakefield, stroking his eyebrow nervously.

  ‘Max is right, Miles. Two buys are a massive tactical advantage. We could get their car, maybe get a tracker on it, or better. We let Barney jark the cash bag which will hopefully lead us to unknown properties, stash houses, tech and the like. Big opportunity to get the evidence to link them to the murders. This guarantees they’ll be treated as an organised criminal network, and it also allows us to get the next link in the drugs chain who, let’s not forget, are part of the reason three people were murdered.’

  ‘I’ve another idea,’ said Janie.

  ‘Go on,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘We have the current phone number for Stringer. If we keep him properly onside, with the promise of a major purchase of cocaine he’ll keep the phone live. I say we go to the First Minister for authority to get his phone intercepted. It’s not evidential, but if we dangle enough carrots, it may lead us to the corrupt individual, be it a cop or a member of MI5.’

  The silence was deep and penetrating in the dusty office, as they all looked at each other in turn.

  ‘Getting an intercept in that timescale would be almost unprecedented,’ said Miles.

  ‘They’re expecting us to meet to buy three kilos of coke for seventy-five grand tomorrow at 2 p.m. in Pitlochry,’ said Max.

  ‘That’s mad quick, can we delay?’ said Macdonald.

  ‘I can give it a shot. Stringer will no doubt moan, but he’s champing at the bit to sell,’ said Max.

  ‘Okay, make it happen, people. Time is very tight. Miles and Ross, back to my office, and we’ll discuss getting a meeting with the First Minister to authorise this interception warrant. Her staff officer is rigorous in controlling her diary, so no doubt I’ll have a battle getting an audience, thankfully she should be at Bute House this evening. Max, you need to get really going on getting the phone line attributed to Dent, and make sure that collateral intrusion and proportionality are dealt with in the warrant information, okay?’ The Chief’s brow looked damp with perspiration, clearly the prospect of an urgent interception application before the notoriously ferocious First Minister, and her rottweiler-like Chief of Staff Michael Kovac, was uncomfortable, even to the normally unflappable Macdonald.

  Max nodded, and then grinned as he caught Ross’s eye. ‘Best get your best suit to the dry cleaners, Ross.’

  Ross’s brow furrowed and his bushy eyebrows bristled. ‘Piss off and get typing. Norma, you’ll need your funny old Anacapa charts to make this make sense. If I’m presenting this to a bloody politician, you’ll need to use wee pictures, and no’ many words.’

  ‘On it like a car bonnet, Ross-Boss,’ said Norma, grinning.

  Soft chuckles reverberated in the small office.

  40

  Stringer was sitting in the floral armchair as his mam looked at the TV, her eyes half closed against the smoke tendrils snaking from the cigarette dangling from her thin lips. A half centimetre of ash trembled at the end of the cigarette, before dropping onto her housecoat.

  His phone buzzed in his lap. He looked at the display, raising his eyebrows when he saw who was calling. Robbie.

  ‘I gotta take this, Mam.’ He stood and made for the kitchen. If she’d heard him, she didn’t show it.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, as he answered the call.

  ‘Stringer, it’s Robbie,’ came the familiar soft Scottish voice.

  ‘Yeah. What?’ he said, his voice hard.

  ‘Slight issue for tomorrow. I need a bit more time, can we delay until the next day? Same place?’

  Stringer felt himself flush, and the familiar adrenaline surge of anger that felt like a sudden heat in his gut. ‘Fuck’s sake, man, why? We’re all set.’

  ‘Wedge is laid up, and I just need a few more hours to get hold of it. Remember the cozzers still have ninety of mine at bloody Berwick.’

  ‘I don’t want to be pissed about, man. Day after tomorrow, ten thirty, no fucking later, or I’ll find another fucking customer.’

  ‘What, ten thirty in the morning?’

  ‘Nah, fuck that. Night. Never gets dark up there, but there’ll be no tourists, at least. Last chance, man.’

  ‘Thanks, man. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Be thankful I’m not putting the fucking price up by ten grand. In fact, if you’re a minute late that’s what I’m doing, understand?’

  Robbie gave a chuckle, which made Stringer’s teeth itch but he said nothing. ‘Aye, that’s fine, man. I’ll even chuck in a good bottle of malt to sweeten the deal, eh?’

  ‘Just bring the bloody dosh, and don’t be bastard late.’ He hung up and leaned against the fridge in the chintzy kitchen. He dialled another number from memory.

  ‘Yo?’ said Shorty.

  ‘Delay on the job, man. Jock bastard is delaying until the next day at half ten at night.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. Why?’ Shorty said, his voice tight.

  ‘Money. Needs to collect the rest of it from up north. Daft bastards, I’ve told him I’ll fine him ten grand if he’s a minute late.’

  ‘How much do we have in the Bitcoin wallet?’

  ‘A hundred, but it’d take a while to turn that into cash, and the Dutchman only wants readies.’

  ‘How much will the Cashier want?’

  ‘I dunno, I can ask, but it’d no doubt clear us out.’

  Stringer stared at the photo on the dresser of his mum and dad, taken forty years ago. His dad was a big strong man, and he stared at the camera with that unrelenting, steely gaze that he habitually wore. ‘Ask him.’

  ‘Ask him what?’ said Shorty, his voice uncertain.

  ‘How much, and how soon?’

 

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