Bridge of Doom (4 page)

Just after lunchtime, Annie James sat alone in the office of JD Investigations staring at the desk and empty chair opposite, normally occupied by her mentor and partner, Jack Davidson. It had been a steep learning curve for Annie, holding the fort on her own, while Jack was recovering from a serious head wound suffered six weeks before, in a deadly confrontation with the psychopath, Thomas Burke. She had successfully dealt with several routine missing person enquiries. But things were definitely quiet and some existing clients had preferred to temporarily divert work to other firms, pending Jack's return. Her only current job was trying, unsuccessfully, to assist a department store which was suffering heavy losses due to shoplifters. She’d basically managed to blag the job under false pretences and now felt completely out of her depth and at a loss how to proceed.

Giving herself a shake, she picked up her iPhone to make her daily Facetime call to Jack at home. 

He immediately answered, using his iPad, and after yawning widely, said, 'morning Annie, what's happening?' 

'For a start, it isn't morning, some of us have been at work for over five hours.' Then peering closer at her iPhone screen, she said, 'I don't believe it. Stand up and let me see … are you still wearing your pyjamas? It's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, for God's sake. And what's that big red stain on your chest? You look as if you've been stabbed.'
 

Jack hurriedly wiped his front and then licked his fingers with relish. 'Since you ask, I've just had a late gourmet breakfast, comprising a hot mince pie on a white roll, with lashings of tomato sauce poured on top and then mixed in. Since I've been off the booze, because of these pills I’m taking, comfort eating is my last remaining pleasure. When I took the first big bite of the roll, it kind of squirted right down my front. I email the takeaway round the corner and they deliver right to the door within ten minutes. You really should try it, Annie … it's a Glasgow fine dining classic. And thanks to this wonderful little iPad that you gave me, I've discovered that I actually don't need to go out of the house at all … for anything. I even managed to renew my gym membership online, which is great. That saves me going anywhere near the damn place.'

'Oh God, please don't go all Howard Hughes on me, boss. If you don’t get your act together soon, you’ll end weighing sixty stone and have to be removed from your flat through the window, by a crane.' 

'By the way, time is actually a relative concept, Annie,' said Jack loftily.      ‘And I think you'll find that many of the great thinkers in history, people like Russell Brand and Jeremy Corbyn, all have a somewhat relaxed attitude to their personal appearance.' 

'Yeah, but what about
you?
And you've not shaved for days either. You look like shit.' 

'That was very hurtful, Annie. I'm not a well man.' 

Despite the usual banter and insults freely exchanged between them, Annie was worried that Jack's recovery was not going well. As they were speaking she could see that he was constantly yawning. In addition, the dark heavy bags under his eyes seemed to be even more pronounced than she remembered. He was also showing absolutely no inclination to return to the office, even on a part-time basis. More worrying still, he was having difficulty pretending to be interested in her brief update, regarding current developments at work. 

'Sorry, boss, I'm not boring you am I?' replied Annie, with a definite impatient edge creeping into her voice. 

'No of course not, Annie,' said Jack, surreptitiously checking the time on his watch. 'It's just that the latest Jeremy Kyle show starts in about five minutes. I saw the trailer for it yesterday and it should be a really good one. It's about a woman who's fighting for the right to be able to marry her dog, a cute little Dachshund called Ralph. She's taking her case all the way to the European Court of Human Rights, apparently.' 

As ever, Annie was unsure whether Jack was being serious, or just winding her up. But actually she didn't care. She felt it was way past time for his card to be marked, regardless of hurt feelings. Definitely time for a short sharp shock, Mr Davidson. 

'I can't believe you're spending all your time watching trailer trash television. Trust me, what's left of your addled brain will rot away and start to dribble out of your ears. Like the doctor said, you're supposed to be out walking in the fresh air, getting some exercise and speeding up your recovery, instead of lying around covered in tomato sauce and pastry flakes, watching crappy daytime television.' 

'Well that's where you're wrong, actually. Before I only used to watch football and the ten o'clock news, when I got home from the pub, and I thought it was just boring horse racing and repeats of soaps that were on television earlier in the day. I didn't realise there was so much
good
stuff on.' 

'Look, there isn't any
good
stuff. It's all cheap and nasty rubbish … that's
why
it's on during the day. It's aimed at old age pensioners, who've lost the will to live, and the unemployed. Hint-hint, no names mentioned.' 

As they spoke, Annie could see Jack's upper arm start to slide rhythmically back and forth. 'I'm almost scared to ask, but what are you doing down
there
with your left hand?' 

'Oh
that
,' said Jack dismissively, 'I'm just having a scratch. That's the only downside of my new fast food diet. I've put on a nearly a stone already and I think I might be suffering from advanced chub rub.'

'Excuse me, what on earth are you on about?' 

You know, it's a painful itchy chafing which affects the inner thighs. There was a very interesting piece on
'Loose Women'
last week about how to alleviate the symptoms. It's a very common condition, you know.' 

'Yes,' snapped Annie. 'I do know and it's especially common among people who sit around on their fat lazy backsides watching television all day, in between stuffing their faces with big greasy pies on rolls and God knows what else. And what was that rat-a-tat noise? It sounded like a machine gun being fired. Is there somebody banging on your front door?' 

'Sorry about that, Annie,' said Jack, looking shifty and embarrassed as he desperately fanned the air with his free hand. 'It's the side effects of homemade soup.' 

'What?' 

'It's the fault of an old dear who lives in the flat upstairs. She keeps handing in gallons of the stuff every other day, to try and perk me up.' 

'Well it sounds as if you're perking away quite nicely. Although I suppose it's really nice of her to do that.' 

'It is. Apparently it's her own Scotch broth recipe. Very nutritious, no doubt, but heavy on the split peas, lentils, butter beans and with her secret ingredient, a dash of chilli powder. It's delicious, but absolutely lethal. Do you remember years ago when there was all the publicity about the 'flying yogis' who claimed to be able to levitate in mid-air for a few seconds?' 

Annie sighed and said, 'no, I must have missed that somehow.' 

'You can still check them out on YouTube. Anyway, I think I've discovered their secret. Home-made Scotch broth. There are three stages of levitation, apparently, and I think I'm at level two already without even trying. But it's not all bad news, because I read last week that the hydrogen sulphide in farts has been scientifically proven to be beneficial to our immune systems.' 

'Well you know what they say, boss … it's an ill wind. I've got an idea, maybe you could give a demonstration of your new found skills for Jeremy Kyle. From the little bit I've seen of his show, it would probably raise the tone quite a bit. But don't you dare try it here in the office. And speaking of the office, when are you coming back to boring old work?' 

After a long pause, Jack looked away before replying, 'I'm not sure, Annie, I've actually got quite a lot on at the moment.' 

'That's rubbish. Like what? Look, boss, this nonsense has gone on long enough, so here's what's going to happen. I'm coming round to pick you up tomorrow morning at ten o'clock to take you out for a couple of hours, just to ease you gently back into things. How does that sound?’ 

'Oh, I don't know, Annie. I think it might be too soon.' 

'Look, it's time for you to man up, boss. I need you back here in the office ASAP because I’m completely out of my depth on a job at a big store in Buchanan Street, that’s being targeted by shoplifters. I don't have a clue what to do
and
on top of that, one of my friends has just gone missing. So remember, ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning and be ready. I’ll have the crane on speed-dial and you're coming out of that flat one way or another. Pyjamas are optional and, if you're a brave little soldier, I promise to buy you breakfast. Do we have a deal?'

'I suppose so,' said Jack reluctantly. 'But remember, I'll need to be back at two o'clock for part two of Jeremy Kyle. You know, to see how wee Ralph gets on.'

After speaking to Jack, Annie was on the point of reviewing more security video footage from days when the department store had suffered its biggest losses, when her mobile rang. Checking the caller’s identity, she smiled with relief and said, 'hi Jamie, where have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you for ages.’ 

'Naw, it's no Jamie,' said a gruff male voice, youngish and definitely local to Glasgow. 'Listen, I'm no sure … but I've got an iPhone 6 here that maybe belongs to your mate, Jamie. I tried his home number first, like, but there was no reply. So then I checked his contacts … and that's where I got your number. I hope you don't mind, like, but you were the last person he spoke to.'
 

'Yeah, no worries,’ said Annie warily, as she tried to work out what on earth was going on. ‘You're definitely using his phone so, tell me, how did get hold of it?' Something about this guy just didn't sound right. He was hesitant, as if politeness did not come naturally to him, and also stumbling over his words, almost as if he was being prompted by someone else.
First red flag.
 

'Look, it's, em … a bit complicated, like, to explain everything right now. But, if it's definitely
his
phone, I can maybe get it back to him sometime today.' The caller was trying to sound like a Good Samaritan, reaching out to help a stranger. Aye right, thought Annie.
Second red flag.
 

'That would be really great. So where can we meet up?' said Annie evenly, keeping up the pretence that she was talking to a solid citizen. 

'Yeah, look we can do that for sure, maybe in the city centre somewhere. Aye, no problem, like. But the thing is … I have some, er … out of pocket expenses that he would need to cover. You know, before we can meet up.'
Third red flag
. A big one.

'I don't understand,' said Annie. 'If we're talking about paying a taxi fare, then that wouldn't be a problem.' 

'No, I'm thinking more like a reward.'
 

'Okay then, so how much
are
we talking about here?' said Annie, starting to lose patience. ‘You tell me.' There were now more red flags flying than at the annual Red Army parade in Moscow.
 

No hesitation by the caller, 'right, five hundred pounds is the going rate for one of these bad boys. Cash. And yer buddy Jamie can get his iPhone back today, in exactly the same condition as the last time he saw it.'
 

'What? How come it's
that
much?' said Annie, genuinely shocked. 'I was thinking that maybe twenty or thirty pounds would cover it.'
 

A swift change of tone. Impatient now, with all pretence of being a Good Samaritan suddenly gone. 'Well it fucking
disnae
, okay. Look, I don't give a shit either way. That's the deal on offer, so you and your speccy wee pal can either take it or leave it. Oh, and by the way, don't bother with all that fancy
Track my Phone
shite, because you'll be wasting your time.'
 

Annie attempted to keep the conversation going, as she desperately tried to remember if the meagre balance in her current account would cover the outrageous sum being demanded. 'No wait, please don't hang up. Would two hundred pounds work for you?'
 

'Naw, it widnae.'
 

'Okay then, can you meet me half way? How about three hundred? Honestly, he’s just a student and I'm certain that's all he can afford to pay to get it back.'
 

A pause, then an exasperated, 'for fuck's sake, man, you're doin’ ma head in, so ye are.’
 

Annie took the silence that followed as a sign that she was perhaps getting somewhere and tentatively asked, 'so do we have a deal here, or not?' 

'Who would be coming to pick it up?'
 

That's a yes then, thought Annie, before replying. 'I'll do it for Jamie, I work here in the city centre anyway.'
 

'Right then, be at stance 48 in the bus station at three o'clock. That's where the express bus from Edinburgh comes in. Oh, and don't even think about contacting the police, or trying any other stupid shit, because we'll be watching. Understand?'
 

'Absolutely. I'll be there at three o'clock with the money. By the way, I've got short blond hair and I'll be wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. How will I recognise you?'
 

'You won't. Just be there and have the dosh ready in an envelope. Someone will come up to you and let you see that it's definitely your mate's phone. You hand over the cash and get the phone. Everybody's happy, sorted.' 

'Fair enough, three o'clock at the bus station then,' said Annie, as the call ended abruptly.
 

Sitting back in her chair, her mind whirled as she tried to make sense of the phone call. Now she knew exactly why Jamie wasn't answering his phone. The thieving bastard she'd just spoken to had somehow got hold of it. But the more worrying question was, why on earth hadn't Jamie been in touch to let her know what happened?
 

She called Jamie's home number again several times. Still no answer. And then she remembered that he'd mentioned something about his retired parents being away on a Mediterranean cruise for two weeks. She next tried his office, where work colleagues were equally puzzled regarding his whereabouts.  Finally, she contacted their night school lecturer at the college, on the off chance that Jamie had dropped off some material for an overdue class project. Nothing. Jamie Boyd had dropped off the face of the earth. It didn't make any sense.
 

Checking her watch, she realised there was only twenty minutes left until the three o'clock rendezvous at the bus station. She wished Jack was with her, but he wasn't. Sort this one out yourself, Annie. How hard can it be to handle a simple exchange with a scumbag thief, right in the middle of one of the busiest public places in Glasgow? So hurriedly gathering up her jacket and messenger bag, she locked the office, ran down the stairs and unhitched her bike from the railings outside. 

Ten minutes later, after emptying her bank account at an ATM, she arrived at Buchanan Street bus station, then carefully padlocked her bike and went in search of stance 48. Checking her watch, she saw that she was a few minutes early. A casual stroll around the concourse looking at the electronic arrivals boards, while trying to spot any suspicious looking characters, proved fruitless. Some days in Glasgow everyone looks suspicious.
 

At five past two she was starting to wonder if she'd been stood up, when a short stocky figure, wearing motor cycle gear and a brightly coloured full-face helmet, walked straight up to her and said, with the same gruff voice she’d heard in the phone call, 'you got the three hundred?' 

'Let me see the phone first,' replied Annie, warily. 

Reaching inside his jacket, the biker produced an iPhone and briefly showed her the home screen, which she recognised, confirming that the device definitely belonged to Jamie. Assuming that the handover was nearly concluded, Annie subconsciously relaxed and rummaged around inside her courier bag, trying to find the envelope with the money. At the exact moment she pulled the envelope from inside the bag, the biker seized his chance. Grabbing the envelope from her hand, he pushed Annie backwards and she suddenly found herself lying on the ground, caught up in a pile of travellers' suitcases and a howling baby's pushchair.
 

Cursing her stupidity, Annie untangled herself from the luggage and ran in the direction the biker had taken to exit the bus station. Skidding to a halt on the pavement outside, she looked around desperately, scanning up and down the street for the thief. Nothing. And then, fifty yards away, she caught a glimpse of the distinctive yellow and green crash helmet. The iPhone thief was a pillion passenger on a motorbike, stuck in a snarl of traffic waiting to turn left at the junction with North Hanover Street. Annie sprinted flat out and got within twenty yards of the stationary motorbike, when she saw the traffic lights were about to change. Pulling out her phone, she jumped on top of a litter bin and put the phone’s camera into burst mode. Holding it as high as she could, Annie hoped she would get lucky and catch a picture of the bike's rear number plate as it disappeared, weaving between a group of accelerating cars and vans. 

Bent over, with hands on knees, trying to catch her breath at the kerbside, Annie berated herself for being caught so stupidly off guard. 'Shit, shit, shit … no phone, no Jamie and now no money. Outstanding job, Annie. The big time detective,
not
. You've really excelled yourself this time girl.’