The Blood Tree (26 page)

Then the overhead light flashed a couple of times and came on. I became aware of a figure slumped in a chair to my right. He was wearing a bright yellow boiler suit and his arms and legs were chained to rings set in the floor. I couldn't see his face but his skull was shaved. The skin was discoloured by bruises and there were spots of dried blood on it.

“Wake up, ya shite!” Haggs yelled, leaning over the prisoner and slapping his face. “Wake up!”

The form in the chair slowly came to life. He raised his head with difficulty and glared up at the sergeant.

“Suck . . . my cock . . . Weegie dogfucker,” the prisoner said with a series of gasps.

I caught Tam's arm before he gave the helpless man another belt. “Do you want me to talk to him or not? He's no good to you unconscious, is he?”

“Unconscious? That bastard'll be praying for oblivion soon.”

“All right, sergeant,” Hyslop put in. “Let Quint talk to him.”

At the mention of my name, the bound man twitched and slowly raised his head.

That's when I recognised him. The voice had already got me going and the ravaged face was the clincher.

“Jesus,” I said, bending over the guy and lifting his chin higher. “Is that you, Leadbelly?”

He batted his eyelids a couple of times then opened his mouth in an attempt at a grin. There was only one tooth visible. “My saviour,” he said with a hoarse laugh.

Then he passed out.

Hyslop sent Haggs to get water.

“What have you been doing to the poor bugger?” I demanded.

“So you do know him?” she said, ignoring my question.

“Yeah, I know him.” Until I found out what was going on, I wasn't going to tell her that Leadbelly had been a member of one of the most savage drugs gangs that ever plagued Edinburgh. We caught him back in 2015 and I'd used him a couple of times in big cases. After the second one, I got him released from the prison on Cramond Island. It was about four years since I'd last seen him.

Hel Hyslop gave me an infuriated stare. “Well? Did he have a record? Was he a known killer?”

“Yes” was the answer to both those questions but, again, I kept that to myself.

“Inspector,” I said, as Tam Haggs reappeared with a bucket, “you owe me information first.”

Leadbelly shook and came round as the contents of the bucket landed on him, then on the tiled floor.

Hel bit her lip then nodded. “Very well. Sergeant, dry him down and give him something hot to drink. We'll begin the interrogation in five minutes.” She moved away to the far side of the squadroom.

“What I'm about to tell you is completely confidential,” she said when I caught up with her.

“Who am I going to spill my guts to, for Christ's sake? I don't know anyone in this bloody city.”

“No one except Leadbelly,” the inspector said with a tight smile.

“So what's he supposed to have done?” I asked impatiently.

Hel Hyslop moved up close to me and started speaking in a low voice. “Over the last two months there's been a string of horrific murders in the city. Eight people – four men and four women – were slaughtered in the same way. In the first seven cases their bodies were left at prominent road junctions in different wards.”

“Anything to do with the firearms carried by every man, woman and dog around here?”

She shook her head emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

“What was the modus operandi then?”

Hyslop stared at me, her mouth suddenly slack. “The victims were killed by heavy blows to the head with a blunt instrument.”

I felt my own jaw begin to drop.

“That's not all,” she said. “In each case a hole was smashed in the forehead. One of the eyes was then torn out and rammed into it.”

I tried to disguise my amazement. Fortunately the inspector had lowered her eyes.

“Your friend Leadbelly was found unconscious at the scene of the eighth killing a week ago. There were the traces of a heavy heroin fix in his system.” Hel raised her eyes to mine again. “The victim was a nineteen-year-old woman, Quint. She was six months pregnant. When we got there, the psycho shitebag had passed out. He had a blood-stained mallet in his right hand and a chisel bearing fragments of bone and brain in his left hand.” She grabbed my wrist. “I'm going to see to it that the fucker's executed but I need a confession. If you don't get one from him, I'll make sure you go the same way.”

Jesus, Leadbelly, I thought. Whose nightmare have you dragged me into?

Chapter Twelve

The atmosphere in the corner office was getting seriously sweaty.

“Come on then, you bastard,” Tam Haggs, said, bending over Leadbelly. “Fucking talk.”

The prisoner looked up at him and shook his head. Drops of water spattered on to Haggs's bristles. “No way, pig. I told you. I'm only talking to Quint.”

I glanced at Hel Hyslop. “This guy was in solitary confinement for years. He's used to keeping his mouth shut.”

Haggs pulled out a cosh and measured up a swing at Leadbelly's jaw. “Don't worry, I'll open it for him.”

Hel put her hand on his arm. “Leave it, Tam. This is why Quint was brought in.” She turned to me. “So he's got a record, has he? Right, I'm giving you half an hour.” She moved to the door.

“Wait a minute, woman.” Leadbelly's voice cracked when he raised it. “I'm not thick. You'll be recording everything we say.”

The inspector looked back, her face blank – for me that was more worrying than a scowl.

“So I'll tell you what you're going to do,” the prisoner continued. “Get us a disc with some music on it and stick it in the machine over there.” Leadbelly grinned loosely. “And no lip-reading through the windows.”

Hyslop's expression hadn't changed. “Any particular kind of music you'd like?” she asked.

“Aye.” Leadbelly's grin widened. “The blues. Quint and me are big fans.”

Hel Hyslop's eyes rested on me, long enough to imply that she wasn't much of a twelve-bar enthusiast. “See to it, sergeant,” she said, stepping away briskly.

Leadbelly kept quiet until Haggs came back with a disc, a thunderous look on his craggy features.

“Later on I'm going to stick this up your arse, you shite,” he hissed, brandishing the disc and lifting his heavy boot over Leadbelly's bare foot.

I pushed him off before he could do any more damage, feeling solid muscle in his arm when I made contact.

“Watch yourself, Quint,” Big Tam said. “Nobody pushes me around.” He moved towards the player.

“Nobody except Hel Hyslop,” I said, giving him a mocking smile when he looked back.

Leadbelly laughed.

Haggs didn't say a word, he just turned on the music and left. It was Whistlin' Alex Moore singing the “Ice-Pick Blues”. Brilliant choice.

“So what's the story, Leadbelly?” I asked after a short break to enjoy the track and to make sure that Hyslop and Haggs had moved away from the glass.

He lifted his battered head. “Give me some more of that coffee,” he said. “Better than anything we ever got in Edinburgh, isn't it, man?”

I held the mug to his lips. They were scabbier than a late-twentieth-century politician's reputation. “Is that why you came to Glasgow?”

“Shit, yeah,” he said, sitting back and shaking his chains. “No rationing of booze, decent food, clubs with blues bands playing every night, plenty of grass—”

“And plenty of opportunities for the professional criminal?”

The former drugs gang member shook his head. “I wouldn't know about that. I've gone straight.”

I sat on the desk opposite him and gave him the eye. “That's not what I'm hearing, Leadbelly. Christ, I never had you down as a serial killer. Hyper-violent, dope-trafficking scumbag, yes, but cold-blooded psycho, no. Or did your time on Cramond Island drive you right over the edge?”

“No, it fucking didn't,” he said, staring up at me with rheumy eyes. “You've got to help me, man. I never murdered that woman. They're going to slaughter me for something I didn't do.”

“Slaughter you?” It seemed to me he was in need of a tranquilliser dart. “I wouldn't pay too much attention to what Hyslop and Haggs say. They're just trying to put the shits up you. Successfully, it appears.”

Leadbelly was shaking his head desperately. “No, Quint, that's not what I'm talking about.” His hands were shaking too. “They've got capital punishment in this city. Each ward chooses its own method. In Kelvingrove murderers get hanged, drawn and quartered.”

“Jesus.” I leaned back and thought of the carousing ward representatives I'd seen earlier. Duart and his hard-edged charm came to mind as well. “So much for the civilised state of Glasgow.”

The prisoner stared at me. “It's not that much worse than Edinburgh, pal. At least they don't treat you like a slave here.”

“There's more than one way to achieve that end, my friend.” I leaned forward again. “You'd better tell me what you've been up to, Leadbelly.” I raised a finger. “And no bullshit. My return ticket depends on you. I'm meant to get a confession out of you.”

He let out a scornful laugh. “You're in a dumper truck full of shit then.”

I nodded. “I'm not the only one. They found you stoned and covered in blood at a murder scene. How are you going to talk your way out of that?”

“Simple,” he said. “I'd was framed. I don't do the big H, I never did. You remember that, don't you?”

I cast my mind back to Leadbelly's record. He was right. I couldn't recall any mention of him being an addict. Drugs gang members in Edinburgh tended to smoke grass and avoid the real thing – they preferred to make as much profit as they could on heroin, cocaine and the new designer drugs rather than waste them on themselves.

“So what?” I said. “Maybe you started after you got here. Soft drugs might be legal but what kind of a hard drugs scene is there in Glasgow?”

He laughed darkly. “What kind do you think? This place has got a history. You can get anything you want. From what I've heard, the operators in each ward have got the representatives in their pockets.”

I saw the city's top rank round the dinner table again, their flash clothes and jewellery glinting under the chandeliers. Wherever you go, excrement floats.

“Are you sure that isn't what you've been doing, Leadbelly? Working your old trade?”

He shook his head. “No way. I couldn't have muscled in on the business even if I'd wanted to. Those guys are serious headbangers.”

There was a gap between songs. During the silence I studied his wrecked features and decided he was probably telling the truth. He'd always been smarter than your average heavy.

“Have some more coffee.” I held the mug to his mouth. “What have you been doing over here, Leadbelly? Why did you come to Glasgow?”

He cocked an ear. “Do you know this one, Quint?” he asked.

“Peetie Wheatstraw, ‘Gangster's Blues'.”

He nodded, grinning. “Are those cunts trying to tell us something?”

“Probably.”

“Why did I come here?” Leadbelly pushed against his shackles. “I wish I hadn't. But I'd had enough of Edinburgh to last me a lifetime. After you got me off the island, I tried to buckle down.” He laughed bitterly. “The Welfare Directorate wasn't much help. They recommended me for a job in the Sewage Department. I got the message.”

“So you took your chances with the border guards?”

“That was no problem. I hadn't forgotten all my tricks. I met some Glaswegian smugglers on the other side of the line. They brought me back with them.”

“Very decent of them. They didn't by any chance suggest a line of work for you over here, did they?”

Leadbelly looked at me thoughtfully. “I'm glad I asked for you, Quint. You're still sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm still so sharp I got myself kidnapped.” I bent over him. “And all because of you. Spill your guts or I'll let the executioner do it for you.”

He jerked back. “All right, all right. Listen, man, there's something really big going down. Pretty soon you'll be kissing my dick for the in I gave you.”

“At this rate it won't be long before your dick's being waved around by the man with the chopper. What's going down? And what were you doing at that murder scene?”

The prisoner stared at me then nodded slowly. “Okay, here's how it was. I'd had a few whiskies—”

“What a surprise.”

“Aye, all right,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I was pissed. But not so bad that I don't remember what happened, you fuck.” He clammed up.

“Spare me the sensitive soul act, Leadbelly. I've been pissed myself occasionally. Like three times a week since I was seventeen.”

He laughed. “Is that all? Okay, so I was in my local all night.”

“Where is your local?” I asked.