Where the Bodies are Buried (37 page)

‘Willie asked me to add a birth. See, it’s all computerised these days, but back then, all you needed to register a baby was
a parents’ hospital card, which the maternity ward would issue, and for the birth to be recorded on the official hospital
list, which would get forwarded to the registrar’s office as a legal requirement.

‘That Sunday, Willie asked me to get hold of a parents’ card and to forge an entry in the birth list. I initially said no,
but the money was too good. It was two thousand pounds, a fortune. We were getting married, trying to save up for the wedding
and a honeymoon and setting up home together.

‘I thought it was the usual: an identity scam. When I’d done it before, Willie sold it as a package, and that’s what he told
me was happening that day as well. See, once you’ve registered a fake birth, you’ve got this phantom identity you can use
for all sorts: claiming child benefit for a non-existent child, getting a false passport, God knows what else. I never asked.’

She took another drag, another glance towards Renfrewshire like it was the land of past regrets.

‘I said I thought it was just the usual, but I was lying to myself. You didn’t get two grand for that. I knew it was more
than the usual, but I didn’t stop to ask any questions. I didn’t think about much beyond making sure I pulled it off without
getting caught. It didn’t cross my mind for one second that there was a real baby involved in it somewhere. Not until your
man Mr Sharp came to the house.’

‘You called him, didn’t you?’ said Jasmine. ‘It showed up on the office phone records. Did you tell him what you’ve told us?’

She nodded.

‘It was a week past on Wednesday. He came to see me at work, same as you. Wanted to talk away from Willie, I suppose.’

‘What else did you tell him?’ Fallan asked. ‘Did you give him a name?’

‘I couldn’t. I don’t remember the name. It was a boy, that’s all I know. No first name either. You don’t need that for the
hospital card – just the parents’ names. It’s in case they’ve not made up their minds.’

‘You don’t remember?’ Fallan asked doubtfully. ‘This one wasn’t the usual. You got two grand.’

She looked ashamed, like she might be about to cry.

‘It was nearly thirty years ago. And it wasn’t just the once or twice I’d done it before.’ She winced, troubled and embarrassed
by the memory. ‘There were a lot of names: I did it six times over the years, maybe seven. I can’t remember. I’m sorry. I
can tell you what I told Mr Sharp, though. If you go to the registrar, you can look up male births registered for that date.
Not from this unit, though,’ she added. ‘It was the Victoria I worked in back then.’

Catherine was starting to worry that she had been spotted. She couldn’t see much more than the passenger-side flank of the
Mondeo in her wing mirror, but it did give her a clear view of the full width of the pavement in front of Fullerton’s house,
and Abercorn had not yet crossed it. He must still be in the car, but if so, what was he waiting for?

She cursed her own overcautious patience. She should have pulled in fifty yards sooner, into that big space between the blue
Corsa and the grey A5. She’d have been able to see right into the Mondeo from there, not blocked by the big builder’s van
that was four vehicles back. Or perhaps she hadn’t been patient enough, and should have driven a bit further before doubling
back. That way she could have parked on the opposite side, facing Abercorn’s vehicle from a safe distance.

Wait and see. Wait and see.

She wanted to twist in her seat and check if a change of position afforded any better view past the builder’s van, but she
knew she couldn’t, mustn’t take her eyes off the wing mirror. The whole purpose of her day, and perhaps the whole key to this
investigation, was concentrated upon the image reflected in that little round-cornered rectangle of glass, so she remained
focused entirely upon it, barely daring to blink. Which was why she almost hit the ceiling when a fistful of knuckles chapped
the driver’s-side window, only inches from her ear: three short raps.

She turned around in fright, rapidly transforming into shock, horror and ultimately bafflement as she was confronted by the
sight of Dougie Abercorn, an admonishing frown on his lips but a wry hint of amusement in his eyes.

Catherine climbed out of the BMW, feeling her cheeks burn, at a loss for what she might offer by way of explanation. All that
came to mind was ‘It’s not what it looks like’, which was particularly hopeless because it was obvious to both parties that
it was exactly what it looked like.

‘Nice ride,’ said Abercorn drily.

‘It’s my husband’s. How early did you spot it?’

‘As a tail? It wouldn’t be fair to say.’

‘No need to be polite. Christ, I thought I was good at this.’

‘I don’t doubt you are, but the reason it wouldn’t be fair to say is that I had countersurveillance running: two other cars
specifically checking I wasn’t being followed to this address. You had no chance.’

Catherine didn’t know whether to feel relieved that it hadn’t been down to her own incompetence or all the more appalled to
know that several other officers had been watching her go off the reservation.

‘Team One clocked that I had a tail, and that’s why I went up past Tollcross Park. It was so Team Two could race ahead and
do a reciprocal to get a look at you, see who you were.’

‘Why did you carry on to your destination, then? Or did you take me to Stevie Fullerton’s house as a joke? And why are you
running countersurveillance?’

‘It’s no joke, and though I’m running countersurveillance because I’ve come to Stevie Fullerton’s house, it’s not Stevie I’ve
come to see. Why don’t you join me? I think you’ll find it instructive.’

He gestured to her to walk towards chez Fullerton, whose electronic gates were swinging open up ahead.

‘I have to say you’re taking this rather well,’ she said apologetically.

‘Running Locust, you get pretty thick-skinned. Besides, you’re not the only one to think there’s a bent-polis scenario in
play here. You just went after the wrong cop.’

‘And which would be the right one?’

‘That’s what I’m hoping Liam Whitaker can help us ascertain.’

‘Whitaker’s here? With Stevie Fullerton?’

‘Hence the countersurveillance. He’s been in hiding since the robbery, as you know, but not just to avoid arrest. He’s in
fear for his life, specifically from the police. Stevie Fullerton has been sheltering him for a couple of days. He got in
touch through back channels; Stevie’s wise enough to know you can’t hide for ever, and mercenary enough to spot an opportunity.
We’ve had access on the understanding that Whitaker’s whereabouts is not disclosed to the police at large: not until certain
matters have been resolved, at which point he’ll be our witness.’

‘Had
access? You’ve seen him already?’

‘Yesterday. Sunday. I’ll have to vouch for you, because you weren’t part of the deal, but understand this much: when this
is over, Whitaker walks.’

‘Fine with me. But what does Fullerton get out of this “opportunity”?’

Abercorn tapped his wrist. Catherine thought he meant that they had to hurry along and there wasn’t time to discuss it. Then
she worked it out.

‘The price of doing business,’ she remarked distastefully.

‘Letting Off Criminals Under Secret Trades,’ Abercorn replied.

Whitaker reminded Catherine of a recently released hostage, though his captivity was not yet over. He was wearing clothes
that didn’t look like his own, he had a three- or four-day growth on his jaw and the slightly dazed look of someone who had
gone a long time without sleep followed by a sustained period of little else. His nails were bitten to the quick, and having
chewed his way through all of those, he had moved on to the dead skin around the tips of his fingers, gnawing distractedly
on the edge of a digit any time someone else was speaking.

Fullerton had absented himself after escorting them to Whitaker’s temporary quarters. He had given Catherine a finely scrutinising
look, asking himself whether he recognised her. She was fairly certain the answer was no, and equally certain that it would
be the opposite from now on. He trusted Abercorn, evidently, as only the most cursory assurance was required by way of vouching
that she would not betray Whitaker’s location. Perhaps Fullerton was just sufficiently confident that they would not be allowed
to leave with Whitaker in their custody, nor back to do so without a warrant.

‘Tell Detective McLeod what you told me,’ Abercorn prompted.

They sat in a rear-facing room with the blinds tipped partially shut. Whitaker had informed them that he had not stood in
sight of the street since being driven here, his journey spent lying across the back of an SUV. Catherine thought it was an
overreaction; he was hiding from possible sightings, not dug-in snipers, but then she remembered who had fed Whitaker the
Coruscate job, and what had happened to him since.

‘Whit, go over it again?’ he replied. He was clearly not someone with whom police cooperation sat well, even when it was the
only way to safeguard his future.

‘You’ll have to go over it a lot more times before it buys you a get-out-of-jail card, Liam,’ Abercorn told him. ‘And if any
discrepancies start to appear, we’ve got a problem. Talk.’

He had a nibble on a knuckle and began.

‘It was Tommy gie’d me the shout. Says he could guarantee that Central would be getting cleared oot on Thursday morning. Don’t
know how he knew, but that was Tommy for ye: fingers in a lot of pies. He was in with a lot of people, but very discreet:
he could be doing a wee bit of work for Frankie Callahan without Frankie knowing he was in with Stevie here as well, for instance.
I mean, I was his mate for years and I’d hear things and think: whit? I didnae know Tommy knew
him,
you know?’

Abercorn arched his eyebrows at Catherine, by way of acknowledging that yes, they did know, what with Tommy touting to different
police officers without either of them being aware of it.

‘We’d talked it inside oot, and I’d been into Central and walked myself through it a few times. It was all set. Thing is,
Tommy never got in touch on Wednesday. Never heard fae him, couldnae get haud ay him. Tried him again Thursday morn. Still
nothin’. I thought maybe it was aff, but I went to Central anyway, just in case. Tommy could be like that: he could drap aff
the radar. I thought I might be wasting my time, but at those stakes it was worth a punt, you know?’

‘At six figures, yes, probably worth hanging around Central on the off chance,’ said Catherine.

‘Anyway, as you know, turns oot Tommy’s on the money. There’s an announcement on the tannoy and they’re evacuating the place,
so I sticks to the script. Soon as I heard the announcement, I nicked into the card shop, and while everybody was starting
to file out, I dived in between these two display gondolas like I’d planned: they were back to back, leaving a wee crawl space
to hide in. I heard the polis come in and make sure everybody was leaving, including the staff, while I just sat tight. Once
everybody was gone, I bailed oot the back door, into the wee enclosed area behind the shops where they keep their bins and
packing crates and that, then in through the back of the jeweller’s. In an’ oot, matter of seconds. Bang, bang, bang.’

He had an uncertain look and helped himself to another bit of dead skin from his index finger. He should have been recalling
a moment of triumph, but he was reaching the part where it all went wrong in a way he couldn’t have anticipated.

‘The plan was to slip away once the crowds came back in. I was at the far end of the enclosure behind the shops, waiting and
keeping an eye out. I was expecting to see the bomb squad or whatever coming
in first, but instead I heard a car coming up the ramp, you know, past platform eighteen?’

Catherine nodded. There was a horseshoe of road just beyond the escalator leading down to the low-level trains. The entrance
was on Hope Street, and allowed cars to drive right up alongside platform eighteen to drop off passengers, then come straight
back out again.

‘There was two guys and a dug. Polis. I keeked over the top of the fence and ducked doon again. I was shiting myself in case
the dug sniffed me oot. Dug wasnae there aboot me, but. One of them led it away intae the station while the other yin stayed
at the motor with the engine running. He went tae the left luggage, then a coupla minutes later I heard him coming back. I
had another wee keek and saw he was carrying this big fuck-off rucksack. Piles back intae the motor and zoom, they’re away.

‘I’m thinking: result. Punters’ll be getting let back in any minute. Instead, next thing I see is mair polis and mair dugs
headin’ intae the station, like the big search has only just started.’

Catherine recalled the sight of the sniffer dog, snuffling eagerly at that other locker, even able to open the door because
the lock had been knackered. She thought of the witness accounts of Callahan and Fleeting on Wednesday night and Thursday
morning, two men with a job to do. There had indeed been a shipment waiting for them at Central Station, but it had been removed.
Then a few hours later, so were they. For ever.

‘I was with Cairns when he got the tip,’ she told Abercorn. ‘For reasons I can’t disclose, I know for a fact that the call
didn’t come from Tommy Miller.’

‘He had a second source? You think Cairns got played?’

‘No, I think
I
did. By Cairns. I got a message he had information for me regarding the McDiarmid murder: wanted me to meet at a café two
minutes from Central, first thing Thursday morning. It was so that I’d be on the spot, buy into it. I even phoned Scotrail
for him, gave the order to shut down the station. The call he got was for show, for my benefit; or it was to let Cairns know
everything was in place. Either way, it must have come from one of the guys Liam here saw.’

Something else fell into place as she spoke this aloud. The call had definitely come from a cop. He had picked up when Laura
dialled the number, but not when Catherine had tried dialling it this morning. On the later occasions, she was calling from
her mobile, but Laura
had called it from her desk. All outgoing calls from the station showed up as the same switchboard number, so the source must
have thought it was Cairns phoning him.