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CHAPTER FIFTY

R obert took a sip of his hot chocolate. He’d purchased one at the market without alcohol but with a dollop of chocolate syrup. The Styrofoam cup warmed his fingers from the freezing temperature.

At this time of the year, each stall selling any food was mobbed with people. From Dutch pancakes to Grecian Gyros, Glasgow’s markets represented world food. Besides, the rides reminded him more of a carnival than a market – why someone would fling themselves from as high up as five storeys, especially at this time of the year, he didn’t understand. They must be so fucking cold dangling up there!

Something smacked against his ankle. Robert almost dropped his cup before he righted himself. He had to be more vigilant if he was going to solve this case. He stared at what had smacked against his foot – a football.

A toddler scampered over, hands flung out as if any moment now she’d hug Robert’s knee. Robert nudged the ball with his ankle, and the girl veered left, her blond curls bouncing as she went.

She brushed past him, ducked under someone’s legs, and kept running. Someone could easily swoop the child up, but Robert doubted she’d even notice she was flying, as intent as she was on the ball.

The girl lunged, wrapped her arms around the football then pranced back to where a woman stood beside a pram. ‘Mum!’

Taking the last sip of his hot chocolate, Robert walked towards the bin. The movement brought him closer to them, so he could keep an eye on the toddler.

In the hubbub of George Square, especially this time of the year, a child could easily get lost amongst the adults – more than twice the size of the wee bairn – eating, drinking or queuing up for the rides.

And in all this mess, just like that wee girl, Robert had to spot… him.

It should’ve been hard to pick him out, but the man had an air about him, or perhaps after all these years, Robert had a Dickheadson radar. The man walked like he owned the city, his chest puffed out, those eyes scanning every face that strode across his path.

After firing off that message, Robert’d figured she’d send him, her only remaining deputy.

Tilting his wrist, Robert check his watch: ten past six. Ah, so he’d decided to be fashionably late.

Robert gave the toddler a last glance before turning his eyes on Dickheadson again, and the small smile curving his lips vanished.

What the hell was she doing here?

Nina strode towards Dickheadson, her strides as determined as any journalist’s when they were on the trail of a hot case. Hell, if she didn’t stop, she was going to blow this.

Robert knocked into someone in his haste to get to her. The woman yelped and shot him a glare.

‘Sorry.’ Robert jogged after Nina, knowing the wall of people and distance would allow the inevitable to happen.

Sure enough, Nina intercepted Dickheadson by gripping his arm. She said something to the man, then her entire body jerked as if the DCI had frozen her.

Robert angled away from the two of them and watched the interaction out the corner of his eye. Despite the dark sky, the festive lights glinted over an object wedged between Dickheadson and Nina.

Shite! The man had come armed and was now holding Nina at knife-point.

As Dickheadson whispered something to Nina, his eyes studied the faces around them.

He’s probably searching for me.

Robert turned his back on the two of them – as hard as it was to leave Nina at the hands of a monster – then used a stall selling chips to circle back so he ended up a few feet behind Dickheadson.

Dickheadson’s shoulders moved; he shifted his weight from his left foot to the right then jerked his right shoulder, and Nina appeared, moving towards where Robert stood.

Before she could spot him, Robert ducked behind a group of lads and dropped his chin, pulling out his phone for cover.

When Dickheadson and Nina, now huddled even closer to him – he probably held the knife to Nina’s ribcage – made their way towards the exit, Robert followed. People poured into the market, while some hurried away towards the station. But everyone parted for Dickheadson.

If he was right, Dickheadson was taking Nina to a back alley. Despite the crowd, a few of the alleys here had bins lining each wall. It would be easy to hurt someone and dump them without anyone seeing.

Dickheadson stuck to the darkened shadows of the pavement, his shoulders hunched to avoid being identified. Soon, like Robert had predicted, Nina and Dickheadson turned into an alley, squashed between two buildings and smelling of piss. Robert waited a beat before trailing them.

‘Just you and me now, bitch,’ Dickheadson growled, shoving Nina against the wall. He got so close to her face, she shut her eyes and tried turning her head. ‘Squirm, you cow!’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ Robert’s declaration reverberated through the space.

Dickheadson jerked away from Nina, but his arms still pinned her, along with the blade he’d pressed to her throat. ‘I was looking for you.’

‘You didn’t look hard enough.’ Robert tempered his steps, and despite the somersaults his heart performed, he infused some confidence in his shoulders. If he turned Dickheadson’s attention to him, the man might let Nina go.

Nina tried pushing against Dickheadson, but even though the man spent most days behind a desk, he still knew how to incapacitate a person. Lessons learned from the job.

Robert stopped within arm’s reach of Dickheadson. ‘Why not pick on someone your own size? I’m sure after shooting Shah from a distance, you’re itching for a good brawl. Besides, Anne sent you for me, didn’t she?’

The DCI snarled and gripped Robert’s collar using his free arm. ‘Shah got what he deserved. And so will you.’

Nina screamed when Dickheadson backhanded her so hard, she fell to the ground. Robert growled. The bastard hadn’t just done that?

Robert smacked the hand that held his collar and replied with a knee to Dickheadson’s torso. The blade skittered across the ground. Dickheadson cursed, fisted his hands then kicked Robert in the side.

Robert fumbled, almost slipping on a discarded banana peel – oh, the irony – then ducked to avoid another kick. Above him, Dickheadson grunted and his balance faltered. Nina. She’d pushed him.

‘No, this is between me and him.’ Robert rolled up his sleeve and waited. Dickheadson reached into his pocket and retrieved another knife.

His plan was obviously to use that knife to make Robert comply. After all, in the years Robert had worked for the man, Dickheadson had always bullied people. So he’d assume Robert or Nina would take one look at the sharp edges and do his bidding without so much as a fight. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

Robert and Dickheadson circled, standing close enough for either to attack as the seconds ticked on.

Holding up two fingers, Robert gestured for Dickheadson to make the first move. And like a bull seeing red, Dickheadson charged. But Robert sidestepped the man and shoved, and the DCI thunked to the ground, groaning. To make sure he stayed down, Robert kicked him.

But Dickheadson proved to be faster. He rolled away then hopped up again, and the two men grappled – kicks, punches, uppercuts and shoves with grunts punctuating their fight. Robert had indeed underestimated his boss.

Still, Robert’s thirst for victory, revenge – the man had slapped Nina – and retribution for the years he’d had to obey the dick won out. Somewhere between a punch and a kick, Robert found absolute calm. He wasn’t punching his boss – no, he’d discredited his authority as a DCI, abused people he’d sworn to protect, aided a criminal – gone against everything Robert had ever considered the responsibility of the job.

Robert leaped, grabbed Dickheadson’s shirt and, using his momentum, thumped them to the ground. He punched Dickheadson’s face then used his training to incapacitate the man.

‘Do you have zip-ties?’

When no one replied, Robert turned to see the spot Nina had stood at. But she’d vanished. ‘Nina?’

Under him, Dickheadson spat, ‘Even she walked away from you.’

A cluster of footsteps echoed through the alley, then a torchlight hit Robert. Dickheadson laughed. ‘One day you’ll rot in hell.’

Seething, Robert struck, and the man slumped, unconscious. Finally.

‘Robert! Nina said— Shite!’ Cheryl’s voice neared. ‘What did you do?’

The white torchlight fell on Dickheadson, highlighting his prone figure.

‘Do you know?—?’

‘Hold it.’ Robert cut Cheryl off, reaching into Dickheadson’s pocket. He pulled out a pack of what appeared to be small diaries – passports. Robert flipped through them. ‘These look familiar?’ He passed a few to Nina, who’d appeared just behind Cheryl.

Then he rummaged through other pockets.

‘Hey, look,’ a male voice – Joshua’s – joined in. Something plopped on the ground next to Dickheadson. ‘I found a bag.’

Nina crouched beside Robert and unzipped it. Passports – lots of them. ‘He had this on him when he got to me.’ Nina gripped Robert’s arm. ‘These passports are in evidence bags.’

Cheryl cursed. ‘He stole them from the evidence room.’

Still crouched on the ground, Robert rummaged through the bag. ‘Aye, these passports must’ve been at the storage facility Shah ran – remember, there were a few lockers the employees weren’t allowed to touch? When the man got taken out, the police probably collected these as evidence.’

‘Shit!’ Cheryl kicked Dickheadson. ‘He’s scum.’

‘Aye, but he isn’t the only one.’ Robert stood up. ‘We need to go – now.’