Friday 22nd April 2005

Bishopbriggs

Glasgow

The Saracen’s Head might sound like a rough bar, but unlike the other two pubs of the same name in the city, this one was not a ‘spittoon and straw’ establishment. It had been refurbished from the renovated front and tinted windows to the toilets and games room to create an air of comfort and respectability. The oblong shape of the unit lent itself well to a line of booths along the wall opposite the bar and a few tables randomly placed in the area towards the rear.

‘Big Stevie’ Bains, the bar manager, was an imposing figure. However smartly he dressed, his bald head, tattooed arms, and heavy build were at odds with the establishment, but he worked hard to sound civil. He was wiping the already immaculate bar surface and replacing the fleece bar mats when the front doors flew open.

A woman of about thirty entered and rushed to the bar. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tousled, and she wasn’t wearing make-up. She wore a denim jacket and skirt, a white blouse, and black shoes with a moderate heel.

“Brandy and coke … please,” she panted.

“Certainly, love, and you can catch your breath while I’m pouring it.”

“Thanks.” She turned to see that almost all of the early evening clientele were looking at her. Men and women of various ages and appearance sat in the booths, and along the bar stood four men. A couple at a table near the back also gazed towards the new arrival.

When the drink was placed in front of her, the woman handed over a large denomination note and gulped some of the drink before she’d received her change. She was sliding a manilla envelope under a large, colourful bar mat when the barman turned back to her.

Stevie handed over her change and glanced at the bar mat. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded and tapped the mat. “Where’s the ladies?”

He nodded to his left. “Far end and the door is labelled.”

The woman nodded her thanks, adjusted the large bag on her shoulder, and strode to the toilets, nodding and smiling at those who continued to look at her.

A short while later, a handsome, smartly dressed woman and a woman in a police uniform walked in. They paused to look around before approaching the bar. The woman in the suit smiled at Stevie, but her companion remained deadpan.

Stevie had narrowed his eyes when they’d entered but acted cordially. “What can I get for you?”

The blonde, thirty-something in the suit, held up a small black wallet showing her identity card. “I’m DCI Hughes, and this is PC Grant. We’re looking for a young lady who might have dropped by.”

“Lots of young ladies drop by here. You’d have to be more specific.”

“She would have arrived in the past ten minutes.” The detective lifted the glass from the bar and sniffed. “Brandy and coke … and who might this belong to?”

“I don’t recall—”

She leaned forward and whispered, “If you don’t fuck me about, I won’t fuck you about.”

“If I could help you—”

The door of the ladies’ toilets closed with a dull thud as the mysterious brunette reappeared. She now looked attractive. Her hair was brushed, she wore make-up, hoop earrings, a light jacket, and a dark skirt. After a deep breath, she paused and strode along the bar to where her drink awaited. Her act of confident indifference might have worked if the other customers hadn’t momentarily gone quiet and watched expectantly. Most returned to their conversations, but the damage was done.

DCI Hughes waited until the brunette lifted her drink. “Hello, Susan.”

The younger woman looked over her shoulder. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.” She arched an eyebrow and sipped her drink.

The uniformed officer walked around to Susan’s other side and stood silently.

DCI Hughes said, “We can either handle this with some decorum and leave, or we can humiliate you by emptying your bag and pockets over the floor.”

“Okay, keep your fucking wig on, and I’ll come quietly.” Susan lifted her brandy and coke, finished it in one swallow, and placed the empty glass on the large colourful bar mat. She nodded surreptitiously at the barman. “Thank you.”

“I’ll help you with your bag.” The detective reached out and took Susan’s large shoulder bag. “Search her, Karen.”

The uniformed officer leaned forward. “Hand’s clasped behind your head, please.”

“Fucking hell,” Susan murmured. “If you’re looking for condoms, buy your own?”

A few of the nearby regulars laughed.

PC Grant waited until Susan had complied with her hands before rapidly searching her from her wrists to her ankles. The officer paused at the suspect’s right hip, reached under the jacket and produced a flick knife. “Ma’am.”

DCI Hughes took an evidence bag from her pocket, opened it and let the weapon fall inside.

Susan laughed. “How am I supposed to manicure?”

PC Grant drew Susan’s hands behind her back and handcuffed her before ushering her outside.

“Thank you,” the detective said to the barman, looked around the bar, and left.

At the bar, behind Stevie, a door opened. It was labelled Private.

George Reid, gang leader and bar owner, paused. “Envelope, please.”

Big Stevie smiled. He reached under the bar for the manilla envelope he’d removed as the two police officers had walked in. “That girl’s got balls, boss.”

“I agree, and she looked good on camera after her transformation.” Reid glanced at the envelope. “What was the detective’s name?”

“DCI Amy Hughes.”

“Right. Let me know if she shows her face around here again.” He went back through the door.

* * *

Monday 25th April

Bishopbriggs

Glasgow

Stevie finished pouring a pint for one of the regulars and turned when the door opened. “Hello again. You’re not in such a hurry today.”

“No, I’m not,” the brunette said and met his gaze. “Brandy and coke, please.” She looked around the bar. “A Monday lunchtime is a lot quieter than a Friday evening.”

“Yeah, usually.” He set the glass on the bar and waved away the payment. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you.” The woman sipped the drink. “Thanks for having my back when the cops turned up and for not giving up my package.”

“No problem, and if you’re wondering about your mysterious envelope, it’s in the boss’s safe.”

She outstretched a slender hand. “Cathy.”

“Stevie,” the big man said, enclosing her hand in his massive tattooed paw. “When that copper called you Susan, I wondered if it would be your real name.”

A low buzz sounded from under the bar.

Stevie looked around and lifted the handset. “Yes, boss?” He listened. “Will do.” He replaced the handset. “The boss would like a word, and you can take your drink.” He indicated for her to go to the end of the bar, and he strolled along to lift the hatch.

Cathy went through the door labelled Private to be greeted by a big bald man in a suit, holding a security wand.

She smiled. “Is my flight in the next few minutes?”

“Smart appearance and a smart mouth.” The big man grinned. “Arms up.” When the visitor raised her arms, he moved the broad paddle up and down her body before nodding. “Upstairs, and turn left.”

“That was lovely, thanks.” She winked and walked up the fully carpeted stairs, noting the expensive, embossed wallpaper. The stylish exterior of The Saracen’s Head and the tastefully decorated bar were not the only areas where money had been spent. After the stairs, Cathy arrived onto a carpeted upper corridor. It would be wrong to call it a landing; there were several doors.

“Along here, my dear,” a man said. He was dark-haired, six feet tall, and of average build. Although he wore a smart suit, he appeared more rugged than handsome.

Cathy approached and moved her drink to her left hand. “Hello … Mr—”

“George Reid,” he said, extending a hand to take hers briefly. “And you are?”

“Cathy … Cathy Graves.”

“You’re Cathy Graves today.” He smiled. “Thank you for accepting my invitation to have a chat.” He pushed a door open and indicated for her to enter first. “Take a seat, Cathy.”

She looked around before sitting on the leather sofa that faced a large desk. To the left was a panoramic window, which, thanks to a Venetian blind, offered an obscured view of a renovated, red-brick tenement block. Cathy noted the large map of Scotland, decorated with small coloured pins on the wall behind the man’s desk. She continued to look around as her host made himself comfortable in his executive chair. A trophy cabinet boasted a few cups and other items related to golf. To her front was a low coffee table, and to her left was a large bookcase with a television fitted into one section.

Reid said, “I’d like to clear something up.” He sipped from a crystal glass containing an amber liquid. “If you’re introducing yourself as Cathy, it begs the question why the detective addressed you as Susan.”

“According to your barman, you have an envelope belonging to me, Mr Reid.” She sipped her drink and smiled. “It would be naive of me to think that you hadn’t opened it, and if you did, you’d have solved the riddle.”

Reid grinned and lifted the manilla envelope from his desk. “As it happens, it did land on my desk, and I opened it accidentally, of course.” He emptied the contents; two passports. “Here we have … Susan Mayall, whose description fits you.” He closed the document and lifted the other. “And here we have … Catharine Graves, and damn, her description and photo fit you too.”

“A modern girl likes to change more than her make-up and underwear.” She sipped her drink. “You haven’t handed them to the police, so I chose the right premises during my evasion.”

“During your evasion?”

“I was searching my aunt’s house here in Bishopbriggs when the police turned up. I grabbed that envelope, stuffed a handful of clothes in a bag, and leapt out of a window.”

“It must have alarmed your aunt, police arriving at the door, and you jumping from a window.”

“It would have alarmed her, except she was buried a couple of days ago.”

“Now I’m confused.” He sipped his whisky. “You’ve already gathered that I’m not about to hand you and these two passports over to the police, so an explanation would be appreciated.”

“When I was at uni, my parents died in a car accident. I felt lost and dropped out of my design course, but I’d learned enough to know how to earn money. I started with small documents until I could afford specialised materials and moved on to more lucrative counterfeits.” She sipped her brandy and coke. “I lived in different places, but I occasionally used my aunt as a go-between for sending my work on to clients.”

His brow furrowed. “Why did you use that particular aunt?”

“I wanted someone I could trust. Auntie Bridget was my only living relative and had no criminal record. I was making a lot of money and paid her well not to ask questions. Until recently, I lived in York, but the police were closing in on me. I posted those two passports to my aunt, and when things got uncomfortable, I returned to Scotland. Unknown to me, Auntie Bridget died last week while I was in York considering my next move.”

Reid nodded. “If your aunt was dead and buried, how did you get access to these two passports?”

“A neighbour saw me and explained why nobody was answering the door. She said that someone would be coming to clear my aunt’s house, and they’d hand over personal effects to the authorities. I pretended to leave but returned and broke into the house. I was only interested in finding fake documents I’d forwarded for clients.”

“How did the police get involved with your aunt’s address?”

“The only thing I found was that envelope, so I have to assume that Auntie Bridget fucked up. When I leapt out of the window, I left my suitcase behind, but nothing that would give away my identity. I had nowhere to go and couldn’t call a cab, so I ran.”

Reid raised an eyebrow. “When the police found you here, why did they call you Susan?”

“I called myself Susan Mayall when I was in York.”

“How many places have you lived?”

“Since leaving Edinburgh a few years ago, probably six or seven towns or cities. I didn’t really want to come here, but as I said, those documents would have put me in jail.”

He grinned. “You might not have been given a custodial sentence if you offered client names.”

“I don’t give up easily, and I don’t fucking grass, Mr Reid.”

“Commendable traits.” He grinned again and savoured more whisky. “You’re obviously good at deception, so why should I believe your story?”

“I’m counting on you being a good judge of character.” She smiled. “Producing documents like those is why I’ve moved around often. While you have them, I can hardly set off on new adventures.”

Reid studied her. “What would you do if I didn’t return them to you?”

“I’d have to throw myself at your mercy, up to a point, and try to find a job.” She finished her drink and placed the glass on the coffee table in front of her.

“Did they charge you with anything when you were taken into custody?”

“No. They said they had forged documents with my fingerprints, but I called their bluff, and they couldn’t show me the evidence. They fed me some bullshit about the Home Office taking an interest regarding forged passports. They had to let me go yesterday.”

“What have you been up to since then?”

“I gained entry to a multi-storey car park in the city and slept in a nice big car in the long stay section. Today, I had breakfast in a cafe near the car park, cleaned myself up, and caught a bus to visit your bar.”

“Have you ever worked in a bar … Cathy?” His smile was almost natural.

“Yes, regularly, because it’s the easiest employment to get into.”

“I know you might disappear, but would you like to work for me downstairs … at least until I see what else I could offer you?”

“Deception may be my middle name, but I’m loyal to my paymaster.” She grinned. “And you’re a clever man, using blackmail, disguised as mutual trust.”

He grinned and lifted the two passports. “I might be able to use your talents, Cathy. Before I give these back, I’d like to try you as an employee, paid cash in hand.”

“I have some money stashed away, but I’d expect to be paid enough for accommodation and food.” She crossed the room when he stood and pushed notepaper and pen across his desk. “Write your aunt’s name and address on there for me, and I don’t mean where she’s bloody buried.”

“Spoilsport.” She sniggered, took the pen, rapidly wrote the details, and laid the pen on top. 

Reid grinned and extended a hand. “Welcome to the team, Cathy.”