Devil's Knock Read online

  Glasgow belonged to Knight.

  Bernadette watched Rab from the doorway of the room he used as a home office as he stared at the mobile phone now resting on the desktop in front of him. A bookcase ran the length of the wall behind, filled with books he’d never read and was never likely to. Most of them were Joe Klein’s at one time, his old boss. They were leather-bound editions of classic novels, but Rab’s tastes ran more to pulp crime. She could see he was troubled, even in the half-light from the desk lamp he’d switched on. He looked up as she moved across the room and edged in behind him, one hand running through his hair, the other snaking down his chest and under his dressing gown. She kissed the top of his head.

  ‘What’s up, babe?’ she said as he leaned his head back into her breasts.

  ‘Trouble,’ he said. ‘Boy’s just been killed, down the town.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lad called Dickie Himes, don’t think you know him.’

  She didn’t, but that wasn’t unusual. There were a lot of people who worked for her husband, she didn’t know them all. She knew the ones who mattered, though. The ones who were important. Or the ones who were a possible danger. She knew them all right. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Stabbed. Outside the Corvus.’

  Bernadette stopped stroking Rab’s head and laid her cheek against his hair. The Jarvis clan, it had to be. ‘Does this mean something?’

  Rab considered this. She knew what he was thinking, they were so much in sync. That was why they worked so well together. She knew what he was going to say before he said it. ‘I think it has to be.’

  He couldn’t see it, but she was smiling. She had been advocating some kind of action against the Jarvis clan for some time because they had been growing more and more out of order. When they limited their operations within Possil, Milton and Saracen, they were tolerable, but Maw Jarvis had ambitions. Bernadette didn’t hold that against the woman unduly, for she had a long-term plan for her own family. And that family was growing. She wasn’t showing yet, but she was pregnant with their third child. Another few years, maybe another couple of kids, and Bernadette believed they would have enough salted away to give up The Life, to start fresh somewhere far away from Glasgow. Southern Ireland perhaps, a house on the West Coast, overlooking one of those beautiful beaches. The problem was Maw Jarvis’s ambitions could mean loss of territory and income for Rab’s operation and that Bernadette could not tolerate. She had been trying to push Rab but he had been unwilling at first to destabilise the delicate peace that existed among Glasgow’s criminal families. He came round, though, he always did, for Bernadette had her ways. Action had been plotted, a target chosen, they were merely waiting for the right moment. A catalyst. A reason. An excuse.

  Now they had one.

  Davie was glad he wasn’t driving. He’d passed his test the year before, but he’d never handled snow like this and he wasn’t certain he’d be up to it. Kid Snot, though, had been behind the wheel since his late teens and appeared unconcerned. The wipers were working hard to keep the windscreen clear, almost keeping time with Gary Moore singing ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’ on the CD player. The Kid would have preferred something more up-to-date, but he kept the disc in the car because he knew Davie was partial to the old guitarist. Davie had become a fan when he’d heard him at Big Rab’s house, years before. He’d been in the Barrowland audience the previous May to see Moore play with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker. He also enjoyed swing band music and the songs of the Rat Pack, but that would have been above and beyond for the Kid.

  Kid Snot had given up grumbling about keeping his mouth shut over their medicine delivery and began to talk about the blonde. He had an eye for the ladies, but seldom much luck, his nasal activity often proving off-putting. But he kept trying and was currently working his meagre charms on a grass widow, her husband doing time for cultivating and selling a large amount of cannabis.

  ‘She was a real honey, right enough,’ the Kid said, his eyes fixed on the road, both hands on the wheel. He was confident, but not reckless. ‘You think maybe she’d want me to show her the sights while she’s here?’

  Davie’s mouth tightened in what passed for a smile. ‘Out of your league, son.’

  The Kid nodded. ‘Aye, right enough but, hey – a man’s reach must exceed his grasp or else what the fuck’s a heaven for?’ The quote was punctuated by a lengthy slurp, during which Davie gave the boy a surprised glance. The Kid noted the turn of Davie’s head and said, ‘What?’

  ‘Where’d you pick that line up?’

  The Kid shrugged. ‘Some picture, I think. Someone said it, dunno who, but I liked it.’

  Davie looked away again, constantly amazed by what could come out of a Glasgow ned’s mouth.

  The Kid brought the car to a slow halt outside a tumbledown tenement on the Gallowgate that should’ve been torn down years ago and was unlikely to be spared the wrecking ball for much longer. The blank windows were dark and lifeless, the entranceway covered by a wooden barricade through which Davie could almost feel the dampness and decay seeping. The Kid peered through the car’s side window, which was already caked with a layer of snow, and said, ‘Think Paddy’ll be there?’

  Davie nodded. Paddy was a low-level dealer who flitted from skipper to skipper but who had made the mistake of owing Big Rab some money. Rab took a dim view of people owing him money, no matter what their station in life. He believed it was bad business for anyone to get away with not paying their bills – let one person off with a debt and others will think they’re free to take a liberty. So the Kid was ordered to find Paddy and either get the sum due or explain to him forcibly the error of his ways. That would be Davie’s job, no doubt. Paddy would be here, Davie was certain. No-one with any sense would be out on a night like this, unless they had to be.

  Their feet crunched in the fresh snow as they crossed the pavement and pushed open the wooden doorway, which they knew would be loose. Davie had been correct – the unmistakeable stench of dampness was the first thing to hit him. Then something else, something out of place even in this dying building. He stopped outside the door to the first flat, the one they knew Paddy had been staying in for some time.

  ‘Smell that?’ Kid Snot sniffed, but shook his head. Davie was unsurprised, for it was well known that the Kid had very little sense of smell.

  ‘What?’ said the Kid.

  Davie did not reply. He used the knuckles of his left hand to push the door. It opened freely, revealing a long, dark corridor. The Kid thumbed a lighter to life and they saw that, apart from two boards in the centre still attached to rotting joists, the remainder of the floor had long since been removed. The plaster on the walls had crumbled to reveal strapping like sinews and bone left when the flesh has rotted away. The smell was stronger now and Davie knew what they were going to find in the room at the far end of the corridor. He led the way, eyes focused, in the flickering light in the Kid’s hand, on the precarious walkway below. He moved slowly, silently, even though he was convinced there was no-one to disturb or alert. The same could not be said for the Kid, who was sniffing like a hay fever sufferer in a flower shop.

  The door to what had once been a living room was hanging on one hinge and Davie pushed it gingerly in case it came off altogether. The smell was overpowering now and even the Kid had caught a whiff, for he placed one hand over his nose and said, ‘Jesus Christ, what a ming.’

  The source of the stench lay on a foldaway camp bed in the corner. Paddy was on his back, one leg crooked, the foot lodged under the other leg. His head was stretched to the side, as if he had been craning to see something, his jaw slack and mouth open. One arm dangled from the edge of the cot, the rubber tubing still wrapped round the upper arm but the hypodermic, which had delivered the heroin to his system, had long since dropped from the vein and now lay on the grimy floor. His face was swollen and blackened, his belly blown with gas, the veins of his neck marbled. Liquid drained from his nostrils and mouth, while his open
eyes were turning milky. Davie was no doctor, but he knew Paddy had been dead for days, well over a week.

  Kid Snot stared at the sight, all thought of sniffing banished from his mind. ‘Fuck me,’ he said, his voice a little hoarse. In the dim and flickering light cast by the lighter, Davie could see his face was pale. There were some things that could disturb even a Glasgow ned. Sudden violence, open wounds, broken bones he could take, but the sight of a rotting corpse in a decaying tenement made him queasy. Davie understood how he felt. There was a sour taste in his own mouth and his saliva had turned waxy.

  A scrambling noise from under the bed made them both start. The Kid stepped back, dropping the lighter, which guttered and died as it fell. Davie tensed, ready for an attack, eyes narrowing in the darkness, compensating for the dim glow filtering through the strapped up windows from the street light outside. He relaxed when he saw what was hauling itself from the darkness.

  The dog was a mongrel, a touch of collie and something else, he guessed, and it looked in a bad way. Davie had no way of knowing exactly how long ago Paddy had succumbed and perhaps it had lain under the bed all that time, waiting for him to awaken. The dog pulled itself out fully and stood still for a moment, staring at them. It tensed when the Kid stooped to retrieve his lighter but did not move, did not snarl. It merely blinked at them and waited. Davie slowly lowered to one knee and held out his hand carefully.

  The Kid rasped, ‘Davie, what the fuck you doin?’

  Davie ignored him and said to the dog, his voice low, soft, soo­thing. ‘Easy, boy.’ He had no idea what sex the dog was but he didn’t think it would mind even if it were female. ‘Come and see me.’

  The dog did not move. It looked at Davie’s outstretched hand, then at Davie. Davie could see that its hair was matted, the eyes caked with hard matter. ‘Come on, pal. It’s okay.’

  ‘Davie, fuckin thing could take a bite out of you…’

  ‘He’s not gonnae do that, are you, pal?’ Davie edged forward, his hand still before him, his other in plain view. He sensed the dog was not dangerous, just hungry, confused. ‘Come on, chum, come see me.’

  The dog’s head strained forward, nose testing the air between them, picking up his scent. One front paw moved forward, then another. It came to a halt again. Davie had come to a standstill, knowing that the dog had to approach him.

  ‘Leave it, Davie, we’ve got to get out of here,’ said the Kid.

  Davie wanted to snap at him to keep quiet, but he knew it might spook the animal. He slowly turned his face towards the Kid and let his eyes do the talking. The Kid was not stupid, he read the look and decided to shut up sharpish. Davie looked back to the dog and motioned him to come closer. ‘It’s okay, pal, we’re not going to hurt you. It’s okay.’ The dog, though, was not for moving. Davie did not know whether it was through fear or if it was protecting his master in some way. Another approach was needed. ‘You got anything to eat on you?’

  ‘What am I? Fuckin Safeway?’

  Davie scanned the room quickly, spying an unopened tin of dog food on the mantelpiece. An empty tin lay on the floor below it and he knew that would’ve been the last thing the dog had eaten, whenever that was. He’d probably knocked the tin down, licked it out. ‘Open that tin there, bring me it.’

  The Kid sighed again but did as he was told. He swung the lighter in front of him, looking for the tin opener, found it lying on the floor beside the empty tin, and then brought the food to Davie, a filthy, matted fork stuck in the spongy meat. The dog watched with wary eyes as Davie dug out a forkful of the food, smothered with jelly.

  ‘Take it, pal, it’s yours,’ said Davie, his voice still low, still soothing, as he held the fork out at arm’s length. ‘It’s good.’

  The dog tested the air again, catching the scent of the food, and edged forward, one pace, two, then when he was within reach, stretched his neck and sniffed the edge of the fork. He retreated again, still unsure. Davie held his breath, trying not to move, even though his crouch was growing more uncomfortable by the second. ‘Come on, pal,’ he coaxed, ‘not going to hurt you…’

  The dog crept forward again, body low, but hunger getting the better of him. He gave the food a final sniff before, still cautious, he opened his mouth and gently eased it off. He stepped back again, licking his lips, eyes on the fork as Davie carved more food from the tin. He held the fork out again, keeping all movement easy, his hand not as stretched as before, trying to draw the dog ever closer. The dog kept his eyes on the food end edged forward. It had had a taste now, it wanted more, and that overcame his fear. Davie let it take the second piece and he moved his hand to the dog’s head, gave it a gentle rub. The dog let him, his focus totally on the food. ‘That’s it,’ said Davie, ‘not going to harm you. Not going to harm you.’ He fed it some more and said to the Kid, ‘There must be a leash somewhere, bit of rope, anything.’

  ‘You’re not going to take it with you, are you?’

  Davie was rubbing the dog’s ear now and he was enjoying it. ‘Not leaving him here.’

  ‘Is that a good idea? I mean, it’s evidence or something.’

  ‘I’m not leaving him here,’ Davie said again and the Kid knew not to argue further. He liked McCall but he was not the kind of bloke you wanted to get on the wrong side of. He saw a weathered leather lead and a chain collar hanging on a hook behind the door so he fetched it and handed it to Davie, who carefully looped the collar over the dog’s head. The dog did not flinch, did not move. Davie scooped another two forkfuls of food out and let the dog snatch it. He didn’t want to feed him too much, though. He’d been hungry for a while and he didn’t know what effect the heavy dog meat would have.

  ‘What about Paddy?’ The Kid asked, nodding to the rotting body in the corner.

  Davie straightened and looked back at the corpse. He had known Paddy slightly, never much cared for him. Had never known he had a dog. His initial revulsion had passed. He felt nothing now as he gazed on the dead man. ‘Nothing we can do for him.’

  ‘So … what? We just leave him there?’

  Davie turned to the door, still carrying the open tin of food. ‘He’s beyond caring.’ He gave the lead a gentle tug and the dog followed him from the room. He’d be fine, Davie thought, he just needed something decent to eat, some care, and he’d be fine.

  Davie knew as soon as he walked into the Sword Street flat and saw the suitcases in the hall. He’d also seen the man sitting in the car outside. It was no great feat of deduction, for he had sensed that Vari had been building up to this for a couple of weeks. She hadn’t discussed anything with him, but that would be his fault. He knew that. Davie McCall did not discuss feelings.

  Kid Snot hadn’t said anything during the journey from the Gallowgate but Davie could tell he was unhappy with the animal being in the car. He gave the dog sidelong glances and then looked at the car seats. The Kid kept his vehicle spotlessly clean and even Davie was aware of the dog hairs, and God knew what else, flying off its mid-length coat. The dog sat up all the way, watching the street lights slip by, and Davie had his arm around it, running his fingers through its hair. It felt dirty and matted and the first thing to be done, after something light to eat – scrambled egg, some toast maybe – would be a bath.

  Vari sat in darkness in the living room. He stood by the door and looked at her. She had been crying, he knew, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited. It was what he did. She looked at him then, at the dog by his side. He knew she loved dogs, they had often talked about getting one, and would ordinarily have ran across the room to pat it, but she sat where she was. She didn’t want anything to weaken her resolve. He knew this. He’d seen the suitcases. He’d seen the man outside.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ Her voice was soft, husky. He’d always liked it, but maybe not enough. Sometimes, it was another voice he heard, another face above his in the dark, another body he stroked.

  ‘On his own,’ he said, which was as close to the truth as he’d take it. Even though
she knew what he did for a living, he shielded Vari from much of it.

  She nodded, slowly. ‘You keeping him?’

  ‘I’m keeping him.’

  ‘Good,’ she said and he knew she meant it. ‘You’ll not be alone, then.’

  From anyone else that might’ve sounded harsh, but not Vari. Davie knew her, knew that this made it easier for her, somehow.

  ‘I’m going to stay with my dad,’ she said. He’d expected that. She and her father had reconciled the year before, following the death of her mother. Vari had left the family home after she told her parents she had been systematically sexually abused by her uncle, her father’s brother, for years. The man, the proverbial pillar of the community, denied all her claims. He was a God-fearing man, a good man, he would never do anything like that. Vari had slipped from virtue, he said, and he’d tried to help her and this was his reward, to be labelled a pervert and a predator. Her mother, also devout, believed him and called her daughter a whore. Eventually the teenage Vari could take it no further and left home. There had been no contact from her mother until cancer took her. Her father had called Vari after the funeral, told her he was sorry. He had believed her about his brother, but his wife had been adamant. To his shame he had gone along with it, let Vari leave, let her out of their lives.

  ‘What about your uncle?’ Davie asked.

  ‘He’s not been round since he got out of hospital,’ she said. After Vari had told Davie about her past, he paid the uncle a visit. The conversation had been brief, but pointed. The uncle spent four nights in hospital.