Silent Money Read online

  ‘Watch you screwing another guy.’

  Roberta clearly found it amusing. ‘Oh yeah? Let me think … There are a couple of cute guys on your staff who I wouldn’t say no to. Just as long as I don’t get crushed under Big Jockie.’

  ‘I’m being serious. No one we know. Definitely no one who works for me. They’d see it as a weakness, not an adventure. It would have to be a stranger.’

  ‘So, you’re pimping me out now, Michael?’ She was teasing him.

  Michael decided to show he was perfectly serious. ‘No, I want a performance. And it wouldn’t just be for me. You’re an actress. This would be the ultimate challenge. I would choose someone who’s a complete nobody, someone who would never be in your league, and watch you seduce him.’ He paused for a second, as if a thought had just struck him. ‘No, even better. I won’t watch. I’ll keep away, but you have to tell me every little detail afterwards. Then you and I go to bed, so that I can wipe his memory from your mind.’

  ‘Wha—’ Roberta was wide-eyed. ‘No. Michael, no. You’ve taken me to some dark places recently, but I only go there with you. I’m not a whore. I’m not going to screw anyone you want.’

  Time to back off.

  ‘You’re quite right, Roberta,’ Michael said. ‘There are some things you shouldn’t do if they make you feel uncomfortable. Let’s keep it as our fantasy, okay?’

  ‘Your fantasy.’

  Michael kept a low profile for a week. Then Roberta called him to see if he was okay. A few days later, a second call; she was worried, hurt that he was ignoring her. Then she called a third time, pleading with him to get in touch.

  Finally, without explanation, he called Roberta and asked her to come round. They had sex when she arrived: cold, mechanical, Michael making it obvious he was going through the motions. When they finished, Roberta turned away from him, her head buried in the pillow. Michael heard her muffled sobs.

  ‘Glad you could make it at such short notice,’ he said to her, standing up to get dressed. ‘I have gallery business to discuss with you and thought it best to do so face to face. I hear congratulations are in order; that you’ve finally sold a painting.’

  Roberta rubbed her eyes and looked at him, shocked at the coolness in his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, boss, it won’t happen again,’ she said, making a weary attempt at humour.

  Michael remained impassive.

  ‘That’s a joke, Michael,’ she said. She was struggling to hold back the tears. ‘And it was no easy feat to sell a major painting like that. I hope you’re proud of me.’

  ‘Of course I am. The more we sell the better.’ Michael gave her a patronising smile.

  He walked towards the bedroom door. ‘The painting we’re going to replace it with is in the bird room. Come on, put your clothes on and we’ll have a look.’

  Roberta leapt up. ‘But, Michael, you said I could choose any new paintings. Or at least have a say. There’s a Sotheby’s auction in Edinburgh next week. I was hoping to go.’

  ‘Hush, hush, I’m sure you’ll like what I’ve chosen.’

  Michael showed her the Judy Allen painting leaning against the wall; a series of gestural brushstrokes in bold colours at right-angles to each other.

  ‘Are you sure, Michael?’ Roberta peered at the signature. ‘Who’s Judy Allen? I’ve never heard of her.’

  ‘A future star in the Scottish art firmament. Still in her twenties but very talented. And she’s so grateful for a chance to be shown in your gallery.’

  ‘You know her? You’ve never mentioned her before.’

  Michael turned to the birdcage, his sudden move provoking a medley of song. ‘Will you listen to that, Roberta? My little Society finches with their beautiful song. My favourite finch at the moment. Lovely, isn’t it?’

  Roberta seemed to consciously straighten up. ‘If it’s your choice, Michael, of course I’m happy to show it. Is that enough business for tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for indulging me. I’ll call John to take you home.’

  Roberta looked shocked; she always spent the night.

  ‘I’m sorry, Roberta.’ He had already turned his back. ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, I need to catch up on my sleep. You don’t mind heading home, do you?’

  When he closed the door after her, Michael felt disgusted with himself. His behaviour had been brutal, degrading, and he had hated having to go through with it. He told himself she was just as manipulative as he was, having no qualms about using him to further her acting career. But he knew that wasn’t true. He had hurt her, so that she would agree to anything to get their relationship back on track. And that ‘anything’ was going to be to play her part in his DCI McDonald Emmanuelle fantasy.

  When he raised the idea with her again a few days later, his behaviour could not have been more different. An evening spent cooking for her, just like old times. Attentive, caring, like nothing had happened. And then the proposition whispered to her again as they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  This time she said yes.

  Michael told Ron his plan and was suitably gratified to see the look of astonishment on his face.

  ‘And I’ll be taking the pictures, in case you’re wondering,’ Michael said, smiling grimly.

  That left arranging the meeting. It turned out to be easy. McDonald always drank at the same bar when off duty, so Roberta just had to be there, primed and ready to pounce. Ron got the job of driving her to the bar, keeping up the pretence they were heading somewhere random to pick up an unsuspecting stranger. Michael set up the spying room looking into the bedroom to get the incriminating evidence – tape recorder primed, camera on a tripod, pointing at the two-way mirror. The detritus from the previous session with DS Grant and the hooker was still lying around the room, but Michael left it untouched. He liked that it gave the room a sordid air.

  Roberta arrived with McDonald and wasted little time in getting him into bed. When she was in full flow, he felt not a pang of jealousy or resentment while taking the photos, recording the sounds – even allowing himself the occasional smile of recognition at some of Roberta’s moves. Within ten minutes he had all that he needed and left. It would be a long time before he would feel like sleeping with Roberta again.

  Ron was given the job of confronting McDonald with the tape and photos. Michael waited at home for news of how it went.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Ron when he arrived. ‘The guy was poleaxed by the photos.’ He grinned. ‘Pity I never got to see the action.’ Michael ignored the comment. ‘I gave him twenty-four hours to think about it, but I think we’ve got him in the bag. Mr Pillar of Society is never going to risk this coming out.’

  Now all Michael had left to deal with was Ivan. He’d agreed to a face-to-face meeting to deal with Ivan’s suspicions he’d been conned. It wouldn’t be an easy encounter, but Michael had to at least try to get him to accept the situation. With the new operation invisible, Ivan would have no way to retaliate, but it wouldn’t do any harm if he came to that conclusion sooner rather than later.

  He came to Michael’s house and they sat down in his study. Ivan had a glint in his eye, and it wasn’t a playful one.

  ‘I want the real money-laundering business, Michael,’ he said. ‘The set-up you punted over to me is a crock of shit, and you know it. There’s fuck-all money coming from your clients. I want your new operation, whatever it is. And a wee sweetener on top for trying to make me look ridiculous.’

  Michael sighed. ‘Ivan, if that’s all you’ve come to talk about, we’re wasting your time and mine. The business was in great shape when you took it over. If you’ve driven it into the ground, that’s your problem, not mine. Tell me that’s not all you’ve come to say.’

  ‘Maybe these will change your mind.’ Ivan threw the pictures of Roberta and DCI McDonald onto his desk.

  Michael couldn�
�t hide his shock. ‘How did you get these?’ he asked. But the answer was already obvious.

  ‘From McDonald. Came to see me straight after your pathetic attempt at blackmail. He knew I’d look after him, like I’ve been doing for years. I scratch his back, he scratches mine. How do you think I’ve managed to stay out of trouble all these years? But his faith in me was touching, if a wee bit misplaced. I had a flash of inspiration that even you’d be proud of. He’s lying on his back in his car down some county lane at the moment, a bullet through his brain. And if you don’t pay up, these photographs will be on their way to the cops to incriminate you. Photos of McDonald and that whore of yours, fucking away in a flat you own. All pointing to your involvement. So if you don’t want to attract any undue attention for McDonald’s death, you’ll tell me everything. I start running your operation, and I start now.’

  The colour drained from Michael’s face. He could never have foreseen this. It was lunacy for Ivan to make such a move, to ruthlessly eliminate a key asset of his and take such a huge risk just to bring him down. But Ivan was a lunatic. Michael had underestimated him and he would have to deal with that mistake.

  He kept his composure as his mind swirled with what action he could take, how he could respond. He used all of his self-control to make sure Ivan could not see how much he was rattled.

  ‘Big play, Ivan, I’ve got to hand it to you. How long do I have to think about it?’

  ‘Oh, I’m a reasonable man. The banks open at nine thirty tomorrow morning. I want fifty grand paid into my account as your way of saying sorry, and we meet the same day for me to get the gen on the new way you’re doing business. You follow?’

  Michael said nothing. He got up and gestured to the door. He needed to think. He needed to act.

  Ivan couldn’t help but crow about his victory. ‘And a cracking place you have here, I might add. All these paintings and that war memorabilia. You’re not short of a bob or two, Michael, so I don’t want any bullshit in the morning about how difficult it is to get the cash.’

  As they walked down the stairs to the hallway, Michael saw Lucifer and Satan watching from the door into the living room.

  ‘Bark!’ he yelled, and the two dogs did as they’d been trained to do: they leapt forward and set themselves between Ivan and the door, snarling and growling. Ivan turned towards them and started to pull a gun out from under his jacket.

  It only took Michael a few seconds to act. Beside the swords and antique muskets hanging on the wall next to him was a Colt Derringer, and that one was different. Michael kept it loaded and primed.

  He pulled it off the wall and in one motion turned to face Ivan. Ivan had been pointing his gun at the dogs, and as he turned around Michael fired. The bullet ripped into Ivan’s shoulder, causing him to drop the gun. Michael’s move had been instinctive, a desperate attempt at survival; he’d had no time to think about what he was doing. As he saw the blood seep through Ivan’s jacket, he stared in horror at what he’d just done.

  The dogs disappeared up the stairs, startled by the gunshot. Ivan fell to his knees, then reached out to pick up his gun, but his actions were slowed by shock and pain. Michael snapped himself out of his daze and fired again, more carefully this time, into Ivan’s body. Ivan slumped back, summoning all of his remaining strength to pick his gun off the floor. The effort proved too much for him; his body bowed, flecks of blood appearing in a froth around his mouth. He let out a half-groan, half-roar as he looked at Michael, his eyes channelling a hatred, a frustration that he could do no more. Michael fired again, more coolly this time, aiming for the heart. Blood flowed freely from his chest and onto the marble tiles, and as Michael stood over him, Ivan’s face turned grey and his eyes became a death stare.

  Michael ran into the bathroom and grabbed some towels to slow the flow of blood across the hallway floor. His stomach heaved when he looked at Ivan’s gaping mouth and glassy eyes. He piled more towels and sheets around the body, then called Ron and Big Jockie, telling them to get round straight away.

  As he waited, he had a chance to contemplate what he had just done. Murder. Ivan was evil and would have probably killed Michael once he’d bled him dry financially, but that didn’t make it right. He’d become what he promised himself he would never be. Not a smart businessman, playing by his own set of rules. A cold-blooded killer.

  He sat on the bottom tread of the staircase, staring at Ivan’s lifeless body. He kept telling himself he should be pleased, that he’d finally rid himself of a dangerous psychopath who would one day have brought about his demise. But he couldn’t feel any elation. He went over and laid the corpse out, giving it some dignity as it lay on the floor. Then he went back and sat on the stair again, never taking his eyes off the body. He pressed his fingers into his temples and waited.

  Disposing of a body was uncharted territory for Michael and for once he let others take control. Ron found the keys to Ivan’s car and they bundled the body into the boot. Ron’s advice was for Michael to stay at the house and keep the door bolted. Ivan had come alone to the meeting – he obviously wanted no one, not even his own men, to know that he had killed a cop. Michael’s image of being the brains, not the brawn, of the operation, had lulled him into a false sense of security. His best chance of remaining undetected was to act as if the meeting with Ivan had never taken place.

  Ron drove off in Ivan’s car to dispose of the body, Big Jockie following. Michael got rid of all traces of blood from the floor, bundled the blood-soaked towels and sheets into bin bags and took the bags down to the basement. He’d dispose of them in the morning. The photos, he threw on the fire.

  As he lay in bed that night, he pondered the magnitude of what he had done. Getting into this world had been easy, and he’d always fought Ivan with brains, not brawn. He had rid himself of the need to resort to brutality to control the smurfs, and now he had an operation that had run without any recourse to violence. Until that afternoon. Now he was a murderer, and there was a dead cop that would need to be explained away at some point.

  For the first time ever, he regretted his decision to become a criminal. But it was too late now; he needed to stay focused on getting out of this mess. Michael tossed and turned fitfully all night. His world had changed forever.

  chapter twenty-four

  Ivan was buried in lonely moorland, his car turned into a cube of metal by a cooperative scrap-metal dealer, the murder weapon thrown in the Clyde. His disappearance sparked off a rumour that he had fled Glasgow after being involved in a cop killing, as the story of DCI McDonald’s shooting dominated the news. A careful word from Ron here and there, and soon every criminal with an opinion was putting the word about that McDonald had been in Ivan’s pay, they’d had a bust-up, Ivan had killed him in a typically hot-headed rage, and he’d had to leave Glasgow as a result. Nobody mourned his departure.

  The heat from the police investigation into McDonald’s killing meant that crime proceeds dried up to almost nothing; nobody was risking a job with this white-hot intensity of police activity going on. But it was a small price to pay. With Ivan gone, the few remaining smurfs disappeared into the shadows. Nobody suspected Michael had anything to do with Ivan’s disappearance. Things had played out beautifully.

  Except for Roberta. As Michael anticipated, she saw the photos of McDonald in the papers and was on the phone straight away.

  ‘Michael, it’s me,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘Have you seen the newspapers today?’

  ‘Of course,’ Michael replied. ‘The first Concorde flight to New York. Wonderful, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. DCI McDonald, the detective they found dead. That’s what I’m calling about.’

  There would be a limit as to how much she would believe that he wasn’t involved. Michael decided to see what he could get away with, so he’d know the level of danger that Roberta’s suspicions would represent.

  ‘What
a strange thing to call me about, Roberta,’ he said. ‘Yes, I saw that as well. A few of my clients won’t shed any tears, I’m afraid. He’d been rather successful over the years at putting more than a few undesirables behind bars. I hope they find out what’s happened. He might not have been good for business, but it’s always a sad moment when someone dies before their time. But why are you calling me about it?’

  ‘Because he’s the guy Ron chose for me to sleep with as part of your sex game. And now he’s dead. What’s going on, Michael?’

  Michael concentrated all his efforts on trying to sound surprised. ‘Good Lord! Are you sure? I told Ron to take you off the beaten track. How did you manage to end up with him?’

  ‘Because Ron chose him for me. Please, Michael. No games. What’s going on?’

  ‘I can assure you this is a complete shock. You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with his death, are you Roberta? You know I hate any sort of violence. I could never do anything as dreadful as that.’

  ‘Michael, please. This is too much of a coincidence. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Look, Roberta. I don’t know McDonald. I’ve heard of him, but that’s because of his reputation for bringing down Glasgow hard men. That’s what he did. Went after razor-wielding thugs, murderers. It’s a dangerous line of work. But that’s not my business, and you know that.’

  She didn’t sound convinced. ‘But I met him three days ago and now he’s dead,’ she insisted. ‘That’s too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘Look, we shouldn’t talk about this over the phone. I’ll talk to Ron and see if he has any clue as to who the guy was he picked for you, see if that sheds any light on this. But don’t do anything rash, Roberta. If you think you can help the police, then by all means talk to them.’ He paused for a second, waiting for a response. ‘But think about the shame for your family, the scandal affecting your acting career. Being under suspicion for a crime you didn’t commit, all because of a dreadful coincidence. Let me look into it and get back to you.’