Beyond The Law Box Set Read online

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, her father wouldn’t talk—even when I threatened to kill the toddlers. He said I might kill them anyway.”

  “They were in the room when you made the hit?”

  “Yeah, they screamed at first, and stood transfixed,” Barnes said. “Unfortunate, but it’s the way how it goes.”

  Phil walked across the room to the ornate black telephone on a small table. The device was a refurbished model of the type seen in old gangster movies; the earpiece hanging on a cradle. He shook his head, reached down, and jerked the cable from the wall socket.

  He turned and walked across to the beautifully polished mahogany coffee table where he had replaced Barnes’s mobile phone. A single blow with the butt of the pistol smashed the mobile phone beyond repair and severely damaged the glossy mahogany surface.

  Barnes was writhing as his leg spurted blood. He gripped the thigh tighter with both hands. Perspiration oozed out of his body, saturating his clothing. He groaned. Being shot wasn’t like the movies. It fucking hurt.

  Phil stepped forward and pulled a roll of metallic duct tape from his overall pocket. He wound it around the injured man’s mouth, being careful to avoid the nose. He wanted him to breathe, albeit with difficulty, but he wouldn’t be making any noise.

  The wide, staring eyes of the crook followed Phil as he moved. A distinctive unzipping sound echoed around the room as broad tape was unrolled behind the leather armchair. Phil walked around the chair twice, unwinding tape to bind the man’s arms in position against his sides.

  Barnes could no longer apply pressure to hold back the flow of blood in his leg. He struggled and groaned as his executioner walked to the front door, avoiding the trail of blood.

  Phil stopped and came back to the living room door, where he paused and looked around. He gazed into the killer’s eyes. His thoughts were of the young girl, lying in agony as she died, alongside her dead father. Standing nearby would have been two traumatised toddlers. Phil took aim and put a single bullet in Barnes’s stomach. The hitman's eyes screwed up, and his nostrils flared.

  “Unfortunate—but it’s the way it goes,” Phil said, mimicking Barnes’ own sarcastic philosophy. Phil closed the living room door on the way out and stopped at the front door. He lifted the parcel he’d brought with him and left one of his simple business cards on the table in the hallway. Phil returned to his apartment via a newsagent where he bought the Daily Record. He liked the voice of the crime reporter’s articles.

  It was a pleasant afternoon with blue skies and a light breeze. Phil walked into the city centre. He had a place to visit which he’d avoided since arriving back in the city. He sat in George Square on one of the wooden benches, looking around and casting his mind back many years.

  The ability to show affection had been taken from him when he was a teenager, but he would deal with it on this day by facing his demons. Dozens of people were crossing the square in a myriad of directions.

  Phil set off to Buchanan Street and walked south towards Argyle Street. He sauntered along the large pedestrian precinct, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. The contrasting smells of confectionery and cigarette smoke drifted in the air, and the paving echoed the footfalls of the increased number of holiday shoppers.

  People were dressed to feel comfortable in the heat. Phil noted teenage girls wearing enough to cover their modesty and many adolescent lads who were bare-chested, but without good reason. Bright colours were worn by men and women alike. He cast his mind back to the Glasgow of his childhood. Did men ever wear pink?

  Music of every kind issued from shop doorways. Children cried because they hadn’t been granted their latest desire, while others yelled with glee because they had. A cross section of Glasgow’s population sat on the shining black granite benches provided along the precinct.

  Multitudes of folk were in the city. Groups of lecherous teenage boys discussed and fantasised about passing females. Young single mothers dragged innocent offspring around the stores. Inebriated men and women of all ages rested before the next assault on their livers.

  For the second time in ten minutes, Phil heard the distinctive sound of bagpipes, but this time he saw the piper. It was a man in his mid-twenties of Phil’s height. He stood in an area between two shop fronts, dressed in the ceremonial uniform of a Scottish Highland regiment, complete with kilt.

  Phil didn’t recognise the dark tartan of the kilt but recognised a man who’d fallen in battle, and on hard times since. The young ex-Serviceman had a natural right leg, while a metal structure with a gleaming black shoe replaced the left leg. Attached to a small wooden box on the ground was a card:

  ‘I GAVE MY BEST WITH THE BEST – ROYAL HIGHLAND FUSILIERS’

  The container held a variety of coins, mainly large denomination. Phil stopped and pulled out his wallet. He removed a £10 note but recalled his mate Dave had originally been with the RHF and spoke with fondness of the soldiers, and their bravery. The £10 was joined by a £20. Phil folded the notes together, before reaching forward to slip them into one of the buttoned pockets of the veteran’s jacket.

  Phil stood back and listened for a short while. He winked at the soldier. The piper continued to play and acknowledged his benefactor with a raised eyebrow. Phil nodded before walking on and wondered if it was his imagination. Were the pipes now being played with gusto?

  As he continued along Buchanan Street, Phil focused a few hundred metres away, across Argyle Street. There stood the modernised St Enoch Square, complete with a shopping centre. Phil had known it as a bus terminus and railway station.

  He arrived at his destination—the Buchanan Street entrance to the Argyll Arcade. Phil stopped two metres away from the entrance with its ornate canopy.

  In his mind, he could see the entrance cordoned off with blue and white police incident tape. He could see again, the small circular chalk marks where empty bullet cases were found, and where the blood of three dead people stained the ground. Phil stood for a moment staring at the clean paving, paying silent homage.

  When the arcade was built in 1827, it had been formed in an L shape, constructed through existing tenement buildings forming a link between Buchanan Street on the west side and Argyle Street on the south. It contained thirty retail outlets and had since construction, always been the highest concentration of the jewellery retail trade in Scotland.

  The majority of customers within the arcade and its stores were couples, although Phil noticed many now comprised of two men, or two women. Times had changed.

  The flow of customers, the elegant Victorian architecture, and abundance of glittering gold and diamonds meant nothing to Phil because it was here in 1977 his life changed forever. The west entrance to this arcade was the one place in the world which produced sadness in a man who could kill without consideration or remorse. This place was a shrine because it was where both his parents had died at the hands of an armed robber.

  Buchanan Street was a busy road in those days, but it was now a busy pedestrian precinct. Many people across the UK had been at home watching the Swede, Bjorn Borg battling against the American Jimmy Connors at Wimbledon in the Men’s Final.

  A different conflict had been taking place outside the Argyll Arcade as a gang of teenage robbers were making their escape. They had a massive haul of cash and stolen jewellery. One of the robbers gunned down three witnesses to prevent any interference.

  One of the casualties was Harry McKenzie who attempted to stop the getaway. He was shot dead, as was his wife Janet and the deputy manager of a jewellery retail store.

  Phil had been at college with friends working during their holidays to restore a vintage car. He was left with a sense of guilt because he could have been with his parents, and perhaps they would have been somewhere else at the time of the robbery.

  A low buzzing brought Phil out of his reverie. He pulled out his phone and checked the display. “Hi. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Okay, Ciao.” He closed the small device, and stroll
ed through the arcade to the Argyle Street side, before heading east.

  Phil walked through the expanse of Glasgow Green. In the areas between the paved footpaths, flowerbeds and trees were groups of people enjoying a relaxing summer afternoon. Here and there were amateur jugglers, and gymnasts, while youngsters threw Frisbees or kicked a football.

  The practice of having picnics was enjoyed by large and small groups alike, as it had been for over three hundred years. Phil could see his destination in the distance - the Winter Garden of the People’s Palace Museum. It looked like a huge greenhouse attached to a red brick building amidst the large public park.

  Phil couldn’t tell if he was being followed due to the large numbers of people around. He bought an ice-cream at a vendor in the centre of the park. It gave him an excuse to enjoy a rare treat, but more importantly, provided a natural stop to look around. It occurred to him he could bluff any possible followers he was onto them. He walked on, past the imposing Nelson’s Column.

  Phil finished his ice-cream as he approached the one-hundred-year-old People’s Palace. On his way to the steps, he hardly glanced at the impressive Doulton Fountain in front of the museum.

  He made his way through the revolving doors, left, past the central staircase and on into the cafe in the glass building which contained the Winter Garden. A wide variety of tropical trees and shrubs of various sizes took up most of the massive space. In and around the greenery a pathway wound. Several benches were provided along the path to allow visitors to relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

  In the Encore Cafe near the doorway, a handful of tables were occupied, because most people were taking the opportunity to sit at the tables outside in the sun. Phil bought a coffee and chose a table where he could observe the maximum area. Old habits die hard, he thought. He glanced at his watch—13:20. He was ten minutes early.

  A movement caught Phil’s eye. He turned to the right towards the masses of foliage, and saw a handsome woman of about thirty, strolling towards his table from the pathway. Phil noted the dark eyes and a pretty face framed by shoulder length, auburn hair.

  Her full figure and confident stride were accentuated by her upright stance and stiletto heels, while a bright floral dress highlighted her tan. A small white bag hung from her left shoulder, and she carried a jacket over her right arm.

  “Hi.” Annabel approached the table.

  “Hi.” Phil stood and extended his right hand. It was his natural reaction.

  Annabel took his hand in a gentle grip, but leant forward and kissed him on both cheeks.

  Phil inhaled the fragrance of her subtle perfume. “Would you like a drink, or bite to eat?”

  “I could murder a cheese sandwich and a latte.”

  “I bet you could.” They both laughed at his dark humour, and it eased the tension.

  It was a moment witnessed by a dark-haired man sitting on one of the benches amongst the greenery of the Winter Garden. He slipped the phone from his pocket, made a call, and continued to pretend reading his newspaper.

  4. Flavours

  Phil and Annabel enjoyed a lunchtime snack and chatted about how the city had changed over the years. Annabel brought the conversation around to business.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday,” she said and looked around at the other people sitting or sauntering around in the massive glass building. “I had a few loose ends—”

  Phil held up his right hand. “Don’t worry, I kept myself occupied.”

  “During the chat, I had with Stuart, he said you’d agreed to trial your idea for a month.”

  “We’ve got a flexible completion period of a month. Stuart wants to visit for a verbal report. I said I’d call him when we’d reached a logical time to pause.”

  “How did you manage to swing the finance side of things?”

  “I told him I was prepared to use my own funds. Stuart said his department would bankroll the operation for the trial period at least.”

  “Are there any restrictions to your plans?”

  “The usual covert ops brief. If anybody gets caught, there will be total deniability.”

  “What about our other team members?” She sipped her latte.

  “It’s down to the team to deal with it—if it happens.”

  “We ensure they don’t get caught at anything illegal.”

  “May I take it from your turn of phrase you’re coming onboard?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it—besides which, I’ve been given clearance by Stuart to work with you for your trial period—at least.”

  “Thank you.” He gave a rare and genuine smile.

  “I’ve used my limited resources up here to help find people to fit your criteria.”

  “How have you got on?”

  “Before I tell you,” she said, gazing into his piercing blue eyes. “Is sex a problem?” His brow furrowed, and Annabel continued. “I mean, with regard to your team—would a woman be okay?”

  Dimples appeared in Phil’s cheeks. Long-rested facial muscles were working.

  Annabel rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Phil said, “If you’re an example of what a woman is capable of, a woman is fine. Whoever we recruit will have to deal with pressure. Temperament is important.”

  “You wanted two people; one to be a pickpocket, the other a car-thief. Medical knowledge and non-explosive safe-breaking were both to be a bonus.”

  Phil nodded.

  Annabel said, “I’ve got one I’m sure you’ll approve of, but I’d like you to see the other one in action.” She reached into her handbag and brought out a small photograph.

  “Okay.” He accepted the picture. “Who is this?”

  “His name is Jake, he’s twenty-one, and you’ll find him any weekday morning in Central Station between 07:00 and 08:00.” A smile played on her lips. “Apart from what he does to earn money, he volunteers as a first aider at major events. He’s got a good side.”

  “Do we know why he has a decent streak in him?”

  “His mother is a nurse, and interested him with how easy it was to save a life.”

  “What about the other candidate?”

  “I’ve interviewed and tested the other person, and I think you’ll be surprised.”

  “I take it the second one is a woman?”

  “Yes, her name is Rachel, and she’s in her early twenties.”

  “Could we arrange her interview for tomorrow?”

  “Of course—it would be beneficial to source a trustworthy motorbike dealer.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep it in mind while I’m vehicle hunting.”

  “Would you like another coffee?” she asked.

  “I would if you’ll be joining me.”

  “Oh, I will.” She went to the counter.

  Phil watched Annabel as she walked away, and he appraised her while she stood ordering the drinks. He’d occasionally worked with a woman, but couldn’t remember teaming up with one as striking as Annabel. She turned, met his gaze and smiled.

  Annabel returned and placed the cups on the table before she sat down.

  Phil said, “Why do you want to take part in this project?”

  “I have more than one reason, but you deserve to hear something.”

  “Tell me whatever you’re comfortable with, and I’ll wait for the rest. Trust is a long road.”

  She stared at her latte for a moment. “In early 1990, I was sent to SAS HQ in Hereford for specialist weapon training. You were my instructor.”

  “I usually remember a face, and we didn’t have many women sent for training.”

  “At the time I would have kept to myself. I wouldn’t have been wearing any makeup, my hair would have been dark and short, and most of the time I was in camouflage outfits ... you know, Gillie-suits and the like.”

  “Wait a minute,” Phil said. “I don’t want to sound ungracious but, have you added a few pounds?” He paused and went on quickly. “I remember teaching a woman at the time, but she was skinny—and didn�
�t look like you.”

  “Do you want to quit while you’re ahead?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said and laughed. It was a sound rarer than his smile. “All your curves are in the right places. I don’t do compliments often.”

  “Let’s say, your eyes are doing a better job than your mouth.” Her eyes displayed her amusement with his awkwardness. She lifted her latte which hid her smile.

  Phil sipped his coffee. It had been many years since he’d enjoyed a woman’s company. This one was impressive on many levels; including appearance.

  Annabel said, “Do you remember who I was working for when I came to you guys for training?”

  “It would have been either MI5 or MI6.”

  “I’ve worked for both. I remember a conversation I overheard while in Hereford. You and another guy were discussing what you would do if you could no longer serve your country.”

  “Go on.”

  “As I recall, you both felt too much power was taken away from the police in the UK, and you agreed it would be a fitting task to become a vigilante.”

  “How did you know I would be coming here?”

  “I attended a meeting at Metropolitan Police HQ a couple of weeks ago, and your name came up. One of the senior guys said, ‘Phil would make a Helluva’ copper.’ But his colleague disagreed, saying you’d find it too restrictive.”

  Phil nodded and granted her another smile. She was doing well.

  “I fluttered my eyelashes at a couple of them,” she said. “I found out you were leaving the service, taking a pay-off, and heading home to Glasgow.”

  “How long have you known Stuart, your boss?”

  “We met at university and in selection training for the Secret Intelligence Service. We did some covert ops together, and I transferred to MI5.”

  “How did you find out about my enterprise?”

  “I got in touch with him when he set up his new department. He called me over for a chat. I asked if there was anything unusual going on. He gave me a brief outline of your idea, and I said I’d like to be a part of it.”