The Reward Game, page 16
part #2 of Keith Calder Series
‘I don’t know that we can knock off, just like that. Every time we stop there’s a queue of wifies with pudding-basins.’
‘Don’t stand any nonsense,’ Keith said. ‘Be bold, bloody and resolute.’
‘Aye,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ll be bold, and Sir Peter’s resolute all right.’
‘And Ronnie’s being bloody as usual?’
‘You can put that to music and play it on the pipes,’ Hamish said.
Keith moved over to stand behind Jake Paterson. ‘I spotted the buses,’ he said, looking at Jake’s notes. ‘What’s A.F.P.?’
‘Ambulance, fire-engine or police-car. I wouldn’t know what dings or whoops or goes hee-haw in Glasgow these days.’
‘Nor would I,’ said Keith. ‘Next time Cathcart’s on the phone we’ll play it to him. If it’s a fire-engine, the fire-master’s office could help us. Are you sure about the train?’
‘Ninety per cent.,’ Jake said. ‘It’s distant, but played at high volume there’s not much doubt about it. An electric train.’
‘That’s a help. What’s this?’
‘Just a buzzing. I want to play it over the oscilloscope when I get a minute.’
‘And that’s the lot?’
‘You want miracles?’
Keith considered. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s just what I want. But this’ll do for now. . . . There’s the phone again.’
Inspector Cathcart was back on the line. He sounded depressed. The telephone supervisor had told him a few home-truths and they rankled. ‘If I can’t get hold of either her boss or mine soon,’ he said, ‘it’s no good.’
‘Keep trying,’ Keith said, ‘but first listen to this.’ He caught Jake’s attention and they played a few inches of tape over the phone. ‘Now, what was that?’
‘Ambulance.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t a fire-engine?’
‘Certain.’
‘Pity,’ Keith said. ‘That’s the one service that does business as usual on a Sunday. One more question. Are Hughie Spence and Archie Curran in Glasgow, as of now?’
‘I’ll put the word around and let you know if anyone sees them,’ Cathcart said. ‘That’s the best that I can do.’ Even the small click as he hung up sounded dispirited.
Keith went back to Jake. ‘Anything?’
‘I think so. At least it’s not a bluebottle in the room, which is what I thought at first. The oscilloscope shows a constant series of sharp, rapid pulses. It’s a very small, high-speed internal combustion engine.’
‘Chain-saw?’
‘Not very likely in Glasgow on a Sunday.’ Jake scratched his head. ‘And there’s a slight Doppler-shift on a seven-second cycle, as near as I can figure it. Trouble is, so much of it’s obscured by voices.’
‘Don’t bug me with science,’ Keith said. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t like guessing.’
‘Go ahead and guess, if you want your five per cent . . .’
Jake shrugged. ‘For my money, it’s a model plane on a hand-line. But I’m not sure I’d bet on it.’
‘You just did,’ Keith said. ‘Public park?’
‘Or school playground. Or somebody with a large garden.’
‘Don’t make life difficult. We’ll concentrate on the parks first. What else have you got?’
‘You’re a glutton. Give me the next tape and I’ll see what I can get.’
One minute later the phone buzzed again. It was Ronnie on the line. ‘They’ll not let me do the selling any more,’ he said disgustedly.
‘What did you do?’
‘Och well, it was just something that happened. Nothing at all, really.’
‘What was it?’ Keith demanded.
‘We thought we’d get a quick snack while we weren’t on the move, but there was folks at the van. I said we was closing for our own lunch, but one woman, a big, Italian-looking wifie with a colossal bust hanging half-out and a tunnel between like a badger’s sett –’
‘Stick to the story,’ Keith said.
‘I am. She said we was to serve her. She was first in the queue, she said, and if we didn’t sell her some ice-cream she was going to report us to somebody-or-other.’
‘My God,’ Keith said, ‘you didn’t –?’
‘I bloody did! A whole scoopful right down the tunnel. Did you not hear her scream? It must’ve carried that far. The other women thought it was funny, though, so she’s not well liked. I doubt it’ll go any further.’
‘If it does,’ Keith said grimly, ‘I’ll fill you bung full of ice-cream through an enema-tube, you great pudding. From now on, behave yourself!’
‘Och, it was a nothing. A nothing!’ Ronnie sounded, for him, quite subdued.
‘Listen now,’ Keith said. ‘Did you see an ambulance about eleven-thirty?’
There was a rustle of paper at the other end. ‘No. Passed one later, though.’
‘Never mind. The place we want is near a bus-route, so stick to bus-routes from now on. It’s near a public park or similar open space, and not far from an electrified railway-line.’
‘Now, how the hell would you know all that?’
‘Waved my magic wand. I don’t know which lines are electrified, but I’m sure the one out of Dumbarton is.’ Keith was poring over the map while he spoke. ‘You go to Victoria Park. Go once round, then come back and do Yorkhill Park. By that time I’ll hope to know which lines are electric. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘If you get the chance – but don’t waste time over it – stop at each park and ask whether anyone was flying a model plane on a hand-line between eleven-fifteen and eleven-thirty.’
Later, one of Keith’s strongest memories of the day was of the distracting need to stop and explain to the others what the far end of a telephone conversation had been about. Now, when he wanted to phone Cathcart or to listen to the background noises or to consult Jake again, Molly and Jake were desperate to know how Ronnie had sinned. When Keith explained Molly was shocked, but Jake laughed until he cried.
‘Everyone’s gone to the moon,’ Cathcart said despairingly when Keith called him, ‘and there’s a frustrated old biddy at the exchange who wants a personal say-so from God before she’ll even tell me the time. I think her pram must have had a parking-ticket and she’s never forgotten it. If you’ve got a number I could try and trace that.’
‘No luck,’ Keith said. ‘But we’re getting other clues. Can you tell me which Glasgow railway-lines are electrified?’
‘Off-hand the Dumbarton line, the line south and the Circle. I could check and call you back. And, by the way, your two friends are still in Glasgow.’
‘That’s a relief,’ Keith said. ‘I don’t think I could cope with any more complications just now. They don’t seem happy and fulfilled, do they?’
‘The reverse. One of my men spotted them, and he said that they looked like thunder. They were speaking to a shady dealer in the car trade, if it’s any help.’
‘That’s what I wanted to know. They’re probably trying to get a Land Rover.’
‘I’ll try to keep tabs on them,’ Cathcart said. ‘And if I don’t call you back you’ll know that I was right about the electrified lines. I’ll have to go and get something to eat soon, but after that I’ll stay by the phone.’
‘Go now,’ Keith said, ‘but try not to be long. We may have something for you in a hurry.’
*
‘Nothing else so far,’ Jake said.
Keith could only bite his nails, until Molly stopped him, listen to the patient voice reading numbers and wait. Time limped by. The background noises of some Glasgow street were muted, partially obscured by interference on the line, half-covered by Danny Bruce’s voice and as far as Keith could tell they could have come from anywhere in the city.
Ronnie phoned in from Ferry Road, near Yorkhill Park. ‘Try Glasgow Green,’ Keith said, and the connection was broken. ‘I must have been bloody well nuts,’ he said aloud. ‘I should have had Cathcart in on this from the start. I should have phoned him last night. We’re getting nowhere, and that’s the only place –’
‘Shut up a minute,’ Jake said urgently.
They listened. Danny Bruce’s voice recited numbers. Only the fact that they were the numbers of bank-notes, twenty pounds at a time, saved Keith from being driven mad. Not the least hint of ‘Light Cavalry’ came over the speakers.
‘Didn’t you hear it?’
‘Whatever it was, no.’
‘Ambulance,’ said Jake. ‘Another one. Not so near, this time. But it was getting nearer instead of going away, and it cut off at about the same volume as the other one. It may be coincidence. Or –’
‘Hospital?’
‘Could be.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Molly.
‘Come over here,’ Keith told Jake. He gave him one of Mr Enterkin’s pens. ‘Make a ring round every hospital –’
Something thudded against the door. Molly opened it a crack and peeped through. ‘Janet’s signalling,’ she whispered. ‘She’s holding up a clenched fist.’
‘About twenty minutes left,’ Keith said. ‘We’d better have a break.’ He looked at his watch. ‘They should have cleared Glasgow Green in a minute.’ He went softly into the outer office, sorted one of his notes out of the pile and laid it before Janet.
‘Just a moment,’ Janet said smoothly. ‘I’m in trouble here. I can be seen at this phone, and I think one of Frank Hutch’s boys is sniffing around. Give me a number to call back.’
Danny Bruce laughed. ‘Put it out of your little mind,’ he said. His voice was becoming hoarse. ‘I’ll go and have a snack. You phone my home in half an hour and leave your new number with the cook. I’ll phone you shortly after that.’ He hung up without waiting for an answer.
‘He’s as canny as a whore in a nunnery,’ Keith said. ‘If I get my hands on him, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to grow a new pair of testicles. Well, we’ve bought some time.’
Janet came through from the other room. ‘How did I do?’ she asked. She sounded as if she had been opening a bazaar.
‘Very good,’ Keith said. ‘You have a future as a confidence trickster.’ He kissed her cheek and she glowed at him.
‘If he’s as canny as all that,’ Molly said, ‘mightn’t he phone back from somewhere different next time?’
Keith swallowed. ‘God forbid!’ he said. ‘We’d have to start all over again, with only twenty minutes to go. But it’d mean shifting the bank-notes, so he probably won’t. Now, can I have some help marking up the map?’
‘Before you do that,’ said Jake, ‘there’s something else.’
Chapter Thirteen
Jake spun the tape back for a second and set it to play. ‘If he’d just gone on talking for a few more moments,’ he said irritably.
‘Put it out of your little mind,’ said Danny Bruce’s rich voice. Jake turned up the volume. The voice paused before the last sentence. ‘I’ll phone you shortly after that,’ it said, and they heard the receiver rattle and then a click and silence. Behind the voices and clearly in the brief pause a few melodious notes could be heard.
‘Musical car-horn?’ suggested Molly.
‘Military band,’ said Keith.
‘Somebody turned up a radio?’ Janet suggested.
‘Possibly,’ Jake said. ‘What time did it start?’
Molly looked down at her log. ‘The end of the call was just a few seconds after one.’
‘The bands in the parks usually start at two, don’t they?’
‘There’s no law says that they can’t start earlier.’ Keith had brought the Sunday paper with him, and he flicked over the pages until he found the radio and television programmes. ‘Unless they’ve put on a brass band record as an entr’acte, I can’t see anything.’
Janet was looking over Keith’s shoulder, one breast deliberately nudging his cheek. ‘Family Favourites?’ she suggested.
Molly gave Janet a look which could have cut that young lady in half. ‘Or somebody upstairs putting on a record,’ she said.
‘I’d go for that,’ Keith said, ‘except that Danny Bruce seemed to hang up in one hell of a hurry. Damn, damn, damn!’ He got up and started pacing the room again. ‘We’re back to shading probabilities. We’d already guessed public park, so a brass band adds to the likelihood – and to the time we’d waste going up a blind alley if we were wrong. We’re pretty sure of the electric train, but we’re only guessing that two ambulances suggest a hospital.’
‘The point –’ began Molly.
‘The point is,’ said Keith, ‘that we’ve got to be looking somewhere. Hijacking him tomorrow morning would be a desperate last resort. And if we call on Cathcart and don’t deliver the goods we’ll have another policeman fed up at us. So. We’ve got limited time available and that means a limited area that we can cover. We’ll plump for what we’ve got.’
He dialled Inspector Cathcart’s number. There was no reply. ‘I said he could go to lunch,’ Keith said. ‘Why do these blasted policemen have to listen to me?’
‘They don’t usually,’ Molly said, giggling.
‘That’s what I mean, they pick the wrong times. Jake, we need to give him the other number. Can you swap everything around, room for room, quickly?’
Jake sighed and picked up his tools. ‘Doesn’t the time go quickly when you’re working your arse off?’ he said.
Molly looked up from the map. ‘I’ve been marking hospitals and bandstands,’ she said.
‘Good girl! I suppose,’ Keith said doubtfully, ‘that there has to be a bandstand? Or do they just march up and down?’
‘Bandstand, definitely,’ said Jake looking up. ‘This phone’s trying to ring.’
The caller was Ronnie. ‘Thank God!’ Keith said. He peered at the map. ‘We’re looking for a park with a band playing. Did the tourist place give you anything that would tell you whether any of the parks have a band playing today, starting at one o’clock?’
‘The place in George Square was shut for the winter,’ Ronnie said.
Keith withdrew his prayer of thanks and thought furiously. ‘You’ve already eliminated Kelvingrove, and there’s no hospital near Glasgow Green. Is the railway line that goes past Springburn Park and Stobhill Hospital electrified?’
‘How would I know?’ said Ronnie’s voice. Jake and the two girls shook their heads in uncertainty.
Keith made up his mind. ‘Tell the two in the van to go out to Springburn Park, see if there’s a band playing and call me back on the other number. You take the Daimler and go down to Queen’s Park. Danny Bruce is off the phone just now, so keep an eye out for him. He’s about my height with a bit of a pot, always very well-dressed, usually a camel-hair coat out of doors. Silver hair, florid complexion, blue jaw unless he’s freshly shaved, a nose that looks as if it may have been broken once and a wart beside his mouth, left side, I think.’
‘Got it,’ said Ronnie.
‘Brief the others.’
They disconnected.
Jake was packing up his tools and the hi-fi equipment had disappeared. ‘All swapped over,’ he said.
‘Including the bells?’
‘Including the bells,’ Jake said patiently.
Keith went through and dumped himself in the secretary’s chair. The others drifted after him. ‘We’ve a few minutes in hand,’ Keith said. ‘Maybe we can short-cut a bit.’ He tried Cathcart’s number again, without success. He took the Glasgow directory out of the desk and looked up Stobhill Hospital, dialled Glasgow and the Stobhill code and four digits at random.
‘I’m hungry,’ Molly said plaintively.
‘Not long now.’
After a dozen rings, a voice came on at the other end.
‘Are you near the park?’ Keith asked.
‘Who’s this?’ asked the voice.
‘Are you near Springburn Park? Please!’ Keith said.
‘No’ far. Who is this?’
‘Do me a favour, mate. Listen out of the window and tell me if there’s a band in the park.’
The receiver at the other end was ineffectively covered. Keith heard a voice, slightly muffled, say, ‘C’mere, Kevin. There’s a right nutter on the line.’ The voice came back clearly, sounding amused. ‘See here, Jimmy, is this some kind of a joke?’
‘No joke,’ Keith said. ‘It’s a matter of life and death. Is there a band in the park?’
‘There wisnae when we came in jist now.’
Keith hung up. ‘Queen’s Park,’ he said.
‘Six-three-seven,’ Jake said. ‘I’d an auntie –’
‘Still there?’
‘Dead.’
‘Sorry.’ Keith waited a moment longer to allow for any incoming calls. Then he dialled Queen’s Park and another random four-digit number. He got no answer. Frantic with impatience he tried another number and it answered on the second ring. The voice was female. Keith projected all his charm, all his sexual challenge into his voice. ‘You live near Queen’s Park, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Aye, that’s right,’ the lady said coyly. ‘Langside Avenue. Have we met?’
‘Can you hear the band in the park?’
‘Why, are they playing our tune?’
Keith ground his teeth, but he kept his voice insinuatingly virile. ‘To win today’s major prize,’ he said, ‘hum me the tune that the band’s playing.’
The other receiver was laid down on a hard surface. Feet crossed a floor and a window squealed open. Faintly over the line came the strains of ‘Poet and Peasant’. Keith hung up on the lady’s attempt to hum the melody.
‘Time you phoned the new number to Danny Bruce’s house,’ he told Janet, and she went back into the sanctum.
Keith dialled Cathcart’s number. This time the inspector answered immediately.
‘We’re getting warm,’ Keith said. ‘It’s an odds-on bet that Danny Bruce is within spitting distance of Queen’s Park, and we know for sure that he’s got the money in his hands. So this is where you come in. Can you get down there and call me back?’
