Free Referendum by Campbell Hart Page B

him under the Kingston Bridge on the southside of the Clyde.
    “Ah, Mr Chief Constable, glad you could find the time.”
    Graeme Donald was becoming irritated by his unwelcome guest. He needed to handle the situation. Murphy claimed he could offer him a deal. In the short term that might be the best answer, “I’ve always got time for a friendly face.”
    Niall noted the change in tone, the power balance had shifted, which left him in a stronger position than before. He handed Donald his phone, “Recognise this guy?”
    Donald looked at the photo on screen, “Is it that BBC guy, Stirrit? Looks in a bad way – when did this happen?”
    “A few hours ago,” Niall was looking around making sure they were still alone, they started to walk back towards the city, “I met with him; he’s looking into your days in Belfast.”
    Donald already knew that; he’d had a call from Ian Davidson to say Stirrit had been trying to dig up dirt, but that he’d given him nothing. He’d ordered the journalist’s emails be put under surveillance. It wasn’t strictly legal and he was bending the rules, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    Niall was confused; he couldn’t have found out unless Sandy Stirrit had been in touch, unless there was someone else, a grass somewhere. He made a note to dig a little deeper into Stirrit’s research.
    “You know who did this, right?”
    “The work looks familiar.”
    Niall sensed a stitch up, “Are you wearing a wire?”
    “You should know me better, Murphy.” Donald opened his suit jacket and raised his arm, “Check if you want.”
    Murphy frisked him, “Pays to be careful, you know that better than most.” Donald nodded.
    “The thing is, I paid the reporter a visit earlier and you’re right to say that work is trademark.”
    “Setting yourself up over here now are we?”
    “I said I would and as a gesture of good faith I thought I’d do you a favour. That guy’s not going to cause any more trouble for you. I can help with people like him. I’m setting up alright, protection first but I can go deeper than your people ever will. You need me and I still have shit on you, so don’t forget it.”
    Donald made the decision there and then. It would take time but he was patient. “What do you want?”
    “Same as always; the blind eye when it’s needed and a few scraps from the table when it’s mutually beneficial.”
    Donald sighed, “It’s more difficult over here.”
    “No, it’s not. You’ve got some gangs to deal with but they’re nothing compared to the paramilitaries – not even in the same league.”
    “Maybe that was true once upon a time, but the game’s changing. They’re all armed these days – are you out of touch? Do you still have the stomach for this?”
    “You saw the pictures?”
    “That you claim to have taken.”
    “Let’s cut the crap – are we doing business or what?”
    “I’ve got one condition.”
    “Name it.”
     
    ***
     
    It was late at the hospital and the wards were quiet. He rattled at the lock for a few minutes before it clicked open. Inside the target was flat on his back and dead still. It was true; he was still in a coma. They said the man was dangerous, but you would never know it to look at him. The green line of the heart monitor showed steady life signs. They said he might be coming round. But that wouldn’t do .  He knew too much. The visitor didn’t hesitate.
    “I’ve a message for you from Police Scotland. They say thanks for your co-operation in the terror investigation but the case is closed.”
    A single bullet puffed through the silencer, breaking the skin on the target’s forehead, the haemorrhaging and tissue damage ripping away all traces of life to tell a colourful story on the wall behind. No-one checked on the patient for 45 minutes, and by that time he was long gone.
     

18
     
     
    Closing the curtains had been the last thing on their minds and in the