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‘I’ll tell you when appropriate. I don’t want you buggers to screw me over,’ Davie’s bottom lip protruded, a touch.
‘Are there interview facilities nearby?’ said Leo.
‘Kilmarnock police station. Pretty quiet there, and we could probably clear the place,’ said Maxwell.
‘That’s acceptable.’ Leo nodded.
‘One thing, Davie. We’re not daft, and if you’re trying to pull a fast one, you’re making a big mistake.’
Davie chuckled. ‘As if, officer. As if. Get this right, and your next promotion is in the bag, once it comes out who you can bring down. This will go down as the biggest collar in the history of Police Scotland.’
6
DAVIE HARDIE WASstruggling to keep the smile from his face when he was escorted back onto the wing, which was a hive of activity as association was in full swing. There were card games, pool matches and even some chess underway. Small knots of prisoners hung around in corners, chatting conspiratorially, and a faint acidic tang of spice filled the grimy space.
‘Davie, where ya been, man?’ slurred a small, elderly prisoner, his eyes glazed as he stared blearily at Davie, who had paused to look at the prisoner with a touch of amusement.
‘Healthcare, Patsy. You pished again?’ he said, a smile stretching across his face. Patsy was always drunk, generally on hooch that one of the other cons somehow managed to brew up in his cell during the long hours of bang-up.
‘Pished? Ye cheeky basa’ I’ll have ye ken that I’ve nae touched a fucking drop, man. Shh,’ he said as he swayed, before adding in a whisper that could be heard even over the prison chatter, ‘Ya want a bit? I’ve a bottle of pruno I could let you have, man. Cheap as chips,’ he said, using the slang word ‘pruno’, for the homemade hooch brewed using apple juice and yeast. As the much smaller man spoke, a fetid waft of alcohol-laden breath almost smashed Davie in the face.
‘I’m good, Patsy. Now, fuck off, your breath stinks, man. I need to make a call.’
‘Ach, ye young ’uns have nae style,’ he said as he staggered off, looking for someone else to buy his hooch.
Davie walked up along the wing to where there was a short line of prisoners waiting for the three phones that were bolted to the wall, each covered with a canopy that was designed to offer a little privacy. Ignoring the queue, Davie strode to the front and approached the closest booth, where a small young man was tucked into the hood, whispering into the receiver. Davie tapped him on the shoulder. The prisoner flinched, as if the phone had suddenly become electrified.
‘Jesus, Davie. You scared the shit out of me,’ he said. He had a smooth face, only marked by a thin scar on his forehead.
‘I need to make a call, Mikey. Hang up.’
The smaller man placed the receiver back on the cradle, his face turning white rapidly.
‘You have any credit on your account?’
‘Aye, a wee bit.’
‘I don’t even need a minute. Is my man still on your contacts list?’
‘Aye, of course.’
‘Good, now fuck off,’ he said, handing the smaller man a pouch of tobacco, which he tucked into his pocket before moving away. Davie lifted the receiver and tapped in the code that had been issued to Mikey, but had been shared with Davie for a little tobacco every now and again. Davie always assumed that any calls he made would be intercepted by the prison security division, so it was prudent to use someone else’s PIN, and have the other inmate add your contact to their list of approved numbers. It was a simple way of avoiding being eavesdropped on, and as Mikey was only inside for death by dangerous driving, there was no way he’d be intercepted.
There were clicks in Davie’s ear as he dialled, and a short pause as the call was connected and began to ring. As it was answered there was a further pause, as the automated system informed the call recipient that there was a call from HMP Shotts waiting should they wish to accept it.
‘Yes?’ A male voice at the other end of the line responded. Flat, unaccented and unfathomable.
‘Two days. The White Loch.’
‘Time?’
‘Unknown.’
‘No problem, we can monitor.’
Davie hung up, turned on his heel and strode off, a grin spreading across his face.
7
