Chapter 10: The debutante

Cullen had received all of the details of the police investigations into the vigilante's activities so far. With several policemen on his payroll, he didn't have to work too hard to get it. He had everything, even the wording on the notes that had been found in the mouths of the dead pushers.

The full extent of the vigilante's work was quite staggering - even to a hardened criminal like Rab. The gangster recognised and respected strength, but business was business and the vigilante was hurting his cash flow.

Rab had just finished a meeting with his tame journalist where he had passed on all of the details.

"Remember, you have to write this to show him as a coward, a low-life. I want to get him angry, flush him out so that he makes a mistake and I can get rid of the bastard," he said.

"I'll need to do a little work to verify what I can. This is so sensational that my editor won't run it without something to back it up," the journalist replied.

"Fine, you do what you have to but I want to see that story running today or tomorrow," Cullen ordered.

The journalist had some contacts of his own within the police force and didn't take long to make some calls. Armed with the details supplied by Cullen, he was able to get his contacts to confirm that what he had was accurate. He couldn't believe his luck, this was an incredible exclusive and his editor would be over the moon.

Locking himself in his office, the journalist began writing his article, keeping in mind what Cullen wanted from him.

Drew was in his office reading through the detailed forensic report from Reardon's Farm. It started with what had been found inside. The dead man had a broken neck, exactly like the dead druggie in Bearsden. His mouth had contained a small quantity of drugs and the note from the vigilante - again a carbon copy of the first hit.

Fingerprints had been matched to a number of the druggies that had been arrested or who had been found dead but none that couldn't be matched. So, the vigilante had been careful once more.

Outside the farmhouse, the report provided a frightening insight into what had happened. Tracks had been found from a four-wheel drive vehicle leading up to the huge hedge that surrounded the property. Scuffmarks had been identified that suggested where the property had been breached and some fibres had been recovered from the Leylandii.

Wood shavings had also been found just inside the boundary fence and they matched a sharpened stick found outside the backdoor of the farm.

The dead druggie had indeed burned to death. An autopsy officially gave the cause of death as asphyxiation - lack of oxygen - and explained this by setting out how the man had breathed in a mixture of burning petrol and butane. The degree of scorching in his mouth, throat and lungs would have led to his death anyway, but the flames had consumed the available oxygen and mercifully killed him before he suffered the pain of his terrible injuries.

A cigarette lighter and a charred cigarette stub had been recovered. Numerous other cigarette butts had been found littering the area to the left of the farm's door. Small traces of burnt rubber had been found around the body, some as much as ten feet away. A sharpened stick had been found lying on the ground and its tip was covered in faint traces of petrol and rubber.

Drag marks on the ground were consistent with the unconscious body of the druggie with charred clothes being dragged and then dropped on the dead man. The report couldn't be certain why this had been done but its author suggested the unconscious man had been used to douse the flames on the corpse.

One of the unconscious men outside the farm had marks on his body consistent with having been hit by a stun gun. The other had a wound on the back of his head suggesting he had been hit with some force by a blunt object. The angle of this blow had taken the forensic team back to the farm where marks were found on the roof directly above the back door.

The report ended by suggesting that the dead man had been set on fire. The evidence pointed to someone hiding on the roof of the farmhouse with a rubber container filled with petrol and butane. The container had been burst using the sharpened stick, probably as the deceased was lighting a cigarette. That explained the lighter, the charred butt, the small particles of rubber and the particles on the tip of the stick. A balloon was suggested as the container, the force of it being burst explaining the distance some particles of rubber had travelled away from the body.

Drew looked up as the door to his office burst open and DI Kenny MacLean barged in.

"Have you seen this?" Kenny demanded.

He threw a copy of Glasgow's evening newspaper, the Evening Times, down onto Drew's desk. The banner headline on the tabloid paper yelled at Drew.

TIMES EXCLUSIVE

DRUGS RAIDS: THE TRUTH!

Drew snatched up the paper and began to read the front-page story.

The Evening Tines can exclusively reveal the sensational truth behind two major drugs hauls in Bearsden and Darnley over the past two days. Strathclyde police have been content to claim all of the credit for the seizure of large quantities of heroin, cocaine, amphetamines and cannabis.

Our readers will be surprised therefore to learn that the credit for exposing the drug dens is actually down to a vigilante who has been active across the city in the past few months.

Sources close to the police today confirmed that this vigilante is suspected of the sneak attack on the Portcullis pub, the cowardly murder of two men outside the house of Mr Fraser Gilchrist and the callous shooting of William Lorimer who was in a drug induced stupor at the time.

In these latest vigilante attacks more murders have been carried out. In the Bearsden incident a defenceless 17-year old youth, barely out of school, had his neck broken. Drugs and a Vietnam style 'calling card' message were left stuffed in the victim's mouth. Today the Times has learned that that message reads - 'Keep Glasgow's streets clean. Really say no to drugs and say no to drug dealers. The vigilante.' The four men 'arrested' by the police we now know were actually tied up and left waiting for them to respond to an anonymous tip-off from the vigilante himself.

At the Darnley site, two bodies were recovered; one of them killed in an horrendous method reminiscent of a Vietnam napalm assault. We understand that the man's head and lungs were literally burned to a crisp. Four further 'arrests' were made by police, but again these men were tied up and only another anonymous call from the vigilante led the police to the scene. A second note was viciously jammed into the mouth of one of the dead bodies. The Times can reveal that this note reads - 'Let Glasgow Flourish, kill a dealer a day. The vigilante'.

As far as we are aware the police have no leads on who this vicious and cowardly vigilante is. Instead of putting all their efforts into catching him and making Glasgow safer, they seem content to let the killer dispense his own form of rough justice while they sit around and take the credit for non-existent drug hauls.

The Times knows that the good people of Glasgow won't stand for this. The vast majority of us wouldn't think about taking the law into our own hands and certainly not in such a cowardly way. Today we demand that our police forces do more to protect us. Catch this killer, catch him quickly!

Editorial page 16

Drew threw the newspaper across the room and slammed both hands down violently on his desk.

"Bastards! Who leaked? Who fucking leaked?" he screamed.

Fraser was in the back of one of the Cullen clan's cars being driven home from the hospital. The medical staff had found it difficult to stitch up his wound and had informed him to expect a significant scar. The Accident and Emergency consultant had even spoken to him about the possibility of cosmetic surgery, but he had waved it off.

As the car drew up to a set of traffic lights, Fraser spotted a street vendor selling the evening newspaper. As was normal for these guys, a series of posters highlighting the headlines were displayed around his stand. Fraser's face paled as he read one of the posters.

GLASGOW VIGILANTE ON THE LOOSE

"The bastard couldn't take a telling, he always knows best," Fraser said to himself quietly.

"Gavin! Gavin! Get your arse down here. Now!" shouted Glen Anderson.

Gavin heard the anger and knew something was very wrong. He pulled himself off of his bed and trudged downstairs. Fiona was close behind him and Christine had emerged from the kitchen when she heard her husband's loud shout.

"What's wrong, dear? Why are you shouting?" Christine asked, concerned.

"Why don't you ask your son?" Glen replied hotly.

Christine looked at Gavin and he shrugged as if to say he didn't know what was going on.

"You couldn't control yourself, could you? You couldn't keep your promise!" growled Glen.

"Glen, what are you talking about!" demanded Christine.

Glen threw the evening newspaper onto the dining table.

"Your son here has managed to kill another three men in the last two days apparently, despite promising us he wouldn't do this anymore. One of those he killed was a defenceless boy and another one he set on fire and literally burned him to death.

"He's no better than the criminals he claims to hate. According to this he has killed nine people in the past few months. He's got what he wanted - he's the debutante paraded in front of his public. Your son is a monster! And just as I suspected, he's now drawing our daughter into his grubby little world! I won't have it; I will not have it! Do you hear? I want him out of the house now!"

Gavin picked the paper up first and began to read the front-page article. He cringed at the way it described what he had done and could see his father had lapped up every twisted detail.

"Dad, I can see that you've already made your mind up about what I've done so I'm not going to try and argue with you. I will only say this. Last night I took on six hardened criminals single-handedly. The night before I took on five, again on my own. I needed every advantage I could get. The result is that eleven people who have been peddling drugs and misery on the streets of Glasgow are now out of the picture. Two of the biggest ever seizures of drugs also go down as a plus.

"Fiona's involvement has been absolutely marginal and I took steps to protect her. But you're right, I've made a mistake and shouldn't have gotten her involved at all. I was wrong. I'll go and pack my bags."

Christine's hands flew to her mouth. Fiona collapsed in tears on the sofa. Gavin straightened his shoulders as he turned and climbed the stairs.

"Glen, this isn't the way to deal with this," cried Christine, "you can't throw our son out on the streets! Let's talk about this."

Glen himself had vented most of his anger and knew that he had gone further than he intended. With the characteristic male stiff-neck, he felt that he couldn't back down now that he had said what he had, he wouldn't take it back. Christine continued to try and work on him.

"Let's leave it tonight and talk about it as a family tomorrow. Things are too raw just now, let's give them a chance to settle," she suggested.

Glen saw an opportunity to back down gracefully and simply nodded his agreement. Christine immediately rushed upstairs to stop her son from packing his bags.

"Gavin, stop. Your father is angry, he needs some time to calm down and think things through. He's agreed that we should all take some time to think about things and then have a family discussion tomorrow night. Please don't make things worse,"

Gavin tried to smile and he stopped what he was doing and hugged his mother.

"Mom, dad's right to an extent. I really do think I should move out, but I'll wait for the family discussion if that's what you want."

Fate was working against Gavin for once and he was about to experience the sweet and sour of life. He sat in his room and pulled his rucksack towards himself. He slowly went through the contents, holding them, thinking about how he had used them. At last his frustration at his father's outburst got to him and he stood, desperate to get out of the house for a while.

Making his way downstairs, he realised he had the ski mask still in his hands. He stuffed it into his pocket and called out that he was going out for some fresh air.

Once outside, his anger and frustration consumed him and he started to run. Conscious thought escaped Gavin as he ran and he was fortunate that drivers were more alert than he was or he would probably have been run over several times!

Thirty minutes later consciousness returned and Gavin was stunned to find himself running through Kelvingrove Park, the same place he had picked up the Browning handgun some months before. He slowed his pace and tried to control his breathing as he looked around to try and identify exactly where he was.

It was easy to identify the River Kelvin on his right as he ran along the path. The lighting was mellow and subdued from the lamps lining the path, but more than good enough to see where he was going. He realised there was no need to be running and slowed to a stop, pleased to find he wasn't too badly out of breath.

A scream rang out, the scream of a female and Gavin was suddenly on full alert. It had sounded as if it had come from his right, on the other side of the river. Gavin began to move forward again quickly.