Chapter 16: Going South

Drew MacIntosh found himself in the main incident room, staring at the board that still had the timeline showing the vigilante incidents. With no new leads, Drew was working other cases now but he continually came back to the vigilante.

The Crimewatch programme had been a big disappointment. Drew had held out high hopes that someone out there knew something, had that vital little clue that would unlock the case, but there had been only a trickle of calls and none of them threw up anything new.

DI Kenny MacLean wandered over to where Drew was sitting. He knew his partner was thinking again about the vigilante.

"Nothing new?" he asked.

Drew snapped out of his daydream and focussed on MacLean.

"Nothing. You know, we're missing something. Why did he start all this? What was the catalyst, what was his trigger? His first hit was on May 14th when he killed three at the Portcullis or was it? We need to go back and look at old cases. Have we missed something? Did he start before May 14th? If he didn't, is there something about the Portcullis that we've missed?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kenny.

"Well think about it. What is it that makes someone take the decision to start killing people? What makes them take that big step? Even if we've got somebody here who thinks that it's wrong for the criminals to get away with things, what was it that made him take that big step from thinking something is wrong to actually doing something about it? What was the trigger?"

MacLean thought about that for a few moments.

"Maybe it all just built up until he decided enough was enough. Maybe there was just one more incident that was the straw that broke the camel's back," suggested Kenny.

"I don't think so. There has to be more to it than that. We're missing something, I know we are. If it really was his first, there has to be something more to the Portcullis than we're seeing so far. We need to look at it again," said Drew.

Work had started on the apartments on the first floor of St Mungo's Heights. Gavin had agreed that George Adams could move in once the apartment upstairs was finished so that he in turn could move there. Now that Hedonist Properties had some real working capital, Gavin had decided that the next apartment that was completed would not be sold. He intended to keep the next one for himself to avoid the need to move again.

The completion date was only a few weeks away and his contractors were doing their usual good job. Despite the fact that the money he was using was all now clean, Gavin continued his practice of paying cash and buying all of the materials himself - there was no need to throw money away just because he had more of it.

His eighteenth birthday was rushing towards him and Gavin had decided to share it with Fiona and Lizzie. The day itself was a Saturday and he actually had a swimming meet in the morning, but he promised the girls he would take them out to eat and maybe take in a movie that night.

Lizzie had never watched Gavin race and Fiona talked her into going to the meet.

"I promise you'll enjoy it," Fiona said, "if nothing else, you get to see Gavin with most of his clothes off!"

Lizzie needed no more incentive than that and she agreed to join Fiona in the stands. They waited for Gavin's heat and Fiona began to build the anticipation.

"I can still remember the first time I came. I'd only ever thought of Gavin as my brother then, but he had rescued me from the school bullies and was already my hero. When he took off his robe and stood at the side of the pool, I couldn't believe how buff he looked. He really has got a hot bod and I was in lust from that first moment on," she giggled.

Lizzie shifted around in her seat as she conjured up her own mental images of a near naked Gavin. Nothing had happened between them as yet but she had the feeling that it was only a matter of time. She had played the photography game with Fiona twice since the night Gavin had watched them, each time continuing the pretence that Fiona's mouth was actually Gavin's. Her obsession had deepened if anything and now she couldn't wait to see him exposed. She already knew how it was likely to affect her and she had made sure that Fiona had brought her camera with her, in the hope that she could snap some exciting pics.

"There he is," cried Fiona.

She stood up to cheer and wave at her brother and he smiled and waved back. Gavin was wearing a red, white and blue robe that had 'Glasgow Dolphins' embroidered on the back. The girls didn't have to wait long for him to take it off, fold it and stash it in a little plastic basket that was provided for each competitor. When he stood up and turned round Lizzie's breath caught in her throat.

"Oh my! Oh my, I see what you mean. God, he does look hot," whispered Lizzie.

Fiona laughed at the other girl's reaction, as she raised her camera and pushed the zoom button.

"Here, try this," she said, handing Lizzie the camera.

"Jeez! He really is fit, isn't he?"

"You haven't seen the best bit yet, just a few more minutes," advised Fiona.

Gavin entered the pool and got his body used to the temperature of the water. He swam backward and forward for a few metres to loosen his muscles but returned to the starting position as the competitors were called to order.

Fiona snatched back the camera.

"I need to try and capture this. Watch when he starts, watch the dive and what it does to his stomach muscles," she said to Lizzie, "this is my favourite bit."

The starting gun fired and the swimmers launched themselves backward in their starting dives. Fiona snapped away at the point she thought would capture Gavin just as he was fully extended. Beside her she heard Lizzie squeal excitedly.

Gavin won his heat but was only second in the final and it was clear he hadn't recovered full fitness after his weeks off of training due to the gunshot wound. The girls enjoyed themselves cheering him on and just acting like girls do. Lizzie's temperature rose a few notches before they left the stands however.

"What have you bought Gavin for his birthday," she asked Fiona.

"Oh I haven't bought him anything," she replied.

"Fiona! That's mean," said Lizzie.

"I didn't say I haven't got him something, just that I didn't buy him anything," Fiona responded with a grin.

"Oh you! So, what have you got him? Come on, spill it, what have you got him?" Lizzie demanded.

"You!" replied Fiona.

"Me! What do you mean?" Lizzie asked in surprise.

"Well we both know you want to be a little slut for him, but Gavin can be a bit dense at times. He's also got very fixed ideas of what's right and what's wrong. You know he loves me and that stops him from doing anything with you, I'm just going to make it clear to him that it's okay and together we're going to make it happen. With the two of us in on it he doesn't stand a chance!"

The night out went well - a meal at the same Italian restaurant that Gavin had taken Lizzie to before and then a movie at the Odeon. Then the girl's put their hastily hatched plan into action. They had both informed Gavin that they were staying overnight in the apartment and he assumed they were going to play together again.

Once they had all retired for the night, the girls in one room and Gavin in the other, he tried to keep his mind off of what was probably happening through the wall. He was surprised when his bedroom door opened and Lizzie walked in.

She was wearing the short white pleated skirt and little white halter-top that Fiona had worn some months before. She also had a huge red ribbon tied round herself and Gavin realised the message his sister was sending him. Bowing at last to the inevitable, he lifted the duvet in invitation and Lizzie skipped across the room to join him. Her smile was at least a thousand watts he decided.

Gavin found his thoughts drifting back to the Crimewatch programme and the policeman he knew was leading the hunt for him. There was something about the man that made Gavin believe that eventually he would be caught, the air of determination, the look of total conviction were things he just couldn't get out of his head.

He was also aware that the Glasgow gangs would dearly love to get their hands on him - if anything, that would probably be worse than a lifetime in prison.

Gavin decided that he had to start making plans just in case he had to run for it. He had read enough books to have some ideas about how he might come up with a new identity for himself and over the next few weeks he did some research into the first step he would need to take.

He spent some time on the Internet looking at newspaper archives for the past few years. He was looking for something in particular; a thread that he could pick up that would help him begin to weave a cover for himself. After several hours of surfing he thought he'd found what he was looking for. The article reported a tragic car accident two years before.

... the red Renault Clio is believed to have spun out of control after skidding on black ice. When emergency services arrived at the scene they found the car upside down at the foot of the embankment. Mr and Mrs Denning of Skye Avenue, Irvine, escaped with minor injuries, but their fifteen-year-old son, Ryan, was pronounced dead at the scene...

Most of the information he needed was included in the article. He returned to Google and typed in a search for Ryan Denning AND obituary. The notice was included in a local Ayrshire newspaper and gave Gavin the final pieces of the jigsaw he needed.

In memory of our beloved son, Ryan may he rest in peace. He never got to do the many things he dreamed of - he wanted to travel the world but tragically never got the chance - he wanted to be an engineer, but that will never happen. He did bring joy into the lives of all who knew him however, and that is a grand enough achievement for anybody's lifetime. He will be sadly missed. RYAN DENNING 7/8/1991 - 8/2/2006

Gavin now had a name, date of birth and the names of both parents. It was a relatively easy matter to go to the web-site of the General Registrar of Scotland and search for the registration of Ryan's birth. An on-line payment secured him a copy of the dead boy's birth certificate and he entered the address of the apartment so that it would be delivered there.

Gavin knew that having a genuine birth certificate was the first step in applying for a British passport. The line in Ryan's obituary about him never having had the chance to travel meant that there was little chance that the boy had already held a passport. The fact that the records and IT systems of the various government agencies weren't linked or cross-referenced would ensure that Ryan's death wouldn't be a matter of record with the Passport Agency, the body that processed passport applications.

Two days later the birth certificate arrived and Gavin visited a nearby post office to pick up an application form for a passport. After several hours of studying the form and its accompanying instructions, he wasn't feeling so confident.

The application had to be endorsed by someone who was a serving civil servant or a professional such as a doctor or a teacher. The photograph that had to be submitted with the form also had to be endorsed on the back. Gavin couldn't think of how he could get someone to do that for him so his plan stalled.

In the weeks running up to Christmas, Gavin was kept busy overseeing the work on the last four apartments. Two more had been finished, one that he was keeping as his own and another that he had sold for a further two hundred and eighty thousand. It would only be another month or so before the last four units were completed and he was already thinking about what he would take on after that.

The third buyer was another young man, in his mid twenties and a football player with Glasgow Rangers Football Club. Gavin had been a Rangers fan all his life and he considered Ian MacMillan one of the current team's better players. A stylish and artistic midfielder, MacMillan had come through the youth ranks at the club and was clearly a fan as well as a player. Gavin had no hesitation in letting him have the third unit ready for sale, particularly when Ian promised to get him tickets for some future matches.

Gavin had also managed to make up the course work he had missed when he had been recovering from the gunshot and his marks were high. He bought his Professor a bottle of good malt whisky as a thank you for the marketing idea and he was regularly being called upon in class to talk about the practical issues in running a business.

There had been no other uncontrollable urges to revert to his vigilante persona, a hard lesson having been learned from his last attempt. Gavin was actually beginning to believe he had it under control and was finally free of the craving for the high his attacks generated.

As is often the case when things in life seem to be too good to be true, something happens to upset the apple cart. For Gavin, it was a combination of things all happening at the same time that conspired to spoil his few months of living the good life.

Fiona decided she would like to take a trip to London to do some shopping before Christmas. She had some money to spend from her share of the sale of the three apartments and a trip to the UK's capital city with the Christmas lights on sounded like a good idea. She also persuaded Lizzie to join her and they decided to make a long weekend break out of the trip.

The preparations actually had Gavin laughing at the girls' antics and he knew he would miss them both while they were away for four days. The bags they packed looked impossibly big for what was only a four-day trip, but the girls insisted they were only taking essentials.

He drove them to Glasgow airport in the van, all the while assuring them that he had details of their hotel in London and that he would call them each night to make sure they were okay. Gavin hung around the airport until they had checked in for their short shuttle flight to Heathrow and he waved to them as they passed through security and into the departure lounge.

As promised, he phoned that night and listened to the exited chatter from both of them, describing their first day shopping in London's department stores.

" ... and the lights were incredible, really pretty, but the crowds, we couldn't move and the people here are so rude..."

" ... and I've already got some things for your Christmas, and things for mum and dad, but Lizzie's right even the streets are heaving with people and they just barge into you and we're going to the West-end to see a show tonight..."

Gavin laughed at how much the girls could say without appearing to need to pause for breath. Eventually he ended the call, sure that they could carry on all night if he let them.

He was going round turning things off before going to bed when he heard an almighty crash from the apartment below. Gavin had got to know George Adams quite well over the past few weeks; sometimes swapping music and even once or twice listening to George play his guitar. The noise suggested something significant had fallen and he raced downstairs to make sure George was okay.

"George! George! Are you okay?" he shouted, as he banged on the apartment door.

There was no response and Felicity came out of her apartment to see what was going on.

"What's wrong Gavin?" she asked.

"I heard a huge bang, like something heavy had fallen. George! George, can you hear me?" he called.

Gavin remembered that he had duplicate keys for all the apartments that he hadn't handed over yet. He dashed back upstairs to get the one that fitted George's door and let himself in. Felicity followed along behind him and they both got a shock when they found George lying in a heap on the lounge floor.

There was a wooden stool lying on its side not far from George's prone figure and Gavin spotted immediately that there was some kind of cord round his neck. Looking up, he saw that the main light fitting in the Lounge ceiling had been pulled from the plasterwork and hung down several feet.

Gavin rushed over to George and tried to loosen the cord from his neck. Already the man's face was a deep shade of red as if his body had been deprived of oxygen for some time. The cord had bitten too deeply into the flesh of George's neck and Gavin sprinted frantically into the kitchen space, searching for a knife that would cut through it.

Felicity was standing in the apartment doorway, clearly in shock at what she was seeing. Gavin shouted at her as he ran back to George with a knife.

"Phone an ambulance! Felicity! Snap out of it, phone an ambulance!"

He knelt by George's head and managed to get the blade of the knife under the cord. Gavin sawed quickly and the cord cut and sprang away from George's neck. He didn't pause after that, but instead got the head into the proper position and started administering the kiss of life. Only when he was sure that George was breathing on his own did Gavin put him in the recovery position and walk over to Felicity.

"They want to know what's happened, what's wrong with him," she said, handing her mobile phone to Gavin.

"No, he seems to be breathing okay now. No, I've no idea how long he might have been without oxygen. I think he's tried to hang himself from one of the light fittings but the thing hasn't been able to take his weight. Yes I've got him in the recovery position, just get here as quickly as you can."

Gavin thought it would be better to get Felicity back to her own apartment and he took her arm and urged her out of the door. Once he had her safely back next door, he returned to wait for the ambulance to arrive. With nothing to do he looked round the apartment and spotted a piece of paper sitting on the dining room table. Walking over, he picked it up and found that it was George's intended last message.

Mom, dad, sis,

I'm sorry. My name will be splashed all over the papers and TV anytime now. I'll be cast as another Nick Leeson, I'll become known as the man who lost millions gambling on the stock markets. I know the auditors will find the trail that leads back to me soon and I can't bear to face the music. Everything has been going so well, but in the past week I've lost heavily and gambled huge sums trying to recover my company's money. I should have known better, as all that happened was that I lost even more. There's been a rumour that one of the traders in London has been going short and I think I'm one of the ones he's managed to rip off, but it won't look that way. Please believe me when I say I didn't take any of the company's money, I didn't steal. You taught me better than that. I love you. George.

Gavin folded the note and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. He decided that no one needed to see this and he could return it to George once he was better.

When the ambulance arrived Gavin let the paramedics in and hovered around while they strapped him to a stretcher and then wheeled him out.

"Which hospital are you taking him to?" he asked.

"The Royal," a paramedic replied.

Gavin locked the apartment and returned upstairs. There was little point in going to the hospital now, as they would in all likelihood be treating George. He decided to leave it until morning.

The next morning Gavin phoned Glasgow's Royal Infirmary and checked to see how George was doing. The hospital refused to give him any details, as he wasn't a relative but they did tell him which ward George was in and when visiting hours were.

His classes were already finished for the Christmas break so he was free to do pretty much what he wanted and he decided to visit George to see how he was doing.

Finding parking for the van outside the hospital proved to be a difficult job but eventually he found a space and had to pay an eight-pound fee for the privilege. Gavin thought there was something immoral about charging people that amount of cash for visiting sick relatives and he told the attendant so.

"If we don't charge then everybody just uses the car park whether they're visiting the hospital or not. It's the only way we can stop that," the attendant responded.

"There must be another way of policing who uses the car park, it's just immoral. I mean, what if somebody has a terminally ill relative here? How can they be expected to visit every day and pay that amount of money? It's nothing less than taxing the sick!"

The attendant shrugged as if to say it wasn't his fault or his problem and Gavin stomped off toward the hospital's entrance.

The reception desk gave him some directions for the ward he wanted and Gavin followed signs and coloured lines on the floor through the maze of buildings, some of them dating back to the 18th Century. Gavin passed a plaque dedicated to Joseph Lister - he was vaguely aware that Lister had pioneered the use of antiseptics in this very hospital almost a hundred and fifty years before.

It took fifteen minutes before he found the right ward - the sign proclaiming that this was the psychiatric ward. Gavin assumed, rightly, that people who tried to commit suicide had to be screened by psychiatrists, so the ward didn't surprise him.

A nurse was on station at the entrance to the ward and she asked who he was there to see. Checking her notes, she confirmed that it would be okay for him to spend some time with George, as he was considered a low risk patient. The nurse led him to an enclosed room where George was lying in a bed, his arms strapped down.

"You can only have fifteen minutes," she informed him before leaving the room.

"Hi, George."

"I wish you'd left my alone, left me to die," George rasped.

Gavin could see the raw skin on his neck.

"Listen, George, things are never as bad as they seem. I know that nothing's that bad that you have to think about killing yourself. Think about the pain for those you'd be leaving behind. Don't you think it's kind of selfish?"

If Lizzie had been around she would have been able to tell Gavin that his blunt and direct approach was not recommended in cases like this. Even as a first year psychology student she had learned that much. George was taken aback by the comment however, and he frowned at Gavin's words, clearly thinking them over.

"I left a note to explain why I did it," George tried to explain.

"I know, I found it and got rid of it. It seems to me that you've done nothing wrong apart from make some mistakes at work. A note isn't going to make up for the loss of a son, the loss of a brother. I think you need to get things in perspective, George. Even if you lost your job, your family would rather have you around than dead."

"I can't face the ridicule, the accusations, the shame," George said.

"Look, it seems the one to blame here is the trader you mentioned in your note. Why should you pay such a heavy price for something somebody else has done? I might not understand what your note was going on about, but you were saying someone else was to blame - something about 'going short' or something."

"Going short means selling stock you don't have. It's normally done when you think a stock is going to fall rapidly. The idea is you buy the stock back once it's fallen, at a much cheaper price and make money. I heard a rumour about some stocks, we often get that. I sold stocks I didn't have, intending to cover my position once the stock fell but the stocks just kept going up and up and I lost a fortune.

"I learned yesterday that the rumours might have come from Glen Tilbury. He's a well-known character in the city, in London. He's been accused of this kind of thing in the past and has been investigated by the FSA but nothing has stuck so far."

"Look, forget about Tilbury, forget about your company. You need to think about yourself and your family," Gavin said.

The nurse bustled in at that point and told Gavin he would have to leave.

"Just look after yourself, George. There's too much to live for, believe me," he said as he left the room.

When Gavin returned to the apartment he couldn't help but look up Glen Tilbury on the Internet. He was amazed at the number of hits that came back on his Google search and he was soon reading about a number of scams and insider dealing scandals that Tilbury had been alleged to be part of. As George had told him, there had been numerous investigations, but Tilbury always seemed to come out clean.

Some of the links also revealed that, in addition to the financial shady dealings, Tilbury had also been accused twice of date rape. Again he had been investigated, but the police had not been able to charge him.

"This guy is pressing all of my buttons," Gavin thought to himself

Looking through more of the links Gavin found some photos of Tilbury, several of them showing him coming out of his plush London home into a scrum of media photographers. He mentally noted the address that was given as a footnote to the pic.

Fiona and Lizzie were hitting the shops again. Today it was Oxford Street and their excitement hadn't waned in the least. Their arms were already laden with bags from a variety of stores but they couldn't resist the designer shoe store - shoes!!

Disaster struck when Fiona tried on a pair of shoes with five-inch heels.

"Gavin will die when he sees me in these!" she squealed.

She paraded up and down the store, the assistant showing signs of impatience at how long she was taking. And then it happened. She turned too quickly in the heels and felt herself topple over, one heel snagged in the carpet. Her left leg was at an unnatural angle and took her full weight as she went down.

"Aaahhhhh!" she squealed.

Lizzie bolted up from her seat and rushed to help her friend.

"Oh god it hurts! It hurts, do something Lizzie. Aaahhhh!"

The shop assistant phoned for an ambulance and Lizzie tried to comfort Fiona.

When they arrived, the paramedics put an inflatable splint on Fiona's leg and soon had her in the back of the ambulance. Lizzie persuaded the shop assistant to keep all of their purchases in the store for her so that she could ride in the ambulance with her friend.

Gavin's phone went off at about 4pm. He picked it up and saw that it was Lizzie calling.

"Couldn't even wait for me to call tonight to go on about their latest purchases." he thought.

"Hi, Lizzie, have you guys managed to empty the stores yet?" he asked.

"Umm, Gavin. We've had a bit of an accident," came Lizzie's response.

Gavin's gut tightened as he thought the worst.

"What's happened?" he asked.

Fiona had been adamant that she didn't want to tell Gavin, it would be too embarrassing to explain what had happened. When the nurse at the hospital told her that the x-ray showed she had a hairline fracture of the fibula, she knew that was no longer an option and she accepted that Lizzie would tell him.

"There's no need to be alarmed, it's just, Fiona's broken her leg," Lizzie said.

"Jesus!"

"It's kind of embarrassing really, she was trying on a pair of heels and fell over," Lizzie added.

Gavin couldn't help himself, he started laughing.

"It's not funny, Gavin, she's really hurt herself!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just such a funny picture," he replied.

He noted down details of which hospital Fiona was in and confirmed that he would be in London as soon as he could.

"I can only stay here until Monday and then I need to be back in Glasgow for work," Lizzie said.

"I'll be there before then, I promise. Tell Fiona I miss her and will see her soon," said Gavin.

Once he was off the phone, Gavin raced round flinging some things together. He decided he would drive to London on the off chance that the van might help him get his sister home for Christmas. If he didn't, she would be absolutely miserable.

He paused as he caught sight of his rucksack and a thrill shot through him. The name Glen Tilbury leapt into his mind. It seemed fate was trying to tell him something - first George brings up Tilbury's name, then the Internet provides details of his scams, rapes and address, and then Fiona breaks her leg forcing him to go to London. What were the chances of all those factors combining? Gavin grinned and hoisted the rucksack onto his back.

Once the van was loaded he made a stop to fill up with petrol and then another at the Royal Infirmary. The nurse on duty wouldn't let him see George so he scribbled a short note for him and asked that it be passed on.

With his 'duty' to George done, Gavin headed for the M8 Motorway and headed South. He quickly joined the M74 and knew that he had over an hour before he crossed the border into England. He checked the time and figured his parents would be home by now so thumbed the mobile in its hands-free cradle and called them as he drove.

"Mom, is that you? Yeh, listen, no need to panic but Fiona's had a fall in London and has a hairline fracture in her leg. I'm heading South now to be with her and try to make sure I can get her back home for Christmas," he informed her.