Chapter 6: New directions

Gavin was struggling to come to terms with himself. It wasn't an internal conflict about the fact he had killed other human beings though, rather it was the inability to get thoughts of Fiona out of his head. The vision of her perfect breasts with their hard pointy nipples wouldn't leave his head. The feel of her, the heat that had radiated from her where she had rested on top of him was a constant turn on.

He tried to erase it all from his memory, but it continually intruded. Gavin was extremely inexperienced when it came to the opposite sex. He had never really had a girlfriend, despite being seventeen. Although he had worked hard on his fear over the years, that had been about confronting his demons in terms of dealing with violence. He was still painfully shy when it came to girls.

His encounter with Fiona had been the most overt sexual episode, in fact the only real sexual episode he had ever had to deal with. He found himself growing hard whenever the memory forced itself into his consciousness. The impact of his daydreaming had him beating off two or three times a day to try and get things under control. The masturbation acted in the opposite direction to what he intended, crystallising Fiona as the object of his sexual thoughts like nothing else could. He couldn't see it, but basically he was conditioning himself, conditioning himself to obsess over Fiona.

The meeting place had been a nightmare to get agreement on. There were four main Glasgow gangs and getting agreement to the heads of these four clans meeting at all was a major achievement in itself. Only the dire circumstances of the turf-war and the impact that it was having on profits could have set the climate for it to happen.

Fraser had been the prime moving force in setting things up. He had worked through third parties until he had eventually made contact with the head of each of the other clans. There was an inevitable degree of suspicion and Fraser had had to be imaginative about the venue to try to reassure everybody. In the end he proposed Victoria Recreational Park and after some huffing and puffing all of them agreed.

The park had over twenty football pitches and could be approached from all four sides. The vast open space allowed clear views and would make any attempt at an ambush virtually impossible, which helped calm the other clans.

Rab Cullen and Fraser arrived first and drove their Toyota Land Cruiser out across the football pitches to a fairly central spot. Sean O'Reilly arrived next, accompanied by two goons, in a Land Rover. Tommy MacLaren came next, his silver Mercedes crawling slowly across the park until it reached the others. Last to arrive was someone from the Turnbull clan. 'Shanks' Turnbull had elected to send his son, possibly still convinced that some kind of trap was being laid.

The four main men met each other on the centre circle of the football pitch they had all driven onto. Rab 'the tram' Cullen wasted no time in getting down to business.

"I'm sure none of you want this to take long. I'll be brief. I have information that indicates the hits on me and the hit on Willie Lorimer have all been carried out by the same shooter.

"The timing of the hits makes me think that this person has deliberately tried to get us at each other's throats. I think we have some kind of crazy do-gooder out there, a do-gooder with a death wish.

"I'm offering to end all hostilities and on top of that suggest that we all use our manpower to find this bastard and deal with him," said Cullen.

"Well, if there is some kind of vigilante out there, he seems to be targeting you. Why should we be bothered?" asked Frankie Turnbull.

Rab turned towards the younger man, his anger clearly written on his face.

"It's like this Turnbull. If I'm hurting, I'm gonna make sure the rest of you are hurting too! Anyway, Lorimer wasn't one of mine; he was Sean's. So this character has already shown he doesn't care who he upsets."

Agreement to a cease-fire was quickly reached and all of them said that they would actively turn their attention to tacking down the vigilante. The entire exchange lasted five minutes and then each of them was quickly back in their vehicle and heading off. This had been a very unusual occurrence; one the police would have dearly liked to have known about beforehand. Glasgow didn't know it yet, but some calm had just been restored to its streets.

It had been several weeks now since the double murder outside Gilchrist's house, but DI MacIntosh wasn't much further forward in his investigation. Forensics had turned up some further information for him - the gun used had been used in several other incidents, dating back over five years. Bullets that matched those recovered from Mulloy and Haining had been recovered in cases of two murders and one armed robbery. The armed robbery had been on an off-license and the owner had been shot and wounded trying to save the money in his till.

All of that pointed to the killings of Mulloy and Haining being part of the turf war that, thankfully, seemed to have quietened down. One partial footprint had also been found behind the waste bins outside Gilchrist's house and Drew was betting that that was where the gunman or gunmen had lain in wait for his victims.

"I'm still stumped as to why Gilchrist wasn't taken out along with the other two," Drew puzzled.

"Why kill two of them and only knock the other one out?"

A large whiteboard was fixed to one of the walls of the incident room and someone had constructed a timeline of the various shootings, starting with the three murders in the Portcullis pub. The names of the lead detectives were inked in beside each of the cases to show who was investigating what. His name was alongside the Portcullis shootings, that of William Lorimer and finally the double killing at Gilchrist's.

Drew picked through the pile of paperwork on his desk until he found the report on the flower and note recovered from the grave of three-year old Kirsty Thompson. He kept coming back to this, this was the most unusual piece of evidence he had and somehow he knew it was important.

Tests had been run on the paper and the plastic wallet it had been sealed in. The paper was a common brand, available at virtually thousands of retail outlets across the city. The plastic wallet was a jewel case for a computer disc. Again, the things were available everywhere and this one was no help to him. Traces taken from both the paper and the plastic wallet suggested they had been handled by someone wearing surgical gloves.

"I've got a smart one here alright. Why did he pick this little girl? What was it that made him decide her death needed avenging? What does he mean when he says 'I'm sorry I couldn't save you'? Is he somehow connected to the Thompson family?"

Drew shook his head to clear it. Too many questions and not enough answers, it was driving him mad.

He read through the witness statements from the Portcullis again.

"He shared out the loan sharks money with the pensioners before he left the pub. Why did he do that? Why not keep it for himself? Does the bastard think he's Robin Hood?"

MacIntosh had tasked officers to try and find some link between the Thompson family and Stevie Miller. He had ordered that close family friends of the Thompsons should also be looked at. He knew the order of events was the wrong way round, as the pub shootings had happened before Lorimer's murder, but he was running out of ideas. Not surprisingly, no links could be found and for Drew it was another dead-end.

"He shared out the money to the poor. He avenges the death of a three-year old girl. Am I dealing with some kind of crazed vigilante?" Drew asked himself.

"Sitting here staring at the same reports over and over isn't going to get me anywhere. I need to get out on the streets and do some basic police work."

Drew got up and went looking for DI Kenny MacLean. Together the two of them climbed into the unmarked Ford Mondeo in the station car park and Kenny took the wheel.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The Crown. It's time I had a wee word with Walter to find out what the latest gossip is," MacIntosh replied.

The Crown was a pub in Shawlands that was a well known haunt of one Walter Ferguson, a man on the fringes of a lot of criminal activity, but also one of Drew's informants.

Twenty minutes later, Kenny pulled the Mondeo over and parked in a street round the corner from the pub. The detectives walked to the pub and entered. The loud noise of rock music coming from the jukebox gave a clue as to the type of clientele who drank here.

Drew indicated a table in the far corner of the pub and made his way to the bar while Kenny snagged his chosen spot.

"Two pints of lager," Drew ordered.

The barmaid was youngish, in her early twenties maybe, dressed in a simple black skirt and white blouse. Quite pretty, Drew thought as he watched her pull the two pints. He handed over a ten-pound note to pay for the drinks and pocketed his change before taking the two lagers over to where Kenny was now sitting. As he walked he scanned the pub looking for Walter Ferguson, but couldn't see him.

"Where is he?" MacLean asked.

"Don't see him, but he'll be along soon. He does most of his fencing here," Drew replied

The two of them sipped their drinks slowly; barely able to stand the raucous music that continued to blare out. MacLean had just gone to the bar to order two refills when Drew spotted Walter Ferguson enter the pub and order a pint of his own. Drew caught his eye and nodded his head in the direction of the Gents toilet. Ferguson gave no sign that he had understood the gesture, but moments later he put his pint on the bar and made his way over to the toilets.

DI MacIntosh rose and followed. The inside of the toilet was surprisingly fresh smelling, Drew thought, as he leaned his weight against the door to stop anyone interrupting.

"Hello, Walter," he began.

"Mr MacIntosh," came the reply.

"Things seem to have quietened somewhat out there. Anything I should know about?" Drew asked.

"It's quiet because the heads of the four clans met up last week and called a truce," Ferguson said.

"Oh, did they now? That's unusual to say the least. What could have been important enough to get those four unlikely bedfellows to meet up? What could be so important as to get them together and for them to call a truce?" asked Drew.

"The way I've heard it is that 'the tram' told them that there is some kind of vigilante character who has been trying to get the gangs at each other's throats. According to Cullen, the hits on Mulloy and Haining were timed to escalate the turf-war," said Ferguson.

"Hold on a minute. Are you telling me that Cullen thinks it was the same shooter that killed Mulloy and Haining as the one that hit the Portcullis?" Drew demanded.

"That's how he's telling it. Gillie swears it was the same man, right down to the ski mask that witnesses at the Portcullis described," Ferguson answered.

MacIntosh was stunned. He questioned his informant for any other titbits he could gather, but quickly wound things up. He wanted to get back to the station and factor in this new information.

Walking back into the pub proper, Drew signalled to DI MacLean that they had to leave. Kenny didn't look happy at having to leave the nearly full pint that was sitting in front of him, but he rose anyway and followed his colleague out of the pub.

"What's the hurry? We both had full pints there," Kenny said as they made their way back to the car.

"Walter gave me some very interesting information and it might just shed some new light on our investigation," Drew replied.

"Well, are you going to share it with me, or is it a big secret," asked MacLean.

"It seems as if the shooter outside Gilchrist's house could be the same man who did Lorimer and hit the Portcullis. We need to look again at the evidence and try to find a link between all of these killings," Drew replied.

Gavin hadn't carried out any vigilante attacks for several weeks, but he was still active. He had taken his own advice to calm down a little and to spend more time planning his next action. He knew he had go into things in painstaking detail if he was to avoid being caught - by the police, or worse, the Glasgow gangs.

Although he had never been in trouble with the police, he had been fingerprinted going through the American airport the year before, as had everyone else who was not a US citizen. He was worried that somehow the Scottish police would have access to these fingerprint records. For that reason he had ensured he wore surgical gloves at all times when he was handling things that might give him away.

It was a simple matter to help himself to a supply of surgical gloves from St Andrew's High School's science supplies and along with his ski mask, they were vital tools for him.

He had taken time out to visit an Internet café to send an e-mail to James Wiggins too. His message was a short one.

Thanks for the gift; I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you. Job's done and I've even put in some overtime. G

Currently he was planning two possibilities for his next 'project'. An article in one of the newspapers had caught his attention. It covered a series of four rapes on young women in Glasgow over a six-month period and claimed that they could all have been carried out by one man.

Given how his mother had met her death, rape was a particular dislike for Gavin and he wasn't surprised by his reaction to the article. His only problem of course was how to find the rapist? If he was easy to find then the police would surely have already arrested him by now. Some research on-line had thrown up back articles in other newspapers covering each of the rapes at the time they had been carried out. Gavin had printed them out and had started a little archive of his own, reading and re-reading the column inches, as he tried to identify something that might help him catch-up with the rapist.

His other 'project' was one that he knew was far more likely to bear fruit. Gavin had been focussing on a string of drug-pushers around Glasgow. Doing something to take drugs off of the streets had a strong appeal for him. Killing a few low-level pushers would make little difference he knew. For that reason he had been following the pushers in the hope that they would lead him up the food chain to those who were supplying the drugs.

Already he had scoped out six pushers and identified three different houses where he believed the middlemen lived. The Anderson's had planned a week's break for the coming week and Gavin planned to rest up before putting his 'game-face' on when he returned. He had already chosen the house he was going to attack first and was well along with his plans for how he would do it.

As he was reviewing the articles on the rapes for perhaps the twentieth time, he felt the overwhelming urge to pee. In a move that was going to have significant consequences, he dashed from his room for the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returned a few moments later, he was dismayed to find Fiona in his room flicking through the newspaper cuttings.

"Fiona! What are you doing in here? Leave that stuff and kindly leave!" he said, somewhat nervously.

It was almost as if she hadn't heard him, as she continued to leaf through the articles. After a few moments, she turned towards him and Gavin didn't like the look on her face. The look was a mixture of fear and loathing and Gavin guessed she had put two and two together and come up with ten.

"Fi, it's not what it looks like," he stammered.

"What does it look like, Gavin? It looks like my brother is a rapist or at the very least someone who gets off on the idea of rape," she said, her voice cold.

"Fi, I can explain," he replied.

"Oh, this I've got to hear," said Fiona.

Gavin desperately tried to think up a plausible explanation for the cuttings.

"I'm waiting, Bro," she said.

"Not hear, not now. I'll tell you everything when we get to Lochgoilhead," he replied, stalling for more time to think.

"Oh no, I don't think I would feel safe going anywhere with you after this," Fiona said firmly. "You're just looking for time so you can invent some story to cover up."

"Fi, that hurts. You know you're always safe with me. Nothing could change that. Please, let me tell you once we get to the cabin," Gavin pleaded.

The references to Lochgoilhead and the cabin were about the week's break that Glen and Christine had planned for the family. They had managed to get a cheap deal on a three-bedroom cabin on the Drimsynie Estate in Argyle and the family was due to drive up there the next day.

Fiona thought about what he had said. Perhaps she was overreacting a little. Gavin was right, she felt safer with him than anyone else she knew. There had to be a good explanation for this, her bro, the boy she loved, couldn't possibly be a rapist. On the other hand, perhaps this explained why he hadn't ever had a girlfriend and why he was so resistant to her own advances. Perhaps he needed to rape to get his jollies. She made up her mind to trust him.