Black Mail (2012) by Bill Daly

O’Sullivan exhaled noisily.
    ‘Not my favourite person, as you well know, but you still have to feel sorry for the miserable wee sod.’
    ‘Was the needle dirty?’
    ‘They’re checking that out.’
    O’Sullivan pursed his lips. ‘He’ll be demanding we bring back the death penalty for this.’
    ‘Absolutely! Nothing less than hanging will do.’
    ‘What do we have to go on?’
    ‘The attacker was a white, male teenager. He assaulted ayoung girl at the cashpoint and tried to force her to give him two hundred quid. He told her he needed the money to pay off his dealer. She got a good look at him so she should be able to ID him without any problem. She’s downstairs right now giving her statement to Lillian McArthur. The cashpoint should’ve been covered by CCTV. Have a word with the bank and see what they can come up with.’
     
    DC Colin Renton made a call from his mobile. ‘Is that you, Bert?’
    ‘What can I do you for, Mr Renton?’
    ‘Gerry Fraser had a nasty accident this morning. I was wondering if you might know anything about it?’
    ‘This morning, you say?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You know Shuggie Morrison’s café in the Gallowgate?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘That’s one of Fraser’s regular hang-outs. He went there this morning for his breakfast.’
    ‘And?’
    The voice hesitated. ‘Not on the phone. Can you meet me?’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘How about Shuggie’s place?’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Would half-past three be okay?’
    ‘Fine.’
     
    When Renton walked into the café he was eyed up and down by both the owner and the solitary customer. Producing his warrant card he waved it in under Morrison’s nose.
    ‘Would you like the all-day breakfast, officer?’ Morrison asked, wiping his greasy fingers down his apron front.
    ‘No, thanks. I’ve already eaten.’
    ‘Cup of tea?’
    ‘Nothing, thanks.’
    ‘What can I do for you then?’
    ‘I believe Gerry Fraser is one of your regulars,’ he said, taking out his notebook and pen.
    Shuggie hesitated. ‘He drops in from time to time.’
    ‘Have you seen him recently?’
    Another pause as Morrison exchanged a quick glance with the customer. ‘He was in this mornin’.’
    ‘Anybody with him?’
    Shuggie shook his head. ‘On his tod. He had the full monty,’ he added.
    ‘With extras.’ The comment had come from the sallow-faced customer sitting on the bench seat by the window, nursing a mug of tea.
    ‘What did you say?’ Renton turned to face him.
    ‘Gerry had extra sausage an’ an extra egg this mornin’, didn’t he no’, Shuggie?’ Bert Tollin tilted back his head and swilled down his tea. ‘Said he was starvin’. Said he hadn’t eaten anythin’ last night.’
    ‘Did he say anything else?’
    ‘No’ to me,’ Tollin said, getting to his feet and winking at Renton on Morrison’s blind side. ‘Time I was makin’ tracks,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve got a cert for the four o’clock at Market Rasen. Do you want a piece of the action, Shuggie?’
    ‘I think I’ll take a chance an’ pass up the opportunity of a lifetime, if it’s all the same to you, Bert.’
    ‘Suit yourself.’ Tollin gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It’s your funeral.’ He shuffled towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow, Shuggie.’
    ‘See you, Bert.’
    Thanking Morrison, Renton put away his notebook and stepped outside. He strode along the Gallowgate, catching up with Tollin opposite the Meat Market. As he drew alongside he slowed to match Tollin’s pace.
    ‘Good information about the drug dealing in Argyle Street last night, Bert. Inspector Anderson told me to let you know he appreciated the tip-off.’ Tollin nodded without turning to look at Renton. ‘You said on the phone that you might know something about what happened to Gerry Fraser?’
    ‘Someone phoned the café this mornin’, Mr Renton. Shuggie took the call, then he went over an’ whispered somethin’ in Fraser’s ear. Gerry looked like he’d seen a ghost. Took off