‘You will testify against Calloway?’ Ransome asked.
Mike was being led towards a waiting police van, Allan next to him. Handcuffs had not been thought necessary. The DI called Hendricks had turned up, looking grumpy. Mike had watched Ransome explain the situation to him, which had done little to lighten his colleague’s mood but had given an extra spring to Ransome’s own step afterwards.
Mike shrugged now. It was a good question, after all. ‘Should really be the other way round,’ he told Ransome. ‘After all, I’m the one who dragged him into it.’
‘But you will testify.’ It sounded like a statement of fact rather than any kind of question. ‘If you do, it’ll go easier for you.’
‘Meaning what?’
Ransome shrugged. ‘Six years instead of eight. You’d be out of jail inside three. I’m sure you can afford the best lawyers in the land, Mr Mackenzie, and it shouldn’t be too hard for them to paint a picture of you in court as a naïve playboy who got in with the wrong crowd. Maybe a friendly psychoanalyst can plead diminished responsibility.’
‘Meaning I’m not in my right mind?’
‘Not at the time, no.’
‘How about me?’ Allan asked. ‘Where do I figure in this?’
‘Same goes, but with the added factor that you did the right thing and turned yourself in, and in the process helped save five people from being tortured and killed.’
‘Seven, actually,’ Mike corrected the detective. ‘Hate wasn’t about to leave Chib and Johnno alive.’
‘See?’ Ransome told Allan. ‘You’re practically a hero.’
An ambulance was parked next to the police van, and Jimmy Allison was being stretchered into it, an oxygen mask tied to his face. Another stretcher would be needed for Johnno. One man required a blood transfusion and some stitches, plus a potential lifetime of psychological counselling.
The other needed a new spine.
Mike wondered again at the sheer nerve of Robert Gissing: stealing paintings for years, never detected but about to be undone by something as straightforward as an inventory. Gissing, railing against the storing from view of so many important and beautiful works, making the same argument to practically everyone he met… in order to seek out a few gullible souls who might be duped into doing something about it. Then seeing to it that Allison was attacked so that he himself would be on hand to verify a series of fakes.
It was sublime, but so much could have gone wrong. Nevertheless, it was the only roll of the dice left to Gissing. And against all the odds, it had worked. And now Mike would go to jail and Allan would go to jail and Westie would go to jail. Allan looked devastated, but Westie didn’t seem too bothered. Mike had heard him inside the snooker hall, explaining to Alice that prisoners got to do art classes and everything.
‘Might well make the Westie brand even more valuable when I come out. Notoriety is something you can’t just buy off the shelf…’
Maybe he had a point at that, but it hadn’t stopped Alice from giving him a solid punch to his damaged arm, so that he’d howled and doubled over while she turned and walked away.
She would be taken in for questioning. They would all be questioned, especially Hate, who even now was struggling against his restraints and his captors both. He was like a force of nature, and Mike was thankful the giant was being afforded a van of his very own.
‘If we all go to jail,’ Mike asked Ransome, ‘will we be in the same wing as Calloway and Hate?’
‘I doubt it. We’ll find you the softest option possible.’
‘Even so, Calloway’s bound to have friends on the inside.’
Ransome gave a little chuckle. ‘I think you’re overestimating him, Mr Mackenzie. Chib’s got more enemies than friends behind bars. You’ll be fine, trust me.’
There was a shout from nearby. It was Glenn Burns. He was being led in handcuffs to a waiting patrol car.
‘You fucking well owe me, Ransome! You owe me everything!’
Ransome ignored the outburst and concentrated on Mike instead. The van doors stood wide open. They led to an inner cage with two bench seats.
‘So Gissing’s got all the missing paintings?’ Ransome asked.
Mike nodded. ‘Calloway’s got a couple of the ones we swapped, if he hasn’t already trashed them.’
Ransome nodded. ‘Mr Cruikshank here told me all about them. And Westwater and his girlfriend have another?’
‘A DeRasse.’
‘And what exactly are you left with, Mr Mackenzie?’
Mike considered this. ‘I’ve got my health, I suppose. And a story to tell the grandkids.’ He watched as Laura was brought out of the snooker hall. ‘Incidentally, Laura’s got nothing to do with any of it. I know she’s a friend of yours…’
‘She’ll have to give us a statement,’ Ransome said. ‘After that, I’ll see she gets home.’
‘Thanks.’ Mike stared at the inside of the van.
‘Not easy, is it, sir?’ Ransome asked.
‘What?’
‘Being a criminal mastermind.’
‘You’ll have to ask Robert Gissing that.’
Laura had spotted them and was heading their way. She touched Ransome on his forearm. ‘Any chance of a word with the prisoner?’
Ransome seemed reluctant, but her eyes won him over and he noticed that Chib Calloway was being led out of the hall in handcuffs, having woken up to find himself surrounded by Lothian and Borders’ finest.
‘I’ll just be a minute,’ Ransome warned as he headed off in Calloway’s dazed direction. Laura leaned in towards Mike and pecked him on the cheek.
‘I asked you to save the day,’ she told him, ‘and you duly obliged.’
‘You might not have noticed,’ he reminded her, ‘but really it didn’t have much to do with me.’
‘Actually,’ Allan piped up, ‘if we’re discussing life-savers…’
Laura beamed a smile at him and gave him a hug and a kiss, before turning back to Mike. This time when they kissed it was on the lips. Allan made a show of turning away, so they had at least the semblance of privacy. She wrapped her arms around Mike and he felt warmth flowing through him.
‘Will you be in prison for a long time?’ she asked.
‘Will you be waiting for me?’
‘I asked first.’
‘Ransome reckons three years. He also says I should get the best legal team money can buy, and a psychiatrist who’ll vouch for my insanity.’
‘So you’ll probably end up a pauper?’
‘And a lunatic – is that going to affect our relationship, do you think?’
She gave a little laugh. ‘Let’s wait and see.’
Mike was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’ll have to find out how often I’m allowed visitors…’
‘Don’t count your chickens, Mackenzie – will jail be smelly and full of leering sex maniacs?’
‘Probably – and that’s just Allan.’
A couple of uniformed officers were approaching, ready to usher Allan and Mike into the van. Laura and Mike embraced again and shared a final, lingering kiss.
‘If I’d known,’ Mike mused, ‘that this was all a fellow had to do to win you over…’
‘Break it up now,’ one of the uniforms said.
‘One more thing,’ Mike told Laura as they were separated. ‘When you visit, I’ll need you to bring me stuff. Maybe I can give you a shopping list?’
‘What sort of stuff?’
He pretended to be thinking. ‘Atlases,’ he said at last. ‘World atlases…’ He was halfway into the back of the van. ‘Plus travel books, art books, list of museums and galleries of renown.’
‘You’re going to better yourself, is that it?’
He decided that the best thing to do was nod his agreement. She didn’t get it, not just yet. Allan did, though, and gave him a glance that said as much.
Said there was someone Mike needed to find, just as soon as they let him out…