Face in the Frame Read Free Page B

“You call round the hospitals about Fred, I’ll phone Pete.”
    Detective Inspector Peter McLaren was Brodie’s friend from his time on the police force. When Brodie had decided to leave and set up his private investigative business Pete had agreed that he would do what he could to assist Brodie’s often less than legal investigations and he had plenty of those. On the surface Brodie took on the usual run-of-the-mill cases - cheating spouse investigations, surveillance, fraud, civil investigations, and so on. The other side of his business was much more covert and bypassed the books. He provided a specialist service offering justice for those who had been denied it legally - battered wives and children, people threatened by loan sharks, victims of violent crime let down by the courts, his service extended to them all. Initially Brodie had gone into business with a partner, John Lyons, a fellow police colleague and one of his closest friends who had become equally disillusioned with the police force. But John hadn’t been able to walk the fine line between vigilante-style justice and criminality. He’d been seduced by the offer of huge amounts of cash to start drug dealing by the McVays, Glasgow’s most powerful criminal family. When Brodie had discovered what he’d done John had stabbed him and left him for dead. Fortunately Pete had figured out what was going on and got to Brodie in time to save his life, even though he’d been left with a long scar on his left side. John Lyons - hunted by not only Brodie but the police and the McVays after he’d ripped them off during a drug deal - skipped town and hadn’t been seen since. But Brodie knew their paths would cross again one day and when they did he’d let the Judas bastard know how much he’d pissed him off.
    After ascertaining that Fred hadn’t been admitted to one of the hospitals in the Greater Glasgow area or stuck in a police cell, Brodie and Cass returned to the drawing board.
    “He could have moved onto a different pitch,” offered Cass.
    “Why now after all this time?”
    “Have you checked to see if he’s come back? I mean, he’s not riveted to the spot. He might have gone to the loo or something.”
    “All the other homeless know that’s his patch and none of them are stupid enough to try and take it from him, unless he’s been gone a while. He’s never done this before and he just happens to vanish when he says the devil’s coming for him.”
    “Who wants his face, apparently,” she said sceptically.
    “Please take this seriously Cass. I’ve got a gut feeling about this one.”
    Her amused smile vanished. “Okay Brodie. What’s our next move?”
    He loved it when she used his first name. Before he could reply, Christian and Ross returned. The smile Brodie gave them was positively predatory, halting them in their tracks.
    “Just the wallopers I wanted to see,” he said, smile broadening.
    “Whatever’s broken we didn’t do it,” said Christian.
    Ross spotted the broken desk and his eyes widened. “That wasn’t us.”
    “I know that you dick, I was here when it broke.”
    “So you did it?” said Ross accusingly.
    “Not exactly. I threw some big bastard down on it.”
    “See, it’s easy to do, isn’t it?” he said triumphantly before going silent at the wrath in Brodie’s whisky-coloured eyes. “Sorry.”
    “You finished?” said Brodie.
    Ross nodded, pasty skin turning red.
    “Good. I’ve got an assignment for you two.”
    “What?” said Christian warily.
    “Fred’s gone missing. I want you to search every squat, shop doorway, railway bridge and stinking shite-ridden hole he might be hiding in. Enjoy.”
    “But…but…,” began Ross.
    “Is that your impression of an outboard motor? Because it’s very good,” said Brodie sarcastically.
    “That’ll take forever,” said Christian, finishing the sentence for his friend.
    “Then you’d better get to it. Chop chop.” Brodie took pity on their downcast