The Last Witness Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Denzil Meyrick
wi’ they arms o’ yours,’ he said by way of encouragement. ‘Wan last push an’ ye’ll have it.’
Daley’s arm was aching, but he stretched his hand as far forward as possible, managing to catch the edge of the file between his forefinger and thumb. He pulled it out from underthe seat and, at the same moment, felt fresh air ventilate his backside as, with a glorious ripping noise straight out of the sound-effects department, his trousers split magnificently.
He stood up, out of breath, then wordlessly handed Scott the file with a flat-lipped expression.
‘Well done, Jim. I knew ye wid dae it.’ Scott smiled as he took the file, marked ‘Highly Confidential’, from Daley. ‘Another pair o’ breeks away. Just as well ye got that promotion – troosers dinnae come cheap these days.’
Daley looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t say another word, Brian.’ He turned on his heel and headed back into the office, holding his torn trousers together at the back with his left hand. Scott followed, chuckling to himself.
Daley broke the seal on the file with a penknife that he kept in his drawer. As he was doing this he regretted not putting away the bottle of whisky, as Scott was now helping himself to another large measure. There was no doubt about it, Scott was rattled – more than he cared to show.
The file was reasonably slim, though began with a cover page emphasising its secrecy and how it should be disseminated, as well as the consequences of any revelation, even inadvertent, of the contents therein. There were also instructions detailing how the content should be stored once read, something Daley had never seen before.
‘C’mon, Jimmy-boy, gie us the bad news.’ Scott’s eyes had taken on a bleary look, no doubt caused by nearly a half bottle of single malt. Through his shirt, he was massaging the scar that JayMac’s bullet had left in his shoulder.
Daley knew he was in trouble when he saw the first page of the file. Under a banner that read Her Majesty’s HomeOffice Witness Protection Programme, a black-and-white photograph of a man who looked to be in his mid fifties stared at the camera with a flat, almost disdainful expression.
There was no mistaking Frank MacDougall.
Daley read on, aware that Scott was employing his famous ability to read upside down nearly as quickly as he could normally. Most of the information was familiar; he knew how MacDougall and Dowie had turned on their former partners in crime in return for immunity from prosecution, consequently bringing down the entire organisation. There were details of the trial and the threats that had been made to the witnesses and police officers, including himself and Scott.
He then came to the section he knew nothing about.
After the trials of the major players behind the Machie family were over and the accused – to a man – sent down for various terms not less than twenty-five years, the problem of what to do with MacDougall and Dowie presented itself.
Dowie was keen to get as far away from Scotland as possible, eschewing the offer of a new identity somewhere in the UK. In a way, this suited the authorities, who most certainly did not want what was left of the Machie organisation uniting to find and kill either of their nemeses. Even though Daley now knew his fate, the details of Dowie’s placement formed no part of the information Donald wished to make him aware of, so had been redacted.
Frank MacDougall, however, was a very different matter. He had two sons and a daughter, all of whom had been threatened, so needed to be given a new life and identity too. MacDougall had turned down any offer of relocation abroad. Not only did he wish to stay in the UK, he wishedto remain living in Scotland. Daley scanned the attempts that had been made to dissuade him from this decision, all to no avail. He had turned down Portugal, Turkey, even relocation to Sweden. Daley, on reading the lengths the British government were willing to
Daley’s arm was aching, but he stretched his hand as far forward as possible, managing to catch the edge of the file between his forefinger and thumb. He pulled it out from underthe seat and, at the same moment, felt fresh air ventilate his backside as, with a glorious ripping noise straight out of the sound-effects department, his trousers split magnificently.
He stood up, out of breath, then wordlessly handed Scott the file with a flat-lipped expression.
‘Well done, Jim. I knew ye wid dae it.’ Scott smiled as he took the file, marked ‘Highly Confidential’, from Daley. ‘Another pair o’ breeks away. Just as well ye got that promotion – troosers dinnae come cheap these days.’
Daley looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t say another word, Brian.’ He turned on his heel and headed back into the office, holding his torn trousers together at the back with his left hand. Scott followed, chuckling to himself.
Daley broke the seal on the file with a penknife that he kept in his drawer. As he was doing this he regretted not putting away the bottle of whisky, as Scott was now helping himself to another large measure. There was no doubt about it, Scott was rattled – more than he cared to show.
The file was reasonably slim, though began with a cover page emphasising its secrecy and how it should be disseminated, as well as the consequences of any revelation, even inadvertent, of the contents therein. There were also instructions detailing how the content should be stored once read, something Daley had never seen before.
‘C’mon, Jimmy-boy, gie us the bad news.’ Scott’s eyes had taken on a bleary look, no doubt caused by nearly a half bottle of single malt. Through his shirt, he was massaging the scar that JayMac’s bullet had left in his shoulder.
Daley knew he was in trouble when he saw the first page of the file. Under a banner that read Her Majesty’s HomeOffice Witness Protection Programme, a black-and-white photograph of a man who looked to be in his mid fifties stared at the camera with a flat, almost disdainful expression.
There was no mistaking Frank MacDougall.
Daley read on, aware that Scott was employing his famous ability to read upside down nearly as quickly as he could normally. Most of the information was familiar; he knew how MacDougall and Dowie had turned on their former partners in crime in return for immunity from prosecution, consequently bringing down the entire organisation. There were details of the trial and the threats that had been made to the witnesses and police officers, including himself and Scott.
He then came to the section he knew nothing about.
After the trials of the major players behind the Machie family were over and the accused – to a man – sent down for various terms not less than twenty-five years, the problem of what to do with MacDougall and Dowie presented itself.
Dowie was keen to get as far away from Scotland as possible, eschewing the offer of a new identity somewhere in the UK. In a way, this suited the authorities, who most certainly did not want what was left of the Machie organisation uniting to find and kill either of their nemeses. Even though Daley now knew his fate, the details of Dowie’s placement formed no part of the information Donald wished to make him aware of, so had been redacted.
Frank MacDougall, however, was a very different matter. He had two sons and a daughter, all of whom had been threatened, so needed to be given a new life and identity too. MacDougall had turned down any offer of relocation abroad. Not only did he wish to stay in the UK, he wishedto remain living in Scotland. Daley scanned the attempts that had been made to dissuade him from this decision, all to no avail. He had turned down Portugal, Turkey, even relocation to Sweden. Daley, on reading the lengths the British government were willing to