CHAPTER 11

CAMPBELTOWN ONLY HAD ONE PAWNSHOP, but it was doing a thriving business, which said a lot about the state of the economy in the area. Although anybody could have guessed that people were struggling, by the amount of empty shops on the high street. As far as Callum could see, the only businesses doing a decent trade were the second-hand shops, the pubs and the pawnbroker.

The shop was crowded with goods people had either sold, or had pawned and then were unable to buy back. Callum took his time perusing the stock, paying particular attention to the camera equipment. He didn’t see anything particularly high-end, which made him think that the things Isobel had brought in had already been sold. As he pretended to shop, Callum kept a close eye on the guy working the counter.

He was in his fifties, and what muscle he may have had, had turned to fat. His grey hair was sparse, but he’d grown parts of it out to form a comb-over. He also had the same ingratiating smile that lying politicians wore. Callum didn’t need to listen to him fleece his customers to know he was a conman—it was written all over his arrogant face. He was exactly the kind of man that Callum detested: the kind who thought it was okay to take advantage of the poor and desperate.

When a young woman, carrying a baby and selling her old laptop, was given the absolute minimum, Callum decided he’d had enough. As he passed the woman on his way to the desk, he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait outside,” he said. “He owes you some money. I’ll make sure you get it.”

She looked startled for a moment, before her eyes welled up and she nodded. Callum watched her scurry from the shop. Her clothes were hanging on her frame, but the baby looked fat and healthy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman was sacrificing for the child. Which made what the pawnbroker had just done even more repugnant.

“What can I do for you?” the man behind the counter said as he assessed Callum. His eyes lit up when he came to the conclusion that a man looking like Callum wasn’t there to sell anything, which meant he must be there to buy. Callum could almost see the man salivate, and would bet he’d just added twenty percent to everything in the store.

“A woman came in a few weeks ago selling camera equipment,” Callum said. “I need to know what she sold to you and if there is anything left.”

The smile appeared again, but the eyes were calculating. “Are you with the police?”

“No.” Callum smiled back and watched the man pale. There was nothing ingratiating or friendly about Callum’s smile. It was all about the promise of pain. “I’m with a security organisation. Tell me about the equipment.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” the man said. “I get a lot of items through my business. How am I expected to remember everything?”

“I suppose some financial encouragement would prompt your memory?”

The man inclined his head and looked pleased that Callum understood.

Callum understood, all right. “I have other ways that will prompt it.” He reached to the small of his back and pulled out the gun he’d tucked there. He placed it on the counter in front of him.

The owner took a step back, his tongue flicking out in a nervous gesture. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I have cameras in here.”

Callum reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and produced what looked like a small TV remote. “I jammed the feed.” He put the jammer on the counter beside the gun.

The owner’s eyes jumped to his. Now he looked nervous instead of smug. It was a huge improvement. “Who are you?”

“I’m the man asking the questions. Camera equipment, brought in by a woman called Isobel Sinclair.” Callum saw recognition flicker in the man’s eyes. “Do you have anything left?”

The owner’s attention kept straying to the gun. “You won’t shoot me. This is all a bluff.”

Callum pulled a silencer out of his other pocket, picked up the gun and slowly twisted it on. “I have absolutely no problem with taking out your kneecap. To start.”

The owner shuffled back again—from the green sheen of his face, he understood that Callum was perfectly serious. In fact, Callum was hoping the guy would prove difficult, as he’d enjoy putting a bullet in him.

“There’s no need for threats. I know who you’re talking about now. Everybody knows the Sinclair girls.”

“Go on,” Callum ordered.

The owner licked his lips. “She brought in a bag of stuff. Camera bodies, lenses, extra memory, that sort of thing.”

“What kind of lenses?” Callum said.

“BLAH mil.”

Long distance. “Did you look at the camera memory? Was there anything on it?”

“Nothing.” The man shook his head. “It was blank. Like it was brand new.”

“Do you have anything left?”

“No. It sold fast.” He couldn’t quite keep the smug look off his face, and Callum would bet he’d made a good profit from Isobel’s haul.

“Who bought it?”

“I don’t know, and they paid cash.”

From the way he said it, Callum assumed that he’d asked for cash so that there was no record of the transaction and he wouldn’t have to pay tax on it. This guy was scamming everyone.

“And there’s nothing left from the bag Isobel brought in? Nothing?” Callum saw a flicker of guilt in the man’s eyes and didn’t give him a chance to lie. “Get it for me. Now,” he barked.

The owner reached under the counter, pulled open a drawer and rummaged around a little. He came up with a little black box that fit in the palm of his hand. There were wires protruding, and a serial number and make on the back. But Callum recognised it instantly. Everything within him stilled.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked the guy, keeping his voice even.

The owner wet his lips again, a habit Callum was beginning to hate. “It’s military, I know that. The company here”—he pointed at the label—“they supply military technology. I haven’t figured out what it is exactly yet.”

Callum knew. “Put it beside the jammer.”

His tone brooked no argument, and the man hurried to do as he was told. Callum looked up at him once he’d placed the device on the counter. “How much did you give Isobel?” The man paled even further and started to bluster. Callum pulled out his phone. “I can call her and ask, but I’d rather you told me.”

The owner looked at the phone, then at Callum. “Four hundred pounds.”

Callum cocked an eyebrow. “I will be checking this with Isobel.”

The man’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, two hundred. But it was obviously stolen. She had no idea what it was or what it was worth. She couldn’t even tell me where it came from. And everyone knows the Sinclair sisters can’t afford equipment like that. It was obvious that her delinquent son had stolen it and his mother was hawking the goods.” He looked disgusted by that. Callum wasn’t buying it. The guy had bought what he knew were stolen goods. Not exactly the moral high ground.

“How much did you sell the stuff for?”

“I don’t have to tell you that!” His face was a deep red now.

Callum lifted the gun and pointed it at the man’s knee, keeping the barrel steady. “No. You don’t.”

“Put the gun down,” the man screeched. “I sold it for three thousand.”

Callum had to fight the urge to pull the trigger. He placed the gun on the counter, but kept his hand on it. “You owe Isobel two thousand eight hundred. I’ll take that now.”

“I don’t have that kind of cash around here.” The owner threw his hands up. “And what about my cut? I found the buyer. I was the one who sold it. It’s not my fault the stupid bitch didn’t know its worth.”

“Make that the full three thousand,” Callum said evenly. “Cash.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” the owner shouted.

Callum picked up the gun again. “I’ll take whatever you have on the premises right now and I’ll come back for the rest. And you can add three hundred to the total to make up for the money you just conned that young mother out of.”

“You can’t do this!” The guy made no move to get the cash.

Callum shifted the gun slightly to the left and pulled the trigger. The bullet made more noise hitting the cupboard than it had coming out of the gun. The pawnbroker clutched his chest and looked like he might be having a heart attack. Callum didn’t give a crap.

“I’m going to count to three, and then the next bullet goes in you. And I will still want every penny I’ve asked for.”

It took the man exactly two minutes to empty his till and remember that he had a small safe in the back. Callum got every penny he asked for. After warning him to keep his mouth shut, Callum walked out into the afternoon sun to find the woman waiting like he’d asked her to.

“Here.” He handed her the extra three hundred pounds she should have been given on top of the hundred she’d received.

“Thanks, mister.” She pocketed the money.

Callum nodded and headed back to his car.