Bonnie Jack

by Ian Hamilton

  “You have trust issues. But then, why wouldn’t you?” Harry said.

  “Exactly. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Georgie looked out the window. “We’re almost at the pub,” she said. “I just felt a chill on the back of my neck saying that.”

  A few minutes later the car stopped in front of the dimly lit Tartan Rover. To Jack’s eyes it looked even grungier than it had the day before.

  They got out of the car and stood together awkwardly on the sidewalk before Jack finally said, “What the hell,” and headed for the door. He stepped inside and was immediately engulfed in cigarette smoke and noise. The pub was packed. A quick glance located no empty tables.

  “Can I help you?” the barman said.

  Jack walked over to him, with Harry and Georgie alongside. “We’re back. Is our man still here?” he asked.

  “He is. Where’s my forty pounds?”

  Jack took the money from his wallet and laid it on the bar. “Where is he?”

  “Over there in the far corner to your right. He’s with his mate Duff.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, turning to look in that direction.

  “Before you bother the wee man, you should know that I told him some people were asking for him,” the barman said. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to risk you scaring Dougie to death.”

  “That isn’t likely,” Jack said. “How did he react when you told him?”

  “He couldn’t have cared less.”

  “Well, you heard the man. He’s here,” Jack said to Harry and Georgie. “Do you want me to make the approach alone or shall we do it together?”

  “Together,” Georgie said without hesitation.

  “I agree,” added Harry, “but what should we say to him?”

  “As simple as it sounds, I thought I’d start with hello and see where that leads,” Jack said.

  “Let’s do it,” said Harry.

  The corner the barman had indicated wasn’t as well lit as the rest of the room, and the two men sitting at the table were in partial darkness. It wasn’t until he was about ten feet from them that Jack saw McPherson clearly. He was engaged in an animated conversation with a younger, larger man sitting next to him. Unsurprisingly, McPherson looked like an older version of the man in Georgie’s photo. His hair was white but still thick, and combed straight back; it looked greasy. His face was laced with deep lines, and the sides of his mouth sagged around a prominent chin. A furrowed brow sat above eyes that were small and black. As McPherson spoke, Jack saw he was missing several bottom teeth and an incisor. He was dressed in a baggy grey wool suit that had black stains on the lapels and around the cuffs. His white shirt had been stained at the collar by something yellow.

  The man sitting next to him looked to be about Jack’s age. He wore blue jeans and a denim shirt that was stretched across a large belly. He was completely bald and had only traces of eyebrows. When he laughed at something McPherson said, Jack saw that he also lacked a full set of teeth. The younger man looked to be about twice the size of McPherson, but his attitude towards the older man was one of reverence. What an odd couple, Jack thought.

  Whatever conversation the two men were having halted momentarily as they reached for the beers that sat on the table. Jack took advantage of the break to approach them. “Excuse me,” he said.

  McPherson looked up at him. There was an almost comical moustache of beer foam above his mouth, but there wasn’t anything funny about the eyes that bore into Jack. “Are you the lot Robbie said was asking about me?” he rasped.

  “We are,” Jack replied.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “We thought we’d start by introducing ourselves.”

  “You’re interrupting a private chat.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “It’s taken long enough already. Why don’t the lot of you just fuck right off.”

  “You are Douglas Andrew McPherson, are you not?” Jack said.

  “He sounds like a Yank,” Duff said, nudging McPherson. “What does a Yank want with you? It might be worth finding out.”

  McPherson nodded. “Are you a Yank?” he said to Jack.

  “I am.”

  “Well, for your information, no one calls me Andrew anything. My name is Dougie.”

  “But you were Andrew, correct? Before you went to prison?”

  McPherson’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about me. What’s your name?”

  “Jack Anderson.”

  “And those two eejits standing behind you, do they have names?”

  “Harry Montgomery and Georgina Malcolm.”

  “I’ve never heard of any of you.”

  “Actually, you and I have met,” Jack said.

  “I don’t remember you, and my memory’s still good.”

  Before Jack could offer a response, Georgie pushed forward and leaned in close to McPherson. “Do you remember a woman named Jessie McPherson? She was your wife,” she said loudly.

  McPherson pointed a bony finger at her. “Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” he said.

  “Why don’t you just answer my question.”

  “Fuck off, the lot of you,” McPherson said.

  “She was your wife, you bastard!” Georgie said.

  “She was a diddy bitch. I was well rid of her,” McPherson said, his voice becoming agitated.

  “You should leave Dougie alone unless you want me to get involved,” Duff said.

  “All I want is to introduce myself,” Jack said to Duff. “I’m Dougie’s son. My name used to be Jack McPherson.”

  Duff turned to look at McPherson, who was now staring at Jack, his mouth wide open.

  “And I’m your daughter,” Georgie barked. “My mother, Jessie, was pregnant with me when she ran away from you.”

  “Dougie, what the hell is going on here?” Duff said.

  McPherson glanced at Georgie, but then his eyes returned to Jack. He continued to stare at him, his expression a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

  “Did you hear what I said about my mother, about Jessie?” Georgie persisted.

  McPherson waved a hand in her direction as if swatting away a fly. “Even if she was pregnant, you’re not mine. She was a whore, that woman. Why do you think I threw her out?” he said, his composure returning.

  “You threw no one out. She escaped from you and took us with her,” Georgie said. She looked at Duff. “Beating women was all this man was good for. He’s nothing but a coward.”

  McPherson put his hands on the table and stood up. Jack noticed Duff flinch. Then McPherson hawked, leaned forward and spat. A spray of spittle and phlegm hit Georgie in the face. She reeled back and then swung wildly at McPherson. As her fist went by him, he threw a punch that connected with her mouth. She crumpled to the ground. McPherson looked down at her with a satisfied smile on his face.

  Jack yelled as he drove a fist into McPherson’s nose. He heard a crack and saw blood fly in all directions. McPherson fell back, but before he hit the ground Jack punched him again. Then it was Duff’s turn. His fist hit Jack a glancing blow on the side of the head. Jack lashed out with his arm, trying to fend him off. Duff took a step back, broke his pint glass over the edge of the table, and waved its jagged edges at Jack.

  “Enough!” someone shouted.

  Duff froze. Jack turned to see the barman standing with a cricket bat in his hand.

  “These fuckers started this!” Duff said, and then looked down at the floor. “The Yank tried to kill Dougie, and I think he might have done it.”

  23

  The unconscious McPherson was taken to hospital in an ambulance. Duff kept asking the attendants if they thought McPherson was going to die. They refused to offer any opinion, but Jack thought he detected signs of concern in their manner.


  They treated Georgie in the pub. She had a split upper lip and one of her front teeth was loose. They advised her to keep the lip well iced. Duff’s punch to Jack’s head hadn’t done any visible damage.

  A police constable arrived ten minutes after the fracas. After hearing various versions of what had happened, he told Jack, Georgie, Harry, and Duff that they couldn’t leave the pub. Thirty minutes later, an inspector arrived with a sergeant and two more constables. The police first spoke to witnesses who had been sitting at nearby tables. Then Harry was interviewed.

  When they had finished with him, Harry came over to talk to Jack. “They’re letting me go,” he said.

  “I’m not sure that will be the case for me,” Jack said. “Will you go to the hotel and let Anne know what’s happening?”

  “That was my intention.”

  “Then find me a very good lawyer. I don’t know if they’re going to hold Georgie as well, but you should retain him for both of us, just in case.”

  “I’m on my way,” Harry said.

  The pub was now vacant except for the police, Duff, Georgie, Jack, and Robbie the barman. The police had separated them as best they could and were conducting interviews in one corner. Jack watched as they talked to Duff, who kept pointing to him. As with Harry, they let him leave when they had finished taking his statement.

  Georgie was next, and the interview went on substantially longer than the others. She was very emotional and twice was given a paper napkin to wipe her eyes. Finally the police inspector got up and helped Georgie to her feet. One of the constables walked her to the door. Now it was just the police and Jack.

  “I am Inspector Johnson,” the man said as he sat down next to Jack. “This is a real mess you’ve caused here.”

  “I don’t believe I should talk to you without my lawyer present,” Jack said.

  Johnson sighed. He was in his thirties, Jack guessed, but had the weary, resigned look of someone who had already seen too much. “Let’s not blow this out of proportion, shall we,” he said. “This was a pub fight with — from what I’ve heard — some extenuating and very complicated circumstances. Right now, all I want is your version of the events. Completely off the record.”

  Jack looked at him and saw sincerity. “The man I hit was convicted of killing a man with a knife in a pub fight, and then he killed another man while he was in prison.”

  “We know Dougie isn’t a saint.”

  “My point is, he spat at and then punched my sister in the mouth. I had no idea what else he might try to do to her. I stepped in to defend her.”

  “His friend Duff claims he was provoked. He says you imposed yourselves on him.”

  “We hardly imposed. We simply approached him to say hello. He’s responsible for everything that ensued.”

  “Why did you approach him in the first place?”

  “We wanted to introduce ourselves. He’s our father.”

  “Do you have an idea how strange that sounds?”

  “It’s still the truth.”

  Johnson nodded and sighed again. “Your sister tells me you’re a successful businessman in America.”

  “I am.”

  “So retaining a good lawyer shouldn’t be any hardship for you.”

  “No. Harry is working on that now.”

  “Good, because you might need one,” Johnson said. “And that ends our off-the-record discussion.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m taking you to the station house for a formal interview. We’ll tell you your rights when we get there, so I wouldn’t say much more right now.”

  “Am I being charged with a crime?”

  “That’s not for me to say. My superior will make that decision after the interview,” Johnson said. “I also have to add that, depending on what happens with McPherson, any charges may be amended.”

  “Will I be released after the interview?”

  “That’s not my decision either.”

  “What’s your best guess?”

  “I think you should expect to spend the night with us.”

  24

  Harry hired a lawyer named Duncan Pike. He was a tall, gaunt man with thinning grey hair that he combed over. But other than the hair, he had a distinguished air about him. Just the mention of his name made an impression on the police officers at the station.

  When he had arrived at the station, Jack had refused to be interviewed without a lawyer present. At that point Inspector Johnson and Chief Inspector Henderson, his superior, had a discussion about where he should be held.

  “He should be in a cell,” Henderson said.

  “He’s hardly a risk. Why don’t we let him sit in the interview room? If we need to, we can always move him.”

  “Who is your lawyer?” Henderson asked Jack.

  “I don’t know yet. My brother is engaging one as we speak.”

  Henderson looked at his watch. “We’ll give it a couple of hours, but I can’t leave you in the interview room all night. If your lawyer can’t get here until the morning, you’ll have to spend the rest of the night in a cell.”

  “You aren’t like our regular customers,” Johnson said. “Putting you in a cell with any of them would be like throwing you to the wolves. They’re a rough bunch.”

  “Glasgow is a rough place.”

  “The Gorbals is, anyway. There are more civilized parts to the city.”

  Johnson took Jack into the interview room, which contained a plain table with four chairs. “The mirror is two-way. You’ll be watched. I’ll lock the door from the outside, but we can hear you. So if you need anything, just say it aloud until someone comes.”

  Jack sat down at the table. After a few minutes the realization of where he was and why he was there began to sink in. What kind of mess had he fallen into? How was Anne going to react? What charge could he be facing? Assault? What if McPherson died? He isn’t going to die, Jack thought. Two punches can’t do that to a man. “I’d better stop thinking about this,” he muttered. “Think about something else.”

  Two hours later, with Jack’s imagination still veering off in all directions, the door opened and Johnson stuck in his head. “Your lawyer will be here in about an hour. Your brother hired Duncan Pike, so he must be paying a pretty penny to get him out at this time of night. He’s one of the very best in Glasgow, if not the entire country.”

  It took longer than an hour, but Pike finally arrived. “I will talk to my client here in the interview room, so I need you to turn off the microphones immediately,” he said to Johnson as they entered.

  “I’ll do it right away.”

  “Thank you,” Pike said, and then turned to Jack with his hand extended. “You can call me Duncan. I assume I can call you Jack?”

  “Of course, and thanks for coming at such a late hour.”

  “Not a problem. I can’t have such a prominent client spending the night in a Glasgow jail cell.”

  “Has my brother also retained your services for my sister?”

  “I spoke to the chief inspector when I first arrived, and it doesn’t seem that she’ll be needing me.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “You, on the other hand, most decidedly do.”

  “It’s a complicated business.”

  “It is, but there’s no reason why we can’t make things work in our favour. Your brother explained in detail what happened, and the police have briefed me separately. Most of the bystanders they interviewed won’t want to get involved, so we can rule them out as witnesses. That leaves five potential witnesses, one of whom is in the hospital and non-communicative. His friend gave a damaging statement to the police, but he’s a convicted felon and hardly reliable. On the other hand, your brother and sister and you are all upstanding citizens.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  “What we
have to do now is hope that McPherson recovers,” Pike said. He paused while he made sure Jack had heard him. “If he dies, the situation changes. By that I mean the process changes, although not necessarily the outcome.”

  “You’ll need to explain that to me.”

  “If McPherson recovers, if he has no more than a broken nose, odds are you won’t be charged with anything. The police will write it off as another pub fight in the Gorbals. We’re aided in that regard by McPherson’s history,” Pike said. “However, if McPherson dies, the police may feel compelled to lay charges. It could be assault, but they might stretch it to manslaughter. We will obviously contest any charge, and hopefully so successfully that it won’t go to trial.”

  “The last thing I want is a trial.”

  “Of course you don’t, and we’ll do everything we can to avoid one,” Pike said. “Now, the police are waiting outside to begin the formal interview. Inspector Johnson told me that you had an off-the-record chat at the pub. I need to know everything you discussed with him. When that’s done, we’ll invite them in.”

  Ten minutes later Jack had finished, and then he spent five minutes answering Pike’s questions.

  “Nothing you’ve told me is of real concern,” Pike said. “They’ll ask the same questions that Johnson asked you at the pub. Give the same answers. The only difference is that they’ll repeat themselves several times, framing the questions in slightly different ways to see if they can elicit different answers. When they do, I may interrupt them. If I do, please remain quiet until I tell you it’s okay to answer.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Then let’s begin, shall we,” Pike said, rising from his chair and going to the door.

  The interview started a few minutes later. Johnson set up a tape recorder on the table and then Henderson joined them. Sitting across from Pike and Jack, they eased into their questions with Henderson asking, “Tell us why you came here from America, and what brought you to the Tartan Rover.”

  Jack had little difficulty with any of the questions, primarily because he answered them as truthfully as he could. Henderson was hostile at first and voiced some skepticism as Jack related the story of his abandonment as a child and the search for family that had brought him to Scotland. But gradually the chief inspector became less aggressive and the session became more like a conversation than an interrogation. Pike interceded twice to ask Henderson to reframe questions he thought were leading, but otherwise he listened without any visible reaction.