by Ian Todd
“Er…help…Ah…Ah need some help.”
“Look, Ah’m no here tae dae the job fur ye. That’s your end. You tell me where ye ur and if Ah think Ah kin help ye, Ah will.”
Silence.
“There’s a lassie…a WPC…naw, a sergeant…Ah need tae track her doon. Ah cannae find her. Her name’s Collette James. She’s based up in Possi…”
“Gartloch Mental Hospital,” the lighted fag-end said, interrupting her mid-sentence. “Ye’ll find her there, oot near Gartcosh. She’s been sectioned, so she his.”
“Sectioned, bit…”
“Next?”
“Susan McFarlane…another ex-poliswummin. Ah’ve been trying tae track her doon. Ah cannae find her.”
“Last known address?”
“That’s the problem. Ah don’t hiv her address. She’s supposed tae be living somewhere up in Cadder and…”
“It’ll be oan yer desk first thing the morra morning. Next?”
“The Showgirls…a Purple Dove? Ah…Ah need tae talk tae her.”
Silence.
“Hello…er, ur ye still there?” Pearl asked, searching fur the red tip ae the fag, bit no finding it, jist as a polis car turned intae the car park entrance and stoapped at Sticky Fingers’ wee glass booth.
Pearl didnae know whit tae dae next, as she peeked doon the ramp towards the entrance. The passenger windae ae the squad car wis doon and the bizzy wis talking tae the violent ex-inspector. Wan ae them laughed, the echo reaching where she wis staunin frozen, rooted tae the spot, a millisecond later. She wanted tae ask if Cruella wis still there, bit wis scared tae open her gub. The accelerator revved up a notch. The whining ae the engine reversing back oot oan tae Montrose Street reached her…them? The car disappeared oot ae sight in the direction ae George Street. She turned and watched the beam ae the heidlights run alang the ceiling and back wall that she’d crept alang, further doon the ramp, as it turned left and heided towards the High Street. She turned back and looked intae the shadows.
“Hello?”
“There’s a meeting…in the Sally Army Hall oan Stirling Road the morra night.”
“And?”
“And ye’ll find who ye’re looking fur there.”
“Bit, how will Ah know who she is?”
“Use yer wits…ye’re supposed tae be a prize-winning journalist,” Cruella mocked her.
Pearl wondered if whoever she wis talking…naw, whispering tae…knew aboot the wee porkies she’d inserted intae her job application.
“Ah need tae know…Ah need tae know who Geraldine Baker passed Rose Bain’s polis file oan tae oan the 24th ae October last year efter it hid been blagged oot ae The Cove, alang in Pitt Street, the day before. It wis a Friday.”
Silence.
“Ah…Ah also need tae know who that person then forwarded the file oan tae…in the polis force, Ah mean.”
Silence.
“Look, Ah cannae dae this oan ma lonesome, so Ah cannae. Ah’m running oot ae time. Ah need help. Teddy Bare is gonnae walk, so he is. He’s goat aw they Irish Brigade pals ae his wangling behind the scenes. The wummin…the ex-poliswummin…whit aboot them? They need justice. Please?”
Silence.
“Look. Ah’m prepared tae help ye, bit Ah cannae haud yer haun, Pearl. It’s up tae you tae get oot there and put in the leg work…”
“Bit, Ah am,” she squealed in frustration. “Ah’ve jist spent five hours freezing ma arse aff, tramping up and doon the stairs ae the closemooths in the tenements up in Cadder the night, trying tae track Susan McFarlane doon. Nowan Ah approached coming in and oot ae the closes hid ever heard ae her. Please? Gie me a break.”
“It’s dangerous…whit ye’re getting yersel involved in. Ur ye sure ye know whit ye’re daeing? There’s a lot at stake here fur a lot ae people. Some ae these people ur dangerous. Things will get a lot worse before they get better. Take wan step at a time. Don’t rush in aw guns blazing. Plan, bit be extra careful. Talk tae nowan…there’s people…good people in there as well, bit they’re under the influence ae others, far mair connected than them. Don’t accept as fact anything ye’re being telt, unless ye kin corroborate whit they’re saying. Ah’ll help ye, bit only when it’s safe tae dae so fae ma end.”
“Bit…”
“Look, Ah’ll hiv tae go. Ah’ll contact ye when ah think ye’re needing a wee nudge in the right direction. Ah cannae promise ye anything mair than that.”
“Bit how will ye contact…”
“And another thing, Pearl…ur ye really wanting tae push this? There won’t be any shame in backing oot. There will be other chances ae finding a job…Ah heard that The Herald might be looking tae take oan a few hacks soon.”
Silence.
“Ah…Ah cannae stoap whit Ah’ve started noo. Ah’m too far intae it tae gie it up. Teddy Bare…the ex-poliswummin? Hiv ye any idea whit they basturts done tae them?”
“Don’t get too emotionally involved Pearl and…”
“Whit?” she snapped, instantly regretting her ootburst.
“Look closer tae hame. Ye kin dae a lot ae damage tae those closest tae ye. Is that whit ye really want?”
“Closer tae hame? Whit’s that supposed tae mean…ye mean The Mankys? The lassies? Who?” she asked. “Hello? Ur ye still there?”
“Furget the guys fur the time being. It’s the wummin ye need tae follow up wae.”
“The wummin? Which wans?”
Silence.
“Fuck!” she cursed oot loud, before clamping her haun across her mooth, peering fearfully doon the ramp towards the entrance.
At least it wisnae raining and she hid oan a good pair ae warm, haunmade boots, she telt hersel, as she crossed the tap end ae Stirling Road, before heidin intae Castle Street proper. She’d considered turning left intae Glebe Street between the Cot and Manx Bars, jist across the road fae the casualty department, before heidin straight up tae Keppochhill Road and hame via Pinkston Drive, bit Pinkston wis too dangerous at that time ae the night oan her ain. Although the streets roond aboot her wur deserted, she felt safe enough. Being back in the Toonheid always made her feel safe. She’d run aboot the very street she wis noo walking up as a wee lassie. She stoapped at the junction ae Parson Street, across fae Alexandra Parade, as a Glesga Echo van roared up fae the Glebe Street end, doon beside St Mungo’s Chapel and turned left intae Castle Street, heidin in the direction she wis gaun. She swithered whether tae run efter the van tae cadge a lift, as it screeched tae a halt and a wee boy ae aboot thirteen, jumped oot ae the sliding passenger door, dumping two bundles ae newspapers intae the shoap doorway ae Anderson’s the newsagents, bit she’d left it too late. He’d quickly jumped back in the van and the driver sped aff, before turning right further up, under the flyover, oan tae the Garngad, heiding towards Royston and Provanmill beyond. The picture ae the startled polismen that Slipper hid taken up at Lambhill Cemetery earlier in the week caught her eye fae the bundle sitting in the doorway. She looked aboot, before bending doon tae see whit wis happening. She scrambled in her bag until she found whit she wis looking fur. It took a few goes wae her compact scissors before the twine twanged and released the batch. She stood up and moved across tae under the light ae the nearest lamp post ootside Hilley’s Café.
“Whit the…” she yelped, no believing whit wis accosting they tired eyes ae hers.
‘Missing Notorious Gangster Found – Case Collapses Against Businessmen Accused Of Nurse’s Murder.’
The Glasgow Echo can exclusively reveal that the body exhumed on Tuesday morning by Strathclyde Police from the grave of Mr William Tell, a retired coal merchant, who died of a heart attack back in January 1973 and was believed to be buried in Lambhill Cemetery, is not that of the 66-year-old. To the astonishment of senior Strathclyde police officers, Mr Tell’s coffin contained the remains of missing notorious underworld gangster, Shaun Murphy. Mr Murphy, aged 46, disappeared in January 1973. Rumours and speculation on the fate of Mr Murphy have circulated in the city ever since th
e last sighting of him walking, believed to be under the influence of alcohol, along Fountainwell Road, Sighthill, on the evening of the 24th of January 1973, the day before Mr Tell was buried in a family plot in Lambhill Cemetery. Allegations as to the fate of Mr Murphy surfaced in March 1974 when a dying gangster, Mr Sandy Murray, himself a victim of gangland violence, made a death bed statement regarding individuals who had committed serious crimes that had taken place in the city over several years, to controversial Springburn Inspector, Paddy McPhee. It is public knowledge that Inspector McPhee recorded Mr Murray’s dying words in his pocket service notebook, in the intensive care ward of Stobhill Hospital. Included in those death-bed allegations, Mr Murray claimed that Mr Murphy had been shot dead by a well-known young thug and his body disposed of by underworld figures. Readers may recall that Inspector McPhee, nicknamed by friends and foes alike as The Stalker, for apparently always getting his man, has been implicated and remanded in custody along with two police sergeants, one who has since been murdered in prison, and two Glasgow businessmen, for conspiring and murdering Miss Rose Bain, a twenty year old nurse who died as a result of her injuries in a hit-and-run incident on Balgrayhill Road in June of 1974. It is believed that Miss Bain was allegedly on duty on the night Inspector McPhee noted down Mr Murray’s dying words. The Glasgow Echo’s award-winning, young journalist, Miss Pearl Campbell, can today sensationally reveal that it has been conclusively confirmed, following a post mortem performed by the city’s own pretty female forensic pathologist, Miss Roseanne Cardone, that Mr Murphy died of multiple stab wounds. This sensational revelation totally contradicts Inspector Paddy McPhee’s service notebook, which has already been proven to be false and misleading in another high profile criminal trial where at least one innocent young man was released after being sentenced to the longest term ever imposed on a teenager in Scotland. If the results of Mr Murphy’s cause of death turn out to be true, and Miss Campbell has assured The Glasgow Echo’s readers that it is, then the case against those charged with Miss Bain’s murder has hit the skids and another miscarriage of justice may play out in the city’s High Court on February the 13th, where those accused of her murder are due to stand trial. Please turn to pages, 2,3, 4 and 5 where amongst other revelations, we speak to respected Queen’s Counsel, John Howdy, and learn more about the astonishing turn of events and the role The Stalker and his controversial service notebook has played in undermining the respect, here and abroad, of the Scottish Criminal Justice System.’
“Ah never bloody wrote that! Ah’d never use that insensitive term, hitting the bloody skids regarding Rose Bain’s hit-and-run death,” Pearl howled indignantly tae the mangy 57-variety stray dug, that hid turned and gied her a wee inquisitive look, as it padded past her withoot missing a step. “None ae the lassies will bloody well talk tae me noo…everywan will hate ma bloody guts, so they will.”
Chapter Sixteen
Glenda Metcalfe playfully ran her fingers through his hair in the passing, as his teeth crunched in tae his slice ae toast and she heided fur the percolator hissing oan tap ae the cooker. It wis a rare thing tae be heidin tae her work in the morning these days, flushed wae the tingling vibes ae an orgasm running up and doon her body. She liked the feeling and wanted it tae continue the morra morning and the morning efter that.
“More?” she asked, haudin up the pot.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied, eyeing her up nervously, as he passed his cup across tae her.
The bugger’s still up tae something, she telt hersel, looking at him o’er the rim ae the cup, as she passed it back across tae him. She’d tried tae get it oot ae him the night before. Three times she’d thought he wis gonnae blurt oot whitever it wis that wis bothering him before he’d backtracked. She wondered if she should challenge him again and demand that he needed tae get aff his chest, whitever it wis that he wanted tae say tae her, bit confronting him, despite his profession, widnae work. She’d been there oan many occasions and it hidnae worked then, so the chances ae it working noo, wur probably zilch. She’d need tae try a mair gentler, conciliatory approach.
“You’re sitting there, nervously imitating the criminal element that you protect daily, who know fine well, that they’re guilty as charged,” she’d hit him wae efter her frustration hid goat the better ae her o’er their pavlova and raspberries the night before.
“Nonsense. A diligent lawyer is one that reflects before responding…especially to a prosecutor, who irrespective of the circumstances, just wants a conviction.”
His nervousness, or wis it shiftiness, hid been driving her crazy. It hid lasted the whole night, even efter they’d arrived back at her flat. If he’d been planning a proposal, then surely he wid’ve taken oot the ring in the restaurant? There wis nothing she could come up wae that wid lead her tae think something wis wrong between them. He’d telt her that everywan at his work knew aboot their relationship, including some ae his clients, efter Michelle Hope caught him in her bed a couple ae months earlier oan the morning that Johnboy Taylor hid been released by The Appeal Court in Edinburgh. They hidnae spoken fur o’er a month efter that. As far as she wis aware, his practice still retained The Mankys and their coven ae molls involved in The Rose Bain Campaign Group, as clients. She’d need tae find oot whit it wis that wis bothering him before they baith heided tae work, otherwise, it wid eat away at her fur the rest ae the day. She hid a busy day aheid ae her and she wanted tae be clear heided. Wan ae the longer serving JPs across in The Marine wis being investigated fur being oan the take, bit first, she needed tae pop in by the office, as Edward Wilson, her boss, wanted tae speak tae her first thing.
“Look, Graham, could you please tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof ever since you picked me up for dinner last night.”
“Me?”
“You know what I’m on about. Spit it out. You’ll feel a lot better…and so will I.”
He looked across at her. He’d bought the ring and hid intended tae propose tae her the night before, bit hidnae been able tae pluck up the courage…no efter his meeting wae Tony Gucci earlier in the day.
“Ye’re no trying tae tell me that youse briefs and procurator fiscals don’t get thegither tae discuss common issues pre-trial, ur ye, Graham?” he’d scoffed.
“No, but this is…er, slightly different, and a bit more unorthodox. Also, I fail to see the connection between Rose Bain’s death and Lesley Bare’s, other than those implicated happen to be police officers.”
“No any auld bizzies, Graham. We’re talking aboot The Irish Brigade here.”
“So, why has one of the girls, like Senga or Geraldine Baker, not approached one of Glenda’s colleagues in the prosecution service via Elspeth then? That would seem to be the more appropriate approach.”
“Because as you know, Elspeth Jeffries is focused, and rightly so, oan representing the interests ae that wee nurse. The lassies ur part ae the group that ur raising the funds tae pay fur her services. At this stage, Pearl Campbell is claiming that there’s a wider conspiracy angle, involving the same bunch ae crooked cops. Ah don’t see whit the problem is. Pearl his picked up relevant information that wid throw mair light oan whit that Teddy Bare and they crooked pals ae his hiv been up tae. She claims that there’s a smother gaun oan by the same people that covered up evidence in the nurse’s death and Johnboy being wrongly sent doon fur the bank robbery. She assured me that there’s a mass ae evidence ae a wider conspiracy by that group ae corrupt basturts that’s been gaun oan fur years. Also, Pearl wisnae part ae the wee nurse’s and Johnboy’s Campaign Groups.”
“So, why does she not go direct to the authorities who are investigating? Glenda isn’t prosecuting at that level now…she’s been debunked to look after what’s happening in the district courts.”
“Graham, don’t hit me wae that shite. Fur a start, the last thing any ae the lassies wid dae wid be tae go near that corrupt bunch ae basturts. Fuck, even if their lives depended oan it, they still widnae go near
them…no efter the cover-up, that you know fine well took place fur years regarding Johnboy’s false conviction. This is aboot come-back. Ye don’t think we’re no gonnae take advantage, tae get they basturts back fur whit they done, dae ye? Aw she’s asking fur is five minutes, tae offer up a wee disclosure that she picked up and maybe get a bit ae advice oan how she should proceed. The easy option, and the mair damaging, wid be fur her tae splash it across the front pages ae The Glesga Echo.”
“So, what is it that she has exactly?”
“She widnae go intae detail.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Tony, but I don’t think that it’s appropriate for me to broach this with Glenda…not with the personal dimension in our, erm, relationship. It’s difficult enough as it is.”
“Graham. It looks like Johnboy’s heiding oot ae the toon wance Wan-bob Broon’s trial is o’er wae, so he is. Senga’s goat him twisted roond her wee finger. Remember, he’s still suspected ae getting rid ae that Shaun Murphy. If any charges ur levelled against him in the future, then who dae ye think he’s gonnae be asking tae represent him, eh?”
And there it wis, he cursed tae himsel. Oan the surface, there wisnae any threat, bit considering who he wis dealing wae…Tony Gucci. In Manky speak, he wis basically being informed that if he didnae play ball, then The Mankys wid be taking their business elsewhere. Could he afford tae lose them? Whit wur the implications fur the firm? Despite the positive reputation ae the solicitors in the company, wid they still be left wae a healthy client base if The Mankys went elsewhere? Reputations wur only as good as yer last trial and word ae mouth still held a fair amount ae currency in a place like Glesga.
“Look,” the smooth Atalian hid said. “Ah kin understaun where ye’re coming fae, bit why no jist let yer girlfriend decide whether tae meet wae Pearl or no? Ah mean, it’s no as if Ah’m haudin ye tae ransom, is it?”
“Tony, I don’t want to lose you and the boys as our clients, it’s just…”
