Kingston Bridge

by Ian Todd

  “Speak tae Wilma. See whit she thinks,” he’d seemingly said tae them.

  When she thought aboot it, Glenda Metcalfe hidnae sounded too impressed wae her auld boss, John Henderson. Tiny and Buster baith agreed that the focus, and the resources in the toon, wur oan finding who killed Duggie Dougan and The Black Butchers fae Possil. As Tiny hid pointed oot tae her and Jean, Honest John McCaffrey’s assassination wisnae connected, so widnae be at the forefront ae the drive tae find the killers. Christ, The Braids hid even stoapped asking fur a weekly update oan the McCaffrey investigation, a sure sign that their priorities lay elsewhere, even though he’d been wan ae the top gangsters in the toon. She’d spoken tae wan ae her opposite numbers, Wee Larry Sting, who’d been drafted in fae Yoker tae assist wae The Black Butcher investigation.

  “They’re no interested in who took oot minnows like Paterson and Johnston, Wilma. They want us tae crack the high profilers, the wans that are causing aw the grief in the papers and the news every night. Wance the heat dies doon, they’ll get roond tae looking at Honest John’s demise…don’t worry.”

  She’d always been convinced, still wis, that her and Jean could get somewan tae talk if they wur only gied mair scope and breathing space. Practically aw the fatal gang stabbings and unexplained deaths in Maryhill, Possil, Springburn, Milton, Burmulloch and Balornock, wur noo coming through her and Jean. She’d tried raising it, bit wis telt that wance they cracked Dougan’s murder, then they’d get mair support oan the ground. They needed a break, bit there wis nothing oan the horizon that she could see coming towards them that wid gie them that. She’d hid tae keep reminding hersel in that wee cubby hole, who she’d been talking tae. As well as being a sharp questioner, the prosecutor hid been a good listener tae. It hid felt good tae get things aff her chest.

  “So, things should get back tae some sense ae normality wance they crack a couple ae leads,” she’d jist come oot wae, before the sharp-arsed wee she-devil jumped back oan tae the theme fur her being there.

  “And Pearl Campbell? Where is she in all this?”

  “Eh?”

  “She’s been trying to get in to see me. Apparently, she has information…evidence, that would blow a culpable homicide charge out of the water.”

  “So, why don’t ye see her then?”

  “Is that a recommendation?” she’d asked, her eyebrow raised, the first flicker ae a smile since she’d sat doon.

  “Ah widnae trust that wee hairy as far as Ah could fling her. Poison wae a capital P, so she is.”

  “Yes, I reread her Christmas Eve piece in The Glasgow Echo concerning my boss this morning. And, of course, you’re still denying informing her that you believed that Lesley Bare was murdered as part of a conspiracy?”

  “Ah’m too long in the tooth tae be caught oot by saying something like that. Irrespective ae whit Ah said or didnae in that cafe, she set me up good and proper. She awready knew fine well whit she wis gonnae write before meeting up wae me. Ah wis only there tae substantiate her scurrilous article. Efter that, Ah couldnae deny that Ah hidnae met up wae her. Who knew whether wan ae her colleagues wis across the road taking photos ae me arriving or leaving? Ah admit Ah goat ma fingers burned. Ah thought Ah could use her, bit obviously, she saw me coming. It certainly won’t be allowed tae happen again.”

  “As I mentioned earlier, I’m in the process of reviewing whether to recommend a murder charge against Teddy Bare. Your chief inspector, Henderson, was correct in one regard. Based on what you gathered, up until you concluded your investigation, a half decent QC would tear The Crown evidence to shreds. However, the missing statements from the women, the ex-WPCs, would put a whole new slant on the outcome of a Teddy Bare murder trial.”

  “And as Ah’ve awready telt ye, there’s nae chance ae that happening. Collette James disnae know whit day ae the week it is. Me and Jean tried numerous times tae persuade Pricilla Presley tae try and get the wummin tae change their minds aboot coming forward wae fresh statements. There’s been too much hurt and betrayal by…”

  “Their colleagues who swore to uphold and defend the law?”

  Silence.

  “So, what information…evidence, do you think this young journalist has, that would crack this case wide open?”

  Fuck!

  “It wis pretty obvious when Ah met her doon in the King’s Café, that she knew a lot…mair than whit she wis letting oan tae somewan like me. She’d obviously been investigating the case fur a while before Ah’d sat doon wae her. She hid information that Ah thought only me and Jean knew aboot.”

  “And that was on Monday the 22nd of December? I wonder how much ground she’s covered since then and what evidence she’s managed to unearth…particularly after the date that you were encouraged…ordered, to concluded the investigation? It does make you wonder.”

  “Look, Miss Metcalfe, Ah’m no sure whit it is ye’re up tae here, bit Ah wis well warned…”

  “By Chief Inspector Henderson…”

  “That ma arse wid be oot the door if Ah went anywhere near that wee wildcat again.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do, but my role is clear. I’ve been asked to sift through the evidence that you prepared for The Crown. If you believe, as I do, that Teddy Bare murdered his wife and that there was a conspiracy against these women by a group of senior police officers over a long period of time…years, then any fresh evidence that would strengthen my hand would be more than welcome…within the next twenty-four hours, preferably.”

  “Bit…”

  “My job isn’t to investigate, Inspector. I wouldn’t know where to start,” Glenda Metcalfe claimed modestly, shutting o’er Wilma and Jean’s investigation file ae Lesley Bare’s murder. “But of course, someone like you?”

  She nipped through tae the living room tae her shoulder bag and retrieved the broon envelope. She’d taken it hame, rather than return the contents tae the filing cabinet efter being asked tae take it doon tae the procurator fiscals’ office. Despite mentioning tae Glenda Metcalfe that she’d brought it doon wae her, she hidnae been asked tae haun it o’er. Why the hell hid the prosecutor asked her doon tae Lanarkshire Hoose in Ingram Street tae inform her that she wis reviewing the charges against Teddy Bare? Whit wis she expecting her and Jean tae dae aboot it? The wee, sly basturt wis at it. That kind ae internal stuff wis never shared wae operational detectives oot in the stations. Everywan knew that the prosecution service wur a law unto themsels. They never shared or explained tae anywan why they did whit they did, even efter some poor investigator like her and Jean spent weeks and months trying tae produce evidence, only tae find oot the PFs hid drapped the charges. Something must’ve spooked somewan high up fur them tae be hivving another look. It wis unusual. She’d never heard ae that happening before. She knew fine well that Glenda Metcalfe wis trying tae use her, play oan her conscience. The only trouble wis, it wisnae Metcalfe’s arse that wis oan the line here, if she wis discovered dabbling in the Teddy Bare case again. She’d been well warned, and in front ae Cleopatra as well. She cursed under her breath fur no daeing whit she’d been instructed. It wid be obvious tae anywan wae hauf a brain that hid access tae Bare’s file that she’d been frustrated by the decision tae conclude the investigation early. Even Jean hid goat oan tae her aboot it at the time.

  “Ye’re asking fur trouble, so ye ur,” she’d warned her.

  “If they basturts want tae hit him wae a reduced charge, then that’s up tae them, bit they’re no gonnae use ma collated evidence tae justify it,” she remembered fuming.

  She wondered whit shit that wee curly haired journalist hid been stirring up? She looked at the packet ae fags fur the umpteenth time, before looking away.

  “Fuck it. It’s only the wan,” she said oot loud unconvincingly, reaching across and picking the packet up.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  That pale face ae Superintendent Munro looked whiter than usual, Wee Peggy decided. She also looked tired. She noticed that she’d arrived wae a new bag.
This wan wis a lot bigger than the usual wee leather wan wae the strap that she usually carried aboot wae her, containing her green leather cigar case, lighter and wine coloured lipstick. She could’ve been mistaken, bit she wis sure that she’d clocked the walnut grip ae a handgun when the superintendent withdrew her cigars and lighter as she sat doon. Everywan roond the table hid heard the news aboot the arson attack oan her two hooses up north, bit nowan hid loitered oan the subject, other than tae say that they wur sorry aboot the fires and that they hoped whoever hid done it wid be caught soon. The elephant in the room that wis supposedly responsible fur the arson attacks, hidnae been mentioned by name, so far. She also noted that the two chief superintendents, Mackerel and Bison, hid turned up oan time. That wis clearly tae dae wae the additional body in the shape ae Glenda Metcalfe, who Edward Wilson, heid ae the city’s prosecution service hid sent in his place. Glenda hid been her auld boss during the Johnboy Taylor investigation the year before. Oan arrival, the prosecutor hid come across and gied her a peck oan the cheek and a wee cuddle, much tae the irritation, or wis it disapproval, ae the two chief superintendent stags.

  Despite the strain beginning tae show oan that pale face ae hers, she wis glad that Superintendent Munro wis back. There wis never a dull moment when she wis aroond. She also wondered whit hid brought Glenda Metcalfe back intae the inner sanctum ae The Braided Bunch. The last time that hid happened, she thought she wis gonnae get lynched. Trouble didnae seem tae be too far away when she wis aroond.

  “So, ladies and gentlemen, shall we begin?” John Sinclair, the acting chief constable asked, as the smokers reached fur their fag packets. “Ah take it that everywan knows everywan else aroond the table? Glenda here is staunin in fur Edward Wilson, who his an important appointment in Edinburgh the day. Glenda is here tae advise us oan any legal clarification, if required.”

  “How’s the district courts coming alang, Glenda?” Mackerel sneered at her, keeping a deidpan expression oan that face ae his, as Bison smirked somewhere within the cloud ae that blue fag smoke ae his.

  There wis nae love lost between the superintendents oan the wan side ae the table and Cleopatra and the young prosecutor oan the other side. It wisnae jist a wummin thing either, although that wis obviously in there. Everywan knew fine well that they blamed the procurator fiscals service, particularly Metcalfe, fur aw the trouble concerning The Stalker’s notebook. They’d sat, their faces like thunder, the day Cleopatra hid informed them that it hid been Glenda Metcalfe that hid been responsible fur the Highland skulks coming tae toon and upsetting the golden goose.

  “Noo then, Glenda, perhaps you kin kick the session aff?”

  “Thank you, sir,” the wee prosecutor replied, opening her file. “William Barker, QC, from Howdy and Barker Associates, has challenged all the charges, including murder, against his client, One-Bob Brown. He’s put forward a number of mitigating factors for the charges to be dropped, the principle one being the exhumation of Mr Shaun Murphy’s body from a Mr Tell’s lair, up in Lambhill Cemetery last week.”

  “Well, Ah hope that crooked dandy basturt wis telt tae take a hike,” Bob Mackerel scowled. “Him and that corrupt partner ae his wur telt where tae go tae, efter they tried the same approach wae us a few days ago.”

  “Yes, Mr Barker has also raised concern in his challenge regarding the aggression that he and his client have been subjected to from certain senior police officers within the force. He claims that the police in the city are hostile towards his client and that because of this, he won’t receive a fair trial. He cites the numerous visits his family has received from Chief Superintendent Mackerel’s officers at various times of the day and night, as well as the removal of personal and family possessions from his home…”

  “Forensics,” Mackerel interrupted.

  “Mr Barker claims that the contents of Inspector Paddy McPhee’s service notebook have been proven, without a shadow of doubt, to be totally unreliable, following the discovery that Mr Murphy died of fatal stab wounds and not of being shot, as referenced in Inspector McPhee’s notebook and subsequently acknowledged by officers investigating Rose Bain’s death. Mr Barker has challenged the veracity of any evidence being used by The Crown against his client that originates from the pages of the service notebook.”

  “Whit aboot the other defendants, Glenda?” The Assistant Chief asked.

  “Brown is the Trojan Horse, sir. If he walks, so will everyone else. His co-accused, Hastie, is being represented by Barker’s partner, John Howdy.”

  Silence.

  “Mr Barker believes that The Crown may be withholding the names of Crown witnesses and are waiting to introduce them just prior to the trial starting. His concern is that the defence will not have sufficient time to study and challenge fresh statements being introduced so late in the day. He has informed us that he will robustly challenge any introduction of late witnesses, given that he has requested The Crown to provide all relevant documents to ensure his client receives a fair trial.

  “Aw the defence legal teams wur gied a list ae The Crown witnesses in plenty ae time, so ye kin strike that wan aff yer list,” Mackerel reminded her.

  “How strong is their defence against The Crown’s, Glenda?” Cleopatra asked, lighting up a Panatela.

  “I spoke with Alan Small, head of The Crown’s criminal division in Edinburgh by telephone, just before I arrived for the meeting. He believes the case against Brown and Hastie is weak, following the recent murder of Sergeant Priestly in the shower room up in Barlinnie. Whilst he believes the case against the police officers, McGovern and McPhee may be able to withstand rigorous challenge, he doesn’t believe The Crown will continue with a prosecution if the case against the other two collapses. He also believes Barker’s challenge will get a sympathetic hearing by the Lords if…”

  “If?” Mackerel and Bison baith butted in.

  “If The Crown does, after all, introduce a prime witness that hasn’t been previously disclosed to the defence lawyers close to the actual trial date,” she continued, as everywan in the room turned and looked at Cleopatra.

  Silence.

  “Superintendent? Dae we…you…hiv a prime Crown witness stashed away somewhere?” The Assistant Chief asked her.

  “I believe there just might be somewan who would fit that description, sir,” Cleopatra admitted, nodding her heid.

  “Ah bloody well knew it! Fucking pure dead brilliant, Murdina,” Mackerel shouted, slapping his knee and laughing, as Bison snatched up his fag packet and everywan else in the room gawped at her in astonishment.

  “Really?” The Chief Assistant asked, no too sure if she wis taking the piss. “Ye mean we’ve actually goat oorsels a white rabbit, Murdina?”

  “Er, yes, sir,” she acknowledged.

  “Ah’m telling ye, Murdina, you’re some bloody dame, so ye ur,” Bison hooted, shaking his heid in wonder. “If it wisnae gonnae contravene they new anti-man regulations that ye’ve recently introduced in tae the service, Ah’d dash roond this table and gie ye a big slobbery wet kiss, so Ah wid,” he beamed, as the three wummin present jist aboot boaked at the thought.

  “Right then, Murdina, spit it oot…don’t be shy noo.” Mackerel sang, jist aboot pishing himsel wae excitement.

  “Glenda, what would the deadline be, before we had to expose our hand?”

  “It could be argued that one week minimum before the trial starts, would be enough. I raised this with Mr Small. He believes, given the profile of the accused and the fact that Barker is certainly anticipating a white rabbit popping up, that we should release the name now…if we can guarantee the witness’s safety.”

  Silence.

  “He also said that for The Crown to reject Barker’s appeal for dismissal of all charges, we would need to be confident that the case against the defendants is rock solid.”

  “The trial is due to start on Friday, the 13th of February, which gives us four weeks from now. If we were to withhold the name of the rabbit till say two weeks prior
to that date, would that be acceptable to the Crown?” Cleopatra asked.

  “Yes, we believe it would be difficult for Barker to argue that it didn’t give his client enough time to respond to any statements made against him,” she replied. “We can inform Barker meantime that as far as The Crown Prosecution Service is concerned, there are no outstanding witnesses from the list that we’ve already provided. If a witness were to voluntarily come forward as part of the ongoing investigation, we would obviously welcome that development. In the meantime, we can inform Mr Barker that The Crown believes we have sufficient evidence already to proceed to trial at The High Court. In the interests of justice, we believe that his client should be allowed to refute the charges in open court,” she said, as everywan smiled.