Kingston Bridge

by Ian Todd

  There hid been wan wee unintended element ae black humour, when the inspector hid telt her aboot Elvis Presley’s sudden arrival through the front door ae his flat, efter arriving hame fae his work early. Pricilla hid still been in bits efter finding oot whit hid happened tae Lesley. She’d only jist blurted oot the details ae aw the sexual assault allegations ae the wummin, when the three ae them hid turned, fearfully looking through intae the lobby, as the front door suddenly opened before being slammed shut.

  “Honey, Ah’m home,” Elvis, Pricilla’s man hid cheerfully shouted alang the lobby, sounding jolly.

  She knew she shouldnae hiv, bit efter a pregnant pause and despite the subject matter, she hid burst oot giggling. The vivid image ae an Elvis impersonator happily arriving hame tae the disaster waiting fur him in his kitchen, hid been too much. Efter an initial disapproving look, the inspector hid joined in and they’d sat cackling uncontrollably oan the end ae the bed.

  “Honey, Ah’m home? Who comes oot wae something like that in a place like Glesga?” she’d wondered.

  “Elvis Presley?” the inspector hid said straight-faced, sending them aff again, before getting back tae the business in haun.

  She’d confessed tae the inspector aboot how difficult she’d been finding it, tae tie in senior management tae whit The Irish Brigade hid been up tae fur so long. Withoot the evidence, it wid be hard tae prove there wis a conspiracy within the force other than between the members ae The Irish Brigade. Naw, the inspector didnae think her auld chief inspector boss, John Henderson, heid ae the south’s murder squad, wis colluding wae The Irish Brigade oan getting a reduced charge fur Teddy Bare.

  “Whit?” the inspector hid demanded tae know, reacting tae the shocked expression oan her face, efter mentioning that Cleopatra hid been present when her and her partner hid been telt tae conclude the murder investigation early.

  Whit she’d informed the inspector ae next hid caused her tae drap the hot mug ae tea, that Pearl hid jist gone and goat them a few minutes earlier, oan tae her bedroom flair.

  “So?” the raspy voice asked, causing her tae yelp in fright, as the match struck the sandpaper and the dimly lit up face ae Pussy Galore suddenly appeared across in the dark corner.

  “Oh, Ah, er…ye gied me a fright, so ye did,” she gasped, her throat suddenly tightening.

  Silence.

  “How’s yer face?” the red glowing tip ae the fag suddenly asked.

  “Oh, er…”

  “Look, if ye’re jist…”

  “Naw, wait…it’s, er fine,” she stammered. “Ah’m sorry. Ah…Ah didnae think ye wid’ve heard…Ah hivnae telt anywan aboot it,” she stuttered, her haun automatically massaging her neck through her polo neck woollen jumper.

  “Tony Gucci?”

  “Apart fae him…he came tae me. Ah don’t know where he’d heard.”

  “So, explain tae me where ye’re at…slowly and calmly,” the glowing red tip rasped.

  Pearl explained, as best she could, everything that hid happened since their last meeting, starting wae the newspaper heidline she’d come across up in Castle Street regarding Shaun Murphy’s unexpected resurrection, fighting tae control the quivering in her voice.

  “Ur ye sure ye kin trust this inspector wan?”

  “Naw, bit she filled in an awful lot ae gaps.”

  “Whit wis her reaction when ye telt her that Susan McFarlane hid clocked that wee Possilpark bizzy haunin o’er her letters tae Cleopatra, the day she wis oot walking wae the wean oan the other side ae the canal fae them?”

  “She drapped her full mug ae hot tea oan tae ma bedroom carpet.”

  “Aye, Ah’ll bet she did,” Mrs Raspy Voice said drily. “And that useless piece ae shit, Marybell Raminsky, the sarge that’s in charge ae access tae The Cove?”

  “Whit aboot her?”

  “Whit’s gonnae happen there?”

  “Inspector Thain says that up until noo, there hisnae been any substantial evidence that the nurse’s file wis ever lifted oot ae The Cove. The investigation ae how The Showgirls goat access tae the contents is still under investigation by…”

  “Cleopatra?”

  “Aye. She also said that Cleopatra threatened tae get shot ae the sergeant if she ever disclosed tae anywan that her and the new Possil inspector hid drapped aff the Rose Bain file back in The Cove oan the 24th ae October last year, the same day that Lesley Bare wis murdered.”

  “So, where dae ye go fae here?”

  “Wilma Thain thinks Glenda Metcalfe his enough ammo tae change the charge fae culpable homicide tae murder, based oan whit Ah telt her. Ah should hear the morra. She’s getting in contact wae the prosecutor first thing, so she is.”

  “And the letters?”

  “Nowan knows whit Cleopatra did wae them.”

  “Withoot them, Glenda Metcalfe’s goosed…Bare will walk oan a murder charge withoot them, so he will.”

  “Susan McFarlane his agreed tae approach Pricilla Presley. She’s also willing tae be called up as a witness…tae tell her side ae the story aboot whit happened tae her back in 1972.”

  Silence.

  “If Susan kin persuade Pricilla tae convince the other wummin tae come forward, or at least, agree tae provide new statements, then there’s a good chance that the basturt will go doon.”

  “Whit happens if Carcrash…er, Edward Wilson, the heid ae the prosecution service, disnae go fur it?” Pussy Galore asked, before continuing. “Bare’s defence team wid put up a helluva argument against The Crown introducing new witnesses that hiv nae obvious direct links tae Lesley Bare. Tae be allowed tae call the ex poliswummin up, The Crown wid hiv tae declare their haun.”

  “Wilma Thain claims that The Crown won’t hiv tae…at least, no fae the start. Bare’s defence team hiv awready cited some ae the key Irish Brigade as witnesses oan behauf ae their client. That means some ae them will awready be staunin up in the dock exposed. That wid then allow The Crown tae no only challenge their assertion that Lesley Bare wis some kind ae man eating slut, bit wid allow The Crown tae call up new witnesses, in the form ae the ex-WPCs, that wid challenge their portrayal ae Lesley’s immoral character.”

  Silence.

  “So, it aw depends oan whether Susan McFarlane kin persuade Pricilla Presley and crew tae come oan board? Surely, it wid still leave their grievance ae being bitter, twisted ex-girlfriends open tae challenge, before the trial hid even started? The Crown wid need tae provide a rock solid argument tae justify why the ex poliswummin should be called up.”

  “The prosecutor telt Wilma that if the judge okays the ex poliswummin tae be called up as Crown witnesses at the trial, that would allow The Crown tae challenge the assertion ae the defence witnesses that Lesley Bare wis a serial cheater. The big if is whether the judge wid overrule the obvious objection ae Bare’s QC, John Howdy. His initial objection wid be based oan the fact that the defence team needed time tae prepare their response tae the new evidence against his client. She says that it’s only at that stage that The Crown will hiv tae share the wummin’s statements as evidence…which, if the wummin agree, will awready be sitting there waiting tae go. It won’t involve aw the ex WPCs at that stage though. It’s only the statements fae the wummin that hiv claimed they wur sexually assaulted by the witnesses that ur up in the dock fur the defence that will be used. She says that no only will it blow The Irish Brigade’s statements oot ae the water during the trial, bit the disclosure in open court will trigger an investigation at the end ae the current proceedings, that wid then include aw the ex poliswummin statements. She says that it’s at this later stage that the basturts wid get charged allowing aw the wummin their day in court at a new trial.”

  “If Susan McFarlane manages tae convince the wummin, that is.”

  “Aye.”

  “Dae ye think she will?”

  “Ah cannae be a hunner percent, bit she’s up fur it, efter Willie Burke assaulted me and her up at her flat.”

  “It sounds as if everything’s settled
then. Well done.”

  Silence.

  “Whit?” Pussy Galore’s third glowing fag tip asked, pausing in mid-air.

  “Mrs Purple and Cleopatra.”

  “Whit aboot them?”

  “That purple bitch tried tae sell that ma ae mine and aw her pals doon the river, so she did.”

  “Which never happened,” the red glow reminded her.

  “She’s selling aw they other wummin doon the river tae.”

  “Whit other wummin?”

  “Wilma Thain…the inspector,” Pearl said, ignoring the question. “She telt me aboot the state that she found Collette James in, oot in some psyche ward. Not wan ae they basturts ever went near her efter she wis carted aff. The baith ae us sat there in tears. Surely that’s wrang, so it is. Where the hell is somewan like Collette James supposed tae get justice fae? Ah certainly don’t see anywan, particularly that Cleopatra wan, fighting in her corner, efter whit they put her through.”

  “Pearl, hen, it looks tae me like ye’ve goat whit ye wur efter. Go and write up yer story…expose them fur whit they ur. Ye’ve done a brilliant job, so ye hiv. It sounds tae me as if her situation will come oot in the wash alang wae everywan else’s up in court.”

  “Naw, it won’t!” she hissed angrily, quickly turning and looking doon the ramp towards the mad wanker in that fish tank ae his. “Even if the wummin get their day in court, they’ll still be suffering efter whit they basturts done tae them. That Mrs Purple couldnae gie two shits aboot them. Her and that Cleopatra wan ur up each other’s arses, so they ur. She tried tae put me aff the scent until efter Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie’s trial. She’s a total user, that wan. It wis probably her that goat they polis tae beat me up, so it wis.”

  Silence.

  “The wans that beat ye up ur traffic cops, based across in Craigie Street. They’re baith sergeants. Wan is Big Thomas Healy and the other is a prick called Alan Carmichael. A right pair ae corrupt thugs.”

  “Bit…is…is, that no where the chief inspector fae the south’s murder squad, John Henderson is based? The same chief inspector that ordered Wilma Thain tae stoap the investigation early?” Pearl cursed, quickly realising that the inspector wis wrang aboot that auld boss ae hers’ non-involvement.

  “So, whit ur ye still looking fur fae me then, Pearl?” the lighted fag end asked, ignoring the question.

  Silence.

  “It’s obvious that it wis Mrs Purple Drawers hersel that handed Rose Bain’s file back tae Cleopatra. Wilma Thain said that she wis convinced Marybell Raminsky, the sergeant in charge ae running The Cove, hidnae been involved in removing the file. She also claimed that Lesley Bare widnae hiv been in a position tae take that file oot ae the reading room. So, if it wisnae Lesley and Marybell, then who wis it? Also, whit kind ae deal did the cooncillor get fae Cleopatra, fur the safe return ae the file?”

  Silence.

  “Ah hiv good pals, Geraldine Baker and Senga Jackson, who could be implicated in aw this carry oan. Senga’s leaving…wae Johnboy Taylor. Ah need tae know that Senga will be in the clear and that there isnae a comeback wance her and Johnboy move oan,” Pearl said, sounding bitter, fighting tae keep her jealousy ae Senga in check.

  “The last time we spoke, Ah warned ye aboot gaun too far…getting too close…ye’re at that crossroads noo, Pearl, hen,” Pussy Galore reminded her, sounding less business like, this time. “Ye’ve goat tae leave personal feelings oot ae this or ye won’t survive in the business ye’re in. Why don’t ye jist run wae whit ye’ve awready goat?”

  Pearl thought back tae her auld boss, Mary Marigold. She knew the glowing fag end across in the corner wis right. Mary hid been furever reminding her ae that. She remembered asking Mary if she wis gonnae be dishing the dirt oan Helen Taylor, the day before her story aboot the election up in Springburn, that Helen hid eventually won, wis published.

  “Pearl, hen, Ah’m a professional journalist, so Ah am and don’t you furget it. Good journalists don’t dae the dirty oan their subjects, despite whit somewan like you might think. Journalists ur there tae seek oot the human-interest element ae a person’s character. That’s whit’s important. A lot ae the time whit’s written isnae always complimentary, bit that’s no the journalist’s fault. The story should speak fur itsel. Despite the awfulness and the hurt involved, the readers hiv tae make their ain mind up if whit they’re reading is the result ae a hatchet job or no. Fur us journalists, life disnae stoap efter the story is passed oan tae the print room. We hiv tae start again…that’s the life ae a journalist. You keep that in mind and ye wullnae go wrong in yer career.”

  That hid been the day before Mary hid heided hame and hung hersel in her big fancy hoose across in the West End. It hid taken her years tae get rid ae the guilt that somehow, she’d been tae blame fur Mary’s suicide. Nowan hid ever found oot the reason why somewan as brilliantly clever and talented as Mary Marigold hid decided tae hang hersel, oot ae the blue. Mary’s feature oan Helen Taylor hid been brilliant. While Helen’s opposition, JP Donnelly’s campaign hid crashed and gone intae freefall alang wae his future in politics, the sales ae The Glesga Echo hid broken aw previous records in the history ae the paper. She could see her auld boss’s face looking doon at her, laughing derisorily at her indecision. That wis another thing aboot Mary. She could be a cruel, self-centred bugger when she wanted tae be…which wis practically every day. In the book ‘Aw The Presidents Men,’ Bob Woodward and Carl Berstein knew a lot ae the people they wur investigating, bit hid still gone aheid wae their pursuit ae them. The difference between them and her wis that they’d known who they wur pursuing…she didnae. Who wur the people Pussy Galore wis hinting at? She wisnae sure if she wis strong enough tae dae this, bit she couldnae gie up noo. She hid tae find oot the truth. She looked across at the glowing tip being lit up, as the other end ae the fag wis being sucked oan. She could jist make oot the pair ae painted lips fae where she wis staunin. Aw she hid tae dae wis take aboot ten steps and she wid be staunin in front ae whoever it wis behind the fag. She knew she couldnae dae that. It wisnae part ae the game. Bob Woodward hid been in the same boat, faced wae the same dilemma. Should she quit while the going wis good?

  “Ah cannae gie up noo. Despite whit ye’re saying aboot me hivving enough tae go oan. Ah need tae get the whole story…time’s running oot, so it is.”

  “That’s okay, hen. Ah kin appreciate that. There wis a deal…between Barbara Allen and that Cleopatra wan.”

  “Aye, Ah gathered that,” Pearl acknowledged.

  “Well, if you want tae find oot whit it wis, then ye’ll need tae go back and speak tae yer pal, Geraldine.”

  “Geraldine?”

  “Pearl, you’re gonnae be faced wae a tough decision, real soon, so ye ur. It’s no me that his tae tell ye or advise ye oan whit ye hiv tae dae. That’s fur you tae decide. Ah think ye’ve goat enough wae whit ye’ve uncovered up until noo, bit if you want tae pursue this…then that’s your choice. Speak tae Geraldine and…”

  “And?”

  “Ye might want tae talk tae Donna The Prima Donna while ye’re at it,” Pussy Galore said, taking a deep draw ae her fag, as the red glow fae it practically lit up the whole corner she wis staunin in.

  “Donna…Donna The Prima Donna? Bit…” she gasped.

  Pearl’s heid wis spinning again. She felt like throwing up. She’d been convinced that that’s who she’d been talking tae aw alang. If Pussy Galore wisnae Donna The Prima Donna, then who the fuck wis she staunin talking tae in a creepy dark garage in the middle ae the night, doon in the toon centre? She peered intae the darkness. The red glow fae the fag hid disappeared. Wis she still there? She needed tae ask some mair questions.

  “Er, hello…ur ye still there Mrs?” she whispered, hivving another quick glance doon at the dark figure behind the steamed-up glass ae the wanking shed. “Hello?”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  “Naw!” Teddy Bare howled painfully, gieing the other two untried prisoners in the room a fright.
>
  “Whit the fuck, Teddy?” Paddy McPhee, The Stalker yelped, startled oot ae reading the scriptures in that wee red Gideon’s bible ae his, as the Elvis impersonator jumped up oot ae his chair and ran across tae the plate glass windae, thumping the fuck oot ae it wae his fist. “Hoi! Sir! Ah need tae talk tae ma brief. Hoi, Ah want tae talk tae ma brief, Silas Abraham.”

  “Bad news, Teddy?” Dave McGovern asked him, trying tae keep his face straight.

  “Fuck aff, Dave, ya effing cunt, ye. This is fucking serious, so it is,” he turned roond and snarled.

  “Whit? Ah’m only asking, fur fuck’s sake. Don’t take it oot oan us.”

  “Hoi! Is there anywan there? Hoi? Arggghhh!” he screamed, skipping back tae the table and gaun o’er his indictment again.

  “Ah knew it wis bad news as soon as we came in through the door and clocked that big broon envelope sitting there wae yer name oan it, so Ah did,” McGovern said, sounding as if he wis trying tae be sympathetic. “That’s the kind ae shitty basturts the screws ur in here, getting aff oan enjoying other people’s misery. They basturts take a lot ae pleasure in noising innocent prisoners like us up, so they dae.”

  “Naw, naw, fucking naw,” Bare groaned, drapping the indictment back doon oan tae the table, before burrowing his heid in his hauns. “Dirty fucking wankers!” he screamed pitifully.

  “So, whit’s happening then, Teddy?” The Stalker asked him. “Surely, they’re no charging ye wae murder, ur they?”

  “That basturt Abraham assured me this widnae happen, the useless prick. Wait till Ah see him. Ah’ll fucking gie him culpable homicide, so Ah will. And only two weeks tae go tae trial as well. Whit kind ae fucking justice system dae we hiv in this awful country, eh?”

  “So, they’ve gied ye a date then?” McGovern asked, wan eyebrow lifting.

  “Aye. The week beginning Monday the 9th ae February, the basturts. This cannae be right, surely?” Elvis sobbed, waving his indictment in the air above his heid.