Kingston Bridge

by Ian Todd

  “Whit cannae be right?”

  “Me…charging me wae murder. Ah never murdered the fucking bitch. It wis self defence, so it wis,” he moaned, shaking that bop ae his at the injustice ae it aw, looking doon at the indictment and across tae the observation windae. “Surely, this must be some kind ae mistake?”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Doctor Lust sat back and studied the patient. The ward staff hid reported significant improvement wae her acute psychosis since the completion ae the second series ae electroconvulsive therapy sessions. That, oan tap ae her daily, controlled doses of Largactil, hid seen a big improvement in her quality ae life. According tae Sister Drake, she hidnae mentioned her guardian angel tae any ae the staff in nearly three weeks. Despite the calming effect and improvement in her behaviour towards the ward staff, she still refused tae haun o’er her sergeant’s stripes.

  “So, Collette, how are we feeling today?” the doctor asked her gently. “Collette?”

  “Ah’ve lost something,” the patient mumbled, looking aboot blindly at the flair and stark bare walls ae the room.

  “And what do you think that is?”

  “Ah…Ah’m no sure,” she replied.

  “It wouldn’t be your sergeant’s stripes, would it?” he asked, knowing fine well that she wis sitting twiddling wae them between her fingers, oot ae sight, oan her lap, oan the other side ae the desk fae him.

  Silence.

  “Can you remember the last time we spoke, Collette?”

  Silence.

  “The last time we had a little conversation, you mentioned listening to the radio…a song…on a Sunday morning. What was the song called? Can you remember?”

  “Sunday Morning Coming Doon…Ah cannae remember the name ae the singer.”

  “I believe the singer went by the name of Kris Kristofferson. He’s American…and sixteen years older than you.”

  “Oh.”

  “The last time we spoke, you mentioned that after hearing the song from your downstairs neighbour, whatever was happening in your life suddenly became confusing to you.”

  Silence.

  “Do you think that it was the tune that made you ill or was it something in the lyrics that triggered your anxiety?”

  Silence.

  “What meaning behind the song triggered a distressing memory, Collette?”

  Silence.

  “There’s a line in it…where Mr Kristofferson sings about seeing a father in a children’s playpark, pushing his daughter on a swing. Does that hold any distant memories for you?”

  “It wis a Saturday,” the patient said suddenly, looking as if she’d jist woken up and noticed where she wis.

  “Oh? Go on,” the doctor said encouragingly, leaning slightly forward in his chair at the surprising wee response.

  Silence.

  “Collette? You were saying…about your father pushing you on a swing as a child.”

  “Saturday morning.”

  “What about it?”

  “The…song. Ah’ve lost…something…somewan…Ah hiv tae find… everything’ll be awright, so it will,” she sobbed, sounding frustrated and becoming restless, as she looked wildly aboot the flair oan either side ae her, as the psychiatrist glanced doon at the lyric sheet, no finding any mention ae a Saturday in them.

  “Can you remember sitting on your father’s knee…when you were young, Collette?”

  “Dragnet…the telly…”

  “Dragnet? What about Dragnet?”

  “We watched it…thegither.”

  “You and your father?”

  “It wis a Saturday morning.”

  “The programme you watched sitting on your father knee?”

  “Ah couldnae understand why he wis singing aboot wanting tae get stoned oan a Sunday when it wis only Saturday…Saturday morning.”

  “Who, Collette? Who was wanting to, er, get stoned on a Saturday morning?”

  “Him.”

  “Who…who was, Collette?”

  “Kris Kristofferson.”

  “Eh?”

  “If…if only Ah could find ma…ma guardian angel…she’d tell ye…she knows whit happened tae them,” she broke doon, starting tae weep, looking him in the eye fur the first time, since Nurse Drake hid sat her doon oan the chair twenty minutes earlier.

  “Collette, did your father ever tell you that he would be your guardian angel when he was tucking you up in bed?”

  “Guardian angel…if only Ah could find ma…”

  “Collette, did your father ever put his hands under the covers when you were in bed when you were little…and er, touched you where he shouldn’t have?”

  “Dragnet,” she muttered, screwing her eyes shut. “The…the story ye’re aboot tae hear is true,” she mumbled, opening her eyes. “Only the names ae the people hiv been changed tae protect the innocent.”

  “Collette, did you hear what I asked you? It’s alright. You’re in safe hands now,” he said mair gently this time. “You can trust me with your little secret.”

  “Bit…”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Ma guardian angel…she telt me no tae say anything. She’d protect me…she promised.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “Why the hell wis he singing aboot wanting tae be stoned oan a Sunday when it wis only Saturday?” she wanted tae know. “Mr…Mr Hopkins wid know. He knows everything.”

  “Is he your guardian angel, Colette? This Mr Hopkins?”

  Silence.

  “Collette?”

  Silence.

  “Could you send in Nurse Drake, Miss Clip,” Doctor Lust said intae the mouthpiece before replacing it back in the cradle as the door opened.

  “C’mone, Collette, let’s be hivving ye, hen. Ah’ll take ye back tae yer seat in the day room,” Nurse Ratchet said brusquely, as Collette James suddenly started tae scream, clawing at her eyes wae her fingernails and drapping wan ae her sergeant’s stripes oan tae the flair, as the nurse wrapped her erms roond her and bodily lifted her up and across tae the open door.

  The doctor sat immobile, contemplating a response tae whit hid jist taken place. The sound ae screaming and Miss Clip’s feet running fae her side ae the desk tae haud open the outer door, tae allow nurse Drake and her male colleague tae escort the patient oot in tae the corridor reverberated aroond his ears, before Miss Clip’s office door wis slammed shut. He waited until the patient’s screams hid faded in tae the distance, before picking up his pen and updating his notes. He stood up and casually walked roond tae the front ae his desk and bent o’er, before returning tae his seat. He fingered the sergeant’s stripes. They wur rough tae the touch. Whit he assumed wid’ve been cotton wis actually silver metal wound thread. The patient’s notes stated that Collette James hid only recently been promoted, a few days before she hid attempted tae commit suicide, efter threatening tae jump aff her tap flair flat windae ledge. Sergeant James hidnae hid time tae take up her promoted duties. Her notes also highlighted her sexual relationships wae a number ae senior colleagues. Despite being only twenty four years ae age, aw the relationships appeared tae hiv been wae aulder men in their late thirties, early forties. Five days before crawling oot oan tae her windae ledge, her maist recent lover, an inspector, hid been murdered. He’d been blasted wae a double-barrelled shotgun ootside her front door. Despite being an experienced polis officer, it widnae hiv come as a surprise tae anywan that she wid’ve suffered post-traumatic stress…bit acute psychosis? That wis a different matter aw thegither. That didnae happen overnight. She wid’ve been suffering fur a while. Her seeming infatuation wae aulder men suggested that there wur deep rooted issues, probably gaun back tae her childhood. It wid take a while, bit the therapy plan he’d been putting thegither should allow him tae get tae the root ae the problem. The important factor fur the time being wis tae stabilise the patient. She clearly wisnae ready tae open up jist yet. He reached o’er and picked up the receiver.

  “Ah, Miss Clip. Could you please arrange another
programme of electroconvulsive sessions for Miss James please?” he asked her. “Starting tomorrow. Yes. Oh, I think we better extend it this time, to say, eight sessions. Yes. Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  “Right, whit hiv we goat?” Inspector Wilma Thain asked the uniformed pavement pounder, who’d been the first oan the scene wae his partner, as her detective sergeant bent doon tae exam the lifeless body.

  “A few witnesses hiv said they heard screaming and shouting ootside the pub door. When they came oot, they saw two guys quickly walking aff in the direction ae Oswald Street. Wan ae them ran up tae the corner tae see where the assailants wur heiding aff tae, before they disappeared alang Midland Street in the direction ae Jamaica Street. He says that he stood watching and thought they turned right oan tae Jamaica Street. He says he wis too scared tae follow them, so turned back tae see if he could help wae the victim.”

  “Whit time wis this?”

  “Aboot twenty five minutes ago, at approximately nine forty five, give or take a few minutes. Central said they’d get patrols doon in tae the area, bit withoot any definite descriptions, it’ll be like trying tae find a needle in a haystack. By turning right in tae Jamaica Street, it means they could’ve nipped alang Howard Street and in tae St Enoch’s Square. Ah couldnae see them doubling back oan themsels tae come oot further alang oan Clyde Street, where we’re staunin.”

  “And where ur the witnesses noo?”

  “Back in the pub wae the rest ae punters. Ma other hauf, Tam Gilroy, is in there wae everywan, taking statements. Being Wednesday, the bar wisnae busy.”

  “Any idea who the victim is?”

  “Naw. The barman says he’s clocked him oot and aboot, bit he disnae get intae the bar. He says he caught him dealing in the lavvy a few weeks ago,” The PC hid jist replied, when a car horn honked and the rims ae the wheels ae it scraped alang the edge ae the pavement.

  “Evening all,” Acting Inspector Tiny McCall announced, sounding cheery, mimicking Jack Warner fae Dixon Ae Dock Green, as his partner, Acting DS Buster McQueen, strolled across and knelt doon beside DS Jean Moffat.

  “Aha, that’s Paul Henry. He’s wan ae Victor Ruth’s young smack dealers, so he is,” Buster said, nodding at the bloodied, grey plasticine looking face, lifelessly staring up at him, wae his bloody mooth gaping open. “Him and a mate ae his wur let oot oan bail recently, efter getting done fur dealing five quid wraps ae smack roond aboot the pubs doon here. Deadly business, if wan ae Wan-bob’s boys catches ye at it, so it is.”

  “Victor Ruth’s boys? Is that a definite ID, Buster?” Jean asked him, turning roond tae look at her boss tae see if she heard whit hid jist been said, which she clearly hidnae.

  “Oh, aye. Handsome wee basturt…or he wis, before they teeth ae his goat punched doon the back ae his gub,” he replied, nodding at the freshly broken teeth, grimacing up at him fae the cracked pavement below them. “Nipped the slippery basturt plenty ae times o’er the years, before Ah ended up working wae you and Wilma in the south’s murder squad, so Ah did. Anyway, whit dae ye think yersel? A killer punch?”

  “Naw. Stabbing. Look at the side ae his neck,” she replied, pointing tae the wee puncture hole wae her pen, still seeping oot dark blood, highlighted in the centre ae the beam ae her torch. “It looks as if he’s been plunged oan the body as well.”

  “Whit makes ye think that?” he asked, looking tae see if he could detect any holes in the blood-soaked jumper the victim wis wearing under that leather jaicket ae his.

  “The blood.”

  “He’s covered in blood. That’s some skelp they gied that mooth and nose ae his as well.”

  “Ah meant the pools. Look at them,” she said, nodding, shining the torch beam lower. “As well as the wan under his neck and heid, that’s a separate wan underneath his lower back, arse and thighs. They don’t join up. It wid’ve taken a lot ae spurting fae that face and neck ae his, tae come up wae a puddle that size, so it wid’ve.”

  “Gang fight?” Buster wondered, pursing his lips, leaning sideways, lowering his heid tae get a better squint ae the knife wound in the neck.

  “Ah doubt it,” she said, shaking her heid.

  “Naw? So, whit makes ye think that then?”

  “That wid’ve been a knuckleduster that wis used tae dae that amount ae damage oan that coupon ae his. When wis the last time ye came across any ae they wee chib merchants using wan ae them?”

  Silence.

  “Aye, Ah suppose. Ah’ll gie ye that wan. Organised boys?”

  “Ah’d say so, bit who knows.”

  “The Mankys maybe?”

  “Possibly. We’ll need tae hear whit the witnesses in the pub ur saying. We might be lucky and get a clear ID.”

  “Right, whit’s the score, Jean?” Wilma asked, interrupting the conversation, as the blue flashing lights ae an ambulance and a squad car quickly drew up.

  “Ye better come back later, boys,” Tiny shouted across tae the ambulance driver. “This wan won’t be gaun anywhere soon.”

  “Buster here says he’s wan ae Victor Ruth’s boys,” Jean telt her, staunin up, as Wilma looked startled, staring doon at the stiff wae bit mair interest this time.

  “Oh?”

  “Paul Henry. Twenty wan or two…born and bred in Govan. Sleekit wee fucker…aye, and could be nasty wae it as well. Him and wan ae his junky pals wur let oot oan bail recently fur selling wee wraps ae smack roond the boozers doon here.”

  “The Mankys?” Wilma wondered.

  “Or wan ae Wan-bob’s crowd,” Jean replied, shrugging they padded shoulders ae hers.

  “Right, well, as much as Ah’m enjoying this wee chit-chat, we’ve goat things tae be getting oan wae,” Tiny announced, cheerily. “So, we’ll jist leave youse pair ae Clouseau’s tae get oan wae it. If ye need anything, other than manpower, jist gie us a shout. Ye kin get us in the warm canteen, supping mugs ae hot, stewed tea, across in Craigie Street.”

  “Tiny, dae us a favour, will ye,” Wilma asked the departing backs. “Kin wan ae youse radio Central tae get the caravan doon here, as well as the forensic boys and Barney Bellheid, the scene ae crime photographer?”

  “Whit aboot the polis surgeon?”

  “Aye, him as well. It looks like it’s gonnae be a long night, so it dis,” Jean grumbled, shivering fae the cauld underneath her jaicket, shining her torch back doon oan tae the broken face ae Paul Henry.

  “Yer word is ma command, Wilma. Hiv fun, girls,” he shouted, grinning and waving his haun towards the corpse, as the pair ae them laughed before sliding intae the front seats ae the shiny unmarked car, before heidin in the direction ae the Glesga Bridge, tae take them across tae the south ae the river.

  “Excuse me, boys. Kin ye keep they bystanders well back,” Jean shouted tae the squad car boys, as a crowd started tae gather.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  “Pearl, ma wee pet lamb. Come in and put yer feet up, hen,” Donna The Prima Donna hailed in welcome, as Wee Mary strolled across the office and gied Pearl a kiss oan the cheek and a cuddle, before the exercise wis repeated and Pearl bent doon and kissed Madame Tussaud oan each side ae her slightly rouged cheeks.

  “Mwah! Mwah!” Donna’s lips smacked loudly.

  “Aw, wid ye look at wee Scarlett O’Hara staunin there, looking aw stunning, Mary Doll? She’s another wan that could be spotted oan a daily basis running doon McAslin Street in the Toonheid as a wean, the arse ripped oot ae they manky knickers ae hers and the snotters flying everywhere,” Donna said cheerily. “Noo look at her. She’s goat aw these high heid yins running aboot, shit scared ae the damage they manicured fingernails ae hers could dae tae them. It’s true whit they say, Mary Doll. The pen is mightier than the sword, any day ae the week, so it is.”

  “Don’t you listen tae her, Mary, hen. That ma ae mine use tae always warn me aboot talking tae strangers…and her,” Pearl quipped, nodding, as Wee Mary and Donna laughed.

  “So, whit kin a humble wee businesswummin like me d
ae fur a bigshot reporter like you, hen?”

  “Ah…Ah need a word…in private, if that’s okay?” Pearl replied, glancing across at Wee Mary, who wis back ensconced in her seat.

  “Mary, hen, ye couldnae gie me and Pearl here a hauf an hour, could ye?”

  “Of course, Ah kin. Take yer time, Pearl. Ah’ve goat a load ae stuff Ah need tae be take caring ae. Ah wis leaving it until the morra, bit Ah’ll jist go and dae whit needs tae be done the day, so Ah will,” Wee Mary replied, swiftly grabbing her coat and shoulder bag oan the way oot ae the office.

  “So?” Donna asked, settling back in her padded leather chair, sticking a fag in her wee fancy fag holder, they wizened, sly eyes ae hers raking o’er Pearl’s face.

  “Ah, er, Ah’m no sure where tae start,” Pearl admitted, stuttering, taking aff her jaicket and hinging it up.

  “Look, hen, why don’t you and me sit across oan the saft chairs o’er there, and ye kin tell me aw aboot it, eh?”

  “It…it might take mair than hauf an hour,” Pearl apologised, sounding no sure ae hersel.

  “Listen, see that Wee Mary wan? Smart as ninepence ha’penny, so she is…apart fae her choice in men, that is. It must’ve been the water in they lead pipes doon in the Toonheid or something. Don’t you worry aboot her, Pearl, hen. Wee Mary’s goat her eyes oan some wee geeky, spotty arsed, apprentice travel agent, who cuts aboot in public wae a wispy bit ae bum-fluff hinging aff the tap ae that lip ae his. The glaikit basturt sits by the windae across the road there, watching her every move, so he dis. She thinks Ah don’t know whit she’s up tae. A couple ae ma clients own the business and shoap front that him and that boss ae his sit in, losing money like there wis nae the morra. Ah wis gonnae get her tae shut the place doon a few days ago, bit Ah didnae hiv the heart. Insteid, Ah jist decided tae wait until she goes oot oan her first date wae him, so she kin see fur hersel how much ae a loser he is, before Ah gie her the nod tae get oan wae it. It means it’s no aw negative.”