by James Hume
DC Orr cut in. ‘They actually said he staggered up the road, but they went the other way along Birkwood Street.’
‘Right, so the last known sighting of Tommy was around ten past ten on Friday night?’
‘That’s correct, ma’am.’
Sandra turned to Peggy. ‘Thanks for your help so far, Peggy. I’ve only a couple more points. Okay?’
Peggy nodded. ‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Thank you. Now, I’d like to show you two photographs. Would you look at each of them and let me know if one of them is the man you know as Pieter?’
Sandra passed Tom’s notebook back to him, pulled the photos from her bag, and showed her the one of the dark-haired man.
Peggy looked at it and shook her head. ‘No.’
‘How about this one?’ Sandra passed over the one of the fair-haired man.
Peggy looked at it for a long moment, then looked up at Sandra. ‘That’s him. How did you know? Who is he?’
‘We don’t know yet. But with your help, we’ll find out. Now, one last point. On Friday night did either Tommy or Pieter buy any whisky here – like a bottle or a half bottle?’
‘No, they didn’t. But they wouldn’t buy it from here anyway. They’d get it from the Off Sales counter, on the other side of the public bar. You’d need to ask Edith. She serves in the Off Sales as well as the public bar.’
‘Could we speak to her?’
‘Yeah. Hold on a minute and I’ll see if I can get her.’ Peggy disappeared behind the bar.
DC Orr shook his head. ‘Jesus, ma’am. I don’t believe what’s happened here.’
Sandra nodded. ‘I know. But it’s only the start.’
Peggy came back with another girl. ‘Here’s Edith. She can answer your question.’
Sandra smiled at Edith. ‘Do you know Tommy Thomson, who died at the weekend?’
Edith nodded. ‘Yeah, everyone here knows him – knew him.’
‘Did Tommy buy a bottle or a half bottle of whisky on Friday night from the Off Sales?’
Edith shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Okay. Now I’ve got a photo here of a man. Could you tell us if he bought a bottle or a half bottle of whisky on Friday night?’She passed over the picture.
Edith nodded. ‘Yeah, he bought a half bottle of Johnnie Walker. Around half past seven? We don’t sell much whisky, so you tend to remember it.’
Sandra took the photo back. ‘Thanks, Edith.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She went back behind the bar.
Peggy asked, ‘Did that man, Pieter, have anything to do with Tommy’s death?’
Sandra pursed her lips. Tears welled up in Peggy’s eyes and her face began to crumble. It took five seconds for the tears to flow. ‘Bastard. Bastard. Bastard!’ she shouted, and banged her fist down on the table. She sobbed her heart out. ‘Bastard,’ she said weakly.
Sandra got up, sat on the arm of Peggy’s chair and gave her a hug. She just had to let Peggy cry her grief out. Tom gave her a handkerchief and she dried her eyes.
Sandra knelt in front of her and held her hands. ‘Peggy, will you listen to me, please?’
Peggy nodded, still with tears in her eyes.
‘Will you promise me you’ll never say that again to anyone – about Pieter and Tommy? All our evidence says Tommy had an unfortunate accident. We don’t know if this man Pieter’s involved or not. We can’t say – and you can’t say. Promise?’
Peggy nodded tearfully. ‘I promise.’
Sandra squeezed Peggy’s hands in appreciation and resumed her seat. ‘Now, we’d like to stay here for a few minutes to pull our thoughts together. Will you be okay?’
Peggy had regained her composure. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. I won’t say anything.’
‘Good. If you want to talk to me at any time, just call me.’ Sandra gave Peggy her card and she went back behind the bar.
Sandra looked at DC Orr. ‘Can I see your case file again, please?’
‘Certainly.’ He pulled it from his briefcase and passed it across the table.
She thumbed through it. ‘There’s no mention of this Davy Wilson here?’
Orr shrugged. ‘His name never came up, ma’am.’
‘The other person not mentioned here is this man Pieter?’
‘Well, again, his name didn’t come up in the same way as tonight. To Billy and Jackie, he was just a man in the pub, called Pete. We didn’t have a second name, or a photo. The witness Jackie saw Pete get on a tram to the city, and so that took him out of the picture with Thomson still around. We concluded he wasn’t relevant to Thomson’s death. It allowed us to close the case quickly. We’re under pressure on clear-up rates, ma’am.’
‘Uh-huh. Aren’t we all?’
Sandra passed the case notes back to Orr and closed her bag. ‘Can we see these other two witnesses, Billy and Jackie? Where do they live?’
‘Just round the corner, ma’am, in Woddrop Street. They’re neighbours.’
They found both of them in, and the five of them gathered in Billy’s kitchen. Sandra explained they wanted to know a bit more about Tommy.
‘Oh, a great guy,’ said Billy. ‘One of the best.’
Jackie nodded. ‘Yeah, one of the best.’
‘We also want to find out more about this man,’ Sandra showed them Huizen’s picture.
Billy looked at it. ‘Oh, Pete? Hell of a nice lad.’
Jackie nodded again. ‘Yeah, real nice bloke.’
‘Did you just meet Pete for the first time on Friday night?’
Billy nodded. ‘Yeah, but I think Tommy knew him from before.’
‘Did he ask you about Tommy’s wife? Where she’d gone?’
Billy thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, I think he did. But I don’t know where she is. Someplace burg, I think.’
Jackie cut in. ‘Aye, but you told him she was away on trial.’
Billy shook his head and sneered. ‘Jackie, that’s shite.’
‘You did.’
Sandra cut in. ‘I’d like to know if you mentioned a trial at all.’
Billy shrugged. ‘Well, he says I did, but I don’t remember it.’
She turned to Jackie. ‘You told DC Orr here, you saw Pete get on a tram to Glasgow after closing time. Is that right?’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
‘You sure?’
He frowned. ‘Well, yeah. I mean, he wasn’t at the stop when the tram moved off, so he must have got on it.’
She pursed her lips. He didn’t sound a hundred percent certain now, but she wouldn’t get any more from them. Time to go. ‘Well, thanks for your help, both of you.’
Back on the pavement, she turned to the others. ‘Shall we just complete the picture?’
They walked round to the gatehouse of the power station, introduced themselves, and asked to meet the head of the maintenance department. It quickly became clear they’d had no checks done on their boiler controls last week, and had never seen the man in the photo.
They left the gatehouse, stood on the bridge, and looked down on the river and the pathway alongside the power station. Sandra turned to DC Orr. ‘Where’s the next bridge across the river if we walk along the pathway?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Rutherglen Bridge, about a mile and a half from here.’
‘Mmm. A half hour walk. Let’s assume our man Pieter does the dirty deed on Tommy under this bridge – thumps him, fills him with whisky to get him to talk, then pushes him into the river. Would he really take another half hour to walk to the next bridge, or would he just get a tram or bus from here? What do you think, lads?’
Tom and DC Orr glanced at each other. Tom said, ‘For me, ma’am, it would take Pieter at least half an hour to bash Tommy’s head against the bridge, pour whisky into him, give it time to absorb, question him about his wife, then push him in the river, maybe even longer. So, we’re then close to eleven o’clock. I wouldn’t fancy that pathway in the dark. You’d never know what lurked behind the next bush. I’d say he
’d come back up onto this bridge, but not walk past the tenement or the pub, where people could see him. I think he’d walk the other way, over the bridge, and get a tram or bus from there.’
‘What do you think, DC Orr?’
Orr nodded. ‘I agree with Tom, ma’am. Makes sense to me.’
‘And to me.’ Sandra turned to Tom. ‘Right, Tom, will you organise three things, please? First, a team to find and interview every conductor on a tram or bus that passed here on Friday night between say half ten and half eleven. Let’s find out where Pieter went.
‘Second, a team to check every hotel and B&B in the city to see if our man stayed with them last week. He’s an experienced liar, so his Queen’s Park remark is probably false. I’d start with hotels on the north side of the city rather than the south side.
‘And third, a team to drag the river under the bridge here to find the half bottle of whisky. I’m sure he’d just throw it in the river, and it could have his prints on it.’
Tom asked, ‘Wouldn’t the river wash off fingerprints, ma’am?’
Sandra shook her head. ‘Doc Roberts once told me if prints are sebaceous, if they’re oily from having previously touched hair, skin, blood or other oily substances, then his people can pick them off glass or metal even after weeks under water. So, we can but hope.’ She turned to Orr. ‘Do you want to be part of this, DC Orr?’
‘Yes, please, ma’am.’
‘Well, if DI Bruce agrees, join Tom in his office first thing tomorrow.’
‘Will do, ma’am.’
‘Now, Tom and I need to make another call. Can you make your own way back?’
Orr nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, ma’am. No problem.’ He headed off to catch a tram.
‘Where are we going, ma’am?’ Tom asked.
‘Out to Cambuslang to see Tommy’s parents and tie up a couple of loose ends. I also want to check if this lad Pieter has contacted them.’
***
Mr Thomson opened the door to them. They introduced themselves, showed their warrant cards, and Mr Thomson showed them in. ‘I’ve met you before,’ he said to Sandra. ‘You came out here with Jane the night her brother died.’
‘That’s right,’ Sandra replied. ‘Another sad occasion. We’re sorry to hear about Tommy. Sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ he murmured.
They went into the front room. Mrs Thomson looked up from her easy chair next to the fire and put her knitting into her lap as her husband introduced them.
‘Do you still see Jane?’ he asked.
‘No, I haven’t seen her since then. But I wanted to ask you about your telephone call to her last night. How did you get Jane’s number?’
Mrs Thomson looked surprised. ‘When they first arrived in Nuremberg, the children wanted to call us and tell us all about it. We got the number then.’
‘I see. And did you pass the number on to Tommy?’
She frowned. ‘Tommy? No, we haven’t talked to Tommy for a long time now. Probably about four months.’ She shrugged.
Sandra thought there seemed hidden tensions in the family. ‘Okay. Now, can I ask if you’ve seen this man?’ She passed over the photo of the fair-haired man.
Mrs Thomson looked at the photo, passed it to her husband and shook her head. ‘No, haven’t seen him.’
Mr Thomson said, ‘Nor me. Who is he?’
‘We don’t know yet. He met Tommy last week, and we’re following it up.’
Mr Thomson snorted. ‘I knew it. I bloody knew it. Stupid bugger got himself mixed up with shady characters. Is this man involved in Tommy’s death?’
‘We can’t say, Mr Thomson. The police report on Tommy states he had an unfortunate accident. Why do you think he got involved with others?’
Mrs Thomson cut in. ‘Well, after Jane left him I think he found things a bit tight, and he borrowed money from us. Then about four months ago he paid it all back. Said he’d got a promotion at work, but he seemed to have a lot more cash. We just wondered about it.’
‘Mmm. He worked at Stewarts & Lloyds. Right?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, he served his time and was a draughtsman there.’
Mr Thomson said, ‘You’re secret service. Is this man involved in something?’
‘We’re Special Branch, sir. At the moment we don’t know exactly what this man’s involved in. So, if you should see him at all, please call me.’ Sandra passed him a card.
She and Tom stood up. ‘Thank you so much for your time. And again, sorry for your loss.’ They left the house and got into their car.
‘What do you think of that?’
Tom pursed his lips. ‘I think there’s maybe more to Tommy than meets the eye.’
‘I agree. Let’s just check.’
As they headed back towards Glasgow, they pulled up at the Stewarts & Lloyds factory in Rutherglen. They went into the gatehouse and introduced themselves. ‘Is there anyone still here who can tell us about Tommy Thomson, one of your draughtsmen?’
The gateman nodded. ‘Yeah, I think the drawing office is working late tonight. Let’s see.’ He got on the phone and a couple of minutes later said, ‘Tony Smith’s on his way over. He’s one of the senior men. Pretty sad about Tommy, though, huh?’
Sandra nodded. Sad seemed the universal word to describe Tommy’s passing. A few minutes later, a fresh-faced man in his forties appeared and shook hands. ‘Hello, I’m Tony Smith, deputy chief draughtsman. Let’s go in here.’ They entered a meeting room.
Sandra said, ‘We’d just like to know a bit more about Tommy Thomson. I understand he’d worked here for some time and had recently got a promotion. We just wanted to fill in some gaps in his background.’
Smith nodded. ‘Well, we were all sorry to hear about Tommy’s death. But he left here about six months ago. Jumped before he was pushed, to be honest. And he certainly never received a promotion. His coat was on a very shaky nail for a long time. He was far too cynical and sarcastic, and upset the wrong people here. Sorry, I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but you might as well know the truth.’
‘Do you know where he went after he left here?’
‘I don’t. He mentioned to a workmate he’d grabbed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with both hands. But he didn’t say what. Most of us just thought it his usual big talk.’
‘And when did he leave, exactly?’
He pulled out a diary. ‘A few weeks after VE Day – I’d say the end of May. I’ll check when I go back, and if it’s different, I’ll give you a call.’
‘So, he didn’t work any notice, then?’
He shook his head. ‘No, we were glad to see the back of him.’
‘Mmm. What sort of pay rate would he get here?’
‘I’d need to check, but typically, with overtime, he’d get over five pounds a week.’
‘Okay, thanks. Have you had any other police visits to ask about Mr Thomson?’
Smith thought for a moment. ‘Yeah. A detective came here on Monday. A big fellow. Talked with Mr Harding, our chief draughtsman.’
‘Could I speak to Mr Harding?’
‘I’m sorry, he’s not here right now.’
‘Could I speak to him on the phone?’
‘Oh, I see. Let me try and get him for you.’ He picked up the phone and asked for a number. ‘Hello, Alan? It’s Tony here. I have the police with me asking about Tommy Thomson. They’d like a word with you.’ He passed the phone to Sandra.
‘Mr Harding. I’m Superintendent Maxwell. I understand you had one of my colleagues visit you on Monday. Can you remember his name?’
‘Em, Inspector . . .. Bruce, I think. His card’s in my top left drawer. Tony can check it for you, if you want. A very tall man, rather blunt spoken.’
‘Oh, yes. Did you tell DI Bruce that Thomson had left your employ six months ago?’
‘Of course. I told him. We don’t know who or where, but he seemed to be doing well. Appeared to be quite prosperous.’
‘And what did DI Bruce say?�
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‘He didn’t say anything. He just wanted me to confirm Thomson was depressed and a heavy drinker. I confirmed it, and DI Bruce seemed happy.’
‘Thank you very much, Mr Harding. Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘No problem, Superintendent. Glad to help.
She handed the phone back to Smith, stood up, and gave him a card. ‘Thank you very much for your help. Call me if you think of anything else.’
He nodded and showed them out.
They stood beside their car. Sandra shook her head. ‘Well, well. A man with a secret, huh? Everybody thinks Thomson still works here, but he doesn’t. So, what was he doing? And why do the witness statements from the family and the employer, not mention more cash or changing jobs? Were they deliberately excluded? Why would the SIO do that? Just to get the case closed quickly, or what? Let’s check Thomson’s flat again. I wonder if Mrs McGregor has a key?’
They drove down the road, across the bridge past the City of Glasgow sign, and parked opposite Tommy’s tenement building.
As they went up the stairs, Tom said, ‘Do we need a warrant, ma’am?’
Sandra shrugged. ‘No. We suspect him of a possible serious crime; we’ve got an urgent timeline and we’ve already been in there tonight; and he’s not around to give permission anyway.’ They rang Mrs McGregor’s doorbell.
Mrs McGregor had a key. ‘You might as well keep it,’ she said. ‘I don’t need it now.’
Sandra and Tom entered Tommy’s flat and put on fine gloves. They checked the first bedroom on the left. Under the bed, they found a small suitcase that looked new. Empty, except for keys in the bottom.
They then checked the bathroom next door, the kitchen / living room, the chest of drawers at the top of the hall, the hall cupboard, and the front room. Tom checked a writing bureau against the right-hand wall near the oriole window. All clear.
But that triggered off a memory for Sandra. ‘When we prepared the Aquila case, Malcolm Craig from London told us a story of how the safecracker on his team found a secret compartment in a writing bureau. Let’s have a look and see if there’s one here.’
She followed the sequence Malcolm had described, and discovered a secret compartment behind the three upper drawers. She smiled at Tom. ‘How about that?’
