Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Ach, Ah jist thought ae something,” he’d telt her, sitting wae the music doon low, in front ae the typewriter.

  “It’s quarter past three, Johnboy.”

  “Aye, Ah know. Ah’ll be up in a minute. Ah’ll jist finish aff whit Ah’m daeing.”

  “Ye’re gonnae end up turning day intae night if ye don’t watch oot,” she’d warned him, yawning, heidin back up the stairs.

  “Right, oot ae the way,” he telt the cat, lifting the chair fae underneath the bathroom windae oot oan tae the landing.

  He stepped up oan it and shifted the loft cover tae the side, feeling aboot blind wae his haun in the dark, before jumping back doon. He placed the wrap oan the chair and unrolled the cover, lifting up the PPK and the magazine clip. Wance he snapped in the clip, ensuring wan ae the .32s hid automatically loaded intae the chamber, remembering tae turn the safety catch oan, he quickly wrapped up the spare magazine and cleaning kit and replaced them back in the same spot. Efter lifting the loft cover back intae place, he used the toe ae his boot tae switch the landing light oan, as he inspected the surroundings tae ensure there wur nae dusty fingerprints oan show that wid tell her that he’d been up the loft.

  “Right, cat, you’re in charge. Ah’m depending oan ye noo,” he said smiling, tucking the haungun doon intae the back ae that waistband ae his, making sure his jumper covered o’er the bulge ae the walnut haungrip, as he shut the ootside door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Angelina MacLeod sat and stared intae space, only being interrupted by the arrival and disappearance ae the white taps ae the Corporation buses, squealing tae a stoap at the bus stoap jist ootside her second storey flat oan Shettleston Road. It wis her day aff and the sound ae her letter box clattering as the postie pushed through the letter hid made her jump, as she sat sipping her cup ae tea. She didnae normally get any post, apart fae her leccy bills. She’d correctly guessed that it wis a business letter, seeing as it wis a broon envelope. It hid been the Lairg postmark oan the stamp that hid sent a shiver doon her spine. Her initial thought hid been that it must be fae Senga Jackson, the lovely wee nurse that her colleague, Pat Broon, hid put her in touch wae the previous December. Other than meeting up wae Senga in February, tae sign the lease fur Little Vestey’s Croft, she hidnae hid any mair contact. It hid been her typewritten address oan the front ae the envelope that hid caused the spasm. Who, other than a business, typed people’s addresses oan correspondence tae them? Certainly no a wee nurse, living in the sticks, up in the wilds ae north-west Sutherland. She’d sat and looked at the envelope, trying tae decide whether tae open it up. She’d written tae Senga a wee while back, asking if her and her man wid be interested in buying the croft. Although she’d informed Senga that it hid been valued in December ae last year, efter her mother died, at two and a hauf thousand pounds, she wid’ve been prepared tae accept less. Efter sending aff the letter, she’d been annoyed at hersel fur no mentioning that fact in the letter. She’d been even mair annoyed at hersel when she hidnae heard back. The monthly rent she received barely covered the cost ae her ain rent oan the flat. Tae make matters worse, she’d been informed by the factor, Woodside Accommodation, that the letting agency wis putting the flat up fur sale and that if she wis interested in it, then they’d gie her first shout. The flat wis valued at the same price ae Little Vestey’s Croft. She liked where she lived. Her neighbours wur fab and the shoaps up and doon the street below her windae hid everything she needed. Everywan in the shoaps and oan the street gied her a warm smile in the passing. Jist nipping in fur a pint ae milk in Abdul’s, alang oan the corner beside the traffic lights, always took aboot hauf an hour. Fae fitba tae politics, the world wis always sorted oot in there. People dipped in and oot ae the conversation wance their topic changed tae something else and nobody wis offended if ye made yer excuses and paid up and went oan yer way. Thankfully, they’d done and dusted her accent long ago, putting that wan tae bed. She’d been gone fae Sutherland fur five years. It wis only efter her mother hid died that she’d felt free fur the first time in her life. She’d always tried tae visit wance or twice a year, bit the demands ae her work made disappearing fur any length ae time difficult. Her ma hidnae died ae auld age, even though she wis in her early eighties, nor as a lonely auld wummin, no wae Flintlock McBean, Findlay and Arlene MacLeod and Ewan and Iona MacKenzie as neighbours. Her mother died alone, as the result ae a heart attack, no doubt brought oan by the forces reigned against her. Efter the funeral service in Golspie, they’d filled her in oan whit hid been happening. The pressure tae sell tae the new laird hid been persistent and hid gone oan unabated, despite Flintlock and others trying their best tae intervene. The polis hid been involved at wan stage, bit there hid been nae proof ae harassment. The fact that Ishbel MacKenzie’s young nephew, Lachlan, wis the local polisman didnae help. The Laird, Robert Hamilton and his factor, Heckie MacLeod, should’ve known better. Her mother, Anchris MacLeod, came fae hardy stock. She wid rather hiv roasted in hell than haun o’er Little Vestey’s Croft tae the likes ae them. The MacLeods hid lived there fur o’er two hunner years. Christ, even The Auld Duke ae Sutherland himsel couldnae shift them during The Clearances. She picked up the letter fae Galbraith’s, the land management agency.

  ‘Dear Miss MacLeod.

  It has come to our attention that you have now leased Little Vestey’s Croft to tenants, despite our generous offer to purchase the said property or, alternatively, to manage the rental lease on your behalf, after the sad passing of your dear mother, Anchris MacLeod, in December of last year.

  I have taken the liberty to write to you, to inform you that an out-of-area family has contacted Galbraith’s to enquire as to whether the said property, Little Vestey’s Croft and attached land would be for sale? The client, whose identity I am not at liberty at this time to divulge, is looking for similar properties in the area and is considering three possible properties, Little Vestey’s Croft being one of them.

  I have also been instructed to advise you, that the purchaser would be prepared to pay three thousand pounds sterling, including all agent’s transfer fees, to conclude a quick sale. The offer will be open for a period of one calendar month from the date of this correspondence.

  Should you wish Galbraith’s to progress the sale and act on your behalf or involve another agent, then I would be most happy to assist the process in any way that I can.

  Could you please write or telephone me at the address above in order for me to inform our client of your decision. The generous offer is non-negotiable and will not be considered after the deadline highlighted above.

  Yours respectively, Torquil McTavish-Scott. Land Management Agent.’

  She wondered how McTavish-Scott hid managed tae track her doon. She supposed it widnae hiv been that hard noo-a-days. Galbraith’s hid been at the centre ae The Highland Clearances. Auld Harry MacKenzie, the Galbraith’s land manager, hid acted haun-in-haun wae Patrick Sellar, the auld Duke ae Sutherland’s factor, back in the nineteenth century. It wis clear that the Galbraiths wur still in the business ae clearing folk oot, although the law wis supposed tae be oan the side ae the people. Despite her revulsion at receiving the letter, the offer wis mair than generous. She knew she’d be lucky tae get the two and a hauf thousand that her ain agent hid priced the property at. Three thousand wid mean that she’d be able tae purchase her rented flat outright and still have something left o’er efter the legal fees. She’d met up wae Pat Broon a few weeks earlier. She’d mentioned writing and asking Senga Jackson if her and her man wid be interested in buying the crofthoose.

  “Aw, is that no nice? Ah received a wee postcard fae her no long efter she moved up. She said that she loved the place and that Johnboy…that’s her boyfriend’s name…a right charming flyboy, bit nice wae it, hid even started writing a book. Whether they’d be able tae afford tae buy a place, Ah’m no sure. Senga did say that she’d been squirreling a wee bit away every month, bit Ah’d doubt if she’d hiv that kind ae money. It dis
nae sound as if he’s working either by the sounds ae it, if he’s writing a book,” Pat hid telt her.

  Pat hid also said that if she didnae hear back fae Senga, then she should go oan the basis that it wis a non-starter. She also thought that Senga wid probably write back tae her, either way.

  “She’s a right wee darling is Senga. Heart ae gold and wid gie ye her last crust ae breid, even if she wis starving hersel, so she wid.”

  So, why hid she no heard back, Angelina wondered. Hid she received her letter? Three thousand pounds. It wis a lot ae money. It wid set her free at last. Pat hid also telt her that Charlotte Davidson, the wee mousy-haired community nurse, based jist up the road in Parkheid, wis leaving at the end ae August. It wid be fabulous, working oan her ain doorstep. The local wummin wur a scream. Charlotte covered Shettleston. Whit wis she tae dae? Tae be honest, who wid gie a damn whit she did anyway? The lease oan the crofthoose wis fur a year, wae an option tae extend it negotiable. She didnae know Senga, bit she wis sure that she’d understaun and widnae hiv a problem wae it. Senga now knew that she wis wanting tae sell it and hid been gied first shout. They’d find another place. There hid always been plenty ae empty hooses in and aroond Lochinver when she’d lived there. Christ, they couldnae gie them away. She picked up the letter again and looked at McTavish-Scott’s signature and paused, before she started reading it again.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Ah, Miss Jackson, thanks for popping in by,” PC MacKenzie said. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Look, if it’s aboot that so-called incident wae the auld boy across oan the caravan site, supposedly threatening that man ae mine wae a shotgun, Ah think yer auntie Ishbel may hiv picked me up wrang, so she did.”

  “So, you’re saying that it didn’t happen?”

  “That’s exactly whit Ah’m saying.”

  “Then, why do you think she reported it?”

  “Ye’d need tae ask her that. Ah cannae even remember the conversation, although I might’ve mentioned that he wis always looking fur inspiration, like some auld guy running aboot Achmelvich Beach, confronting people wae a shotgun.”

  Silence.

  Johnboy hid been right, regarding the face sitting opposite her, she thought tae hersel. The chin looked kinda horsey…abnormally long. He’d made her laugh when he’d referred tae him as PC Long Face. He hidnae been exaggerating.

  “Oh, well, if you’re refuting that you said to my auntie that McBean had confronted your hus…er, boyfriend, with a loaded shotgun, then there’s nothing I can do about that. You know, you wouldn’t be doing someone like Flintlock McBean any favours…nor the community, if you were dismissing the alleged incident. The man is a dangerous scoundrel. He’s upset a lot of people in these parts. Look at the state of the caravan site, sitting alongside such a beautiful beach.”

  “Ah wisnae aware that it wis a crime tae be different,” she replied, no being able tae contain hersel. “In ma experience, Ah usually find that people who come across as being different fae the norm ur usually the wans that end up being bullied…or worse.”

  “Anyway,” he continued, ignoring the cheek. “That isn’t why I asked to talk to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, it’s regarding a theft…”

  “Theft?”

  “Of a typewriter that’s apparently gone missing from the doctor’s surgery…your work,” he added, looking at her closely. “It seemingly disappeared not long after you started working here in Lochinver. You do have a set of keys that allows you access to the building when there’s no-one there? Is that right?”

  “If it’s the wan that hid been sitting in a cupboard collecting dust, Ah’ve goat it at hame.”

  “Would that be the one, an Olivetti, that I saw when I was up questioning your hus…er, boyfriend?”

  “Fur your information, PC MacKenzie, Ah wis gied that typewriter by Doctor Innes himsel. He telt me that it hid been lying, taking up space in a cupboard, since it wis replaced wae an electric wan.”

  “Well, according to Ishbel MacKenzie, she knows nothing about that. Doctor Innes hasn’t informed her.”

  “Look, if it’s such a big deal, Ah’ll easy return it tae the cupboard.”

  “That’s not the point, Miss Jackson. Theft is crime about here.”

  “And Ah’m telling ye, Ah never stole it. Ye might want tae speak tae Doctor Innes. Noo, unless there’s anything else, Ah’ve hid a busy day so far and Ah’ve still goat a lot ae patients tae attend tae,” Senga said stiffly, staunin up.

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s chust been a misunderstanding…a breakdown of communications, probably. I’m only doing my job, so please don’t feel that I’m having a go,” he said, sounding totally insincere, taking oot his wee pocket notebook fae his jaicket. “Oh, there is one other thing you can maybe help me with. Your hus…er, boyfriend? When I interviewed him about the incident regarding McBean, I never caught his Christian or surname.”

  “Ma understanding is that there never wis an incident. Why don’t ye ask that auntie ae yours, Ishbel MacKenzie? She seems tae know everything there is tae know aboot people in the district. Ah’m sure she’ll be able tae furnish ye wae that…or ye might want tae ask him yersel. In the meantime, Ah’ll speak tae Doctor Innes. If he wants the typewriter back, then Ah’ll make sure that it’s returned,” Senga sniffed, clearly upset, before opening the office door and disappearing through it.

  Chapter Thirty One

  “Sharrupp!” Flintlock McBean shouted at the dug, cursing under his breath, heidin fur the lobby, pushing the collie back wae the heel ae his welly boot and pulling o’er the living room door behind him. “I’m coming!”

  Another knock rattled the door.

  “What the…?” he exclaimed in shock when he saw who wis staunin there.

  “Aye, hello there. Ah wis roond a wee while ago, bit there didnae seem tae be anywan in,” Johnboy said, shrugging they shoulders ae his.

  “What do you want around here, boy?” Grizzly Chops snarled.

  “Ah wanted a wee word…withoot any trouble,” he added, quickly looking aboot.

  “Ah’ve got nothing to say to you,” Grizzly replied, making tae shut the door o’er, as Johnboy lifted his haun up and stoapped it fae shutting.

  “Look, Ah jist wanted tae say thanks fur the sea trout…and maybe apologise fur disturbing you and that dug ae yers a wee while back.”

  “Trout…what trout?”

  “And the wee bottle ae hooch.”

  “Look, what are you after, eh? Leave me alone or I’ll get the law on to you.”

  “Look, Ah jist wanted a wee word…we’re neighbours, so we ur. We obviously goat aff oan the wrang fit…ma fault entirely,” Johnboy spluttered quickly, looking Grizzly in the eye, as the auld buzzard hesitated. “Two minutes max?”

  “Ye better come in, laddie. Don’t mind Blackie. His bark is worse than his bite,” he growled, staunin aside, nodding in the direction ae the living room door, a faint wee smile oan his lips as the dug started gaun ape-shit, scraping oan the other side ae the door in anticipation.

  “Aye, well, efter you, if ye don’t mind,” Johnboy invited, as Grizzly Chops laughed proper noo, sweeping past him and opening the door.

  “So?” he asked, passing a dirty tumbler across tae Johnboy.

  “Is this whit wis in the bottle ye left at ma front door?”

  “Aye. It’s clearic…un-aged whisky, before it’s been barrelled. It’s from the Clynellish Distillery across in Brora. They take the water from the Clynemilton Burn. That’s what makes it so special. Slainthe!” he growled, tilting his glass and heid, before gulping the contents doon as Johnboy took a wee sip and screwed up his face.

  “Ouch ye bugger, ye,” Johnboy gasped, as they baith smiled.

  “Did you not have a taste from the bottle I left ye, laddie?”

  “It took me aw ma time tae convince ma other hauf tae eat the fish, so it did. She thought ye wur trying tae poison the baith ae us.”

  “Fresh that ve
ry morning.”

  “Aye, it wis lovely.”

  “So?” The Grizz asked, watching amused, as Johnboy bent o’er and scratched the big collie’s exposed belly wae baith hauns. “He doesn’t usually let other people come too close. He must think you’re okay.”

  “Ah basically jist wanted tae come across and say sorry if Ah upset ye that day. Efter whit happened doon at the car park the other Saturday there, Ah didnae want things spiralling oot ae control,” Johnboy explained, shifting oan the seat tae stoap the PPK digging intae his back. “Ah wis genuinely across looking tae see if there wis any work oan the go. We moved up here at the end ae March. Ma other hauf, Senga, is wan ae the local district nurses. Ah wis jist hinging aboot wae nothing tae dae wae masel maist ae the time.”