Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Oh, and who wid that be then?”

  “Pearl Campbell.”

  “Aw, how is she daeing?” Peggy sang, laughing. “Ah still feel guilty aboot leading the poor wee thing oan, doon in that dingy car park at the bottom ae Montrose Street earlier in the year. Ye hivnae telt her who she wis talking tae, hiv ye?”

  “Naw, naw. The only other person that knows aboot oor connection is sitting here enjoying a dry Martini wae ye,” Donna replied.

  “The morning efter oor wee sessions? Ah hid tae suck oan a full packet ae Victory V throat lozenges aw day, so Ah did. And where the hell did she come up wae Pussy Galore fae? Ah nearly died when Ah heard that’s whit she’d named me.”

  “Her favourite book is Aw The Presidents Men…”

  “Deep Throat in the car park?” Peggy laughed.

  “Aye. She couldnae remember the name ae the informer who wis passing oan the information tae Bob Woodward, the journalist fae The Washington Post. When the cooncillor, Barbara Allan, challenged her oan who she wis getting her information fae, efter the Rose Bain Campaign Group meeting in the Sally Army Hall up oan Stirling Road that night, Pussy Galore wis the only name she could think ae that came close.”

  “Aye, Ah heard she goat some thumping fae a couple ae sergeants fae traffic that night in Hanover Lane. Is she okay?”

  “She goat a bit ae fright, bit she’s tougher than she looks, is Pearl. A wee darling, so she is.”

  “Ah wis right glad tae get oot ae Central. She’s goat tae be the maist hated person efter Cleopatra goat bumped. Talk aboot chaos? Everywan wis scared tae open The Glesga Echo…they still ur, fae whit Ah’ve heard.”

  “Anyway, Peggy, hen, Ah’ve ordered up lunch fur us fur wan o’clock sharp. Did ye manage tae find oot whit the score wis wae they accounts Ah wis asking ye aboot?”

  “Ah’ve done better than that. Ah’ve brought ye a set that’ll allow ye tae hiv a look at yer leisure, so Ah hiv,” Wee Peggy replied, bending doon and lifting a broon folder oot ae her bag.

  “Christ!” Donna exclaimed, opening her fag packet before twisting a fag intae her holder.

  “Ah’m no even gonnae pretend that Ah know whit’s in them, bit fae whit Ah kin gather, ye’ll find everything ye’re efter in there,” she said, sliding the folder across the glass coffee table.

  “So, wis Ah right aboot the budget source?” Donna asked her, exhaling a blue stream towards Jim Clark’s handsome smiling face up oan the wall.

  “Aye, ye wur spot oan. Ah’ve come across Robert Hamilton when Ah wis called in tae take the minutes ae the Special Task Force meetings o’er the years.”

  “How did he come across?”

  “A right bumptious prick. Treated wummin like shit. Never took me oan wance, other than tae ask me tae go and get him a cup ae coffee. Arrogant basturt. He wis shite scared ae Cleopatra though.”

  “Everywan wis shite scared ae Cleopatra, Peggy,” Donna reminded her, as the baith ae them smiled knowingly across at each other. “That’s why she hid tae get bumped. Okay, it took a wee while longer than whit the street bookies gied her. No matter how good she thought she wis, a lippy wummin in the toon is still a lippy wummin aboot these parts. She wis twenty years too early. Parachuting in and raising that bobbed heid and blackcurrant painted lips ae hers, wis jist asking fur trouble wae a capital T. Ah should’ve maybe goat in touch and gied her a wee sesh oan how tae stuff the basturts where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Ah still feel sorry fur her. Ah think deep doon, she meant well,” Wee Peggy sighed. “She certainly gied Bison and Mackerel a run fur their money, so she did.”

  “It wis that wee WPC fae Possil that did aw the damage. That’s why aw the wummin in the toon who could’ve helped turned their back oan her. It wis only a matter ae time before she copped her whack fae the people she wis meant tae be helping. Anyway, whit’s the story wae yer man?”

  “Right, as ye awready know, the powers that be, doon in Central and oot in Edinburgh, started setting up a number ae Special Task Force groups o’er the years, efter the disappearance and murders ae some ae the tap gangsters in the toon. The first wan wis set up efter Tam Simpson goat himsel assassinated, and that married social worker girlfriend ae his goat seriously injured, oan the doorstep ae his wee love nest in Hillend Road, up there in High Possil oan Hogmanay morning, back in 1971. It seemed like a good idea at the time, plus it fooled the ‘hang them and flog them’ brigade in the toon intae believing that something wis being done aboot organised crime. There’s been four so far. The first three hid varying degrees ae success, bit eventually fell apart, efter it soon became apparent that the wans sitting roond the table hated each other, refused tae share intelligence and couldnae agree oan the best way tae tackle the issues oan the ground. Efter the third incarnation, it wis discovered that aw the previous successes that they’d aw been crowing aboot, wur aw doon tae either The Big Man’s boys via Wan-bob Broon or The McGregor’s via Papa McGregor, taking doon their opposition by providing intel via the crooked polis officers oan their payrolls. The only thing they aw managed tae agree unanimously oan when setting up the first task force, wis the need fur budgets…aye, and Ah mean humungous amounts ae money being set aside. The problem they hid at the time wis how tae get their hauns on large amounts ae money withoot the politicos here in the toon clawing it back fur their ain wee pet projects. The Scottish Office thought they’d cracked it by supplying the budget directly, bypassing the polis committee doon in the city chambers. Apparently, responsibility fur overseeing the budget wis left in the hauns ae yer man, Robert Hamilton, who reported the annual expenditure directly tae Edinburgh.”

  “Fuck!” Donna exclaimed.

  “So, whether there wis an operational task force in place or no, the money kept flowing. Hamilton, as far as Ah kin make oot, wis the only wan that seemed tae hiv any notion ae the outgoings ae the budget. Naebody in the finance section knew that the budget existed, it wis that secret, including Hamilton’s superior. Nowan in the task force, tae ma knowledge, ever asked how much wis sitting in the account, at any ae the meetings Ah attended. As far as they wur concerned, Edinburgh wis paying fur everything. It wis Chief Superintendent Sam Bison, the current heid ae the Crime and Intelligence division, whose responsibility includes the operational aspects ae the Fraud and Flying squads, that spent the money like it wis gaun oot ae style. That partner in crime ae his, Bob Mackerel, the heid ae the two murder squads in the toon, frequently dipped his haun intae the pot as well. Ah don’t believe they wid’ve been part ae any scam that wis gaun oan. Hamilton is too much ae a loner fur that. The expenditure wis always meant tae provide extra staffing costs in undercover operations and stings, stakeouts, paying informers substantial amounts ae money under the coonter…that kind ae stuff. Ye won’t be surprised tae learn that the reward scheme money fur informers lined the pockets ae people like Wan-bob Broon and Papa McGregor before the baith ae them wur murdered back in February ae this year, the same day that the Kingston Bridge shut the toon doon. The costs ae the polis investigations wur awready over budget, efter the earlier set ae murders back in October ae last year, involving Black Pat McVey and Honest John McCaffrey, which took place long before the bombing ae The Carlton Club and the assassinations ae Papa McGregor and that right haun man ae his across in The West Café in Govan. Given their track record ae throwing money at anything that moved, Edinburgh widnae hiv concerned themsels aboot the amount that wis being spent. As far as they wur concerned, Glesga wis, and still is, the wild west.”

  “Who’s in charge ae releasing the funds in The Scottish Office?”

  “Ah’m no sure. There’s a wee dapper looking Queen’s Counsel guy called Allan Small. Jist like yersel, he smokes his fags using a fancy wee fag holder, so he dis. He’s heid ae The Crown’s criminal division, based within The Home and Health Department, which also covers aw the jails throughoot Scotland. It disnae sound too important, bit they’ve goat a colossal budget, so they hiv. Ah suspect that’s where the task force money ori
ginates fae. He’s pretty smart, so Ah widnae be surprised if the person in charge wis somewan else. He did attend a few ae the earlier task force meetings, bit that wis a good few years ago noo. He wis the wan that brought doon Cleopatra and her Highland Skulks and let them loose here in the toon.”

  “Peggy, the cheques that Hamilton signed o’er tae his bank account hid the title Deputy Establishment Officer under his name. Wan ae ma contacts in the fraud squad said he couldnae find oot whit that title meant. Despite gaun through aw the current staffing lists, including the finance division, nae staff wae that title ever came up.”

  “Ha, ha,” Wee Peggy laughed.

  “Whit?”

  “That’s his other job title and the name ae the budget account. Ye’ll find it mentioned in the financial reports Ah’ve brought wae me. Sounds pretty innocuous, disn’t it? That’s intentional, so it is. Anywan delving too deep widnae zoom in oan that heiding, unless they saw the total expenditure figures in the year end accounts, which they widnae because there isnae anything listed under it. It is there though. Ah assume ye’ve awready hid a wee swatch ae the force’s total expenditure?” she asked, getting an affirmative nod. “It comes under ‘Other.’ There is some expenditure heidings wae small amounts highlighted, bit there’s nothing under the ‘Establishment’ budget heiding.”

  “Aw, Peggy, hen, ye’re a total darling, so ye ur,” Donna beamed, jist as Martin arrived through the door, pushing a wee hostess trolley in front ae him. “Look, Ah hope ye don’t mind, hen, bit Ah ordered up the lobster thermidor, the same as ye hid the last time we met, tae save us farting aboot. Ah’m working tae a tight deidline oan this, so Ah am.”

  “Brilliant, Donna,” Wee Peggy said, as they stood up and walked across the plush carpet tae the table and Martin lifted oot the bottle ae white wine fae the ice bucket and showed Donna the label.

  Chapter Sixty Nine

  “So, shall we begin, gentlemen?” Hamish McGovern asked the uncomfortable-looking assistant chief constable ae Strathclyde Polis, John Sinclair and Chief Superintendent Sam Bison, heid ae the Crime and Intelligence division.

  John Sinclair stared at the three bodies sitting directly opposite them. It wisnae the first time o’er the past year that he’d sat in this very room, oan the same seat, opposite McGovern and that legal rep ae his. It hid only been while he’d been sitting in the plush chair in the outer office, reflecting oan his previous visits, that they’d seemed tae pale intae insignificance when he’d thought aboot whit they wur noo aboot tae discuss. Previously, he’d never felt that his position within the force and in the great scheme ae things hid been under serious threat and hid always believed that the issues being addressed could be sorted oot man tae man, before things goat oot ae haun. This wis different…this time his job wis oan the line. He’d been scared tae tell Jackie whit the matter wis, efter she’d shook him awake because ae aw the shouting he wis daeing in his sleep the previous night. How the hell wis he supposed tae explain tae her that he wis in danger ae being bumped oot ae the service, efter only being confirmed in the job oan a permanent basis six weeks earlier? She’d go aff her heid. Her and her horrible wee maw wur awready speculating aboot him being gied something in the next roond ae the Queen’s honours list.

  “Well, it widnae be the first time that an assistant chief constable hid goat a gong. Dame Jackie Sinclair,” she’d meowed in wonder, o’er breakfast, listening intently tae how that fancy new title sounded…the wan that she certainly widnae be getting noo, before chomping intae her slice ae burnt toast earlier while he’d sat there wanting tae throw up.

  He wisnae too sure if it wis his wheezing that he could hear or that ae his chief superintendent, sitting there beside him, perspiring bucket loads ae sweat aff the end ae that Desperate Dan chin and nose ae his. It wisnae McGovern or the paper’s legal department heid, Hugh McAllen, sitting tae McGovern’s left, in his pinstriped suit and grey speckled tie that hid been freaking him oot through the night, bit the wee red-heided devil, Pearl Campbell, sitting oan the editor’s other side. He’d initially been surprised that Sammy ‘The Rat’ Elliot, the crime desk’s wee buck-toothed, hatchet-faced editor wisnae present, bit considering whit him and Bison wur aboot tae be confronted wae, he thanked God fur this small mercy oan McGovern’s part. The Rat wis wan ae the nastiest wee rodents he’d ever hid the misfortune tae be sitting in the same room as. He hid an awful urge tae fart, despite taking a sip fae the glass ae chilled water that hid been poured by the slinky looking baby doll, who wis noo perched three feet tae the side ae the newspaper people, wae her pen and pad at the ready. She’d been introduced as Miss Helen Cardle, Hamish’s PA, seconds before they’d been informed that she’d be taking notes ae the discussion. He’d wanted tae object, hivving no agreed this in advance, bit insteid hid politely asked if a windae could be opened tae let some air in, despite there being two fans silently whirring away at either ends ae the table. He’d never been particularly attracted tae gingers, he thought tae himsel. Even Sam, sitting there sweating beside him like a pig, a well-known ladies man himsel, agreed that in nine times oot ae ten, gingers wur far too feisty and couldnae haud their tongue in company. Oan the few occasions that he’d come face tae face wae Pearl Campbell, she hidnae lost her composure or temper. Mind you, that hidnae stoapped her subtly slapping doon Murdina Munro in front ae everywan, efter Cleopatra stupidly patronised her when they’d met tae discuss her allegation ae being beaten up by two ae the city’s traffic sergeants doon in Hanover Lane earlier in the year. The daft basturts hid warned the wee journalist tae keep her nose oot ae the investigation intae the murder ae Teddy Bare’s wife and tae stoap printing spurious allegations against The Irish Brigade, accusing them ae exploiting and shagging aw they wee newly recruited WPCs o’er the years. Despite the mass ae unruly red hair and the smattering ae freckles, splashed across that white alabaster face ae hers, she wis a right wee stoater in the looks department. Her body wisnae that bad either. She hidnae been in the job five minutes before she’d started wrecking the place. Despite the lack ae any concrete proof, everywan oan the tap flair believed that she wis connected. How else wid ye explain the damaging scoops the wee hairy managed tae come up wae? A couple ae Sam’s electronic surveillance boys fae the intelligence section hid caught her oan tape. He’d sat wae a hard-on behind his desk in the office jist a few weeks earlier. She’d been squealing like some wee hauf droont water rat, unceremoniously plucked oot ae the dirty waters ae the Clyde, as some lucky basturt pumped the arse aff ae her. He’d hid tae switch the tape aff efter only twenty minutes, it hid been that good. Seemingly, they’d been gaun at each other fur a couple ae hours. The lover boy in question hid been wan ae Anthony Stamp’s sons, the ageing multi-millionaire property developer in the toon, who wis currently being investigated fur paying corrupt cooncillors back-handers who controlled the city’s two important planning committees. At jist twenty, she sat there gieing the impression that butter widnae melt in that pert wee mooth ae hers. How the hell hid they missed her coming doon the track, he cursed tae himsel. Somehow, she’d managed tae totally blow the roof aff ae the service in the space ae six months in a way that poor Cleopatra, rotting away oot there in Cornton Vale, could only hiv dreamt aboot. He took a deep breath.

  “Aye, Hamish, fire away,” he replied stiffly, nodding, the knots in his stomach playing havoc wae that dodgy ulcer ae his. “Wan ae Sam’s boys, Superintendent Bruce, fae oor fraud squad, his awready filled us in oan the joint investigation between us and Miss Campbell here.”

  “So, in that case, we probably don’t hiv tae delve too deep, tae agree oan the seriousness ae the allegation, nor the substantial amount ae money that’s been regularly embezzled oot ae the public purse o’er a number ae years?” The editor asked.

  “At this stage, we don’t know the full amount,” Bison interjected, speaking fur the first time since the initial introductions. “It could be less than the amount Miss Campbell here claims.”

  “Or mair?” The Ginger aske
d, speaking fur the first time.

  “Aye,” The Chief Super acknowledged.

  “So, before we kick aff, whit we kin aw agree oan, is that a civilian employee, Robert Hamilton, the current deputy finance director fur Strathclyde Polis, may be responsible fur embezzling an amount ae money in excess ae seven hundred thousand pounds fae a…a hidden fund?”

  Silence.

  “Er, aye, Hamish,” The Assistant Chief Constable eventually acknowledged, as he looked across at Miss Slinky, sitting there aff tae his right, scribbling away.

  “Look, believe it or no, John, we’re oan the same side here. That’s why we took the unusual decision, in the public interest, of course, tae involve Superintendent Bruce in oor discovery, before gaun public wae the ootcome ae Miss Campbell’s investigation. We’re no looking tae dae a butcher’s job oan the brave men and wummin ae the force here in the toon. Ah think we also aw agree that it’s in everywan’s best interest tae be seen tae be working thegither oan this. We’ve shared whit we know wae Superintendent Bruce, therefore it seems only right that it’s us, The Glesga Echo, who’re first oot ae the traps wae the story. Despite oor newspaper’s mission tae defend the rights and interests ae the good citizens ae this fair city, we unfortunately operate in a competitive, cut-throat environment, where there’s nae prize fur coming in second. That’s why efter a hunner and fifty years ae public service, we’re still the market leader in Scotland. Ah understaun that the paper’s proprietor, Lord Frank Owen, his awready spoken tae your chief constable last night and agreed the terms oan how we proceed efter the day. Ah spoke wae Lord Owen earlier and he confirmed that it’s aw systems go.”

  “Ma understanding wis that we wur supposed tae view the questions in advance, tae allow us time tae prepare oor respo…”