Referendum

by Campbell Hart

  He was holed up in a boarding house in Glasgow’s southside and had to be careful to mask his face when he ventured out. Never looking people in the eye he’d been wearing hooded tops to give him anonymity; it seemed that people went out of their way to avoid you when they couldn’t see your face – they suspected the worst and that was fine by him. The BBC had devoted a lot of time to his story, a one-off documentary had been rushed out; speakers from every political party were involved, while the economic and political pros and cons were debated at length. He knew the narrator’s voice and looked him up online. He was pretty sure the message would be replied to quickly; if it wasn’t, there were others who would take him up on the opportunity.

  Sandy Stirrit had been logging referendum footage for the best part of two hours when he noticed the email. He didn’t register the name at first; it was the last thing he expected to see. James Green was offering to meet him tonight. He said he could offer an exclusive interview which could be used for 12 hours, after that he was handing himself in.

  45 minutes later the two men met in Queen’s Park. Sandy made to shake his hand.

  “Thanks for getting in touch.”

  “Don’t trip up over your ego, if it wasn’t you it would be someone else.”

  Sandy didn’t reply, he’d read the reports about the man’s mental health. It was possible there was some truth to them, so he didn’t press the point.

  “I’m handing myself in tomorrow and I’ll be arrested after that which means there will be a black out on what people can report. Apart from my name and the general background there will be nothing new. I’ve just broken cover to give that all important TV interview.”

  “You can’t use us like this.”

  “Give me a break, of course I can. It’s good for you and it lets me have my say before I’m locked up.”

  “But you’ve told me you’re handing yourself in – ethically speaking—”

  “—ethically speaking what? You’re here, you’re interested. I see you have your camera so let’s cut the crap and get recording shall we?”

  “In a minute, I want to ask you a couple of questions off the record first – if that’s OK?”

  “Quickly then.”

  “They’re saying you’re mentally unhinged – are you on medication for anything?”

  “Do me a favour. Let’s rewind a little here. You were heavily involved in covering the bombing last year. How much did you know that you didn’t report?”

  “I didn’t know anything about Faslane but there were reporting restrictions, there always are in cases like these.”

  “And you didn’t think there was anything strange about the Police saying they found Ian Wark’s battered body lying on a beach at Roseneath?”

  “The naval base was obviously something we asked about but he was found on the other side of the water, he was nowhere near it, most likely he was trying to escape.”

  “And yet not long after it looks like he might be coming out of his coma, he dies. Quite convenient, don’t you think?”

  “You think his death was deliberate?”

  “Your words not mine, but if you’re able to find his death certificate it would be interesting to see what it said.”

  “This is starting to sound a bit paranoid,” Sandy was looking around to see if there was anyone else near. He should have brought security with him; the man was definitely unbalanced.

  “No, it’s not, and don’t worry about me, I won’t harm you.”

  “No-one said anything about that.”

  “I can see it in your eyes. All I want is the chance to make a short statement. You can use it in any way you see fit tomorrow, keep it to yourself or share it with the world, just use it. You have my word that what I’ve said is true. The Trident fleet isn’t secure and it has been attacked in recent months. That might happen again, but unless it’s taken seriously, who’s going to be left to pick up the pieces?”

  Sandy unpacked his kit and set up to film, he wasn’t sure how this would play out tomorrow. But with the editor’s voice already ringing in his ears, the one thing he was certain of was that he’d have a lot of explaining to do.

  37

  It was a warm day in late summer and the park was busy with people making the most of their lunch hour. Suits and work shirts mixed company with floral skirts and prams; the high pitched enthusiasm of young children in the play area acted as a reassuring backdrop to an afternoon’s break for harassed parents.

  Rosalind Ying wasn’t taking any chances and she had refused to meet John at work, the subject in question was too off topic; if there was even the suggestion the two of them were discussing what to do about Graeme Donald there could be serious consequences. She knew that if this was something that had to be done then it would have to be properly thought out. Sitting on the bench she could see Arbogast’s loping gait as he dodged through a line of nannies with prams. When he saw her he smiled. Rosalind’s heart sank a little; she didn’t have time for the flirting. When’s he ever going to let it go?

  “Hi Rosalind, thanks for seeing me. This is all a bit cloak and dagger though?”

  “There’s no way I’m discussing this at work, John, that’s absolutely out of the question.”

  “In that case, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask if you’re wired?”

  Rosalind had expected it, she was about to ask him the same thing. Checking there was no-one else around she stood up and raised her arms away from her body.

  Arbogast ran his hands from her shoulders down her arms, then along the outside of her suit trousers. He lingered slightly too long on her buttocks, felt them clench when he touched. He heard the intake of breath from above and quickly moved on, he was being stupid. What are you thinking? He stood back and nodded, “OK.”

  Rosalind was more efficient and less sentimental. She roughly patted him down, found nothing and carried on, “OK, let’s talk.”

  They sat down on the bench and faced out to the park. If anyone was passing they wouldn’t automatically be clocked as being together. Arbogast needed to know how far she would go.

  “This isn’t going to be easy and we’re not going to be popular for pursuing this. Can I rely on you to see this through?”

  “I know you’ve never really trusted Donald, but he has been good to me, you need to keep that in mind. While you might be enjoying this cat and mouse routine, these revelations add up to a top end betrayal on my part. I really believed that he wanted to make a difference, and I wanted to be part of that.”

  “I think he wanted to make a difference, I just think you were maybe a bit blinkered about exactly how he was going to achieve that. And just to be clear I’m not asking you to take the major risk on this. I’ve come this far on my own and I’m determined to see it though. But I do need your help.”

  Rosalind said that was a given, “I need to ask, though, where did the evidence come from? Are you 100% certain the pictures and audio are legit?”

  “I’ve been investigating a guy that’s been muscling into the protection business, mostly in the East End, name of Niall Murphy. He’s a real hard case; came over from Belfast recently where he’s had a hand in the city’s gangland scene. He had ties with Colm McNally in the past. The word is that Murphy’s been turning the screw a bit. But he’s acting with impunity, there’s never any comeback. I think he was a contact for Graeme Donald.”

  “I don’t understand, so Murphy gave you the evidence?”

  “Oh no, Murphy’s a player. He took the pictures and set the tape, but he was playing the two sides against each other. Colm McNally was threatening Donald with a police brutality rap so Donald set him up with Niall Murphy’s help. But Murphy’s not daft and he knows he has to keep everyone happy. He got McNally to go to the warehouse where Donald did a number on him. But Murphy didn’t need to be there, his part was done – except he knows the time and place and goes anyway. He gets the evidence and then presents it to McNally afterwards. But he’s cute about it. He k
nows McNally wants to bring Donald down but he’s convinced to drop his case. Murphy tells him that he’ll act as a go between and meets with Donald to tell him McNally will back off but that he’s got evidence on him that he’ll use if there’s any more aggression. Of course Donald flips but there’s nothing he can do.”

  “So the upshot of this is that McNally and Donald just left each other alone?”

  “Exactly. McNally’s credibility was out of the window anyway. He’d been discredited after having his fingers broken. Every man and his dog was calling him Pliers McNally; he was a bit of a joke, but he got by.”

  “But why didn’t Donald just finish him off, if that’s the way he did business?”

  “Because Murphy didn’t say who’d gathered the evidence. He claimed that he’d acquired it, so both Donald and McNally knew there was a third party and neither could find any proof. So they left it alone. Everything went quiet and it was business as usual.”

  “And who gave you the evidence?”

  “Colm McNally. With Donald working over here and Niall Murphy having followed him across McNally has free reign to extend himself in Belfast again. He’s not worried about being leant on by the Police. In the old days he would have had no chance. But it’s a different scene now so he doesn’t care.”

  “Will he testify?”

  “Absolutely not, he’ll deny any knowledge of this but it doesn’t matter – the evidence speaks for itself. It wasn’t Donald I was going after it was Murphy but the two are tied together. I’ve seen what Murphy’s doing in the East End, he’s an animal and if he’s being protected then he’s dangerous. I can’t allow him to operate when people are being hurt, families are being destroyed. It’s not right and we can’t let it happen – even if it does mean bringing down Donald too. He’s part of the problem.”

  “You really care about this one don’t you?”

  “I got dragged into a case recently and believe you me, this guy’s a piece of work. He thinks he’s untouchable, but we can stop him.”

  Rosalind didn’t need to hear any more. She smiled at John, the first time she’d done that in a long time. This was the man she used to know. “There are official channels that need to be followed. This will need to be reported”

  Arbogast nodded, “Eventually, yes. Once we’re sure.”

  Rosalind sat for a moment, then looked hard at Arbogast, “OK, I’m in – what do you need me to do?”

  38

  It didn’t take long to convince the editor that running the James Green interview was the right thing to do. Sandy Stirrit had made the call as soon as he got back to the newsroom.

  “It’s late, Sandy, what do you want?” Bill Williams was used to being phoned at home but it was after midnight and he’d just fallen asleep.

  “I’ve got a great story for tomorrow but it needs to run in the morning; we won’t be able to use the footage from lunchtime.”

  Bill was intrigued but didn’t expect the next sentence, “The whistleblower’s going to hand himself in—”

  “—today, you mean?” Bill was looking at his alarm clock.

  “Whatever, we’ve got him on tape. He makes a lot of convincing arguments and he’s going to go to the authorities tomorrow so we’ve only got a few hours to use this. Officially I don’t know anything about the timeframe and neither do you. But it’s a big story, the network will want it.”

  “So you’re convinced?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “OK, Sandy, start working on it, but I’m coming in. It’s a sensitive case and we’ll need to talk to the lawyers. I’ll be there within the hour. We can discuss our plan of attack. Good work.”

  By the time Bill Williams arrived at the editing suite the package for the breakfast news was well advanced, “What have you got then, Sandy.”

  “Let’s start with the two-way interview, lets you see the context.”

  The lawyer, Elaine Gedge, had arrived. The three sat and watched as the interview played out on the central screen in the editing suite.

  “If you could give me your name and position for the tape.”

  “It’s, eh, James Green. Formerly of her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

  There was a slight pause; a noisy scrape harried the speakers as James Green adjusted his microphone. Off mic they could hear Sandy asking him to keep his hands by his sides.

  “Thanks for speaking to us today, Mr Green. Could I start by asking why you have come forward at this time?”

  “In the last few days a lot has been said about my character. It has been suggested that I am incompetent, not fit for post, and that I did not have sufficient access to know with any great authority what went on at Faslane Naval Base. I want to put the record straight. Last year there was a terror attack at the base. The man associated with the Glasgow terror attack, Ian Wark, tried to dive bomb a plane into HMS Vengeance. He nearly succeeded but was shot down by the RAF. The submarine was damaged in the attack and contingencies were put in place. The submarine was being loaded with nuclear missiles at the time and the attack could have been a disaster. The Royal Navy and the Government has covered this up, yet they deny it ever happened. My question is why?”

  There was a pause, James Green was staring directly into camera, there was no hesitation, no regret – he looked convincing.

  “So you’re claiming there’s been a cover up?”

  “The fact is undeniable. While I do not have evidence for the safety breaches I’ve spoken about previously, I do have first-hand experience of seeing things go wrong. I’ve seen people swap their IDs when one has been mislaid. I’ve seen fires in missile storage chambers. But last year I knew that there needed to be more than just my word. Last year I secretly filmed the aftermath. I have evidence that there was an attack. I can show you the hull of the Vengeance as it burned with the fuel from the aircraft which narrowly missed as a direct hit. I can show you the full scale emergency. I have the evidence and I’m now making it public.”

  “So am I to understand that you feel you’ve been set up by the authorities in recent days; that they’ve tried to make you look unbalanced in some way?”

  “I don’t know what the thought process is or even who has decided this is the best way to handle this situation. What I do know is that people will believe the evidence of their own eyes. Well, judge for yourself. I imagine I will be in custody before long and there will be further allegations against my character. I ask only one thing, watch the footage and make your own decision.”

  “That’s it.” Sandy had turned his chair to face his colleagues, “What do you think?”

  Bill Williams had one thing on his mind, “Do you have the tape of the alleged attack?”

  Sandy switched screens and played the file. The footage showed dozens of people moving at speed in dockland. An emergency klaxon drowned out all other noise. In the background they could see the outline of a submarine. Suddenly the scene was lit up as flames engulfed the hull. Men leapt from the vessel back onto dry land. It looked like something from a big budget war movie. There was no doubt in Bill’s mind that this was a story. Later that day the news agenda exploded when news of an official cover up hit home.

  39

  Arbogast was surprised at the speed that the Lorna McMahon murder case was moving. After the arrest and detention of Colin Jackson, DNA tests were taken to add his details to the national database. These were being cross checked against samples taken from the body. In theory the results could be finalised within a couple of days. In the end they weren’t needed. Chris Guthrie broke the news that Jackson wanted to talk.

  “His lawyer’s been in touch, seems he wants to speak to us before the tests come back.”

  Arbogast had other things on his mind, but the case was one he wanted to break, “Right now?”

  Guthrie was nodding, “He’s been moved here from London Road. He’s in Room B – got time for it?”

  Arbogast laughed, “How often does this happen, of course I’ve got time, let’s go.”
>
  Room B was located in the bowels of Pitt Street. If you didn’t know where to go, you were probably lost. It had taken Arbogast six months to remember the way. In a few weeks it wouldn’t matter. With the building now in its last days it was with a certain amount of nostalgia that the detectives entered the interrogation rooms to find Colin Jackson staring at the floor with his lawyer by his side.

  Arbogast and Guthrie sat down; they’d spoken to Fairweather beforehand and knew to expect a confession. Arbogast stated the time and location of the meeting and pressed the record button. The conversation was now being filmed and taped.

  “Mr Jackson, you have requested this meeting in relation to the investigation into the murder of Lorna McMahon. Is that correct?”

  Colin Jackson still hadn’t looked up. Reviewing the footage later his reply could barely be heard, “That’s correct. I want to make a statement.”

  Arbogast continued, “Mr Jackson is on record as saying he would like to make a statement. Mr Jackson, you have been charged with the murder of Lorna McMahon and can I remind you that everything you say can be used in a court of law. Do you understand?” Jackson nodded, he understood. Arbogast continued, “Can I ask if you have anything to add to your previous statements?”

  “I didn’t plan on doing anything that night,” Jackson had raised his head and Arbogast could see he had been trying to hide the tears which were welling up, what he was about to say was obviously not coming easily. Neither Detective wanted to interrupt, so they sat back and waited.

  “I told you before that I drove back from Port Dundas and cut through from Duke Street to London Road; that much was true, it was a shortcut. But I lied about seeing her. How could I miss her? She was standing under a lamppost, wearing this amazing dress, bright red – you could see it under the glow of the street light. I thought I was dreaming at first.”