Dumfries

by Todd, Ian

  “It’s important ye say exactly whit Ah’m aboot tae tell ye, Ma,” Robert hid repeated fur the umpteenth time during her two-hour prison visit.

  She’d wanted tae write it doon, bit he’d insisted that she remember everything. He wis suspicious ae anything written doon that could be ascribed tae him, so they’d spent the full two hours gaun o’er everything, word fur word, until he’d been satisfied that she’d goat it right. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “You’re the only wan that understauns me, Ma. It’s only us. Da’s no here tae help us through this,” he’d whimpered when it wis time fur her tae leave.

  “Mrs Conner? Mr Abraham will see ye noo,” the typing tart said, lifting aff her heidphones and laying them doon oan the desk, before walking across the room tae haud open the frosted glass door that announced ‘Silas Abraham, Solicitor’ oan it in flaky gold lettering.

  “Mrs Connor, sorry tae keep ye waiting. Please, take a seat. Perhaps Ah kin get ye a drink? A cup ae tea or a glass ae water perhaps?” The Brief asked efter gieing her fingertips a limp haunshake.

  “No, Ah’m fine, thank you.”

  “Right, well, Ah’ll take it fae here, Louise,” The Brief said, nodding tae the receptionist, who closed the door behind her wae a wee click. “Now then, Mrs Connor, perhaps you’d like tae explain why ye wanted tae see me? Louise made it sound aw very mysterious. Ah don’t usually see people unless Ah hiv an idea ae whit it is they wish tae speak tae me aboot,” he said, sitting doon behind the desk.

  Flora Conner looked at the solicitor. Oan either side ae him, oan his tatty-looking desk, two stacks ae folders threatened tae topple o’er at any time. It wis like looking at somewan through a hatch, she thought. She could tell he hidnae built up his reputation oan his looks either. He wis short, Jewish-looking, wae a receding hairline which wis in an advanced state ae retreat. She wisnae surprised at the pinstriped troosers and waistcoat wae a gold chain running through a buttonhole and disappearing intae baith wee pockets. She wondered if the white collar oan his blue pinstriped shirt wis detachable. It reminded her that she still hid a bunch ae detachable collars belonging tae Douglas…God rest his soul…in the back ae wan ae her wardrobes, tied thegither wae a piece ae string. Like everything else belonging tae Douglas, she jist couldnae bring hersel tae get rid ae it. She felt humiliated hivving tae come here and talk aboot her private life wae this stranger…and a Jew tae boot…bit she knew this man hid the power in that balding heid and mind ae his tae get her baby oot ae the nightmare that hid engulfed them baith fur near oan eighteen months noo.

  “Ah believe ye represent a young thug, er, lad, called Jimmy Baxter?”

  “Yes, if it’s the same James Baxter that ye’re referring tae?” The Brief replied cautiously, raising his eyebrows.

  “Ah also believe that this boy is pleading innocent ae the crime that he’s been put in jail fur.”

  “Ah’ve a client who is currently serving nine years in Dumfries Young Offenders Institution. Young Mr Baxter is still pleading his innocence, despite the fact that the appeal process instigated by him and represented by me, appears tae hiv been exhausted, unless, of course, new evidence, no awready tested in court, materialises that wid lead tae an innocent young man being set free. Are ye saying that ye’re in possession ae such evidence, unknown tae me or the judiciary, er, Mrs Connor?”

  “Ah’m no in possession or hiv the, er, evidence…the new unimpeachable evidence…masel,” she replied, letting the weight ae whit she wis saying sink in. “Bit, er, that son ae mine dis.”

  “I see. And yer son? Is there any particular reason he isnae wae ye the day tae share this information wae me?” The Brief asked gently, making a show ae looking at his flaky gold stencilled door tae make sure her son wisnae hinging aboot oot in the reception area.

  “Ma son wid’ve liked tae hiv been here in person, bit unfortunately, like yer client, he’s also a prisoner doon in Dumfries.”

  “Oh, Ah see.”

  Silas Abraham sat back in his creaking seat and looked at the wee wummin seated across fae him. He knew exactly who she wis the second she’d stated that her son wis serving time in Dumfries. Robert Conner, at aged eighteen, sentenced tae life in January 1973 fur the murder ae a young schoolgirl in a wee village somewhere oot near Stirling. Though the lassie’s body hid never been found, the jury hid unanimously found him guilty. Despite an appeal in front ae three High Court judges in Edinburgh fur a retrial, the case hid been thrown oot and Robert Connor hid been sent back tae prison tae serve oot his sentence. The case hid a higher national profile than other run-ae-the-mill murder enquiries at the time, due tae the lassie no being found, despite a massive search that hid extended as far as the south ae England and in particular, Cardiff in Wales, where she’d supposedly been seen frolicking wae some aulder man. Aw the Scottish newspapers and news programmes hid ran wae the story oan and aff fur a number ae weeks at the time ae the disappearance and fur a further few days efter Robert Conner hid been sentenced. Flora Connor hid been demonised by the press and accused by the judge ae, at best, hivving impeded the murder investigation and, at worst, committed perjury oan behauf ae her son. Young Ann Broon’s smiling face still stared oot at the public fae the notice boards at the entrance ae polis stations across the country. Alang wae her picture, gieing her height, hair and eye colour and whit she’d been wearing oan the snowy night that she hid disappeared, the polis wur still asking the public if they could help find oot whit hid really become ae her. Occasionally, a photograph ae her tearful parents wid turn up in The Glesga Echo or wan ae the other papers, pleading fur Robert Connor tae tell them whit he’d done wae their daughter’s body or fur anywan else who hid any information, no matter how trivial it might seem, tae come forward and help them get their daughter back tae them…deid or alive. Silas hid been offered the Connor case through legal aid, bit hid passed oan it at the time. The missing Broon lassie hid been the same age as his ain daughter, their birthdays being only a few days apart.

  “Ur ye in a position tae furnish me wae the type ae information yer son his in his possession, Mrs Connor?”

  “Ah’m sorry, bit only ma son wid be able tae gie ye an answer tae that question.”

  “And this information…his yer son spoken tae the polis…or the prison authorities?”

  “Ma son lives in a constant state ae fear, Mr Abraham. He feels that if he shares whit he knows wae anywan, his life wid be even mair hopeless than it appears tae be at the moment.”

  “Bit, surely the authorities wid protect yer son, Mrs Conner? They hiv a legal obligation tae protect his health and wellbeing.”

  “Ma son his asked me tae pass this message oan, Mr Abraham, and that’s whit Ah’m daeing. If ye want tae find oot whit it is he knows, then ye’ll hiv tae talk tae him in person. Whit Ah kin tell ye is that the perpetrators ae the foul deed that yer client goat sentenced fur, ur currently serving time in Dumfries jist noo, as we speak.”

  Silas knew aw aboot John Taylor and Samuel Smith, the two young thugs who’d been convicted ae the bank job that Jimmy Baxter, his client, wis noo serving time fur. He also knew that there wur others involved in the bank job and that they too wur incarcerated doon in Dumfries, serving time oan separate charges. He wis also aware that his client hid awready been attacked in Longriggend by Taylor and that Jimmy Baxter’s life wis constantly in grave danger, given the track records ae Taylor and Smith’s associates, Anthony Gucci, Patrick McCabe and William Johnston. The rumours ae whit that particular gang ae young thugs goat up tae oan the streets ae Glesga wur rife and repeated amongst people who knew whit they wur oan aboot. Depending oan who ye listened tae, it hid been suggested in some quarters…mainly by the polis, grant ye…that they’d been involved in several murders or disappearances ae people…maistly gangsters…and them still only in their teens. The antics ae The Mankys, as they wur known, hid been the subject ae a lot ae lunchtime table discussions o’er the past few years. There wisnae a criminal brief in the city that w
idnae gie their right eye-tooth tae hiv any ae them oan their books as clients. It hid been whispered that Graham Portoy, son ae the late, great criminal lawyer, Harry Portoy, hid made an absolute fortune aff ae the backs ae The Mankys, baith through Legal Aid and as fee-paying clients. It hid been the private fee-paying work that hid been the cause ae the speculation. Silas knew Graham Portoy and that creepy precognition officer ae his, a Welshman named Swansea, through bumping intae them at the different court and polis stations scattered across the city. He didnae know why, bit he’d never ever sat doon and hid an actual conversation wae Graham, the way he did wae the other criminal solicitors oan the circuit. It wis usually jist a curt nod or a hello in the passing. Portoy hid started aff as a gangly, awkward brief, whose initial performances in the district and sheriff courts hid led tae a lot ae merriment amongst his peers. Glenda Metcalfe, the jewel in the procurator fiscal’s office, here in Glesga, hid been wiping the flair wae him when he’d first started practicing in the late sixties, covering the district courts. The general consensus at the time hid been that Graham wisnae a chip aff ae the auld block. That hid aw suddenly changed wance his man, Swansea, and Gucci’s crowd hid taken up wae him. While the Welshman hid become famous fur tracking doon and sniffing oot watertight witnesses fur the defence, The Mankys hid become walking adverts fur Graham’s law practice and noo, hauf the wee Neds in the city wur oan his books. The rest ae the criminal briefs usually goat whit he couldnae take oan. Portoy noo hid a swanky suite ae offices up in Bath Street, full ae young legal Turks like their boss, who hid a licence tae print money fae the Legal Aid pot. Portoy also hid the pick ae the Queen’s Counsel crop. Twice Silas hid been rejected by the tap QCs tae represent his client, Jimmy Baxter, as they wur awready representing people associated wae Graham Portoy and his manky-arsed rising stars. It widnae be the first time that he’d wondered if the ootcome ae the Baxter case wid’ve been different if he could’ve goat Stuart McKenzie or Stephen Charles representing his client in front ae Lord Campbell ae Claremyle.

  “Ah believe that Ah widnae be in breach ae client confidentiality by informing ye that Ah’m awready aware ae a possible connection wae ma client’s case and others incarcerated in Dumfries, who may be associated wae the crime that ma client strenuously denies any involvement in, Mrs Connor,” he said, watching fur a reaction.

  “Ma son is willing tae appear as a witness oan behauf ae the boy Baxter in any future court case, and believes his information will prove, beyond any shadow ae a doubt, that yer client is indeed innocent and deserves tae be set free, Mr Abraham. He’ll be able tae corroborate yer boy’s version ae events. Noo, if ye want tae know mair, then Ah suggest that ye get in touch wae him before the real culprits find oot whit he knows and silences him. Ah don’t think Ah hiv tae remind ye ae the type ae people we’re talking aboot here, dae Ah?” Flora Connor sniffled, staunin up, smoothing the invisible creases oot ae her coat, before turning and scurrying towards the frosted-glass door, clearly upset and overwhelmed by the injustice ae the situation affecting her and her innocent son.

  “Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.

  It looks like a war of words has been reignited between Lord Frank Owen, proprietor of The Glasgow Echo and The Sunday Echo and Glasgow’s finest, after The Sunday Echo published photographs of what it claimed to be two police officers accepting bribes from two well-known criminals in a house in Hatton Gardens, Crookston. The photographs, taken through a long range lens, show the officers counting a large sum of money, thought to be twenty pound notes, on a coffee table, in full view of the photographer who was believed to be in a house opposite. Although the newspaper names the officers involved, we have decided to withhold their identities until after a press conference that is due to take place in Police Central HQ tomorrow morning. A spokesman for Lord Owen said the paper stands by their allegations as the photographs speak for themselves and that it is up to Glasgow Police to prove otherwise. Superintendent Daddy Jackson, from Central HQ, has criticised the publication and the naming of the officers in some newspapers, before the officers identified have had the opportunity to explain the reason for their presence in the house…

  Three women, all in their forties, have been arrested and are due to appear at the Marine District Court in Partick tomorrow morning after being arrested for breach of the peace and assaulting police officers after a disturbance in a closemouth during a warrant sale in Wellfield Street, Springburn, this morning. The women, Betty Smith, Jemima Flint and Sharon Campbell are all well-known campaigners against the selling of people’s household furniture through warrant sale auctions in Springburn…

  Sixteen youths, including three female teenagers, have been arrested and charged with various offences, including carrying offensive weapons and breach of the peace, in Denmilne Street, Easterhouse…

  A twenty-seven-year-old, off duty city centre car park security guard was slashed across the face in an unprovoked assault as he walked home in the early hours of this morning. The victim, Mr Thomas Delgetty, was confronted by two youths at the corner of Ladywell Street and Duke Street. Mr Delgetty, who will be scarred for life, was later allowed home after having thirty eight stitches inserted on the left-hand side of his face…”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  “Snappy’s found a new pal,” Johnboy said tae Tony, nodding at the cackling pair in front ae them.

  “Ach, Stu’s okay, so he is,” Tony said, smirking, as the sound ae guffaws filtered back tae them.

  Johnboy sat and gazed at the grinning faces. Snappy wis leaning forward o’er his machine, listening tae whit Stu, who wis twisted aroond in his seat, wis saying. Johnboy could see Snappy’s shoulders shaking wae laughter.

  “Ur ye no supposed tae be working, Johnston?” Dickheid Dick, the SO growled at him, as he heided back tae the beasts’ table at the tap ae the workshoap, efter sitting drinking cups ae tea in the office fur the previous hauf an hour.

  “And ur ye no supposed tae be up at that tap table, hard at daeing sweet fuck aw, protecting yer beastie boys?” Snappy retorted.

  “Jist you watch that mooth ae yers, Johnston. Ah’m no here tae take any lip fae scum like you,” the SO snarled, stoapping in his tracks, challenging Snappy wae they eyes ae his.

  “Ah’ve been telt by Stafford tae keep ma eyes oan the new boy and tae keep him right oan how tae use the sewing machine. If ye’ve goat a problem wae that, take it up wae him,” Snappy hit him wae, nodding across tae the broon-coated screw who wis checking through a bunch ae completed bandoliers that Silent hid taken across.

  “It’s Mr Stafford tae you!”

  “Whit’s up?” Stafford asked, blinking, looking up fae his task, as the sewing machines in the immediate vicinity ae the confrontation area ground tae a staunstill.

  Johnboy hid awready anticipated the sticky wicket that Dick by name, Dick by nature, came tae find himsel in, long before it dawned oan the eejit that he wis in severe danger ae ending up wae a sore face…at best. Even though some ae the machines hid stoapped and the boys behind them wur looking at the developing situation wae interest, the rest ae the machines wur still rattling alang, twenty tae a dozen, masking the aggressive vibes being let aff in the middle ae the workshoap. Johnboy could see that Bliss, the other broon coat up at the beasts’ table wis hunched o’er, wae his back tae the rest ae the shoap, haufway through cutting up a twelve feet by twelve feet batch ae cloth. Joe The Rat, the child snatcher, wis up oan tap ae Bliss’s table oan his knees, haudin the four-inch thick layers ae cloth in place as Bliss followed the contours ae the chalk lines, used as a guide tae produce the required shapes that made up the bandoliers. The other pair ae security screws wur also up at that end ae the workshoap, whiling away their time, talking tae Robert The Beast and his two pals, Peter The Pervert and Fletcher The Child Percher. Efter whit seemed like ages, bit wis in fact only a few seconds, the penny seemed tae drap behind Dickheid Dick’s eyes underneath the pulled doon silver braided h
at ae his. Snappy hid awready stood up fae his machine, glaring intae the SO’s eyes, challenging him tae follow through. Across at the bench table, Silent hid awready turned roond fae Stafford’s quality assurance inspection and wis noo casually leaning back against the edge ae the table oan his elbows, silently taking in everything that wis happening. Tony, meantime, hid stoapped sewing, and hid swivelled roond in his seat and wis noo sitting back wae his erms folded across his chest, saying nothing, bit watching the SO’s every move. Johnboy quickly glanced up tae the cutting table. The activity up there hidnae changed. Dickheid Dick wis noo in deep shit. The two flair screws, who wur no only supposed tae be ensuring that the beasts wur protected, bit wur responsible fur the security in the shoap as well, wur still engrossed in conversation wae their three buddy beast pals. Aw The Mankys wur well aware that it hid been Dickheid Dick that hid led the charge when Silent hid been assaulted when he’d first arrived. It wis also Dickheid’s best pal, The Tormentor…noo engrossed in talking tae the beasts up at the cutting table…that Snappy hid scudded in the T.V. room recently and in the corridor, efter it wis established that he’d also been involved in the assault oan Silent. Johnboy wis relieved tae see the fear and panic appear in Dickheid’s eyes, bit wis then disappointed tae clock the stupid basturt clearly weighing up his chances ae no losing control or being assaulted. His stupidity wis unbelievable. This guy widnae hiv lasted two minutes in the toon. Johnboy’s brain started willing the stupid basturt tae get his arse moving and tae get the fuck oot ae there. He jist couldnae fathom where the fuck Dickheid wis coming fae. He wis in a no-win situation and the danger level ae no-return wis fast approaching, as the seconds passed. Fur Stafford tae come tae the rescue ae the SO wance an assault kicked aff, he’d need tae vault o’er the tap ae the table, landing in front ae where Silent wid be staunin, waiting fur him. Fur Dickheid tae reach the nearest alarm oan the wall, he’d also need tae try and scoot pass Silent or dae an aboot-turn and heid back doon towards the office. If that occurred, Tony wid be oan tae him in a flash. The face under the braided, brimmed hat suddenly took oan a ghastly grey-white appearance, as Dickheid turned tae Stafford, pleading wae they hauf hidden eyes ae his fur him tae dae something. The situation hid noo reached the critical point. It wis clear by the silent, blank expressions, oan the faces ae Snappy, Silent and Tony…expressions that Johnboy hid witnessed many times o’er the years jist before somewan wis aboot tae get seriously hurt…that they’d awready made up their minds tae follow through and go fur the basturt.