Dumfries
Page 35
“Did ye ask McGovern fur the polis records oan him?”
“Naw, Ah didnae want that prick tae know he’s oan tae something. Use wan ae oor other polis contacts. Ah want tae know everything they’ve goat oan this Haufwit wan, including the post mortem report. And another thing, Charlie, get Wee Eck Thomas doon tae Jake’s. It’s been a while since Ah’ve spoken tae him. Let him think he’s up fur a wee promotion.
“Whit aboot Bob Montieth?”
“Ah think it’s aboot time we parted company wae him as well, which is a pity. If he’s compliant, set it up so that we kin evidence that we’ve bought him oot above board. If no, you know whit tae dae.”
“Anything else?” Charlie asked in the mirror, slipping the straight six cylinder twenty two hunner cc engine in tae first gear, as the car drew away fae the pavement and sailed alang the avenue tae the junction ae The Parade.
“Aye, there’s nae way in a month ae Sundays that that stalking fuck-pig Paddy McPhee will let something like this lie undisturbed. We need tae get oor fingers oot and get this done pronto, before it comes back tae bite us aw oan the arse.”
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Assistant Chief Constable Jack Tipple responded angrily to an article in this morning’s Glasgow Echo by Senior Crime Desk Reporter, Sammy Elliot, that he is not taking police standards seriously after the sensational collapse of the trial of Timothy ‘The Goat’ Moffat, accused of the murder of father-of-two, Mr Bernie Hall, in a tenement flat in Maryhill in October of last year. Lord Campbell of Claremyle, laid the blame for the collapse of the trial firmly at the door of Glasgow Police, and in particular, the contradictory evidence of Sergeant William Banks, after his evidence in the witness stand at the High Court was rejected by the respected High Court Law Lord yesterday. Moffat’s Queen’s Counsel, Stuart McKenzie, said after his client was freed from the dock that there should be a public enquiry into the standards of the police, particularly in Glasgow. Mr McKenzie, who has represented some of the most notorious gangsters in Glasgow over a number of years, stated that he did not believe that a man’s reputation, however unsavoury, should be the catalyst for him ending up in the dock of the High Court, facing a possible life sentence. Mr McKenzie said that there was no doubt in his mind that there would be others, already serving long prison sentences, who had had the misfortune of being convicted on the evidence of someone as disreputable as Sergeant Banks, and that there is an urgent need for a Scottish Judicial Review Body to investigate cases of miscarriages of justice. Responding to Mr Elliot’s article that demanded he should resign, Assistant Chief Constable Tipple said that he would not be hounded out of office by the mouthpiece of those wishing to undermine the forces of law and order in Glasgow…
Well-known Glasgow businessman, Mr Bob Montieth, announced his retirement from over forty years in the real estate business today. Mr Montieth received an undisclosed sum after selling his thriving real estate business to his main competitors, Ali and Abdul Sing. Mr Montieth and his wife, Alison, plan to retire to his farm overlooking the Zambezi River in Southern Rhodesia.
Police are treating as suspicious the discovery of a man’s body, found in the street on Paisley Road West last night. The man, said to be in his fifties was wearing…
Another family have been admitted to hospital after eating contaminated meat that was bought from a peddler selling pies around the doors, this time in Possilpark…
A nurse and a doctor were assaulted in the casualty department of Glasgow’s Royal Infirmary, the fifth in two weeks, after a man who had been admitted earlier as a patient, left his bed and attacked his partner, the mother of his three children, who was being attended to by staff in the next cubicle. Police had to restrain the man after he brandished what appeared to be a knife…”
Chapter Thirty Five
Cocky felt the tension in that body ae his relax as soon as he pushed open the door ae the POA Club and heard the welcoming sound ae guffaws and the tinkling ae glasses fae the far end ae the bar. The large lounge wis busy wae a fifty-fifty split ae officers in civvies and others in uniform, who hidnae made it hame yet. Earlier, he’d practically hid tae tell Fanny tae fuck aff hame tae that hippy man and wean ae hers and tae leave him in peace. Christ, it wis Friday. Who the hell wanted tae be sitting talking aboot the problems ae a bunch ae YOs at ten tae five oan a Friday efternoon?
“Fanny, get a life…it’s only a job, y’know,” he’d reminded her.
“Yes, I know, but if only we could all agree in the team that we need a more specialised person in post…someone with mental health, as well as criminal justice experience. It would mean we could take a more planned approach and argue for a visiting clinical psychologist or psychiatrist to be visiting the institution on a regular basis to tackle major psychosis issues amongst the long-term YOs. It would have a major impact and would complement our work in preparing them for release,” she’d argued.
“Fanny, Alex McRae, in league wae the area manager, will hiv the final say oan who gets appointed tae the new social worker post in the team, and Ah kin tell ye right noo, it’ll be somewan wae a background in dealing wae Parkinsons and Dementia. That’s where the demand in the team is. The scum you work wae ur way, way, doon in the pecking order, believe you me.”
“But, if we…”
“Look Fanny, Ah hiv tae go. Ah’m heiding oot the night, so Ah want tae get hame and hiv a bath before deciding who the lucky thing is that’s gonnae get their heart broken and their strings plucked by yours truly,” he’d said, quickly lifting his jaicket aff ae the peg, before she’d hid time tae respond.
“So, whit’s so funny the night, lads?” he asked, gieing John the barman a nod tae set up another roond ae pints, as he squeezed in beside them at the bar.
“The Mute,” The Tormentor replied, laughing.
“The Mute?”
“Aye, another wan ae yer Fanny’s successes, that she worked wae in some approved school a few years ago.”
“Whit aboot him?”
“His he no jist gone and become the official barber up in the nick, haw, haw,” The Tormentor scoffed, as grins appeared oan the faces ae the lads staunin chewing the cud, aroond aboot them.
“Did yer pal, Fanny, no mention it? She’s been up there in her ivory tower maist ae the day, upsetting everywan by making demands oan people’s time tae bring YOs up tae her office tae try and save them,” The SO said tae Cocky, smiling. “Between us, we managed tae fuck-up her wee plans. She only managed tae get her hauns oan three YOs, despite never being aff ae that phone pleading fur mair. That’ll teach the silly cow.”
“Ah wis talking tae her earlier, bit Ah wis too busy trying tae escape. Fuck, youse ur okay, ye only hiv tae deal wae her when she wants ye tae fetch a YO. Ye should try sharing an office wae her. Cheers, John. Cheers, boys,” Cocky said, lifting that well-earned pint ae his up tae his lips. “So, whit aboot The Chatterbox then?” he asked, efter smacking they lips ae his and wiping the white froth fae his freshly-trimmed, pencil moustache.
“Saughton phoned and said they couldnae get any ae their goody-goody YOs tae agree tae come doon tae Dumfries tae cover the job temporarily, despite a promise ae guaranteed parole.”
“Why the fuck kin they no jist send wan doon here, even if he disnae want tae come? It’s supposed tae be a bloody jail, so it is,” Cocky chided them.
“Naw, they’re aw first offender training YOs. That’s why we’ve been left withoot a barber, so it is…until noo,” The Tormentor replied, grinning.
“So whit’s so funny aboot The Mute becoming the jail barber then?”
“You tell him, Donald,” The Tormentor sniggered, taking a gulp ae his lager.
“When The Chief goat the call saying we’d be left withoot a barber wance McCoy is released a week oan Monday, which wid leave two vacancies, he nipped in tae see The Governor, who wis oan the phone at the time. Meanwhile, while he wis cooling his heels, Miss Beaker, The Gove
rnor’s secretary, mentioned tae him that she’d clocked in somewan’s file that there wis a barber somewhere in the establishment. Five minutes later, she’d managed tae track doon who it wis.”
“The Mute? Christ, Ah’m surprised The Governor agreed tae that wan, efter whit happened tae that wife ae his,” Cocky said laughing, taking a sip ae his beer.
“He didnae. The Chief hung aboot fur o’er ten minutes before fucking aff because The Governor took another call. The next thing we aw knew wis The Mute hid been shouted oot ae the sewing shoap by Specky here. The Chief hid sent across fur him. O’er tae yersel, Specky” The SO sniggered, as a group ae beer-swilling patrons roond aboot them stoapped whit they wur daeing and turned tae listen tae whit happened next.
“Ah still didnae know whit the fuck wis gaun oan, until The Chief sat in wan barber’s chair and The Mute in the other. The daft basturt actually tried tae sit and interview him fur the job. Kin ye believe that?” The Tormentor exclaimed in wonder.
“Whit, The Mute took part in an interview?” wan ae the screws next tae them asked, astonished.
“Well, if that’s whit ye could call it.”
“Did he get anything oot ae him? Ah mean, did he speak?”
“Aye…kinda.”
“Dis Fanny know anything aboot this?” Cocky asked.
“Aw, Cocky, who the fuck cares whit that bitch knows? She’s no part ae the team, so why the fuck should we keep her informed aboot anything?” Donald Dick growled, as Cocky and The Tormentor nodded their heids in agreement.
“Anyway, even though it wis wan ae the quickest YO interviews Ah’ve ever witnessed, it went something like this…
‘So, Smith, Ah hear ye’re a bit ae a barber, is that right?’
Silence.
‘Well, there’s a job oan the go fur the right candidate. Wid you be that YO?’
Silence.
‘Bit, of course there wid need tae be a practical, so there wid, jist tae make sure ye wurnae taking the pish oot ae us by claiming tae hiv skills that ye didnae possess,’ says The Chief.
Silence.
‘Well, whit dae ye think then? Ur ye interested or no?’
Silence.
‘Right, Ah’m gieing ye wan mair shout at a response. If ye fail tae answer me, then Ah’ll get somewan else. Noo remember, there’s rewards attached tae this appointment, so there is,” Baker the Basturt growls. “Efter six months in the job, if ye’re no awready professionally qualified, we’ll get ye shipped aff up tae Saughton in Edinburgh tae dae yer City ’n’ Guilds…jist as long as we kin recruit somewan else tae work oan the other chair. So, whit’s it tae be then?’ The Chief says tae him, staunin up and preparing tae heid oot the door.
‘Practical?’ The Mute suddenly pipes up, clearly showing that aw this silent shite is jist aw a big act.
‘Aye, Ah want tae see how ye haundle the tools,” The Chief says tae him, before turning tae me. ‘Right, Specky, get that arse ae yers back across tae that sewing machine shoap and get me that bunch ae stoat-the-baws across here pretty pronto, before Silent Willie here changes his mind,’ The Chief crowed.”
“Ah wis staunin talking tae Robert when Ah saw Specky entering the shoap,” the SO interjected, letting everywan know that he hid a key role in the story as well.
“Robert?”
“Aye, the boy that’s supposed tae hiv done in that wee lassie up in Stirling…him. Anyway, Ah wis jist hivving a wee laugh, chewing the cud and aw that, when Specky arrived oan the scene up at ma end ae the shoap, telling me that Ah’d tae get ma YOs across tae the barber shoap as the Chief wanted tae speak tae them. Here’s me feeling chuffed as fuck because Ah thought, at least two ae them wur gonnae be getting a wee break, at last,” the SO sighed, still clearly disappointed.
“Ah’d jist decided tae keep ma trap shut till Ah saw the look oan Donald’s kisser when he walked intae the barber shoap and there wis The Chief sitting where Ah’d left him wae The Mute…”
“Kid-oan mute, ye mean,” Cocky reminded them, supping his lager.
“‘Right, you, get yer arse intae this chair,’ The Chief says tae King Robert the Beast.”
“Fur fuck’s sake, Specky, ye’re jist as bad as everywan else up there. Ah’ve telt ye before, Robert Connor hid nothing tae dae wae that young lassie’s disappearance. Go and read his file, fur Christ’s sake. It’s so obvious that it wis a stitch up, so it is. He showed me a letter recently that he received fae some Yid lawyer, who said that he’d be interested in whit Robert hid tae say and that his firm wid seriously consider representing him tae progress another appeal, depending oan him signing some statement and aw that,” The SO informed them knowingly.
“Anyway, The Be…, Robert, looks at The Mute in horror, staunin there wae a pair ae scissors in his haun, aw silent-like, waiting fur him tae take a seat,” The Tormentor crowed, staunin there, feet wide apart, demonstrating The Mute’s stance, before he cracked and doubled-up, laughing.
“C’mone, spit it oot?” Cocky demanded, laughing.
“Oan ye go, Donald.”
“Did that mute ae a basturt no lift up a bowl that wis sitting oan the shelf and whack it oan tae ma boy’s heid. He then turned oan the clippers and proceeded tae cut the hair using the rim ae the bowl as a guide.”
“Ye’re bloody kidding!” Cocky exclaimed, as everywan fell aboot the bar, pishing themsels laughing.
“No only that, bit the fucking Chief allowed him tae dae it tae the other four as well. Dae ye remember that film…whit wis it called again? Oh aye…Richard The Third…the wan wae Laurence Olivier in it?”
“Can’t say Ah dae,” Cocky replied, laughing alang wae the rest ae them, trying tae picture whit Robert The Beast looked like.
“Okay, here’s a better wan then. Remember the wee guy wae the black bowl haircut in the Three Stooges? Well, he’s goat five doubles across in the sewing machine shoap noo,” the SO guffawed, joining in wae the hilarity.
“Look, personally Ah cannae staun the sex-fiend basturts masel, bit even Ah hid tae feel sorry fur them when Donald took them back tae the sewing machine shoap,” The Tormentor confessed, wance everywan calmed doon.
“Aye, bit that wis nothing compared tae whit they goat when they aw trooped intae the dining hall fur their tea. Fuck, ye wid’ve thought Billy Connelly hid jist finished gieing an encore at the Pavilion, so ye wid’ve,” Dickheid Dick hooted, as everywan in the lounge, including John, behind the bar, doubled up howling again, and the SO, tears running doon his cheeks, failed miserably tae get the message across that he wanted tae order another roond fae the bar.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Social Work supremo, Johnston Craig, has asked tenants to regularly look in on elderly neighbours after the body of eighty-three-year-old Nancy McMillan was found dead in her flat in Allan Street, Dalmarnock, earlier today. It is thought Mrs McMillan, a widow, died of malnutrition, the second such death amongst the elderly living alone in the area in the past six weeks…
A farming community in Alexandra has been left in mourning after the charred remains of an elderly farmer and his two dogs were found amongst the ruined timbers of his burnt-out farmhouse last night. The body of Mr Jack McPherson, a well-known poultry farmer in the area, who lost his wife of fifty years last December when she died of cancer, was found amongst the ruins. A Dunbartonshire Fire Brigade spokesman said that the fire was particularly difficult to extinguish because of location difficulties in reaching the remote farmhouse and lack of access to a running water outlet. It is thought that Mr McPherson, a heavy smoker, may have dropped a lighted cigarette before falling asleep in his bed. It’s believed a similar fire took place at the property back in 1969. Neighbours also spoke of noticing that Mr McPherson’s memory had deteriorated since the death of his wife. A report on the incident will be submitted to the prosecutor fiscal in Dumbarton in due course, although Fire Brigade officials don’t believe that foul play was involved…
Chapter Thirty Six
“Right, knob-heid, ye’ve hid plenty ae time tae think aboot it. Who dae ye think put that wee humphy-backed God-man up tae it then?” Tony asked Johnboy in the sewing machine shoap oan the Monday.
“Ah don’t know. Ah’m no sure.”
“Bit, ye agree somewan’s behind it?”
“Probably.”
“So, who then?”
“Probably the same person that suggested Silent fur the barber’s job. How the fuck should Ah know? Christ, wid ye let him loose oan yer napper efter whit he done tae they beasts?” Johnboy asked, laughing and nodding tae his co-accused, sitting at the sewing machine in front ae them.
“Don’t change the subject, Johnboy. Ye must’ve come up wae a name,” Tony persisted.
“Ah went alang tae mass oan Sunday tae suss oot whit the score wis. It looked a piece ae pish, so it did.”
“So, ye’re daeing it then?”
“Am Ah fuck.”
“So, how ur ye gonnae find oot who’s meddling behind the scenes, if ye’re jist gonnae walk away, eh?”
“Ah’m sure it’ll aw come oot in the wash, Mr Paranoia Per Se.”
“Aye, bit that could be this time next year when Ah’m no gonnae be here.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Fur Christ’s sake, Johnboy, whit ur ye like? Aw ye need tae dae is turn up tae the chapel fur the next few Sundays and strum a few chords and that’s it. Whit’s so difficult aboot that?”
“Tony, Ah cannae believe whit ye’ve jist come oot wae. You dae it, if ye’re so bothered.”
“He didnae ask me, and anyhow, Ah cannae play the guitar.”