by Toni Parks
The following morning was not being kind to her. She was still tired, still sickly and still in bed. And her appointment was within the next forty minutes. She dashed around at a snail’s pace: ringing for a taxi, showering, peeing in a bottle, blow-drying her hair, dressing, make-upping, breakfasting and then out of the dooring. The doctor was good enough to apply the five minutes’ lateness ‘benefit of the doubt’ syndrome. Particularly, as she was ushered in, clutching a bottle containing her urine sample. “Well that’s one job less, Ms Flynn,” said the doctor plucking it from her hand and commencing to test it with a presensitised coloured strip. “Now that will detect the presence of the HCG pregnancy hormone, Miss Flynn.”
“And what’s HCG? Some sort of hair straighteners?”
“Not quite. It’s Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin. So tell me, when was your last period?”
“Mm. About as much chance of telling you that as saying what you just said, what that HCG stands for. I’ve always been hit and miss with periods, especially in my line of work, and in what I’ve been ingesting, both solid and liquid.”
“OK. Are we talking drugs and alcohol here?” Emma nodded. “But all that’s stopped now, right?” Emma nodded vigourously. “Good. You do need to eat and drink healthily for the sake of this baby, if that is what the results prove. So I’ll do a quantitative blood test too, and then we can work out more accurately how many weeks. But looking at your urine results I can certainly say, ‘you are pregnant’. Congratulations to both you and the lucky man. Now are you squeamish around needles.”
“Is the Pope a Catholic?”
“Pardon?”
“No, I don’t have a problem with needles. We’ve been on quite intimate terms for some time.”
“OK again. But if I understand correctly, you are controlling this problem.”
“Well, my sister is. My lifestyle’s changed totally since living with her. She’s keeping me on the straight and narrow.”
“Good. Let’s hope that continues.”
“Well if it does it won’t be thanks to her, she’s banged up in prison for murder!” Gushed Emma not being able to put a brake on her mouth. The doctor glanced at her watch, which read, 9.15 and thought, ‘I hope the rest of the day doesn’t have such shock value’.
Forever the professional she prepared her syringe and said in warning, “You’ll feel a little pinprick,” as she found the vein in Emma’s arm and inserted the needle. “Good, that’s all I need. If you’d just hold that swab over the puncture. I’ll send the blood sample away and reception will let you know when to call back in. At that point we can arrange for a mid pregnancy ultrasound scan, unless anything untoward occurs sooner. So my advice is no smoking, limited alcohol if any, and no drugs, if you are safe to stop.”
“As luck has it I was already cutting down before I knew about the pregnancy.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. She took me abroad and supplies were very limited over there.”
“Shame she hasn’t got the same luck as you then. What with ‘murder’, is that what you said, hanging over her?”
“Yes, murder. It’s not good bringing a child into a world such as this, especially where it will grow up knowing its auntie’s a murderer, now is it?”
“No. Wouldn’t necessarily want her as a Godmother now, would you? Anyway, sorry I shouldn’t judge. Look after yourself Miss Flynn and look after that baby too.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Denny Blister, now the famous Denny Blister, in and around the station anyway, was still not 100% happy that Jessica Lambert had been well and truly nailed for her crimes. He read and reread any and every file that passed his desk, knowing that had been his modus operandi for apprehending her in the first instance. One such file was her CV, which Tess Danvers had reluctantly handed over as part of the warrant used to override the Data Protection Act. ‘Mm, Tess Danvers,’ he thought, ‘wonder if she’ll ever get over the fact that she employed a murderer and had her working amongst such vulnerable members of society too. I bet that won’t look too good on her own future CV.’ Gloat over, he set about studying the life of Jessica Lambert and he was disappointed. Parents both dead, so she was brought up by her Grandma in Seahouses, attended local schools where she achieved high marks and subsequently gained her degree at Edinburgh University. Various hobbies, the usual suspects, well not quite, Taekwondo, that was not your everyday night school course of choice. But he let that pass when he alighted on her part-time work history: ‘Worked on Saturdays in the local dispensing chemist. Generally over the counter sales and handing prescriptions to the chemist for making up. Alerted my interest to toxicology and so studied more from library books’. ‘Now that little nugget may have a part to play in the proceedings,’ he thought joyously, as he reached for the phone.
*
Nothing upends one’s life balance quite like a shock to the heart. And Seth Macleod would never get a stronger one. The tranquillity of the day, working hard but without pressure was unhinged as several envelopes popped through the letterbox. One envelope in particular did the damage; disguising its contents with its innocuous manila colour and side profile view of ER11 and displaying a 1ST class postage value. Seth opened it along with the others, but those that came after never got read. He stared in disbelief at the text before him and saw his life pass by, not in death but in shame and vilification at what the letter was accusing. He read:
Dear Mr Macleod When I had to work for you a long time ago because I had stolen fruit and veg and stuff with your daughter Sorcha, I did not tell anyone about our special time together. You told me to call it ‘special time’ and I still remember it as that. Because you were grown up and an important person in the village I believed everything you said and with working for you, you showed me kindness and gave me little treats. And you said that you didn’t want much in return, just a cuddle now and again.
Well, now I am grown up too and I understand a lot more about your little cuddles and what you were doing to me. Operation Yew Tree has opened a lot of people’s eyes and some of them are being made to pay. Now you might not believe what I am saying but will the people of the village? Will my gypsy family finally admit that they should never have shunned me and chased me away, when they find out what you have done? What will your darling wife think, when she finds out that you pawed, and more, a poor defenceless, ignorant gypsy girl? What will Sorcha and your other daughters say about a father they thought was loving and solid but who turns out to be a pervert? And what about Joe? He looked up to you and everything you stood for. What happens when he finds out it was all a lie? How can he still stand for Bari Gadgi and take his part in the Stob Stanes Rideout, with his head held high, when his family name and family business are in ruins.
Think about that, Seth Macleod. Nothing is ever for free in this world and I am so close to shouting rape from the steps of Wauchope Memorial and revealing all this, with photographs to prove it, to my family who disowned me all those years ago.
In this matter, you have one chance of redemption. A friend of mine urgently needs to speak to your daughter, Elspeth. She could be the solution to your dilemma and to my friend’s problem too. You have two days to convince your daughter of my seriousness and determination to follow though with my threats. If both of you are prepared to help my friend, then place a card in the Village Shop window, saying, FOUR POSTER BED FOR SALE Ring (put the number here)’ that is where you insert your daughter’s mobile number.
So do you want to live with the stigma of being a paedophile or do you want my friend to benefit from your daughter’s help. The choice is yours.
But remember, no matter what the outcome – SHIT STICKS!
Rawnie Tait Seth slumped onto his sawhorse and put his head in his hands. He knew what he had just read was a complete pack of lies, but would anybody believe him, especially when there were alleged incriminating photos. He had arbitrated over enough disputes to deduce that it could go either way and may at the best end up 50/50. He had always ha
d a good relationship with the gypsy families in the village but blood was thicker than water in whatever nationality. And then there was Meredith, would she believe he was capable of such damage to an innocent child? And if she did believe, how would that relate to their own three girls? He looked around at his empire, built from generations of sweat, freely given by past relations. And he pondered how he had kept up that tradition and how he had enhanced it too with the use of all his skills and a lot of his cash by bringing the water wheel back to life. And how now the missive he held in his hand would ensure it all came crashing down, his family and reputation with it. He would be tried and convicted, and his family hounded out of the village or given the cold shoulder for years to come, perhaps forever.
He figured that he could not fight the problem alone. But did he need to involve the whole family? Why was it so important that Elspeth was a part of the deal? Could he take one of the parish counsellors into his confidence? In the end, he knew it would be Meredith who would bring some sense to the nonsense. She was that sort of woman who had that sort of brain. And so he threw on his jacket, held on to the letter, left his workplace and climbed up the hill to his house, totally dejected and on legs struggling to stay upright.
Meredith was loitering at the door waiting. Intuition had made her stand there, as well as the fact that she had not heard any of the usual mechanical sounds associated with his joinery mill’s daily routine. At first she thought the postie was having a chat, but his van had gone by minutes ago, then she figured that he had a customer or maybe had taken a tumble and so she was at the door and had been on the verge of checking. But what she saw in his face was far worse. He crossed the threshold with the heaviest heart he had ever possessed. He thrust the letter out and Meredith took it with concern. She read and as her eyes scanned, so too the colour drained from her face to replicate the hue of the poisoned missive. Her hand went to her mouth and she looked at her husband, her eyes betraying her words even before she spoke them. “I didn’t do it, Mer. I didn’t do anything. It’s a set up.”
“Seth. I’m speechless. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to us in our forty-five years of knowing each other. Are you being truthful? Are we going to fight this together?”
“You see, Mer. Already, even you are doubting me. You’ve only just read the accusation and already you’re leaping to the assumption of guilt.”
“No, Seth. I know you. You are a good man. But if this becomes public, then there will be far worse slander spread around. I’m sorry if you felt I was challenging your integrity but the fact that you’ve said you know nothing about it is more than good enough for me. But what action do we take? Do we talk to Elspeth alone or all four of the children?”
“I’d rather not worry those who don’t need worrying. Elspeth seems to be the central key, for some reason. But we’ll have to tell Joe, too. I can’t let him continue thinking he will be Bari Gadgi with this hanging over the family. For him to be sworn in has been one of my lifelong dreams, but it would all turn to dust if this allegation became known before the declaration. So I must talk to him and the Festival Committee, even if I can’t give a reason for my action.”
“Well, I’ll go and text Elspeth. I presume she’ll be working at the moment, so we’ll have to wait until she replies. Are you going to try and do some work?”
“No, not today Mer. It would be too dangerous for me to work today, my mind’s just not on the job,” replied Seth as he picked up the paper and sat by the fire, staring at meaningless words.
By early afternoon, the Festival Committee knew as much as the Macleod family hoped they would ever know and were on the phone to the next name on their list of likely candidates for the position. Elspeth had also rung with concern, fearing that the tone of the text inferred mishap or illness. Either eventuality could be the case when receiving a letter of that nature. Her mother read the complete threatening letter over the phone and waited for a reply. A reply, which Elspeth was not able to offer. In her experience with the law and all its vagaries she had never arrived at a point where her judgment was at a loss for direction. But this letter had been her match. Her present workload dictated that every waking hour was spent preparing cases for court, either for herself or for more senior procurators. However, the timescale dictated that she must make herself available but to what purpose? Her mother’s and her own instinct and love had convinced her that Dad was not the man portrayed in the poison pen letter, but she perceived that her future involvement would necessitate some underhand or illegal activity. And listening to the stress and worry that her parents were under and her own feeling of helplessness at not being able to get home to comfort and advise them, she bit the bullet and agreed to her number being put on the card.
That settled, Seth took the card and executed the remainder of the command. However, it still left Meredith and him with over 24 hours to dwell on its outcome and their future in a village that they had known all their lives. Joe was left bemused as after eventually agreeing to put his name forward and so become the Bari Gadgi, knowing his Dad had wanted nothing more, now on the eve of that dream being realised he was being pulled out. And Elspeth dreaded the demands that were bound to accompany a future phone call. If she believed that her father was innocent, which she did, then logic dictated that she was going to become an integral part in perverting some form of the course of justice. Her nagging problem was in what way, and would she even agree to the request when made, and so save her family from persecution or would she uphold the law by fighting within its legal strictures and so trigger the possibility of them losing everything?
CHAPTER NINETEEN Unless you’ve got an actual date in mind, spontaneous celebrations can always be a little premature. Alonzo escorted Eduardo off the premises with far more bonhomie than he had received him. He then headed back to his suite of offices via the cellars and picked up the remainder of the case of Franciacorta, which he juggled with whilst keying in his office door’s security code. He rang Jimmy and asked him to round up Francesco and Hew, and any of the other boys who were on the premises that particular day.
The request was easy to make but somewhat harder to carry out. Although there were only eleven employees in the entire mill, the Chinese whispers required a full ten minutes to reach the far corners of the sprawling building and so bring forth those whispered upon, in dribs and drabs. Francesco was the last to arrive, still looking like thunder even though their present financial worries had been put on hold. His concern was that his father would now become all conservative and hold back on the purge, which Francesco had been given a clear directive to pursue and lead. Altering their strategy at this stage could prove fatal in changing the dynamics of the fight. ‘Proactive was always more positive than reactive,’ and that was his father’s saying! So with a glum face and bad humour he accepted a glass and toasted the family, and the clan’s successful reclaiming of their lost fortune. And by so taking their eye off the ball it allowed the opposition a chance to strike rather than to be continually running scared. And strike they did. The theory of the plan sounded too farfetched to everyone’s ears but Calum’s. And with its success he had the last laugh, not only on Lucisano’s operation but also his own sceptics. His right hand men, Gavin and Bruce had both led a team to firstly prep each building and then execute the operation, synchronised to the split second. As agreed, the security screens were dismantled from the ventilation shafts of the longhouse frozen foods warehouse, whilst at the same time Bruce had extra men helping Frankie Miller’s boys to scoot up and down ladders jimmying the windows of the pseudo bakery building. Jobs completed, the techies moved in with their toys for boys and gingerly manoeuvred their drones into the air. There was no repeat of the macho test run as each drone now had a live, sensitive incendiary device affixed to its base. And one accidental bump on the ground, sidewall of a building or even a collision with another drone would cause an explosion before its time.
The bakery was targeted first. Four drones lift
ed off and hovered momentarily before aligning themselves outside each window opening; two on the ground floor and two on the upper level as agreed. Complete silence reigned and no one dared to even breathe for fear of breaking the pilots’ concentrations. A faint constant hum could be detected from the motors as the drones were positioned and locked on. Gavin signalled for the two drones earmarked for the cannabis factory to lift off and achieve position in front of the now open vents. Again, the techies expertly manipulated the controls and locked their positions within thirty seconds. All eyes turned to Calum, it was his baby and his decision when to go. He raised his arm, checked up and down the road and then brought it down with malice.
The drones entered both buildings and sought out their positions internally as dictated by the buildings’ plans that had been ‘borrowed’ from the architects. Each of the six drone pilots had a buddy next to him and when each had been notified that the correct position had been located he would raise his right arm. Six right arms equalled desolation. Calum again had his arm raised and on seeing the sixth one reach for the sky, his descended. The force of the blast knocked them off their feet and the pressure of the sound waves compelled them to cover their ears. The operation had been all about preparation and execution and Calum felt foolish now with not having considered the after effects at such close hand. As the walking wounded stood by the vehicles, he checked to make sure no one was being left behind. Gavin lay motionless, severely burnt with part of his jaw bone showing through blistered skin, a victim of standing too close to one of the open vents. Calum ordered four of his colleagues to pick up the body carefully, not as a sign of reverence now or a show of mercy but more to ensure that none of his limbs came away in their hands. His clothes still smouldered and the stench of charred flesh made everyone gag. So the chosen four halfheartedly approached their former lieutenant, with sleeves over their noses and each with a free hand searching out for purchase on the most solid parts of his shattered physique.
