by David Evans
“Your accent is predominantly what? Yorkshire or Scottish?”
“People down here detect Scottish but while I was in Glasgow, they thought I was English.”
“Just say our man was born and brought up in the area of Sunderland they thought the hoaxer was from. Then, he gets married and lives in Glasgow for twenty years. You were only there three and you’ve picked up the accent. He probably sounded as though he’d never been out of the place but … like you, when he wanted, he could still talk like a native of where he’d lived in his formative years.”
“You think you’ve found him don’t you?”
Strong took a drink from his glass.
“Christ!” It was Souter’s turn to look round and make sure no-one heard him. “That would be a story to tell. Can you prove it?”
“That’s the problem. It’s only instinct at the moment but I’ve got this strange feeling about him. I contacted the language experts at Leeds University but they felt that what I’d given them was inconclusive. As things stand, I haven’t got enough to take it further. Officially.”
“So why not let me give you a hand?”
Strong looked sceptical. “Get real, Bob. Whoever heard of the police and journalists working hand in hand on a case?”
“Come on, I can dig around in areas you probably can’t, not without drawing unwanted attention.”
“You’ve got a point there … but what would you want in return?”
Souter raised his eyebrows.
“Of course you’d want the story but what if it all comes to nought?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Okay,” Strong said, finishing his pint. “Get your notebook out and the next round in.”
Souter came back with the drinks and over the next ten minutes, as they finished their meals, Strong filled Souter in on Billy Montgomery.
“And that’s as much as I know at the moment,” Strong concluded, wiping his mouth with the napkin and placing it alongside the cutlery on his empty plate, as if to reinforce the fact that he’d finished the story too.
“Alright, leave it with me, I’ll see what I can dig up.” Souter closed his notebook. “You did surprise me with that one,” Souter said in a matter-of-fact fashion, “I really thought you were going to mention something about the Nicholson case.”
“The Nicholson case? How do you make that connection?”
“You tell me.”
Strong seemed puzzled. “No, you tell me. We got a conviction on that.”
“Yes, but was it the right one?”
“You crafty bastard, you know more than you’re letting on, don’t you?”
“That makes two of us, then,” Souter replied.
Strong’s brows furrowed. “You reported on it for the Star just before you went to Glasgow, didn’t you?”
Souter just smiled.
“So come on then, what do you know about it?”
“Nothing, really. Only I’ve had it mentioned to me twice now within the space of a few days. I just wondered if this little unofficial assistance with information you wanted might have had something to do with it.”
“Who’s mentioned it?”
“I’ve had Paul Summers’ brother, Don, contact me. He remembered, as you did, that I covered the story for the Star at the time. Anyway, he seems to have the impression that the way I reported the case, I was a bit sceptical of the strength of the evidence.” Souter paused while he took a swig of his beer. “Must admit, I’d forgotten much about it at first but, in talking to him, things started to come back. As I recall, the conviction hinged on the identification evidence of Irene Nicholson herself, didn’t it?”
“I’ll be honest with you, at the time I was seconded to Millgarth in Leeds. That series of armed post office raids, if you remember? I wasn’t involved in the investigation itself.”
“Summers wasn’t helped by the fact that he’d got no alibi. Apparently, he’d visited the pub where Irene worked on the evening of the attack, visited a few more then walked home. Living alone and being a bit of a loner, he’d got no one to vouch for him for any of the relevant times. Turns out, he’d got previous for indecent exposure … long time back, though. Donald Summers seemed to indicate there’s been fresh developments. Is that right?”
“I don’t know where he got his information from…”
Souter shrugged.
“But it’s true, I’ve asked to look at it again in the light of some other enquiries.”
“Come on,” Souter said, “you sound like a press release.”
“Look, that’s all I can tell you at the moment.”
“Okay, Col, I hear what you say. It’s just I wasn’t sure if there was any new evidence but I said I’d talk to him again.”
“Listen, I’d best get back,” Strong said. “And you, too. You’d best be on your way if you want to make Maine Road by two.”
Souter checked his watch. “Yes, you’re right.”
Strong produced a pen and a business card from his jacket pocket and began writing on the back. “Before I forget, I know you rang me earlier, but only call me on my mobile number with any information you come up with. Don’t call Wood Street.”
“You’d better take mine too.” Souter gave Strong one of his cards as they made their way out to the car park. At Souter’s car, they stopped. “Do you know why we always played so well together in the same teams?”
“Of course, Bob. We had a good understanding. All about anticipation.”
“I could read your game like a book, Colin Strong. I knew you wanted me to get involved for you.” Even though you haven’t told me everything, he thought.
Strong only smiled and began to walk away.
Souter got into the car, closed the door and dropped the electric window. “Hey!” he called out, “Remember you asked me what I’d want in return?”
Strong turned and walked back a pace.
“You just keep me up to date with the Nicholson case. See you next week.”
The window went up and Souter waved as he drove off.
22
Strong sat in his car considering the conversation he’d just had with Souter. It never ceased to amaze him how information from an enquiry leaked out. But this time …what was it he said, twice within the space of a few days the Nicholson case had been mentioned. Once, obviously by Donald Summers, but who else? And how would Summers know, as he put it, there had been fresh developments? And all that talk of their days playing football together; true Souter could pick him out with a pass into the space he would run into. He could anticipate what Strong would do. But he also knew that he held back sometimes. When it was the obvious pass to make, he didn’t always make it. And Strong would anticipate that too.
From his pocket, he pulled the piece of paper with Mary Burns details written on and studied it. Finally, he decided to make the call. It was answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello.” A female voice in a strong Glasgow accent answered.
“Mrs Burns?”
“Aye”
“My name’s Detective Inspector Strong …”
“If it’s Mr Burns you’re after, he’s no’ in,” she interrupted.
“No, Mrs Burns, it’s not your husband I’d like to speak to, it’s you.”
“Me? What do the polis want wi’ me?”
“I’m from West Yorkshire CID.”
“York-shire?” She put the emphasis on the second syllable. “I canny remember ever bein’ there.”
“It’s nothing to do with you as such, Mrs Burns. I just wondered if you could help me with a bit of background information on someone you may know.”
“Who’s that?”
“William, or Billy Montgomery.”
“That wee shite. What’s he done now?”
This brought a smile to Strong’s lips; not just her graphic description but, in his mind’s eye, he began to form a picture of the woman he was talkin
g to. A rotund woman of around sixty with a head of pure white thick hair had materialised.
“At the moment, we’re not free to say, exactly. Enquiries are still taking place.”
“Must be something serious to warrant you ringin’ me up on a Saturday?”
“It’s just routine and I’ve drawn the short straw.”
“You know he pissed off and left my sister wi’ two bairns tae bring up?” she said.
“If you could just start at the beginning, Mrs Burns.”
“What d’you want to know?”
“When did you first meet Mr Montgomery?”
“Sheila, my sister, met him at Butlin’s in Ayr. Must’ve been what, 1955, no 1956. She worked there for the summer after leaving school that year. I remember her comin’ back an’ tellin’ me all about this English bloke she’d met. Anyway, he starts writin’. The next thing she wants tae go down tae Sunderland for Christmas. Well, Mum went spare.”
“She didn’t approve?”
“Sheila was only sixteen! This was the Fifties. People haven’t always behaved like they do now. She was a bit headstrong in those days. Later, he knocked it oot o’ her.”
“He was violent towards her?”
“Oh, aye. I’ve seen her black and blue after one o’ their rows.”
Again, Strong’s imagination worked overtime. He could see Mary Burns face mirroring the obvious mixture of disgust, distaste and anger he could hear in her voice. This was the face Bob Souter had described as being perfected by Scottish women of a certain age and capable of turning milk sour. He’d made Strong chuckle by explaining that it was one of his earliest memories as a little boy back in Scotland before moving south. It was best demonstrated by old women with towels on their heads like turbans covering hair festooned in curlers. For the first time, Strong knew exactly what his friend had been describing.
“Sorry, I’ve interrupted your flow, he said, “Did she go down to Sunderland after all?”
“She had one hell of an upper an’ dooner wi’ Mum an’ Dad. In the end she got her own way. Told them as she was old enough to get married there was nothin’ they could do to stop her goin’ doon there.”
“And they eventually did get married?”
“The next year, June 1957.” She paused and Strong thought he heard her light up a cigarette. “Things had calmed doon by then. Billy got a job in the shipyard in Govan and they got themselves a council flat soon after.” Definitely smoking; he heard the sounds of her taking a long drag then exhaling loudly. “They seemed quite happy at first. Alan came along about a year after they got married and Lizzie, Elizabeth, although we always call her Lizzie, two years after that.”
“Where are they now, Mrs Burns?” Strong was writing a few notes down on the small pad he had balanced on his lap, the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.
“Lizzie got married and emigrated to Australia about fifteen years ago. Doin’ well for herself. Got a flower business in Adelaide. She writes regular. Always liked oor Lizzie. Such a polite wee lassie.”
“And Alan?”
“Never heard o’ him for years,” she said sharply. “He became a right handful at school. Left home as soon as he could. I think Sheila was glad to be rid in a funny sort o’ way, not that she’d ever admit it. Mothers’ love and a’ that.” Her voice softened again. “It’s funny though, I think the break up affected him much more than Lizzie.”
“So was it the violence that caused Sheila and Billy to break up?”
“Partly. When I think about it now, though, I think a lot of it was doon tae the dreadful way the men were treated at the Govan Shipyard. You’ll have heard o’ the lock-in back in 1971, Jimmy Reid and all that?”
“I do, it was never off the news at the time. Waited until the yard had closed down for the holidays before they announced the complete closure, didn’t they?”
“Aye, that’s it. Anyway, he decided that the writin’ was on the wall as far as the yards were concerned so he took work in a bar. Eventually, a pub came up in Partick, so they took that on. It seemed to do fairly well at first but … whether it was workin’ with each other every day or what … anyway, the arguments got worse. On top o’ that, well, you must know about his record?”
“Of course.”
“He’d got wanderin’ eyes. The only trouble was the disease spread to other parts o’ his body. I always suspected he was havin’ the big blousy barmaid but he never got caught. Where he did get caught though, was with some pro’ in Blythswood Square one night. Apparently gave her a good slappin’ when she didn’t perform to his high standards.” Strong could hear the emotion in her voice as she recalled what were obviously painful memories for her. “That was the final straw for our Sheila,” Mary went on, “she walked oot after that. And not a moment too soon in my opinion.”
“So when was this exactly?”
“Well, they only had the pub for about a year so it must have been 1973.”
“And you said the boy, Alan, left home soon after?”
“Almost as soon as he was sixteen. He was a right wee bugger. Gave his mum a hard time, stayin’ out all night, drinkin’ and all sorts o’ nonsense.”
“Any idea where he is now?”
“Not a clue.”
Strong thanked her and told her she’d been a great help, then terminated the call.
He glanced at his watch; ten to two, time to get back to Sedgley Park. He was about to start the engine when his phone rang.
“Yes, Kelly,” he said, recognising her number on the display.
“Guv,” she said, “Sorry to trouble you but I think you ought to know, I’ve just been to see Irene Nicholson and it looks like the silver chain was hers. I’m taking it round to her house on Monday morning to get a formal identification.”
“How sure are you?”
“Put it this way, she described a knot in it which isn’t clear from the photograph.”
“Well, this opens up a whole can of worms. What time are you going back to see her on Monday?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Right, I’ll come with you. Any news from the others?”
“Luke and Trevor checked out Hinchcliffe’s brother-in-law. He confirmed he sometimes gave him a few repair jobs to do and supplied him with the odd spare part for him so he could do his own little bit on the side to help him out. Sam and John are working their way through Williams’ known associates.”
“Nothing on the errant Kenny Stocks yet?”
“Not so far. Sam and John have been trawling the low-lifes but no one’s letting on.”
“Has anybody interviewed Billy Montgomery again?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, Kelly, we’ll pay him a visit on Monday after we’ve been to see Irene Nicholson.”
“Right, guv. How’s the conference?”
“Oh, you know.”
“That good eh?”
“Anything planned for the weekend?”
“I’m going to Mum and Dad’s for lunch tomorrow. I feel the need of some decent home cooking. Too many late nights and eating crap.”
“Sounds good,” he said, recognising more truth from her than she’d like to admit. “I’ll see you Monday, Kelly.” Strong switched his mobile off before firing up the engine and setting off back to the conference.
23
As Stainmore drove Strong to Irene Nicholson’s house on Monday morning, she brought him up to speed with some background. “Still lives at home with her parents.”
“Bet you wished you did sometimes, don’t you?”
She smiled. “Especially my mum’s Sunday dinners. Alcohol free last night too.”
“That’s unusual for you, is it?” He glanced across at his DS. She was looking haggard these days, he thought.
“Seems to be.”
He brought the conversation back to Irene. “She’s what, twenty-seven now?”
“Yes. I know it’s a b
it unusual in this day and age but since her ordeal her world’s fallen apart. Afterwards, she just withdrew into a shell. She was engaged and about to marry the following year but that collapsed.”
Strong exhaled sharply and shook his head.
“Slowly, with the help of her family, she’s begun to re-establish some form of confidence. The job in Lewis’s where her mother’s sister, Maureen, works was the first step towards rebuilding her life.”
Stainmore slowed as they passed the garden Irene was forced into on that rainy winter’s night. New tenants lived there now and the garden had been tidied up.
A couple of minutes later, they were parked outside the brick-built council-owned terraced house Irene shared with her parents. It was in a quiet street not far from the centre of town.
“You were here at the time weren’t you Kelly?” Strong asked.
“Just. I’d transferred from Huddersfield a few months before.”
“What do you remember about the enquiry?”
“Well, DCI Cunningham was in charge. He was a DI then. At first, Irene couldn’t remember any details of the attack but, over time, she began to build up a picture of what happened. We did the usual sweep of all the known pervs and sex offenders, including Summers.”
“Who did the main interviews with her?”
“The DCI mostly, along with DC Sharp. If you remember, she passed her sergeant’s exams and went off to the Met not long after.”
Strong paused. “Oh, yes, that’s right. A bit of a high-flyer as I recall.”
“Some would say she was up Cunningham’s backside,” Stainmore said, adding as an afterthought, “Sir.”
“Kelly, I’m surprised at you,” Strong said in mock surprise. “Come on, let’s go in. It’ll be better if you take the lead, seeing as she met you on Saturday.”
Maureen Hodgson answered their knock on the door and Stainmore introduced Strong, both displaying their warrant cards.
“Come in,” she said. “Irene’s mum and dad are out at work.”
