Windsor Place

by Russell Robertson

  The first thing that struck Harry as he entered the nursing home was the overpowering aroma of disinfectant although it failed to eliminate the smell of urine and old age.

  He reminded himself that nursing homes were full of people who once said. ‘Don’t ever put me in a nursing home.’

  “I called earlier to see Mr. Hall. Harry Cram’s the name.”

  The female receptionist checked the messages and confirmed that this was correct. “Mr. Cram, we have spoken to Mr. Hall. He says that he doesn’t know you but he is prepared to meet with you. Mr. Hall doesn’t get many visitors and sometimes he forgets the people who have visited him. May I ask your connection to Mr. Hall, for the records?”

  Harry lied. “I knew him at secondary school and haven’t seen him in years.”

  If you wouldn’t mind just taking a seat in the first room on the right and I will get one of the male nurses to bring him along shortly.”

  As he sat patiently waiting for his meeting, it reminded him about his poor mother-in-law, who also suffered from dementia. Unfortunately, it is a cruel illness. It robs you of your dignity, your memories and your personality. He wondered how it had affected Sandy Hall. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get much information from him.

  Harry was busy trolling through the local newspaper he had picked up from the table next to him when the male nurse wheeled in a person who looked like he was on his last legs. He was a deathly shade of grey, painfully thin with silver hair and his skin looked paper thin. The shape of his mouth indicated that he may have had a small stroke at some time. He was a small man and the wheelchair seemed to emphasise that.

  The nurse parked the wheelchair opposite Harry, locked the brake, then wheeled away to leave them alone. Sandy spoke very slowly. “Mr. Cram, I don’t think I know you, but my memory is failing. Perhaps you might remind me?”

  “Can I call you Sandy?”

  “Aye, sees us a len ae yer newspaper and gonny nae talk sae loud.”

  Harry obliged.

  “Sandy, my name is Harry Cram. We haven’t met but I am a journalist working with the police on a case that may involve Alf Hunter and wondered if you would answer a few questions that may assist us?”

  “That bastard. Anything I can do to fuck that bastard would give me great pleasure. I think I am going to enjoy the next wee while.”

  “Right. I thought as an ex-employee you would be loyal to him?”'

  “Not since the bastard did the dirty on me. Arseholes like him should rot in the slammer. You can’t stuff a flower in an arsehole and call it a vase.”

  “Actually, he is currently doing a minimum twenty stretch and your answers may help to keep him there forever.”

  “Bloody Nora. That’s the best news I've had since they told me that Rangers were sent down to division three.”

  Harry realised he had the potential here to undercover some dirt on Alf Hunter.” You want to tell me what he did to upset you so much?”

  “Initially he was okay to work for, paid well and left you alone if you did your job properly. Didn’t see him much, mainly dealt through his henchmen.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “Yeah, I took my instructions from a gorilla called Charlie Armstrong who used to wander around everywhere singing Let’s Get Physical.”

  “Well named.”

  “Aye. Got any fags?”

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

  “I know, but I have a small balcony off my room and have the occasional puff there. I think they know, but don’t worry as long as I stay on the balcony. Couple of really good staff here slip me a few fags now and then.”

  Harry always carried a pack of cigarettes as they were often required as a source to achieve information or favours. He pulled out an unopened pack which Sandy quickly tried to grab. Harry quickly pulled them back just out of Sandy’s reach.

  “When you have answered my questions, you can have them and I will add a carton the next time I pass.”

  The look on his face told Harry that he had found his achilles heel.

  Sandy continued. “Sometimes I think I am better off in here. I feel sorry for the poor bastard down the hallway who just woke up from being in a coma for the last five years.

  “Half the male population with shaven heads. Thirty percent of the population covered in tats. Get your cash out of a hole in the wall. The internet and new words like Google, Twitter and Facebook. Order your pizza online, pay your bills via a computer, holiday in China, talk and see people on the phone at the other end of the world for free. People’s attitudes and sell your house online. We used to go from defence to attack now they call it transition. The poor bastard would probably want to return to comaland.

  “Aye. I’m much better off in here. Better than being in the slammer or trying to survive in some dead-end scheme full of no hopers and druggies. The dementia is early onset, so right now I’m not too bad, but I realise it will get worse, may as well enjoy the moment.”

  “The food okay in here, Sandy?” Harry prodded gently to change course.

  “Food is great. My favourite is the prairie sandwich.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Two pieces of bread with wide open spaces between them.”

  They both laughed together.

  “When did you last work for Alf?”

  Sandy scratched his chin with his right hand and he frowned as he thought about the question. “It would have been around ten years ago. I decided to pull the pin when they opened that gay bar in Leith. Thought that was going over the top. Made me boke thinking what they did to each other.”

  “Did you ever work there?”

  “Only for a few months until I decided to quit and go and get a proper job.”

  “And your duties were?”

  “Security, but there wasn’t much call for that. The gay people don’t fight amongst themselves. Well not anything that a strong arm couldn’t fix. Mostly checking on drivers licenses to keep out the underage.”

  “I guess there would have been a few names frequenting the premises?”

  “Aye but they entered through the back door, no pun intended.”

  “Care to name some?”

  “Only the ones you can name.”

  “Sandy, we are on a unity ticket here. What lingers on your lips lingers on your mind. Let’s start with the solicitor Crawford Mills?”

  “Yeah. I remember him, used to visit on the weekends and always brought a friend with him, real ponce he was. Remember I’ll only tell you what you need to hear not what you want to hear.”

  “Did you ever see him talking to Alf or any of his hangers-on?”

  “On the few occasions that I can remember Alf visiting the club he would sit in the back office and yes the solicitor would go back and meet with him. On these occasions, he would be accompanied by a local cop who I guessed may have been on the take.”

  “And do you remember his name?”

  “Nope.”

  “Was he on the payroll?” Harry asked softly but forcibly.

  “I think so, never liked the shit, he gave me the creeps.”

  “Sandy, you have been extremely helpful.”

  “What I've told you hasn’t come from me.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Anything I've said help lock that bastard away for good?”

  “I think it will go a long way to helping us.”

  “Great, can I have my fags now? I’m fair puggled.”

  Harry handed the full packet over with pleasure.

  “Keep me posted, Mr. Cram. As I said, you don’t get much in the way of entertainment in here and don’t make it too long before your next visit.”

  “You said he did the dirty on you. May I ask what that was?”

  “You can but I would prefer to keep that to myself.”

  “Do you know what happened to the gorilla?”

  “Aye, shall we say, someone retired him.”

  “Care to say
who?”

  “Nah. You haven’t asked about any other names.”

  Harry could see he was actually enjoying this and didn’t want it to finish.

  “Don’t have any more questions at the moment, Sandy. Maybe at the next visit.”

  He could read in his eyes that he thought that was a good idea.

  “Look forward to it. Fags seem to jog my memory. Need to get back to my scratcher. You’ve made an old man very happy.”

  “Compassion never grows old,” Harry replied.

  As Harry drove back through Musselburgh on his way to his apartment a lot of things were racing through his mind. Crikey, who was the copper he was talking about? Was he under cover? Was he working for Alf? And was he indeed gay?

  He knew he would have to tread carefully over this latest information, Blair would know what to do. He would ring him later.

  Chapter 23

  Most weekday evenings, The Foresters was generally busy, but tonight it was heaving as there was a football match live on the telly. Spencer wasn’t happy mixing with large crowds as he jostled his way to the bar, “Pint of Tenants please Nick, and what’s yours, Jim?”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  Scully did not like being in the local police watering hole but he felt it was necessary to make the occasional visit. It helped make him seem more human to his subordinates and he must admit he did pick up a few titbits on his staff each time he was there.

  Craig had to shout above the noise, “Sir, you planning to go to your holiday home in Gullane at the weekend?” He always made a point of not discussing work at the pub with Jim and he knew it was much appreciated.

  “Yep. Hopefully a long weekend, long walks on the beach. Weather permitting maybe a round of golf with Moira and the boys.”

  “I thought the boys were at university in St. Andrews?”

  “They are, but it is mid-semester break and they prefer being at Gullane than stuck at home in Barnton.”

  “How’s Cupid’s arrow working on Sheena Blackie?”

  “Jesus, sir. You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “Not when it’s so obvious.”

  “Is it that obvious, Jim?”

  “Ask her, she just walked in the door.”

  She had already spotted them and was fighting her way towards them though the noisy crowd accompanied by a rather handsome male stranger.

  “Hi Craig. Hello, sir.”

  “This is Jimmy, my brother, just up on a few days break from London.”

  Spencer felt relieved. He couldn’t compete with a good-looking bloke like that.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Vodka and Irn Bru for me and a pint of heavy for my bro.”

  It was a mild winter evening so they moved outside onto the pavement where it was less congested and found a vacant table with four chairs.

  After some idle chitchat, Scully could see that Sheena’s brother was uncomfortable talking to the cops so he decided it was time to move on.

  “Well I have things to do and places to go, so I will have to say adios. Nice to meet you Jimmy, enjoy the rest of your time home and safe trip back to Old London Town.”

  “Thanks. Pleasure to meet you.”

  He finished his pint and headed back to the station.

  “Seems like a nice guy, sis.”

  “Yes, all the detectives are,” she said for the benefit of Spencer.

  “I’ll go and get a round of drinks. Same again?”

  They both nodded.

  “Always nice to have the family at home, you both going out somewhere tonight?”

  “No. Jimmy is catching up with some old pals and I’m catching up with some shut eye. Been a busy few days.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Nothing planned just a night at home with a good wine and a cookbook. You interested in sampling my cooking?”

  “That’s very nice but I really do have to have an early night, maybe another time.”

  That definitely sounded like she was being polite, offering a big “thanks, but no thanks.”

  Seems like the attraction might only be one way.

  Jimmy returned with the drinks with the Proclaimer’s Five Hundred Miles blasting away in the background

  “Bloody madhouse in there.”

  Andy Darling who had been drinking inside with some of his workmates came over to the table.

  “Need some fresh air, mind if I join you?”

  “Speak of the devil and he’s sure to appear,” Craig mumbled.

  Sheena offered him the vacant chair. “Take a pew, Andy.”

  The smile in her eyes as she spoke gave Spencer another indication as to why he had just been knocked back big time. She fancied Darling.

  Spencer found that intriguing given that Darling was such a shabby dresser, always looked unkept and unshaven. He walked with his right arm always stationery by his side giving him the nickname “Swingalong.” He had never really moved out of the eighties. His overall appearance left a lot to be desired but he was a good cop and sharp as a tack.

  It was time to take the same cue as Scully and he bade farewell and left the three of them alone, scratching his head as to why Blackie would be interested in Darling. Anyway, there was still lots of paperwork to catch up on.

  As he made supper later that night with his bottom lip dragging on the ground, he couldn’t help but wonder if Sheena Blackie went home alone.

  Chapter 24

  ‘Mago and ‘Mast’ the ruthless Mason brothers from Dundee had been patiently waiting in their car for Reginald Buchanan to finish his round of golf and drinks at the nineteenth hole at the Luffness course. They had a few questions they needed to ask him and a bit of persuasion may be required. The secluded sand dunes up the road from the golf course were ideal for the task ahead.

  ‘Mago’ (short for Mad Gordon) and his brother ‘Mast’ short for (Mad Stew) were nicknames they gave themselves. They both had heid’s like tumshies. Mago was well over six feet tall and Mast a few inches taller.

  The Mason brothers were experts at their chosen profession as hit men and oozed slickness like an oil spill on water.

  Reginald Buchanan came out of the clubhouse. That was the sign for the brothers to drive out of the car park so they were ahead of him.

  It was just on dark as Reginald Buchanan walked towards his car, happy with the fact that he had played a great round today and was looking forward to dinner this evening at home with some friends.

  The car was cold inside and straight away he turned the heater up to high as he left the car park and headed north. He never worried about the breathalyser at this hour on a Saturday evening as there was very little traffic on the road.

  Halfway home he noticed something lying on the road ahead and slowed down to see what it was. Christ, it looked like someone had been knocked down. He pulled over, jumped out of the car and ran toward the person lying on the road. But just as he was about to kneel down he felt something cold pressed into his neck. “Easy now sir, this gun is real and so am I. Please do not turn around or that will be the last thing you ever do.”

  As the person spoke, the body on the road suddenly sprang to life, grabbed his hands and tied them behind his back.

  “Get in the car, now, and don’t try anything silly.”

  He was pushed from behind into the back seat of his own car accompanied by a giant of a man who continued to hold the gun to his neck. The smaller person climbed into the driver’s seat where he had kindly left the keys in the ignition.

  He made sure he did not make eye contact with them. If he didn’t clock them then he couldn’t identify them.

  “What is this all about?” I think you may have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “I don’t think so, Reggie Boy,” said the driver. “Shut up until we say you can talk.”

  They drove further up the road in total silence for about a couple of hundred metres then pulled right into the sand dunes near an area he recognised as a popular fishing spo
t with a small car park. There was another vehicle already parked there. Maybe a local fisherman he hoped.

  The driver parked the car, got out and walked towards the beach. Where was he heading to?

  The giant pulled him out of the car and proceeded to prod him with the gun in the same direction.

  “Where are we going? What do you want?”

  “Don’t worry. If you answer a couple of question correctly then you can get back in your car and drive home to your family all in one piece, albeit a little bit shaken up. If you don’t, then this will be your last walk on the beach.”

  He untied his hands and handed him back the car keys.

  “Now, Mr. Buchanan, the first question is, where is the email regarding Alf Hunter you received from his wife?”

  Before he had the chance to respond the driver asked the second question “Who is your contact in China? And please carefully consider the fact that I don’t ask twice.”

  “Okay, okay. The email is on my desktop computer in the office under the file ‘Bunter.’ I have no idea what you mean about a contact in China. Now please let me go home.”

  “One tree doesn’t make an orchard my friend.”

  Those were the last words Reginald Buchanan heard as the bullet entered his head through the right temple.

  Suddenly everything was peaceful. There was only the sound of silence as he floated above the beach and watched his body lying motionless in the sand. Everything was in green, like looking through night vision glasses. His life had not flashed before his eyes as everyone was told, but he did have a vivid picture of his wife, son and daughter as the darkness crept up slowly. The silence was getting louder as he floated further into the black hole directly above him, into what he hoped was a better place.

  It was doubtful anyone heard the shot.

  The giant then wiped the gun with a cloth and then placed it in the right hand of the deceased.

  They would be back in Dundee in a couple of hours with an alibi as strong as the Bank of England in the likely event that the coppers would try to connect them to the hit.