by Ian Todd
“If what the officers present today have said was indeed fact, rather than wishful thinking, then perhaps I would agree,” she stammered, instantly getting disappointed looks fae The Braided Bunch.
“Go on,” Alan Small said encouragingly, a wee smile cracking open those deadpan features ae his fur the first time.
“Well, I can only base my initial observations on the transcript of Inspector McPhee’s service pocket notebook and what I read of Nurse Mathieson’s statement, in the presence of Sheriff Burns and John Taylor’s solicitor, but I would contend that any half decent defence team, who were worth their salt, would tear apart most, if not all, of the arguments that I’ve heard here today.”
“I see,” he said, pursing his lips and placing his thumbs under his chin while clasping his fingers thegither. “And what legal advice would you offer to our police colleagues here, that would ensure that their position, and thus The Crown’s, would not be compromised by the contents of the notebook, in the unlikely event that this young man was, in fact, proved to be innocent of the charges of robbing the bank and gunning down two serving police officers?”
Silence.
There it wis. The Edinburgh Brief hid invited her in tae point oot the weaknesses in The Braided Bunch’s assertions. She looked across at her boss. He wis looking at her calmly, bit intently. It wisnae aboot the murders ae three innocent people who happened tae be in the wrang place at the wrang time, nor the disappearances in the night ae evil gangsters who nowan wid shed a tear o’er anyway. It certainly wisnae aboot the methods used tae extract information in the back ae a Black Maria van oan some dark wasteland, away fae prying eyes and ears, in the middle ae the night, that threatened the cover-up that wis being formulated and played oot in the room. It wis aboot the teenager…the boy…Taylor.
“Er, well, I would say that, under no circumstances should Taylor’s defence team have access to the inspector’s service notebook, at any cost. Despite most of those mentioned in it having either died or gone missing…presumed dead…the character of the inspector would surely be called into question. I also believe that there would almost certainly be political fall-out for anyone in a senior management position who allowed someone as, er, unsavoury, as this, er, inspector, to have operated without proper supervision for as long as he obviously has,” she replied, wanting tae die, hivving clocked The Braided Bunch aw visibly stiffen in their seats. “I mean, the newspapers and broadcasters would have a field day.”
“Proper supervision…hmm…and who, in your opinion, within the current management team here in Central do you believe would be held responsible, Miss Metcalfe?”
“Er, I would rather not comment on that, sir,” she replied nervously, gulping, as she avoided looking at the uniforms, ignoring the increase in heavy breathing aroond the table as she looked across at her boss.
“It’s your opinion I’m seeking, Miss Metcalfe…speculatively speaking, of course,” he purred, as her boss gied her a wee affirmative nod that it wis okay tae answer.
“Well, sir…er, more than likely, most of the people sitting around this table, particularly those who believe, rightly or wrongly, that the allegations contained in the inspector’s notebook have been investigated thoroughly. I would also be most concerned regarding the whereabouts of Mr ‘Wee Eck’ Thomas, not forgetting the unsolved murder of Mr Thomas Simpson, plus the disappearance of his brother Toby and two others on the thirty first of December, nineteen seventy one. From what I’ve heard, no-one has convinced me, so far, that there isn’t a fire burning behind the smoke-screen that has been flagged up around the table this morning,” she murmured, feeling hersel wilting under the threatening stare ae Chief Superintendent Mackerel.
“For me, as a procurator fiscal, this has conspiracy written all over it and has the potential to blow up in everyone’s faces…including our political masters,” she continued, in whit she hoped wid be taken as a subtle warning by the wee man fae Edinburgh at the far end ae the table and wishing that she’d taken a sickie that morning insteid ae letting her nose get the better ae her and turning up fur the meeting in Central like a wee rookie, twenty minutes early.
Silence.
“And this young solicitor, Graham Portoy…the one you obviously have a history with, Miss Metcalfe? What would your opinion be of him?”
Silence.
“Professionally speaking, of course?” he added, causing her tae blush.
“Oh, er, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, Mr Small,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks burn.
She couldnae help hersel and glanced across at Peggy McAvoy. Peggy clearly understood. She wis looking across, clearly sorry fur Glenda and gied her a wee nod ae encouragement tae keep gaun and no tae let hersel get flustered or side-tracked by the bloody sexist tone ae the question.
“Oh, I see,” he came oot wae. “According to that fine investigative newspaper, The Sunday Echo two Sundays ago, despite you both being long term adversaries, there was, what would you call it…a personal dimension to the professional relationship?”
Aw the eyes ae The Braided Bunch turned tae stare at her accusingly, clearly basking in her squirming.
“If my memory serves me right, I believe I did have a meal with Mr Portoy once, the result of a drunken Christmas office party that the city’s legal fraternity’s Crown and Defence have once a year,” she replied. “It was a disaster that I would rather not go into, if you don’t mind,” she stammered, still tasting the humiliation ae being put up oan stirrups by some spotty wee first year trainee doctor called Rory fae Helensburgh.
The dirty wee basturt hid tried tae get intae her knickers five minutes efter asking her tae put them back oan at the end ae her internal VD swab, by trying tae impress her wae tales ae his daddy’s boat, moored up somewhere oan the Clyde.
“But, you would rate Mr Portoy as being an exceptionally clever brief, would you not?”
“As a defence lawyer, I think he’s the best in the city and has been for a number of years, but as a person, I think he’s one of the most despicable and unashamedly self-promoting individuals that I’ve come across in a long time. I would question the lengths he would go to, in order to obtain a verdict favourable to him or one of his clients,” she replied tersely.
“So, you wouldn’t be shocked or surprised to learn that Stuart McKenzie, QC, with the help of your good man, Graham Portoy, has successfully persuaded our learned friends, The Lord Advocate and other esteemed law lords, to allow McKenzie and Portoy to submit new evidence for consideration that could allow them to progress to a full appeal hearing for wrongful conviction to the High Court in Edinburgh at some time in the near future?”
“I would certainly be shocked and alarmed, but I wouldn’t be surprised, sir,” she replied, stunned.
At that last bombshell, maist ae The Braided Bunch in the room jist aboot fell aff ae their egos oan tae the flair, as she surreptitiously acknowledged the smile fae Peggy, by gieing her a wee nod.
“And how, in your opinion, can we ensure that this er, new evidence, that Stuart McKenzie was referring to with The Lord Advocate this morning in Edinburgh, is not presented before our esteemed law lords, Miss Metcalfe?” he continued.
“I suspect they’ll be pinning everything on gaining access to the contents of the pocket service notebook and, in particular, demonising the personal character of Inspector McPhee to undermine The Crown’s case. The notebook states quite clearly that Halfwit…Mr Murray…informed Inspector McPhee, that Taylor wasn’t in the bank that day, even though he does counter-claim that the youth was responsible for the shooting of Mr Shaun Murphy, another well-known Glasgow gangster, who has subsequently been reported by his wife as a missing person.”
“Presumed dead,” The Assistant Chief Constable added.
“Whether Taylor was responsible for murdering Mr Murphy is irrelevant...at this stage. That would entail another investigation and trial. Taylor has been convicted of robbing a bank and attempting to murder two serving police offi
cers by discharging a firearm to their severe injury. The Defence would challenge…probably successfully…having the part of the notebook where it implicates their client in the disappearance of Mr Murphy excluded in the evidence submitted by The Crown against wrongful conviction of the bank robbery. Without definite proof that Mr Murphy was indeed dead, then any link to Taylor would probably be ruled inadmissible at that stage of the proceedings,” The Edinburgh Brief stated.
“Bit, he’s a bloody well-known thug, so he is,” Daddy snorted, speaking fur the first time.
“Knowing Graham Portoy, I don’t think the Defence will lose any sleep over their client’s character being blackened, Superintendent…as has already been acknowledged, everyone knows he’s a thug. However, when you put his character alongside that of a serving police inspector, and our one in particular? The Crown, or Glasgow Sheriff Court in this case, has taken over the responsibility and ownership of the notebook until such times as Sheriff Burns rules on who gets access to it. The Defence, meantime, can only speculate as to its true contents. My advice would be to challenge their requests for access at every step of the way, using whatever means we have at our disposal, to stop them gaining that access, until after Mr McKenzie and Mr Portoy are forced to submit their evidence to the Law Lords in Edinburgh,” she advised.
“And how do you propose that we do that, Miss Metcalfe?” Alan Small asked her gently.
“Well, for a start, it would be setting a legal precedent if Sheriff Burns agreed to their demand for access in the first place, even though he’s well-known for his independent point of view and interpretation of the law,” she replied bitterly, still feeling the wounds ae many battles lost wae him sitting oan the bench. “I mean, who ever heard of that happening in the past? However, in the unlikely event he did rule in their favour, we would immediately appeal.”
“Yes?”
“Well, as you know, sir, it used to take anywhere from two to three years for a judicial review to consider new evidence, but I believe a precedent was set just recently with The Crown versus Robert Connor, the youth sentenced to life for the murder of a fourteen-year-old Stirlingshire schoolgirl. The solicitors for the defence successfully argued to have that period shortened to between nine and twelve months due to the nature of the new evidence being submitted under the Temporary Provisions of Terrorism Act 1973. I believe we could possibly string out and exhaust the legal argument against Messrs McKenzie and Portoy gaining access, whilst at the same time, support the acceleration of a decision by the appeal lords to allow Taylor’s legal team to submit their new evidence…minus the contents of the pocket notebook, of course,” she continued, looking at everywan roond the table. “It seems to me that without knowing for sure what has been recorded in the inspector’s notebook, they don’t actually have anything.”
Silence.
Whit Glenda hidnae mentioned wis that, although a precedent hid indeed been set, nowan wis quite sure ae the exact specifics behind the precedent, due tae the appeal hivving been heard in camera, behind closed doors. There hid been a lot ae speculation, baith in the media and within legal circles, as tae whit the evidence wis that hid been obtained by Silas Abrahams. Glenda hid picked up fae her boss, David Broderick, that a retired Special Branch Superintendent, who’d been posted abroad until retiring, hid threatened tae break The Official Secrets Act and expose ‘whit he knew’ unless the state security services wur prepared tae allow whitever evidence Silas Abraham hid in his possession, tae be considered as part ae Robert Connor’s evidence fur a future appeal hearing. Of course, it wis aw conjecture, bit David hid whispered that the evidence centred roond a Scottish public figure, who’d seemingly being getting bugged by MI5. Where the connection wis between a young lassie gaun missing, believed murdered, in a wee rural village in Stirlingshire, and the Secret Intelligence Services, wis difficult tae comprehend. Whitever it hid been, Silas Abrahams hid been hinting tae publicly expose it, risking being imprisoned, unless the authorities examined the new evidence. David hid said that The Crown and MI5 hid been looking fur a way oot behind the scenes and hid brought in the notorious QC, John Howdy, tae assist in facilitating an ‘understanding’ fur the new evidence tae be heard in camera.
“Anything else, Miss Metcalfe?” The Edinburgh Brief asked her gently, breaking in tae her thoughts.
“To succeed, I think that it is absolutely crucial that there is…er…no interference, or illegal undermining, of any of the key aforementioned players and possible witnesses from here on in. How you,” she emphasised, looking at the blank faces roond the table, before suddenly realising who she wis addressing. “Er…how we conduct ourselves has to be totally above board and unimpeachable.”
“So, gentlemen, there you have it,” Alan Small, the diminutive Edinburgh Brief informed them, breaking intae everywan’s reverie. “A review will be heard sometime in the, er, hopefully not too distant future, regarding this young thug’s conviction, which, if successful, could subsequently lead to a full appeal hearing, unless of course, we can convince our good lordships that you have nothing to answer for and that the conviction is as tight as the evidence put forward to the jury at the original trial. Now, if you’re all convinced of this young thug’s guilt, and are reassured that we, on the legal side, will be able to robustly and successfully defend our position, based on the evidence provided, then I am happy, on behalf of The Crown, to challenge and rebut any evidence produced at Taylor’s review hearing. As succinctly stated by our own Miss Metcalfe, we could probably ensure that Mr McKenzie’s and Mr Portoy’s request for a review is expedited to within the next nine to twelve months or so,” the heid ae The Crown’s Criminal Division said, tae smiles and satisfied nods ae approval aw roond. “However, as Miss Metcalfe so correctly and eloquently also pointed out, there could be a political dimension here. Just before the start of this meeting, I discussed the political ramifications with The Lord Advocate and Albert Johnston, the Secretary of State’s Parliamentary Private Secretary. They both agreed that we could proceed, if that was my considered judgement, as a result of our little get together this morning. However, we should all take cognisance of the risks involved and be aware of the dangers a complicated case such as this could pose and that…now, how did Albert put it?” he asked nowan in particular. “Oh yes…that, should there be any negative political ramifications arising from this case, then we should abandon our challenge against this young thug forthwith. If that was the case, the Lord Advocate and Parliamentary Private Secretary would then expect to inform the Secretary of State that he has received the resignations from all those in uniform, presently sitting in this boardroom today,” he said pleasantly, as The Braided Bunch’s smiles froze and Peggy McAvoy’s grin grew wider, watching amused, as the uniforms sitting roond the table aw dived at their fag packets, igniting desperate wee flames fae the lighters, and a thick blue smoke cloud quickly obliterated the shape and presence ae the wee Edinburgh nightmare, sitting immobile at the far end ae the table.
Chapter Forty One
Wan-bob lay his heid back against his pillow. He loved the smell and feel ae fresh, starched cotton. The rush in they ears ae his sounded like a frying pan full ae sizzling Ayrshire bacon as his heid connected wae the hard pillow. He’d come hame fur a bath, bit Dorothy hid insisted that he go and take a nap first, before he went back oot the door again. He’d sent Peter the Plant back intae the toon, telling him no tae come back tae collect him before midnight. He hid tae admit that he wisnae the only wan in a state ae shock. He could appreciate somewan staunin up tae protect and defend whit they believed wur their ain interests, bit it hid been the ferociousness ae the violence dished oot that hid taken everywan by surprise. It wis also knowing that there wid need tae be a comeback, oan a par wae the assassination, that hung aff ae they tits ae his like ten pound anvils. He lifted his hauns up and gingerly massaged his temples. The sizzling sound wis abating, though his breathing wis still coming and gaun in short, sharp rushes. It hid been the worst day since taking o
’er efter The Big Man gied Shaun Murphy his jotters fur trying tae cut a deal wae Toby Simpson behind everywan’s back. The papers and the news oan the TV hid been gieing it wall-tae-wall coverage aw day. It hid even made Nationwide earlier in the evening. He’d spoken tae The Big Man fae a phone box a couple ae hours earlier. He hidnae said much, bit Wan-bob could hear the heavy breathing oan the other end ae the line. It hid been difficult tae hiv a meeting wae the rest ae the boys, due tae the reporters trying tae track doon anywan associated wae Spotty Hector and Chic Shand. They’d finally managed a wee get thegither an hour before he’d hid tae phone Spain. A dozen ae them hid managed tae meet up in Wee Jimmy Tarbuck’s laundry, tae discuss the situation, practically within a mile ae where Spotty Hector and Chic Shand hid copped their whack. Almost every wan ae them, withoot exception, hid Harding Lennox, wan ae The McGregors’ tap killers, doon as the main suspect. It made sense. Harding hid been spotted hivving a bite tae eat in The Alhambra Inn, doon in Wellington Street, at seven o’clock. He’d been oan his lonesome. The next sighting ae him hid been leaving Erchie Wilson’s oan Sauchiehall Street at hauf eight, where he’d hid a pint and a wee hauf before he’d goat up and walked oot. Seemingly, he hidnae spoken tae a soul, bit hid sat looking at his watch every few minutes, which tended tae suggest that he wis meeting up wae somewan. His next appearance hid been o’er in Partick Cross where he’d walked intae The Three Judges at aboot five tae nine. He hidnae anchored, bit hid looked aboot, as if he wis looking fur somewan, before disappearing back oot ae the door. It wid’ve taken him aboot twenty five minutes tae get fae Erchie Wilson’s tae The Three Judges, allowing fur the traffic. That meant that he’d either taken a taxi or hid been picked up by somewan in Sauchiehall Street. Harding’s position in The McGregors entitled him tae a driver. Charlie Hastie hid put the word oot earlier in the morning efter the news hid broken. None ae the taxi boys hid claimed tae hiv picked him up, including two who’d said they’d been sitting jist alang fae Wilson’s fur aboot hauf an hour during that same time period. Efter leaving The Three Judges, Harding hid nipped intae Tennents oan Byres Road, bit wance again, hid looked aboot withoot hivving a drink before disappearing. That hid been aboot nine o’clock. Even though The Three Judges and Tennents wur within walking distance ae each other, it still suggested that Harding hid a set ae wheels at his disposal. Efter that last sighting, his trail hid gone cauld. Flak-Jack Munro hid spoken tae Spotty and Chic at twenty past nine, efter receiving a call in McCall’s that Harding hid been spotted across in Partick. They’d been playing snooker in the Wan-O-Wan in Hope Street. Flak-Jack hid nipped intae the snooker hall tae pass oan the message. He said that they hidnae finished their game, bit hid jist abandoned it by haunin o’er their cues tae a couple ae wee manky street urchins that hid come in oot ae the rain tae dry aff. Nowan hid reported them popping up across in Partick. He knew they’d stoapped oan St George’s Cross tae get a couple ae newspapers aff ae Dominic Nae Plants, the flower seller turned street newspaper vendor, who’d goat his tag efter Tony Gucci and his wee manky arsed crowd stole his barrow full ae plants, the day before Valentine’s Day, back in the sixties, when they wur wee snappers, putting him oot ae business. Buying newspapers suggested that they’d been planning tae sit up somewhere, bit where? Where hid they gone and whit hid they goat up tae efter they’d left Dominic Nae Plants and ended up doon in Finnieston? Surely they hidnae sat doon there fur o’er four hours?
