by Ian Todd
A social worker and a policeman were both warned by Sheriff Clifford Grant regarding alleged statements they made in a case against a woman charged with child neglect. The sheriff accused the pair of colluding and lying under oath…”
Chapter Forty Nine
Friday 24th October 1975
2.20 A.M.
“Settle doon, Petra, it’s only the wind, lass,” Auld John Hamilton whispered soothingly tae his Jack Russell, reaching fur his clay pipe, as the wind whistled doon the flue ae his cast iron stove.
He’d been working as a night watchman at the Hayford Mill in Cambusbarron fur o’er seven years. It widnae be the job ae choice if ye wur easily spooked. In aw that time, he’d never been confronted by anywan, including ghosts, oan his journey roond the large, spread oot complex ae red brick buildings, despite regular warnings fae The Department ae Home and Health people in Edinburgh tae be alert and oan the look-oot at aw times. Occasionally, wagons wid arrive in the middle ae the night fae doon south, laden wae tons ae field kitchens, tents and large water vessels, tae be stored and forgotten aboot. His boss hid telt him that, in case ae emergencies, civil unrest or natural disasters, the mill wid provide support tae communities throughoot the whole ae central and southern Scotland.
“Sshhh, Petra,” he said fae within the cloud ae burning pipe tobacco.
It hid been o’er three weeks since he’d first reported the broken windae latch doon oan block thirteen. It wis high up oan the third flair and clattered violently every time a slight gust blew. Tonight, the wind wis up and the windae wis crashing against the frame every few seconds. He wis surprised it hidnae come aff its hinges by noo. When he’d started his shift at ten, a large key, wae a broon crumpled thin cardboard tag tied tae it by string hid been sitting oan his wee table beside his chair. He’d jist been able tae read the number thirteen written oan it, in faded pencil. There hid been nothing else. He thought they hid a bloody cheek. He’d asked fur a joiner and they’d sent him a key. Petra goat up fae her blanket in front ae the fire and trotted across tae the door and whimpered, sniffing underneath it, before sitting doon, occasionally looking back at him.
“Aye, awright, hen, wait until Ah get ma gear,” he sighed in resignation, staunin up and lifting that woollen scarf and bunnet ae his aff ae the coat stand, as the dug started tae get excited.
Efter putting oan his thick coat o’er the tap ae his jaicket, he slung his tool bag o’er wan shoulder and the middle rung ae his wooden stepladder o’er the other wan before switching oan the torch as he opened the door tae the ootside. Petra didnae hing aboot and disappeared through the mass ae swirling broon leaves alang the drive in the opposite direction fae the main gate, disappearing oot ae range ae his beam. By the time he’d caught up wae her, she wis getting hersel intae a bit ae a lather by running roond in circles, barking up at the crashing frame. The howling wind nearly blew him aff ae his feet when he turned the corner ae the building. He quickly followed the beam tae the big wooden door, wae the number thirteen highlighted in white flaking paint oan the brickwork, jist tae the left ae the doorframe. Even before he hid the chance tae put the key in the lock, Petra wis scratching furiously at the bottom ae the door. Wance opened, she scurried straight intae the darkness. He caught a fleeting glance ae the white patch ae her arse as she disappeared up the broad, wooden staircase. He didnae even attempt tae switch oan the corroded pre-war light switch, as he knew The Department controlled the power and hid removed the fuses fae the main switchbox in his workshoap-come-bothy tae stoap any nocturnal raiders turning up wae lorries tae empty the place. Using that back ae his against the strong wind, he pushed the door shut behind him, before shining the beam up the stairs.
“Third flair,” he announced oot loud, taking the first step, as the whistling ae the wind and the sound ae the windae crashing up above where he wis heiding echoed eerily doon the dark staircase.
By the time he reached the third flair, he wis oot ae breath and took a minute tae get it back by loudly clearing that throat ae his. There wis still nae sign ae the dug. He wondered if she’d heided straight up the stairs tae the flair above him.
“Petra? Where ur ye, lass?” he shouted, listening fur any whining while pondering how he wis gonnae reach the windae fae where he wis staunin.
The whole wooden flair wis stacked tae the ceiling wae big canvas-covered square and oblong objects. There didnae appear tae be a path through it. He leaned forward and pushed the corner ae wan ae the big packages wae baith hauns, attempting tae shift it tae the side, bit it widnae budge. He placed the back ae the stepladder against the canvas stack, making sure that it hid a firm base tae take his weight and extended it upwards. Efter slinging his tool bag o’er his shoulder, he proceeded tae climb up, using wan haun tae haul his frame up, while using the other tae get a grip ae the canvas covering ae the big bales tae steady his progress. Wance his heid wis above the level ae the stacks, he shone the beam across the tap ae them. He could see the tap two lines ae glass fae each ae the windae frames running the length ae the side ae the building. Each windae frame wis aboot twenty feet apart. He lay doon the torch oan the bale he wis leaning oan and heaved himsel up aff ae the stepladder. He picked up the torch and tried tae staun up. He wis aboot eighteen inches taller than the space allowed, so he stooped doon as he made his way across the lumpy storage bundles towards where he thought the windae wid be located. He heard a whimper.
“Petra, where ur ye, ya daft galoot, ye?” he shouted, stoapping and listening.
He thought that she wis somewhere in front ae him, across tae his right. He carried oan, treading carefully. Some ae whit he wis walking o’er wis clearly tents as he could feel and hear the clink ae the poles under his weight as his feet sank intae the canvas bags, while in other parts, it wis smooth enough fur him tae walk unhindered. He heard the dug whining again. He could noo see the banging windae, bit the whining wis coming fae away o’er tae his right, nearer the wall that he supposed separated the section he wis in fae number fourteen, next door. When he reached the wall, he knew the dug wis directly underneath where he wis staunin.
“Ur ye there, lass?” he called, above the noise ae the clattering windae frame and getting a definite urgent response.
He stood back and lay the torch oan a six feet by six feet metal container, tae the side ae the tents he wis staunin oan. Oan his knees, he started tae pull up the heavy bags, sliding them tae wan side. Despite the freezing cauld, he wis getting up a fair wee sweat. He wis disappointed tae come across another lair underneath the first wan and so, started the process again. Efter heaving up two mair tents, exposing a big black crevice, he leaned across and picked up his torch before shining it doon intae the cavern he’d uncovered. Petra wis sitting oan her haunches, looking up at him, her two eyes being reflected like bright shining diamonds.
“Noo, how the hell did ye manage tae get yersel back here?” he asked her, laying flat oan his stomach before leaning forward intae the gap wae the torch in front ae him.
“Whit the…?” he gasped oot loud.
It wis a square cell-like space that the dug hid found. The flair looked tae be covered in whit he thought wis white plaster dust. As well as Petra’s footprints, he could see the ootline ae footprints that hid been made by the soles ae whit he assumed hid been working boots. There wis at least another two sets ae footprints as well. Whoever that hid been, wan ae them hid been wearing whit looked like winkle pickers, gaun by the shapes ae the pointed toe prints in the dust. He shone the beam aboot. Where he expected tae see a continuation ae bricks, separating his flair fae the wan next door, whit looked tae him like an opening hid been there at some point in the not so distant past, gaun by the difference in colour ae the plaster between the bricks. It hid either been a cupboard or a connecting door, bit whitever it hid been, it hid noo been bricked up. He wondered how he wis gonnae get the dug up and oot ae the space. He shone the torch oan tae the windae wall. There wis a wee gap ae aboot eight inches separating the side ae the building and
the storage he wis lying oan tap ae. He grunted wae relief. That hid obviously been where the dug hid managed tae gain access tae where she wis noo. He wis jist aboot tae haul that heid and shoulders ae his up and oot ae the hole, when he caught something oot ae the corner ae his eye, jist tae his right oan the opposite corner fae the bricked up doorway. He swivelled the beam across. He wisnae sure whit he wis looking at until it dawned oan him that it wis a solitary shoe. It wis lying oan its side, covered in the white dust. Although it hid a wee heel oan it, it wis definitely a wummin’s shoe, as it hid a strap across the front ae it, like a sandal, insteid ae shoelaces. There wis something else lying near it, bit he couldnae make oot whit it wis. He lay doon the torch again and shifted his body roond tae a different position. He picked up the torch again and peered doon at the object. At first his brain didnae register whit it wis that he wis looking at…like some oot ae focus lens trying tae grab oan tae an object…and then it became clear. It looked like a pair ae panties. Even wae the dust covering it, the unmistakable smiling face ae David Cassidy wis smiling up at him. He again looked at the plastered up wall and back tae the two dust covered objects, a strange feeling overwhelming him.
“Right, Petra, lass, ye better work oot how tae get yersel oot ae there before the Bobby’s arrive,” he warned the wee dug, heaving they heid and shoulders ae his up and oot ae the hole. “And don’t disturb anything either.”
He slowly and carefully made his way across the tap ae the storage, ignoring the crashing ae the windae frame behind him.
6.00 A.M.
Johnboy lay listening tae the sound ae the distant chatter and laughter ae the screws at the bottom ae the hall, as the pounding ae the feet ascended the stairs. He’d been awake since before five. He looked doon at the bottom ae his door as a long shard ae light suddenly shot across his lino-covered flair. The lights in the corridor hid been switched oan and the first cell door wis being opened fur the start ae slop-oot. He waited patiently fur his turn, his chanty pot in his haun, as the screw made his way alang the landing, drawing nearer tae him. The routine never changed. Light oan, the sound ae the cell doors crashing open, before the screw moved oan tae the next cell. He wondered whit the benefits wur ae wearing tackity army boots oan the night shift, in a place like Dumfries, other than tae noise-up the YOs lying sleeping in their beds at night. He’d stood watching, alang wae a couple ae other YOs a few days earlier, hauf in horror and hauf in amusement, as a screw tried tae escape the clutches ae Hip McCormack, a big bear ae a guy fae Balornock, serving ten years fur stabbing a bizzy. Hip hid been preparing his work cubicle fur a prelim City and Guilds exam. He’d spent o’er a week making sure his mock bathroom wis perfect. Above his dado line, he’d wallpapered the walls using a flowery, plastic coated wallpaper, while underneath, he’d rag-rolled the dado in a bright fiery orange glaze.
“Rag-rolled that personality ae his up oan the wall, as a warning tae others,” Jimmy Baxter hid quipped wryly during the post-mortem discussion at the tea break.
Five attempts later and two minutes efter he’d completed his 99 percent, near perfect exhibition in the fine art ae painting and decorating, Bootsy Fudge, the ugliest screw in Dumfries, hid sneeringly arrived in Hip’s cubicle unannounced and preceded tae point oot that there wis a tiny wee speck ae a paintbrush bristle nestling under that bright glaze.
“Where?” Hip hid demanded, peering closely, searching fur the offending object.
“There, ya daft basturt, ye,” Bootsy hid declared, sticking his finger smack bang in the middle ae Hip’s work ae art that he’d spent hours oan.
There wur two things anywan wae any bit ae sense wid know in the P & D shoap…the first being that uninvited familiarity fae screws towards YOs wisnae tolerated and secondly, and this included YOs and screws jointly, ye didnae fucking interfere wae people’s pride and joy, no matter how shite it might appear tae look. Bootsy hid soon received the well-deserved response he’d invited through that ignorance ae his, by being heid-butted by Hip. Despite the broken nose that hauf the paint shoap heard being inflicted, Bootsy hid somehow managed tae remain oan his ain two feet, or in his case, two tackity soled, hob-nailed boots. Unfortunately fur him, as he tried tae make a hasty retreat, he’d gied a fine impression ae how tae run oan the spot oan the concrete flair ae the cubicle, allowing Hip tae be hung fur a sheep as well as a lamb, as he took advantage ae pummelling intae Bootsy wae gusto. Poor auld Hip wis noo lying doon in the digger. Bootsy hid been banished as the resident security screw fae the paint shoap fur his gross stupidity and it wis noo his tackity boots that stoapped ootside Johnboy’s cell door before it crashed open and a pug-ugly face, wae two black eyes and a flattened boxer’s nose, demanded tae know if he wis awake.
6.30 A.M.
George Crawford wondered where the hell the fire wis until he opened his eyes and discovered that Alison hid, fur some strange reason, swopped roond the alarm clock, replacing his wae the wan he’d banished tae a box in the back ae the stair cupboard almost three years earlier. That auld, bit familiar feeling, ae hivving a sudden heart attack hid returned and he noo lay gasping fur breath, listening tae his heartbeat missing every second beat in that chest ae his. He wondered whit he’d done tae deserve this unexplained change. She wis obvious letting him know that she wis displeased aboot something, bit he couldnae, fur the life ae himsel, figure oot whit it wis that he wis supposed tae hiv done. Granted, she’d been distant wae him lately…gaun as far as accusing him ae living a lie and pretending that he wisnae an angry man, since they’d reconciled four years earlier. She’d wanted tae go back tae see a coonsellor, bit he’d persuaded her otherwise, by informing her that how she wis feeling wis probably jist tae dae wae the change ae life…her menopause, he thought it wis called. Despite no talking tae him fur the past week, he’d noticed a wee thaw and she seemed tae be coming roond. He switched oan the bedside lamp, as he reached across and placed his sweaty, shaking palm oan the mattress, where he’d hiv expected that covered up body ae hers tae be. The mattress wis cauld. He cursed under his breath. She wis never up before him in the mornings, so his crime must be serious if she wis in the spare bedroom, he groaned tae himsel. Efter his palpitations hid subsided and he felt steady enough tae swing they legs ae his oot ae the bed, he stood up.
“Bloody woman,” he murmured in self-pity, reaching fur his dressing gown, praying that his early morning erection wid’ve receded enough that she widnae notice it, if he wis tae bump intae her oan the stairs, oan route tae the bathroom.
Efter reaching the landing, he hesitated, looking doon tae admire whit wis protruding against the brushed polyester and faked silk dressing gown. The spare bedroom door wis shut o’er. He wondered whit his chances wur if he sneaked in and chanced his luck. The last time they’d managed sex hid been oan Christmas Eve, efter she’d made a fool ae hersel at the staff social by flirting wae Cocky Miller, the filthy social worker, efter she’d goat plastered. She’d claimed that if she wisnae getting any attention and affection fae him, then she’d be as well getting it fae elsewhere. He’d felt humiliated by her stinging comments…and her supposed tae be a lady? The YOs thought they hid a hard time being denied the carnal privileges that came wae freedom, bit they’d a lot mair in common wae him than they’d ever realise. He reluctantly descended the stairs, taking a swift left intae the kitchen. The stray cat that she’d picked up efter they’d split up, and who’d never really taken tae him, hid its heid hauf in the fridge, chewing loudly oan whit appeared tae be a tail ae a fish. Efter gieing it a justifiable kick in its arse and slinging it oot intae the howling rain and slamming the fridge door shut, he switched the kettle oan. It wis then he clocked it. Sitting in the middle ae the table, leaning upright against the saltshaker, Alison’s wee square writing pad and fountain pen, minus its screw-oan tap, stood silently, mesmerizing him. He looked back at the kitchen door, ignoring the distressed howls ae the cat, pleading fur a pardon and suddenly wondered why the ootside door hid been left unlocked. He walked slowly, a terrible f
oreboding rising in the pit ae his stomach, and plapped that arse ae his doon at the table. He looked at the pad. There wis something written in that distinct, flowing haun ae hers. He wis scared tae touch it or tae pick it up, so efter clasping his hauns between his knees, he leaned across and stretched his neck tae see whit she’d written.
‘George, met a lovely, caring man, who lives on a kibbutz. There’s a rainbow trout in the fridge for your supper that Cocky Miller dropped off last night, before you finished your shift. Bye.’
7.00 A.M.
Senga looked aboot at her fellow passengers, as the bus turned aff ae Castle Street and heided doon the slip road oan tae the M8 in the direction ae Edinburgh. A couple ae the wummin, sitting two rows in front ae her, wur wearing wee Olivetti badges oan the collars ae their coats and wur deep in chatter, fags sticking oot fae between their lips. Opposite them, two teenage lassies in school uniforms, their faces made up wae David Bowie androgynous painted Aladdin Sane flashes splashed diagonally across their eyes, wur huddled excitedly o’er a wee radio. She watched amused, as wan ae them twiddled wae the dial, ignoring the long silver aerial rattling aff the metal parcel rack above their heids, as they smiled expectantly at each other until they’d found whit they’d been looking fur.
“Hellorerr lads and ladettes. This is yer wan and only Tigerrr Tim Stevens, bringing ye aw yer favourite tunes oan this dark and damp, dreich Glesga morning fae sunny Radio Clyde, here in the heart ae nowhere very exciting. Here’s wan that’ll hopefully wake ye up and gie ye the courage tae face another miserable day in the second biggest dump ae the empire,” the DJ squealed in delight, as the acoustic intro tae Shocking Blue’s ‘Venus’ filled the blue smoked-filled interior.
