Referendum (Arbogast trilogy Book 3)

by Campbell Hart

  Leona grabbed the mug from her aunt and threw it off the back wall, the sweet brown liquid cast a violent stain across the white emulsion. Margaret was shocked and didn’t move, she didn’t know what to say to a girl who had lost everything. She was struggling to keep it together herself.

  “I don’t want them to find who did it and then they get away with it – what kind of justice is that? I know who did it. It was that money man, the loan shark Niall Murphy. He attacked mum before. I’m sure he killed dad too, and for what? A hundred pounds! Money to buy shopping to feed us with, now we owe thousands and people are dying and it’s not just me, it’s all over. But who really cares about us little people? Who cares if we fail? We don’t really matter, do we?”

  “Leona darling, listen—”

  “—no, you listen; wake up, woman. There’s a war going on out there and good people are getting caught up in it. Food banks in George Square. In the centre of Glasgow, right now, people are queuing for food – doesn’t that make you sick? My mum’s been murdered and something needs to be done about it. Why can’t you see that, why can’t you...”

  The slap stung Leona’s face. Margaret had watched her niece become more and more hysterical, shrieking at her about murder and poverty. She wasn’t making sense. She could see the white hand mark highlighted by the red patch on Leona’s cheek after she’d hit her. She felt bad for the slap, but she was out of control. It wasn’t a perfect world, but sometimes things just happened.

  “For God’s sake, pull yourself together girl. There’s been enough tragedy in this family for one year and you need to stay focused.”

  Leona didn’t believe what she was hearing. Her aunt seemed to think the deaths were justified.

  “You’re just as bad as everyone else. We’ve done nothing wrong – nothing.”

  Pictures shook on the wall as the front door slammed. Margaret knew she’d gone too far but she just wanted to stop talking about her sister, they’d been so close, had so many good times together. Sitting quietly in the living room the shock finally wore off and a thousand different memories seared through Margaret’s brain, fragments of a life she’d never know again.

  ***

  James Green had moved off the naval base and into nearby Helensburgh. He’d taken a three month contract on a one-bedroom flat. Which will be long enough. Looking at the Twitter feed he thought the audience was ready to hear what he had to say. The timing’s perfect.

  @bbcbreaking The safety of the #Trident nuclear weapons system will be discussed in the leaders debate later: link

  @heraldandtimes How many Scots believe the UK will have #Trident in 10 years? Find out here: link

  @ukscience Now is the right time to abolish the UK's nuclear deterrent: link

  @yes4scotland Trident must go from Faslane. Vote Yes for change. Details here: link

  Yeah, the audience is already there. It’s time they’re told the truth about what happened at the base last year. They need to know they’re being lied to. He uploaded the article to his blog and scheduled regular tweets with the same handle.

  @realfaslane Terror attack on #Trident covered up in 2014 – vote #yes for safety. Details on the blog: link

  He was satisfied the article would attract a lot of attention...

  Terror attack at Faslane Naval base – MOD cover up

  You read it right and this is no crank entry. On November 15th last year the man detained for the Glasgow Terror Attack flew a plane into Faslane Naval Base. Ian Wark was found on the shores of the Roseneath Peninsula after ejecting from a Cessna light aircraft. He’d been shot down by the RAF as he began a suicide run on the nuclear submarine, HMS Vengeance.

  You might ask how I know all this, why you weren’t told about such a serious crime? I know because I was there. I saw the plane as it bore down on the base. I watched the operation to try and make the HMS Vengeance safe, watched as the police arrived, watched as Ian Wark was airlifted to hospital. I waited for the story to break but the press were complicit in making sure no-one ever found out. But you need to know that Faslane isn’t safe, and here’s why.

  Until recently I was a Petty Officer on the HMS Vanguard which is to say that I had access to the very heart of the UK’s nuclear deterrent. What I saw on a daily basis would shock you. Trident missiles being dangerously dropped into position, fires regularly break out in missile chambers, lax security, with passes being exchanged between staff, and emergency drills which were carried out behind target times, and with no real appetite to do a thorough job.

  That’s just the background. The real issue here is why it wasn’t seen as important enough to go public with the failed attack? The reason was inconvenience. At a time when security was already being ramped up, the UK and Scottish Governments, MoD, Police Scotland and the press didn’t want to make things worse. The UK was already on a critical alert after the George Square attacks and to have had another slip up would have made everyone look bad.

  You might ask why I have waited until now before going public. I’ve just left the Royal Navy and I’m coming forward as a civilian to do my public duty and warn people that they’re being lied to, and need to wake up to the reality of Trident in Scotland. With the debate raging across the country about whether or not we should keep our nuclear deterrent, I feel the safety record at Faslane is a ‘relevant’ piece of information which needs to be digested.

  Trident at Faslane is a disaster waiting to happen. With each submarine carrying 16 nuclear missiles with 48 warheads, the destructive power being held on the banks of the Clyde is horrifying. With bungled safety procedures, poor security and national cover-ups already taking place, you have to ask: Do we really need it?

  In just a couple of weeks’ time people in Scotland will have the chance to vote for change. The ‘Yes’ campaign has clearly stated that, with independence, Trident will be removed from Scotland. That’s not to say it will simply be shifted to England. What we’re starting is a national debate on why the UK should have nuclear weapons at all. Is the arrogance of ‘having a say’ in NATO still relevant to a country with only marginal world influence? Could we invest £100bn on better things? Of course we could.

  I realise I may be opening myself up to legal proceedings by going public with this information but we don’t have much time left to make the case. So let Scotland Unite and make a change. Please show your support in the comments below.

  James Green was pleased that the blog had gone viral so quickly. Government departments were asked for comment and while none were forthcoming the message still spread. The next day the blog would be front page news. The nuclear question had exploded onto the Referendum news agenda. The authorities and reporters alike tried to track down the author, but James Green could not be found.

  ***

  Karen Balfour was told that her benefits claim wasn’t going to be processed two days after she’d appeared on TV. The letter said that due to her commitments at the food bank she could not be considered as actively looking for work, but could reapply at a later date when her circumstances changed.

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. The food bank was a voluntary job which she’d been doing five days a week. The paper she was holding in her hands said that was three days too many. So, no cash. She’d been working pretty much constantly since she was 16, paying national insurance. The break for maternity had been unplanned but welcome. It meant going back to work had been hard but she’d got the job at the hotel. Now she had nothing. Karen didn’t know what to do but she knew that whatever it was she did, she had to do it soon. The rent was due in four days, and with no housing benefit coming in, the next few weeks were looking bleak.

  ***

  The Lorna McMahon murder case had been front page news but the coverage had already reverted back to the Referendum. Pages of print and hours of broadcast coverage went over the same points again and again. Arbogast wished the murder had stayed front of mind for just a little longer. I owe the girl, Leona, something; I’ve got to f
ind out who killed her mother.

  Leona McMahon had been brought into Pitt Street to brief her about the press call. Arbogast hoped it might reignite interest. We need a lead.

  Chris Guthrie had assumed the role of the paternal figure; she seemed to respond to him better.

  “We know this isn’t easy, Leona. We appreciate you’ve been going through an absolutely horrific time these last few months but we need to keep public interest in this case alive.”

  Arbogast shot him a look. They both knew that had been the wrong word to end on.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

  Leona hadn’t said much; didn’t look too animated. There was a sadness to her that hadn’t been there before. The reality of her life was catching up fast with her face, and the girl they’d met a few weeks ago was all but gone.

  “I’ll be fine, but I want to ask you something.”

  Guthrie nodded, “Anything we can do for you we will.”

  “My mum’s being painted as a prostitute in the media. You know that’s not true.” When the detectives said nothing she continued, “And you said my dad committed suicide which I don’t think is true either.” Again no response, “So what I want to know is, who did it?”

  Arbogast butted in, “Leona, we can’t say just now, it’s too early.”

  “Sure, that’s great and easy for you to say but there’s an elephant in the room here. There’s someone who’s an obvious name for both of these deaths. It’s my entire family don’t forget. I want to know if you’ve spoken to Niall Murphy?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath before Arbogast could reply, “It’s not as straightforward as you might think Leona.”

  Niall Murphy had been their first port of call. Guthrie wasn’t convinced by the argument but Arbogast wanted to catch him early, said his name had been cropping up too regularly of late.

  Outside his flat on Sword Street they saw that someone was home. The close door was damaged and inside they saw Murphy’s flat door was also hanging open.

  “This doesn’t look too promising,” Guthrie said as he gently nudged open the door with his foot, “Police Scotland, Mr Murphy, are you in?”

  A voice inside invited them to enter. They found Murphy sitting surrounded by the contents of his home.

  “What’s happened here, Murphy?” Arbogast said, “Been burgled have we?”

  “You’re in the wrong job. Did you ever think about a career in crime detection? I hear it pays well,” Murphy hadn’t looked at them yet. “You’ll be asking next why I haven’t reported it.”

  “Well?”

  “Well since you guys seem to have a hard-on for me just now I thought I’d keep myself to myself.”

  Arbogast hadn’t moved since he’d entered the living room. He stood by the door, staring at Murphy, he was sure this piece of shit was involved somehow. The other stuff could wait; this was going to be an almighty charge sheet. “Where were you last night?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Niall Murphy knew why they’d come. Word was already out about Lorna McMahon, “I was with a woman.”

  “Did she come willingly or did you pay her?”

  “She didn’t come at all but I’ve never let that bother me in the past.” He was laughing, which was making Arbogast angry. He stepped forward and raised his voice more than he meant to, “Where were you? This had better be good, and we need to speak to the woman too.”

  “Why don’t you speak to her yourself, she’s in the backroom, asleep, if you must know.”

  Arbogast left Guthrie to watch their host while he looked for the bedroom. What he saw didn’t make him feel any better. The door smashed off the wall and woke her; she’d been sleeping naked on top of the sheets. The room was a mess, bottles and ash trays littered the floor; the air was heavy with the smell of recent sex. The questions were a formality. He knew her story would check out. They’d find out later that Murphy had been seen with the woman the night before in the Duchess Bar.

  “She’s a bit larger than I had you figured for but it looks like you’ve been lucky this time.”

  “Luck’s got nothing to do with it Arbogast. I heard the sirens last night, went down to see what was happening after we left the pub. They said it was the McMahon woman. I feel sorry for Lorna – really I do. I know better than most that she was in a tight spot but she did owe money. The family knew what they were signing up for. I don’t care how they make their money just as long as it comes back to me. Now the real shame is that the debt’s dead and buried. Another write-off is hardly good for balancing the books.”

  Arbogast clenched his fists as a snide grin spread across Murphy’s face, “You can laugh all you want, there are clouds gathering around you and your day is coming, mark my words. I know what you’ve been up to. So go ahead and shit on the memory of Lorna McMahon because I won’t forget her. And as for you, soon enough you’ll wish we’d never met.”

  As they left Guthrie asked what the fire and brimstone act was all about but he was talking to thin air, Arbogast was gone.

  33

  When her body was found he started to worry. The picture in the newspaper didn’t do her justice and at first he wasn’t sure if it was the same woman. But as he read through the article he realised it must be. He wondered if they’d be looking for him. His wife had noticed he was jumpy.

  “What’s up with your face today, babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He mumbled something about the state of the world while his wife noted that was the chance ‘they’ took if ‘they’ wanted to sell their bodies on the streets.

  “It’s all for drugs you know, they don’t even need the money. It’s disgusting if you ask me.”

  When he told her he hadn’t, the conversation turned as cold as his coffee. He’d stayed home longer than normal until he decided it would be important for him to stick to his usual routine, he had to look as if he had nothing to do with it. If he kept his head down for a few weeks it would all blow over. They never caught the guys that killed hookers – it was an unwritten law. He tapped into Google to bring up the Police website. He wanted to see what they were saying, just for peace of mind.

  MEDIA RELEASE – appeal for witnesses

  Police Scotland has issued a public appeal for information in relation the death of Lorna McMahon.

  Detectives investigating the case are keen to trace the driver of a white Ford transit van seen on Sydney Street and Armour Street in Glasgow’s Gallowgate at around 11:30pm on September 12th.

  Lead investigator DI John Arbogast said he hoped the driver would be able to help them piece together Lorna McMahon’s final moments:

  “At this stage we are only looking to speak to the driver of the van, after a number of local sightings placed a vehicle fitting that description in the area at around the time of the incident.

  “We are hoping that the driver will be able to help us fill in missing pieces of information which may lead to a breakthrough in this case.

  “We would also like to reassure the public that extra resources are being deployed in the East End as we step up our efforts to catch the killer.”

  Ends

  Back in the office Chris Guthrie thought it unlikely the media release would generate much they would be able to work with.

  “Do you think the driver’s our guy?”

  Arbogast wasn’t sure, “It’s about all we’ve got to work with at the moment. Despite public perception and the insistence of the press, the plot where she was found isn’t an area which is used by prostitutes anymore, for exactly the reasons we’re seeing. It’s too isolated, too easy for bad things to happen.” The two detectives were staring at a map on Arbogast’s monitor. The immediate area was split into quarters. To prevent cars from parking off-road the council had bordered the plots with rubble and grassed them over. It was something that worked well for the women that used to work the streets at night. With no lights and poor visi
bility it was easy to go unseen in the darkness. But when women started to get hurt, fewer people went there, and it quickly became a no-go zone.

  “Poor Lorna just picked the wrong part of town.” Arbogast was shaking his head; the injuries didn’t fit the pattern he’d seen in the past. “Her daughter doesn’t think her mum was there to work.”

  “Well she wouldn’t, would she? If it was your mother, what would you think?”

  “Sex workers don’t use this plot, so it’s unlikely that anyone would go there looking for it. If she was working the streets it seems to have been something new. I mean, you saw their situation; it was desperate, all for the want of keeping that bastard Murphy happy. Did you see his face at the flat, he knew we were coming.”

  Chris Guthrie remembered it differently. He didn’t like Murphy either but his alibi was watertight. They’d asked about in the pub and the punters had backed him up, he’d been there until close to 1:00am, and then left with company. The timescale didn’t fit and Arbogast knew it, “It wasn’t Murphy, John. You need to keep some perspective on this. As you’ve said already, we owe the girl some kind of closure.”

  “And what, exactly, is closure? Do you think if we find someone for this, then all her problems will just disappear?” Arbogast was red in the face, exasperated and frustrated, “The only thing we can do to help – even if it offers just a crumb of comfort – is to find her mother’s killer.”

  “I think this white van man could be the guy we’re after.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, as you’ve said, no-one uses that area to buy sex anymore, they just don’t.”