SNATCHED BAIRN: Scottish Fiction

by Anne Bone

  Terry gave it some thought. What Marcus was asking could land them all behind the bars of the local jail, but he could also understand where the man was coming from. He couldn’t bear the thought of these animals that did terrible stuff to kids; he would be first in the queue to give them a beating if he had a chance. ‘Tell you what, Boss, let me have a word in a few ears and see how we get on.’

  ‘Right, Terry, make sure the words in ears are heard will you? Only words in ears that will get results. I want someone to get to that bastard, and beat the truth out of him. Get him to tell what he has done with the lass. I need her to be found, get it, I need her to be found, and him to stand in that fucking dock facing a jury for murder. Got it?’

  ‘Aye, Boss, I’ll get righ’ on to it,’ Terry answered, resignation in his voice that he knew what his boss was asking of him. This would need money, as keeping mouths shut and remained shut needed careful planning and the right people involved.

  Two days later, Terry called Marcus to say he needed a meeting. Marcus obliged and invited him to his office where, just an hour later, the door was closed shut so that Marcus could ensure they would not be overheard. Joan would make sure they were not interrupted. No one would be particularly interested in Marcus’s manager meeting with him.

  Marcus sat behind his desk, while Terry sat opposite. ‘So tell me,’ demanded Marcus.

  ‘It’ll cost 5K,’ he informed his boss.

  ‘That can be arranged, but tell me, what’s the plan?’

  ‘A certain known hard man is willing to spend some time on remand for a sum of money. He will lose his temper in a public place and get caught using his hands. He has form so he knows that as long as he does enough damage he will became a guest of her majesty. He might need access to some funds to ensure that not only does he get a bed in Craiginches, but he will be able to have a chat with Laird with no interruptions.’

  ‘That sounds like a plan. So when is this going to take place?’ asked Marcus.

  As soon as we have the go ahead from you, that the money is agreed.’

  ‘Can you trust him?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. He will be more than happy to get his hands on the bastard, and if he is getting paid too, then that’s the icing on the cake, as far as this guy is concerned. He is more than willing and his mouth will be sealed, nothing can be traced back to you. We do need cash though as this would be the deal, and it can’t be traced.’

  ‘No need to worry about the cash. Leave that to me. Just tell me when it’s needed and it will be there.’

  After Terry had left, Marcus found himself feeling a fraction lighter than he had done since the ordeal had started. If he could get the bastard to say where she was then they could find her and give her a proper place to be. He knew that Jenni was still holding on to the hope that the little lass were still alive, but she couldn’t be, and she needed to be able to give her a proper funeral.

  If they got Laird to talk, then the information would be fed to the police and it would give them the evidence they needed to put him in the dock for murder. He knew that their wishy- washy approach didn’t get them anywhere, but there were other means of getting to the truth.

  Chapter 24

  Craiginches Prison Aberdeen

  Robert Laird was scared, in fact, he was petrified. He had the cell to himself; he was told that this was due to the risks he faced. Risks from other inmates, he supposed, although some of the officers had given him a shove when they had the chance. He tried to keep to himself, avoid others, stayed in his cell. He was on remand, and this meant that he had some level of difference from those who were sentenced. It wasn’t that he got any special privileges, apart from being allowed visitors more often, but this didn’t mean anything to him, as the only visitors he had had since he had been locked up were the police and his lawyer. His family were still down in the North East of England, around the Newcastle area.

  He had written to his parents to tell them what happened, and had received a reply. The reply had been painful; the letter had come from his mother, although he was well aware that his father would be standing behind her, reciting the words over her shoulder. The letter had stated that they wanted no more to do with him; he was no longer considered their son. This apparently was also the view of his brother and sister. They were, his mother had written, disgusted and sickened at what he had done. Clearly, they hadn’t read the part in his letter that said he was not guilty. Well, partly not guilty, he may have been stupid enough to have kept the photographs and the videos, but that was all, he wasn’t guilty for the child going missing. So, as his family had disowned him, there wasn’t anyone else who had concern for him. He wondered what they were telling folk. His parents would no doubt be trying to avoid any mention of him.

  His lawyer advised him to plead not guilty to all charges, saying that if he admitted to the photos and stuff, it would send a message to the jury that if he was interested in little kids then he must have gone further and taken one. If only he hadn’t been that stupid to keep the stuff. He had brought them with him when he came to Aberdeen. He had meant to destroy them, but whenever he got the photos out to do so, it was like they sucked him back into the evil destructive way in which his body reacted to seeing them. He wished, oh, he so wished it was different. He hadn’t known when it had started exactly, but he knew from the many discussions with his older brother that he was somehow wired differently. He had only once done more than look, and where had that got him? It led him to where he was today. He had not meant to touch Lisa’s girl, he had tried hard to avoid doing so, but it had been as though he had no power to resist. He had thought he was lucky to have got away with it, he had denied all knowledge and because it had only happened once, there wasn’t enough evidence. That it was just her word against his. He had lost though, lost Lisa who he had loved. He had hoped that at last he had found someone he could be with. She was an attractive woman he had been able to love and, by being with her, he hoped that the vile demons that infiltrated his mind could be banished. He was wrong, and now where was he?

  It was early evening and he was due to go and take a shower. He would undertake this task quickly as he didn’t want to meet any of the other inmates. He knew that this would probably not be the case, as several were told to take showers at the same time. He supposed that this was due to having to be supervised. He had been approached already by a couple of the men who were looking for sex. He had been revolted at the thought, and told them in no uncertain terms that he was not a homo.

  As he left his cell he was nervous and kept looking over his shoulder; he felt eyes on his back boring into him. He reached the showers and started to underdress but as he bent down to remove his shoes he felt a presence behind him. Before he had the chance to react, an arm went around his neck and he smelt the rancid breath as it hissed into his ear. ‘Now you piece of scum,’ it rasped, ‘you are going to tell me exactly what you have done with the lassie.’

  A hand then grasped his hair and his head was turned as though he was nothing but a toy top. He saw the owner of the voice and looked into the face of a huge man, his face with a scar that ran from his mouth to the top of his cheekbone. The eyes were menacing and before he could utter a reply, a fist arrived to make contact with his stomach. He felt the air explode from his inner body and, before he could take another breath, another punch thudded into his stomach, his body reacted by doubling over. He almost fell, it was only that the big man was still gripping his hair that prevented him from doing so. ‘Come on, ye bastard, tell me.’

  He stuttered and coughed, trying to speak but finding that he was choking on his own spittle, and when was able to he cried, ‘I didn’t touch the girl. Please, believe me, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing!’

  Another blow this time to his kidneys, the rasping voice continued, ‘You will tell me you little shit. Tell me.’

  Laird tried to react, he shook his head, but the pain that was vibrating through his kidney was too much. �
�I don’t know anything,’ he whispered.

  The hand gripping his hair was released and this allowed him to slide to the floor and curl up into the foetal position. He closed his eyes and felt rather than saw the man bend down, ‘You are nothing more than a lying piece of shit and I am telling you now, I will be speaking to you again, and the next time if you don’t talk you will find your face sliced. Get it?’ He felt a sharp kick to his back. ‘If you grass about this little talk, then you will know it. Get it?’ Another kick was blasted into his leg. He waited, but that was it, he heard the man walk away. He tried to move but he was shaking. He managed to move his leg and then gradually raise himself up. He no longer wanted to remove any clothing, and the shower would have to wait. He tried to stand and found that the pain had started to recede slightly and his legs held his weight.

  Quietly and quickly like a whipped dog he made his way back to his cell. He had never been so frightened in all of his life. He had always shied away from violence, even as a child he would run a mile if anyone had tried to start a fight with him. Now he was the victim of such, and threatened with the same. He knew that he couldn’t grass, he would have to put up with it, but he was sure that this was just the start. How on earth could he give an account of what had happened to her, when he didn’t know himself?

  He slowly lay down on his bed, curling up and burying his face into his pillow where he quietly sobbed. How could he bear this? This was just the beginning. Once he was convicted, as he knew he would be, even if it was just for the photos and videos, he would be faced with this every day, looking over his shoulder, never being able to trust another soul. Being labelled as scum, a pervert, it was like a dirty smell that would follow him wherever he went. He would choke, he would never be able to escape and find peace. It didn’t matter whether he was sentenced to a life within prison walls, he was already there. He couldn’t escape, or perhaps he could. When this thought came, so did a sense of peace.

  ****************

  It was Dave Rogers who took the call from Craiginches the following morning. He swore when he heard the governor tell him how they had found Robert Laird hanging in his cell this morning. Why had they allowed this to happen? Surely to God they had been watching him?

  The governor had explained that Laird hadn’t shown any signs of being suicidal. He didn’t mention at this point that a number of bruises had also been found on his body. Somebody had obviously got to him and this, in his view, had led to him taking his own life. The details of these injuries would be outlined when the post-mortem was reported. He would, before then, be asking questions of the officers who had been tasked with ensuring Laird’s safety on the wing. Where were they when the assault on him had taken place, and who had got to him?

  Dave had relayed the news to Jane who, as he had, swore. Now the case against Laird was closed, they would never find out where Mary’s body was. She asked whether he had left any note, but apparently not. They would never know. She and Dave would visit Jenni and break the news. It was Monday morning so they phoned ahead to advise they were going to visit and the phone was answered by Marcus. They had forgotten he would be with her. At least they were spared from arranging a separate meeting to inform him.

  Marcus had helped Jenni get up and shower as she was becoming more fragile. He was worried and wondered what the news was that the police were wishing to impart. He just hoped that they had some positive news.

  Jenni was sitting on the sofa when Marcus escorted the two officers into the sitting room. Both were taken aback with the deterioration in the young woman, she looked frail and half of the woman she had been. They sat down and looked at her; Marcus sat down beside her and asked them directly what the news was.

  Jane started slowly, ‘We need to tell you that we received a call from Craiginches Prison this morning,’ she hesitated before continuing, ‘the call was from the governor who informed us that Robert Laird was found dead in his cell this morning. He had taken his own life.’

  There was a stunned silence. They were not sure whether either of the parents actually heard what was said. It was Marcus who spoke, ‘My God! Tell me he left a note or something.’ They shook their heads. ‘How come he wasn’t being watched if he was likely to top himself,’ he asked.

  This was a question that both officers had been asking since the call this morning. ‘Apparently,’ Jane replied, ‘there had been no indication that he had been harbouring any suicidal thoughts.’

  ‘So this means that our little lass’s whereabouts will never be known, is that what you are saying?’

  ‘Well, we always hope that we will find some evidence and discover what he did with her, but it’s clearly going to be more difficult now.’

  Suddenly there was a loud wail that sounded like a wounded animal. They realised that it was coming from Jenni, who started to rock backwards and forwards. The wail became a roar then she opened her mouth and uttered a scream that came from such a depth that it felt as though they had been transported to a different sphere. They were stunned. Marcus moved to take hold of her, but she pushed him away, then she used her hands to beat him on his chest.

  She screamed to a type of rhythm as each hand connected to him. He allowed her to continue, not trying to prevent the punches as they rained down on him. He could take it; he saw the madness of grief as she released her pain. She eventually reached a stage where her energy drained away from her, and then she crumpled against him, sobbing deep wrenching sobs that came from the bottom of her soul.

  ‘So we will never know?’ she looked through her tear strained face. Looking at Jane she said, ‘You, promised you would find her, you told me you would. Now the only person who actually knows what happened is dead!’

  Neither of the officers had any words that could be construed as comfort. They would fall on deaf ears, they were both very aware that they had failed these parents, failed them badly. Now they would never find Mary’s body, nor would they be able to get justice for her. Robert Laird had taken that away from them as well.

  Christine was just arriving to begin her duty and had met the two officers at the front door. She saw from their faces that it wasn’t good news. Jane quickly told her what they had just told Jenni. She registered immediately what this meant, and left them to let themselves out while she rushed into the sitting room to see her daughter.

  She found Jenni in Marcus’s arms where she was by now weeping softly. ‘Oh, my poor lass.’ She rushed over to her, knelt down in front of the couple and smoothed her grieving daughter’s back. ‘I am so sorry, so sorry.’ She found that she too was weeping and feeling the loss of her granddaughter. Somewhere in her heart she had latched on to Jenni’s certainty that Mary would return, and now all hope was gone.

  Marcus left the flat with a heavy heart. He considered staying, but after seeing Christine comforting Jenni, he judged that on this occasion they would be better together. He had found the afternoon completely draining, but before he returned home he had one visit to make.

  He arrived outside the club and sat in the car drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He needed to cool down because if he didn’t he might just take someone’s head off. He took several deep breaths and noticed that his hands were shaking. He probably needed a large Scotch, so he made his way in using his key to unlock the door, as the club was yet to open. He made his way through the empty bar towards Terry’s office in the back. The door was slightly open and Marcus heard two voices speaking, one of which he recognised as Terry’s. The voices were raised, so he had no difficulty hearing what was being spoken about, and was grateful that there were no other members of staff on the premises.

  ‘I cannot fucking believe it, you are telling me exactly what I dinna’ want to hear,’ Terry was shouting at the other person.

  ‘I canna believe it either, my man gave him a talking to, and he tells me that he didna’ say a word,’ came the reply from the voice he didn’t recognise.

  Marcus opened the door and both men turned. Te
rry immediately sussed that Marcus would not wish to be introduced to his guest, in fact, he needed to usher the man out of the building as quickly as possible. ‘Sorry Boss, but this is one of my business associates who is just leaving.’

  He signalled to the other man to get going and he walked him out of the club, whispering into his ear that he would be in touch and sort out what was needed.

  When he returned to his office Marcus was standing with a large Scotch in his hand. He wasn’t sipping the drink but swallowing large gulps. He finished the drink and reached over to the bottle to refill his glass. When he had done so, he turned to ask Terry for an explanation.

  Terry went on to explain that he had just heard from his source that Laird had topped himself, and had called the unnamed man to come and give him a run down on what had taken place. ‘It appears,’ he said, ‘that our man inside had a serious conversation with him yesterday. He gave him a few slaps but Laird said nothing. He was going to have another go today, wear him down like, but the bastard took the fucking coward’s way out.’ He looked at Marcus and saw the tiredness in the man’s face; he seemed to have aged ten years.

  ‘So, it looks like it’s been a total fuck up, is that right?’ He looked at Terry for confirmation

  ‘Yeah, well we didn’t think that it would end like this. Sorry to say this Boss, but we still need to keep our end of the bargain and pay the man inside the money. We dinna’ have much choice and we need to, to keep his mouth shut. There is bound to be some sort of investigation, and if they discover our man’s involvement, then we don’t want it being traced back to our door.’

  ‘I completely realise that, and agree that we need to keep a lid on this. As much as I would prefer not to, the funds will be honoured.’ With these final words, he swallowed the last of his drink, banged down the glass on Terry’s desk and left the office. He made his way wearily back to his car, wondering whether it was his intervention that had led to Laird’s demise.