by Ian Todd
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. With Johnboy Taylor being released, they’ll still be celebrating, I would imagine,” he said reassuringly.
“I can understand that with Senga, but Geraldine? I wasn’t aware that she was involved with the Taylor campaign.”
“She wasn’t, Elspeth. You know everyone who was involved.”
“I’ve, er, picked up a rumour…well, more than a rumour, actually.”
“Oh?”
“That they’re looking at bringing in a different firm to progress Rose Bain’s case.”
“Client’s privilege.”
“So, you’ve heard then?”
“Why do you think that is?” he asked her, ignoring the question.
Silence.
“Elspeth?”
“Did Michelle Hope find out that you had been sleeping with Glenda Metcalfe?”
Fuck!
“Michelle telephoned Glenda’s flat whilst I was around there recently.”
“At seven o’clock in the morning?” she asked, keeping the tone ae her voice matter ae fact, bit no being able tae disguise the accusatory stare behind they made-up eyes ae hers…or wis it anger, he wondered.
“Yes.”
“I also heard on the grapevine that it was Senga Jackson that persuaded Geraldine Baker to look about to see who else was out there.”
“Out there?”
“What firm would be available to take over the reins of the Rose Bain case.”
“Elspeth, it’s Glasgow, remember? The town’s awash with gossip…it’s what feeds the doom and gloom brigade. I wouldn’t be too worried.”
“I tried to arrange another meeting.”
“I thought you just said that they’d cancelled their meetings with you?”
“They did, but I tried to arrange another one with Geraldine. She got back to me and left a message. She said that she’s too busy just now…with her work. The message also said that I should speak to Senga.”
“I see,” he said, leaning back in his seat, twirling his pen between his fingers before stoapping whit he wis daeing, as he could tell it wis irritating her.
“And the boys? The Mankys? Is everything alright there?”
“Why, shouldn’t it be?”
“Well, it seems to me, er, the girls have a problem with your er…friendship with Glenda Metcalfe and I…”
“They said that?”
“Er, not in so many words. I was shopping in DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE on Saturday and bumped into Aggie McCoy. Before I could say anything, she just put her hand up to me and warned me that she couldn’t speak about Rose Bain’s case, but that if I had anything to say, then I should talk to Senga.”
“Was she angry?”
“No, but there was a coolness that wasn’t there before…”
“Do you think she knew about my, er, friendship with Glenda Metcalfe?” he interjected.
“Friendship? You mean relationship?”
“I suppose you could call it that. Yes…sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ll bet it is,” she muttered under her breath, no being able tae contain that renowned steely calmness, that she’d been getting a solid reputation fur in the court chamber.
“My relationship hasn’t become a conflict of interest with The Mankys, at least not that I’m aware of, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, the boys know about, er, your involvement then?”
“Involvement?”
“Relationship, I mean.”
“Well, I haven’t informed them, if that’s what you mean. And it’s never come up in conversation.”
“So, how can you be sure that it hasn’t compromised my professional relationship with the nurses?” she blatantly asked him, emphasising the professional, staring him in the face.
“I can’t. The boys are different. I would be surprised if they weren’t aware of it though. There was an article…in The Sunday Echo…approximately fifteen months ago. It was some tittle-tattle story, which they appear to be good at digging up. I was obviously their Sunday breakfast cereal that day. If it had been an issue for The Mankys back then, I’m sure it would have been raised. As for the girls? Well, I don’t know them as well as you do.”
“That long?” she said rather than asked, sounding surprised, a hint ae admonishment in her voice. “Had you taken into consideration what the implications might have been for the firm, me, if it came out?”
“The relationship with Glenda only resurfaced lately. We had a one-off liaison several years ago when I was considering employing her.”
“Glenda Metcalfe? You offered her a place in the firm?”
“Yes, but she changed her mind and turned the offer down.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the current situation between you both?”
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I haven’t spoken or heard from her since the morning that Michelle Hope telephoned her flat.”
“Would the boys…The Mankys…know what the situation is regarding whether the girls still want me to advise and represent them in ensuring Rose Bain’s interests are looked after?”
“I don’t know. Have you spoken to her parents?”
“Yes. They’ve made it clear that the campaign women will determine who’s best to protect them and their daughter’s interests, seeing as it was Rose’s colleagues, and others, that raised the funding to pursue the police to get justice for their daughter. Could you raise it with Tony Gucci?”
“Me? No, I don’t think that would be an appropriate move.”
“I see. So, what do you suggest I do?”
“That you, we, wait. If they take on another legal practice, then there isn’t very much we can do about it,” he replied, as she stood up, bit held back.
“Simon Epstein.”
“What about him?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“He’s asked me out…for lunch,” she replied, lightly…too lightly.
“Elspeth, sit down,” he commanded, as she hesitated before plapping that arse ae hers back doon oan tae the chair. “Explain.”
“I’ve come across him a few times when I’ve gone to meet the girls or he’s been in Jake and Kim Sui’s clothes boutique.”
“And?”
“And, well, he asked me out. In fact, it wasn’t the first time. I’ve always body-swerved giving him a definite no.”
“What’s he after?”
“Simon?”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase that. Why are you telling me this…now?”
“Because he asked me out again a few days ago, but this time, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Have you any idea what you’re dealing with, Elspeth?” he asked, getting a flash ae defiance thrown back at him fae they blue eyes ae hers fur the first time since she entered his office.
“It’s lunch, Graham, nothing more.”
“Simon Epstein is smart, very smart. He’ll smell a rat a mile off if you’re using him to find out what Geraldine Baker and Senga Jackson are up to.”
“You’re not questioning my professionalism, are you, Graham?” she challenged him, stiffening in her seat, her face flushing alongside they mesmerising eyes ae hers.
“Oh, for goodness sake, of course I’m not,” he rebuffed her.
“Then, what’s the problem?”
Silence.
“Now it’s you who is being naive, Elspeth,” he chided her.
“He’s invited me for lunch. I’m not expecting him to raise Rose Bain or Johnboy Taylor’s cases, but if he does, I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know if Rose Bain’s parents are our clients.”
“And if I insist that you give him a rain cheque?”
“Then you’ll be looking for a new junior partner for the firm. I sweated blood, sweat and tears on that case and I’m not going to just sit back and watch it disappear without first knowing the reason why. So, will you be continuing
with… seeing Glenda Metcalfe again?” she asked defiantly.
Silence.
Although that last question stung, she did hiv a point. The kettle calling the pot black came tae mind. Whit she wisnae aware ae wis that he wisnae too sure whit the current situation wis wae The Mankys and the firm either, since Michelle Hope’s interrupted phone call tae Glenda’s flat. While there hid been no feedback fae the boys, none ae The Mankys hid been in touch either. Usually, if there hid been a successful conclusion tae a case, they sent flowers and chocolates in tae the girls oot in the outer office, followed up by an invite tae lunch fur him. So far, there hid been silence. He looked across at the young solicitor sitting opposite him. She hid that determined look oan her face that she put oan when she wis pursuing a bad witness oan the witness stand when she smelled blood. He knew he could insist, bit could the firm afford tae lose somewan as good as her? Hauf the competition in the toon wid snap her up two minutes efter she vacated the premises.
“As much as I have my doubts about this, Elspeth, I don’t want to lose you. Of course, that doesn’t mean to say that every time you walk through my door I’ll be capitulating to your every demand. I will insist on one thing, though.”
“Oh?”
“Go and speak with Swansea. Spend an hour with him. He’ll give you a resume of Simon that you won’t come across in a filing cabinet.”
“Fine,” she replied, practically jumping oot ae her seat, in case he changed his mind, and heided fur the door.
He hid a bad feeling aboot this. He hoped she wis as smart oot oan the street as she wis in a courtroom.
“Yes, Jan,” he said intae the moothpiece, silencing the buzzer ae the machine oan his desk.
“Put him through,” he replied, feeling his heart quicken, looking across tae his coat hinging oan the coat stand beside the door.
“Peter?”
“Where?”
“Have they said why they arrested you?”
“What time?” he asked, looking at his watch.
“Who’s the arresting officer?”
“Yes, I’ve had dealings with her before. I thought she was attached to the south’s murder squad?”
“Right. Yes. That won’t be a problem. I can come straight way,” he replied, pressing a button oan the machine.
“Jan, I’m having to dash across to The Marine in Partick. Can you get hold of Swansea and ask him to get me as much background information on the recent murder of Honest John McCaffrey, the appliance retailer, who was shot on Woodside Road. Yes. Thank you,” he replied, placing the receiver back in the cradle as he stood up, grabbing his briefcase and coat oan the way oot the door.
Chapter Twenty One
Wilma tore her eyes away fae the folder and glanced up at the clock oan the wall. Quarter past nine. She’d allowed Paterson tae make his phone call fifteen minutes earlier. Her and Jean hid lifted him as he wis coming oot ae his flat jist before seven. Graham Portoy wid be arriving anytime noo. She’d gie him ten minutes wae his client before interrupting them. The last two murder cases that she’d hid any dealings wae him, his clients hid walked fae The High Court. Wan not proven and the other not guilty. Baith street gang-related deaths. She went back tae Paterson’s file. She’d never been wan ae these polis officers who took the fight against crime personally. She wisnae oan some kind ae avenging mission like some she knew, while they lined their pockets oan route. She liked the job because it wis interesting and challenging, plus her wage covered the bills before she hid the weans. Whit she’d been reading fur the past hauf an hour hid made her feel uncomfortable. Of course, like everywan else, she’d heard wee snippets aboot The Mankys when she’d been oot and aboot in the north ae the city, speaking mainly tae other officers, who’d hid direct dealings wae them. Although there wisnae much specifics, the file still highlighted whit they’d been getting up tae o’er the past few years and who they wur connected tae. Fae whit she could gather by talking tae colleagues in the know, their daily routine appeared tae consist ae hijacking lorries, drug dealing, armed robberies ae post offices, wage snatching fae factories, wae an occasional bank or college slung in, jist tae make things a bit mair interesting. Wan ae the Maryhill inspectors, Jonathan Smedley, who wis attached tae the Flying Squad and who’d read their intelligence file doon in Pitt Street a few months earlier, reckoned they wur responsible fur sixty percent ae the armed robberies ae post offices north ae the Clyde. He said that The Mankys file also claimed that they’d been responsible fur wiping oot aw the wee local hash dealers in Springburn, Possil, Milton, Balornock, Burmulloch, Auchinairn and everywhere else in between. If that wis the case, whit the hell hid the flying and drugs squads been daeing during aw this time, she wondered? Interestingly, Jonathan hid also claimed that he’d read that The Stalker, Paddy McPhee, hid warned Central back in 1971 that The Mankys’ leader, Tony Gucci, and that wee gang ae his, wur gonnae create problems in the north, unless they wur stoapped. Fae whit she’d picked up fae Paterson’s file, it wis quite clear that nowan hid taken any heed ae his warning or if they hid, evidence ae their activities hid been hard tae come by. Jonathan hid also telt her that, despite the intelligence, they seemed tae hiv drapped aff the radar since some ae them wur released fae jail a year earlier. She’d tried tae get a haud ae The Mankys’ intelligence file doon in Pitt Street, bit hid been denied access and hid been telt that she wid need tae get approval fae Chief Superintendent Sam Bison, the heid ae Serious Crime and Intelligence. She wis telt that she hid tae put in a written docket explaining the reason, which she hid done. Sergeant Marybell Raminsky who she’d interviewed during the Lesley Bare murder enquiry, hid telt her she’d gie her a shout, bit it wid probably take a few days. She wondered if Paterson…aw The Mankys, in fact…wur being protected by somewan in the force. It widnae be the first time that money hid spoken oan behauf ae violent criminals. She’d read that Paterson hid only recently goat a fag hijack and a post office robbery charge drapped due tae lack ae evidence, mainly due tae witnesses withdrawing their initial statements.
She shut o’er the folder and looked up at the clock again. Her heid wis still in a bit ae a spin. Two days earlier, oot ae the blue, she’d been informed that she’d been promoted and wis noo an inspector. Even mair astonishing, Jean hid been informed that she wis moving up tae sergeant, withoot hivving sat the sergeant’s exam as well, which wis totally unheard ae. She smiled, thinking back tae when the pair ae them hid left Central in a daze, efter being radioed and telt tae get their arses doon there as the heid honcho himsel, Bob Mackerel, wanted tae speak tae them. Jean thought they wur aboot tae be reprimanded efter they’d stood up tae Cleopatra by demanding Teddy Bare should be sent up oan a murder charge.
“Desperate measures fur desperate times, girls,” The Chief Superintendent hid gruffly stated while trying tae get a quick swatch doon the front ae their blouses every time either ae them leaned across the desk or bent doon tae get something oot ae their shoulder bags oan the flair at their feet. Everything hid happened that fast, they could barely draw a breath. It wis an ‘in and oot in five minutes’ job, wae two parting shots ringing in their ears.
“Don’t let me doon noo, girls,” he’d huskily grumbled at them.
The other wan hid been when they wur heidin fur the door.
“Oh, and in case Ah furget, the pair ae youse hiv tae pick up the Honest John McCaffrey enquiry,” he’d growled, his pervy voice returning tae whit could be construed as normal.
“Well, that’s a bloody turn up fur the books,” Jean hid sniffed drily in the car. “Getting a bloody promotion tae a DS, bit no hivving anywhere tae plaster yer new flashy stripes fur everywan tae be jealous ae.”
Jealous? Wilma couldnae gie a monkey’s aboot that. The night before being unexpectedly promoted, she’d arranged tae meet that absent man ae hers, Ronnie, in a neutral public venue at the corner ae Bath Street and Renfield Street. Neutral, oan account ae that he obviously didnae trust her no tae get aggressive towards him. Fur her, that hid suggested there
wis an element ae guilt lurking aboot in there fur abandoning her and the weans fur some wee trollop who’d jist turned twenty-two by aw accounts. She couldnae believe how much she hated the father ae her weans. No that she wid’ve let oan tae anywan, including Jean, bit she’d been hauf hoping he wis wanting tae talk aboot coming hame…efter first crawling oan they hauns and knees ae his, apologising profusely, begging her furgiveness. Tae make matters worse, the place fur the anticipated crawling reconciliation hid been a bloody dump. When he’d surprised her by the phone call, she’d been that taken aback, that she couldnae think ae where tae meet him and the new-fangled, so-called American Diner, hid jumped intae her heid fae somewhere beyond her comprehension. It wis meant tae be a haufway hoose between a traditional café and a Wimpy bar. Insteid, it hid uncomfortable steel tubular seats and big grainy black and white photos ae workmen sitting oan steel girders, eating sandwiches oan tap ae an unfinished skyscraper in New York. Tae add tae the depressing atmosphere, every table in the place hid hid empty plastic cups and paper plates wae fag-ends stubbed oot in them, scattered aw o’er the place. She’d hid tae clear a space at the table before waiting fur hauf an hour tae get served a wee plastic glass ae warm coke at thirty-five pence a shot.
“So?” she’d asked eagerly, trying bit failing tae get comfortable, wanting tae enjoy the flair-show ae him pleading fur her tae take him back.
Oan the way doon intae the toon, she’d decided that she’d keep him oan tenterhooks right up until the last minute.
“Ah’m no coming back,” he’d replied, the first words oot ae that foul, cheating, adulterous mooth ae his.
“Wh…whit?” she’d gasped, as her and the weans’ world fell apart roond aboot her ears.
“Aye. Ah want a divorce.”
“A d…divorce?” she’d hauf yelped, sounding like a parrot wae a stutter, trying no tae keel o’er, as the empty diner wae jist them and a sleeping drunk, who’d clearly pished himsel, sitting slumped in the corner, swam roond aboot they soggy eyes ae hers.
“Ah’m in love. Ah cannae help it. It wisnae meant tae happen, bit there ye go,” he’d shrugged, in whit she’d assumed wis some sort ae sick apology.
