One Hundred And Twelve Days

by Ian Todd

  “Ah believe ye wanted tae ask me aboot wan ae ma cases, that’s been wrapped up fur a while noo and is jist waiting fur the sentence tae be imposed up in The High Court?”

  “Sentence? So, it’s true then? That Teddy Bare wan his managed tae wangle a reduced charge?” she asked, getting the nod fae Wilma, that it wis okay fur her tae light a fag up.

  “Pardon?”

  “Ye jist said sentence withoot mentioning a trial,” The Wee Hack reminded her, o’er the flame ae the lighter, as she lit up.

  “The procurator fiscal will decide if there’s tae be a trial or no,” she replied curtly, as Mr Black Waistcoat arrived oan the scene wae the coffees.

  “Ladies,” he said, ignoring Wilma, as he tried tae hiv a wee fly swatch doon the front ae the green-eyed goddess’s hauf open, ivory sateen blouse, who wis sitting there opposite her, ignoring the blatant flirtation being played oot fur her benefit.

  Wilma wanted tae staun up and kick the grubby, sexist basturt, in they ging-gang-goolies ae his, which wur deliberately being displayed fur aw the world tae admire in they skin-tight black troosers ae his.

  Whit wis wrang wae her, she wondered, inadvertently touching up her newly permed hair at the back.

  “It’s no fur the likes ae us tae determine the ootcome ae an investigation. We jist collect the evidence before passing it oan. And anyway, can Ah ask whit The Glesga Echo’s interest in this is? Fae whit Ah kin remember, there didnae seem much ae that at the time he killed that poor wife ae his.”

  “Lesley Bare…DC Lesley Bare?”

  “Er, aye. She wis wan ae a number ae detectives in the Serious Crime and Intelligence Section, based alang in Pitt Street,” Wilma replied, nodding, as the journalist reached across and lifted oot a wee pad and pen fae the inside ae her jaicket pocket.

  “Carry oan,” The Minx said, pleasantly, her rows ae neat white teeth, being exposed behind that friendly, encouraging smile ae hers.

  “Ye still hivnae answered ma question,” Wilma reminded her, taking a sip ae her coffee, dying fur a drag ae the smouldering fag that wis sitting comfortably in the groove ae the metal Capstan ashtray between them.

  “Oor interest? Mair like mine,” she confessed. “Ah’ve been looking fur something tae get ma teeth intae, jist until Ah settle intae the job. Ah’ve only been in post fur a few weeks.”

  A few weeks? That means she must’ve been digging aboot, Wilma telt hersel. She’d need tae be careful. This young thing came across as being nice and pleasant, bit there wis a sleekitness in there somewhere…there must be…she wis a journalist fae the crime desk ae the world’s worst newspaper.

  “So, whit hiv ye manage tae pick up, so far?” Wilma asked her, wishing that she’d listened tae Jean and hid contacted Pitt Street before agreeing tae meet up wae the ginger sitting looking at her, o’er the rim ae her coffee mug.

  “So, it wis jist a domestic then?”

  “Jist a domestic?”

  “Ach, ye know whit Ah mean.”

  “Ah’m sorry, bit Ah don’t know whit ye mean, Miss Campbell,” she retorted, feeling her hackles getting up.

  “Whit Ah mean is that, oan the surface, it appears that there wis a domestic argument between a man and his wife that goat oot ae haun. The wife, Lesley Bare, died as a result ae her injuries efter being assaulted by that man ae hers.”

  “That’s aboot it,” Wilma agreed, nodding.

  “Bit, there wis a history ae domestic violence in the marriage? Is that right?”

  “There wis evidence, maistly supplied by the neighbours, that suggested that he’d assaulted his wife in the past.”

  “And her colleagues?”

  “Aye, a few hid stated that, oan occasion, Mrs Bare hid turned up at her work wae bruises or an occasional black eye, masked under her make-up.”

  “Bit, as the investigating lead officer in the case, you didnae think Lesley Bare’s death wis in any way premeditated oan his part…despite his history ae violence towards her, as corroborated by their neighbours and her work colleagues?”

  Silence.

  “Ah don’t see ye taking doon any notes,” Wilma said, nodding at the wee notepad sitting oan the table.

  “That’s probably because ye hivnae telt me anything…so far,” The Minx replied, smiling pleasantly and taking a drag ae her fag.

  “Whit dae ye want tae know that Ah hivnae awready telt ye or isnae awready in the public domain,” Wilma replied, shrugging, her brain loudly screaming ‘Danger’ in the back ae her heid.

  “Ah believe there wis some kind ae note found at the scene ae the murder?”

  Did she jist over-emphasise the word, murder, Wilma wondered, before replying.

  “Note?”

  “Aye, some sort ae statement that apparently accused Teddy Bare ae assaulting, sexually assaulting, a friend…an ex-colleague ae Lesley’s. Wid that be right?”

  “There wis a lot ae evidence gathered at the scene, as part ae the investigation, that wis deemed pertinent tae building a case against Mr Bare. Some ae it proved reliable, while other stuff wisnae relevant tae the ootcome ae the investigation as a whole.”

  “So, ye’re saying that this note…statement, wis irrelevant then?”

  “Whit Ah’m saying is, that the note ye’re referring tae wis examined and included fur further examination.”

  “And?”

  “And whit?”

  “The further investigation, regarding the contents ae the note. Whit did the ‘further investigation’ consist ae?”

  “It consisted ae interviewing the author ae the note tae establish the accuracy ae the contents.”

  “Ah,” The Minx sighed, lifting her wee pad up aff the table fur the first time. “And who wid that be?” she asked, looking across at Wilma, expectantly, pen poised.

  “Ah’m sorry, bit Ah’m no at liberty tae disclose that information.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s confidential, that’s why,” Wilma retorted stiffly.

  “So, if Ah mentioned the name ae a Mrs Elvis Presley, that widnae mean anything tae ye then?” she wis asked politely, as Wilma drapped the coffee spoon wae a clatter intae her empty mug that she’d been twiddling between they fingers ae hers, causing Mr Black Waist Coat Man tae glance up fae his newspaper across at them.

  “Look, Miss…Miss Campbell… “

  “Call me Pearl. Everywan else dis…”

  “Ah’m no here tae be interrogated by the likes ae you or anywan else fae The Glesga Echo,” she growled. “There’s proper channels fur youse people tae go through if ye’re wanting tae conduct an aggressive interview, so there is,” Wilma fumed, feeling her face and neck flushing.

  “Ah’m no asking ye anything that isnae awready in the public domain. Ye said so yersel. Ah mean, that cooncillor…whit’s her name noo? Barbara Allen, the wan fae up in Springburn? She’s raised the existence ae that note a few times in the press, so she his.”

  “The name. The so-called author ae the note that ye jist mentioned? That hisnae been put oot. That’s confidential information, so it is,” Wilma growled fae between clenched teeth.

  “Oh right. Aye, Ah picked that up oan ma travels, so Ah did,” Pearl explained in way ae an apology. “Bit, it’s a name ye’re familiar wae?”

  “Look, Ah’m concluding this interview right noo. Ye’ve overstepped the mark, so ye hiv,” Wilma growled, gathering up her coat and bag.

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because ye’re bang oot ae order, so ye ur. That’s why. If ye know as much as ye’re making oot, then ye’ll know that this is a sensitive and delicate aspect ae the case that his nae bearings oan the ootcome ae Teddy Bare’s guilt. There’s real people involved here, innocent people, ye know. Ah’ve telt ye. It’s the procurator fiscal’s office who’ll decide the level ae the charge that Bare will take up tae the High Court wae him. Why don’t ye speak tae them? Don’t contact me again or Ah’ll hiv ye arrested fur interfering wae the course ae justice,” Wilma threatened, staunin up and heiding
fur the door withoot a backwards glance, ignoring the ‘Cheerio, hen’ fae the waiter wae the bulging baws.

  Chapter Fifty

  Simon hid left at long last. Johnboy couldnae wait tae get shot ae him, although he knew he wis only trying tae be helpful, feeling the need tae share his expertise.

  “Ah’m telling ye, Johnboy. Jist remember, you’re the boss. Furget that and ye’d be as well tae pack up and move oot.”

  “It’s only a bloody cat, Simon,” he’d laughed dismissively.

  “See, there ye go. Ye’ve become a fucking expert awready,” he’d hit him wae. “Gie the wee basturt a fresh bowl ae water every day and nae mair than hauf a tin ae Kitekat and Bob’s yer uncle. Furget aw that shite aboot cats needing milk. Gies them the squirts…no a good thing if he’s a hoose cat.”

  He wis sitting back oan wan ae the comfy chairs, the wan tae the left ae the gas fire that Snappy always heided fur when he arrived, facing the windae. He’d been watching the cat daeing the roonds ae the room fur the past ten minutes. Sometimes it wid semi-crawl, slowly, doon oan its haunches, nervously looking aboot at the strange surroundings or it wid stretch its neck up tae its full height, if it heard a sound, like the motor oan the fridge kicking in through in the kitchen. It wis noo o’er by the door, sniffing under it, its jaws semi-open in a grimace, trying tae take in the strange smells and noises ae the new hoose. It turned and looked at him fur a second, before letting oot a wee pathetic meow. Before he could entice it tae come across tae him, it stiffened and shot underneath the tacky drinks bar that he’d been hassling Tony tae get shot ae. The sound ae tackety boots stomping aboot behind the plaster in the wall hid attracted its attention.

  He’d run oot ae food…the essentials. Senga usually brought some breid, milk and cheese up wae her fae Sherbet’s, efter she goat aff the bus two stoaps early, oan the other side ae the bridge up oan Great Western Road oan the way hame fae the back shift.

  “It’s starting tae get embarrassing, so it is,” she’d hit him wae, the last time she’d been across.

  “Whit is?”

  “You. Sherbet and Maisa keep asking me when ye’re gonnae pop in tae say hello tae them.”

  “Did ye no tell them Ah’m still recovering?”

  “They’re jist roond the corner, Johnboy. Ah’ve telt ye, ye need tae get oot ae this flat. It’s like a fancy, posh prison, so it is.”

  “Aye, well, Ah kin assure ye, it isnae. And anyway, Ah like ma ain company.”

  “And er, ma ma…wis asking whit ye’re daeing fur Christmas, so she wis.”

  “How dae ye mean?”

  “Christmas day? Her and ma da wur wondering if ye wur wanting tae come up fur yer Christmas dinner.”

  “Ah don’t think so.”

  “Why? They’ve invited ye.”

  “Ah’m no intae aw that happy family lark.”

  “Johnboy, it’s Christmas.”

  “It’s jist another day, as far as Ah’m concerned, so it is,” he’d hit her wae, sounding like Scrooge.

  “Arggghhh, see you!”

  That hid been a week ago. He still hidnae heard fae her. He’d tried phoning, bit she wisnae picking up the phone. He’d gied up efter three days. She hidnae phoned back, so she wis obviously in the huff. He’d heard that she’d dashed oot ae The Dial Inn efter Simon hid arrived oan the scene wae Elspeth Jefferson. Seemingly, she’d been sick in the toilet. Ah’ll bet she wis, he thought tae himsel, smiling.

  “That’s you, ya basturt, ye,” he’d growled at Simon, as they sat eating a fry-up across at The University Café oan Byres Road earlier oan.

  “Whit?”

  “Turning up wae that Elspeth wan tae The Dial Inn, upsetting Senga.”

  “Ach, serves her right,” he’d replied, as the baith ae them hid laughed.

  “So, whit’s happening there then?”

  “Wae the brief? She still disnae know whit the score is. Senga wis supposed tae be telling her, bit wae her being aff sick and then heiding back tae work, she hisnae been in contact.”

  “Simon, whit the hell ur ye oan aboot?”

  “Whether she’s back oan the wee nurse’s campaign team.”

  “Who?”

  “Elspeth Jefferson. She still disnae know if the lassies ur gonnae bring her back.”

  “Ur you thick or whit? Ah meant wae you and her, ya eejit, ye. According tae Tony, ye’re loved up, so ye ur.”

  “Aye, right.”

  “So, spit it oot then.”

  “Whit?”

  “Simon, stoap fucking aboot. Whit’s the score wae you and her?”

  “Oh, Ah’m in there…nearly,” he’d added.

  “In other words?”

  “Ach, she’s playing hard tae get. She thinks Ah’m some sort ae gangster, so she dis,” he’d replied, as the baith ae them hid laughed again.

  “Ye don’t think she’s maybe at it?”

  “Like?”

  “Like, trying tae get tae the lassies through you?”

  “Johnboy, that’s way below the belt, even fur a manky arsed toe-rag like you. She’s totally professional, so she is.”

  “Ah’m jist saying, she comes across as a bit ae a user.”

  “Of course she’s trying tae gie me a using. Fuck, Ah’m flattered. Ah’ve been trying tae get intae they knickers ae hers since Ah first clapped eyes oan her. Ah jist hope somewan disnae tell her that Ah’ve goat as much influence wae the lassies as Tony his ae convincing Senga that he’s no trying tae keep you in the toon.”

  “Aye, well, we won’t go there.”

  “So, hiv ye been in touch wae Senga?”

  “Ah’ve tried phoning a couple ae times, bit she’s obviously no been in. It’s her shifts.”

  “So, Ah heard Pearl wis up tae see ye?”

  “Did ye?”

  “Aye, Tony wisnae too pleased either.”

  “Tough shite.”

  “He disnae want any distractions. There’s enough gaun oan wae the lassies withoot you complicating things.”

  “Did he tell you tae tell me that?”

  “Naw.”

  “Ye’re a bloody liar. Tell him if he wants tae talk tae me, then he kin come and dae it himsel.”

  “Ah’m jist saying. Aw this shite wae The McGregors is gonnae start heating up, so it is.”

  “Right, which wan ae us is paying the bill?”

  “Ah’ll get it.”

  It hid been while he’d been hinging aboot ootside the café waiting fur Simon that he’d clocked the wee card stuck oan the inside ae the windae.

  “Check this oot, Simon.”

  “Ach, ye’re no still oan aboot getting a cat, ur ye? It’s a big responsibility, ye know…plus ye end up getting attached tae the wee basturts.”

  “Where’s Lawrence Street?”

  “Jist doon there, roond the corner.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Aw, fur fucks sake, Johnboy,” Simon hid bleated, catching up wae him.

  “Hello there, Mrs. Ah believe ye’ve goat a tabby cat that needs fostered oot?” Johnboy hid shouted at the auld dear oan the doorstep, o’er the sound ae Sam Cook belting oot ‘Bringing It Oan Back Tae Me’ in the background.

  “Oh, er, ye better come in,” she’d said, sounding surprised, staunin aside tae let them enter, as Otis Redding kicked in wae ‘These Erms Ae Mine’ as they grabbed a seat thegither oan the couch in the living room, trying tae look respectful.

  “Ah read the wee note ye left roond in the café oan Byres Road. Ye’re needing yer cat looked efter fur a wee while, ur ye?”

  “It’s no ma cat…it’s ma upstairs neighbour’s. A lovely, sensitive wee soul, so she is.”

  “Er, ye widnae want tae turn that music doon a wee bit, wid ye?” Simon shouted at her, as Ray Charles howled aboot Georgia being oan his mind.

  “Why? Dae ye no like music then?” she’d asked suspiciously, eyeing the baith ae them up.

  “Naw, naw, we love music, Mrs, it’s jist that he’s a bit hard ae hearing,” Johnboy explain
ed, jumping in tae save them fae getting escorted oot the door withoot a cat in tow.

  “Oh, well, that’s awright then,” she’d mumbled.

  “Is the cat aboot?” Simon hid asked, looking aboot, making wee shooshing noises, leaning forward and rattling the back ae his fingernails oan the flair lino tae try and attract the cat’s attention fae wherever it wis.

  “He wis aboot somewhere.”

  “Dis the cat, er, no mind the music then?” Simon hid asked, as she reluctantly turned doon the volume oan her auld radiogram.

  “Oh, no, he’s intae his Beatles, so he is,” she’d replied.

  “Oh, well, he’ll be in good company then. Johnboy’s a big fan as well,” Simon hid beamed across at her, making mair cat-calling sounds wae they lips ae his.

  “Er, is he aboot?” Johnboy hid asked, trying tae dampen doon his eagerness.

  Him and Simon hid burst oot laughing when this big male tabby cat suddenly bounded intae the room and jumped up oan tae her knee, efter she whistled oan it.

  “He’ll only come tae ye, if ye whistle. The rest ae the time, he’ll jist sit there looking at ye as if ye’re daft or something. The wee lassie who owns him hid him well-trained in the whistling department, so she did. He’s supposed tae hate men…at least, the wans she hid trooping up they stairs, at aw times ae the night. Ye’d know when they hid a falling oot, as the poor wee thing wid let oot a squawk, efter being trodden oan, by whichever wan ae her lovers stood oan him oan the way oot the door.”

  They’d spent a further ten minutes sitting there keeping their Ps and Qs in check, as she asked questions as tae why he wanted a cat, while the cat sat oan her knee watching the pair ae them, as she contemplated whether they wur gonnae be allowed tae take the cat away fur a two-month holiday. Seemingly, the owner upstairs hid hid some sort ae a breakdoon and wis in hospital. Efter exchanging addresses and phone numbers, the cat wis his.

  “Imagine being interviewed as tae oor suitability tae look efter a bloody cat…us?” Simon hid coughed drily, as he heided aff tae get the car, while Johnboy stood doon at the closemooth wae the cat in a box at his feet and a plastic bag wae its bowls and toys in his haun. “It’s us that’s daeing her the bloody favour…jist as well her taste in music wis spot-on.”