One Hundred And Twelve Days

by Ian Todd

  “So, where wis Senga in aw this?” she’d asked.

  Senga hid been the first point ae contact efter Collette James hid been admitted tae The Royal, efter trying tae top hersel in her kitchen, jist roond the corner fae Geraldine’s flat, in Lawrence Street. It hid been ootside Collette James’s flat, oan the stairwell, that Inspector Dougan hid been shot the previous month.

  “Dae ye think Collette James wis involved in the shooting?” she’d asked Geraldine.

  “Ah’m no sure, bit seeing as whit hid been gaun oan in the past, it makes ye wonder. Seemingly, that boss ae hers, the Possil inspector, the wan who wis shot, hid tried tae palm her aff wae another inspector, wan ae The Irish Brigade, oot in Yoker.”

  “Kin ye remember his name?”

  “Naw.”

  Geraldine hid telt her how she’d initially approached Senga oan behauf ae The Showgirls, seeing as Senga hid become friendly wae Collette James. They’d even met up wan night fur a drink. Senga wis asked if she could try and find oot fae the WPC if she knew whit hid been gaun oan in the polis service in the toon, regarding sexual harassment against young WPCs jist coming in tae the service. Geraldine hid said that there hid been rumours flying aboot fur years, bit nowan hid been able tae get any evidence. Of course, Senga’d hid her Joan Ae Arc hat oan at the time and hid refused tae take advantage ae a vulnerable patient, plus she’d been heavily involved at the time in Johnboy’s campaign, as well as volunteering at a wummin’s refuge in the toon. It hid been a couple ae months efter that initial approach by The Showgirls that Senga hid hooked Collette James up wae Geraldine efter the WPC hid turned up at her and Lizzie’s flat, asking if Senga could put her in touch wae The Showgirls. According tae Geraldine, efter Senga hid established the contact, she’d bowed oot ae any mair involvement.

  “So, whit became ae the letters then?”

  “Ah’ve nae idea. Ah wis supposed tae hiv picked them up fae Collette, up at the wee canal bridge in Cadder, bit goat waylaid doon at the closemooth by a couple ae these new chookter polis that hid been drafted doon fae the Highlands tae help oot wae the city boys in the toon. They claimed they wur questioning local people tae try and find oot who it wis that wis breaking intae aw the flats and hooses in the area.”

  “Did ye believe them?”

  “Christ, Pearl, they wur bloody armed, so they wur. Ah could hardly speak fur two days efterwards. By the time they let me go, it wis well efter wan o’clock before Ah made it up tae the bridge and there wis nae sign ae Collette. The meeting wis supposed tae hiv been at twelve.”

  “And ye’ve nae idea who could’ve been up there tae waylay her?”

  Silence.

  “Aw, c’mone, Geraldine, Ah promise Ah won’t breathe a word tae a soul.”

  “Well, it wis the Highland polis who waylaid me…Ah’m sure ye kin make yer ain mind up.”

  “The polis?” she remembered asking, as Geraldine nodded. “So, who wur you supposed tae haun the letters across tae efter picking them up?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, how aboot this then,” she’d said tae Geraldine. “Whit became ae Rose Bain’s polis file, which Michelle Hope telt me oan good authority wis stolen fae wan ae the bizzies’ polis stations? That claim wis also made tae The Glesga Echo efter somewan sent in an anonymous letter. The letter hid a Showgirl logo across the tap ae it. Of course, the polis denied it.”

  Silence.

  “According tae Michelle, she said they wur able tae use the supposed contents ae it tae con the procurator fiscal intae believing that the lassies hid mair information aboot The Stalker than they actually did, regarding Johnboy’s appeal.”

  Silence.

  “Why don’t ye ask Michelle…or Senga?” Geraldine hid eventually said.

  “Because Ah’m asking you.”

  “Right, this better stay between us, Pearl. Ah’m telling ye, if this ever gets oot, there’s a lot ae people could end up in the jail, so there is.”

  Geraldine hid then went oan tae tell her that the stolen nurse’s file hid managed tae get intae her hauns, and that her and somewan else, who she refused tae name, hid spent aw night gaun through it tae see if they could establish if the polis hid been tampering wae the initial investigation files intae Rose Bain’s death. Naw, they didnae find oot anything incriminating that wid lead The Showgirls tae believe that the evidence hid been doctored, apart fae the summary conclusions ae the review, that the polis hid conducted oan the case some months earlier.

  “And?”

  “And, at the end ae the summary, there wur two signatures that hid signed aff the investigation.”

  “Christ, no The Stalker?”

  “Aye. Him and that Bobby Mack wan, who recently goat suspended, alang wae Sally Burke, the sergeant who’d been pimping fur The Irish Brigade. The Stalker’s signature gied The Showgirls the ammo tae claim publicly that a senior officer involved in haudin back evidence in the wrongful conviction ae Johnboy Taylor, that could prove his innocence, wis the same officer at the centre ae the controversy surrounding the evidence involving the death ae Rose Bain. Although there wis nothing definite in the file, that signature proved explosive wance it wis made public. It aw came doon tae whit The Stalker hid written in his wee black notebook. If he wis haudin back evidence that could prove Johnboy wisnae involved in that bank robbery, then whit else hid he been haudin back oan? The fact that he’d been allowed tae review the original investigation notes fur the suspicious death ae Rose, who wis supposed tae hiv been the nurse oan duty the night the auld gangster blurted oot Johnboy’s innocence, jist blew everything oot ae the water.

  “Unbelievable,” she remembered gasping, jist aboot pishing hersel, as Geraldine sat back oan the couch and nodded knowingly at her o’er a fresh mug ae tea.

  “So, who stole the polis file and fae where?”

  “Ah’ve nae idea.”

  “Aw, fur Christ sake, Geraldine!” she’d shouted in frustration.

  “Ah’m telling ye the truth. Ah honestly don’t know.”

  “So, how did the polis get the file back then?”

  “Ah’ve nae idea.”

  “Bit, it wid’ve been the person who passed the file oan tae you in the first place that ye must’ve haunded it back tae?”

  Silence.

  “Surely, there must’ve been a deal done, Geraldine. So, whit wis exchanged fur the polis file? Collette James’s batch ae letters?”

  “Naw, they wur never seen efter Ah stupidly handed back the letters tae her at ma meeting, up in The City Café, that last Saturday Ah met up wae her. Remember, Ah wis supposed tae get them aff her up at the canal. The Showgirls never hid the letters in their possession.”

  “Okay, so who wis responsible fur stealing the polis file in the first place then? Ah heard that The Cove, the section where they keep aw the files in Pitt Street, is like a fortress. Wis it fae there?”

  Silence.

  “It must’ve been an inside job…a bizzy, maybe?”

  “Ah don’t think so. In aw the years that The Showgirls hiv been operating, other than Collette James, they’ve never been able tae recruit a polis insider.”

  “How dae ye know if you and Senga ur no supposed tae be members ae The Showgirls?”

  Silence.

  “Look, Pearl, this is the last bit ae info Ah’m gieing ye. The Showgirls didnae believe that Collette James wisnae undercover. They believed that the letters or statements, fae the ex-poliswummin, wur put thegither in the dirty tricks department…Lesley Bare’s department.”

  “Ye don’t think Collette James goat her pal, Lesley Bare, tae blag the file, dae ye?”

  “That’s you that’s suggesting that, no me,” Geraldine replied…too quickly.

  Fur Fuck’s sake, Pearl’s brain hid screamed inside that heid ae hers.

  “Lesley Bare,” Geraldine continued, no gieing Pearl time tae digest whit she thought Geraldine hid jist telt her. “Wis well known in the toon, fur trying tae infiltrate a lot ae the wummin’s groups, undercover, t
rying tae find a way tae expose who the members ae the Central Committee ae The Showgirls wur, so she wis. So, tae prove she wis genuine, The Showgirls informed Collette James, through me, that they’d use the letters tae bring doon The Irish Brigade, bit she’d hiv tae prove she wis genuine.”

  “And?”

  “And, if she could deliver Rose Bain’s file tae them, then it wid prove she wis genuine in trying tae take doon The Irish Brigade. If that wis the case, then they’d help her oot.”

  “Fucking hell, Geraldine! This is explosive, so it is. Hiv ye any idea whit ye’ve jist telt me?” she’d exclaimed. “Okay, sorry…sorry. Who else should Ah be speaking tae then?”

  Silence.

  “Pearl, don’t take this the wrang way, hen, bit ye’ve goat tae understaun. Lesley Bare wis hated by aw the wummin’s groups in the toon, especially by The Showgirls. It wis her mission in life tae decimate them and she came close, mair than a few times o’er the years, while she wis in hot pursuit ae them.”

  “Aye, bit she wis also a victim, a female, who ended up murdered.”

  “By that violent man ae hers who’s noo in custody.”

  “So, ye don’t believe there’s a connection between her death and the letters then? Keeping in mind, he wis an active member ae The Irish Brigade.”

  “Pearl, this is Glesga. Ye’ve been away a while. This is a dangerous part ae the world fur people who stick their noses intae places where they shouldnae. People...polis and gangsters hiv been charged wae Rose Bain’s murder. The Showgirls ur aw brave, dedicated people, bit we’re talking aboot murder here. Everywan believes that it’ll aw come oot at the trial. Ah think maist people ur waiting tae see whit happens.”

  “While that man ae poor Lesley Bare gets let aff wae a couple ae measly years in the nick efter whit he did? Who should Ah speak tae, Geraldine? Gie’s a name. Ah promise Ah won’t divulge ma source ae anything ye’ve telt me the day…please. Ah promise. Aw Ah’m efter is tae try and stoap that basturt wangling a deal. That’s as far as ma remit wae the paper goes.”

  Silence.

  “Look, Ah shouldnae really be saying this,” Geraldine hid said nervously, hesitating. “Bit ye might want tae speak tae Barbara Allen, although Ah’m no sure if it’ll dae ye any good. She hated Lesley Bare wae a vengeance, so she did.”

  “Mrs Purple, the cooncillor fae Springburn?” she’d asked surprised, as Geraldine hid nodded.

  She’d turned up at a busy public meeting, consisting maistly ae wummin, in the auld Salvation Army Hall oan Stirling Road a few days efter her session wae Geraldine. Two black wummin wur speaking aboot the conditions that people, especially wummin and weans, hid tae live in, in the sprawling townships ae Johannesburg and Pretoria back hame in South Africa. Behind them, two big posters, featuring Winnie and a grainy photo ae that jailed man ae hers, Nelson Mandela, sat underneath a black, green and yellow banner, proclaiming they wur fae The African National Congress Wummin’s League. Pearl hid never heard ae Winnie and Nelson Mandela, although she could identify wae tales ae people’s ootside door being kicked in and men in uniforms, backed up wae landlords, slinging families and aw their possessions oot oan tae the street, fae when she wis a wean. Underneath the banners, Barbara Allan and some auld, serene-looking nun, wearing a white habit, wae a set ae rosary beads wrapped roond her waist wae the crucifix dangling doon at the front, hid sat hinging oan tae the two speakers’ every word. While the ANC wummin held their smartly dressed, maistly middle-aged audience captive wae their tales ae oppression, Pearl hid sat in contemplation, trying tae figure oot how she wis gonnae manage five minutes wae the purple-clad agitated agitator, who’d introduced the guests tae a raucous, cheering audience.

  “Excuse me, Cooncillor Allan, kin Ah hiv a wee word wae ye?” she’d shouted o’er the audience’s heids, efter Mrs Purple hid thanked everywan fur coming and wis in the process, alang wae the nun, ae escorting the speakers ootside tae the waiting car.

  “And you ur?” she’d turned, demanding tae know, as Pearl shuffled sideways through the crush ae smiling, ecstatic wummin, trying tae keep up wae the departing entourage.

  “Pearl Campbell fae The Glesga Echo.”

  “The Glesga Echo? Whit wid somewan fae The Glesga Echo be daeing at a meeting like this?” she’d exclaimed, clearly surprised.

  “Ah wis wanting tae talk tae ye aboot Rose Bain.”

  “This is aboot the plight ae the poor wummin in South Africa that oor comrades in the ANC hiv come tae talk tae us aboot. The meeting you’re efter is oan Wednesday the 7th ae January, same venue,” she’d scowled at Pearl.

  “Bit…”

  “Contact ma office doon in the city chambers. Ah’ll be glad tae gie ye an interview,” The Queen ae Purple hid shouted at her, as she sailed alang wae the throng, heidin fur the exit, as everywan held their erms up tae the heavens, their fists clenched in defiance, singing ‘We Shall Overcome.’

  Efter spending practically two days oan the phone tae The Corporation, when she wisnae leaving wee notes doon at the front desk, she’d finally managed tae get an audience wae Her Purple Majesty hersel, before being slung oot ae her office oan tae her arse and escorted oot ae the building by a big uniformed Sergeant At Arms. She didnae think that it hid anything tae dae wae the killer question that she’d come up wae earlier. The eviction notice hid awready been issued. The question in question hid been a tactic used tae flush oot the faceless faces, who’d hung aboot in the shadows, as highlighted in ‘Aw The Presidents Men’ by they super-heroes ae hers. It wis a tactic, only tae be used when things wur gaun tits up. She’d been keeping it in reserve while she wis trying tae ingratiate hersel wae Her Ladyship, before the shit hid hit the fan. And tae think everything hid been gaun fine until Lady Purple hid made the connection tae that ma ae hers.

  “Oh, ye’re fae Springburn, hen? And a Campbell tae. Ye’re no any relation tae Sharon Campbell who lives oan Keppochhill Road, by any chance, ur ye?” she’d been asked at the start ae their introductions.

  When she’d confirmed that she wis indeed Sharon Campbell’s daughter, that hid been that. The shutters hid clanged shut and the temperature in the room hid drapped fae freezing tae bloody frozen solid as Mrs Purple screwed up her face and starting rubbing her belly as if she wis gonnae shite in her purple drawers. When she’d mentioned the confrontation and eviction tae her ma when she’d arrived hame, she’d laughed.

  “Aye, she still believes it wis us that poisoned that family ae hers up in the hall in Auchinairn at her daughter’s engagement party tae the son ae that inspector who goat himsel shot across in Partick recently. There wis an evil basturt if ever Ah clapped eyes oan anywan. The lying git wis gonnae allow me tae take the rap fur supplying rotten meat tae Mrs Purple and that family ae hers, so he wis. It widnae surprise me if it wisnae wan ae her poisoned relatives that shot him.”

  When it hid become patently obvious, even tae her, that she wis aboot tae be evicted fae the purple tower two minutes efter entering its inner sanctum, she’d hit Mrs Purple wae the killer question.

  “Okay, wan question and then Ah’ll hiv tae be getting oan,” Mrs Purple hid reluctantly conceded, efter finding oot whose fruit ae the loins she wis.

  “Kin you tell me whit senior polisman it wis that ye met wae, when ye haunded o’er the stolen polis file ae the wee nurse, Rose Bain, and whit wis exchanged fur its safe return oan Friday the twenty-fourth October, last month, Cooncillor?”

  She’d found oot later that the cooncillor hid a hidden alarm button under her desk. Her Purpleness hid still been sitting there, spluttering and coughing in her seat behind it, as the big Sergeant At Arms, resplendent in his fancy red and gold sashed uniform, physically dragged her arse oot intae the reception, as the wee secretary ran past them tae make sure The Queen ae Purple hid survived the assassination attempt.

  Pricilla Presley? She’d threatened Pearl wae the polis if she ever confronted her or that strange looking man ae hers in the street again.

  Wilma Thain, the inspector in
charge ae the investigation intae Lesley Bare’s death, hid done the same. The only difference being, she hid the power ae arrest behind the threat.

  Collette James? So far, she hidnae managed tae track her doon, despite trying. Seemingly, she wis apparently aff oan the sick. The front door ae her flat wis boarded up and none ae her neighbours claimed tae know where she’d gone.

  Tony Gucci, Glenda Metcalfe and Graham Portoy? That wis probably a harder triangle tae crack and wid depend oan whether Tony wis prepared tae help her oot. She widnae haud her breath oan that wan.

  Senga? She hidnae replied tae her messages tae get in touch. She’d asked Geraldine Baker and Kim Sui tae ask her tae gie her a shout. None ae the other lassies hid seen her since the Friday night doon in The Dial Inn, which wisnae unusual due tae her hospital shifts.

  She looked at the clock sitting at the side ae her bed. She’d need tae get a move oan. Ratty-arse wis expecting her doon in Hope Street in two hours.

  “Ah want an article put oot in two days’ time…Christmas eve,” he’d squeaked at her threateningly doon the phone earlier.

  “Aboot whit?”

  “Aboot why Teddy Bare, a senior polis inspector, who battered his wife tae death efter she’d confronted him wae an allegation that he’d raped wan ae her colleagues, looks like getting his murder charged drapped fae murder tae culpable homicide. Remember?”

  “The story’s no ready yet. It’s a bit mair complicated than you originally thought. The rape allegation involves mair than wan wummin.”

  “Ah thought ye swore tae me that ye wur the best investigative journalist in the Highlands?”

  “Ah wis…Ah am.”

  “Then make sure Ah hiv something tae copy that his a watertight rationale behind it that’ll satisfy the Gods upstairs…including why it’s in the public interest this week, and no oan the last day ae yer very temporary employment contract at the end ae January,” the hatchet-faced, buck-toothed, ratty-arsed, wee poisoned basturt hid scowled at her, before hinging up.

  Chapter Fifty Three