by Ian Todd
Christmas Eve 1975.
Edward Wilson, the newly promoted senior procurator fiscal fur the finest city in the empire, hid jist chomped intae his first slice ae toast ae the morning, as he finished reading his favourite page, The Green Fingers Section ae The Glesga Echo. Before he could allow the melted butter tae slide doon the back ae that gullet ae his, he launched that pin-striped arse ae his up aff the chair like an Olympic high-jumper, gagging as if the Grim Reaper himsel hid his hauns clutched roond that throat ae his. Efter depositing a big lump ae dark, hauf chewed breid oan tae the desk in front ae him, he quickly squatted doon and began raking through the strewn pages ae the newspaper, frantically searching fur the front page heidline that hid sabotaged his breakfast.
“No!’ he howled, his heart sinking while still thumping like the clappers, efter finding and spreading oot whit he wis efter oan tap ae the shiny desk.
Efter hivving chuckled at the photo ae his next-door neighbour haudin up a fat stalk ae Brussel sprouts in wan haun and an auld bashed trophy in the other, Mr Tom St Francis hid then gone oan tae share the secrets ae his success wae the readership, by admitting he’d deliberately left his award-winning Brassica oleracea var. gemmifera oot in the frost across the winter. Because he’d gone straight tae his favourite page, he’d missed the main heidline, in big, bold, black ink, that turned whit wis supposed tae be a winding-doon day before the Christmas break intae the worst nightmare he’d hid since that slut ae a wife ae his hid fucked aff wae his younger brother two years previously.
Efter scrambling aboot again and finding his pince-nez glasses oan the carpeted flair, he swished the creased sheet ae paper flat, before folding it in hauf and starting tae read, trying desperately tae ignore the cauld sweat that wis breaking oot across that ashen-grey face ae his.
“WHOSE LAW IS IT ANYWAY, MR PROCURATOR? Concern is growing amongst senior politicians in the city today, efter The Glesga Echo’s newest award winning crime journalist, Miss Pearl Campbell, recently poached fae the Highlands, his uncovered, behind closed-door deal-making amongst senior polis and crime procurator service officials. The claim that everywan, rich or poor, is equal in the eyes ae the law, appears tae hiv been trampled asunder, wae a charge ae murder levelled at a senior polis officer being reduced tae that ae culpable homicide. Statistics show that seven oot ae every ten perpetrators, charged wae killing their partners, end up being charged wae culpable homicide. As Miss Gondola Hepburn, a well-known and much respected criminal defence solicitor in the city, explained tae oor sleuth reporter.
‘Where it can be proven that a victim did not die as a direct result of an assault by their partner’s violent attack, the crown procurator fiscal would certainly consider reducing the charge from murder to culpable homicide.’
Mrs Hepburn gied other examples.
‘If a person fell down the stairs whilst trying to escape from a violent partner and died, or if the person that had been violently assaulted died of a heart attack after an assault, this could also warrant consideration that the attacker did not intend the victim to die. Other examples would be where the perpetrator was provoked by what could be deemed as beyond acceptable behaviour. This could also be taken into consideration. No two cases are ever the same.’
Whit hid originally been investigated as a violent domestic abuse incident oan the twenty-fourth of October, soon turned suspicious efter a forty-two-year auld man, himsel a senior polis inspector, wis accused ae violently attacking his twenty-eight-year-auld poliswummin wife, efter she hid confronted him wae evidence in the form ae a signed statement, that he hid raped a colleague ae the baith ae them. The Glesga Echo his since learned that the experienced detective, in charge ae the original murder investigation, concluded that the death ae the young poliswummin wis premeditated and that the husband deliberately set oot tae kill her tae stoap her exposing his sexual assault ae the noo retired WPC. Initially charged wae murder ae his wife, The Glesga Echo kin exclusively reveal that a reduced charge ae culpable homicide his been accepted by the procurator fiscal due tae the victim apparently falling back and bashing her heid aff the tiled mantelpiece in the couple’s home. Another disgusted senior police colleague, who wishes tae remain anonymous, his claimed that senior male officers within the service hiv been campaigning behind the scenes oan behauf ae the polis inspector, who wis prepared tae admit tae the assault, if the mair serious charges ae murder wis reduced. The procurator fiscal involved in the case his claimed that he based the decision tae reduce the charge against the polis inspector oan the fact that there didnae appear tae be concrete evidence ae a pre-planned murder and that reducing the murder charge wid save public money as there wis nae guarantee ae a successful conviction, if the case went tae trial.
Despite three days ae trying tae interview or get a statement fae Edward Wilson, the city’s newly-promoted heid ae the Procurator Fiscal Service, no calls wur returned tae Miss Campbell, before gaun tae print.
Last night, Springburn cooncillor and leading wummin’s rights campaigner, Barbara Allan, called fur an investigation intae the allegations made by The Glesga Echo.
‘If whit this reporter his discovered is true, then Ah’ll be demanding Senior Procurator Fiscal Edward Wilson’s heid oan a platter, first thing in the morning.’ Cooncillor Allan his stated.
Wummin’s groups and female trade union representatives in the city ur also demanding an investigation.
The identities ae the senior polis inspector, who is currently oan remand in Barlinnie prison and his murdered wife, along with the ex-WPC who claimed tae hiv been raped by the accused, hiv been withheld, so as no tae be seen tae influence the ootcome ae the trial, which is expected tae begin in early February 1976.
Mair details ur expected tae be shared wae the readers ae Scotland’s best-selling daily, The Glesga Echo, wance oor investigative reporter, Pearl Campbell, goes back oot oan the trail, tae expose those in positions ae influence and power oan behauf ae oor loyal readers.”
Gie The Atalian Stallion his due, Wan-bob smiled tae himsel. Him and Charlie hid been well-impressed wae the latest report oan whit he’d been up tae. They manky-arsed boys ae his hid swept through the toon centre like a fucking hurricane in dealing wae aw that young crew ae The McGregors. They’d ripped the basturts apart. The only fly that hid appeared in the ointment hid been a wee bit ae over-zealousness fae Ben McCalumn. The stupid basturt hid kicked fuck oot ae wan the aulder McGregor troops, Peter Bell, in front ae a crowded taxi rank doon in Queen Street. Bell hid tried tae intervene, as wan ae the young Govan wans wis being assaulted across the road fae the rank. Everywan in the toon hid been impressed, no jist him and Charlie. Charlie hid expressed annoyance at Peter Bell being assaulted, seeing as it wis maybe a bit too close tae the family, him being a distant cousin ae The McGregors, bit hid accepted that it wis unlikely that Papa McGregor wid want tae start a war o’er a balloon like Bell. So far, it looked as if The Atalian hid been keeping The Mankys oan a tight leash, as the only weapons they’d used, so far, seemed tae hiv been baseball bats. The latest that they’d jist heard wis that a few ae that young Govan crew hid managed tae escape in the nick ae time, efter being picked up across in Partick Cross by their pals, seconds before McCalumn and Pat McCabe arrived oan the scene. Seemingly, McCabe hid also taken a baseball bat tae two fancy parked cars sitting in Osborne Street that belonged tae The McGregors. According tae Peter The Plant, there hid been ten assaults that he knew aboot, o’er the past wee while. So far, there hidnae been any movement or word coming oot ae Govan and Kinning Park. Whit hid been picked up wis that none ae the aulder McGregors hid been seen oot and aboot in the toon wae their girlfriends or family…a sure sign that they knew they wur being targeted. There hid also been speculation aboot whit wis gaun oan fae their ain boys, as tae why The Mankys wur being gied a free haun in the toon centre.
“The smart wans will work it oot fur themsels,” Charlie hid said.
All in all, life wisnae too bad. It wis jist a pity he’d miss Christmas wae t
he grandweans though. He liked watching them open their Christmas presents, bit then again, there wid be other Christmases.
“That’s the paper,” Charlie announced, nodding across tae the bottom ae the cell door, as Wan-bob jumped up aff the bed.
“Ah wonder whit pish they basturts hiv come up wae aboot us noo,” he growled, bending doon and picking up the folded newspaper.
“Aye, Ah know, Mr Wilson, bit oor reporter his been trying tae get an interview wae you yersel or a response fae yer office fur the past three days before we went tae press.”
“We’re well aware ae the consequences. According tae oor legal team, the article widnae be prejudicial tae the ootcome ae the trial.”
“Aye, Ah know, Mr Wilson, sir.”
“Bit we never mentioned any names in the article.”
“Ye’d need tae take that up wae Hamish McGovern, the paper’s editor.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Naw, sir.”
“The Morayshire News. A few weeks ago noo. We wur lucky tae get her. An award-winning investigative journalist, despite her age.”
“Naw, sir.”
“As Ah said earlier, ye’d need tae take that up wae Hamish. Ah kin put ye back through tae the switchboard, if ye want?”
“Naw? Well, you take care, sir. And you, sir,” The Rat squeaked, putting doon the phone.
He knew that it wid be good, bit no this good. The reaction tae Pearl Campbell’s leader oan the front page hid been instantaneous. Apart fae the maist senior procurator in the toon being oan the blower, he’d hid the assistant chief constable bleating and hauf a dozen cooncillors aw demanding mair information tae whack the polis o’er the heid wae. He thought he wid’ve hid tae work hard oan Hamish tae get the go-aheid tae put the story oot, let alone getting it oan the front page as well.
“How did we let this wan slip through oor fingers?” Hamish hid demanded efter The Rat hid explained the root ae the story and the possible mileage the paper could get oot ae it.
“Bare wis charged oan the same day as Broon, Hastie, The Stalker and they two Possil sergeants fur the murder ae that wee nurse up in Stobhill,” he’d replied. “Everywan wis running wae that story at the time. It wis also the same day as Honest John McCaffrey and Duggie Dougan, the inspector fae Possil, copped their whack. Then, before we could catch a second wind, Black Pat McVeigh and they black butchers ae his fae Possil and Maryhill ended up getting wiped oot.”
“Right, get oan tae legal. We’ll hiv tae be very careful wae this wan. They’ll come back at us wae that auld chestnut, ‘Prejudicial tae the accused before his trial.’”
“Aye, it’ll be good tae get a change fae aw they gangster stories. They’ve goat their place, bit Ah think the readers ur maybe starting tae get a bit fed up wae them. Ah’ll jist go and speak tae legal noo, Hamish.”
“Is this young reporter oan tae something, Sammy?” Hamish hid asked him, looking him straight in the eye.
“Aye.”
“Oan a ratio fae wan tae ten, where wid this be?”
“If Ah could fit eleven intae ten, Ah wid,” The Rat hid replied.
“So, where ur we putting this?’
“Ah thought Ah’d slip it in somewhere oan The Green Fingers page, jist tae see whit the initial reaction is. Ma plan is tae send a wee shot across their bows, wae the intention ae coming back at them wance we find oot who aw wis involved and fur how long it’s been gaun oan.”
“Furget The Green Fingers Section. Ah want this oan the front page,” Hamish hid said, clearly scenting blood. “It’ll keep the readers gaun during the quiet Christmas period.”
“Right, we’re sick ae sitting here listening tae aw your pish, Jimmy. It’s Christmas eve and Ah’ve still goat a bit mair shoapping tae get done. Who did you pass that stolen red Kawasaki 250 oan tae, that you and Midnight Bob stole fae behind McColl’s Motorcycle Shoap, oot in Kirkintilloch, oan the night ae Wednesday the twenty-second ae October?” Jean repeated. “Midnight his awready telt us youse passed it oan tae Peter Paterson, The Mankys’ runner, the next day. He also telt us that it wis youse who set it oan fire, tae get shot ae any dabs oan it, across in Balmore, beside the canal…the same day that McCaffrey wis plugged. Aw we need is fur you tae corroborate whit yer pal’s awready telt us in his signed statement.”
Silence.
“This wis premeditated murder,” Wilma reminded him. “Dae ye know whit that means in jail time? It means they’ll throw away the bloody key, if you don’t start co-operating. The fact that everywan will know that youse pair hiv been in here helping us wae oor enquiries, won’t save that arse ae yours when The Mankys hear yer pal, Midnight Bob, staunin up oan that stand, telling everywan how you and him stole the bike that wis used in the murder ae Honest John McCaffrey, two days efter youse passed it oan tae Peter Paterson.
Silence.
“We’re the only friends that youse hiv goat, Jimmy. If you let us walk oot ae this room, then there’s nae chance ae a deal. The baith ae youse will be up oan an accessory tae murder rap, so youse will. That still carries a life sentence wae it.
Silence.
“Right, that’s it, Ah’ve hid enough ae this shite. Let’s go, Jean. We’ve goat enough oan this pair, withoot hinging aboot waiting fur crumbs aff ae Jimmy here,” Wilma said, as her and Jean stood up.
“Wait…” Jimmy yelped, licking his dry lips, as he looked across at the uniformed polisman sitting across at the door, who nodded sympathetically at him.
“Whit?” Jean demanded, as the two polis detectives paused hauf way across tae the door, turning back tae look at him.
“That deal ye mentioned…ur we talking aboot us turning Queens’s Evidence?”
“That aw depends oan how much ye tell us,” Wilma replied.
“And, if it corroborates wae whit Midnight Bob his jist telt us,” Jean added, as the pair ae them sat back doon, drapping their shoulder bags oan tae the flair oan each side ae their chairs.
“Peter…Bob’s telling the truth. We passed the bike oan tae Peter the morning efter we blagged it,” Jimmy spluttered, wiping the sweat aff ae that brow ae his wae the sleeve ae his shirt. “It wis also us that set it alight across at the canal tae.”
“Who delivered it up tae youse?”
“Peter Paterson.”
“Whit time wis that at then?”
“Aboot wan o’clock.”
“Wan? Honest John wis shot at twenty past eleven. Why wid it take him o’er an hour and a hauf tae get fae Woodside across tae Balmore?” Wilma asked him, puzzled, realising he must’ve stoapped aff somewhere, which didnae make sense.
“There must’ve been a car up at the canal tae gie him a lift efter he drapped aff the bike. Who wis behind the wheel?”
“Ah don’t know. Whoever it wis, wis sitting across oan Balmore Road, waiting wae the engine ticking o’er.”
“How dae ye know that?”
“Although the sun wis oot, it wis a cauld day. Ah could see the exhaust fumes farting oot the back ae it.”
“Make?”
“Ah think it wis a broon Cortina.”
“Ye think?”
“It wis a 1974 three litre XLE.”
“Three litre?”
“Aye, it looked like an import…nice hub caps.”
“Well?” The Assistant Chief Constable asked tersely, tossing The Glesga Echo intae the middle ae the table, as him and Wee Peggy McAvoy took up their seats. “Whose Law Is It Anyway, Mr Procurator? Where the fuck dae they people dig up these heidlines fae?”
“Ah wis jist saying tae Murdina and Sam here, sir, there’s absolutely nae truth whatsoever in the shite printed in that so-called rag, so there’s no,” Bob Mackerel growled indignantly, pointing accusingly at the heidline taunting them fae the middle ae the table.
“Yes, and I was just pointing out that the damage has already been done,” Murdina replied, lighting up, twisting the knife.
“The other papers ur jumping oan the bandwagon. Ah feel a feeding frenzy coming oan. Tha
nk God they don’t know that the indictments hiv awready been haun delivered up tae the Barlinnie gatehoose first thing this morning.”
“And Bare’s?”
“Luckily, the prison administration hidnae haunded them oot tae the accused. We managed, jist in the nick ae time, tae pull his wan oot ae the batch. It’s a bloody mess we could be daeing withoot,” Mackerel grumbled.
“Who’s this ‘experienced officer’ who led the investigation that they’re talking aboot?” The Assistant asked.
“Wilma Thain.”
“Thain?”
“Aye, the wan that Murdina goat promoted up tae Inspector recently,” Mackerel replied, lighting up a fag, twisting the knife back in her direction.
“Is there any evidence that senior officers hiv been trying tae influence the charges levelled at Bare o’er his wife’s death?”
“None whatsoever, sir. The decision tae reduce the charge wis taken by the procurator fiscal’s office themsels. Inspector Thain’s boss at the time, Chief Inspector John Henderson, the heid ae the south’s murder squad, did warn her that this wis the likely ootcome.”
“And noo?”
“And noo, it’s being looked at again…reviewed…jist in case there wis any wee anomalies.”
“Whit wis her original conclusion?”
“She wanted him charged wae murder.”
“Based oan whit?”
“She wis attempting tae link Bare tae a conspiracy involving a group ae current serving polis officers, who it wis claimed, sexually assaulted female colleagues. Seemingly, it hid been gaun oan o’er a number ae years.”
“And, this is whit the journalist is referring tae?”
“Aye. According tae Sergeant…Inspector Thain, Lesley Bare confronted her man wae a typed statement fae an ex-poliswummin, who’d accused him ae raping her.”
“When wis the assault supposed tae hiv taken place?”
“Back in the early sixties, sir.”
“The early sixties! And she’s only coming forward wae a complaint noo?”
“Aye. Inspector Thain believed that Teddy Bare deliberately murdered his wife tae silence her. There wur other allegations in there as well.”
