by Ian Todd
“Suspended? Fur whit?” he asked, sounding surprised, turning tae look at her, before slinging his box ae microphone cables and his wee amp intae a cupboard.
“Fur last night. That’s whit Ah’ve been trying tae tell ye. Dougan said Ah’ve…we’ve tae stay well clear ae the organised crime gangs in the area.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the black butchers.”
“And you agree wae him, Ah suppose?”
“Elvis, don’t talk shite, of course Ah don’t. He claims that there ur two different teams investigating whit’s gaun oan wae Streaky John and us gaun in there, aw guns blazing, is upsetting the apple-cart, so it is.”
“And you believe that?”
“Whit Ah believe is that ma superior gied me a direct order tae keep well clear ae the people you’re in hot pursuit ae as it’s been deemed that we’re undermining current operational investigations. Ah cannae ignore that.”
“Ah’m no under him.”
“Naw, bit if ye’re operating within his geographic divisional boundary, then it wid be foolish tae ignore a warning fae somewan as spiteful as him, so it wid.”
“How long is yer suspension?”
“A week…withoot pay. Ah don’t know how Ah’m gonnae pay ma rent this month, so Ah don’t.”
“Bit, as you say, The Barracks come under The Marine patch, so there’s nothing him and they two bears ae his kin dae aboot it.”
“Naw, naw, ye’re well mistaken there, so ye ur,” she pleaded. “Look, there used tae be a group ae inspectors, a few years ago, who went by the name ae The Irish Brigade…”
“Oh, aye, Ah’ve heard aboot them. Bunch ae right basturts by aw accounts.”
“Aye, well, maist people who knew ae them believed that they’d been wiped oot, either arrested oan corruption charges, dismissed fae the force or hid committed suicide back in the day, as the corruption trials in the late sixties goat under way.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that, aye, a lot ae them goat put oot tae pasture or jailed, bit there’s still a few ae them oan the go, embedding themsels even further, still determining whit goes oan behind the scenes…at least, that’s whit Ah’ve heard.”
“Ah still don’t know where ye’re coming fae, Collette,” he said, squeezing past her, as she followed him through tae the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Ma best pal, Lesley, works in Serious Crime and Intelligence. She telt me, oan the QT, that there’s still remnants ae The Irish Brigade operating, who’ve buried themsels doon even further intae the gunnels ae the service and that they’re still suspected ae being actively involved in corrupt practices, so they ur.”
“And your inspector is wan ae them?”
“Ah’m no sure. Possibly.”
“Ye’re no sure?”
“Whit Ah’m saying is, that if you…we…go stomping aboot aw o’er the place, upsetting people, then there’s the likelihood that we’ll end up stuffed in wan ae they large roond mince pies that ye keep warning me no tae eat.”
“Ah’m sorry, Collette. If you could only hear whit you, a serving polis officer, his jist come oot wae, ye’d be ashamed tae put that uniform oan again.”
“Aw, Elvis…”
“Ye’re basically admitting that there’s a bunch ae senior, corrupt polis officers oot there and that you and yer colleagues ur no prepared, or too feart, tae dae anything aboot it. Is that right? How wid ye explain that tae somewan like that daughter ae mine, Lisa-Marie, and aw her pals, if they ever found oot?”
Silence.
“Lesley said that there’s nae solid proof…that it wis jist some reports that she’d seen as part ae her work, which, when she went back tae hiv a wee peek at them, hid disappeared.”
“Whit kind ae reports?”
“Basically statements fae underworld informers, who’d requested immunity fae prosecution or who’d sent in information anonymously. She stoapped trying tae track doon the missing documents efter discovering that a couple ae the authors ae the statements hid disappeared in mysterious circumstances.”
“Disappeared? Collette, it’s Nineteen seventy-five, fur Christ’s sake. Whit exactly ur ye saying here?”
“Well, wan ae them disappeared intae thin air, oot ae the blue, while the other wan’s charred remains wur found in an oil drum up near the Forth and Clyde canal, across in Ruchill. His wrists hid been tied wae copper wire behind his back, so they hid.”
“So, whit ur ye telling me aw this fur?”
“Because, Ah don’t want it tae be you that ends up wae yer wrists tied wae copper wire, stuffed in tae an auld oil drum, so Ah don’t…no wae the responsibility that ye’ve goat gaun fur ye here,” Collette replied, wae a wave ae her haun at the picture frame hinging up oan the wall, containing a smiling Pricilla and Lisa Marie looking doon at the pair ae them, as he passed o’er the same Elvis mug that she’d hid earlier.
“So, whit ur ye suggesting then?”
“Look, Ah’m suspended, bit that disnae mean Ah hiv tae sit oan that bum ae mine in ma flat wae Mr Hopkins.”
“Mr Hopkins? Please don’t tell me ye call yer boyfriend by his last name?”
“Of course Ah don’t, ya eejit, ye. Mr Hopkins is ma cat, so he is,” she laughed.
“Oh, Ah see. Christ, ye hid me worried there. So, is there a boyfriend then?” he asked, instantly regretting the question, as a cloud drapped across her eyes.
“It’s complicated, so it is. Ma track record in that department isnae whit it could be, tae say the least,” she replied wae a shrug ae her shoulders. “Ah always seem tae attract the unscrupulous wankers, so Ah dae.”
“So, where dae we go fae here then?” he asked, quickly moving oan.
“Ah think we need tae go back tae basics, so Ah dae.”
“Basics?”
“Oh, Ah meant tae say. Ah might’ve goat caught gaun through the black butchers files up at the station the other day there.”
“And?”
“And they wur empty, at least, they contained little real intel oan who wis who and who wis daeing whit in the area.”
“Maybe who we’re dealing wae are that good, they won’t hiv plenty ae form,” he suggested, tongue in cheek.
“Whit aboot you? You must hiv plenty ae stuff oan these people?”
“Aye, ye’d think that, widn’t ye, bit oor files hiv been raked through and anything ae interest wis removed long ago.”
“Really?”
“Oh aye, it wis a bit ae a shock when Ah first started. Ah spoke tae Mags Hamilton, that typist ae mine, bit she claimed tae no know whit hid happened tae the missing files. She said that that kind ae stuff wis way above her pay grade and that Ah should contact the senior executive clerical office and they’d probably be able tae tell me whit hid happened tae them.”
“And did ye?”
“Whit wis the point?”
“So, it’s back tae basics then, starting up at the barracks oan Wednesday night?” she asked him.
“This will take furever, so it will.”
“Aye, bit we need tae start somewhere. Ah’ve been aroond Possil long enough tae know maist ae the faces. Let’s start wae them and build up oor ain wee intelligence library. The only problem is, where can we store it where it’ll be safe?”
“Ah’ve goat a locked filing cabinet doon in George Square. The stuff wid be safe enough there.”
“Hiv ye no jist gone and contradicted yersel?”
“Naw, Ah’ve goat a padlock oan it that Harry Houdini wid struggle tae get intae.”
“Right, we’ll need tae go undercover…at least fur the next week.”
“Undercover?”
“Real detective work that should prove fruitful in the long run. Elvis the entertainer will need tae be left at hame fur the next wee while. This is subterfuge, so it is.”
“Listen, Ah’m no even gonnae pretend Ah’ve goat a clue whit ye’ve jist come oot wae, so Ah’m no. Did ye know that Ah’ve reached the quarter finals ae the “Elvis Is The Main
Man Event’ competition across in The Plaza Ballroom?”
“Aye, ye’d telt me aboot five times within the first five minutes ae me picking ye up fae yer office the first day Ah met ye.”
“Naw Ah didnae, ya lying toad, ye!” he shouted at her, laughing, exaggerating his hurt.
“Ye bloody-well did,” she laughed back.
“Aye, well, Ah’ve goat a wee prelim gig coming up…sort ae a dry run like.”
“Really?” she replied, trying hard tae maintain an interested expression oan that kisser ae hers.
“Aye, really. Anyhow, the guy who’s daeing the sound fur me his goat a backing tape ae Elvis’s playing, so he his.”
“And?”
“And it’ll cost me twenty quid tae get ma hauns oan it, so it will.”
“He must’ve seen ye coming at that price.”
“Ye jist don’t get it, dae ye?”
“Get whit?”
“Seemingly, this is Scotty Moore and Bill Black playing without Elvis’s vocals. This is straight fae the studio, so it is. He says the quality is jist as good as it wis oan the records. It’ll mean ma backing band will consist ae the original recording artists, so it will.”
“Is that right?”
“Look, Miss Clearly-No-Interested, here’s yer chance ae finding yersel a decent man alang in Betty’s Bar oan The Broomielaw this coming Saturday night, so it is. Ah’ve goat masel a good wee following, so Ah hiv. According tae Priscilla, there’s a few accountants and even a fully fledged undertaker wae a French sounding name drinks in there, so there is.”
“Ur ye asking me oot oan a date, Elvis, and you a married man?” Collette asked, flickering her eyelashes at him.
“Aye, something like that…and while ye’re at it, ye kin gie Priscilla a haun humphing ma gear in and up oan tae the wee stage, while Ah get masel ready in the lavvy.”
“Is that no a wee bit ae a rough shoap fur a crooner ae Elvis’s stature?”
“It’s funny ye should say that, bit years ago, in the sixties, before they started tae decimate the area, aw the wee mods fae this side ae The Clyde, who wur too scared tae saunter across the water, used tae grab a quick pint in Betty’s Bar oan a Friday and Saturday night, while waiting fur their girlfriends tae arrive oan the wee ferry across fae Govan, Ibrox and Cessnock. It’s a good wee live venue, so it is. Billy Connelly even played in there, so he did. So, if it’s good enough fur The Big Yin? Well, who am Ah tae complain?”
“Is that no beside where the gangsters goat shot and that car ae theirs set alight, wae them inside it?”
“Aye.”
“Sounds good enough tae me.”
“Aye and oan that subject, could ye try and tone it doon a wee bit, so ye don’t look as if ye’re impersonating an undercover dick?” he asked her, smiling.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Collette wondered whit she’d done noo, as she caught sight ae Lesley’s bobbing heid, looking fae left tae right and back again, through the glass door fae where she wis sitting, as her pal hurriedly dodged the Sauchiehall Street bound traffic and the tooting horn ae a black taxi coming the other way, as she skipped across Elmbank Street.
“Wan o’clock, Kings Café, the morra, and don’t be late,” wis aw Lesley’s note hid said, efter Collette hid picked up the wee scrap ae paper aff ae her lobby flair in the flat efter arriving back hame fae Elvis and Pricilla Presley’s hoose the day before.
“Ah’ll hiv whit she’s goat,” Lesley said tae the wee rakish, good-looking waiter, in the open-necked white shirt and black waistcoat, taking her summer coat aff, oan route tae Collette’s booth. “And you, ya effing diddy, ye, ye’re gonnae get me shot, so ye ur!” Lesley scowled, folding her coat and placing it oan the seat oan her side ae the table.
“Again?” Collette replied pleasantly, knowing fine well that she wis in fur a lecture.
“Don’t you sit there and get bloody catty wae me, Collette James. Ah’m gonnae end up sacked, or worse, slung intae the jail because ae the likes ae you,” she growled, as Mr Handsome Black Waistcoat laid the mug ae cappuccino doon before daeing a quick disappearing act.
“Dae ye think he knows the baith ae us ur caped crusaders?” Collette asked, as the baith ae them smiled at each other, watching that arse ae his disappear o’er towards the coonter, telling a couple he widnae be a minute, while he loudly tested the steam pressure oan the coffee machine.
“Collette,” Lesley warned her, slipping her schoolteacher face back oan, while at the same time, withdrawing a tipped fag oot ae her packet and lighting up. “Don’t bloody try and change the subject.”
“So, whit heinous crime am Ah getting accused ae noo then?”
“Senga Jackson…the nurse?”
“Whit aboot her?”
“Tell me how ye goat in tow wae her again?”
“Ah’ve awready telt ye.”
“Well, tell me again. Ah obviously wisnae listening the first time,” Lesley grumbled, taking a sip ae the frothy coffee.
“She wis the wan who held ma haun and comforted me efter Ah wis admitted tae the casualty department up at The Royal when Ah…er…”
“Tried tae top yersel o’er a married man?”
“…Foolishly believed that the man Ah loved shared they feelings tae,” Collette replied, trying desperately, bit failing, tae keep the bitterness oot ae that voice ae hers.
“Oh Collette, hen, how the hell did Ah ever get in tow wae the likes ae you, eh?”
“That bad?” Collette asked, forcing a smile oot ae the smoking WPC o’er the tap ae her chocolate-powdered mug.
“It’s ‘The man Ah love’ bit that concerns me. Honestly, hen, ye’re oan a hiding tae nothing, so ye ur…no that it’s any ae ma business, mind ye. Ah’ve well warned ye many a time, bit it’s your life, so it is. Anyway, back tae the subject in haun. Ye wur saying?”
“A few days efter Ah wis put up tae wan ae the wards, she turned up tae see how Ah wis daeing, which wis mair than Ah kin say fur a lot ae people Ah know aboot here.”
“Ach, Collette, Ah telt ye, Teddy Junior wis no well and Teddy wis in Edinburgh daeing something tae dae wae his work. Ah wid’ve made it up tae see ye if ye hidnae discharged yersel. Anyway, furget aw that shite. That’s in the past. Whit happened next?”
“How dae ye mean?”
“Ye said that ye ended up oan a fun night oot wae her?”
“Ah met up and hid a glass ae wine and a wee chat wae her. Look, whit’s aw this aboot?”
“Who contacted who first?”
“Ye still hivnae answered ma question.”
“Look, Ah’ll get roond tae that in a minute. Jist answer the question, will ye?” Lesley pressed her, stubbing oot her lipstick-coated, tipped fag-end, before picking up her packet and lighting up another wan.
“They say chain smoking’s bad fur yer health, so it is.”
“Collette…” Lesley warned her, glaring o’er the tap ae the fag.
“She did. Ah received a nice postcard. It wis the wan ae the crucifix that’s hinging up in the Kelvin Art Galleries. It sits at the tap ae the stairs o’er tae the left as ye go in through the revolving door. She must think Ah’m a Tim or something. It jist asked how Ah wis daeing and did Ah want tae meet up fur a chat.”
“And?”
“And, that’s it.”
“Where did ye go?”
“As Ah telt ye before, Ah met her in that new French place that Ah cannae remember the name ae noo, alang oan West Nile Street,” Collette replied wae a wave ae her haun towards the entrance tae the café.
“La Parisian,” Lesley reminded her.
“That’s it.”
“And it wis her suggestion tae meet up, wis it?”
“Aye.”
“Collette, did ye know that she’s wan ae the leading campaigners, albeit behind the scenes, in trying tae get that Johnboy Taylor wan set free?”
“Johnboy Taylor?”
“Oh, fur Christ’s sake, Collette. Ur you serious?”
�
�Look, Ah’m no a bloody mind-reader,” Collette shot back, feeling hersel getting annoyed wae aw this third degree questioning shite.
“Johnboy Taylor is the Ned that shot two ae oor colleagues in that bank robbery up in Maryhill Road back in November 1972. Remember? Him and his pals goat away wae a four figure sum, so they did. It’s been in the papers and the news every other day fur months noo. How that poor basturt, Paddy McPhee’s able tae sleep at night, Ah’ll never know.”
“Fae whit Ah’ve heard, he disnae sleep at night due tae him being oot and aboot, peeking through the windaes ae aw the local wummin and young lassies up in Springburn. Hence that tag ae his, The Stalker…”
“We hid him across fur his tea last week,” Lesley continued, ignoring the slight towards wan ae their colleagues. “Teddy telt me no tae be fooled by his laid-back demeanour. And you think you’ve goat problems? He’s really hurting inside at the injustice ae it aw, the poor basturt.”
“Aye, it must be terrible,” Collette agreed sarcastically, remembering how she’d hid tae plead wae that same inspector fur o’er an hour up at Stobhill, a few nights earlier, before he’d agreed tae drap the breach ae the peace and assaulting a polis officer charges against a harmless guy who believes he’s Elvis Presley.
“Bit anyway, enough ae poor auld Paddy, ye wur saying that it wis her that contacted you?”
“Aye.”
“Did she mention that she wis involved in the Johnboy Taylor’s campaign?”
“Naw, Ah’ve jist telt ye. She did tell me that she wis friendly wae Tony Gucci, that Tally gangster wan.”
“Whit, she telt ye that oan her ain accord, oot ae the blue?”
“Well, no exactly. We wur sitting chewing the fat when a big fancy set ae wheels, a BMW Ah think it wis, drew up tae the pavement and oot stepped Gucci and that Chinky girlfriend ae his…talk aboot stunning.”
“Whit wan? Him or her?”
“The baith ae them…and wid ye mind no blowing that smoke in ma face?” Collette asked, swishing her haun in front ae them. “Ah kin taste the nicotine through ma good coffee.”
