by Ian Todd
“Ah think Ah’m gonnae be sad, Ah think it’s today…yeah!” Alex sang, gieing a no-bad rendition ae The Beatles’ ‘Ticket Tae Ride,’ tae the amusement ae passers-by, his erms spread upwards towards the soaking heavens, a wide grin spread across his coupon as he hung aff the step below his open cab door.
“Aw, wid ye listen tae that silly auld basturt? Is that no nice?” Betty cooed, fluttering they eyelashes at him, as everywan staunin there wae their empty egg boxes burst oot laughing.
Chapter Fifty Seven
Geraldine lifted her eyes up fae her well-thumbed paperback, The Female Eunuch, as the door ae The City Café oan Castle Street opened again. It wis a middle-aged couple, dragging a girning four-year-auld in their wake this time. Although she relaxed, her stomach wis still churning in anticipation ae the meeting. The guy wis wearing a cowboy hat. She smiled tae hersel. Even the maist original thinkers in the Serious Crime and Intelligence section ae the polis doon in Pitt Street widnae be undercover wearing a Stetson, she assured hersel. The wee wan soon calmed doon, clutching shyly oan tae the leg ae the stout, matronly other hauf ae Roy Rogers, efter he clocked aw the other weans in the café getting tore right in tae their wee cut-crystal bowls ae ice cream, topped wae strawberry sauce. It aw seemed very normal, watching the families ae the patients fae The Royal across the road, coming and gaun. She wondered whit aw the wummin in the cafe wid hiv tae say aboot Germaine Greer referring tae them as female eunuchs because ae their domestic set-up, if they read her book. Fur some reason, she didnae think they’d be too chuffed. Her mind drifted back tae the situation in haun. Senga Jackson hid taken her by surprise efter turning up oan the ward a week earlier.
“Ah need tae speak tae ye,” she’d said.
“Aye?”
“Bit, no here. Ah’ll see ye in the canteen at three o’clock.”
When she’d caught up wae Senga, she hidnae messed aboot either, as they’d supposedly only hid fifteen minutes.
“Remember that wee WPC who came in a couple ae months ago? The wan that tried tae hing hersel efter getting dumped by the inspector?”
“Whit aboot her?”
“She’s made contact, so she his.”
“Ye mean the vulnerable wan?” she’d replied sarcastically, no being able tae contain hersel.
“Her as well,” Senga hid replied, smiling. “Look, Ah’ve no goat much time, so ye’ll hiv tae listen withoot butting in every two seconds.”
It hid been murder sitting there, getting aw excited, bit no being able tae nip in and ask loads ae questions.
“We’ll need tae involve The Purple Dove, so we will,” she’d telt Senga.
“Why?”
“Because this could be a set-up or the big break we’ve been waiting fur.”
“Well, it wis you she asked fur, so ye kin keep me well oot ae it. Ah’ve goat enough oan ma plate as it is.”
“Aye, well, that’s as maybe, bit The Purple Dove will still want tae talk tae you. Ye know whit like she is.”
“Okay, that’s fair enough. Bit, Ah want your support wae this, Geraldine. Ah want tae be kept at a distance. There’s a lot ae stuff gaun oan jist noo wae Johnboy’s campaign that’s taking up aw ma waking hours,” Senga hid replied efter ten minutes hid lapsed, as she dashed aff, efter getting a nod fae across at the door that she wis urgently wanted alang in casualty.
The meeting wae The Purple Dove hid taken place doon in The Tear Drap Café in the dungeons ae The Corporation two nights earlier. As well as The Purple Dove, Babs Wilson fae The Glesga Echo, Sister Liz fae St Brides and Crystal Hamilton fae Strathclyde Uni hid also been in attendance. Nowan hid spoken while Senga expanded oan the same story that she’d telt Geraldine. Nowan hid tried tae disguise their shock as they glanced at each other. When she’d finished, everywan hid looked at The Purple Dove tae lead aff.
“This wee sister, The WPC, said that it hid been in relation tae sexual harassment, Senga? Wis there any reason that made ye cut her aff and terminate the flow?”
“As Ah said, Ah’ve goat plenty oan ma plate as it is, plus Ah didnae want tae incriminate masel if Ah wisnae gonnae be involved. Ah mean, she could’ve been wired fur aw Ah knew. She wis quite specific aboot who she wanted tae speak tae.”
“I think that it’s quite interesting about the connection between Mary Strachan and the Meat Is Murder sisters. Obviously, they’ll have to disconnect with us fur a while if the intelligence squad are on to them,” Sister Liz hid said, as everywan nodded.
“Ye see, girls? That’s whit happens if ye spread yersels too thin. It leaves us open tae penetration, so it dis. Senga’s right. This WPC wants to speak wae Geraldine. Whit we need tae decide is, ur we gonnae oblige?”
“Whit’s her heid like jist noo, Senga?” Babs hid asked.
“She sounded a lot stronger than the last time Ah spoke tae her…although,” Senga hid replied, hesitantly.
“Although?”
“Ah only spoke tae her fur aboot five or ten minutes aboot Geraldine’s supposed Showgirl connection. Who knows whit’s gaun oan behind they eyes ae hers.”
“Yes, but did she come across as being desperate?”
“Ah widnae say desperate. It wis mair like clutching at straws, no sure ae the ground that she wis walking oan. That’s why Ah backed aff. Ah thought that it wid gie us mair leverage if Ah threw her aff the scent.”
“Do you trust her?” Crystal hid asked.
“She’s a poliswummin,” Senga hid replied.
“But a sister, nevertheless,” Sister Liz hid reminded them.
“She said that she his a good connection, a pal, in the intelligence squad. That makes me really nervous, so it dis,” Geraldine hid admitted. “We’d need tae go caw-canny here.”
“We know for a fact that there’s been allegations in the past of young WPCs being sexually harassed. There was that young girl a few years back involving the brother and sister sergeants. Even though nothing appears to have been done about it, we’re certain that he’s a serial rapist. How many more are there? And she didn’t clarify anything specific, Senga?”
“No really. As Ah’ve said, she came across as being very nervous. Whether it wis because ae the approach or because she wis undercover, Ah cannae be too sure. Remember, she wis sitting in the kitchen ae the main witness against The Stalker who’s fabricated and held back evidence tae keep a young guy in jail fur a crime he hisnae committed. The Stalker’s also been implicated in being responsible fur the death ae Rose Bain. If it’s an undercover trap tae lure members ae The Showgirls oot in tae the open, then the boys ae the intelligence squad are playing a dangerous game here, so they ur,” Senga hid reminded them.
Before a decision oan how tae go forward hid been explored, Senga hid stood up efter confirming that her and her flatmate, Lizzie Mathieson, hid gied sworn statements tae Elspeth Jefferson, wan ae Graham Portoy’s legal partners and the Rose Bain Campaign Group’s legal brief oan The WPC’s approach, as a safeguard fur later, should it be required.
“Look, Ah’m sorry, Purple Dove, bit youse will hiv tae excuse me. Ah’ll hiv tae get ma skates oan. Ah’m staunin in fur Geraldine at a meeting up in The Gospel Hall oan Stirling Road in twenty minutes. There’s a Rose Bain planning group meeting fur the big nurses’ demonstration up at the gates ae Stobhill next Saturday that Ah need tae chair.”
“You jist get oan yer way, Senga, hen,” The Purple Dove hid sang encouragingly. “If Ah don’t see ye before, Ah’ll catch up wae ye at Stobhill wae aw the other sisters, so Ah will.”
“God bless and look after yourself, Senga,” Sister Liz hid chipped in, as everywan hid bade her goodnight.
They’d sat fur another four hours efter Senga hid disappeared, debating and discussing the pros and cons ae the new development. The implications ae The Showgirls being penetrated hid never been far fae the discussion, bit at the end ae the night, everywan hid been in agreement that they hid tae respond. If this wis a serious approach, then nowan felt comfortable aboot leaving a vulnerable si
ster alane, oot in the cauld, at the mercy ae a predatory group ae polismen, particularly if the WPC hid damning information and evidence that could, at last, split the can open tae reveal potential systematic sexual harassment, or prove whit hid been known, bit ignored, by those in positions ae authority. There hid been too many rumours and hauf truths surfacing, before disappearing, o’er the years tae ignore it. It hid been agreed that Geraldine wid meet wae Collette James. Before the meeting, she’d been able tae get the domestic information fae Maggie Stone, another associate ae The Showgirls, that hid been provided when The WPC wis admitted tae The Royal, such as her age, where she lived, the polis station she worked oot ae. Jennifer Guthrie, an active Showgirl volunteer, who also happened tae be wan ae the senior social workers based up in Possilpark, who’d met Collette James oan a number ae times through domestic abuse assaults oan local wummin, wis able tae provide Geraldine wae the make, model and number plates ae the car the constable used tae come and go fae her work. She wis also able tae provide Collette James’s shift times, as there wur active domestic abuse charges that the local social work team wur dealing wae, which meant they hid tae know the availability ae the case officers. Collette James wis active in four ae the current investigations.
Geraldine looked up. An auld couple came in and looked aboot. It wis Saturday…the busiest time ae the week fur visitors tae the wards across at the hospital, which usually meant the café wid be full. She’d arrived in plenty ae time. She felt a tinge ae guilt efter the auld couple aboot-turned and left. She sat sipping her third cup ae cappuccino, watching the auld wans negotiating a safe path across the busy road. Satisfied that they’d arrived safely oan the other side, she went back tae ingesting the words ae the patron saint ae wumminhood.
Chapter Fifty Eight
“Aw, fur goodness sake!” Collette cursed loudly, exiting the back door ae the station, spotting whit she took tae be a parking ticket, tucked behind the driver’s side wiper blade.
Who the hell hid ever heard ae anywan getting a ticket in a bloody polis station staff car park?
“Naw!” she exclaimed, efter snatching up the cellophane wrapper and opening it, sitting in the car.
She leaned forward across the driving wheel and peered oot the windscreen, scanning the second flair windaes ae the station, trying tae see if anywan hid been clocking her. There didnae appear tae be anywan watching. Duggie Dougan’s office wis roond the front, where the sun started and finished oan the days it came oot wae its hat oan. She looked doon at the note in her haun. It didnae say much.
‘The University Café on Byres Road at 9 o’clock. Don’t be late and come alone.’
Whit hid caused her astonished ootburst efter sitting doon, hidnae been whit hid been written oan the note. It hid been the logo oan the tap ae it, wae a line ae blonde, grinning-skulled Tiller Girls daeing their famous ‘tap and kick’ routine. The last time she’d seen that page heider wis when Lesley Bare showed her a similar copy ae the letter that the group hid sent tae the owner ae a carpet shoap doon in Queen Street, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
She looked at her watch. Ten past eight. She wondered who’d managed tae put the note oan her windscreen withoot being spotted. The car hid been sitting fae the night before, when she’d started her shift at ten. The only other female oan duty hid been Duggie Dougan’s new wee floozy, WPC Hamilton. There wis no way in a month ae Sundays she wid be a Showgirl…surely? Nah! Nothing in life wis certain, bit that wan wis a definite, so it wis, she telt hersel. It felt odd. Who wur they? It could only hiv been Senga Jackson. She’d denied being a Showgirl hersel. She’d also cast doubt aboot that colleague ae hers, Geraldine Baker, being involved. She hid tae get a move oan. Seeing as the meeting wis taking place oan Byres Road, she’d hiv time tae nip hame and get changed. Her flat in Lawrence Street wis jist roond the corner fae it.
Collette looked at her watch. Twenty past nine. Where wur they? Wis it nine o’clock at night that she’d tae meet them, she suddenly wondered. She’d been sitting there since ten tae nine. The note said she wisnae tae be late. When she’d arrived, there hid only been two couples, students, at separate tables, eating breakfast fry-ups and a nun at the table behind her, who’d looked tae be engrossed in reading some anatomy magazine that she noticed wis called Spare Rib. Strange name. She looked aboot. Only wan other couple wis still sitting, sharing a fag between them. Their breakfast plates wur sitting balancing in a wee erratic pile beside them. The other couple and the nun hid disappeared no long efter she’d arrived. She looked across at the door and read the opening times stuck oan the glass, back tae front. It said that the café shut at four o’clock oan a Saturday. Something wis wrang. She’d awready paid her bill ae two coffees. She lifted up her jackait and put it oan. As she stood up oot ae the booth and picked up her bag, she noticed a wee note sitting doon the back ae it. She gasped and snatched it up, ignoring the smoking couple across fae her, who gied her a fleeting glance at her sharp intake ae breath.
“Christ!” she cursed oot loudly, efter ripping open the note and accidently tearing doon the middle ae it in her desperation tae open the bloody thing up.
‘Queens Café on Victoria Road at 10 o’clock. Don’t be late,’ The Tiller Girls laughingly shouted up at her fae the torn piece ae paper in that trembling haun ae hers, as she dashed fur the door and Lawrence Street, a couple ae minutes away, praying that she’d taken her car keys wae her in that heavy shoulder bag ae hers.
Queens Café? Where the hell wis the Queens Café, she wondered. She swithered whether tae go via the Clyde Tunnel and come at Victoria Road in a circular route via Pollockshields, bit she wisnae sure ae whit end the café wis at, so heided south towards the Clyde, via the toon centre, tae come at it via the Gorbals and Eglinton Toll, further up.
“Shit!” she cursed oot loud.
The pavements surrounding The Plaza Ballroom wur mobbed wae Elvises, baby Elvises and hundreds ae Priscillas ae aw shapes and sizes. She’d been gied a ticket fur the ‘Elvis Is The Main Man Event’ fae Priscilla. Lisa Marie hid made her promise that she wid attend. She hoped she wisnae spotted as she drove past.
The additional note and location hid shaken her. Fur some strange reason she’d thought the nurse, Geraldine Baker, wid’ve been sitting waiting oan her at The University Café. Oan reflection, she noo realised that that hid been pretty naïve ae her. Of course she wisnae gonnae be sitting there, oot in the open, waiting fur somewan like her. They wid’ve hid a well-oiled security apparatus. Lesley hid telt her that they wur naewhere near knowing who the leadership wur, never mind who the fit soldiers wur. How could she, as an experienced bizzy, no hiv thought ae that in the first place? Wance she’d realised that, she couldnae keep her eyes away fae her mirror. She wisnae bothered aboot male drivers, bit every time a car appeared behind her wae a wummin driving, she wondered if it wis wan ae them following her. She hid tae fight the urge tae keep the accelerator oan the flair ae the car. She’d nearly ran a couple ae wee mini Elvises o’er in the Gorbals who’d been farting aboot while crossing the road. It hidnae dawned oan her that their dress could’ve been connected wae whit wis happening up at The Plaza Ballroom. Efter passing the St Andrews Church at the Toll, she’d come upon plenty ae cafés and chip shoaps that hid sit-in eating areas, bit nae Queens Café, bit then it came in tae view. Even a blind man wid’ve spotted it. Fae the ootside, it looked pretty gaudy, covered wae post-box red paint and two big pokey-hat ice cream cones sitting in the windaes oan either side ae the door. There wis also aw sorts ae coloured neon lights shining in the windae, despite it being five tae ten oan a Saturday morning.
“Shit!” she screamed, slamming oan they breaks ae hers, shouting ‘Sorry’ at the honking bus driver behind her, even though he widnae hiv been able tae hear the yelp, as she nearly rammed in tae a wee sky blue disabled car pulling oot fae the side ae the road opposite the café, freeing up a parking space.
The inside didnae disappoint, gaun oan the subtlety ae the ootside décor, as she pushed open th
e glazed front door wae the giant ice cream pokey-hat etched intae it. None ae the customers looked up as they goat tore intae their bowls ae ice-cream that wur being shuttled oot fae behind the coonter by two wee speedy Gonzales lassies, aw decked oot in Minnie Moose ootfits. Behind the coonter, a tall skinny guy in chef’s whites wis scooping up the different continental flavours, while winking appreciatively at aw the weans shouting ‘Mair!’ at their mas and das, as they drapped their clinking spoons intae the empty bowls.
“Whit kin Ah get ye?” Minnie Moose number wan asked her as her pal whizzed past her wae an erm full ae bowls.
“Ah’ll hiv a wee cappuccino, hen,” she replied, determined no tae look aboot, as she wondered whit the approach wis gonnae be this time.
Efter sitting until hauf ten, she decided tae take a gamble and make the first move. She’d been starting tae think that perhaps somewan wis taking the piss. She could’ve sat there aw day, bit jist couldnae fathom oot how she could’ve been approached withoot the contact exposing themsels. She’d only noticed the colourfully-crafted, haun-written sign, announcing that between ten and twelve oan a Saturday morning, aw the ice cream wis hauf price, if every two weans turning up wur accompanied by an adult.
“Is there a toilet, hen?” she asked Minnie.
“Across in the corner,” she replied, whizzing past the table.
