Elvis The Sani Man

by Ian Todd

  “Now then, Sergeant. I understand that you’ve agreed to assist me and my boys with our enquiries,” she said as a statement ae fact, rather than as a question in that strange lilting voice ae hers.

  “Ah demand tae know whit the fuck’s gaun oan,” he snarled, as the expression oan The Inspector’s face beside her reacted as if somewan hid jist jabbed a finger intae wan ae his sly eyes.

  “Tut, tut…such foul language, Sergeant Priestly. And at this time of the morning too,” she scolded him, taking a mair substantial draw ae her cigar this time.

  “Ah want a brief, so Ah dae.”

  “Oh, you’ll get a lawyer, Mr Priestly…if that’s what you really want?” she stated rather than asked, her sculpted eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, nodding tae the two heavies who jumped in tae life.

  The skinny wan un-cuffed him while The Brick Shithoose left the room and returned wae a big black phone attached tae a long cable and placed it oan the chair that Skinny Arse hid awready placed beside him, before returning tae his stationary position beside his pal tae the right ae the windae.

  Silence.

  Whit the hell wis gaun oan? His brain screamed inside, as he rubbed they wrists ae his, licking his parched, dry lips, dying fur a drink ae water.

  “Please, feel free,” she’d invited, nodding at the telephone, a wee hint ae a smile at the corner ae they lips ae hers, as she took another drag ae her cigar, looking straight in tae his eyes and that soul ae his beyond.

  “Ah wis oan ma way tae start ma holidays, so Ah wis,” he retorted, ignoring the phone, averting his eyes fae the blue steel wans boring intae him.

  “Quite,” she replied, gently this time, producing an understaunin look oan that kisser ae hers, her eyes softening, efter he returned tae look at her, mesmerised.

  “They basturts kidnapped me and slung ma arse intae a cell overnight, so they did. Hauncuffed ma hauns behind ma back…aw night Ah sat there, bursting fur a slash.”

  “Well, that was certainly out of order, Sergeant. I’ll certainly make sure that doesn’t happen again,” she purred, gieing the two heavies a disapproving look.

  He wondered if she wis taking the piss, bit looking intae they steel eyes ae hers, he realised that this wan meant business. Also, whit won’t happen again? Wis that a hint that he’ll be gaun back tae the cell then? Whit the fuck wis gaun oan, fur Christ’s sake? He wis supposed tae be oan fucking holiday!

  “Er, thanks,” he mumbled, gieing they wrists ae his another wee rub, while turning tae his left, scowling at the two basturts.

  “Sergeant Priestly, I want you to feel that you’re part of the team, at least, for the time being…”

  “Eh?”

  “If my boys have been unnecessary rough, then I’ll certainly make sure that it doesn’t happen again. However, time is marching on and I require your full co-operation from here on in,” she said aw business-like, hivving a wee quick glance doon at that diver’s watch oan her wrist.

  “Ah’m a polis sergeant in Glesga’s finest. Ah don’t take shit, Ah gie it, so Ah dae,” he snarled defiantly.

  “Oh yes, I’m well aware of your methods, Sergeant. In fact, it was those methods I was wanting to have a little chat to you about.”

  “Wis it?” he growled sarcastically.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, fire away then. It disnae look as if Ah’m heiding anywhere soon.”

  “Since when has murder, attempted murder, conspiracy, perverting the course of justice, extortion, kidnapping, corruption, sexually harassing female colleagues and a whole raft of other unspeakable methods been introduced in to our national operational manual?”

  “Eh?”

  “Oh, I could go on for long enough, but then, I believe you’ve picked up my drift, eh?” she sang pleasantly, stubbing oot the cigar in the ashtray beside her.

  “Ah hivnae the foggiest idea ae whit ye’re oan aboot, so Ah hivnae,” he spat back at her.

  “Oh, well, in that case, it might be better if you telephone a lawyer after all, Sergeant. Where you’re going, you’ll be locked up twenty-four-seven for your own protection, away from the more violent inmates up there in Peterhead Prison.”

  “Ye cannae threaten me, missus. Ah know ma rights, so Ah dae.”

  “And what about the rights of poor Rose Bain?”

  “Who?”

  “The young twenty-year-old nurse that was run over after she finished her shift at Stobhill Hospital, on the 6th of June last year.”

  Silence.

  “Ah…Ah still hivnae a bloody clue whit ye’re oan aboot, hen,” he finally garbled, feeling really frightened fur the first time.

  “Yes, you do. You passed on the identity of the medical staff who were working in the Emergency Ward the night Sandy ‘Halfwit’ Murray revealed who had murdered Thomas Simpson, Toby Simpson, Little Eck Thomas, Bootsy Bell and Shaun Murphy. Due to that disclosure, poor old Farmer McPherson was used to lure Blaster Mackay out to his farm in Alexander, just outside Dumbarton. Blaster Mackay is also dead, whilst poor Farmer McPherson was burned alive after being carried semi-comatose to his bed, drunk, by associates of One-bob Brown. Can you imagine the suffering he must have gone through? I come from farming stock myself,” she mused, before continuing. “You also disclosed to One-bob Brown that it was Johnboy Taylor, the youth serving time for shooting two of our colleagues in a bank on Maryhill Road, that it was him that got rid of Shaun Murphy. You also informed One-bob that Halfwit had also disclosed to Inspector Paddy McPhee that Anthony Gucci and the rest of The Mankys had been responsible for the assassination of Thomas Simpson and the attempted murder of the woman he was having an affair with, Senior Social Worker Alison Crawford, the wife of a serving prison governor, on Hogmanay, back in 1971.”

  “Ah hivnae a bloody clue oan whit the fuck ye’re oan aboot,” he wailed.

  “You were also responsible for passing on the identity of Doctor Walsh, the doctor who was on duty that night, who was subsequently found hanged, apparently a suicide, but who was, in actual fact, murdered in his house in Pollok.”

  “Bit…bit…”

  “Now, there may be a few little slight variations on the sequence of events that I’ve just outlined, Sergeant Priestly, but believe me, you will never, ever, see the light of day, if you allow me to walk out of this room without giving me a clear and concise commitment from yourself that you will co-operate fully with us to successfully conclude our investigation. Have you any idea what the life expectancy is for a sergeant from ‘Glasgow’s Finest’ in a place like Peterhead Prison today, Sergeant Priestly?”

  “Bit…”

  “What was that? You were about to say?”

  “Who the hell ur youse?” he screamed in desperation, looking aboot in blind panic.

  “Why, I’m Chief Superintendent Murdina Munro from Inverness-shire Constabulary. The fine Inspector sitting on my right is none other than Swein McTavish, otherwise known as The Highland Fox, from way up there in the purple mountains of Sutherland. You may have come across him from 1969 when he chased a young whippersnapper, one of your Mankys, down the west coast of Scotland, along with your good friend and colleague, Paddy McPhee, The Stalker, as he became famous as. It was in connection with the supposed kidnapping of fourteen-year-old Lady Saba MacDonald. You must remember. It was in all the newspapers. Anyhow, enough of the history lesson, interesting as it is. Inspector McTavish and those little Highland ‘skulks’ of his…that’s a pack of stealthy foxes to you, Sergeant, have been doggedly following in the footsteps of you and your colleagues around the Dirty City for the past ten months. What an interesting tale they’ve been able to record, I can tell you, Sergeant,” she replied, smiling, lighting up another Panatela.

  “Bit…”

  “Oh, and the clarity of the stunning urban photography? It reminds me of why I love the fresh air. I could barely breathe after sifting through them…stinking back street butcher sheds, you and your boss associating with known criminals, you and Sergeant McGovern assau
lting your way back and forth across the north of the city, extorting money from criminals. All very, very, interesting…in a voyeuristic kind of way. Some of the reports read like scenes straight out of a paperback novel. I particularly like the chapter and accompanying photographs of you and Sergeant McGovern, in full view of members of the public, kidnapping the notorious black butcher, Black Pat McVeigh at gunpoint in Sauchie Lane in the busy city centre a number of months back. You’re such an incorrigible rogue, Mr Priestly,” she chided him pleasantly, as he slumped in his chair, his heid reeling. “It’s all so fascinating for a country girl like me,” she continued, blowing a stream ae smoke straight intae his face. “Oh yes, that reminds me. A dear friend of mine requires the return of a piece of equipment that was stolen from him.”

  “Equipment? Whit equipment?”

  “The Poachers Retreat that you and your colleague, Sergeant McGovern stole, after it was supposedly picked up from The Marine Police Station across in Partick in the afternoon of the day that Thomas Simpson was murdered in his little love-nest, at 36 Hillend Road in High Possil. Now, you and I know that that important piece of evidence wasn’t placed in the back of the Black Maria to take it across to the forensic lab in the Gorbals, don’t we, Sergeant?”

  “Not guilty,” he sneered.

  “Is that so? Then perhaps you can explain why you were in the flat across the landing on the afternoon before Thomas Simpson had his brains blown out?”

  “Whit?” he gasped, feeling his face flushing again. “It’s a well-known fact that a good pal ae mine and his wife hid jist moved in and Ah’d been gieing them a haun tae shift in their glassware and other breakables…ye don’t think fur wan minute that Ah hid anything tae dae wae setting up…”

  “Thomas Simpson?” she interjected.

  “Naw, no a bloody set…”

  “Yes, well, you would say that, I suppose,” she replied, smiling. “Oh, unfortunately Inspector McTavish here had to dispose of your meat parcel from the boot of your car, due to the smell and health risk. I do hope you understand?”

  “Look. Please. Ah know Ah probably look worse than whit you take me fur. Ah’m no aw ye’re painting me oot tae be though. Ah’ve goat commendations fur bravery…tackling an armed gunmen wis wan ae them, so it wis,” he hauf whined, hauf wept, coughing due tae another stream ae cigar smoke hitting him full-frontal oan that coupon ae his again. “It’s that McGovern wan that ye’re wanting tae be sitting here talking tae, no me.”

  “Oh, well, as much as I’m enjoying our cosy little chat, I’m afraid to say, this is only a flying visit from me, Sergeant Priestly. I have to catch a train to Edinburgh. But before I depart, let me give you a little piece of advice and a word of warning. The Highland Fox here always gets his man. With the assistance of his little pack of skulks, you and all your colleagues will soon be getting rounded up and placed in the chicken coop, until the due process of the law can be implemented and the confidence of the poor, long suffering citizens of what was once a fine city, can be restored. Now, sir, this is the important part concerning your survival. How cooperative you are this week, will determine how much I put forward to The Lord Advocate your willingness to ensure that those serving police officers, guilty of any crime, are put away for as long as possible. My advice to you is to grasp this opportunity whilst you can. I can assure you, Sergeant Priestly, this offer will not be repeated nor will it be afforded to your colleagues after I depart from the cosiness of this room and our little chat.”

  “Bit it wis Dave McGovern who passed the info oan aboot that wee nurse across tae Wan-bob Broon up at the fountain in Alexandra Park, so it wis. Ah only drove him across there,” he squealed, as the superintendent stubbed oot her cigar and stood up. “Ah swear oan that wee maw ae mine’s life, so Ah dae.”

  “Yes, you were correct as usual, Inspector. Sergeant Priestley should rightly be commended for his assistance to right the wrongs that he’s been actively participating in for all these years. Grizel Rowan, our stenographer, is travelling down from Inverness this morning. She’ll need to be picked up from Queen Street at one o’clock. Boys?” she said, nodding, picking up her bag wae wan haun, her wee green box and lighter clutched in her other haun, as she heided fur the door.

  “Ma’am,” they baith chorused at her back as she disappeared oot intae the corridor, followed by The Highland Fox padding silently efter her.

  Chapter Sixty Five

  “Right, Donna, run that past me again, only this time, slowly,” Sharon said nervously, extracting a fag fae her packet.

  “Pitt Street. Ah need wan ae youse tae pick up a wee document…a file, fur an auld acquaintance ae mine who’s needing a favour.”

  “R-i-g-h-t,” Sharon sang slowly, taking a puff ae her fag, her nervousness increasing by the second. “Bit everything’s gaun hunky-dory, so it is. Wid this no jeopardise everything before we’ve even started?”

  “Only if ye’re caught,” Donna The Prima Donna acknowledged, smiling sweetly, slipping a fag intae that fancy fag holder ae hers.

  “Oh, Ah don’t know,” Sharon mumbled, her voice laden wae doubt.

  “Why? Whit’s the problem?”

  “Ma problem is that Ah’m awready heiding tae jail fur poisoning that Mrs Purple wan and a polis inspector. Christ, they’ll end up throwing away the key, so they will.”

  “Naw, they won’t, Sharon. Ah’ve awready telt ye…furget that big glaikit eejit ae an inspector. He’s a bigger crook than the rest ae us put thegither, so he is. Look, here ye go. Hiv a wee gander ae this,” Donna said, sliding a typewritten page across the smoked-glass-topped table tae her.

  “Whit is it?” Sharon asked suspiciously, picking it up.

  “Jist read it.”

  “Ah’ve no goat ma reading specs wae me.”

  “Aw, Sharon, stoap pissing aboot and get oan wae it. Ye’ll be pleased as punch, so ye will,” Donna replied, laughing, as Sharon focussed oan the type.

  “Tae who it may concern. Hivving hid time tae reflect since me and ma family hiv recovered fae being poisoned, Ah noo realise that there may be a terrible injustice aboot tae be inflicted oan the good wummin ae Springburn’s Larder Catering Company, who supplied the food at ma darling son’s recent engagement function in Auchinairn Community Hall oan Saturday, the 9th ae August, 1975,” Sharon read oot loud, looking across at Donna, who wis sitting there smiling, blowing smoke rings towards her.

  “Telt ye,” she sang, winking. “If Ah say everything’s gonnae be awright, then it will be,” Donna gushed.

  “Bit…”

  “Carry oan, Sharon, hen. The best bit’s still tae come, so it is.”

  “Oan the night in question, Ah recognised Thomas Ralston, sometimes referred tae as Four Finger Ralston, a well-known black butcher fae Possilpark, arriving at the function, carrying a baker’s board ae pies. Efter talking tae Inspector Duggie Dougan, ma son’s future father-in-law, and asking where he wanted the pies, the inspector directed Thomas Ralston in the direction ae the kitchen. At no time did Ah see any ae the wummin fae the catering company speak tae Ralston. He wis only in the kitchen a matter ae seconds before he reappeared and nodded tae the inspector oan the way past, heiding fur the front door ae the hall. The reason fur this delay in ma memory is because it took a while fur ma body tae recover efter the food poisoning. Hivving spoken tae ma loving husband, Calypso, who his also jist recovered, alang wae ma poor wee darling son and other relatives, they hiv agreed wae ma version ae whit happened that night. Signed, Cooncillor Barbara Allan.”

  “Eh? See?” Donna cackled, gieing Sharon another wee wink wae they long false eyelashes ae hers.

  “Fur Christ’s sake, Donna. Is this genuine?”

  “As genuine as masel,” Donna replied modestly.

  “God, this means…”

  “It means that, that inspector wan is a low-doon lying prick, so he is. That’s whit the letter means. Aw that guff that he didnae know aboot they foosty pies being delivered is blown right oot ae the water, so it is
. In other words, he’s a fork-tongued, lying basturt.”

  “Ah don’t understaun,” Sharon said, shaking her heid in wonder, looking doon at the typed statement again. “Ah mean, she bloody-well cannae staun the sight ae any ae us, so she cannae,” Sharon coughed, taking another deep puff ae her fag.

  “Aye, well, the truth always comes oot in the wash at the end ae the day, so it dis.”

  “So, where’s the catch?” Sharon asked, suspiciously.

  “The catch is, she owes me a favour, so she dis. In effect, anywan who owes me a favour owes youse a favour and vice-versa.”

  “Aye, bit there must be something else lurking aboot in there somewhere? It says here that it’s signed by Mrs Purple in type, bit Ah cannae see an actual signature.”

  “Well spotted. Oan delivery ae the file, we get her autograph at the bottom ae the statement. At the end ae the day, there’s always a price attached tae everything. That’s how business works. You scratch ma fanny and well…hopefully, Ah won’t hiv tae scratch yours,” Donna hit her wae, as the pair ae them cracked up laughing.

  “Ah don’t believe this, Donna. Ye’ve nae idea the weight that’s jist come aff ae they shoulders ae mine. The lassies will be delighted, so they will.”

  “So, in exchange fur that get-oot card, aw youse need tae dae is pick up that wee file fae Pitt Street.”

  “Whit, wan ae us jist marches up tae the desk and asks fur it?”