by Ian Todd
“Hiv ye picked up anything aboot whit’s gaun oan doon in Central?”
“Naw, no really. Everywan’s keeping their heids doon across here in the south, watching and waiting tae see whit happens next. The speculation is flying thick and fast, so it is.”
“Look, Ah’m gonnae hiv tae shoot the craw. Thanks, Billy,” he’d said, feeling his guts churn and haudin his breath in case he shat himsel.
Collette James! That wee fucking bitch wis behind this. The dirty wee fucking slag. He’d tried phoning Central earlier, bit hidnae goat a haud ae anywan. Big Toby Burns hid telt him the place wis in an uproar, wae nowan hivving a bloody clue whit wis gaun oan efter Paddy and Dave McGovern wur reported as being arrested. Nowan knew where they wur keeping them or who the arresting officers wur. The lassie oan the switchboard doon in Pitt Street hid telt him that neither Teddy nor his wife hid come in the day, although she’d said that Lesley hid the day aff. Whit wis he tae dae? Whit if that wee bitch hid other letters. Her and Lesley wur the best ae pals. Fuck! He regretted phoning Pitt Street noo. Aw incoming calls wur logged. The lassie oan the switchboard knew exactly who he wis. He looked aboot the office before getting up aff ae that arse ae his, and heided fur the door, satisfied he wisnae gonnae shite in they breeks ae his.
“Ah’m away oot, Skanky. Ah shouldnae be long.”
“Whit car ur ye taking?”
“Ma ain wan. Ah’m jist away tae see a lawyer,” he growled, as Skanky laughed.
“Good wan, Duggie.”
He sat parked up, looking up at her windae. He looked at his watch. Quarter past three. There wis nae movement. Wae her being oan the nightshift, she wis probably still in her kip, he telt himsel, putting oan his leather gloves and opening the car door, efter hivving a good wee swatch alang the street. It wis quiet. The only movement wis at the Byres Road end ae Lawrence Street. When he reached her closemooth, he hesitated and nipped back tae his car boot and lifted it up. He stood looking fur a few seconds before he clocked whit he wis efter. Efter hiving another wee fly look aboot, he lifted up the heavy ten-inch monkey-wrench and held it doon by his trooser leg before nipping intae the closemooth. He allowed himsel tae get his breath back while he placed his ear tae her door. Nothing.
Mr Hopkins, who wis lying oan tap ae his master’s bed, lifted his heid and peered oot through the door, alang the lobby. He recognised the wee creaking sound coming fae the big bad boot that always tried tae hurt him. Sensing danger, he sat up, bit stayed where he wis, watching and listening. He quietly nipped doon aff the bed and scurried across tae the bedroom door and peeked oot, jist as the rasping ae the key entered the lock. He looked aboot in panic, wondering where the best place tae hide wis.
“Shit!” The Big Bad Boot cursed quietly, as the cat’s ears went back, staring alang tae the ootside landing door, as the key wis withdrawn.
He scurried alang the flair, oan his haunches this time and looked up at the lock as the key entered it a second time. The Big Bad Boot started rattling the door back and forward while trying tae turn the key in the lock, tae open it. The cat scurried back tae the bedroom door, stoapped, and looked back, waiting fur The Big Bad Boot tae appear. Nothing. He heard The Big Bad Boot turn and start tae slowly heid doon the stairs, cursing under its breath. It wis leaving…he widnae get hurt. He looked at the distance between where he wis crouched and the sideboard sitting in the lobby where Master kept her keys in a wee basket. He stood up oan his hind legs fur a better look. Satisfied, he leapt intae the air, landing oan tap ae the sideboard, wae plenty ae room tae spare. He hidnae realised there wis a cloth runner doon the middle ae it. He hidnae seen that before, and his body slid towards the far edge, knocking o’er a wee vase ae plastic flowers and the basket oan route.
The inspector swung roond at the sound ae a glass or a vase smashing oan tae the flair inside the flat. The wee bitch hid obviously goat the locks oan her door changed, he cursed tae himsel, as he quietly bounded back up the five steps tae the door.
“Inspector? This is fur you, ya greedy basturt, ye,” The Gunman growled, letting loose wae baith barrels, as the force ae the shot fae the cartridges threw the inspector against the facing ae the door, breaking his nose and smashing oot his two front teeth.
3.35 PM
Collette finished her coffee and stood up. She’d awready paid the bill. Somewan hid jist dashed intae The University Café oan Byres Road where she wis sitting and announced there hid been a serious incident roond the corner in Lawrence Street…her street.
“Incident?” she’d asked.
“Ah think somewan’s jist been stabbed up a closemooth or something. The polis ur aw o’er the place.”
She exited the front door oan tae the street. Two polis cars, wae their lights flashing, hid jist turned intae the street, coming up fae Dumbarton Road. She quickened her pace. She might be able tae assist, even though she wis aboot deid oan her feet. She’d jist reached the corner when she wis accosted by her auld boss fae the sex squad, Sergeant Sally Burke and her ex-lover, Chief Inspector Bobby Mack.
“Collette? Ah’m afraid ye’re gonnae hiv tae come wae us,” The Chief Inspector said, looking a bit peely-wally roond the gills.
“Eh, whit?” she replied, taken aff guard, as an unmarked squad car ground tae a halt, scraping the rims ae the wheels alang the kerb, before she wis roughly bundled intae the back fur the second time that day, only this time, she wis hauncuffed tae Sally Burke.
“Whit the hell is this, Bobby?” she demanded tae know.
“Look, jist settle doon and ye’ll find oot soon enough,” her ex-lover said, as the car sped doon tae the lights oan Dumbarton Road before turning left towards the toon centre.
4.00 PM
They wur late. The hurricane that wis Lisa Marie hid been and gone, doon tae her pal Lucy’s hoose, promising tae be back fur her tea at five-thirty sharp. Priscilla hid jist sat doon at the kitchen table and taken the first sip ae her tea efter bundling the whites intae the washing machine, when the new phone hid gone aff earlier oan the wee telephone table beside Elvis’s chair.
“Hello?”
“Mrs, er…Presley?”
“Speaking.”
“Oh, right. Er, Ah’m Sergeant Wilma Thain. Ah’m based across in Craigie Street in Govanhill oan the south side. Ah wonder if Ah kin come roond and hiv a wee chat wae ye?”
“Me?”
“Aye.”
“Er, kin Ah ask whit it’s aboot?”
“Oh, Ah’m no sure Ah’d like tae discuss the matter o’er the phone, if ye know whit Ah mean?”
“Er, when wur ye thinking ae? Ah wis jist aboot tae nip doon tae Crow Road fur ma messages, bit Ah shouldnae be long.”
“How dis quarter tae four sound?”
“Er, aye, that’ll be fine,” she’d replied.
She looked across tae the door intae the lobby. She could hear the feet coming up the stairs, the sound levelling aff oan the landing below before the shuffling steps goat closer. It sounded if there wis mair than wan ae them. She looked aboot, satisfied that the place wis tidy, before heidin fur the ootside door tae meet them.
“Mrs Presley? Ah’m Sergeant Wilma Thain and this is DC Moffat. We spoke oan the phone earlier?”
“Aye, please…come in. It’s straight through,” Priscilla replied, pointing tae the end ae the lobby.
“Wow!” the constable exclaimed. “Ah’m a big Elvis fan masel, so Ah am,” she said, looking aboot the kitchen.
“Oh, did ye manage tae get tae the ‘Elvis Is The Main Man Event’ competition across at The Plaza recently?”
“Naw, Ah couldnae get a ticket. They wur like gold dust, bit Ah heard your Elvis wis a deserving winner, so he wis.”
“Kin Ah get youse a cup ae tea or a coffee?” she asked.
“Naw, we’ve jist hid, thanks,” The Sergeant replied, looking aboot.
“Grab a seat and make yersels comfortable.”
“Ta,” they baith replied, sitting doon, DC Moffat taking oot her pencil and wee black
notebook.
“So?” she asked them.
“Ah believe ye’re a friend ae Lesley Bare. Wid that be right?” The Sergeant asked.
“Well, Ah widnae say we wur friends. In fact, Lesley probably widnae pee oan me if Ah wis oan fire,” Priscilla answered, a hauf smile oan her face.
“Oh?”
“Too much competition between Teddy, her man, and that Elvis ae mine.”
“Oh, right, Ah see.”
“And…er…Ah knew him back in the sixties when Ah wis, er, in uniform masel.”
“Aye, that’s whit Ah wanted tae talk tae ye aboot.”
“Oh?”
“When ye said that ye knew him. Wis that as a colleague or something, er, a bit mair, how kin Ah put it, substantial?”
“Substantial?”
“Aye, like as in boyfriend, girlfriend, that kind ae thing?”
Silence.
“Look, Priscilla, we’re no here tae cause any upset or strife fur you or…or that man ae yers. Aw we want tae dae is ask a few questions and seek a wee bit ae clarification and we’ll be oan oor way.”
“Ma man knows everything aboot me, including ma past. We don’t keep any secrets fae each other,” she replied, fighting tae keep the bitterness oot ae her voice, thinking aboot Lisa Marie. “Well, at least, maist things,” she added, feeling her face flush.
“Right, goat ye, hen. Look, Ah wis wondering if ye could maybe clarify the contents ae this wee statement fur me,” The Sergeant asked, digging intae her shoulder bag and slipping oot a broon envelope.
“Whit is it?” Priscilla asked suspiciously, no reaching oot fur the flattened, bit heavily crumpled sheet ae ABC drawing paper being held oot tae her efter being carefully withdrawn fae the envelope.
“Here, take it. Ye’ll need tae read it if ye’re tae answer ma question.”
Priscilla hesitated, before reaching o’er and taking the paper in her shaking haun. She knew exactly whit it wis. The bitterness, anger and frustration, that oot ae aw the ex-WPCs, it wis her that wisnae gonnae get tae confront Teddy Bare in open court fur raping her. Her agonising decision, efter much discussion and soul searching wae Collette, hid been a bitter blow, bit at the end ae the day, she’d eventually come tae terms wae the decision and accepted that it hid been the right wan. If the wummin wur ever tae get peace and justice, then this hid been the only way. Oan the positive side, it meant Elvis widnae hiv tae be confronted by the knowledge that his main rival hid raped and abused her and Lisa Marie widnae need tae find oot who her real father wis. She’d cried fur a full two days in a row at the injustice ae it aw.
“Ur ye no gonnae read it?” The sergeant asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Ah…Ah awready know the contents.”
“So, it wis you that put this thegither…typed it up, Ah mean?”
Silence.
“Look, Priscilla, aw we want tae dae is oor job, the best we kin, and then we’ll get oot ae yer face. You’ve been there. Ye know the score.”
Priscilla looked doon at the crumbled typed sheet. It looked as if it hid been crushed up intae a baw and then flattened oot. There wis something else oan it as well. It looked as if somewan hid splashed coffee or tea…or…blood? It wis dried blood. She looked across the table intae the eyes ae the two plain clothed poliswummin as she started tae shake.
“Kin…kin Ah ask whit branch ae the polis youse ur fae?”
“We’re baith in the murder squad oan the south ae the city,” DC Moffat replied, as Priscilla’s haun shot up tae smother the scream that wis aboot tae escape fae the back ae that throat ae hers.
“Priscilla, Lesley Bare wis murdered earlier this morning at hame by her man, Teddy Bare. Initially, we thought that it wis a domestic killing, until we found this note in amongst the scattered debris oan the flair in the flat,” The Sergeant informed her.
“Oh ma Jesus God!” Priscilla cried oot, baith hauns covering her mooth noo, as the tears started flowing. “How…”
“The basturt broke her cheekbone, her nose, her front teeth and three ribs, before smashing that skull ae hers against the corner ae their tiled mantelpiece. Although she wis still breathing when two ae the local pavement pounders kicked doon the front door, she never made it tae The Victoria Infirmary Ah’m afraid. It wis the trauma tae the back ae the skull that did it.”
“Oh ma God!” Priscilla sobbed, blindly accepting a paper hankie fae wan ae them.
“Look, hen, Ah know this is hard and that ye’d want us tae get that basturt. That’s whit we aw want. Apparently, it wisnae the first time he’s hid a go at her either. Seemingly, she used tae regularly turn up tae work wae a black eye under her make-up,” DC Moffat said quietly tae her.
“Ah’m…Ah’m no sure anything Ah say will be able tae assist youse. It’ll aw be covered up, so it will,” Priscilla sobbed.
“Covered up? Whit makes ye say that, Priscilla?”
“Ah mean that this isnae the only note, letter, whitever,” Priscilla cried oot, blowing her nose.
“Ah’m sorry, Priscilla, hen, ye’ll need tae explain.”
“This is a copy ae the original, bit it’s no complete, so it isnae,” she spluttered, wiping her eyes and blowing that runny nose ae hers again. “There’s…there’s additional information that goes wae it…concerning the birth ae ma daughter and the others.”
“Others? Whit others?”
“The other lassies…bit it’s hopeless…ye’re too late…kin ye no see? Nothing will be done aboot it. The Irish Brigade will see tae that.”
“The Irish Brigade? Bit, Ah thought they’d aw goat jailed or sacked back in the late sixties,” The Sarge asked, looking confused.
“The Irish Brigade ur alive and well in the central and the north ae the city, so they ur. Daddy Jackson, Billy Liar, Mickey Sherlock, Bobby Mack, Duggie Dougan, Sally Burke and her brother Willie…they’re aw still there oan the take, controlling everywan, taking advantage ae young lassies joining the force…jist…jist like me when Ah wis young. Teddy Bare wis in the thick ae it, so he wis,” Priscilla babbled uncontrollably.
“Priscilla, hen. Please, listen tae me. Ur you saying that no only did Teddy Bare rape ye, bit he’s the faither ae yer wee lassie?” The Sergeant asked, nodding across tae the photo frame wae Elvis and Lisa Marie smiling oot ae them.
“That’s exactly whit Ah’m saying and…and, there’s mair.”
“Christ!” The Sergeant cursed under her breath, blinking, turning and looking at her shocked partner.
“Ye said others, Priscilla,” The WPC asked, gently. “Whit dis others mean? Is that other ex-colleagues or other notes like this wan?”
“Aye,” Priscilla nodded.
“Aye, whit?”
“There’s mair ae us…hauf a dozen other wummin, aw ex-poliswummin, who wrote doon statements like mine. Testimonials, she called them,” Priscilla sobbed, blowing her nose intae the hanky.
“Testimonials? Who called them testimonials, Priscilla?” The Sergeant pressed her gently.
“Who? A…a wee naïve poliswummin, the only wan that’s ever hid the baws tae…tae staun up tae the basturts. She wis their latest victim, so she wis,” Priscilla wailed uncontrollably.
“A name, Priscilla? Kin ye gie us a name, hen?” DC Moffat asked gently, stretching across the table and taking Priscilla’s hauns away fae her face and intae her ain wans.
“Wh…whit?”
“The wee WPC’s name, Priscilla? We cannae dae anything aboot they basturts unless we hiv a name, hen.”
“They’ll destroy the evidence…they always dae,” she bubbled. “They probably hiv awready.”
“Priscilla, hen, this wee typewritten note ae yers will be the central plank ae the evidence fur the conviction ae Teddy Bare, so it will. Nowan, no matter who the hell they ur, will be able tae get their hauns oan this, so they wullnae. That’s a promise.”
“Collette…Collette James. She’s a…a WPC based up in Possil, so she is,” Priscilla sobbed, her shoulders shaking as the tears b
egun tae flow again, as Sergeant Wilma Thain came roond the table and took Priscilla in her erms.
“Sshhh, Pricilla, hen. Don’t you worry. Me and Jean here ur gonnae get tae bottom ae aw this. Wae the help ae you and the other wummin, we’ll sort the basturts oot, so we will. Is that no right, Jean?”
“Aye, that’s right, Wilma,” DC Jean Moffat said reassuringly, as the three ae them stiffened, before turning tae look toward the lobby at the sound ae a key rasping in the lock ae the landing door.
“Honey, Ah’m home,” Elvis shouted happily fae through in the lobby.
6.05 PM
Superintendent Murdina Munro quickly glanced doon at her watch, as Strathclyde’s Assistant Chief Constable, Jack Tipple, moved sideways alang the line tae the second last accused, slowly drawing nearer tae the best ae the bunch, staunin wae their toes oan the other side ae the white chalk line. Oot ae everywan, it hid only been the polis and solicitors that appeared tae be irritated by the constant ringing ae a loud telephone in wan ae the empty rooms behind where she wis staunin. At wan point, Joshua Crankie ae Crankie and Crankier hid squeezed past his client and shut the door, making the room really stuffy wae the amount ae bodies packed intae it. Brut and Hi-Karate wur obviously still in vogue in The Dirty City, she noted, enjoying the sound ae the incessant ringing and the distress oan Joshua Crankie’s face. As well as the distinguished participants, such as Alan Small, the heid ae The Crown’s Criminal Division in Edinburgh and the assistant chief constable himsel, there wis the usual assortment ae legal briefs, staunin waiting tae pounce if they thought anything wis oot ae order. She wis well satisfied. Everywan hid mair than enough time tae be briefed by their lawyers and allowed the opportunity tae rebut the allegations against them throughoot the day. There wis only wan thing that hid really irritated her…embarrassed her. Looking alang the line-up, it wis patently obvious who the true professionals wur. At the far end stood The Gruesome Twosome themsels, Shane Priestly and Dave McGovern. Baith faces wur as white as sheets and their legs constantly shook violently throughoot the charging proceedings. McGovern looked as if he wis aboot tae faint. Next tae them, in the middle, came The Stalker, Paddy McPhee. His bottom lip hid been trembling throughoot the assistant chief constable’s reading oot ae the charges against him. He looked bewildered and shell-shocked. They’d hid tae bring in a local doctor earlier in the efternoon as wan ae the young skulks oan duty in the corridor thought he wis aboot tae hiv a heart attack. The fourth in the line-up wis Charlie Hastie, who hidnae said a word since his arrest as he’d stepped oot ae his big fancy motor doon in Renfield Street earlier. The only visible emotion he’d expressed aw day hid been the surprised look oan his face when he’d been confronted by The Highland Fox and his sergeant, walking oot ae the office entrance wae Wan-bob Broon hauncuffed between them. He noo stood there, totally impassive, his eyes penetrating through the assistant chief constable, looking bored. At last, Jack Tipple hid finished reading oot the charges tae Hastie. Noo fur the big wan. This wis whit aw this wis aboot. It hid been decided tae keep the charges tae a minimum at this stage. In the days tae follow, wance everywan else wis rounded up, there wur mair waiting tae be levelled against them. The murder charge wid ensure that bail wid be refused and that she and her team hid a hunner and twelve days tae compile the evidence that wid ensure everywan in the line-up wis locked up fur life. Should that fail, they’d hiv a heavy list ae other charges sitting pending. The assistant chief constable took a hanky oot ae his trooser pocket and gied his brow a wipe. And so he should, she telt hersel. The morra morning, he wis gieing a press conference where he’d be announcing his resignation. Let him get this last bit ae legacy fur his memoirs. He wis finished. She wished he’d hurry up. She hid business back in toon.
