1979

by McDermid, Val

  Buchan gestured for them to sit. ‘It’s Miss Burns, isn’t it? Have you come to confess?’ His voice was playful and his battered face creased into a smile.

  ‘We’ve come to present you with a gift-wrapped case, Davie. You must know by now that Barry Curran had nothing to do with my boy Danny’s murder. We know it’s not his print on the murder weapon. And I bet if push came to shove, he’d give up at least one of his other clients as an alibi. He’s only holding back because he knows he didn’t do it and he’s banking on you coming round to the same opinion.’

  Allie tried not to show how startled she was at Carlyle’s words. Did he know about Morrison? Or was he just making an educated guess?

  Buchan shook his head, beaming at Carlyle. ‘If you’re sniffing after a story, you should know better. We’ve got the boy in custody because we know if we put him in front of a jury, we’ll get a result.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather get a result with the guilty party?’

  ‘What makes you think you know better than me and my boys?’

  Carlyle turned to Allie. ‘Tell Detective Chief Inspector Buchan what you told me. Spare no details, he’s in no hurry as long as the bar’s open.’

  Buchan chuckled. ‘The bar’s always open for me here. All right, lassie. Let’s hear what you’ve concocted since you spoke to my lads on Sunday.’

  Like Carlyle, he listened in silence. But the cheerfulness gradually left his face, replaced by a stony gaze that fixed Allie in her seat. This was not a man it would be easy to lie to, she thought, glad she was bringing him truth.

  When she reached the end of her story, he sat staring at her. Then he lifted his glass and emptied it in one. ‘You’ve got some nerve, going after a Special Branch officer. You have the will?’ he demanded, holding out his hand.

  Carlyle nodded, and Allie handed it over. Buchan glanced through it and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. ‘Evidence,’ he said. ‘I’ll need a formal statement from you. First thing in the morning at Stewart Street.’ He shook his head. ‘Your homeless guy should have told our officers on Sunday.’

  Allie held his stare. ‘They didn’t want to listen,’ she said. ‘Homeless, smelly, drink issues, beggar.’

  A tight smile that didn’t come near his eyes. ‘Not witness box material.’

  ‘No, but he led me to Stuart Paul, who is. And you’ve got the fingerprint evidence. That should settle it.’

  Buchan shrugged. ‘You know you can’t write this, right? A word of this appears in the Clarion and I’ll have the pair of you behind bars for interfering with the course of justice. The courts love to slap you lot down for contempt.’

  ‘We understand that,’ Carlyle said. ‘But once you do your job and the case is over, we’ll be telling our side of the story.’ He rose to his feet. ‘We’ve done you a favour here, Davie. Once you’ve checked out that print against the suspects your boys never even noticed, you’ll owe me a large drink.’ He moved towards the door and Allie scrambled to follow him.

  Buchan stood up. ‘On your way out, Angus, tell that useless fucker Hardie to get his arse back in here, would you?’

  ‘He didn’t seem very happy,’ Allie said as they walked down to Bath Street in search of taxis.

  ‘Nobody likes to be told how to do their job. But he’ll pick up the ball and run with it. I’ve known Davie Buchan since he was on the beat and I was a junior reporter in Clydebank. He’s straight, and there are plenty of polis in this city who are anything but. As you may have noticed.’ Carlyle stepped off the pavement and let rip a piercing whistle. A cab swerved to the kerb and he waved her into it. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow after you’re done at Stewart Street. You need to get both versions of this story written while it’s all still fresh in your head. Then it’ll be ready to roll when one of those treacherous wee shites goes down.’

  The closing of the door cut off whatever Allie might have been going to say. ‘Where to?’ the driver asked.

  She was about to give her address when an alternative came to her. Rona Dunsyre wasn’t the only one who could winkle information out of the office drivers.

  Allie wasn’t sure what she’d expected Rona’s home to be like, but it wasn’t this. Tucked away in a mews behind a row of grand early Victorian villas on the busy artery of Great Western Road was a cluster of converted coach houses. Rona’s was furthest from the mews entrance and sat slightly apart from the rest. A frosted glass panel ran across the top of what had originally been the double doors of the carriage house, giving light without ceding privacy. Next was a single door with a heavy brass knocker in the shape of a horseshoe. Allie knocked and waited.

  A light snapped on behind the frosted glass, and seconds later, Rona opened the door. ‘Woo hoo!’ she hooted, her face revealing amazement then delight. ‘This is a nice surprise.’

  ‘I’m not interrupting?’

  Rona drew her in, an arm around her shoulder. ‘No, I was just contemplating half a dozen eggs and some smoked salmon and wondering whether I could be bothered. I’d much rather open a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps.’

  The room was a revelation. It occupied the whole ground floor but its most striking element was a bright mural that covered an entire wall. Chairs and sofas were all arranged to take it in, but Allie only had eyes for the painting. It was a complex composition of buildings and people, some of them familiar, others unknown to her. The juxtapositions were surreal, the colours eye-popping. ‘Good God,’ she gasped. ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Rona stood, hands on hips, gazing at it. ‘I am one of the luckiest people in Glasgow. Have you come across Alasdair Gray? He’s an astonishing artist, he lives near here. He’s also allegedly writing a novel, but who knows when that’ll happen or what his imagination will make of the world. He painted this for me.’

  ‘It’s … I don’t have the words.’

  ‘They say art should speak for itself. In Alasdair’s case, it shouts.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘I know. And I get to live with it.’ Rona swung round to face her. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. Can you stick around for that bottle of wine and bag of crisps? Or is this a flying visit?’

  ‘I’d love a drink.’

  ‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. Take your coat off, make yourself at home.’

  Allie wondered whether she was imagining a seductive tone in Rona’s voice and suddenly felt both shy and embarrassed. ‘I have got news, though,’ she added hastily, dropping her coat on the nearest chair.

  ‘Come upstairs to the kitchen and tell me while I sort out the wine.’

  Allie followed her upstairs into a compact galley kitchen with a single window that looked out on someone else’s garden, barely visible in the dark. ‘This is great. Did you do the conversion?’

  ‘Thankfully, it had already been done.’ Rona pulled a bottle of wine from a countertop rack.

  ‘I’d never considered living somewhere like this. But I do think it’s lovely.’

  Rona grinned. ‘That’s what people say when they really think, “Where the hell would I put all my crap?” The answer to that is, my dad’s garage. And I’m with you, I think it’s lovely. I’ve never regretted buying it for a minute.’ She pulled the cork. ‘Grab a couple of bags of crisps from that cupboard behind your right shoulder and then you can tell me your news.’ She poured a couple of glasses and as soon as they’d clinked them, eyes meeting, they both took fortifying slugs of Bulgarian red.

  ‘We’ve got two of them in our sights and I don’t know yet which one it is,’ Allie began. Then for the third time, she told the story of her day. But because it was Rona, and because deep down she wanted to impress, she larded it with detail and cliff-edge moments. Her narrative provoked gratifying exclamations of surprise and delight, and that simply made her try harder. Even as she did so, some part of her acknowledged the story was dramatic enough without being buffed to a sheen. As she reached the climax, Rona refuelled their glasses; without notici
ng, they were motoring through the cabernet.

  Allie, lips stained red, took a deep breath. ‘But the most important thing, from your perspective, is this.’ Pause for effect. ‘Because Joseph and that snake Torrance both turned up after Barry Curran had already left, and because neither of them raised the alarm, it’s hard to see Curran as the killer. I’m sure that partial print will be shown to belong to Joseph Sullivan or Thomas Torrance. And that will lead them straight to the dock in the High Court. Go to jail, do not pass go.’ Final pause. ‘I didn’t have to mention William Morrison’s alibi evidence.’

  To Allie’s surprise, Rona’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘I can’t believe you did that. You understood. And you did that for a stranger.’

  Allie shook her head. ‘Not for William, Rona. Like you said, the man’s an arse. No, I did it for you.’

  Rona put down her glass and threw her arms around Allie. Taken by surprise, she managed to get her own glass on the countertop without dousing them both in wine. Hesitantly, she returned the hug. Her senses flipped into overdrive. All she could smell was Rona’s hair, the remains of the day’s perfume, the sweet breath of fresh wine. All she could see was intensified; brighter, sharper, richer in tone. She heard the blood rushing in her ears, felt the tickle of hair on her ear, the brush of dry lips on her cheek and the warm solidity of Rona’s body in her arms. Her anxiety and apprehension disappeared, replaced by anticipation. Allie fought momentarily against the sense it made inside her, then gave in.

  Time passed and she had no idea how much. Then she murmured, ‘It’s been a strange year. It’s like I started to find my feet and then the ground shifted.’ Rona gently stroked her back. ‘I found a friend in Danny, and then I lost him in the worst possible way. And now there’s you.’

  Rona drew back slightly and smiled. ‘There’s still a lot of year to come, Allie.’

  AFTERMATH

  2 March 1979

  YES BUT NO

  FOR DEVO

  By Our Political Correspondents

  Scots woke this morning to the news that although they voted for a Scottish parliament, not enough voters had taken part to force Westminster to pay attention. Because the bar was set at 40 per cent of the available electorate, Scotland will not have a direct say in its own affairs.

  The high threshold came about thanks to an amendment put forward by George Cunningham, a Scot who represents a London seat.

  ‘Those who did not vote were therefore effectively counted as a No vote,’ an SNP spokesman said last night. ‘If you applied those rules in a General Election, hardly a single MP would be elected.’

  Ignored

  ‘The wishes of 1,230,937 Scots have been completely disregarded. Jim Callaghan’s government should hang their heads in shame.’

  A senior Scottish Labour MP said, ‘I understand why people might feel aggrieved but it’s not as if an overwhelming majority voted for it.’ Fifty-one point six per cent of votes were cast for the devolved parliament, with 48.4 per cent against.

  But a leading Yes campaigner has complained that the electoral registers are so out of date and inaccurate that in many parts of the country, achieving a 40 per cent vote would be next to impossible. ‘The government tried to appease the Scots by making it look as if we could have a say in our own future. But they were determined to keep their hands on Scotland’s oil.

  ‘Scotland said yes last night, but Callaghan’s corrupt government will keep saying no.’

  5 March 1979

  ARREST IN TARTAN

  TERROR PLOT

  By Alison Burns

  A third Glasgow man has been arrested in connection with a horrifying plot to set off terrorist bombs in Scotland.

  Roderick Farquhar fled the city hours before police pounced on the extreme nationalist plotters who had already bought explosives from the IRA.

  But police were tipped off that Farquhar was still in touch with a contact in Glasgow. Detective Chief Inspector David Buchan revealed that his officers had put that contact under surveillance.

  ‘Our undercover officers followed him to Manchester, where they witnessed him meeting Farquhar. With the assistance of officers from Greater Manchester Police, Farquhar was taken into custody.’

  ‘We are not looking for anyone else in relation to this conspiracy,’ he added.

  The suspect’s two accomplices have already been charged with conspiracy to cause explosions and will appear at the High Court later this year.

  4 May 1979

  GOODBYE JIM

  HELLO MAGGIE

  By Our Political Correspondents

  Margaret Thatcher is celebrating becoming Britain’s first woman prime minister. In a decisive victory, her triumphant Tories trounced Jim Callaghan’s Labour government.

  Not all votes have been counted, but although Scotland still has an overwhelming Labour majority, the Tories are likely to command a majority of over 40 in the House of Commons.

  It was a catastrophic night for the SNP, whose support for bringing down Callaghan’s government cost them dear. Their vote collapsed and they lost nine seats, leaving them with only two MPs.

  A senior Labour Party figure told us, ‘It’s clear that the voters who deserted the SNP in droves have migrated straight to the Conservatives. If anyone doubted that the Nats are just Tartan Tories, this result should put them right.’ (Cont p2)

  10 May 1979

  HOW CLARION EXPOSED

  KILLER BROTHER

  Evil man who murdered reporter found guilty thanks to us

  Exclusive by Alison Burns

  Last night Joseph Sullivan began a life sentence for the murder of his brother, Clarion reporter Daniel Sullivan.

  This was the final page of a chapter that began when I discovered Danny’s brutally murdered corpse in a pool of blood in his living room.

  I’d come to have Sunday dinner with Danny, 27, at his flat in Fraoch Street in the Pollokshields area of Glasgow. But when I arrived, he’d clearly been dead for some time.

  Horror

  It was a devastating discovery.

  Our first story together was a happy accident. We were both travelling back to Glasgow after New Year with our families when our train was stuck in the blizzard and a woman went into labour.

  We went on to complete two major investigations that produced headlines for the Clarion. Both have led to a series of arrests and convictions for crime ranging from tax fraud to conspiracy to cause explosions.

  But when the police arrived at Danny’s flat that day, they weren’t interested in anyone we might have crossed. Because I had discovered his body and because I didn’t have an alibi, I became their prime suspect.

  Accusations

  During a long interview, they persistently accused me of having killed my friend when fighting him off during a sexual attack. They bullied and threatened me so much I betrayed Danny’s biggest secret – that he was gay.

  But that wasn’t enough to clear me. Next they accused me of attacking him because he’d rejected my sexual advances. They badgered me for hours before finally giving up when their colleagues found a better suspect – a young man who had regularly visited Danny at his flat.

  Even though there was no evidence against him except that he’d been in the flat for a short time on the night of Danny’s death, they arrested him.

  It was only when I started to dig deeper that the truth emerged. First, I heard that police had found a fingerprint that didn’t match the suspect.

  Fraud

  Then when I spoke to neighbours, I discovered Joseph Sullivan’s distinctive car had been seen in the street later that evening.

  The final piece of the puzzle came from a former Special Branch detective who had visited the murder flat that fatal night. His explosive testimony – given anonymously to protect his identity – revealed that he’d arrived to interview Danny shortly after Joseph had left and found him dead.

  He admitted he should have reported it to Strathclyde Police but claimed that would hav
e compromised an ongoing operation.

  It was evidence that damned Joseph Sullivan. But why would a man kill his brother?

  The answer lies in the first investigation we conducted together.

  Danny told me his adopted brother had let slip a careless remark about tax-dodging schemes run by the insurance company he worked for. Danny enlisted my help. We were shocked to discover Joseph was a key player in the scheme, but because he was Danny’s brother, we did what we could to keep his name out of the headlines.

  When police swooped on the insurance company, Joseph was able to lie convincingly about his role because we’d suppressed his involvement. But his bosses knew better and he was sacked from his job as a clerk.

  Guilty

  He blamed Danny for what had happened and turned their parents against him. Danny was heartbroken when his mother refused to have anything to do with him.

  Danny had done nothing wrong but he felt guilty. Because he was about to take on the Tartan Terrorists undercover assignment that he feared might cost his life, he not only made a will leaving everything to his brother, he also told Joseph what he’d done.

  As the prosecution outlined at the trial (Full report, p5–6) Joseph didn’t want to wait for the money – around £20,000. He wanted to go abroad and start a new life. So he went to see his brother and demand an upfront payment.

  I know Danny would have offered what he had to hand, which would have been no more than a few hundred pounds. That wasn’t enough for Joseph. He needed Danny to be dead. In the row that followed, he grabbed a heavy onyx candlestick and smashed it into his brother’s head.

  He thought he’d wiped it clean of prints, but he’d missed the thumbprint that convicted him.

  If not for the investigation mounted by the Clarion, an innocent man might be in jail and a guilty man enjoying the proceeds of his vile act. Now Joseph Sullivan’s conviction means he cannot benefit from Danny’s will.

  Danny Sullivan loved his job and he loved the Clarion. We’re proud to have been at the heart of bringing him justice.