by Ian Todd
“You…er, you must be Pearl?” she said quietly, fearfully, leaning o’er and lifting the wean back oan tae her ain knee, as Pearl jist aboot fell aff her end ae the couch.
Bit how...
“Look…no wheel,” the wee boy said tae his ma, lifting the three-wheeled car up tae show her. “The bad man broke it.”
“Aye, Ah know, Robert. Don’t worry, son, we’ll get ye another wan…later,” she cooed lovingly, as a tear ran doon her cheek and the wean went back tae fingering the axle where the wheel hid been.
“Look, why don’t Ah nip through tae the kitchen and grab us a cup ae tea, Susan? Ah noticed a packet ae Typhoo sitting there when Ah wis through getting the cloth, so Ah did.”
While she wis waiting fur the tea tae mask in the pot, she could hear Susan moving aboot and the wean asking who the bad man wis. She stoapped whit she wis daeing, trying tae lug in tae the answer, bit the reply wis indistinguishable, as the room shook wae a passing lorry oot the front. How the hell hid Susan McFarlane known who she wis? By the time she went through wae the cups, the living room hid been tidied as best it could be under the circumstances.
“Here ye go, hen. This’ll make ye feel better,” she said, passing across the mug.
“He said that ye’d be roond, sniffing aboot, so he did.”
“Who did?”
“Him,” she replied, nodding across tae the living room door.
“The…the guy…the wan that jist attacked ye?”
“Aye.”
“So ye know him then?”
“Aye. Ah hivnae seen him in years,” she cursed bitterly, her bottom lip trembling. “That wis…that wis Willie Burke, Wee Robert’s da.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Wilma looked up at the clock oan the kitchen wall and yawned. Quarter tae two. She knew she should be through in her bed, bit she wis wide awake. The hoose smelled ae fag smoke. She’d furgotten aboot that side ae him. Even Wee Morag hid picked up oan it.
“Whit’s that horrible smell?” she’d asked, crinkling her button nose up.
She looked at the packet ae fags and the box ae Bluebells sitting in front ae her. Despite the fact that her heid hid been minced, she’d looked forward tae getting hame tae spend a bit ae quality time wae the weans before they wur bathed and put tae bed.
“Mammy! Mammy! Look! Daddy’s hame,” the wean hid shouted gleefully, before aboot turning and running back alang the lobby tae haud the living room door open fur her. “Hurry.”
She hidnae noticed until she entered the living room, that Morag…the baith ae them…wur awready in their pyjamas, which meant they’d awready hid their bath. She wisnae too sure how she felt aboot that wan. Her initial reaction hid been tae box the adulterous basturt aboot the ears before slinging that arse ae his oot the front door oan tae the landing. Of course, wae the weans there, that hidnae been an option open tae her. He’d been sitting there, quite the thing…in her chair, wae Sadie oan his lap, looking expectantly across at her. She’d wanted tae burst intae tears, bit hid held hersel in check.
“Where’s ma ma?” she’d asked, the only thing she could think ae saying, hinging her shoulder bag o’er wan ae the chairs and taking aff her coat.
“Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Look? Ah’ve goat a new doll…and so his Sadie,” Wee Morag squealed, running across tae the saft chair tae show her.
The dolls wur lying oan their backs under a dishtowel, propped up against a cushion, obviously efter being put tae bed. She wondered if Sadie hid goat tae touch hers.
“Aw, is that no nice, hen?” she’d cooed, wanting tae kill him, bit haudin back, so she could find oot whit the hell wis gaun oan.
“They’ve baith been bathed,” The 1976 Husband ae The Year beamed, sounding as if he’d jist climbed Mount Everest.
“That ma ae mine? She’s okay, is she?” she’d asked him, suddenly concerned that she’d hid a heart attack or something, remembering the sudden death ae the auld yin that her and Jean hid attended tae up in Castlebay Street, Milton, a few days earlier.
“Oh, aye.”
It hid been an excruciating hour ae playing Happy Families, before he’d insisted that he’d put the weans tae bed. She’d heard Morag pulling him up efter catching him trying tae skip the pages ae the story he wis reading tae her. She could’ve warned him that the wean could recite the story ae The Three Bears back tae front. It hid been driving her crazy, hivving tae read the same book every night tae her fur the past month. She hidnae noticed any bags or that auld tatty suitcase ae his that he’d departed wae, efter he’d dumped them tae go and live wae Chantel. Chantel? She’d wanted tae put her heid intae the oven when she’d first found oot whit her name wis. The fact that they didnae hiv gas hid seemed irrelevant at the time. It wis jist how she’d felt. The fact that his floozy wis younger as well, hidnae helped her shattered self-confidence. When he’d been through in the bedroom wae the weans, she’d sat listening tae him, her minced heid turning intae soup. It hid aw seemed so normal…the way it used tae be. She’d originally decided she’d sleep oan the couch, bit hid reluctantly crept through tae bed efter her shoulders began tae get sore…at least that’s whit she kept telling hersel. While the sex hid been nothing tae write hame aboot, his presence…a man…laying beside her, hid been too much tae resist. Her physical need hid overcome any emotional rationale. She knew it gied the basturt the wrang signal, bit it hid been too long and she’d succumbed within seconds ae that first, furtive touch ae his in the dark. She knew they hid tae talk, wid talk, bit that wis fur the morra. Laying in somewan’s erms, even if it wis her selfish, unfaithful basturt ae a man, hid won, hauns doon. Efter he’d rolled o’er and gaun back tae sleep, she’d lain weeping. She hidnae wanted tae wake him, so hid goat up. Noo the packet ae fags sitting in front ae her began tae taunt her, jist like him through in their bed…her bed, telling her tae stoap messing aboot and accept the inevitable and accept the situation, because that’s whit she really wanted at the end ae the day, wisn’t it? Despite the madness ae her work, it hid been the loneliness at night, sitting there oan her lonesome, wondering whit he wis daeing, that hid destroyed her. A couple ae the guys in the station hid asked her oot…the married wans, that wis. She’d been searching fur a file in wan ae the steel cabinets in the corridor ootside the canteen, when she’d heard her name being mentioned.
“Whit aboot Wilma?” the voice hid asked.
“Nah. Two snappers,” hid been the response she’d heard, as she snatched her fingers away fae fluffing up her perm at the back, before quietly slipping away, ignoring whit she’d been looking fur and concerned that they’d find oot that she’d heard the pair ae wankers.
Jean hid also stoapped trying tae get her hooked up wae some ae her and Boabby’s single pals. Despite hinting at Jean, she jist couldnae bring hersel tae be direct and bring the subject up. She’d been a wee bit miffed when the offers and encouragement fae Jean hid dried up efter only a few weeks ae her playing hard tae get. It hid been her ain fault, efter repeatedly coming up wae a hunner and wan reasons why she couldnae go oot oan a blind date wae somewan she hidnae met. Even though she hidnae been in a position tae take up the offers, the fact that the option hid been there wae Jean tae start wae, hid kept her thinking that she’d still goat it, that there wur guys oot there that wid still fancy somewan like her who hid two weans in tow. They’d sit in the car pishing themsels laughing, as Jean explained who she could get her lined up wae.
“His name’s Lefty…good looker tae. He’s a fitba coach wae Possil YM. Talk aboot being fit?”
“Really?” she’d exclaimed, sounding impressed, prepared tae drap they knickers ae hers there and then.
“Jist so long as ye don’t continually stare at they feet ae his, when ye’re oot and aboot, ye’ll be awright. He’s a bit sensitive, fur a guy.”
She liked sensitive.
“His feet? Why, whit’s wrang wae his feet like?”
“They’re baith left.”
/> “Eh?”
“Ah swear tae God, Wilma, hen. Ah know it sounds a bit weird, bit he wis born wae two left feet, so he wis. Don’t ask me why, bit he wis…freak ae nature or something.”
“Ach, you’re at it, so ye ur,” she remembered scoffing.
“And shoes? Fuck, kin ye imagine the stress ae hivving tae walk intae somewhere like Saxone’s and asking the wee lassie fur two left size tens?” she’d said dryly, as the pair ae them hid sat howling fur aboot five minutes, jist aboot pishing themsels silly.
“Aye, and if ye think that’s bad, he’s a right blue-nose as well,” she’d hit her wae, setting them aff again, straight efter they’d managed tae calm themsels doon.
“Tiny Thompson,” she’d declared another time, getting intae the driver’s seat efter being shouted up tae a fatal stabbing in a back closemooth, up oan Firhill Street.
“Who?”
“Ah showed him a picture ae ye the other night there, so Ah did. He’s as keen as an auld randy Dingo, so he is.”
“Picture? Whit picture?”
“The wan ae me and you that wis oan the front page ae The Evening Citizen, the day we arrested Fabloid Davidson, The Granny Strangler, fae across in Mount Florida.”
“No the wan ae us emerging fae his granny’s closemooth efter he strangled her?” she’d exclaimed, horrified.
“Aye. Why?”
“Because Ah’d jist been rolling aboot in the ootside coal bunker wae the basturt while you wur looking under his granny’s bed, ya bloody eejit, ye.”
“So?”
“So, Ah looked like a walk oan part fae the Black and White Minstrels Show, so Ah did.”
“Naw, ye didnae. There wis only a wee smudge oan yer cheek and foreheid.”
“And ma hair wis staunin oan end efter the whining wee basturt widnae let go ae it. Ma heid looked as if the side ae it hid jist been whacked wae a four-inch plank ae wood, so it hid,” she’d bleated, looking at her hair in the wee mirror behind the visor as Jean ploughed through a red light, narrowly missing a Corporation bus.
“Anyway…”
“Tiny? He’s no a bloody seven fit giant by any chance, is he?”
“Tiny? Nah. He’d be lucky if he’s four feet four in his socks…if that,” she’d drawled, as the pair ae them hid cracked up again. “His patter’s good though.”
She’d thought back tae earlier in the day, while she contemplated whether tae reach o’er fur the fag packet or no. At first, it hid crossed her mind that she wis getting suspended when she’d come aff the phone. Especially when the secretary oan the other end ae the line hid ominously telt her tae bring doon any notes that she hid lying aboot fae the Teddy Bare investigation, that wurnae awready in the case file. The call hid come straight oot ae the blue. Glenda Metcalfe? She’d thought she’d been shifted tae oversee the local district courts…her colleagues hid been oot oan strike a few months earlier because ae the way she’d been treated. She hidnae messed aboot efter their initial introductions and her request fur her tae plap her arse doon oan the seat opposite in that cell like office ae hers.
“So, Inspector, can you explain to me why you didn’t stand your ground and insist Teddy Bare be charged with murder, for the unlawful killing of his wife, Lesley?” the poker-faced wee nippy sweetie hid demanded tae know.
Silence.
“Okay, let me put it another way. The investigation notes written up by you and your DC…Moffat, clearly points to premeditated murder.”
Silence.
“In fact, it’s patently obvious that both you and DC Moffat, at the time, believed, without any shadow of a doubt, that Lesley Bare’s life had been in permanent danger and that it would only have been a matter of time before her husband ended up killing her. At an early stage in the investigation, you quickly established that he assaulted his wife on a regular basis, so a straightforward case of domestic abuse became the prime motive. Of course, that was before you followed up the lead of the typewritten statement, signed by Pricilla Presley, that Bare had raped her when she was a young WPC back in the early 1960s, after discovering that piece of evidence at the scene of the crime. You then became convinced that the motive behind the murder was to silence his wife after she confronted him with Pricilla Presley’s allegation. You were quick off the mark after discovering that Mrs Presley hadn’t been the only serving female police officer to have alleged to having been sexually assaulted and abused by Bare and other colleagues over several years. And then…nothing.”
Silence.
“Those are the facts. What I want to know, Inspector, is why wasn’t that conspiracy lead followed up? Bare was already on remand for one hundred and twelve days, so there wasn’t any pressure to conclude the investigation early…at least, not than I could see.”
“Look, Miss Metcalfe, Ah widnae want ye tae take this the wrang way, bit am Ah under some sort ae investigation here? If so, Ah think Ah’m entitled tae hiv representation here wae me. And as fur ma qualities as an investigating officer, ma murder clear-up rate speaks fur itsel, so it dis.”
Silence.
“I’ve been ordered by those in a senior position within the prosecution service to review the evidence, before we determine the charge against Mr Bare…”
“Oh, bit Ah thought that he’d awready been…”
“Charged with culpable homicide?”
“Pricilla Presley and the other ex-WPCs wurnae prepared tae come forward tae gie fresh statements,” Wilma hid reminded her. “That also included Susan McFarlane, despite making every effort tae convince them otherwise.”
“So, what happened to the original handwritten allegations?”
“They ended up in the hauns ae a WPC…sergeant. She wis the last wan tae hiv them in her possession…it’s aw in the file,” she’d replied, trying tae contain her anger, nodding at the thick folder sitting in front ae the prosecutor.
“That would be Sergeant James?” she’d been asked, any reference tae the contents ae the file being ignored.
“Aye. We interviewed her…twice, bit she couldnae remember whit hid become ae them…she claimed tae hiv given them tae somewan…some sort ae guardian angel. The last Ah heard, she wis still in Gartloch Psychiatric Hospital…it’s aw there in ma notes,” she’d reminded her again.
“Guardian angel?”
“Aye. While Ah couldnae prove it, Ah’d swear that we’re talking aboot another polisman…or wummin.”
Silence.
“Policewoman? What makes you say that?”
“Because the only male angel Ah’ve ever heard ae is called Gabriel. Sergeant James’s relationship wae men wis…wis, er, supposedly, no something tae write hame aboot, if that auld neighbour ae hers, fae doon below her, is tae be believed. Collette James referring tae a man as her guardian angel somehow jist disnae quite fit the bill. And another thing, Ah’d ran oot ae time. Demands wur coming in fae elsewhere that couldnae be ignored.”
“So, explain to me why you didn’t stick to your guns and insist that Lesley Bare’s death was first degree murder and that, given the evidence, you required further time to conclude the investigation?”
“Ah did. As Ah’ve jist said, Ah wis ordered tae wrap it up earlier than Ah wid’ve wanted tae.”
“By who?”
“Ma chief inspector, John Henderson. Me and Jean, ma DC at the time, noo a sergeant, wur informed that we wur needed across in the north. There wur gangsters drapping like flies aw o’er the place. Duggie Dougan hid jist been shot ootside Collette James’s front door, plus two ae the main suspects in his death hid disappeared intae thin air while another wan and his wife hid been found shot tae death oot in their lonely farmhoose. Oan tap ae that, Bobby Mack and his sergeant fae the south’s murder squad hid been suspended…at least, that’s whit we wur led tae believe at the time.”
The questioning hid gone oan and oan.
“Naw, although Ah disagreed wae the decision, Ah didnae feel bullied by Chief Inspector Henderson,” she’d denied. “As Ah said, the pressur
e in the north wis oan.”
“Naw, the prospect ae being promoted didnae influence me tae conclude the investigation early. Me and Jean wur as surprised as anywan when we wur informed by Chief Superintendent Mackerel a week or so later,” she’d sniffed defensively, her voice starting tae ring hollow in they ears ae hers.
“Naw. Ah’ve nae idea why Superintendent Munro wis present in Henderson’s office and naw, Ah wisnae aware that it wis her that recommended me, us, tae be suddenly promoted, oot ae the blue.”
Although there hidnae actually been any direct accusations, sitting there being questioned aboot a dereliction ae duty against Lesley Bare, a fellow polis officer who’d been murdered, hid been hard tae swallow. The matter ae fact way that she’d been grilled by whit sounded like a machine, wae piercing, robotic eyes, hid been unsettling, tae say the least. The questions and her replies, in the cauld light ae day, hid made her sound like some weak amateur. If she wis honest wae hersel, if it hid been her sitting dishing oot the questions and accusations, she wid’ve concluded that the inspector oan the receiving end…her, hid been weak and useless.
Despite being ordered tae conclude the investigation earlier than she’d wanted tae, she hid attempted tae follow up some ae the leads wae Pricilla Presley. She’d tried tae explain the complexity ae The Mankys and The Honest John McCaffrey investigations tae the prosecutor, who’d listened politely. At wan point she’d wanted tae staun up and walk oot, bit something hid held her back. Guilt…nosiness…fear? Other than tae another detective, how did ye explain tae an ootsider that, despite living and breathing The Mankys, she’d never spoken tae any ae them face tae face, apart fae Peter Paterson. Christ, maist ae them lived in the same area as her. The nearest she’d goat tae any ae them wis when Simon Epstein hid been further up the queue fae her in wan ae the local Paki shoaps. Efter buying two tins ae Kit-e-Kat, the cheeky basturt hid the cheek tae gie her a wee smirk oan the way past. Initially, she’d been glad that he knew who she wis, then it hid goat her wondering. How did he know who she wis? Pursuing The Mankys wis like chasing ghosts. She knew fine well whit they goat up tae oan a daily basis, bit couldnae dae anything aboot it. Aw their wee individual teams wur running aboot thieving, robbing and dealing like it wis gaun oot ae style. There hid been a lot ae wild speculation aboot how much they wur raking in and where they wur stashing the dosh. Some ae the guys in The Flying Squad hid estimated their past twelve month’s income at o’er two or three hunner grand, aw cash in haun. Unbelievable. Nowan oan the street who knew anything wid talk aboot them. Wis that through fear? Probably…although, even then, she couldnae be that sure. At first, she’d been pissed aff tae learn that Tiny and Buster hidnae raised their suspicions aboot The Mankys’ involvement in the Seb Grey murder tae senior management. John Henderson hid telt them tae keep at it and that unless they could come up wae anything mair substantial than whit they hid, then the investigating teams across in the north widnae be interested.