Kingston Bridge

by Ian Todd

  “Where ur ye taking me tae?” PC Rose asked, while shuffling sideways and lying doon.

  “The Royal.”

  “The Royal?” PC Hyde exclaimed. “Fuck, that must be a couple ae miles up the road fae here, at least.”

  “Well, unless ye’ve goat any other suggestions?”

  “We hid tae abandon oor squad car,” PC Rose admitted, trying tae be helpful o’er the noise ae the car horns, gieing his partner a dirty look.

  “We’re The St John’s Ambulance Brigade Volunteer Stretcher Crew, Bridgton Branch, so we ur,” Spotty Face declared, puffing his uniformed chest oot, as his mate temporarily bandaged PC Rose’s heid.

  “So?” PC Hyde sneered.

  “So, we go where others fear tae tread, so we dae,” he declared defiantly.

  “As in?”

  “Like Hampden, Parkheid…even Ibrox,” Spotty Face replied, pointing tae his wee striped ribbon band oan that skinny chest ae his, the medal colours ae which PC Hyde didnae recognise.

  “Whit, is that yer motto like? You go where other mortals fear tae tread?”

  “Naw. Oor official motto’s ‘Pro Fide,’ which means ‘Fur The Faith’ or ‘Pro Utilitate Hominum,’ which means ‘In The Service Ae Humanity,’ bit us foot-soldiers prefer ‘We Go Where Others Fear Tae Tread.’ It’s goat mair ae a Corp ring tae it.”

  “Fucking hell, Ah wonder whit packet he came oot ae this morning?” PC Hyde murmured tae his wounded colleague, who wis jist settling and making himsel comfortable oan the stretcher.

  “Hoi, ya cheeky bugger, ye. Ah heard that, so Ah did,” Spotty Face grumbled.

  “Right, Moses…”

  “Moses?” PC Hyde laughed. “Fuck, Ah’ve heard it aw noo. How aboot parting that traffic like ye did wae that Red Ocean,” he scoffed, laughing, as the lead stretcher bearer gied him a dirty look. “Ach, Ah’m sorry, Ah couldnae help masel.”

  “As Ah wis jist aboot tae say, before Ah wis rudely interrupted by an ungrateful philistine, Moses…we’ll heid doon towards Buchanan Street and then up oan tae Cathedral Street. That hill’s no as steep as heidin up the High Street. Whit dae ye think yersel?”

  “Sounds good tae me, Abraham,” Spotty Face replied, as PC Hyde couldnae help himsel and burst oot laughing.

  3.10 PM

  “Collette, dear…it’s Murdina…Inspector Munro,” she shouted as quietly as the howling wind wid allow, trying bit failing tae keep her teeth fae chattering against each other. “Collette, dear, I’ve come to take you home…to your flat. Mr Hopkins is waiting.”

  “M…Mr H…Hopkins?” Collette asked, her teeth chattering, turning tae face the superintendent fur the first time.

  “Yes, but first we’ll have to get you into a warm bath.”

  “Bath?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr Hopkins?” she asked hesitantly.

  “He’s waiting, Collette,” she shouted, as the wind picked up. “We’ll also have to get those sergeant’s stripes sewn back on to the sleeves of your jacket, so everyone will know that you’ve been promoted.”

  “S…stripes?”

  “The ones you have in your hand, dear. We’ll need to get them put on to your sleeves. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together…you and I.”

  “Ur…ur you ma guardian angel?”

  “Yes, Collette. I’ve been searching for you. We all have. Don’t you remember? I promised that I would look after you.”

  “Guardian angel,” Collette murmured, shaking her heid and frowning, as she started tae sway, tears running doon her blue, frozen cheeks.

  “Collette? Why don’t you give me your hand?”

  “Hand…guardian angel…”

  “Come on, dear. Let’s get you home…to Mr Hopkins…he’s waiting,” Cleopatra shouted up at her, haudin oot her haun, as she moved closer, slowly.

  “Mr Hopkins?”

  “Yes, Collette,” she replied, as Collette turned roond further tae face her, her back tae the River Clyde below.

  “Where wur ye?” Collette shouted, tears in full flow noo.

  “I was looking, searching for you…I’ve found you now, Collette. Why don’t you give me your hand?” Cleopatra purred gently.

  The wind drapped and Collette started tae reach oot tae her, their fingers only a few inches apart, as the crowd ae polismen and St John’s stretcher-bearer volunteers stood watching fae aboot sixty yards away.

  “That’s right, Collette. You can do it, dear… just a little bit closer and we’ll have you wrapped up in a warm blanket.”

  “Guardian angel…bit…”

  “I’m here, Collette.”

  “Naw, ye’re no. You’re no ma guardian angel…Wilma is…that’s her name…she telt me…she’s ma guardian angel,” Collette stammered, as if suddenly realising that she wis being conned, turning away, tae face the river again.

  “But, I am…” Cleopatra plead, fighting tae keep the frustration oot ae that voice ae hers, as she inched forward.

  Aw ae a sudden, she suddenly lunging forward and attempted tae grab wan ae Collette’s legs, bit misjudged, crashing intae her insteid and sent her flying, as she toppled o’er the side ae the bridge.

  “Collette, give me your hand…try and reach up,” Cleopatra screamed, haudin oan tae wan ae Collette’s ankles, as she dangled below her and aw the uniformed onlookers started running towards them. “Collette, reach up…I can’t hold on for much longer…Collette, please? It’s me…it’s your guardian angel.”

  Collette seemed tae bend forwards and upwards, reaching up wae her haun, as Cleopatra felt her haun slip fae the ankle doon oan tae the laces ae Collette’s dirty white hospital sandshoe, jist as their fingers connected. She felt somewan grab her roond the waist, stoapping her fae being dragged o’er the barrier by the weight ae Collette’s body, as she made a desperate, final effort, tae grab the ootstretched haun.

  “No!” she screamed, as she felt the heavy weight ae Collette James’s body separate fae her haun. “No!”

  She watched, horrified, as the body, it’s erms flailing wildly, drapped doon towards the surface ae the river like a stane, before landing wae a big silvery splash.

  4.40 PM

  “Edward Shaw, aka ‘Steady Teddy’ and Christopher Sutherland, aka ‘Crackling Chris,’ you are both charged with the kidnap and murder of one William Morgan, aka Willie Commotion, after stopping his car on Great Western Road on Saturday the 25th of October 1975 and illegally transporting him to an unknown location where you murdered him and disposed of his body. You are also charged with the kidnap and attempted murder of John McClure, aka ‘John The Hand,’ by kidnapping and illegally transporting him, before shooting him in the back and twice in the head to his severe injury, before burying him in Murroch Burn Woods, Dunbartonshire,” Inspector Swein said, looking up fae the charge sheet at the two gangsters. “Is there anything you wish to say? If you do so, then anything you say may be taken down and used as evidence against you in a court of law.”

  “My clients have the right to remain silent, Inspector, and will take advantage of their right under the law,” Joshua Crankie said, intervening before the two accused hid time tae respond, as the inspector moved oan tae the next wan in the line-up.

  “Joseph Pistorius, aka ‘Joe Paste,’ you are charged with the murder of Patrick McVeigh, aka ‘Black Pat’ and his wife, Elsie McVeigh, on their farm, Leys of Milton, Campsie Glen, Dunbartonshire. Along with others unknown, you shot Mr and Mrs McVeigh in the head and did murder them in the early hours of Saturday the 25th October 1975 between the hours of 1 and 7am. Is there anything you wish to say?”

  “My client has the right to remain silent, Inspector, and will take advantage of that right under the law,” Joshua Crankie said, intervening before Joe Paste could respond.

  “In that case, all accused will be held in custody overnight before appearing at a special sitting of Glasgow Sheriff Court in the morning. Take them away, laddies,” the inspector said tae his young skulks, before folding the charge sheets
in hauf in his hauns and tucking them intae his jaicket pocket.

  “Thank you, Swein,” Cleopatra said, nodding.

  “Well done, Murdina. That’s another three ae the basturts aff the streets,” Superintendent Bob Mackerel, the heid ae the toons two murder squads said tae her. “It’s a pity we don’t hiv any evidence against Joe Paste fur wiping oot Streaky John McGinnis up in that big fancy hoose ae his oan the Kirkintilloch Road, so it is. Oh, in case Ah furget. Kin you drap in past ma office at five o’clock?”

  “Anything the matter?” she asked.

  “Naw, naw, Ah jist need tae hiv a wee word. You look tired. Ah heard ye tried tae save that crazy wee poliswummin oan the Kingston Bridge earlier. Ah widnae let it get tae ye. Fae whit Ah could gather, it’s probably a blessing in disguise. The trouble she’s caused wae they bloody letters, we could’ve aw done withoot. Anyway, Ah’ll catch ye later.”

  4.45 PM

  “Look, Moses, The Salvation Army Hall,” Abraham The Stretcher Bearer shouted fae the front, nodding tae his right, as they trundled past The Missionary Hall oan Stirling Road. “Ah learned tae play the bugle in there when Ah wis a snapper, so Ah did, efter that randy auld uncle ae mine hid tae replace his spare wan that goat nicked back in 1965 by a wee manky toe-rag.”

  “Onward Christian So-o-jerrrs, marching aff tae-ae war…wae the cross ae Jeezus, going oan before…aw thegither now,” Moses shouted, before the pair ae them burst oot singing, as PC Rodney Rose lay flat oan his back oan the stretcher, groaning and haudin his sore heid and stomach wae baith hauns, trying tae fight the feeling ae sea sickness in they guts ae his, as The Royal loomed up in front ae them in the near distance.

  4.50 PM

  Murdina looked up at the clock above her office door as she lit up a wee slim Panatela. Her thoughts turned back tae the bridge earlier. Efter losing her grip ae Collette’s shoe, the next thing she remembered wis coming tae, sitting oan the loose chippings at the side ae the tarred carriageway, wae her back against the barrier, sheltered fae the wind, wae a blanket wrapped roond her, looking across at the fire brigade boys hosing doon the road surface ae the carriageway oan their side ae the bridge. It wis only then that she’d realised that she wis haudin something in the palm ae her haun. When she’d unclenched her fist, wan ae Collette James’s sergeant’s stripes wis sitting in the middle ae it. She’d never been wan tae express her emotions, at least, no in the company ae others. She remembered being led through the throng ae uniformed bodies by somewan, another polis officer probably, who’d aw looked away, embarrassed by her incoherent sobbing. She remembered arguing wae Swein McTavish, ordering him tae take her doon oan tae the riverside, tae try and save Collette, bit he’d stood his ground…probably the wan and only time he’d ever stood up tae her, she thought, smiling grimly tae hersel. The launch, the only polis vehicle in the toon that could move aboot unhindered, hid searched fur hauf an hour, before it hid plucked Collette James’s crumpled and broken body oot ae the River Clyde. Bob Mackerel’s comment earlier, aboot it perhaps being a blessing in disguise, hidnae been as shocking as when she’d first heard it. Despite the grief and sense ae loss, she still hid unfinished business in the toon. Mackerel, despite his faults, which wur many, wis a pragmatist. He’d seen it aw. Despite her loathing ae him and that sidekick ae his, Sam Bison, the heid ae Crime and Intelligence, they’d somehow managed tae survive in whit everywan referred tae as the Mankiest City ae The Empire. The pair ae them wur blatantly sexist and couldnae keep their eyes and hauns aff the wummin. Wan ae her inspectors fae Possil, Gordania McPhail, wis dating Mackerel. The fact that the chief superintendents wur still staunin, while everything and everywan roond aboot them lay strewn and scattered aboot, said it aw. She remembered she’d wanted tae throw up efter Gordania hid telt her that Mackerel wis like a rampant stag in bed and couldnae keep his hauns aff her, night or day. Mind you, she wis a Buckie quine, which probably said it aw. They’d even been planning a week in Blackpool thegither seemingly. She supposed the only redeeming features Mackerel and Bison hid that could be described as remotely attractive, wis their incorruptible honesty oan the wan haun and their cunning tae survive oan the other. It wis a tough task being a senior polis officer in a dustbin like Glesga, she finally admitted tae hersel. While there wis corruption oan an unimaginable scale, the honest bobbies oan the beat wur still there. She supposed that’s whit hid kept her gaun. Unfortunately, people like Collette James and Lesley Bare wur victims ae their ain making. Why could they no jist’ve left things alane, especially when they knew that somewan like her hid arrived in the toon wae her skulks? She lifted her right haun and looked at it. Despite trying, she couldnae stoap it fae shaking. It wis as if the stripes hid been soaked in acid. Everything she’d worked fur since coming tae Glesga appeared tae be falling apart aboot her ears. Despite the many successes, it wis the odd failure that mattered…that’s whit did the maist damage. There wis nae room fur error in the high stakes game she’d been playing. Victims wur inevitable, she’d hid tae keep reminding hersel. Why the hell hid she destroyed Collette James’s bundle ae letters? She’d genuinely believed at the time that she wis daeing it fur the good ae everywan…the force. James Douglas, the deputy director fae the FBI hid advised her tae draw a line in the sand.

  “Forget the past,” he’d drawled. “Move forward. It’s the only way.”

  And noo, here she wis, under investigation hersel, as a result ae the disclosures fae Susan McFarlane, who’d stood up oan the witness stand at Teddy Bare’s murder trial the week before and emphatically stated that she’d witnessed whit hid taken place up in Cadder. Aw that careful planning and fur whit? She wondered whit the odds wid’ve been ae Susan McFarlane spotting Collette haunin the bundle ae envelopes o’er tae her, fae the other side ae the canal, while she wis oot feeding the ducks wae that wean ae hers. Despite claiming that the letters hid gone missing fae Central, which in that place wisnae unusual, an investigation hid been instigated. Lord Campbell’s stinging rebuke, clearly intended fur her, hid hurt. Incompetence or worse, he’d said. Her mind drifted back tae the shambles in the south courtroom earlier, at lunchtime, efter the collapse ae Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie’s trial. She’d overheard Glenda Metcalfe whispering tae Maureen Bankheid, the Queen’s Advocate, that she wis convinced that her boss, Edward Wilson, the heid ae the prosecution service in Glesga, hid been responsible fur submitting the trial dates oan Broon and company’s indictments, although she’d also admitted that she hidnae any proof tae substantiate her accusation. She wis another wan that needed watching, despite her goody-two-shoes professional demeanor, Cleopatra thought tae hersel. Hid that overheard, whispered accusation been the start ae a cover up? Efter aw, Metcalfe wis gaun oot wae Graham Portoy, brief tae The Mankys. She’d need tae look at that wan, wance the dust settled. She’d hung back at The High Court, even though her office in Central wis jist roond the corner in St Andrews Square. She’d stood at an upstairs windae, watching the media circus below, as Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie hid held court. It hid always been her intention tae gate arrest the pair ae them, if the unlikely possibility ever arose where they’d walk free. It hid been so frustrating. She honestly believed that she’d hid everything covered efter managing tae persuade John The Haun tae reconsider and go up oan the witness stand against them. She’d been that confident that she hidnae prepared the additional charges required fur a gate arrest. It wisnae the end ae the world though. Broon and Hastie wid be getting a visit fae her and her skulks in the next day or two, bit it widnae hiv the same impact that it wid’ve hid if she’d marched oot oan tae the steps ae The High Court and arrested them in front ae the hacks. She hidnae dared mention tae anywan, bit she’d awready hid her press release written aboot how it hid been a team effort that hid brought Glesga’s maist dangerous organized crime lord doon. It hid no only been a personal humiliation fur her, staunin up at that windae, looking doon, as Wan-bob lorded it o’er aw the press, in front ae the broken symbols ae justice and liberty that the honest cit
izens ae the city passed by oan their daily excursions across the Prince Albert Bridge. Everywan in the toon knew fine well that Wan-bob Broon wis behind the assassination ae Papa McGregor and his right haun man, Victor Ruth, in The West Café, across in Govan first thing that morning. Whit better alibi tae hiv than being able tae prove that ye wur sitting in the back ae a Black Maria, under armed escort, stuck in a traffic jam up oan the High Street? The way she wis feeling, it widnae hiv surprised her in the least, if he’d orchestrated the accident ae the chemical tanker oan Kingston Bridge as a two-fingered gesture tae the city fathers. Hid she been aiming too high, she kept asking hersel. He’d been mair than a match fur a mere mortal like her. She’d been well warned that he wis as slippery and vindictive as a conger eel, bit hid it aw been planned oot or hid circumstances and bad luck worked against her? Who else in her situation wid’ve expected somewan like Pearl Campbell, the wee curly haired hack fae The Glesga Echo, tae turn up oot ae the blue? Where the hell hid she sprung fae? It wis hard trying tae figure oot who might’ve been pulling her strings. The obvious shark wis Wan-bob Broon, bit there wur others in there, like Wilma Thain, Glenda Metcalfe…even The Mankys. There hid been nothing in the wee journalist’s backgroond that she could find tae suggest that she wis connected, so where the hell hid aw they exclusives come fae, that she’d suddenly started lobbing intae the mix via the front page ae The Glesga Echo? She looked up at the clock. Five tae five. She lifted her wee green cigar pouch and lighter up aff the table and drapped them in tae her leather bag. She paused, looking doon at the handle ae the Smith & Wesson revolver fur a second. It wis the same gun that Sean Smith, wan ae her predecessors, hid used tae shoot himsel in the heid in the very office she noo occupied. Wis there a curse in the room, she wondered, looking aboot. She lifted oot her compact mirror and applied some lipstick. She now knew that it hid been The Mankys that hid attempted tae put the frighteners oan her that night up in Charing Cross Mansions, efter she’d returned fae the Highlands. They’d been spotted, hinging aboot near tae the building. It hid caused her a lot ae hassle, hivving tae find the accommodation that she’d jist moved intae the day before. They wur another wee crowd that needed her urgent attention, she reminded hersel, picking up her bag and heidin fur the door.