Murder in the Merchant City

by Angus McAllister

  Annette switched off the engine and turned to him. ‘Jack, let’s drop that other matter for the moment. I don’t want it to spoil tonight.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Neither do I.’ But it did.

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek and they got out of the car.

  Their arrival had been spotted and Annette’s children came running out to meet them. Norah was waiting for them at the door. From then on, everything was much as Jack had expected. The children were lively but well behaved, curious about Jack, but not hostile. The same could be said about Norah. She was friendly, and she and Jack took to each other immediately; he also felt that he was under scrutiny, as if Norah was standing in for Annette’s absent mother.

  She waited while Annette prepared the meal, and the interrogation continued. Loosely disguised as a casual conversation, Annette’s cover story was presented and seemed to pass muster. He felt a little more disconcerted when young Andrew came up to him and said, ‘Did Mummy cure you when you were sick?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack, ‘she certainly did.’

  ‘That’s what she does. She cures sick people. She’s cured lots and lots of people.’

  ‘Those that can afford it,’ said Norah. ‘I’m surprised you could manage it on a barman’s wages.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit put by. Left me by my parents.’

  Norah looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, but perhaps felt she had been nosy enough for the time being. Just as she was looking as if she might have found her second wind, the kids recruited Jack to play a video game with them, and ran off to set it up.

  ‘They’re great kids,’ said Norah. ‘A real credit tae her. They want for nothin’.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘They must be the best-dressed weans in the whole scheme. And toys . . . you name it, they’ve got it. An’ they’re no’ cheap nowadays. They’ve even got a computer; well, it’s Annette’s, but she lets them have a go at it. They want for nothin’, but she’s no’ soft wi’ them. She’s bringin’ them up well. I don’t know how she does it on her own. Mind you, her man wasnae much help. A complete waste of space, but there’s nae need tae go intae that.’

  Jack couldn’t think of anything to say, but Norah seemed able to manage for both of them. ‘She’s even bought this hoose fae the cooncil. And now she’s thinkin’ aboot gettin’ a garage. Of course, she’s lucky tae have such a good job. But she’s done well, just the same.’

  ‘I know. She certainly has.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot of time for Annette. It would be nice if she found someone. Somebody a bit better than . . . but I don’t want tae speak ill of the brain dead.’

  Jack got the impression that he had passed the test, at least provisionally. The children returned and for a while they were all diverted by the game.

  When dinner was ready, Norah took her leave. Her husband hadn’t yet returned from the pub and she seemed a little reluctant to leave the company. Annette thanked her profusely for her help, but Jack was relieved to see that her gratitude didn’t extend to a dinner invitation.

  Things went well during dinner and for a while afterwards, while the children were still around. They seemed to like Jack and to be quite happy that their mother had brought home a friend; Jack got the impression that their father had been out of the scene too long for any awkward comparisons to arise.

  After a while, he was left alone watching TV while Annette put the children to bed. He watched the end of a film, then the national news was followed by a brief local report. The shadow over the evening, which had lifted for a while, now fell once more.

  ‘Police are still baffled by the savage murder of Glasgow builder Steven Archer, which has been linked with the similar recent killings of Richard McAlpine and Arnold Bell. All three died of multiple stab wounds, in a frenzied attack, but although it seems likely that the same killer is responsible, no other link has been established between the victims.’

  The scene switched from studio to police station, where a senior police officer, identified in a caption as Detective Chief Inspector Matt MacDermott, continued the story: ‘So far we’ve been unable to identify any motive for these senseless killings. They don’t appear to be random attacks; Arnold Bell was attacked in his own home and Steven Archer in his show flat. There must be a connecting link. If any member of the public has any information, no matter how trivial it might seem, please get in touch with the police.’

  The scene changed back to the studio and another news item came on. Only then did Jack notice that Annette was in the room. She came round and sat beside him on the sofa.

  ‘How much of that did you catch?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight.’

  But the damage had been done. They changed the subject, but the conversation became a little strained. Earlier, Jack had gained the impression that he was going to be asked to stay the night. However, before much longer, Annette was phoning for a taxi to take him to the station. It seemed appropriate. The atmosphere was no longer right.

  At the door he kissed her, and she clung to him tightly, as if she feared that he was escaping from her life.

  ‘I’ll phone you,’ he said.

  ‘Make sure you do.’

  As the taxi drove away, she was still standing at the open door. He waved to her and she waved back.

  23

  Next on the List?

  ‘By the way,’ said Morag, ‘the cops want tae talk to you.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The cops want tae talk to you. You know, the pigs, the filth, the fuzz, whatever you want tae call them. They’ll likely be poppin’ in later.’

  ‘You can see he’s got a guilty conscience,’ said Les. ‘He nearly jumped ower the counter.’

  ‘I always thought he had some dark secret. A real mystery man. Now it’s all gonnae come oot.’

  ‘Dae ye think he’s the murderer?’ said Les. ‘Or is he just another bank robber?’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ said Jack.

  ‘Keep yer hair on,’ said Morag. ‘It’s one of your best features. But they really do want to see you. And it is about the murders.’

  ‘Fucksake,’ said Les.

  ‘But I don’t think you’re a suspect. Only a witness.’

  ‘How do you mean? How am I a witness?’

  It was Morag’s mid-evening break. She seemed to have forgiven Jack for his flirtation with Alison. Sufficiently, at least, to resume spending her breaks in the Centurion, though she still liked to make him suffer from time to time. At any rate, she didn’t seem to have heard of Annette’s visit to the West End. Not that it mattered. Jack had decided that he wasn’t interested in Morag.

  ‘Remember that wee guy?’ she said. ‘The one that was followin’ you? The one we thought was a private detective?’ She looked at Les, who still stood beside Jack, taking in every word, and smiled at him sweetly. ‘In Tennent’s we don’t leave customers standin’ at the bar wi’ their tongues hangin’ oot.’

  ‘What?’ After a moment, Les took the hint and slowly went off to serve the customer.

  ‘What about him?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I saw him again. On the night of the murder.’

  ‘Where? In here? In Tennent’s?’

  ‘No, in the street. Just up fae the new flats, where that last guy got done in. I live just up the road fae there. He walked past me in the street.’

  ‘My God! You sure it was the same man? I don’t think I’d know him again.’

  ‘I’m positive. I got a really good look at him that first time. Better than you did.’

  ‘Did you see him go into the flats?’

  ‘No, but he was in the area on the night of the murder. And he was definitely actin’ suspicious that first time we saw him. Anyway, the cops said they wanted any information they could get, no matter how trivial. So I thought I’d better give them a ring, before all the men in the city
get bumped aff. I wouldnae want that.’

  ‘There’s still plenty of us left,’ said Les, now back in place, his ears tuned.

  ‘I said men, no’ boys.’

  ‘So when do they want to see me?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I’ve to go doon tae the station the morra, tae look at some mug shots. They said they’d probably want you as well.’

  ‘I’ll never recognise him again. I only got a glimpse.’

  ‘It’s probably nothin’. There’s nae need tae look so worried.’

  ‘I told you he had a guilty conscience,’ said Les.

  Jack shouted at him. ‘Shut the fuck up!’

  Les looked startled, and did as he was told. Morag also looked taken aback, but made no comment. ‘I’ll need to get back,’ she said, finishing her drink. ‘See you at the clink.’

  It was Tuesday night and the bar was quiet. However, only the two of them were on duty and they were kept fairly busy. Jack was able to avoid talking to Les for the time being. He regretted having shouted at him, but sometimes the little bugger needed sorting out. He’d get over it.

  But Morag’s news had shaken him, for reasons neither she nor Les could guess at. Three customers of the Merchant City Health Centre had been murdered. Jack had been one of their customers. And a man seen near the location of the last killing, on the very evening it had taken place, had earlier taken a mysterious interest in Jack.

  Maybe it was all a coincidence. But was it one he could take a chance on?

  He had spoken to Annette on the phone the day before, and they had arranged a date for later that week. When he asked her if she had thought any further about going to the police she had stalled him, talking round the subject. Probably the children had been within earshot. But they would have to discuss it further.

  Meanwhile, as Morag had predicted, the police came to him. He was spared the embarrassment of two uniformed officers marching into the pub and asking for him; instead they phoned the bar and asked him if he could go down to the station the following morning, to look at some photographs.

  When he hung up, he saw that Les was looking at him. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was the cops.’

  ‘I never said a word.’

  Jack smiled at him. Les was all right. A daft little bugger, but you couldn’t stay angry at him. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’m not under arrest. You won’t have to finish the shift on your own.’

  When he arrived at the police station, he met Morag coming out. ‘Nae joy,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’ll have better luck.’

  ‘I doubt it. I think they’re clutching at straws.’

  ‘Maybe that wee guy had nothin’ tae do wi’ it. I hope no’. He didnae seem to like you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I didnae like to say at the time. The looks he was drawin’ you. It made me wonder if he really was a private detective. He seemed to be takin’ it more personal.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Jack. ‘That really makes me feel good.’

  ‘I’m no’ tryin’ tae wind you up. I thought you should know. Just take care, OK?’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘See you tonight, if you’re still with us.’

  ‘It’s my night off, so don’t go jumping to conclusions.’

  He was shown into an interview room by a policewoman and left with a bundle of photographs. He looked through them several times, but didn’t see a face he recognised. After a while he was joined by a young plain-clothes officer, who introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Madigan.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Nothing, sorry. I didn’t really get a good look at him.’

  ‘So there’s nobody there you recognise?’

  ‘No. Who are these guys anyway?’

  ‘Some of them are convicted criminals. The rest are private detectives. Can you think of any reason why a detective would be watching you?’

  ‘None. I’m already divorced.’

  Madigan sighed. ‘OK. I don’t really think this is taking us anywhere, but you’d better tell me what happened.’

  Jack told him about the man being in the Centurion, what Morag had told him, and about seeing him in the street afterwards. ‘I thought at first he was following me home, but I think it was just my imagination.’

  ‘OK,’ said Madigan. ‘It was a long shot. But every lead’s worth following up.’

  He rose to his feet. The interview seemed to be at an end.

  Jack hesitated, continuing to sit where he was.

  ‘Was there something else?’ Madigan asked.

  ‘Morag said the guy didn’t seem to like me.’

  Madigan laughed. ‘You know the West End. Full of nutters. You probably served him a bad pint the night before.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced. Is there something you haven’t told me?’ Jack said nothing. ‘Mr Morrison, if there’s anything else, any reason for you to suspect you might be in danger, I think you ought to tell me. I’m sure you’ve heard what this maniac does to his victims. It’s probably a false trail, but if it was me, I don’t think I’d take a chance on it.’

  Jack was thinking quickly. He had wanted to discuss it further with Annette, to persuade her to go to the police. But if she didn’t agree, someone would have to tell them.

  If she did go forward, he would probably be interviewed again. One way or another, he was likely to end up having to explain why he’d initially said nothing.

  ‘It’s a bit embarrassing,’ he said.

  ‘Go on,’ said Madigan. He was looking at Jack intently. This was no longer a routine interview.

  ‘Is it likely to get into the papers?’

  ‘We don’t tell the press any more than they need to know. Sometimes we give them information if we need their help. I can’t give any guarantees, especially when I don’t know what you’re going to tell me. You are going to tell me something, aren’t you? I’m becoming intrigued.’

  Jack took a deep breath. He couldn’t go back now. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do know something else. Something you’ve been looking for. A link between the murders.’

  Until then Madigan had remained impassive. Now a faint smile intruded. Did he smell promotion?

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  24

  Hitting the Fan

  The news broke on Friday. It appeared first as an exclusive in a morning tabloid, and by evening was on the TV news, local and national. Jack missed the newspaper story, and so the shock was even greater when he switched on his TV and saw a familiar back street in the Merchant City: the squat, three-storey stone building, nestling like a younger sibling against the gable of the taller tenement beside it; the dingy close beside the old-fashioned pub; the first-floor windows painted with the name of the Blackfriars Pawnbroking Company; their top-floor counterparts curtained and anonymous. Into this discreet byway a searchlight had now been aimed. The national item showed only a glimpse of this, along with a brief statement from DCI MacDermott; however, in the local bulletin, it was the lead story.

  This time the Merchant City location was given more coverage. Suddenly Jack saw Annette coming out of the building, her face in full view as the cameras took her by surprise. Too late, she fended off the questions and hurried off down the street. ‘The connection between the murders,’ said the commentary, ‘was first noticed by sauna girl Annette Somerville, who recognised all of the victims as former clients. Ms Somerville, who is helping the police with their inquiries, tonight declined to comment.’ The last part accompanied a picture of Annette, evidently having been pursued halfway across the Merchant City, trying to hide her face as she got into her car.

  There followed an interview with sauna proprietress Edna Brady, who maintained that the Merchant City Health Centre was a respectable establishment and the apparent link with the murders was a coincidence. She stated these outrageous propositions with such deadpan gall that Jack almost believed her. A more extended statement from the DCI ended the bulletin.
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  Several other news items passed unnoticed as Jack tried to collect his thoughts. The enormity of what had happened to Annette was too much for him to properly grasp. And how had the press managed to get hold of the story? Surely the police wouldn’t have released it? DS Madigan, after hearing Jack’s story, had thought it unlikely that they would make the information public. It could only put the murderer on his guard.

  After his interview with the police, he had tried without success to warn Annette. On Wednesday the phone had been answered by her childminder, and on the following evening her number was continuously engaged. He was due to meet her later that evening. Would she turn up? If she did, what sort of reception would he get?

  She did show up, only five minutes late. She wore dark glasses, no make-up and what looked like her oldest clothes; either she had failed to take the usual trouble with her appearance, or was deliberately trying to cultivate an image that would attract less attention. She looked nervously around her, as if unable to believe that she wasn’t the centre of attention.

  Jack bought her a drink and they retired to a quiet alcove. They were in a dimly-lit basement bar in Sauchiehall Street, a discreet enough location. It had been their original intention to go to the cinema, which now seemed unlikely.

  She took off her glasses. There were dark rings under her eyes and she looked exhausted. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d have the nerve to show up,’ she said. ‘What the fuck did you think you were playing at?’

  ‘Hang on, I don’t think that’s . . .’

  ‘Did you see the news?’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me. I never told them.’

  ‘But you spoke to the police. Don’t deny it; they told me.’

  ‘They came to me.’ He told her about the man who had been following him, the one spotted by Morag. ‘He could be after me. I may be next on his list. The police had to be told.’

  ‘You could have warned me.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all week.’