Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “The track’s clear, dear,” he’d sung pleasantly, as they’d heided hame via the Spar tae pick up some messages.

  “Oh my God, Johnboy, please tell me that you hid nothing tae dae wae that,” she’d wailed, efter turning in tae the track fae the road.

  “The track must’ve collapsed wae the weight ae it,” he’d replied innocently.

  “So, ye’ve finally managed tae get up here at last?” he growled, opening the door. “Ma other hauf phoned ye a few times regarding that wagon that’s been blocking us in, so she did.”

  “Yes, good morning, sir. May I come in?” Jimmy Hill’s wee brother asked.

  “Naw, ye cannae.”

  “Oh, er, right…well.”

  “Up until last night, that track’s been blocked since Monday, so it his,” he reminded him.

  “Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s been a report of vandalism.”

  “Vandalism?”

  “Someone deliberately let the tyres down on one of The Laird’s trucks and caused considerable damage to the vehicle, after it toppled over, off the track.”

  “Whit if wan ae us or the cat hid been strolling by and it hid landed oan wan ae us?”

  “There were matchsticks stuck in the air valves.”

  “Good.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Ye heard me.”

  “Look, laddie…”

  “Naw, you look. Wur ye aware that Heckie MacLeod and a squad ae his boys hiv been landing fish illegally aff the beach doon there oan tae the back ae The Laird’s trucks at high tide? Naw? There’s a surprise.”

  “Look, Mr…er, there’s been nothing but trouble since you’ve moved up here from wherever. People like you aren’t wanted about here.”

  “See you, ya long faced prick, ye. Fuck aff away fae ma front door and don’t show yer face aboot here again, unless ye’ve goat solid evidence that’ll staun up in court. It’s probably wan ae the people that’s been complaining they cannae access the beach. And while ye’re here, tell that MacLeod wan that if Ah catch him or any ae they boys ae his tampering wae ma water supply again, then there’s gonnae be big trouble. Hiv ye goat that?” he said tae him, slamming the door in his face.

  He stood behind the door waiting, trying no tae breathe too hard, listening. He looked at his watch. He could sense Long Face’s presence oan the other side ae the door still staunin there, before he aboot turned and jumped back intae his squad car, the wheels furiously crunching oan the gravel, before disappearing doon the track. He looked doon at Mr Hopkins and smiled.

  “See?” he reminded him, wagging his finger, turning and heidin back in tae the living room, as the cat overtook him and jumped up beside the record player. “That’s how ye deal wae people like that. Noo, then, whit’s it tae be? A wee bit ae ‘Bad Moon Rising’ by Creedence or ‘Stir it Up’ by Bob Marley and The Wailers?”

  Chapter Forty Eight

  She’d been running late. The polis hid finally released poor Annie Rex-Elliot’s body, the chairman ae the businesswummin’s association, allowing her family tae get oan wae the funeral. The church hid been packed full ae the great and the good. She shuddered tae think ae the reaction fae them, if they attended her funeral, wae some ae the people that she knew wid probably turn up. It wid be bad enough wae the way Fraser looked, bit tae multiply that ugly face ae his a couple ae dozen times o’er…and that wisnae including the wummin…wid lead people tae believe a bloody freak show hid come tae town. Christ, think ae the showing-up? Thank God she widnae be there tae witness it. She wondered whit wis keeping Cleftie? He wis usually pretty punctual. Her arse hid practically collapsed a few weeks earlier. Arty Bruce, wan ae the chief inspectors in the fraud squad hid swung in by, wae a wee interesting titbit.

  “Right, Ah don’t hiv much details, Donna, bit thought Ah’d jist run it by ye, jist in case. Dis Belvedere Gardens ring any bells?” he’d asked her.

  “Aye, it’s a wee office block that’s getting renovated. Ah’ve goat a stake in it. Why?”

  “How aboot a Kath Morrison?”

  “That’s Shuggie Morrison’s missus. Ye remember Shuggie…done seven years back in the mid 60s fur discharging a shotgun and blowing oot Daffy Duck’s front windae across in Patrick, efter the stupid basturt tried tae cut him oot ae some business deal. Anyway, Shuggie goat the building in Belvedere Gardens fur a song, efter he bought it aff the owner, who wis up tae his eyeballs in gambling debts. Because ae the urgency, the owner, some dentist guy, demanded cash up front. Him and Kathy hid jist moved hoose at the time. It wis me that sorted oot their big loan fur them, which wis enough tae sink a battleship, despite them putting doon a fair whack ae the proceeds ae the hoose sale money as a deposit oan their new property. Shuggie sold him and Kath’s hoose, which hid a fair skelp ae land wae it, tae Buck Rodgers, him that runs the fleet ae ice cream vans oot ae the Balmore Industrial Estate. Anyway, part ae the deal wae Buck wis that Shuggie wis tae take care ae the demolition costs ae the hoose that wis sitting oan the land, which wis fine. Aw Buck wis interested in wis the prime location. The problem wis, it wis jist efter that, that the opportunity tae take o’er the dentist’s building in Belvedere Gardens came up. Shuggie came tae me and asked me tae cover the costs ae the demolition, which wis jist o’er eighteen grand. Fur that, Ah wis gied a twenty percent stake in the Belvedere Garden property. Ur ye wae me, so far?” she’d asked.

  “Aye,” the chief inspector hid replied, laughing, clearly confused.

  “Anyway, as you well know, they dirty basturts, The McGregors, shot poor Shuggie deid alang in Duke Street, the same night that The Capstan Club goat bombed. Aye, and it goat worse, so it did. Ah’d jist paid aff City Demolition, wan ae Pat Malloy’s demolition companies, the week before. So, Ah wis well oot ae pocket. When Ah hidnae heard fae Kath, efter a respectable few weeks, Ah sent her solicitor, James Greenway, the agreement between me, her and Shuggie, fur her tae sign. Work wis well underway oan the renovation ae the Belvedere Garden property, that ma money wis paying fur. Fuck, did Greenway no send me a shitty letter back, informing me that Kath wisnae aware ae any agreement, which at that time wis true and that Ah wisnae entitled tae ma twenty percent stake in the property. Here wis me, eighteen big wans doon the Clyde, wae nothing tae show fur it. Christ, they auld strung oot fallopes ae mine jist aboot danced their last fandango, so they did. Ah mean, it wisnae as if Ah could go back tae The Big Man and ask fur ma money back efter City Demolition hid cleared the site, could Ah? Anyway, it aw goat sorted oot, efter Ah nipped up tae see her. The strange thing at the time though, wis that solicitor ae hers, Greenway. He hidnae spoken tae Kath aboot receiving the agreement Ah’d sent him and hid jist taken it upon himsel tae get back tae me, telling me tae fuck aff oan her behauf. It wis as if he thought Ah wis oan the make, trying tae screw a poor wee widow…and a personal friend at that, oot ae her entitlement, the basturt. Anyway, Kath happily signed the agreement and that wis that. Ah’ve goat aw the paperwork in the bank noo, so it’s aw legal.”

  “Ah, that makes a bit ae sense noo,” The Chief Inspector hid sighed. “So, Ah’m roond in Pitt Street, hivving a wee meeting wae wan ae the accountants. Ah wis sitting at his desk while he went aff tae dig oot a file. The guy oan the next desk wis blabbing tae somewan oan the blower. Ah wisnae taking much interest in whit wis being said until your name came up. He wis scribbling away, writing doon whit wis being said and kept asking whoever it wis he wis talking tae, tae repeat himsel, as it wis a crackly line. Anyway, other than your name, Belvedere Gardens wis mentioned...er, alang wae…intimidation.”

  “Intimidation?” she’d shrieked.

  “That’s whit the guy said.”

  “Who wis he talking tae, dae ye know?”

  “When that man ae mine came back, the guy who’d been oan the blower slammed doon the receiver, calling whoever it wis he’d been talking tae, a poncie cunt and asking did he no realise he’d enough oan his plate,” he’d continued, ignoring her question.

  “
‘Who?’ ma man asked him.

  ‘That fucking Hamilton up oan the tap flair,’ he replied.

  Wance Ah finished whit Ah wis up there fur, Ah did a wee bit ae checking behind the scenes when Ah goat back doon tae Central. The tap flair ae Pitt Street is where aw the tap dugs ur located in the toon noo, like the chief constable and his deputy. The only Hamilton Ah could come up wae, and that included the private secretaries by the way, wis the deputy director ae finance, a Robert Hamilton.”

  “Hamilton?”

  “That’s it. In fact, he’s the only Hamilton in the whole building.”

  She’d gied Arty a well-deserved hunner bucks, fur the heids up, and sent him oan his way. The info wisnae worth that amount…probably a couple ae weeks wages tae someone like him though…bit it wis the initiative behind it, tae come and let her know that wis worth the wee bit extra. As she’d telt him, everything tae dae wae Kath Morrison and her twenty percent stake in Belvedere Gardens wis legal. So, where the hell hid the ‘intimidation’ bit come fae in the first place? Why wid Kath’s prick ae a solicitor, Greenway, believe in the first place that she’d been trying tae muscle in oan poor Kath? At the time, she’d jist moved oan. Her attitude being that, even if she wis being investigated, they’d soon find oot everything wis legit. It wis the news that she wis getting put forward fur a BEM that brought her back tae the subject in haun. Who the fuck wid want tae gie her an honour, if there wis any whiff ae criminality aboot her. Sir Martin Blake did mention that recipients being recommended hid a criminal check done oan them. Wis that whit this wis aw aboot? It couldnae be. The Greasy Knight hidnae put her name forward at that stage. It hid tae be something else, bit whit? And who wis this Hamilton guy anyway? Arty hid telt her that although he wis a deputy dawg, he wis still classed as a civvy. So, why wid a civvy in the polis be sniffing aboot her fanny, she’d wondered. Well, hopefully she wis jist aboot tae find oot, she said tae hersel, as the buzzer oan the phone shrilled.

  “Jist bring him through,” she replied, putting the receiver back in the cradle, sticking a fresh fag in her cigarette holder.

  Cleftie Hannan wis a private dick…the best in the business, bar none. He usually worked oan infidelity cases, which wis his breid and butter. There wur a few smart wans in the toon, like her, that recognised they skills ae his, other than taking camera shots ae people shagging behind the backs ae their wives or husbands. He wis probably wan ae the best kept secrets in the toon, so he wis. He wis a cross between ‘Columbo’ fae the TV series oan the telly, and The Rat, Pearl’s boss doon at The Glesga Echo oan Hope Street. He saw himsel as a bit ae a fly-man and could be a bigger bum than ten arses if ye let him go wae the flow, which she didnae. If ye wur tae ask anywan oan the street tae describe whit they thought yer typical private dick looked like, then they’d come up wae a Cleftie Hannan lookalike, due tae the stereotype images conjured up in American TV crime dramas, or efter reading any ae Damon Runyon’s dodgy street characters, in his series ae short stories. The difference wis that Cleftie Hannan wis the real deal. The only thing missing, apart fae the perfect tap lip, wis the American accent. Tallish, probably aboot five nine or ten, dark greasy hair hinging o’er ears that wur far two big fur that heid ae his and a distinctive cleft lip. Life hidnae been kind tae that face ae his. Because ae the lip, there wis always a blowy, whistling sound tae that voice ae his. He wis known fur partaking ae a wee drink noo and again as well. Unless he hid a wardrobe full ae the same outfits at hame, he could always be clocked, running aboot in the same worn oot pair ae shackled broon brogues, whose heels hid disappeared long ago. Hinging aff they shoulders ae his, wis an auld light broon leather jaicket, colour co-ordinated by a pair ae dirty, fawn coloured cavalry twill troosers that hid a permanent, dark ingrained stained mirror reflecting aff the arse ae them. The only regular change tae the get-up wur the flower patterned shirts. Sometimes when she bumped intae him, when she wis oot and aboot oan her travels, he’d be wearing a different flower fae the last time. He never wore a tie, bit made up fur the loss by wearing a cheap looking gold chain wae a wee St Nicholas medallion hinging doon aff it. His office wis up two flights ae creaky wooden stairs, jist alang fae The Briggait, which probably explained the regular change ae shirt. Despite his tatty looking get-up, he wis the best in the business, knew everywan and widnae negotiate oan his hourly rate. Ye could either afford him or ye couldnae. She looked across at the fan fur reassurance, jist as she heard the feet approaching her office door. It wis a pity they wur in the middle ae a rare summer heatwave. Cleftie also smelled like an alley cat oan heat oan a good day.

  “Cleftie, son, grab yersel a pew,” she said in welcome, as Agnes smiled at her behind his back, pinching her nose between that thumb and forefinger ae hers, as she shut the door quietly behind him.

  “Aye, aye, Donna. Bloody hot the day, so it is,” he whistled, wiping his brow wae a manky handkerchief, clamping that shiny arse ae his doon oan the other side ae the desk fae her.

  “So?” she asked him, as he opened up his tatty auld broon leather doctor’s bag, lifting a file oot ae it.

  “Robert Hamilton, aged fifty eight, born oan the twentieth ae June, 1918. Currently Deputy Finance Director fur Strathclyde Polis Force. Joined The City Ae Glesga Polis as an accountant oan Monday, the fifth ae April 1965. Rapidly climbed up the greasy pole and fur the past six years, his been second in charge ae Glesga’s and noo Strathclyde’s finances, since local government reorganisation last year. He’s married, wae two daughters, who live up north, where he joins them maist Fridays, returning tae his two bedroom, modern semi-detached hoose, up in Bishopbriggs, oan the Sunday. The only change tae that timetable is that he heids up north oan the Saturday and returns oan the Monday oan the last weekend ae the month.”

  “Is that significant like?” she asked, replacing a fag intae her fag holder and lighting up.

  “Ah don’t think so. He tends tae be oot and aboot, gaun tae the dentist, opticians, picking up his suits fae The Swiss Cleaners, the bank…that kind ae stuff oan that Friday,” he replied, shaking his heid. “That da ae his wis a reasonably well-respected accountant in the toon and ran the family business, Hamilton & Hamilton, as a wan man band. There wis an office jist roond the corner there in Renfield Street up until five years ago.”

  “Reasonably respected?”

  “Up until the randy auld cunt collapsed and died oan tap ae wan ae Bella McPhail’s lassies in The Bordello, wan ae The Big Man’s swankiest brothels across there in the West End. Although the firm wis called Hamilton & Hamilton, the da hid nae other brothers or relatives. Hamilton junior wis a partner before they fell oot. Seemingly, oor Robert hid a bit ae a gambling problem at the time, although there’s nae evidence that he’s still at it. It wis efter the bust-up that he joined the polis force as an accountant.”

  “Aye, gambling’s a game fur mugs, so it is. That Fraser ae mine lost a bloody fortune before he finally goat the message, the daft prick.”

  “Anyway,” Cleftie said, continuing, looking back doon at the file. “When the auld boy croaked it, Hamilton & Hamilton hid capital assets ae seventy-five grand, which wis the value ae the company’s office, plus the rest ae the offices up the same block, which wur rented oot tae other accountancy firms and solicitors. The auld boy left jist o’er sixty grand which, efter the proceeds ae the offices being sold, minus the death duties, wis split between him and that wee maw ae his.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it. There’s nae shite in there, at least, no that Ah could find.”

  “Whit aboot wummin…or men?”

  “Nope. Clean as a whistle. Nae gambling, shagging or boozing. Goes straight hame at night, stays in, gets up in the morning, drives doon tae Pitt Street tae his work in a big fancy Beemer, before repeating the same routine the next day. As Ah’ve awready said, catches the twenty five past five Glesga tae Inverness train oan Friday, gets back intae Queen Street at five past nine oan the Sunday night.”

  “Christ, the Pope sounds as if he’s
hivving far mair fun than this wan, so he dis.”

  “It’s aw in the file, alang wae some wee snaps, so it is,” he shrugged, sliding it across the table tae her. “So, whit dae ye want me tae dae noo?”

  “Keep digging, bit don’t go daft. If ye come up wae anything, gie me a shout. Naebody, even a Deputy Dawg fae the polis force, kin be that squeaky clean. It’s the quiet wans that need watching mair than anywan else.”

  “Well, it’s your money,” the private dick whistled, staunin up.

  “Look, thanks, Cleftie. Ah’ll hiv a wee swatch at whit ye’ve come up wae and maybe get back tae ye. In the meantime, send me yer hours and expenses and Ah’ll get ye squared up pronto.”

  Chapter Forty Nine

  “Is that him?” Senga asked.

  “Who?”

  “Yer pal,” she replied, pointing oot intae The Minch at the wee speck oan the horizon, heidin in their direction.

  “Flintlock? Aye, it looks like it. If we hing oan, we’ll maybe get a fish aff ae him fur oor tea the morra night.”

  “Ah’d like tae meet him. Especially wae a name like that.”

  “Aye, according tae him, he wis named efter a musket, so he wis.”

  “Whit’s a musket?”

  “An auld rifle they used back in the aulden days.”

  “Aye, Ah thought that’s whit it wis.”