Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Naw, Ah think Ah’ll stick tae ma prawn cocktail.”

  “Look, ye hiv tae be seen tae be adventurous, Pearl, if ye want tae get noticed eating in these type ae eating joints in the toon, so ye dae. We’d be as well sitting roond the corner in The San Remo, wae whit you’ve goat sitting there oan that plate. It’s oan me, so take full advantage.”

  Donna hid barely shared they wee words ae wisdom ae hers, when Pearl suddenly drapped her fork back oan tae the table in nervous excitement. Hamish’s companion hid jist stood up, taking her shoulder bag wae her and wis heidin towards the toilet signs at the far end ae the room.

  “Look, that’s me. The lassie wae him is aff tae the lavvy, so she is. Hopefully, this shouldnae take too long,” she apologised, snatching up her wee Mulberry shoulder bag.

  “Pearl? Christ, ye look stunning, so ye dae,” Hamish exclaimed, stripping her naked wae they filthy watery eyes ae his.

  “Oh, Hamish…sir, Ah…Ah didnae see ye there,” she feigned, dazzling him wae wan ae her best smiles, that she kept in reserve fur these types ae occasions, inadvertently tugging the side ae her short dress doon an inch or two at her thigh wae her painted fingernails.

  “Ah’m surprised tae come across somewan like you in a place like this,” the cheeky basturt admitted. “We must be paying ye too much.”

  “The paper’s no paying, sir. Ah’m wae Donna Jeffs. She wis the Glesga businesswummin ae the year, last year. She’s picking up the tab, so she is.”

  “Wid youse like tae join us?” he asked, peering across at Donna who wis still sitting there, slurping away oan her oysters and Guinness.

  “Naw, naw. Ah see ye’re oan yer dessert. We’re jist oan oor starters.”

  “So, whit juicy wee scandal ur ye working oan at the minute then?”

  “Oh, er…nothing.”

  “Come oan, Pearl. Yer secret’s safe wae me, so it is.”

  “Ah…er, Ah cannae. Mr Elliot wid…”

  “Sammy? Pearl, Ah’m the boss. Aw youse hacks answer tae me, no him.”

  “Look, it’s er, difficult…Ah, er, hivnae brought it up wae Mr Elliot…yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Oh, er…because there’s wan piece ae the jigsaw missing…the important piece,” she confessed breathlessly.

  She wis fair chuffed tae see the interest in the hungry eyes shift fae her hips and chest, up tae her face.

  “Withoot it…well, there isnae really a story,” she admitted, shrugging her bare shoulders. “Also, it could be damaging…tae the paper, Ah mean, if Ah’ve goat it wrang.”

  “Look, Pearl, grab a seat, hen…jist fur a minute.”

  “Bit, yer companion…er, friend. She’ll be back in a…”

  “She won’t,” he swiftly interjected. “She’s jist hid a wee flare-up ae that diverticular disease ae hers.”

  “Diverta whit?”

  “Pearl, believe you me, hen, ye don’t want tae know, especially if ye hivnae eaten yet. Wae whit poor Lisa suffers fae, Ah widnae be surprised if she isnae sitting through there aw night,” he laughed. “Grab yersel a seat.”

  “Look, Ah shouldnae really be talking tae ye aboot this, sir. Mr…”

  “Look, furget Sammy The Rat, Pearl. It’s me ye’re talking tae here.”

  “Bit whit if he…”

  “Look, jist you let him know that it’s been me that’s been running wae this wan. Tell him that Ah’ve been in fae the start and that ye’ve been investigating under ma direction,” he soothed, lifting up the bottle ae champagne fae the wine bucket, as wan ae his polished shoes appeared fae under the white table cloth and pushed his dinner companion’s chair oot fae the table, allowing her tae sit doon.

  He sat smoking a fat cigar while she spilled the beans, making it up as she went alang. She wis so engrossed in whit she wis spouting, she didnae even notice him ordering another bottle ae the 1950s Grand Vintage Moet et Chandon, until the waiter filled her glass and replaced the bottle back intae the freshly filled ice bucket. He wis a good listener and only interrupted her a few times, seeking clarification oan the technical details ae the Hamilton family trust, that she wis ootlining fae her scribblings in her wee notebook, fae the meeting at Donna’s office the previous day.

  “So, where dae you think the missing accounts ur?” he asked, efter she finished talking.

  “Chief Inspector Bruce is turning Central upside doon as we speak.”

  “Wid that kind ae sensitive information no be kept in The Cove, roond in Pitt Street?”

  “He’s awready spent a lot ae his time roond there and come away empty-handed.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. He’s confident that he’ll lay his hauns oan them…although, it’ll be close.”

  Silence.

  “Hiv you awready prepared questions that we’ll want tae put tae John Sinclair, the assistant chief constable and that chief super ae his, Sam Bison?”

  “Er, aye, sir.”

  “Where ur they?”

  “At ma work, sir.”

  Silence.

  “Whit if Johnston and Bison don’t go fur it…arresting Hamilton up in the Highlands?”

  “Chief Inspector Bruce believes they will,” she lied.

  Silence.

  “Right, here’s where we go wae this. Set up the meeting in ma diary wae Helen Cardle…the night. Ye might hiv tae phone her at hame. She won’t mind. It happens aw the time. Make sure Ah hiv yer list ae questions oan ma desk fur when Ah come in at six the morra morning. Helen will also make separate travel arrangements fur you and Slipper. Despite yer obvious close-working relationship wae this chief inspector fae the fraud squad, Ah want clear blue water between us and them. Noo, remember, Pearl, if these missing accounts don’t turn up by Friday morning, then the paper walks.”

  “Bit…”

  “If whit ye’ve been telling me is true, then the shit is gonnae hit the fan big-style. We need tae make sure that we’re squeaky clean in aw this and we’re no accused ae setting up some innocent backroom boy in the force’s accounts department. Whit Ah cannae figure oot, is how he thought he wis gonnae get away wae this.”

  “Er, aye, sir. Ah’m sure the accounts will be found before Friday.”

  “He obviously manages some sort ae secret account.”

  “Aye, Ah gathered that, bit how wis he gonnae exit the force withoot it coming tae light, efter he departed the scene? Chief Inspector Bruce his been asking that same question, bit hisnae managed tae come up wae an answer yet, sir.”

  “Okay. Look, ye better get back tae yer businesswummin ae the year, before she keels o’er,” he said, smiling, as Pearl turned tae look across at Donna.

  “Oh, right. Ur ye sure ye don’t want me tae go and check oot where yer companion’s goat tae?”

  “Naw, naw, Pearl, hen,” he replied, lighting up another cigar as she stood up and walked back tae her table.

  “Pearl, ma wee prairie flowerpot,” Donna sang. “Whit the hell kept ye?”

  “Ah’m sorry, Donna. Ah couldnae get away…”

  “Look, furget aw that pish…you and me…we’re gonnae go and get oorsels a man the night,” Donna said, her voice slurred and sounding really drunk.

  “Bit, it’s only Wednesday, Donna. Will Fraser no be expecting ye hame?” she asked, looking aboot, wondering how she wis gonnae get Donna oot ae the place withoot causing a scene.

  “Fraser…ma Fraser? Tha…that murdering basturt? Ah’ll fucking Fraser him…you watch if Ah don’t,” Donna growled, hiccupping, jist as the wee waiter who’d been serving up the champagne across at Hamish’s table arrived oan the scene, and diners at the nearby tables started tae take an interest in whit wis gaun oan.

  “Madam’s taxi is waiting outside,” he informed Pearl politely, much tae her relief. “Mr McGovern asked me to inform you that he’s taken care of the bill for you and your grandma, miss.”

  “Taxi? Ah never…bloody never ordered a bloody tax…taxi,” Donna protested, hiccupping again, as the waiter and Pea
rl caught her jist before she fell aff her chair oan tae that skinny arse ae hers, and walked her across tae the door. “Bit, Ah hivnae hid ma main meal, yet.”

  The last she saw ae Hamish McGovern that night wis when he gied her a wee pleasant wave, jist as his lady companion made her way back tae the table, looking like death warmed up.

  Chapter Sixty Six

  Arty Bruce sat nervously looking across the desk at the tap ae Chief Superintendent Sam Bison’s silver-grey heid ae hair. He’d been anchored oan the seat, sweating and feeling faint, bursting fur a shite, efter hivving plapped that arse ae his doon a hauf an hour earlier. Mercifully, he’d been getting distracted, watching two sparrows shagging each other aff and oan fur the better part ae twenty minutes oan the other side ae the barred windae. He’d awready been tae the lavvy twice that morning, bit that puckered arse ae his still felt the need fur another re-run. He quickly wiped his brow again. At least his sweating hid calmed doon a bit, he reassured himsel, as he clenched the scrunched up, soaking hanky in his haun fur the umpteenth time. Oan the face ae it, Donna The Prima Donna getting him tae suggest tae the chief super tae hing back oan arresting Robert Hamilton’s arse until the weekend made sense. The thieving basturt hid fucked aff up tae the Highlands, efter finding oot that hauf his employees hid been arrested the night before his quick departure fur smuggling fish. Fish? When Donna hid come oot wae that wan at the meeting, he’d burst oot laughing, thinking she wis taking the piss.

  “We’re talking tons here, Arty. When this gets oot, it could spark aff another cod war wae Iceland, so it could,” she’d exaggerated, bit still sounded serious.

  Bison’s initial reaction hid been tae get oan the blower tae John Sinclair, the assistant chief constable, whose office wis jist alang the corridor. That’s when his bowels hid decided tae stage a coup.

  “The main thing fur me…us, is that Bison his tae agree tae sit oan this until we’re ready, Arty. If he disnae, then you and your promotion prospects ur fucked, so they ur.”

  While he hidnae been that bothered aboot his promotional progression, it wis the inference behind whit she’d been getting at that hid scared him. Christ, even he couldnae start tae imagine the amount ae compromising shit she hid oan him. Fuck, they’d throw away the key.

  “Ye whit?” Bison hid blustered, before practically doubling up in a convulsion ae coughing and spluttering behind that big polished desk ae his.

  “Aye, Ah’m si…si…sorry, sir, bit it’s aw in ma initial findings, so it is,” he’d stuttered, nodding at the explosive, offensive file, sitting oan the desk between them.

  He looked up fae the damp hanky. His wee smut skin-flick, across at the windae, hid jist been interrupted by the sound ae the loudest fart he’d heard in a long time. The Chief Super wis noo oan his third read through the contents.

  “How the effing-fuck did somewan like you manage tae discover something as fucking awful as this?”

  “A…an anonymous tip-aff, sir,” he spluttered, sitting there, trying tae quell the quaking in his voice as the slits fur eyes sliced straight through him. “Although, A…Ah…Ah’ve si…si…since met up wae the source hersel, sir.”

  “Who?” Bison demanded, the veins in that neck ae his pulsating, his voice sounding mair like rolling thunder than a question.

  “Er, tha…tha…that wee journalist…er, wha…wha…whit’s her name?” he stupidly spluttered, no believing that he couldnae remember her name because ae Mr Crocodile Eyes there, sitting looking as if he wis gonnae leap across the desk and eat him.

  “Campbell?” Bison roared, dread in that voice ae his. “Did you jist say Pearl Fucking Campbell? That wee fucking red-heided hairy wan?”

  “Er, aye, sir. It, er, wi…wi…wis oan the tip ae ma…ma tongue, bit like yersel, Ah’m er…Ah’m feeling a wee bit nervous aboot aw this…tha…tha…the discovery, Ah mean.”

  “Oh, my fucking Jesus God,” The Super gasped, fighting tae keep his voice calm, as he took oot a hanky fae his trooser pocket and wiped his brow, while letting aff another ripper fae that arse ae his. “Ur we in…in possession ae the bank details?”

  “Naw, bit she is. She showed me a sample…in photographs. It’s obvious they…her, mi…managed tae get access tae his bank records and took fa…fa…photos ae them. There wis wan fa…fa…photo that showed a pile ae deposited cheques sitting oan tap ae a table, aw stamped by the bank.”

  “Branch?”

  “Tha…Tha…The Clydeside up in Bishopbriggs…the wan oan the corner.”

  “Right. Ah want that fucking bank manager’s arse dragged doon tae they fucking dungeons in Central,” he snarled, eyes blazing. “Roast the basturt’s arse until he spills the beans. He must’ve known fine well whit wis gaun oan. He’s obviously getting a cut, the thieving cunt. If he isnae, why the hell did he no pick up the goddam blower before noo, eh?”

  “Oh, er, he’s new…recently transferred, sir, bit…”

  “Right, Chief Inspector Bruce, you bloody well point oot tae me where the fuck in these figures here it says that hundreds ae thousands ae pounds ae oor money his gone AWOL,” The Chief Super shouted, efter he’d disappeared and returned wae the summary reports ae the force’s finances fur the past three years.

  “Er, it di…di…disnae, sir,” he replied miserably, deliberately no moving that arse ae his oan the seat, in case he shat himsel.

  “Whit…ur ye no even gonnae hiv a swatch?”

  “Ah’ve awready hi…hi…hid a look through the summary account reports and couldnae find anything amiss, sir. Ah di…di…don’t hiv clearance tae access the mair detailed budget breakdoons.”

  “And, as ye said yersel, ye’re no actually a qualified accountant, ur ye?” The Chief Super suddenly announced, grasping at straws, trying tae convince himsel that he wisnae really in the middle ae a nightmare that he hid a starring role in.

  “Ni…ni…naw, sir,” he admitted. “Bit, Ah’ve been aroond long enough tae know whit Ah should be looking oot fur.”

  Whit he hidnae admitted tae wis that he’d goat a pal ae his, a real accountant, tae hiv a good swatch ae the files he wis allowed access tae.

  Silence.

  “Okay, so whit am Ah supposed tae be looking fur, Arty?” his mate Don hid asked.

  “Anything that disnae look right.”

  There hid been nothing.

  “Ur ye sure, Don?” he’d asked, his heart sinking, cursing Donna The Prima Donna fur getting him involved in aw this shite.

  “Ah’m as sure as Ah kin be, withoot hivving access tae the detailed breakdoon and corresponding paperwork that tracks aw the expenditure.”

  “Right then, Chief Inspector Bruce,” Bison’s throat rumbled, interrupting his thoughts again, sounding a lot mair composed noo, bit still looking as if he’d jist seen a ghost. “Tell me whit that wee fucking hairy wants fae us noo?”

  “In exchange fur the evidence that she’s managed tae come up wae, sha…sha…she wants full and open access tae the investigation.”

  “Ye whit?”

  “She also says that her and a photographer fae The Glesga Echo hiv tae be present at the point ae arrest. Thereafter, she wants a twelve hour windae tae put her story thegither before we go public,” he replied, as another convulsion ae coughs and splutters reached him, gieing him time tae quickly swipe the spit aff ae his face before the chief super wis able tae calm doon and compose himsel again.

  “Strathclyde Polis will no be fucking blackmailed by that ginger-arsed wee cow or that fucking shitty two-bit dime ae a newspaper ae hers. Hiv you bloody well goat that, Chief Inspector?” The Chief Super barked at him, slamming the palm ae his haun doon oan tae the table, making him jump. “Ah’m telling ye right noo, Arty. It’s no fucking Bob Mackerel she’s dealing wae noo, the wee cow. Ah won’t take any shite fae her efter the trouble she caused me and Bob Mackerel the night The Capstan Club went up. Fucking hid the affront tae accuse somewan like me ae being sexist in front ae everywan…Me? Chief Superintendent Sam Bison, heid ae Crime and In
telligence in the second city ae the fucking empire? Who wis it that made sure aw that Irish Brigade goat the book thrown at them fur humping aw they wee strumpeting WPCs, eh? Ah’ll tell ye. It wis fucking me, that’s who!”

  Silence.

  “Did ye tell her that we’ll get a sheriff…naw, a fucking High Court judge’s order tae get that newspaper ae hers tae haun o’er whit she’s sitting oan, trying tae blackmail us wae?”

  “Er, ah…ah…aye, sir.”

  “And?”

  “And she ji…ji…jist looked at me and asked whit stuff wis that?”

  “Fucking bitch!”

  Silence.

  “So, we jist go and arrest the basturt, then…Hamilton. Whit’s she gonnae dae then, eh?”

  “Tha…tha… that’s the problem, sir. Ah believe her when she claims that she his whit isnae in they accounts in her possession…sir,” he replied miserably, gulping. “According tae her, the fraud…embezzlement, his being gaun oan fur the past five or six years. If she dis hiv the damning evidence, then there’s nothing tae stoap The Glesga Echo letting loose in the paper wae whit she’s goat, in drips and drabs. The problem fur us is that it wid soon become obvious that we wur getting oor evidence against Hamilton fae the pages ae The Glesga Echo, alang wae everywan else in the toon.”

  “So, let’s get the fucking evidence direct fae the bank manager then.”

  “Which could take time and let the cat oot ae the bag, sir. The bank won’t haun o’er somewan’s account details withoot a court order being obtained. Something like that couldnae be kept under wraps fur very long in the toon here. She’s obviously been beavering away oan this fur a while noo. We’ve only jist discovered, through her, whit might’ve been gaun oan.”

  “Might’ve?”

  “She claims tae hiv substantial, conclusive evidence that proves Hamilton’s been embezzling the public purse. There’s nothing in the budget accounts tae suggest that there’s been foul play. If we hiv tae start fae scratch by gathering up oor ain evidence, then The Glesga Echo could dae some amount ae damage tae us meantime. If Hamilton’s as smart as he comes across, then he’ll deny everything, so he will.”