The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter

by Todd, Ian

  “There’s nothing tae worry aboot. Ah jist saw ma life flash in front ae me,” he’d replied.

  Paul hid jist pocketed his change, picked up the three breid rolls and square sausage in the dining saloon and wis heiding fur the exit when he saw an auld codger through the windae, taking aff his deer stalker hat and throwing it intae the back seat ae his Morgan sports car. When Paul goat ootside oan tae the deck, he put wan ae the rolls under his oxter as he drew level wae the car, leaned o’er and picked up the hat, withoot missing a step oan the way past.

  “Whit dae ye think then?” he asked Saba and Wan-eye, as the three ae them scoffed doon a breid roll and sausage each, wae him sporting his newly-acquired deer stalker oan tap ae his napper.

  “You’re the last person I thought I would ever see wearing one of those. My father has a room full of them,” Saba said.

  “See, Ah dae hiv something in common wae that auld man ae yers. Ah thought it wid come in handy further doon the road,” Paul said, trying tae get a good look at himsel in the windscreen mirror.

  “According to the map, we turn right once we get off the ferry. Look for the signs for Lochgilphead. Once there, we’ll see Loch Fyne. It’s not far now,” Saba said, as passengers started tae return tae their cars.

  “Check oot how we get tae Balloch efter we leave Inveraray, Saba.”

  “Balloch? Where did Balloch come from all of a sudden? This is the first time I’ve heard that mentioned.”

  “Me and ma pals used tae skip oan the train fae Queen Street station during the summer, when we wur young. We’d spend the whole journey crawling between people’s feet, trying tae dodge the conductors. Balloch is the end ae the train line. The orange walk used tae go there fur the day, wae aw the flute bands gieing it big licks in the carriages. Wance they goat there, they’d prance up and doon a field, playing orange Proddy songs. Then they’d heid back tae Glesga oan the train, daeing the same thing as they did oan the way oot.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you want to go to Balloch. I thought you said we’re not on holiday.”

  “Ah’ve changed ma mind. We’ll dump the Landy in Balloch and get a train intae Queen Street. Ah’ll take ye doon tae The Central Train Station and ye kin get oan a train south. Ah’ll double back up tae Queen Street and get a train fae there up tae Inverness. There’s isnae any point hinging aboot in Glesga when we don’t hiv tae. The bizzies will be looking for ye aw o’er the place.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she replied, returning tae the map and tracing her finger fae Inveraray tae Balloch.

  Apart fae a circle ae staunin stanes near Lochgilphead, which Saba pointed oot and explained the significance ae tae Paul, the road wis flat and boring. Paul hid topped up the tank jist before they left Oban tae be oan the safe side. Wance they reached Lochgilphead, he turned left through the toon and heided alang the side ae Loch Fyne towards Inveraray.

  “Right, Saba, here’s the plan. Wance we reach Inveraray, Ah’ll drap ye aff and ye kin take Wan-eye fur a walk. He’ll need tae go fur a slash.”

  “But I want to be with you when you sell the boat.”

  “Naw, ye’ll hiv tae dae whit Ah say. And another thing, keep that scarf oan yer heid.”

  “Why?”

  “Whit hiv Ah telt ye? Kin ye no jist dae whit ye’re telt?”

  “Alright, keep your hat on,” she said, smiling.

  Inveraray wis the size ae a postage stamp. Paul drapped Saba oan the shore ae the loch, oan the ootskirts ae the toon, jist before he heided doon the main street. Apart fae a wee square that hid a few rhubarb-coloured Macbrayne’s buses parked in it, a castle-like building that looked like the Bar-L jail in Glesga, a few hotels and a few shoaps, there wisnae much tae it. Paul slowed at the bottom ae the main street and turned right. He crawled roond the side ae a building that looked like the jail and spotted whit he wis efter. The yard wis doon oan the left haun side. Whit looked like a freshly painted sign oan the ootside ae the large double gates, proclaimed that this wis the yard ae Robert Campbell, Master Boat Builder and Haulier. Paul felt a warm tingle ae excitement creep up his body fae his toes. They hid goat here withoot any major problems. Aw he hid tae dae wis drap aff the boat, collect the dosh and him and Saba wid be oan their way. They’d be in Glesga by mid-efternoon at the latest, Saba wid be put oan a train south and he’d be back in the Kyle wae Innes’s money by the morra. Before he turned left intae the yard, he slipped oan the deerstalker. It never crossed his mind that there wis any danger ae him driving back oot ae the place still towing the boat.

  “Hello, there, Sonny Jim,” Robert Campbell hailed, coming oot ae his wee office at the side ae a shed where there wis whit looked like two hauf built, fancy-looking boats sitting oan stilts beside two big lorries.

  Paul knew he wis a bloody fly-man as soon as he clapped eyes oan him. His heart sank. He wisnae too sure whether jist tae assault and knock fuck oot ae him first or wait and see whit wid be offered oan the table.

  “Hellorerr, Ah’ve been sent doon here by Mr Mackay up in Ardgay tae see if ye’ll take his boat aff his hauns,” Paul said, fed-up awready.

  “I thought I recognised the boat. It belongs to Innes, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m surprised he’s selling The Dignity. I offered him a good price for it last year,” Fly Man rasped.

  “Aye, well, he’s had a wee accident and noo he needs the money. He’s hid a few offers fur it, bit he believes he promised ye first shout,” Paul said.

  “What’s his best price?” The Master Builder asked, walking roond The Dignity, lovingly touching it here and slapping it there.

  “Six hunner quid.”

  “Six hundred? My, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere near that,” the lying tosser replied.

  “Innes said ye kin hiv it fur five hunner...cash in haun.”

  The Master Boat builder stood back and looked at the boat, pursing they fat lips ae his.

  “An original Kelvin four stroke too,” he mumbled.

  “It’s never been in the water. You’ll be the first,” Paul said, asking himsel why the fuck he opened his gub…as if that wid help sell it.

  “Hmm...The best I can do is two hundred pounds,” he said, looking across at Paul, steady in his eyes.

  Paul took a deep breath. He looked at Robert Campbell. He knew exactly where aboot the back ae the greedy basturt’s heid wis gaun tae land oan the ground when he knocked him oot.

  “That’s naewhere near whit it’s worth and auld Innes is in trouble. He needs mair than that,” Paul replied, eyeballing him.

  “Look, I agree that it’s worth more than that, but I don’t have that kind of money. All my money is in those two boats and they’re still a few months away from being completed,” he said, waving his erm o’er towards the shed.

  Paul looked aboot. The place didnae seem run-doon. He’d broken intae plenty ae yards and businesses in his time. This wan looked well stocked and tidy.

  “Four hunner quid,” he said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, well, never mind,” Paul replied, opening the driver’s door, wondering if he’d manage tae catch up wae the gypsies who wur somewhere up north.

  “Wait, look…wait! I’m sorry, I’d love to give you four hundred for it, but I just don’t have that kind of money…honest.”

  “How much dae ye hiv?”

  “I’ve got exactly three hundred and sixty five pounds, in cash. I need to keep back the sixty five to pay for my insurance for the business, which ran out yesterday.”

  “Ah’ll take three hunner and sixty five quid cash and the boat’s yours. If no, Ah’m taking it back up the road, where it’ll go tae somewan who’ll appreciate it fur whit it’s worth,” Paul said, pulling the driver’s door shut behind him as he started up the Landy.

  “Wait, wait!” Robert Campbell shouted.

  Paul switched aff the engine and looked at him.

  “Don’t go...er, okay, I’ll go with that,”
>
  “Wae whit?” Paul asked him.

  “I’ll pay three hundred and sixty five pounds cash for the boat,” he said, licking his greedy lips nervously.

  Paul looked at him. He could see sweat oan the greedy basturt’s upper lip.

  “Okay, The Dignity’s yours,” Paul said pleasantly, opening his door.

  When he coonted and re-counted the money in The Master Builder’s office, he could tell the greedy basturt wanted him oot ae his yard so he could go and gloat o’er his knock-doon prize. Paul took his time. Wance he wis satisfied, he stood up and put the wad ae notes intae the broon envelope that he’d asked fur and turned and walked oot ae the office, withoot shaking the ootstretched haun that wis proffered tae him. Paul swithered whether jist tae knock fuck oot ae the greedy basturt, taking baith the skiff and the money, before heiding aff in search ae the gypsy crowd, bit when he thought ae the hassle he’d get fae Saba, he changed his mind. Efter unhooking the trailer wae the boat oan it, he drove oot ae the gate, turned right and went in search ae Saba. He found her no far fae where he’d drapped her aff. She looked towards the Landy as it approached her wae a big smile oan her coupon. Wance she knew that it wis Paul, minus the trailer, she jumped up and doon, waving her erms. When he drew up beside her, her and Wan-eye jumped in the front.

  “So, it’s sold then?” she asked, aw excited.

  “Aye.”

  “And he gave you five hundred pounds cash?”

  “He did that. Here, put the dosh in yer bag. If Ah get caught wae it, the bizzies will pocket it fur themsels. Ah’ll get it back aff ye before ye catch yer train,” he said, slinging the envelope o’er tae her.

  “Oh, brilliant, well done and by the way, don’t tell me to sit in the back as there is no-one around to recognise us here,” she warned him, as Paul put the Landy intae a U-turn and heided back intae Inveraray and towards Loch Lomond.

  Chapter Sixty Seven

  The Highland Fox drained the remnants ae his tea oot ae the cup, haudin back the tide ae black infused tea leaves wae they upper teeth ae his.

  “Ahhh,” he sighed, picking aff the tea leaves fae his tap lip, wan at a time.

  “Dae ye think the trail his gone cauld?” The Stalker asked, looking aboot at the noisy throng ae holidaymakers sitting in The Bridge Cafe in Balloch.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t done this kind of thing before. Oh, I’ve stalked poachers over hills and straths, but never across the country. Why? Do you think we’ve been given the slip?”

  “Ah don’t know. Normally Ah’d be bang oan wae they instincts ae mine, bit ma radar’s a wee bit fuzzy jist noo. Ah think it’s probably goat tae dae wae who we’re dealing wae,” The Stalker mused.

  “How come?”

  “If it wis anywan else, Ah know Ah’d be bang oan, bit ma brain still harks back tae the time Ah telt ye aboot, when masel and Bumper wur oan Paul and his pals’ trail when they wur aw oan the run. Oot ae them aw, it wis McBride that ye hid tae watch oot fur. Don’t get me wrang, ye hid tae keep yer wits aboot ye wae them aw, especially Gucci, wae that psycho temper ae his. Even though he wis only fourteen when The Mankys wur aw oan the run, Tony Gucci wid’ve hid nae compulsion ae killing ye stane deid and no gieing a shit aboot yersel or yer weans, if ye hid any. Wae oor Paul, although prone tae dishing oot violence, he wis jist that bit different. He wis the wan that hid the baws tae turn the stalking back oan tae masel and Bumper. If Bumper hid caught him stalking us, he wid’ve broken him in two, nae question aboot that. Oor Paul wid’ve been well aware ae that fact, bit it didnae put him aff ae daeing it, so it didnae.”

  “You sound as if you have a wee bit of admiration for him in there somewhere,” The Highland Fox said tae him, tapping the side ae his heid.

  “Me respect Paul McBride? Ah don’t think so, although Ah admit he’s goat baws, so he his. The point Ah’m making is that it wisnae that hard tae know whit he wid dae next efter he blagged The Duke’s daughter.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Think ae the obvious and then reverse yer thoughts and go doon that road. Whit wis obvious wis the polis reaction…us. He knew fine well whit we’d dae wance everywan knew there wis a polecat oan the go. We’d put squad cars in lay-bys up and doon the A9, we’d check oot the train and bus stations and put oot a blanket cover description ae the lassie. Aw the newspapers and the news oan the telly ur covering the kidnapping, so why his nowan clocked them?”

  “They could have, for all we know.”

  “Naw, the reason nowan his clocked them is because oor Paul knew whit the reaction wid be. It wis easy enough tae suss oot that he’d heid south, oot ae sight, doon the west coast, allowing the initial storm tae calm itsel efter a day or so.”

  “So, what’s your problem then? Why are you having doubts?”

  “Because the first bit wis obvious…at least it wis tae me. It’s whit he’s gonnae dae noo, wance he knows fine well that we’re oan tae him. He’ll hiv clocked the story in The Glesga Echo or oan the news aboot us being oan his tail. That’s why Ah’m really pissed aff wae they stupid bosses ae oors. They’ll hiv alerted him, trying tae earn some Brownie points fae the press oot ae this.”

  “So, what was Paul and his friends like when they were running about in Glesgie?”

  “Masel and Bumper never really goat tae know them. We goat shipped in tae take o’er the Toonheid efter there wis a clear-oot ae polis personnel because they wur aw useless basturts. There wis yer usual mix ae bampots and wee toe-rags running aboot the streets, playing at being gangsters, trying tae make a name fur themsels, wae the local neds in the street gangs aw stabbing and slashing fuck oot ae each other. Paul’s manky crowd wur jist that wee bit different. They wur aw in approved schools by the time we arrived and those that wurnae, soon joined them. The difference wae them wis that money led them by the nose. As Ah’ve awready telt ye, despite their ages, they wurnae feart in dishing oot the hurt. We knew aw aboot them because everywan ae them hid been hivving run-ins wae the local pavement pounders since they wur snappers. The concern doon in Central wis that they’d started tae run errands fur The Big Man while they wur really young.”

  “And?”

  “Well, if Pat Molloy wis taking a keen interest in them, we wid’ve been daft no tae as well. He obviously saw something in them, which meant the wee manky gits wur getting aff wae blue murder in the area. It meant they hid some protection. Some ae they local shoapkeepers wur tough nuts and no tae be messed aboot wae. A lot ae them hid been commandos and aw that during the war. Kin ye imagine if ye owned a boozer and that wee crew tanned it, bit ye couldnae dae a thing aboot it because they wur selling aw the swag tae somewan like Pat Molloy?”

  “How old are we talking about?”

  “Oor intel telt us that Gucci wis breaking intae dookits aw o’er Glesga by the time he wis eight or nine oan behauf ae The Big Man.”

  “Eight years old? And was Paul the same?”

  “Oh aye, they wur aw at it. Ah’m telling ye, Swein, yer pal Paul might only be fourteen, bit he’s been aboot. Don’t ever furget that.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “Well, as Ah’ve jist said, we need tae be thinking oot ae the box. That’s whit McBride will be daeing,” The Stalker replied, taking a slurp fae his cup, as a polis constable entered the cafe, looked aboot, spotted the sergeants, and came across tae their table.

  “Sergeant McPhee?” he enquired, looking fae wan tae the other.

  “Aye, that’s me, son. Whit kin Ah dae ye oot ae?”

  “We’ve just had a message from an Inspector Curry in Glesgie, sir. They’ve received a tip-off from the newsroom of The Glesga Echo that Paul McBride and Lady Saba McDonald have been spotted near Stirling Train Station.”

  “What?” The Highland Fox exclaimed.

  “How long ago did he phone, son?” The Stalker demanded, jumping up.

  “About half an hour ago, sir. I’m sorry for the delay, but it’s taken us that long to track you down here.”

 
“And it’s definitely them? There’s nae mistake?”

  “Inspector Curry said that it was a definite sighting from a reliable source, sir. There’s an armed response squad racing out there from Glesgie as we speak. The order has been given to pull back the watch cars, leaving a skeleton presence leading into the city from here.”

  “Right, Swein, let’s go,” The Stalker shouted, high-tailing it oot ae the cafe, wae The Highland Fox trotting behind him.

  Chapter Sixty Eight

  “Who hiv we goat oan this, Tom?” Hamish McGovern, editor ae The Glesga Echo asked Tom Bryce, the sub-editor ae the crime desk, as he closed the glass door behind him, tae shut oot the noise coming fae the newsroom.

  “Ah’ve sent Mary Marigold oot wae Slipper, the photographer,” Bryce replied.

  “Good,” McGovern said, satisfied.

  He’d known Mary since she started wae The Echo as a cub, straight fae Glesga University. As well as shacking up wae Benson Flaw, the motoring columnist, she’d become the paper’s rising star efter Sammy ‘The Rat’ Elliot, hid unexpectedly upped sticks and left the paper tae go and try his luck in America. Hamish hid heard that the scurrying we basturt wis daeing awright fur himsel tae.

  “They should be in Stirling by now,” The Sub said, looking at the UK clock above Hamish’s desk.

  “And Daddy Jackson?”

  “Ah’ve jist come aff the phone. He begged me nae tae let any ae the Stirling boys in blue know before they’d a chance tae get oot there. Ah could practically see him drooling at the mooth doon the phone line,” The Sub replied, smiling.