by Ian Todd
“Dae ye know who that is?” Silent suddenly asked, stoapping whit he wis daeing, as he cocked they ears ae his tae the tune emanating fae Radio Carlisle.
“Oh, ye’re here, ur ye? Hiv ye been listening tae anything Ah’ve been prattling oan aboot the last wee while or hiv Ah jist been talking tae masel like some gibbering idiot?” Johnboy demanded.
“Python Lee Jackson,” Silent said smiling, leaning o’er and turning up the volume, as Rod Stewart sang aboot drinking wine and feeling fine.
“Aye, right…very good, Silent,” Johnboy said dismissively. “Did ye hear whit Ah jist asked ye?”
“Five,” Silent said.
“Five? Okay, Ah gie in. Put me oot ae ma misery, fur fuck’s sake.”
“Peter Manual.”
“Who the fuck’s Peter Manual?”
“Ah knew there wis another wan,” Silent said, smiling, clearly chuffed wae himsel, as he returned tae making a dug’s dinner oot ae whit wis left ae Johnboy’s heid ae hair.
“Silent, hiv ye been taking in whit Ah’ve been trying tae say tae ye the past wee while?”
“Mind and don’t tell Tony and especially that Snappy wan,” Silent reminded him, applying the electric trimmer.
“Mind and square aff the back at the bottom,” Johnboy instructed him. “Don’t tell Tony whit?”
“Aboot Senga…and you…how ye’re feeling...whit yer plans ur…they won’t understaun.”
“Dae ye think Ah’m making a mistake then?”
Silence.
Johnboy wisnae sure if Silent hid lapsed back intae ‘Silent’s World,’ as Snappy called it, or no. He wis a bit hesitant aboot pushing Silent. Silent hidnae uttered a sound in o’er a month tae anywan. Christ knew when he’d get another chance tae hiv another chat wae him again. And who the fuck wis this Peter Manual?
“Who’s this Peter Manual then, Silent?”
Silence.
“Ur ye still in here, Taylor?” The Tormentor barked, efter popping that heid ae his through the door.
“Naw, Ah’m a figment,” Johnboy retorted, before he could contain himsel.
“Don’t get bloody lippy wae me, Sunny Jim. Ah’m the wan that’s daeing you the favour by fetching ye o’er here. A wee bit mair appreciation widnae go amiss. And you, Smith, make sure ye’re aw packed up and ready tae go first thing. Ye’ve goat two minutes, Taylor, and Ah’ll be back, ready or no,” he growled, slamming the door.
“Prick!” Johnboy snarled, as Silent hung up the shaver oan the hook beside the mirror and started brushing the hair fae the back ae Johnboy’s neck. “So, whit wis he oan aboot then?” Johnboy asked, staunin up, as Silent unwrapped him, flicking the sheet so the cut hair landed oan the lino.
“Right, Taylor, let’s be hivving ye,” The Tormentor growled, staunin, haudin the door open.
“Ah’m aff up tae Saughton in Edinburgh tae get qualified as a barber, so Ah am. Ah’m gaun fur ma City and Guilds,” Silent announced wae a big grin spread across that coupon ae his.
“Ye’re whit? When?” Johnboy demanded, shocked.
“He’s aff the morra. Noo, get yer arse in gear, Taylor,” The Tormentor snarled impatiently.
“Naw, hing oan a minute, Ah need tae find oot whit’s happening,” Johnboy squealed, panicking.
“Ye kin talk tae him later. Get a move oan…now!” The Tormentor shouted, attracting another two screws tae join him efter being alerted tae the commotion.
“When wur ye telt this, Silent?” Johnboy asked him.
Silence.
“Right, if Ah don’t see they feet move right now, ye’re oan report, Taylor!”
“Nice wan, Silent. Thanks fur letting us know,” Johnboy spat at him, disappearing oot the door.
His brain hid been in turmoil as he heided back tae the workshoap. How the fuck hid he no picked up that this wis happening? He wis fucked. They wur aw fucked. None ae them wid get a chance tae speak tae Silent before he wis shipped oot. Everywan getting released or shipped oot wis put in a solitary cell o’er beside D Hall and the civvy clothes store the day before there wis any movement oot ae the place. It wis supposed tae allow a smooth process wae the paperwork. Johnboy couldnae believe whit hid jist transpired as he entered the sewing machine shoap and the howls ae laughter and cat-calling started up fae Tony and Snappy.
“Fucking hell,” Snappy exclaimed, as Johnboy passed him tae get tae his machine.
“Aye, ye’re right, Johnboy. It isnae funny,” Tony agreed smiling, nodding at that heid ae his.
“If ye think ma heid’s bad, wait until Ah tell ye whit’s happening tae Silent.”
Chapter Twenty Five
The Stalker’s heid wis in bits. It hid nothing tae dae wae the incessant drone fae Bumper, who wis driving, demanding tae know whit the fuck Daddy wis efter.
“Watch oot fur that auld dear,” The Stalker yelped, heart thumping at a hunner miles an hour, as Bumper jist missed a pensioner who’d been zigzagging between the cars oan the Cross at the start ae the High Street by a baw hair.
“It must be Tuesday and pension day. That’s the third wan Ah’ve missed the day,” Bumper said cheerfully.
The Stalker’s heid wisnae spinning because he’d found any new clues in the files, despite Peggy McAvoy arriving wae Haufwit’s and Wee Eck Thomas’s files. Nothing hid jumped oot at him. If he wis honest wae himsel, the investigations hid actually been quite thorough. Daddy hid even inserted a rider aboot The Stalker’s concerns aboot a possible connection wae the three deaths a few months earlier. He still wisnae satisfied though. Something in the back ae that heid ae his wis gnawing away there, telling him that he’d missed something, something that wis so obvious, that it hid been staring him in the face, bit fur the life ae him, he jist couldnae see it. At the end ae the day, much tae Jimmy Mack’s relief, he’d reluctantly admitted defeat.
“Right, that’s it. Ah’ve wasted enough ae ma precious time, sitting here watching you sifting sand through yer fingers,” Jimmy hid announced, throwing doon his pencil. “Ah’ll put something in writing and send it across tae ye fur any inclusions ye want and we’ll take it fae there.”
It hid been whit Daddy hid informed him ae efter he’d slinked alang tae his office wae his tail between his legs that hid horrified him. Tony Gucci, Snappy Johnston and that big glaikit piece ae shit, Pat McCabe, wur getting oot oan parole in a few weeks’ time. He turned and glanced at the dial oan Bumper’s wristwatch. Twenty tae three in the efternoon and a day wasted. He’d been doon in Central since hauf ten that morning and fur whit? He wondered whit Daddy wis up tae. It hid been months since he’d raised his concerns aboot the wee nurse, so why noo? Gucci getting oot early hid obviously spooked him.
“Yer pocket notebook,” Daddy hid said.
“Whit aboot it?”
“The wan that his references tae Wan-bob’s crowd and yer wee manky pals. Get it doon here.”
“Why?”
“Because Ah said so, that’s why. Ah don’t want that kind ae shite lying aboot up there in Springburn.”
“It’s only the wan book and it’s under lock and key in ma office,” he’d replied, no sure why he wis resisting Daddy’s instruction.
“Ah want that service notebook doon here the day,” Daddy hid said, emphasising the word ‘service.’ “Send wan ae yer pavement pounders doon wae it. It’s that kind ae stuff lying aboot that’ll get us aw hung, so it will.”
“Daddy, whit the hell ur ye oan aboot?”
“When yer pal gets oot, ye don’t think he’s gonnae go and find himsel some honest employment, dae ye? Tell me whit that haufwit, Haufwit, said aboot the Taylor boy again?”
“Taylor? Johnboy Taylor?”
“Fur Christ’s sake, Paddy, will ye answer the bloody question insteid ae answering a question wae a question? Whit did he come oot wae aboot the Taylor boy?”
“Nothing much, other than tae say that he wisnae in the bank that day. Why?”
“And did ye write that doon as well?”
“Of course
Ah did. That’s whit we’re supposed tae dae. We’re bizzies, remember?”
“Who else knows?”
“Aboot whit?”
“Paddy, ye’re starting tae annoy me noo. Whit the fuck dae ye think?”
“Apart fae Bumper and yersel, that’s it,” he’d shrugged. “Look, Ah widnae worry aboot that part ae whit Haufwit said. It’s the other stuff that’s mair important. Here we hiv a direct link tae the disappearance ae Shaun Murphy. Haufwit said that Taylor shot him. He wis a hunner percent clear oan that wan. Ah widnae go worrying aboot Taylor’s innocence. That red-heided thug won’t be seeing the light ae day fur a long time tae come. It also connects Gucci tae the Tam Simp…”
“Right, stoap it! Stoap it right there, Paddy!” Daddy hid shouted, haudin up his haun fur silence, interrupting him in mid-flow. “Forget aw that shite. Ah’ve telt ye before…the Tam Simpson case in officially gathering dust oan a shelf somewhere in Jimmy’s office. Whit Ah need fae you, is tae get that arse ae yers up that road and get that wee pocket notebook doon here, as in pronto, quick time.”
And wae that, he’d been gied his marching orders tae vacate the building. The Stalker wisnae sure whit the score wis and whether Daddy, as his superior, wis entitled tae demand that he haun o’er his notebook, so didnae feel that confident aboot challenging the demand. Although the service notebooks wur the responsibility ae the individuals concerned, the completed wans wur always kept in the station fur cross-referencing and fur use in jogging their author’s memory when they attended court trials, particularly wae regards tae exact times and dates. He’d never heard ae anywan being asked tae haun his o’er tae Central before, except when the Procurator Fiscal’s Office wanted a wee gander ae them before a trial started. They’d jist passed the train station oan Springburn Road, a couple ae hunner yards fae the station when it hit him.
“Shit!”
“Whit?” Bumper shouted in alarm, jumping in his seat at the sudden ootburst, swerving tae avoid some auld codger that hid decided tae dice wae death.
“Turn roond!”
“Whit? Why?” Bumper shrieked, practically daeing a two-wheeled wheelie, as he swung the car intae a sharp right turn at the junction ae Wellfield Street, jist as the sound ae a fire engine behind them came intae view and aw the traffic ground tae a halt.
“Get me back doon tae Central as quick as ye kin. Use the light oan the roof,” The Stalker screamed, skelping his foreheid wae the heel ae his haun fur his stupidity.
“This is mair like it…yeehaah!” Bumper hooted, switching oan the blue light and the siren, heiding back towards Castle Street and the Saltmarket beyond.
“Ye’re back, Inspector?” Wee Peggy pouted, clearly no happy tae hiv her favourite pervert polluting her airspace again.
“Er…aye…Ah’ve…er…left ma good pen,” he stammered, sounding like the liar that he wis.
“Yer pen? Ye’ve come aw the way back fae Springburn and beyond fur a pen? It must be some pen,” she said drily, eyes narrowing wae suspicion.
“Okay, Ah confess. Any chance ae me and you gaun oot fur a wee drink? Ah wis gonnae ask ye earlier, bit Ah’d other mair important things oan ma mind,” he said, getting the desired response ae throwing her aff tack.
“Whit…er…you…me...a drink?” she stammered in disbelief, flummoxed.
“Ah’ll take that as a naw then, will Ah?” he retorted in mock huff. “Right, well, Ah’ll jist nip alang tae the room and see if the Parker pen that ma poor auld granda left me in his will is still there and nobody his blagged it,” he said, quickly marching aff doon the corridor tae the room him and Jimmy Mack hid been in, praying that Daddy hidnae been alerted by Wee Peggy’s squeals ae disgust, disbelief and astonishment.
His heart wis pounding by the time he goat tae the door and turned the haundle. He wanted tae dae a wee jig when he clocked the files wur still sitting there as they’d left them. He didnae fuck aboot either, bit jist heided straight tae the nurse, Rose Bain’s file. He noticed his haun shook as he flipped open the cover. The face ae the young nurse that wis clipped oan the inside ae it looked up at him. It wis an ID photo that widnae distinguish her fae the hunners, if no thousands, ae other nurses working in and aroond the city’s hospitals. He started flicking o’er the investigation and report sheets until he found whit he wis efter. There wur two family snaps and wan taken wae a group ae nurses in whit looked like a canteen. The lassie in the family photos looked similar tae the official nursing wan. In the first wan, she wis staunin between whit must’ve been her parents, her erms aroond each ae their shoulders, wae a hauf, stiff smile oan her face. The second wis a spitting image ae the first, only wae whit looked like the grandparents this time. It wis the other wan that he wis efter. This wan hid her in her uniform, messing aboot in whit looked like a canteen pose wae a couple ae other nurses. He could make oot the fuzzy ootlines ae other nurses and doctors in the background. He stood staring at the canteen photo. It could’ve been thirty seconds or thirty minutes…he couldnae remember…bit the sound ae Peggy McAvoy’s non-polis issue, sexy high heels brought him roond. He quickly slipped the canteen photo intae his pocket and shut o’er the file.
“Did ye find whit ye wur efter, Inspector?” she asked suspiciously, looking aboot the room, clearly hivving composed hersel.
“Aye, here it is, Peggy,” he announced pleasantly, haudin up a pen.
“Ah thought ye said it wis a Parker?”
“Ach, Ah must’ve left that wan back in the office,” he apologised, smiling, as he slipped the yellow Bic pen intae his tap pocket.
He couldnae remember walking back alang the corridor past Daddy’s office and Peggy’s desk. It wis only when he reached the squad car and opened the passenger door and wis engulfed in a cloud ae fag smoke, that he remembered where he wis.
“So, ur ye gonnae bloody-well tell me whit the fuck’s gaun oan or whit?” Bumper demanded, shifting in the drivers seat, staring at him.
“Bumper, ye’re no gonnae believe this. Christ, Ah kin hardly believe it masel, bit the lassie…the wee nurse…the wan that goat run o’er up oan Balgrayhill Road…wisnae the wan that wis oan duty the night Ah managed tae wangle masel in tae see Haufwit,” he exclaimed in disbelief and relief, realising that he wisnae, efter aw, responsible fur the death ae twenty-year-auld, Rose Bain.
Chapter Twenty Six
“Ah never knew fat basturts ae his age could shift as fast as that,” Ben smirked, watching Fast Track Dave scurrying alang the pavement in the opposite direction fae them towards Torrance Street and his burning Roller, as Jake disappeared through the batwing doors ae the bookies in front ae him.
They hid a good look aboot wance their eyes goat used tae the semi-darkness, bit Happy Harry hidnae arrived.
“Dae ye think he’ll turn up?” Ben hid jist asked, when wan ae the doors swung open and the sergeant stepped intae the blue haze ae fag smoke. The three o’clock across in The White City hid jist taken aff roond the track and the voice oan the tannoy wis gieing it big licks.
They watched Happy heid across tae wan ae the newspapers stuck up oan the wall and study the form before picking up a betting slip and a wee pencil.
“Ur we supposed tae wait fur him tae come tae us then?” Ben wondered, looking aboot at the upturned faces, aw following the dugs’ progress through the tannoy.
“Right, Ah’ll go tae the pisshoose. Go and send him in,” Jake said, walking away towards the paint-flaked, nicotine-stained broon door at the back ae the shoap. “Wish me luck.”
“Ye’ll need it,” Ben replied, as whit smelled like a mixture ae cat’s pish and raw ammonia assaulted that nose ae his fae o’er five feet away.
The sergeant wis still engrossed in the racing lists when Ben sidled up tae him. Before he could say anything, the sergeant slid a wee black shiny notebook alang the four inch wide booking slip shelf, withoot saying a word. Ben wis dying tae burst oot laughing, bit then remembered that he hid tae enter the pishy cludgie himsel. He picked up the notebook and followed t
he smell. It goat steadily worse the closer he goat, even before he yanked open the door. It wis a single cubicle wae a toilet pan in it, minus a seat. The pan wis blocked and the stinking, muddy-coloured piss wis up tae the rim, wae whit looked like wee boats sailing aboot oan the tap ae it, bit turned oot tae be tipped fag ends, oan closer inspection. Whitever dug hid won caused the flair tae shake wae the shouts ae glee fae the winners, causing the dark broon stale pish tae gently run o’er the rim like an overflowing bathtub.
“Fucking hell, this wid put ye aff betting fur life,” Ben grunted.
“Where is he?”
“He’s putting oan a line. He haunded me this.”
“Well, fur fuck’s sake, open it up and start skimming through it fur any references tae anything ae interested tae us,” Jake growled at him, clearly exasperated, as he withdrew the wee Minolta.
“Here ye go then,” Ben declared.
“Whit dis it say?”
“How the fuck dae Ah know? It mentions Wee Eck Thomas. Jist start snapping away. Ah’ll haud it open oan either side wae ma thumbs.”
“Look, the notepad isnae aw that thick. Let’s jist start fae the beginning and we’ll get everything. That way, we won’t miss anything that could be important,” Jake suggested, setting the camera by pulling and cocking the body shell ae it oot-and-in sideways.
“Handy wee fucking thing that,” Ben mused, as Jake snapped away at the pages, taking two pages wae each photo.
“Right, anything else?” Jake asked Ben when he wis done.
“No that Ah kin think ae.”
“The book? Did he gie ye Tony’s book?”
“Naw, bit then again, Ah never asked him if he hid it.”
“Fur Fuck’s sake, Ben, it wis your idea in the first place, ya bloody eejit, ye. Right, here ye go then. Gie Happy the notebook back. Make sure he hauns o’er that Jap book or he’s no getting the extra two hunner and fifty,” Jake growled, as Ben pushed the door open wae his arse, letting in the noise and smoke.