by Ian Todd
“Er, whenever you’re ready, Mr Portoy, your response some time today would be more than gratefully received,” the sheriff intoned sarcastically.
“Miss Metcalfe’s quite right, your honour, I am building evidence to support an appeal to prove my client is innocent. And yes, that evidence isn’t complete, hence the request for access to the police inspector’s working journal or pocket service notebook, as Miss Metcalfe referred to it. Based on the witness statement in front of you, your honour, it is entirely right for me to have access to verify the claims of the witness. To deny that access, would be to collude in the travesty of justice perpetrated by the likes of the procurator fiscal and current serving officers within the police force, here in Glasgow.”
“I totally object to that hideous remark and to what Mr Portoy is insinuating, your honour,” the procurator fiscal shrieked, gaun in the huff efter the sheriff held up the palm ae his haun fur her tae get back in her box.
“And while I’m at it, your honour, I would like to make it known that between the procurator fiscal and myself, only one of us is being paid from the public purse today,” the brief said, slipping in a wee dig, while the sheriff wis otherwise engaged, enjoying the flash ae hatred that swept o’er the procurator’s face.
“Right, that’s it. Mr Portoy? Miss Metcalfe? I would like a word with the both of you, in private, please,” the sheriff informed them tersely, getting up aff ae his arse before heiding fur the door ae the chamber at the side ae his bench.
“Sheriff?” they baith chimed thegither through in his chambers.
“As much as I appreciate the welcome distraction of having to listen to the both of you squabbling like a pair of newlyweds on honeymoon, I will not allow the court to be used as a boxing match. Now, unless you are both willing to conduct yourselves in a manner befitting of the gowns you’re wearing, I’ll have no choice but to listen to the arguments here in the chamber. Now, which is it to be?”
“Your honour, he’s clearly clutching at straws. There’s no way in a month of Sunday’s that the Police, nor The Crown Office, will accede to Mr Portoy’s request. If Mr Portoy has evidence of any substance he wouldn’t be here today making a mockery of the legal system.”
“Is that right? It looks like you’ve been wasting your time turning up today, your honour, seeing as Miss Metcalfe clearly has no intention of obeying the instructions of the court,” Graham Portoy retorted.
“Oh God,” the sheriff groaned tae himsel.
“Mr Portoy only applied to the court yesterday for a hearing today, your honour. We haven’t had time to even read the reason behind his application, never mind be able to consider his request. Why did he not come to me in the first place with his request instead of taking up precious court time in what is the busiest criminal court in Western Europe?” she demanded.
“We have. We spoke to Inspector McPhee today,” The Brief stated tae the sheriff.
“And?” the sheriff asked.
“He refused to engage meaningfully.”
“When? When did you speak to Inspector McPhee?” the procurator fiscal demanded, shocked, rustling through her papers tae try and find any reference tae it, as the sheriff leaned back oan his desk wae his erms folded, a bemused expression oan that face ae his.
“Your honour, I have reason to believe that the inspector’s notebook is in grave danger of conveniently going walkabout, and if that happens, my client will have to spend years in prison, despite his innocence. There is ample evidence over the years to back those concerns,” he pleaded wae the sheriff.
“Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this. We’re now going back into the courtroom. I’ve made up my mind. The procurator fiscal is correct in one sense at least, there are other more important things about here that requires my urgent attention. Now then…a cautionary word of warning to the both of you. When I announce my decision, woe betide the first one to dare raise an objection. Have I made myself clear?” he glowered, moving towards the inner chamber door, turning back tae face them jist before he turned the haundle. “Isn’t it about time the both of you buried the hatchet and got hitched, giving everyone about here a bit of peace and quiet?”
Graham refused tae be intimidated by the daggers being shot oot ae Glenda Metcalfe’s eyes towards him fae the prosecutor’s table. He hid nothing tae be ashamed ae. It wisnae him that hid lowered his principles, by hivving the cheek tae apply fur a job wae Graham Portoy Solicitors Ltd, efter years ae dishing oot abuse tae the very man that wid’ve ultimately been her boss and eventual partner.
Glenda couldnae believe that she’d ever ended up hivving sex wae the wee poisonous prick. Whit hid goat intae her…apart fae him? Granted she’d been pished…it hid been Christmas, she’d been lonely…and desperate. My God, she must’ve been doon in the dumps that night tae hiv allowed that tae happen. She’d been offered the job, and hid accepted it, and the baith ae them hid went fur a celebratory drink. She couldnae remember how they’d goat back tae her flat across in The West End. Aw she could remember wis his laughter, as she’d drunkenly attempted tae whisk her knickers aff ae the radiators before he clocked them…and before she’d known whit wis happening, they wur humping fur Scotland oan the untreated sheepskin rug that her brother hid taken back fae Algiers, in front ae her gas fire. How wis she supposed tae hiv known that she’d get an allergic reaction fae the wool in her vagina? She’d phoned him three days efter their wee love tryst, calling him fur everything under the sun, threatening tae blacken his name aw o’er the city. His pleading that it couldnae hiv come fae him as he hid been wearing a Johnny bag…implying that she wis some sort ae hairy who slept aroond…hid been the straw that broke the camel’s back. She’d telt him tae stick his job up his arse and the rest wis history. She’d never admitted tae anywan that they’d ever been thegither. Efter the humiliation ae hivving tae streak oot ae the back ae a taxi like an Olympic roadrunner, making towards the door ae the clinic up in Black Street, wearing dark glasses and a heidscarf, it hid been too late. The fact that she hidnae contracted a venereal disease efter aw, hid made her humiliation aw the worse.
“Now then,” Sheriff Burns declared, peering o’er his hauf-rimmed glasses sternly at the pair ae legal eagles, staunin wae misguided hope in their eyes in front ae him. “Having listened to the arguments, both here and in private, it gives me cause to wonder how the both of you managed to get through law school, never mind actually managing to earn a living, practicing law. However, despite the witnessing of unseemly behaviour in front of our peers in the public benches and our friends in the press box, I have somehow, miraculously, managed to weave my way between the personal insults and duly considered the request for access to the un-named police inspector’s service notebook…” the sheriff said, glaring across at the press box, daring them tae even think ae publishing The Stalker’s name. “…and have concluded, that Mr Portoy’s request should be denied.”
Graham Portoy’s chin drapped in disappointment and a big grin appeared oan Glenda Metcalfe’s coupon, as her two assistants patted her oan the back.
“Miss Metcalfe’s argument that the procurator fiscal and therefore, The Crown, has not had sufficient time to consider a response to the application, warrants due consideration. In light of that, my decision is that both sides come back to this court in three months’ time and put forward their case, once they have had time to consider their respective arguments. In the meantime, I am ordering the chief constable to hand over custody of the said inspector’s service notebook into the custody of the court, until such times as the case is heard again, or a higher court overturns my decision here today. That will be all,” the sheriff declared thankfully, as Glenda Metcalfe slumped back in her chair and the usually, calm and collected Graham Portoy punched the air wae a clenched fist.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Law Lords in Edinburgh today sensationally agreed to grant, twenty-year-old Robert Connor, one of Sco
tland’s most notorious convicted killers, leave to appeal against his life sentence for the abduction and murder of Stirlingshire schoolgirl, Ann Brown. It was on the 9th of November 1972 that fourteen-year-old Ann Brown and her friend, Margaret Dunn waved goodbye to each other after locking up the local newsagent shop in the village of Cambusbarron where both girls worked part-time. Whilst Margaret Dunn arrived home safely, Ann Brown hasn’t been seen or heard from since that fateful night almost two years ago. Mr Silas Abraham, Connor’s solicitor, maintains that his client is innocent and claims that Britain’s Secret Intelligence Services and Special Branch, in particular, have an interest with regards to being in a position to provide new evidence that could prove his clients innocence. Mr Silas again repeated his belief that his client, Robert Connor, wasn’t the person who abducted Ann Brown. A date for when the appeal will be heard is not expected to be set for some time. This is not the first time that Robert Connor has appealed to…
Crime figures have risen dramatically in Glasgow since this time last year. Top of the list is housebreaking with a 23% increase, closely followed by car theft at 21% and breach of the peace on 19%. Other increases include assault and robbery. Murder statistics have stayed static, although the city still has a higher murder rate per capita than any other country in Western Europe. There are no statistics available for domestic abuse…
Train drivers called an unofficial walkout across Scotland for tomorrow, which is bound to cause misery for Scotland’s hard-pressed users of public transport, after unions and management failed to come up with an agreement on overtime terms and conditions. British Rail boss in Scotland, Mr Peter…
One youth was stabbed and another had to have fourteen stitches inserted in a head wound after a fight broke out between rival gangs in…”
Chapter Thirty Four
“Impossible!”
“Well, wan ae yer Gruesome Twosome pals, Dave McGovern, fae across in Possil said that The Stalker is aboot shiting oot kittens, so he is,” Wan-bob said, enjoying the grief oan show, sitting opposite him.
“Ah bloody well goat a copy ae the lassie’s timesheet. It wis there in black and white, so it wis. There’s no way we fucked up,” Charlie Hastie growled, shaking his heid as he bit intae his bacon roll.
“We? Ye mean you, ya dumpling, ye.”
“Ah didnae mean we…as in us. Ah meant Spotty Hector and Chick Shand. The source wis unimpeachable…and expensive…the glaikit basturts. Wait until Ah get ma hauns oan the cunt that passed oan that material.”
“It gets worse.”
“Worse? How much worse?”
“The nurse in question? She’s known, so she is.”
“By who?”
“Us.”
“Who is she?”
“Senga Jackson.”
“Ann Jackson’s daughter,” they baith chorused in unison.
“Fuck!” Charlie Hastie cursed, nibbling intae the side ae wan ae his fingernails, then using the ragged curved shard ae nail as a toothpick tae unhook a bit ae bacon fat stuck between two ae his bottom front teeth.
“That’s bloody disgusting…dae ye know that?”
“It works,” Charlie replied chuckling, sucking the morsel fae the nail.
“So…”
“Shit!”
“Whit?”
“Johnboy Taylor…Helen Taylor’s boy.”
“Whit aboot him?”
“She’s engaged tae him, even though he’s in the clink. The Carpet Blagger telt me when Ah wis roond there recently. Ye don’t think they’re in there somewhere, dae ye?”
“Who? The Mankys? Naw, Ah doubt it…mind you, it’s a bit ae a co-incidence, if ye think aboot it though,” Wan-bob murmured.
“If they knew aboot it, she surely widnae be gaun tae the bizzies, noo wid she? They’d soon put a stoap tae that wan, so they wid.”
“That’s true.”
“Christ, this is aw we need,” Charlie growled, lifting up another roll, this time wae two link sausages hinging oot ae either end ae it, acting as a conduit fur the lard tae drip aff ae them oan tae the Formica-topped table.
“Where ur we wae this Harding Lennox carry-oan then?”
“Spotty Hector and Chick Shand ur tracking his movements every time he crosses the Clyde. They’ve put the word oot tae aw the spotters fae the toon centre, right oot tae beyond Partick. If that prick so much as tries tae make a pick-up, his arse will be roasted, so it will. So far, there’s been nothing.”
“And we’ve nae idea who’s supplying him?”
“There hisnae been a cheep fae anywan. Ah widnae worry…we’ll nip the basturts soon enough. Hopefully, wae a big stash ae coke oan them as well,” Charlie replied, smiling, sinking his teeth intae his roll.
“The Big Man wants it nipped in the bud, as soon as. He’s threatening tae come hame tae deal wae it himsel, if we don’t get oor fingers oot ae oor arses. So, tell that pair tae get their skates oan. Time is marching oan, so it is,” Wan-bob said, signalling tae the wee waitress behind the coonter that a fresh pot ae tea wis required.
“And the nurse?”
“Well, whit dae you think? Get it done quickly and quietly though. Ah’ve enough oan ma plate tae be worrying aboot that as well.”
“Is there no two ae them up in that flat?”
“Aye, nice lassies, bit it’s only the wan we want. There’s nae point in gaun overboard, is there?” Wan-bob continued, smiling politely at the young lassie, as she laid doon a hot teapot and popped the haun knitted tea cosy fae the cauld empty wan oan tae it, before taking the empty wan away.
“We kin find oot whit shifts they’re baith working. The ideal wid be fur the wan we don’t want tae be oan the nightshift, leaving the other wan at hame alane. Ah’ll get a set ae keys fae Ali or Mohamed. We kin make it look like she’s packed her stuff and fucked aff wae some boyfriend oan the side, when we lock up the flat behind us.”
“Ah thought she wis hitched tae young Johnboy Taylor?”
“She is, which is aw the mair reason fur her tae fuck aff if she’s been cheating oan him while he’s in the jail. The suspicion will fall oan the other Mankys if her disappearance causes any ripples. Everywan knows fine well that they’d react if they thought wan ae them wis being messed aboot behind their backs.”
“Aye, that wid work. Who’ve ye goat in mind?”
“We’ll stick wae Spotty and Chic. They’re awready oan the street chasing up oan the rat line that Harding’s operating behind oor backs. There’s nae point in pulling somewan away fae where they’re awready needed.”
“Noo, listen up, Charlie…this is important. Harding is the tap priority here. The Big Man wants this done and dusted and oot ae the road. He thinks there’s a good chance that this kin get oot ae haun if it isnae nipped in the bud,” Wan-bob warned, pouring them a fresh cup ae tea.
“Look, don’t worry…we’ll nip Harding wance he crosses the Clyde. Whether he comes across wan ae the bridges or the ferry further alang at Water Row, we’ll be oan tae him. Ah’ve telt ye, hauf the toon is looking oot fur him.”
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
Residents and shopkeepers living and operating around Scotstoun Showground in Danes Drive are demanding that more police be deployed on the beat after a series of burglaries and shop break-ins have left the community in despair and scared to leave their homes unattended. Jack Bingham, a local resident whose house has been broken into twice in the last three months has demanded the return of the birch…
Dog-nappers are believed to be operating in the Bearsden area of Glasgow after two Great Danes named Pippa and Jolly were snatched from their owner’s garden in Westbourne Drive. In a similar case on nearby Stirling Drive, distraught owner, Persil Broughton, has offered a fifty-pound reward for information leading to the return of Barony, her seven-year-old Rottweiler. Police in the area have asked residents to be on the lookout…
A number of trials at Glasgow Sheriff Court had
to be postponed at short notice today due to a number of prosecuting and defence solicitors being brought down by flu…
Beatle mania will be returning to Glasgow on the 21st October as fans celebrate the anniversary of the fab four playing live at the Odeon in Glasgow’s Renfield Street a decade ago. The Odeon will be showing some of their greatest films, such as A Hard Day Night, Help and Yellow Submarine. In the foyer, a Beatles tribute band, The Moptops, will be welcoming cinema goers with all the hits from that period…
A pretty female store detective who was punched and kicked and left with a black eye after attempting to apprehend a shoplifter in The Argyle Arcade yesterday has branded her six-foot-tall male attacker a coward…
A man who obscenely flashed at two young girls whilst they were out guising for Halloween in Mentieth Avenue, Bishopbriggs, was fined ten pounds at Dumbarton District Court today…
John Casey, a twenty-eight-year-old bricklayer was fined twenty pounds at Central District Court after being found guilty of attacking his wife and three daughters after a night out in Glasgow city centre to celebrate his wife’s fortieth birthday…”
Chapter Thirty Five
“Look, will ye dae it?” Jake asked.
“Bit…”
“Look, no ifs or butts. It’s either an aye or a naw.”
“Ah jist don’t feel comfortable. Ah thought ye telt me that ye wurnae in tow wae any ae that crowd any mair?” Michelle girned doubtfully.
“Look, Ah’m a businessman. Ah hiv tae deal wae people Ah don’t necessarily run aboot wae. It’s no as if Ah’m asking ye tae shag him…seeing as he’s awready been there before, am Ah?” Jake retorted, starting tae get irritated.