The House_Dark Urban Scottish Crime Story

by John Mayer

  ‘Just a sec … Come in Dad’

  Being sure to leave the door wide open, McLane took a step inside and leaned against the wall: ‘Hello darling. I heard you come in. What happened? Did some boy stand you up? The fool. Anyway, I’m glad you’re home early. Whatcha reading?’

  He hardly ever asked that anymore and there was a tightness in his voice that betrayed his disinterest in what was obviously Salinger’s ‘Catcher in the Rye’ now lying open and flipped upside down:

  ‘School stuff. Salinger. It’s pretty sad. D’you know this book?’

  Nodding with his eyes closed. McLane put his hands behind his back and drew a full breath. Ababuo was as tight as a drum, picking at her fingernails and staring down into the bed:

  ‘Darling, I need to talk to you. Could you sit up for a minute, please?’

  That formal ‘please’ sent a lump to Ababuo’s throat as she sat up cross legged in her pyjama bottoms and some boy’s Heriot’s School rugby shirt he’d never seen her wear before. As she began to fidget with the corners of the book, he hoped with all the love in the world that this wouldn’t send her straight back to the locked-down mental state she was in when he first discovered her in Nikolai’s brothel. When she eventually looked him in the eye, it was with a glint of defiance, even a challenge in her eyes that he’d also never seen before. With the atmosphere in the room more akin to a dog fighting ring than his beloved daughter’s bedroom, McLane knew he was on a hiding to nothing and that the truth would have to wait for another occasion. Right now she was just angry and on the offensive. With an obvious note of reluctance, Ababuo gave an inch:

  ‘Sure. Let’s talk. What is it?’

  Letting out a lot of breath, McLane eased forward and perched on the corner of her wide bed. Rubbing his upper lip a few times to gather his question, McLane hoped he could ease into this and not do it in a way that sounded like cross-examination in a court:

  ‘Darling, tell me. Have you seen anything of my Deputy, Maisie Rodgers, since the party we had here after my Inauguration? Don’t worry. She hasn’t said anything to me. I was just wondering.’

  At the sound of some name other than Anastasia, a look of sheer relief spread across Ababuo’s face and she shook her head quite vigorously. Screwing up her face unnaturally, Ababuo played a rookie move and threw a barrage of questions back at him:

  ‘Maisie? No. She’s what? Twenty-six? A bit too old to be friends with me, don’t you think?’

  Patting the quilt cover and running his finger around a pattern, McLane shrugged: ‘Oh, you know. People like other people. Especially at your age. I just thought, someone older, with some money to go out. You know. Have you … I was wondering if you’d seen anyone else from that party?’

  McLane could have kicked himself for being so direct, but thought if she stiffened up, his question could immediately be diluted. Ababuo copied his shrug: ‘Well, of course. Some of my school friends were there and … you know. One or two others. Mr Mularkey and Molly. Why are you so interested in whether …?’

  Cutting her off, McLane necessarily upped the heat a little: ‘Because not only am I your father … who loves you very deeply … but I’m also the National Security Commissioner.’

  Now unable to contain herself, Ababuo almost spat out: ‘Whooppee! National Security Commissioner. Anyway, you’re only the Scottish National Security Commissioner.’

  He hadn’t seen her angry in such a long time and she’d grown up so much lately that the venom in her voice actually sounded like someone else. Instinctively, McLane let her run knowing very well that an angry witness will tell you a lot more than a calm one. But her words had hurt and it showed on his face. Then he thought better of his decision. Stopping himself from allowing her to become a runaway witness, McLane pushed his open hand across the quilt, hoping she’d take it. Instead, Ababuo threw the book to the floor and jumped up off the bed. Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, she was breathing erratically and her tears began to flow uncontrollably. Pointing straight at him, she screamed:

  ‘You … You! Did you do that? I saw it. Did you send that guy to the diner? Her driver’s dead. He’s dead! And she’s in … If you’ve killed her I’ll … I’ll go to the TV. I’ll tell everybody in school that you did it.’

  Jumping to his feet, McLane flung his arms around her and held Ababuo very tightly. Crying and bawling, squirming and stamping her feet, she tried to free herself, but to no avail. It had been Anastasia who’d cared for her when she was first dumped in the lane outside her father Nikolai’s brothel. It was Anastasia who’d given her that huge Mickey Mouse shirt she still sometimes slept in. She’d come to their party, all the time intending to slither into Ababuo’s affections; all the better to recruit her for some purpose in months or years to come. Who knew? Perhaps that time was nigh? Whatever the truth was, he might never know. Right there in her bedroom with her locked in his arms, only one certainty fixed in McLane’s mind. He couldn’t see how this was in any way connected to what was happening to the Calton and his guy didn’t think it was. However, tonight, McLane felt like nothing was certain. So when he laid his head on hers, he just hung on to Ababuo for dear life with no intention of ever letting her go.

  Refusing to allow her hands to touch him, Ababuo sobbed until her tears and the stuff running out of her nose began to seep into McLane’s shirt. It felt like longer, but could only have been a minute or so until they heard the front door open and Joanne throw her keys into the bowl:

  ‘Hello! Where is everybody?’

  Allowing Ababuo to free herself only to the point where they were face to face, McLane looked his daughter in her wonderful big dark chocolate eyes and whispered: ‘I won’t give you away about the party, but we do need to tell your mother about you and Anastasia knowing each other and sending each other messages. OK?’

  Sniffing and seeing some sense, Ababuo nodded but only once. However, that wasn’t enough for McLane:

  ‘Darling, look, I’ll tell you more some other time, but tonight what I can tell you is that I know all about what we call ‘the compromising material’ gathered at that party you were taken to. Now believe me, I’m not angry with you. You were duped by Russian … well, let’s just say they’re professionals. What you must understand is that such material can only hurt us if it comes as a surprise. As blackmail to ruin me as Commissioner or destroy our family; or both. You do know what blackmail is?’

  Swallowing hard, Ababuo nodded so quickly she seemed to shudder.

  ‘Well, because I and … some other people know about it, that stuff can’t harm us. Darling I know this is difficult. But I’m on your side; and I’m always on your side. What I need to know before we go speak to your mother is that we’re on the same side. So, are we?’

  Dragging her hands across her cheeks, Ababuo sniffed and swallowed hard: ‘Yes, Dad. I’m so sorry. I realise now she was just playing with me. Have I got you into a lot of trouble?

  Kissing her on the forehead, McLane rubbed away a few new tears with his thumbs: ‘No, of course not. We were just very concerned that you’d do something that … well, that might harm us all. Now, are you ready for me to tell your mother some of the truth?’

  As they heard the door of the downstairs bathroom close, Ababuo used the little time she had to ask: ‘Oh Dad, I don’t like telling Mum only some of the truth. Or you, for that matter. I mean, I don’t even know the whole truth; like who was the guy in the diner?’

  Staying silent, but furrowing his brow, waving his hands and shaking his head, McLane washed away her questions as Ababuo began to feel better about leaving all of this to him. When they got to the dining room before Joanne could join them he asked:

  ‘Have you ever heard the saying ‘The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft a’gley?’

  Wrinkling her nose, Ababuo let out the tiniest snigger: ‘Mice and men are gangs of what?’

  Reaching out and tapping the tip of her nose, McLane blew his daughter a kiss: ‘Gang aft a’gley! I
t’s part of a poem by Robert Burns. It means that the best laid plans of mice and men often go wrong. See, you still have some things to learn.’

  Ababuo, who was now a picture of contrition, pressed her lips tight together and nodded. Reaching out her hand, she said: ‘I know that. I really do. And when I do know more and I’ve grown up a bit, I want to help you. Honestly, when that guy comes to the house and you take him into the study; I think about it sometimes. Do you think I could?’

  Filling with pride and having to hold back a tear of his own, McLane took her hand: ‘Absolutely. But they insist on their people being very well trained. So maybe next year or the year after. Maybe when you go to university. You can help out then, OK?’

  Gripping his hand, through wide excited eyes, Ababuo was back to being the child who’d spoken her first words to Joanne down in the Seabird Centre at North Berwick:

  ‘Really? Really, Dad? I can see now I’ve been taken for a fool and I can’t wait to get my own back.’

  Reaching out and holding her by both shoulders, McLane tilted his head slightly: ‘See? That’s the kind of impetuosity the handlers don’t like. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey. That’s the way.’

  Ababuo looked bewildered at this other arcane saying. She knew very well that her father couldn’t climb a tree without a ladder and had never caught a monkey in his life. But she didn’t pursue his meaning. As she fell back into his arms, McLane mused that no case he’d ever fought in Parliament House had left him so exhausted as the feeling he now had that tonight she was safe and well; and her three man watch crew could go home until the morning.

  Now that Ababuo was presentable to her mother, McLane nipped upstairs. In the en-suite to the master-bedroom he shut the door and leaned heavily on the sink, looking himself straight in the face: ‘If they’ve hurt her. If one hair on her head is damaged and I find out about it, I won’t need fucking MI5. I’ll send Big Joe Mularkey. I’ll send Arab and I’ll send the whole fucking Calton Young Team. I’ll fucking annihilate every fucking one of them. I’ll burn the fucking Countess out of that fucking fancy house of hers. You bet I will Mother, you bet I will.’

  ~~~o~~~

  End of Part Five

  Part Six : Yea Though I Walk …

  Chapter 32

  Young Father Flaherty crossed himself three times, slowly got up off his knees and rubbed a few creases out of his cassock. He always felt lighter both in body and mind after a deep and silent heartfelt prayer in his own church; especially when he was alone with his Maker and the prayer was one of thanks. He’d offered thanks for the sterling work being done by McLane, for the fact that a lot more of his pews were being filled on a Sunday morning and for the faith that everyone was showing in him. But what he’d emphasised most, was the way the community was pulling together. Since forming the Calton Residents' Association, there seemed to be a sense that God Himself was on their side.

  Although he didn’t believe in locking churches, the Bishop had insisted that front and back doors be locked when he went out. Walking at a brisk pace he kicked a football back to some small boys, he patted the twins Anne and Maria Kelly on the head as they skipped by and waved to Auld Faither making his way to the Calton Bar. These visits were something he’d done years ago and was glad that several of the older ones had recently asked him to restore his pastoral rounds. Tonight being Monday, it was the turn of Bella McLane and Jean Mularkey to put some Walker’s Highland shortbread on the table and he’d bring a wee drop of something to keep out the cold.

  Even before he’d reached the first landing, he could hear a woman’s voice speaking with real urgency into a phone. Craning his head over the bannister, he saw Big Jessy Muldoon toing and froing on the third landing. Arriving a little out of breath, Young Father Flaherty knocked on the open front door and called:

  ‘Hello Jessy! Bella! It’s me. Is everything alright?’

  Barely over the threshold, he immediately began to get worried. Off the kitchenette, in her bedroom wheezing and coughing, moaning and sighing, Bella McLane was obviously unwell. Knocking on the bedroom door, he tried again:

  ‘Bella. It’s Father Flaherty. Is everything …?’

  When Big Jessy Muldoon opened the door, the expression on her face gave Young Father Flaherty his answer:

  ‘Oh Father, thank God it’s you. Come in.’

  In the bed wearing a flannelette nightgown, with the duvet up to her chin and her arms folded across her chest, Bella McLane was pouring with sweat and could hardly speak. Sitting down beside her, Young Father Flaherty patted the back of her hand:

  ‘Bella, Bella, my dear. What’s all this? I missed you at Mass yesterday and thought maybe Brogan had taken you out for the day. I know he’s been popping in more often lately. Has someone called the doctor?’

  From over his shoulder, Big Jessy answered: ‘Oh aye Father. I just came up tae see Jean … to ask if maybe she could speak to her Joe about a job for my boy in his nightclub. I chapped and chapped and then started bangin’ on her door. When she answered it, I got the shock o’ my life. She’s just like Bella is. Burnin’ up wi’ a fever and sweatin’ like a horny pig. Sorry tae speak like that, Father. Sorry. Jean says they both went to their beds yesterday because they didnae feel well. So I think they’ve maybe been like this all last night and all day today. Neither of them has a phone. They’ve always said that wi’ being just next door to each other, they don’t need a phone.’

  Young Father Flaherty turned back to Bella and tried to get a look at her throat but she was too far down in the bed. Standing and reaching out his hands, as though to be physically closer was also to be spiritually closer, he looked old Bella in the eyes:

  ‘Bella, can you hear me all right?’

  Dropping her eyelids once was all Bella could manage, but it was enough: ‘All right. You’re doing fine. Now, when you swallow, is it sore?’

  Wheezing out some breath, Bella exhaled something that sounded like ‘Aye’.

  Just as Young Father Flaherty turned to speak to Jessy, Bella tried to speak but winced in pain. With every breath, her wheezing was getting louder and the coughing was sapping the little strength she had left. Turning back to Big Jessy, Young Father Flaherty widened his eyes as far as he could:

  ‘Hmm. Jessy my dear, did you say Jean next door is in exactly the same condition?’

  ‘Aye, Father, she is.’

  ‘Then get back on that phone and call 999. There’s no time to wait for a duty doctor. Tell the emergency operator that we might need two ambulances because these two need to be in a hospital. And would you do that now, please.’

  While Big Jessy stayed with Jean and Young Father Flaherty with Bella, every thirty seconds or so, one of them looked out of the window for the ambulance. Just a few streets away the sound of a siren and the flashing of a blue light gave some hope. But curiously, it drove straight past until the sound became more and more faint. Then another came speeding from the opposite direction. It pulled up just about fifty yards away and one paramedic jumped out even before the driver had the handbrake on.

  Pacing the landing and checking his watch, at the sound of Big Jessy’s shriek Young Father Flaherty spun round. When he burst in to the bedroom, Big Jessy was standing with both hands clasped to her face. Young Father Flaherty dived towards Jean, putting his cheek to her lips:

  ‘Thank the Lord. She’s still alive. Where is God’s name is that damn ambulance?’

  After he’d tipped a few drops of water into Jean’s swollen mouth, Young Father Flaherty turned to go and see Bella. Big Jessy grabbed his arm. Holding back her tears, she was shivering in fear, but found enough strength to ask:

  ‘Father, do you know what’s wrong with them?’

  Nodding almost uncontrollably, Young Father Flaherty drew breath through his teeth:

  ‘I think so. I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen something like this before, when I was a young priest in Africa. That year, there was a really bad epidemi …’

  Shaking her head from
side to side, Big Jessy’s face looked incredulous:

  ‘Africa, Father? Jean and Bella have never been anywhere near Africa. What can it be?’

  ~~~o~~~

  Chapter 33

  With his wife Molly sitting beside him praying, gripping the wheel of his new Mercedes Wagon, Big Joe Mularkey eased out over the centre line for another look; at the next glimpse of an opportunity he was more than eager to get past the road-going tractor and hay trailer in front of him. The road up from Eaglesham to Glasgow wasn’t far, but it was busy. McLane on the other hand, was coming across country from Edinburgh with Joanne. His road was longer, but it was motorway and would be fast. With no more information to convey until they got to Glasgow Royal Infirmary, they’d just stopped phoning each other every five minutes.

  Stepping out of their respective cars, both had exactly the same idea and both felt the very same déjà vu. While their wives parked the cars, close to the high iron gates of the Castle Street entrance, McLane and Big Joe saw each other. As they approached, their stride quickened until they crunched into each other’s arms. With stony faces, they silently hugged each other with enough force to break the back of a grizzly bear. It had been over thirty years since as teenagers, they’d come to this hospital to visit their mothers after the two women had been so brutally assaulted by that scumbag who stole their winnings from the Grand National race. Back then, their enemy was found and put on trial in the Calton Bar. Big Joe had wanted the Duke to pronounce a death sentence, but McLane had come of age when he cleverly thought of a sentence worse than instant death: that of long-term humiliation. Every day for years, the convicted man would be humiliated until the last drop of humanity seeped out through his slimy skin and slid down a drain.