by Ian Todd
“Ah’ll come wae ye across tae the bus stoap, Saba. Hing oan and Ah’ll get ma cardigan.”
“No, I’ll manage. You stay here with the children, although I would appreciate it if you keep an eye on me from the window until the bus arrives.”
“Only if ye’ll dae me wan mair favour?” Kathleen asked her.
“What?”
“Whit’s a strath?” Kathleen asked laughing.
“A strath?”
“Aye, ye mentioned it earlier. Ah didnae really know ye then, so Ah didnae want tae sound like a thicko by asking ye whit a strath wis.”
“A strath is a valley or a glen. Where Paul was staying, on the croft, and the castle I live in is up a valley or a glen. Got it?” Saba replied, smiling.
“Oh, Ah see…right…goat ye. That makes sense tae me noo.”
“Right, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, ye kin,” Kathleen replied.
“I was a bit shy earlier and I didn’t want to sound stupid by asking you what a meter is.”
“A meter?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a meter up there,” Kathleen said, nodding at the coin gas meter box sitting oan a shelf above the kitchen door.
“How does it work?”
“The meter operates the flow ae gas. Tae keep the gas coming intae the hoose, ye need tae put a bob intae it. The mair ye put in, the longer the gas valve will stay open and allow ye access tae hot water and gas fur cooking. Goat it?”
“Oh, I see…right…got it. That makes sense to me now.”
“God, we’re like a couple ae thickos staunin here mimicking each other,” Kathleen said, laughing.
“Right, I’m off. I’ll send you a card to let you know that I made it home to New York. Goodbye, Kathleen.”
“Cheerio, Saba…take care ae yersel, hen.”
Kathleen went through tae the living room and picked up the cups fae the coffee table and placed them in the sink in the kitchen. She went back intae the living room and clocked Saba staunin at the bus stoap across the road. She jumped when she heard a heavy, persistent thump oan her front door. Jimmy wisnae due tae finish his shift until ten o’clock, and anyway, he’d his ain key tae let himsel in. She walked through tae the lobby and opened the door. Pat Molloy, followed by the two Murphy brothers, Shaun and Danny and Wan-bob Broon, barged passed her. Molloy and Broon went intae her living room while the two brothers turned right intae her kitchen.
“Whit’s gaun oan here, Pat?” she demanded.
“Where is she?” The Big Man asked her.
“Who?”
“Don’t start, Kathleen…ye know who Ah’m oan aboot. Where the fuck is The Duke’s daughter that yer brother hijacked oot ae a castle up in the Highlands?”
“Ye mean a strath,” Kathleen replied, as the tap deck ae a bus, hauf full ae people, puffing oan their fags, appeared through Kathleen’s windae and stoapped at the bus stoap across the road, departing a few seconds later.
Kathleen glanced oot ae the windae. The bus stoap wis empty.
“A whit?” The Big Man asked, as Kathleen smiled.
Paul looked at the clock oan the dashboard and cursed under his breath. It hid taken him at least hauf an hour tae find somewhere suitable in the toon centre tae hide the Landy’s number plates earlier. He checked the clock again when he stoapped behind a bus at a set ae traffic lights. It wis twenty past nine and he wis oan Great Western Road, oot in Anniesland, and Saba’s train wis due tae leave Central Station bang oan ten o’clock. Jimmy hid telt him when him and Saba hid arrived at Keppochhill Road that the London trains run like clockwork, something aboot nae wanting tae break some poxy record fur being oan time. He hid tae watch his speed as he’d be fucked if he goat stoapped by the bizzies. The car wis obviously stolen, even though the number plates wid’ve come aff a replacement Cortina Mk Two that hid ended its days under Jake’s crusher, doon at the scrappy in the Broomielaw. It hid been good tae get a change ae wheels fae the tank he’d been driving the past couple ae days. He thought aboot Morven and Saba. Three months earlier, he hidnae known that they’d even existed. He smiled and turned the radio up when ‘Good Vibrations’ started up.
“Fuck this,” he said oot loud.
He drapped a gear, and hit the accelerator. He felt the twin cam straight four engine burst intae life as he shot past the bus. He went through three red lights before turning right doon Byres Road. At the bottom, he turned left and heided past the Art Gallery and the Kelvin Halls towards St George’s Cross, where he nipped doon tae the right, jist before he hit Sauchiehall Street in the toon centre. He managed tae park the Cortina in Waterloo Street across fae the station. He ran doon tae the corner entrance at the Argyle Street and Hope Street entrance. When he goat up the stairs, there wis only wan train sitting oan the platform, steam oozing oot fae between the engine wheels. He swithered whether tae go and buy a platform ticket, bit decided that time wis against him. He climbed o’er the black painted ornate metal fence and heided across the tracks. He trotted alang the track that wis parallel wae Saba’s train until he wis level wae the engine near the platform entrance gate. He crawled between the engine and the first carriage that wis hooked up oan tae it. He scrambled up oan tae the platform and started tae walk back alang the platform, away fae the ticket collectors, who wur checking people’s tickets. He noticed that the first hauf dozen carriages wur sleepers. Wance he made it tae the seated, passenger wans, he started looking in through the windaes. Some people ignored him while others jist stared back. A few weans stuck oot their tongues at him. He quickened his pace. He knew the train must be jist aboot tae leave the station at any minute. He wanted tae say cheerio, plus he hid tae know that she’d made it oan tae the train safely. He could see people wur still milling aboot oan the train and stacking cases up oan tae racks. Paul reckoned that there must’ve been aboot twenty carriages wae seating and wis dismayed tae find himsel at the last wan, no hivving spotted The Gardener’s Daughter.
“Shit!” he cursed, entering the first carriage.
He made his way back alang towards the engine, only this time he wis inside the train itsel. He stoapped at every carriage, searching the faces. He felt panic taking a haud ae him by the time he reached the first sleeper carriage and a guard telt him he couldnae go any further. He jumped aff the train oan tae the platform and looked doon towards the ticket collectors at the gates. A few panic-stricken looking stragglers wur rushing forward, dragging cases behind them, through the station, tae the platform gate fae the front entrance oan Gordon Street. Paul looked aboot bewildered.
“Christ, Saba, where the fuck ur ye?” he groaned oot loud, in frustration.
Swein McTavish hid made up his mind that he wis gaun tae drive back up north, bit fate hid intervened when the Ross and Sutherland Constabulary Land Rover he wis driving started tae play up. It kept losing power when he wis trying tae get mair torque oot ae it. By the time him and The Stalker reached Central Polis HQ in the Saltmarket, he wis driving it in third gear.
“Ah widnae worry, Swein, oor mechanics will soon hiv it gaun. In fact, Ah’ll get the boys tae soup it up a bit while they’re at it. Ye’ll be flying up that road like a banshee wance they’ve finished wae it, so ye will,” The Stalker hid said.
He’d telephoned Inspector Cotter tae let him know whit his movements wur.
“Any word of what’s happened to the other Glesgie boys?” he’d asked Cotter.
“No. There’s been no reports of any cars stolen in the Aberdeen area. The only one that’s been reported north of Perth was a blue Ford Escort in Inverness in the early hours of yesterday morning. We heard about the farce in Stirling. What’s your take on it, Swein?”
“It’s hard to say, sir. Sergeant McPhee thinks it was a red herring to throw us off the scent from the west of the city. He thinks McBride was involved, although I don’t know how he would have been able to engineer the situation. I’ve heard that the tip-off came from one of the big newspapers down here, The Glesgie
Echo. It’s funny, at the Ardgay Gala and Highland Games in June, Sir Frank Owen, the owner of the paper was up staying with The Duke of Kyle as his guest. I would imagine he would be keeping The Duke abreast of the situation.”
“Do you still believe that the girl is somehow involved with this McBride laddie?”
“Er, I do, sir. I’m not sure her life is or has been in any danger…as long as she remains in the company of the boy.”
“What about this Tall Man character?”
“Tall Man, sir?”
“The gangster.”
“Oh, The Big Man? Och, he’s supposed to be a bit of a Mr Nasty. The word down here is that he’s got his henchmen out and about in the city, searching for Lady Saba. If he does find her, she’ll be in a pickle.”
“And the Glesgie bobbies, Swein? What are they doing to try and resolve the situation?”
“They’re also on her trail. It’s all a bit confusing down here, plus I’ve just arrived and the Landy is playing up.”
“Good, that means you’ve got an excuse to hang about down there, looking after our interests. You’ve to stay down there until the girl is found.”
“But, I, er…”
“That comes from the very top, Swein. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Give me a call if anything comes up before then. Goodnight,” Cotter hid said, and hung up.
Swein looked at his watch. It wis nearly hauf past ten. He yawned and stretched his erms above his heid. He’d jist arrived back. Sergeant McPhee hid gied him a tour ae the Toonheid. He couldnae get o’er the size and smell ae the city. He’d never seen so many buildings in his life. He thought Inverness wis big, bit it wis nothing compared tae this. He’d been driven aroond the city tae known hangouts where the local bobbies thought Paul might be. The district they called the Toonheid wis like something oot ae a scene fae Dante’s Inferno…the wan wae the red haze aw through it, that hid starred Ralph Lewis. The Reverend Macbean hid made aw the bairns in the Kyle sit through it in the church hall when Swein wis a Sunday School helper, before he’d joined the force. Maist ae the bairns, including himsel, hid been traumatised and hid wet the bed fur years efterwards, he remembered smiling. Hauf the buildings wur boarded up, waiting tae be demolished, while the other hauf that wur still occupied, looked sad and rundoon. Everywhere he looked, there wur large empty spaces ae rough ground where a tenement hid probably stood the day before. In the middle ae the patches, wur the dying embers ae the fires where the workmen hid been burning whit wisnae deemed valuable enough tae keep during the day. Oan the edges, where aw the demolition machinery stood silently in rows, tae rest fur another night, night watchmen sat in the shadows in front ae wee, wan-man huts, facing their glowing red fire braziers and fighting tae stay awake, wae their bunnets pulled doon o’er their eyes. The bairns, playing in amongst the rubble ae hauf demolished buildings, seemed happy and oblivious tae their surroundings, although a soapy bath, fur the majority ae them, wid probably hiv been a good investment. When the weans hid spotted the squad car, slowly crawling alang wae whit wis left ae the kerbs, as Sergeant McPhee pointed oot the scene ae some past incident or crime involving Paul and his friends, a lot ae the bairns hid either rudely stuck up their two fingers and shouted obscenities or they’d turned oan their heels and ran. Oan Kennedy Street, Sergeant McPhee hid stoapped two young boys who must’ve only been aboot ten years auld. They wur absolutely filthy fae the tap ae their heids right doon tae their torn sandshoes and looked as if they’d been cleaning sooty chimneys, bit the pram they wur pushing wis full ae lead sheeting, which Sergeant McPhee hid informed him hid probably come aff the roof ae wan ae the local tenement buildings. When the boys hid spotted the uniforms, they’d disappeared up the closemooth ae a crumbling, rundoon tenement building. He’d gied Sergeant McPhee a haun tae transfer the lead fae the pram tae the boot ae the squad car.
“That’ll help wae ma travel expenses,” he’d muttered tae Swein, shrugging they shoulders ae his, as he slammed the boot shut and they’d continued their tour.
Swein hid come across real poverty in his time, travelling aboot some ae the mair rural parts ae his patch, bit nothing hid prepared him fur the scale ae whit he’d been confronted wae in Glesgie, or in the Toonheid in particular.
“Swein, quick! The basturt’s been spotted,” The Stalker shouted fae the canteen door, before his heid disappeared.
The Highland Fox jist managed tae jump in the front passenger seat as The Stalker roared the powerful engine ae the squad car through the archway ae Central.
“Charlie Five, this is Charlie Two, where ur ye? Over,” The stalker barked intae the haunset as he sped across Glesga Cross.
“He’s jist come across Castle Street and is heiding fur the wee bridge o’er intae Roystonhill, Charlie Five. Over.”
“Is he oan his lonesome, Charlie Two? Over.”
“Aye, apart fae a sheepdug. Where ur ye, Paddy? Over.”
“Ah’m hauf way up the High Street. Over.”
“Well, switch aff they blue lights if ye’ve goat them oan. We’re gonnae try and nab him at the other side ae the bridge oan the corner ae Rhymer Street and Earlston Avenue. Jim McCabe is awready sitting doon by The Carlton picture hoose, waiting tae cut aff any retreat back the way he came. You’ll probably clock him oan the way past. Over.”
The Stalker switched aff the blue light that hid been lighting up the High Street in circular waves ae blue light. Swein caught the reflection ae the car as it sped by the windaes ae the shoaps and pubs, as The Stalker sped through a red light at Duke Street and then at the Provand Lordship’s hoose oan Castle Street, opposite the Cathedral. He jist managed tae see a fleeting wave fae wan ae the occupants as they passed the squad car sitting wae its lights aff beside the picture hoose. The poster ootside announced that The Atalian Job wis being shown inside.
“Right, Swein, let’s go,” The Stalker shouted, exiting the car.
They ambled alang the pavement in a crouch oan Earlston Avenue. Swein could see the shadowy ootlines ae officers, lying in wait, at the far end ae the street, in a gap between the buildings. He could also see officers, who wur staunin silently in a closemooth straight in front ae them.
The Stalker and Swein jist arrived at the scene when a shout went up. Swein tilted his heid upwards and saw Paul let go ae the leash that held the dug and turn tae try and escape the way he’d come. A sergeant, accompanied by two constables, appeared in front ae him, blocking Paul’s escape route. Swein noticed that as Paul hesitated, the Stalker and another constable rugby-tackled him tae the ground. The Highland Fox, still bent forward, grabbed the leash that wis trailing behind the pup that hid gone fur him in the early hours ae that morning. Before he could pull the pup away, it sank its teeth intae the arse that hid been bobbing aboot in front ae it.
“Arghhhh!” The Stalker screeched as The Highland Fox grappled wae the taut leash wae baith hauns and used it tae yank the dug backwards, hearing the sound ae cloth being ripped.
“Arghhhh! That basturting thing’s fucking bit me…the basturt,” The Stalker howled again as McTavish tried tae calm the dug, which wis straining oan the leash, howling and barking.
“Wan-eye! No!” Paul shouted at the dug, as he wis dragged tae his feet.
“Right, get him in the van, bit keep that fucking dug away fae me,” The Stalker snarled, limping badly, as he frog-marched Paul past The Highland Fox and Wan-eye, who stood there silently watching Paul being led away tae the waiting Black Maria polis van.
Chapter Eighty
It felt strange being back in the strath again, Paul thought tae himsel, as he walked past the big imposing gates ae Culrain Castle. He wisnae too sure whit time ae day it wis. He looked at the sky through the overhinging trees. He’d managed tae catch the train at Queen Street Station at eight o’clock that morning and hid only hid tae wait aboot hauf an hour tae catch another wan in Inverness tae drap him aff in Culrain. The past forty eight hours seemed like forty eight days tae him. So much hid happened. When he’d goat lifted by t
he bizzies, he’d been taken swiftly doon tae Central and locked up, well away fae the other prisoners in the building. He’d been in and oot ae the place since he wis a snapper, so he knew whit that meant. He hidnae hid long tae wait. Four ae the basturts, including The Stalker, hidnae wasted time before paying him a visit. As soon as his cell door wis flung open, they’d charged in mob-haunded. Paul hid lifted up his leg, in an attempt tae defend himsel, bit it hid been like staunin in front ae a double decker bus. They hidnae asked any questions tae start wae. They’d jist begun tae saften him up by kicking and punching him aboot the cell until they’d knackered themsels oot.
“Right, ya fucking tramp, ye, where the fuck is she?” The Stalker hid demanded twenty minutes later.
“Who?”
“The Duke’s daughter!”
“Whit Duke’s daughter?” Paul hid thrown back at him, feigning innocence.
That hid been that. They either hidnae liked his answer or they’d goat their breath back. They’d started oan him again. It hidnae been as ferocious as the first time, bit hid been mair measured in that they’d taken aim when they’d let aff a right or left hook or kicked him in the ging-gang-goolies.
“Ye better fucking tell us whit you and they pals ae yours hiv done tae her, ya fucking lump ae shite. We’re no leaving this cell till ye dae, so we’re no,” a big ugly basturt hid snarled at Paul.
Efter aboot a hauf an hour ae kicks and slaps, wae the odd punch thrown in fur good measure, they’d left him tae stew fur a while.
“We’ll be back,” The Stalker hid threatened.
“Ah’ve telt ye, Ah wis away looking fur a job, so Ah wis. Ah never saw or touched any bloody Duke’s daughter,” he’d shouted at their backs as they slammed the cell door shut.
They must’ve come back another three or four times in the night, demanding tae know where she wis, wanting tae know where the Landy wis, wanting tae know where the hell Tony Gucci and the rest ae The Mankys wur, before they’d dragged him oot ae his cell and bodily flung him alang the corridors tae the front desk, where that prick, Billy Liar wis waiting tae charge him.