The Nationalist

by Campbell Hart

  “I thought I heard voices,” stepping closer to his friend he could see that John was upset, “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Rose, she’s going to get an abortion. I thought, well I don’t know what I thought but I didn’t think she’d do that.”

  “It’s a tough call, John, but I doubt she’d take that kind of decision lightly,” they sat on the couch, neither one saying a word. Chris watched as his friends eyes glassed over, “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

  “No it’s OK, but I could use a drink.”

  “I’ll get some coffee, John. It’s going to be a long day as it is without you hitting the bottle,” Arbogast nodded as Chris left for the kitchen. If he hadn’t known it before he was now certain that his relationship with Rose was irretrievable. From now on his job was going to be a living hell.

  ***

  Ian Wark sat back and looked at the news page he’d created for his expose on Police corruption. He planned on issuing the email content in full on Newsnational, but only after publishing a critical analysis of the way the new force was being run. He supported the idea of a Scottish Police Force but the way the current service was being handled needed to change. There were people at the highest level who were not fit to hold office and he felt a personal responsibility to make sure the truth got out. That Norrie Smith had been replaced was a good start. He was part of the old system, a remnant of 1970s policing and with people like him out of the way there was more space for modern thinkers to enter the fray. Donald, Ying, and Arbogast were in Wark’s opinion, not the right people to be promoted. Sitting back he was confident the tone of the article was bang on. He knew this story would get the website noticed, and that for once he would not be ignored by the mainstream media. He wasn’t wrong; in the next six hours the report would be viewed by more than half a million people.

  IS POLICE SCOTLAND WORKING FOR YOU?

  With Police Scotland the intention was to create a unified structure which would best serve the interests of the people. The benefits of reduced costs, integrated management, greater co-operation and the flexible use of specialist divisions was supposed to have provided a force fit to serve the needs of the 21st century.

  But Newsnational has uncovered worrying evidence pointing to bitter internal rivalries, concerted political campaigning, and personal interests, which are in danger of conspiring to defeat the new service before it has even had the chance to find its feet.

  A source at Police Scotland has provided information on a series of emails between the new Chief Constable, Graeme Donald, DCI Rosalind Ying, and her long term partner, DI John Arbogast. The content suggests that together the three parties have conspired to have Donald’s predecessor, Norrie Smith, removed from office while email correspondence also suggests that Donald and Ying have been having a secret affair, with the most recent tryst having taken place at a secret meeting in Belfast where the two hatched a plan to further their own careers using the recent events in Glasgow as the hook they needed to take power at Police Scotland.

  It should come as no surprise that the mainstream media has made little mileage of this news, which will have been known in certain circles. The BBC’s main correspondent, Sandy Stirrit, has been a long term friend of John Arbogast and Newsnational understands the two have met to discuss ways of shaping the news agenda around the George Square attack in recent days.

  An extract from his email files show how entrenched the two men had become:

  From: John Arbogast

  To: Alexander Stirrit

  Sent: 10:31 12/11/13

  Subject: There may be trouble ahead...

  Alright Sandy – how’s tricks?

  I’ve got some information you might be interested in. Fancy meeting at the usual place – say half an hour?

  Let me know if you can make it.

  JJ

  Newsnational can confirm the two men met and while the content of that conversation is not known, later that day Sandy Stirrit used a press conference to question the personal record of Graeme Donald. Our sources claim the reason for this may not have been well intentioned as it has emerged that DCI Rosalind Ying is currently pregnant. Who the father is, is unknown, but it is clear that there is a disruptive influence playing out at the heart of the new Force.

  More worryingly, these three people are driving the investigation to close down the terror attack on George Square. Our question is: can they be trusted? We know the MSM are too timid to report the facts but we at Newsnational are committed to uncovering the ways in which our public services are run. By challenging vested interests and rebuilding trust through a new independent state we believe that Scotland can turn the corner and emerge as a world leader in ethical policing, a exemplar country that can teach the world that there are alternatives available. We have approached all parties for comment, but to date have had no response. But please don’t just take our word for it. The full uncensored email files are available from this link. Get in touch and let us know your thoughts. We think we deserve better: Scotland Unite!

  “I have something I think you had better see First Minister,” Craig McAlmont passed the text of the Newsnational article across the desk. About three minutes later the First Minister looked up, “Is there any truth in this?”

  “Difficult to say. The link to the email correspondence looks real but it could have been faked. I’ve been in touch with Police Scotland. The article has gone viral on the website but before we say anything, we need to be 100% clear about what, if any of it, is true.”

  “Agreed. Tell Donald I need the information as soon as possible. I don’t want to hear any excuses. This has obviously been timed to talk down the Police. I thought Newsnational were friendly? We gave them an exclusive recently.”

  “They are a pro-nationalist site and have been extremely useful in talking up the independence drive. I’m not quite sure who the journalist is as there’s no by-line. The only point of contact we have is a generic email on the website.”

  “If this is untrue it needs to be taken off immediately or we need to look at getting the site shut down.”

  “The content’s been shared so many times I doubt either would make much difference now. We need to make a statement and soon.”

  Arbogast was called to Donald’s office first thing. When he arrived he expected to see Rosalind, but she wasn’t there.

  “She rang in sick,” Donald said, “and no wonder. This article isn’t helpful. I need to know if any of it is true?”

  “I would imagine you would know if you’d been having an affair with my partner.”

  “Don’t overstep the mark, Arbogast. Have you been colluding with the BBC?”

  “No.”

  “But you don’t deny meeting with this reporter, Stirrit?”

  “He’s a very old friend, sir. We don’t talk shop.”

  “I’ll bet. From my reading of the emails they look genuine. I need to know where they came from.”

  “I imagine the website would be able to cast some light on that.”

  “They won’t tell us who the source was. What concerns me is that there would appear to be an internal leak. Who has access to your emails?”

  “Just me. I don’t trust my details with anyone.”

  “I see. Well the email chains include yourself, Rosalind and me. You say it’s not you. I can’t see it being Rosalind.”

  “Know her quite well, do you?”

  Donald ignored him, “Which leaves me and let’s face it I’m the last person that would be leaking this kind of information. What do you think?”

  “I think I feel a bit sick.”

  “Guilty conscience?”

  “No, I just don’t like the view.”

  “Well you’ll have some time to find a new one. You’re suspended from active duty.”

  “Based on this?”

  “We’re working on a high profile case which we can’t get diverted from. Rosalind Ying is off; we’re saying she’s sick. Pregnant woman often are. You,
on the other hand, have been suspended, pending further investigation. Davidson will take your spot in the investigation. We’re getting extra cover from Edinburgh.”

  “But—”

  “—you’re lucky it’s only a suspension. If it all checks out you’ll be back but until then, you’d better keep a low profile.”

  29

  Rosalind felt she had no alternative than to terminate her pregnancy. Terminate. That had been the word the doctor had used at the Sandyford Clinic. She had told her what the procedure involved, how long it would take, how she might feel. It was impossible to tell how she would feel. She didn’t know how she felt now. All she knew was that she couldn’t have a child by John Arbogast – that cheating, lying, bastard. How could she have wasted all those years on that self-centred toad? Every day for the past week she had woken in the middle of the night and been violently ill. She had considered carrying on, taking a career break, splitting her time between home and the office, but she knew she would have to make difficult choices to try and make it work. Ultimately she needed her freedom back, and that wasn’t going to happen with a baby.

  The Doctor told her they could proceed with a medical termination. They would give her mifepristone – a tablet she would swallow that might make her feel sick. They said she would start bleeding. That it was possible the pregnancy might end earlier than planned. Then she’d have to come back and stay in the ward all day, possibly overnight. She’d be given more tablets and that would be that. That would be that – a strange choice of words. She had booked a date for a week’s time. In a week I will no longer be pregnant. Rosalind sat on a weather worn bench outside the Kelvingrove Art Gallery. There was a plaque which read ‘To Maisie – forever in my heart. Thomas.’ I wonder who Maisie was? I wonder who this baby could be, might have been. Am I doing the right thing? Her thoughts kept coming back to John. They had been fine for a while, but then he just didn’t seem interested. He stayed later at work, and they didn’t speak at home. The night she had got pregnant had been a night he’d been out drinking. He came staggering through the door and stripped off demanding sex. She had given in but had lain quietly, disinterested. It was time they called it a day. The video had been the tipping point but today’s news about the supposed affair with Donald was the limit. That was untrue. She knew she would have to speak to the editor. Despite herself Rosalind looked up the article on her phone. It had been shared six thousand times. Why would anyone write this? What was the agenda? Where was the public interest? As she considered the possible motives she noticed an old man was trying to get her attention.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  “Of course not,” but Rosalind was annoyed. Why wouldn’t he sit on one of the other benches, all of which are free. He must have seen the anger in her eyes, “It’s just that it’s my wife’s seat. I come down sometimes and—” he broke off to take a small white tin from his overcoat pocket. “—use the old silvo to buff up her plaque. It gets quite tarnished.”

  Standing up, Rosalind realised she didn’t want to hear his story, “Nice to meet you Thomas. Say hi to Maisie for me.” Surprised by the outburst he watched as she trudged off through the park, heading for home.

  With nothing to do, no home to go to, and little prospect of anything appearing to fill the time, Arbogast paid a visit to his mother in the Woodlands Care Home. Ella Arbogast had been admitted more than ten years ago with galloping alzheimers and was now little more than a shell of the woman he once knew. She was the only family he had. With no brothers or sisters he had never known his father who had left when he was very young; he didn’t know where to. Although he rarely visited he had been told his mother was often visited by a man. James they said his name was. He had seen him once. It had been at the end of a particularly taxing investigation looking into the sex trafficking trade. He had been tired and couldn’t be bothered to ask who he was. Guiding his car into the space he noticed the face, his face again. An old man, pretty heavy set, dressed in a green tweed jacket and blue trousers. He was curious about who the guy was. His mother hadn’t had many friends but since her illness had really taken hold he hadn’t seen anything of them for some time; except for this one old man. He stayed sitting behind the wheel and watched. The man, James, looked as if he had forgotten where he had parked. He was wandering aimlessly around. He was scanning the cars when he seemed to find the one he was looking for, an ancient Nissan Sunny. Arbogast took note of the registration: H629 AUS. An H-reg would place it at 1990. It was a minor miracle the thing was still running but the body work still looked immaculate. He likes to keep things neat. He phoned Chris to ask for a favour.

  “Could you run a check on an H-reg Nissan? I need to know who the owner is.”

  “Sure thing, John. I thought you were suspended. How are things going?”

  “I hope to be back soon. You guys need me on that case.”

  “Whatever you say. The place is certainly a lot quieter.”

  “I’ll bet Davidson’s fucking loving it.”

  “Yes I can do that.”

  “Is he there?”

  “That’s correct. Can you give me your information?”

  “H629 AUS.”

  “Thanks for phoning that in sir. We’ll be in touch should the information be of use.”

  The phone went dead. Arbogast went in and said hello to his mother. She said nothing, just sat at her window seat and looked out. No worries, no chat, no future. His phone rang once. Looking at the message he didn’t know what to say; the name was familiar. The car was owned by James John Arbogast.

  ***

  Ian Wark was pleased with how widely the article was being picked up. The piece was being discussed on radio, and some of the online websites were also covering the story. They were all making it clear where the story was coming from, not that that would be any defence if the story turned out not to be true. Bu they’d need to try and find him first. The website was registered under a South Korean host site and his contact details were not available. The only way to directly get in touch was by email. Police Scotland was looking to speak to him:

  To: editor@newsnational

  From: g.donald@policescotland.sco

  Subject: Legal proceedings

  Dear Sirs,

  I am getting in touch to let you know that the Police Scotland legal team is actively considering a case against your website following the publication of a recent article looking into alleged corruption and nepotism.

  Your article makes personal accusations against me which are completely fabricated and the impact the article is having on a major investigation leaves us with no choice but to pursue this matter in court.

  We see that your website is not registered in the UK but be in no doubt that the material published will be subject to the full force of British law.

  We would advise that you delete the post from your website immediately and contact Police Scotland as soon as possible to discuss the next steps.

  Regards

  Graeme Donald,

  Chief Constable,

  Police Scotland

  “Think I might have caught a live one here. Thanks for your interest Mister Donald,” Ian closed down the email and switched his attention to his longer term plans. He had sent a link of Annabelle and Arbogast’s tryst to various people but so far nothing much seemed to have come of it. He didn’t want to send the video direct to press as he knew it would be used straight away, and the timing wasn’t right. Instead he decided to go via the Trojan horse route. Typing in the web address he logged into his account for Redhot.com, uploaded the video and labelled it ‘Hot cop action’. The damage would be done in time. He just needed to wait.

  30

  Norrie Smith had been following Annabelle Strachan for two days. She worked in a digital design agency as a web master, whatever that meant. It seemed to Norrie that a lot of job titles were made up and he had to check the job spec on Google. It seemed she designed and maintained websites. The company, Tech Stars, had
been set up four years ago and Annabelle had been with them from the start. On the first day of his surveillance she went to work for 9:00am and stayed there till 7:00pm, before returning home. On the second day she left work at 4:30pm and travelled by bus to the southside. He followed by car, parking when he saw her get off at Shawlands Cross. It was an awkward junction and he couldn’t park on the main road. It was rush hour. As he rolled through the lights he glanced right and saw Annabelle disappear into the Granary.

  Norrie walked around the building to see if he could spot Annabelle through the pub windows. It would be easier to do it this way, rather than by creeping around inside and running the risk of being seen. He saw her meet with a man who appeared to know her well. The man tried to kiss her but she pushed back. They sat down at a table with a laptop and seemed to be having an urgent conversation. Norrie pulled down his flat cap to mask his face and lit a cigarette. He pretended to look into the distance but out of the corner of his eye he could see the man was watching the video, with Arbogast now starring in public. Norrie felt his anger start to rise, when Annabelle snapped shut the case. It looked like she’d caught the man’s fingers and he wasn’t happy. A couple of minutes later she left. Norrie let her go and made his way inside. He went to the bar and bought a pint, watching the man from a distance. Eventually he went over.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  “I do mind. There are plenty of seats. Go and sit somewhere else.”

  “Not a very friendly chap, are you?”

  “Last time I looked this wasn’t gay night at the High Chaparral. Take a hint mate and fuck off will you. I’m busy.”