One Last Dram Before Midnight

by Denzil Meyrick

  Scott turned on his heel, and then paused to look at the yellow hatchback before joining Daley on the street.

  ‘She’s fully taxed an’ insured, so you needna bother checking,’ shouted Gordon Arbuthnot.

  ‘Don’t you worry, son. I’ve a note o’ your registration number – it’s the first thing I’m going tae do when I get back tae work. Oh, and get that shirt o’ yours in the wash – it’s disgusting!’

  Daley grinned as he walked briskly back down the street beside his sergeant. ‘No holding back there, Bri.’

  ‘Nah, why should I? I cannae stand these ignorant bastards. We’d the same thing in oor street when I was a boy when the McCutcheons moved intae number six.’

  ‘McCutcheon? Doesn’t sound very Arabic to me.’

  ‘Naw, they wisnae Arabs – Roman Catholics. Half the street widnae speak tae them. Some bastard shat doon their chimney.’

  ‘What? Really?’

  ‘Aye, really. There they were sittin’ watchin’ the telly when a big toley landed sizzling on the coals. Dirty bastards, some folk . . . There was no mair proud a Protestant than my auld faither, but that was the last straw for him. He had the auld dear run roon to them wae a stew, quick smart.’ Scott nodded at the memory, leaving Daley to ponder on just how much things had changed in the last forty years or so. He wondered how his mother would have reacted if his father had directed her to ‘run roon with a stew’ given those circumstances. He shook his head.

  III

  A few weeks later, Annie was busy hanging up the Christmas decorations under the scrutiny of a knot of regulars in the County Hotel bar.

  ‘I’d move the tree a wee ways tae the left,’ said Hamish, squinting one eye and wafting his hand in the proposed direction. ‘An’ is it no’ time yous got a new fairy? That yin must be aulder than me – aye, an’ she’s no’ wearing as well neither. She’s been danglin’ on top o’ that tree longer than Nelson on his column.’

  ‘Listen tae Kirsty Allsop here,’ exclaimed Annie, descending gingerly from the rickety step-ladder. ‘I think I’m right in saying that the décor in your hoose hasna changed since nineteen fifty-one. That fairy was new jeest a couple o’ years ago. Come tae think o’ it, it cost me o’er a fiver an’ I’ve still no’ had the money back yet.’ Now on terra firma, she stepped back to appraise the Christmas tree which now stood in the corner of the bar. ‘No’ a bad job, even if I do say so mysel’.’

  ‘Typical o’ a woman,’ declared Hamish. ‘Fair self-satisfied. If some bloke had flung that tree up the way you’ve done he’d no’ hear the end o’ it until the next Christmas.’

  Before Annie could argue back, the tall figure of DCI Jim Daley entered the bar, loosening his tie as he did so. ‘Can I have a pint of heavy, please, Annie? I’ve a right drouth for some reason tonight.’

  ‘Of course you can, Mr Daley. You’re late on the go. No Brian, I see.’

  ‘He’s on a split shift. Busy on the computer last time I looked. You can imagine the bad language.’

  ‘Och, there are some destined tae sit at computers and others mair o’ a practical bent – like mysel’,’ said Hamish.

  Daley paid for his pint and headed to the back of the bar to talk to the old man.

  ‘That’s a fine tree. I’ve not had the energy to put mine up yet . . . Not much point, really,’ he added somewhat self-pityingly.

  ‘So much for the spirit of Christmas,’ said Annie, approaching the table with a red bucket.

  ‘You’ve not got to the stage of serving Hamish his drink in a pail, have you? I mean, I know he likes a drink . . .’ Daley couldn’t help laughing at his own joke.

  ‘Away wi’ you! No, this is a collection for these poor souls that arrived here fae thon Libya. Whoot’s their names?’ asked Annie, shaking the bucket under Daley’s nose.

  ‘The Karims. A good family – I paid them a visit today, as a matter of fact. Lovely people; they’ve been through a lot.’

  ‘Well, get your giving hand oot. I’m hoping we can get enough money together tae buy the weans something half decent for their Christmas.’

  ‘I’m no’ convinced they’ll be much up for Christmas,’ observed Hamish.

  ‘Whoot?’

  ‘On account o’ them being Muselmanns, an’ that.’

  ‘Muselmanns?’ said Daley. ‘I think that term went out with Churchill, Hamish. That’s a lovely gesture, Annie. I’m sure they’ll be very appreciative – even though they are Muslims, Hamish.’

  ‘You’ll find the folk fae the toon will take them tae their hearts, Mr Daley. That’s the kind o’ place Kinloch is, and that’s a fact,’ said Annie, watching as Daley slipped a twenty-pound note into the bucket. ‘Very generous, I’m sure.’ She bit her lip. ‘A pity they’d tae move them in next tae auld Tam Arbuthnot, though.’ She shook her head as she made her way back behind the bar to stow the collection bucket.

  ‘This Arbuthnot guy, Hamish. Do you know him?’

  ‘Know him? Aye, I’m sad tae say, I do. One o’ the maist objectionable men you could meet. He’s been the same since he was a boy. A complete scunner, and, fae whoot I hear, that big grandson o’ his is no better.’

  ‘So he lives with his grandfather?’

  ‘Aye, he does that. His father used tae work doon at the shipyard. When it closed he got offered a job doon south. The boy wanted tae stay in the toon, so when his folks left he jeest stayed wae his auld grandfaither. Well matched, if you ask me. Young Gordon’s always after money, and Tam’s the meanest man I ever met. It’s no jeest wae money – right mean-spirited, tae. Funnily enough I saw him a whiles ago. Came oot o’ Jenny’s bar taking three sides o’ the street. Fair mortal he was.’

  ‘So, a heavy drinker?’

  ‘For him, a day no’ getting blotto’s like a holiday. Tae say he’s got a fair swally is no’ doing it justice at a’.’

  Scott switched off the computer with a huge sigh of relief. He eyed the machine with barely hidden malice.

  ‘That’s you off tae sleep. You cannae torture me any more the day, you bastard,’ he said, addressing the computer as though it was his mortal enemy.

  He looked at his watch – still more than two hours of his shift to go. It was a weekday night, with none of the bustle associated with Kinloch Police Office at the weekends. Though he’d finished typing up his reports, there were a few cases he could review prior to calling it a night.

  So, with this in mind, he decided to head to the coffee machine in search of a strong brew that would help him stay awake until the end of his shift. He left his desk in the CID suite and headed out into the dimly lit corridor.

  Just as the dark, steaming beverage was filling the cup, he heard raised voices coming from the direction of reception, one of which – the wailing voice of a woman – he thought he recognised.

  Scott left the coffee cup on a windowsill and went in search of the commotion.

  As he turned into the bar office, he was shocked to see two burly young uniformed policemen struggling with Faiz Karim. His wife was holding their daughter tightly in her arms as she screamed in protest at the treatment of her husband. Her son was clutching onto her long coat.

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ shouted Scott above the din.

  ‘Mr Scott, please, please, help us!’ shouted Badr Karim, her daughter sobbing quietly over her shoulder. ‘They are taking my husband. Please help!’

  ‘Right!’ shouted Scott, standing in front of the struggling Faiz Karim. ‘You remember me from earlier, yes? He looked into the man’s eyes, noting that he had a nasty graze on his cheek.

  At a few words in Arabic from his wife, Karim stopped struggling and looked at Scott with pleading eyes. ‘I do not do this,’ he screamed. ‘I do not do this!’

  With the help of the uniformed officers present, Scott managed to persuade the Karims to take a seat in one of the office’s family rooms. The family huddled together on a sofa, Badr dabbing at her husband’s bleeding face with a hanky as the children burrowed in
to his neck.

  ‘Constable Potts, what’s been going on?’ enquired Scott, now that the situation had calmed.

  ‘We were bringing Mr Karim in, Sergeant.’

  ‘Arresting him? What on earth for?’

  ‘Assault, Sergeant.’

  ‘On who?’ Scott looked unconvinced.

  ‘His neighbour, a Mr Arbuthnot. He’s been taken to the hospital, taken quite a bang on the head, Sergeant.’

  ‘This is not true!’ Badr Karim wailed again. ‘My husband would never do such a thing. He would not harm anyone. We are peaceful people.’

  ‘Come with me, son,’ said Scott to Constable Potts, indicating that he follow him from the room. ‘Mrs Karim, just try to keep calm. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.’ He showed Potts out of the room and then followed him, closing the door to the family room in his wake.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We got a report that there was a disturbance in the street outside seventy-four Hillcross Road. When myself and Constable Cameron got there, we found Mr Karim kneeling over Mr Arbuthnot. At the time, Arbuthnot was unconscious, but I could see he’d taken a heavy blow to the head. We detained Mr Karim, who, as you’ve seen, resisted arrest. There was a bit of a scuffle. Just as we managed to get the cuffs on him, his wife and children appeared. All hell broke loose, Sergeant.’

  ‘So what evidence do you have, son?’

  ‘Well, apart from the fact that we found Karim at the locus, kneeling over the injured man, we managed to get a brief statement from Mr Arbuthnot.’

  ‘So, he regained consciousness?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. He came to when the paramedics administered oxygen as he was being taken into the ambulance.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He confirmed that he had been assaulted by Karim.’ The young constable shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Any witnesses?’

  ‘No, we haven’t got that far yet. But apart from the arrival of the rest of the Karim family, the street was empty. We have no number for the person who reported it – withheld.’

  ‘Right, son, you’ve done what you had to do. Get back in there and keep things as calm as you can.’

  As the young policeman did as he was asked, Scott reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, bringing out his mobile phone. He squinted at the screen, pressed it, then placed the device to his ear. ‘Jim, it’s me. If I was you I’d get up here as soon as you can. We’ve got what you might call a situation.’

  IV

  Daley stood by Tam Arbuthnot’s bed in Kinloch hospital. The old man was drifting in and out of sleep, his head heavily bandaged, looking almost vulnerable without his glasses.

  ‘Only a few moments, DCI Daley,’ said the staff nurse. ‘He’s had a nasty dunt, plus he’ll have to sleep off all the booze he’s had. Not getting any younger, either. Honestly, the way some people behave.’

  ‘How would you say his head injury happened? I can’t see much under that bandage,’ replied Daley.

  ‘The doctor says it’s some kind of blunt force trauma. We see it a lot – assaults, car accidents, falls – so it could be any of these things.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ said Daley thoughtfully. He leaned over the man in the bed. ‘Mr Arbuthnot, it’s DCI Daley. We spoke earlier today. I’d like to know how this happened to you. Can you remember at all?’

  Arbuthnot peered up at his visitor, trying to focus. He licked his parched lips and cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘I telt they ambulance men whoot happened. Thon stranger hit me, plain an’ simple. The Arab guy that’s moved in next door.’ Suddenly his eyes blazed, his gaze now firmly on the detective. ‘Aye, an’ I’m holding you responsible, tae. I telt you earlier the man was a danger, and now here’s me – a pensioner, mark you – lying in hospital after being attacked. I’m thinking it’s time you and they Arabs were moving on.’ With that, his eyes fluttered and he seemed to fall asleep.

  ‘That will be enough for now,’ said the staff nurse.

  ‘Quite enough,’ replied Daley, shaking his head.

  He thanked the nurse and made his way out of Kinloch hospital. In the car park he pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed the screen a couple of times.

  ‘Brian, anything new? I’ve a statement, of sorts, from Arbuthnot. As we thought, he has named Mr Karim as the attacker.’

  ‘Right, Jimmy. Nothing new here. I’ve sent the weans hame wae that Miss Steele, the social worker. I’ve had tae keep Mrs Karim here wae her man – she’s the only person who can speak tae him. The uniforms are doing the rounds of the doors up in Hillcross Road, but nae joy at the moment.’

  Scott ended the call with Daley and leaned back in his chair. He’d been a detective for years – almost every kind of rogue imaginable had crossed his path at one time or other – and he was certain that Faiz Karim wasn’t one of them.

  ‘I’ve a Mrs O’Halloran at the front desk, Brian,’ said Constable Potts. ‘Wants to speak to you urgently.’

  Scott introduced himself to May O’Halloran who was waiting at reception and took her into an interview room.

  ‘We’ve quite a lot on tonight, ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t spare you much time.’

  ‘I don’t need much time, Sergeant,’ she replied abruptly. ‘I live across the road from Tam Arbuthnot in Hillcross Road. I had some of your boys at the door about an hour ago, and I’ve just remembered something.’

  ‘Oh, aye. What have you just remembered?’ Scott could easily spot someone who had been wrestling with their conscience – it was a skill you learned early as a police officer.

  ‘I’m ashamed to say I didn’t tell your constable the whole truth earlier. I saw what happened to Tam and I want to make a statement.’

  ‘Just you hang on while I get my notebook,’ said Scott. Daley knocked at the door of 74 Hillcross Road. When there was no reply, he knocked again, though much louder this time.

  Eventually the officers could see a light going on through the dimpled glass of the front door. It swung open to reveal Gordon Arbuthnot standing in the hallway, naked to the waist, his ample belly flopping over the unseen waistband of a pair of dirty jeans.

  ‘I hope yous are here tae tell me that bastard Karim has been charged wae attacking my poor grandfaither.’

  ‘Can we come in?’ asked Daley.

  ‘Aye, sure, whootever.’

  The detectives were shown through to the lounge. A grubby three-piece suite was arranged around an old gas fire, above which was an old-fashioned tiled mantelpiece flanked by two brass candlesticks. A few pictures hung on the wall, mostly black-and-white photographs. Daley recognised a young Tam Arbuthnot in one. Like the Karims’ lounge, the room was poorly furnished, apart from a huge television that dominated one corner of the room. Unlike their neighbours’, though, this room was filthy and untidy, with a huge, unidentifiable stain on the carpet and an overflowing ashtray on a low coffee table stained with multiple mug-rings.

  ‘Right, say whoot yous have tae say. I’ve tae get doon tae the hospital.’

  ‘Where were you at six-forty this evening, Gordon?’ asked Daley.

  ‘At a friend’s place. How?’

  ‘So you weren’t here at home?’

  ‘No. I was at Malky’s hoose.’

  ‘Good,’ said Scott. ‘Can you gie me Malky’s number?’

  ‘How? I don’t want my friends getting hassle fae the polis. Whoot is this?’

  ‘This,’ Daley said, edging closer to the younger man, ‘is the chance for you to tell the truth.’

  ‘Aboot what?’

  ‘Aboot what happened tae your grandfaither, that’s what,’ replied Scott.

  ‘I don’t know what yous are on aboot!’

  ‘We have an eyewitness – saw everything.’

  ‘Aye, right. Who’s that? Another bloody stranger, I bet.’ Gordon looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  ‘At six-forty this evening, you were seen arriving at this house, just as your grandfathe
r appeared from the other end of the street,’ said Daley. ‘Our witness tells us that some kind of argument ensued in the street – a heated one, by all accounts.’

  ‘Nah, that’s no’ right. Yous are at it!’

  ‘For whatever reason, you chose to push your elderly grandfather, who fell, hitting his head heavily on the pavement. He’d been drinking all afternoon, as you knew.’

  ‘Aye, but here’s the best bit,’ said Scott, spitting out the words. ‘Instead o’ helping the man – your ain grandfaither – who’s now unconscious in the street, you do something else.’

  ‘This is shite!’

  ‘You’re right there. Shite’s the very word I’d use. Instead o’ helping your grandfaither, you go through his pocket for money – and find some, tae.’

  ‘Naw! No way, man – yous canna frame me tae save that mob next door . . .’ Gordon reached behind him, grabbed one of the candlesticks from the mantelpiece, and brandished it at the officers. ‘Get oot my way, or I’m tellin’ you, yous are getting this o’er the heid!’

  As he tried to barge past Daley, Scott caught him with a rabbit punch to the top of his bulging stomach, sending him to the floor howling in pain and gasping for breath.

  Daley and Scott looked on approvingly as Annie fussed over the guests in the dining room at the County Hotel. The Karim children stared around the room at the Christmas decorations, their eyes wide with curiosity. Mrs Karim held her husband’s hand, looking into his eyes lovingly.

  ‘What are people all about?’ Daley said to no one in particular.

  ‘Och, all’s well that ends well, Mr Daley.’ Hamish was at his shoulder. ‘The toon’s fair buzzin’ wae the gossip. They tell me three folk jeest walked past auld Tam as he was lying on the pavement – aye, including the minister fae the Lochend Church.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. Why?’ asked Daley.

  ‘Because they a’ thought he was drunk,’ said Scott, handing Daley a large whisky. ‘No’ an unusual occurrence, so I’m told. Only Faiz Karim came tae his aid. And look where that nearly got him.’