by Millie Gray
‘Where are you going at this hour?’ he asked.
‘Up to my friend Laura’s. You see her sister-in-law Edna . . . well she was brought in but we couldn’t . . . we just couldn’t.’
‘Oh Kitty, I’m here because I’m wondering what the Edna lassie’s husband is going to be charged with and I’m hoping it won’t be . . .’
‘Murder?’
Mark hated that word, and how. The uttering of the word was so destructive, not only for the victim, but to all concerned in the case. Mark was well passed his thirty years’ service in the force and the truth was that he should have been retired and enjoying his detective sergeant’s pension. However, the war made it necessary for the older, experienced men, like him, to stay on until the young ones came home and got trained up. People, he thought to himself, think that you get used to the awful things that you see. Nae chance. I mean I’ve spent my whole thirty-one years in the Leith and Gayfield Divisions – took me four years to transfer into the C.I.D. and seven years to make sergeant. He laughed to himself when he thought that if he had not had a liking for having a wee dram in every hostelry he visited he probably would have made inspector. He shuddered, but on a night like this when it is the people you went to school with, worked with, shared a nip or two with, the job still twisted your guts and you wished you could throw the rule book out of the window. And tonight, a young lad just back from the war, and he goes and commits a crime – a crime that probably will result in – oh dear God in heaven, I’m forgetting I’ll have to go and tell his mother, Nessie. Nifty Nessie, whom I’ve stripped the willow with in umpteen church halls and ballrooms – and what will I say when she asks – I mean is there any way of softening the blow?
Before he could continue, Kitty interrupted his thoughts by saying, ‘Sergeant Bolan, Edna was dead on arrival. To be truthful she would have been dead within thirty seconds of her artery being . . .’
‘Oh, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. And I don’t doubt you but I will now have to go inside to be advised officially and then . . . go and inform Edna’s mother and poor Nessie.’
Kitty’s mouth was now dry and so her voice cracked when she pleaded, ‘Sergeant, I know it’s not usual procedure but could I come with you? You see there are no buses now and I would like to be with Laura and her Mum when you break the news.’
Mark Bolan didn’t hesitate. The breaking of this rule he could cope with so he opened up the back door of the car to let Kitty in before he and his accompanying detective constable entered the hospital for the official notification.
When they arrived at Primrose Street Kitty stayed within the police car. It wasn’t that she did not feel sympathy for Edna’s Mother, of course she did, but as she really didn’t know Judy Fox that well, it was felt that her attending with the sergeant and constable would not only have been against police regulations but an imposition.
A long agonising half hour passed for Kitty, before the police felt that they could safely leave Edna’s family. In that time Kitty thought, Aye, it’s the 22nd of June, one of the longest days in the year, and this one will also be one of the longest nights.
When Mark and the constable eventually entered the car Kitty asked, ‘How is Judy Fox and is the little girl with her?’
Mark just shrugged. He would not be answering the first question. How does any mother cope with the loss of her child? It was true that Edna was what in Leith was known as a “fast piece” but then her mother had hardly been a good example. Nevertheless she was a mother and now she had lost her daughter in horrific circumstances and closure for her would not come until after the trial. Mark tutted again. He knew from experience that this would be a sensational trial, not only because of Eric’s dreadful action, but also because of Edna’s questionable reputation. He kept continuously tutting whilst thinking of the meal Eric’s prosecuting advocate would make of this case. As to the second question he quietly replied, ‘She’s with Edna’s mum. Maybe not the best place for her but . . .’
When the car finally drew up at the Stewarts’ lower flat, four in a block house, in Restalrig Square, it was just after one o’clock in the morning and it was evident that the household were all abed. Mark wished he could rouse the family without disturbing all the neighbours but as there was no response to his light tapping he had to clench his large fist and bang loudly on the door. The noise was so great that not only did he awaken the Stewarts but also their three neighbouring families.
Nessie, on hearing the commotion and thinking that it was Eric returning home, possibly drunk and disorderly, rushed to open the door, dressed only in her flannelette nightgown. Switching on the light her mouth gaped when she was confronted by Mark, the constable and Kitty standing on the doorstep.
‘Is there some sort of . . . problem?’ she stammered.
‘Can we come in, Nessie? We have to talk to you,’ Mark asked as he took her elbow and propelled her back into the living room.
By now a pyjama-clad Laura had joined the group. The two officers and Kitty standing there all seemed so unreal to her and she wondered if she was somehow dreaming. Ignoring the police officers she instinctively looked imploringly at Kitty and gulped before muttering, ‘Please don’t say something has happened to Eric. He told Mum and I,’ she rumbled quickly on, ‘that he was just going down to see Edna. Try and get things sorted out between them for Billy’s sake. We didn’t think . . . we just didn’t, did we mum, that it was a good idea.’
By now, Nessie was as confused as Laura but she was with it enough to think that she was improperly dressed to be talking to two men. So slowly she got up and went into the hall and lifted up her outdoor coat, which she wrapped about herself. The well-worn coat gave her a feeling of somehow being in charge of herself again and when she came back into the living room she looked directly at Mark and staring him straight in the eye she said, ‘Right now. No pussyfooting about. I’m not daft so I’ve worked it out that you haven’t come here, with Kitty in tow, to tell me it’s raining . . . so out with it.’
Mark was not surprised at Nessie’s directness. After all, they had grown up together, gone to the same school together, had their hair bone-combed by the same school nurse. Therefore he knew that Nessie, like himself, could hold her own because she had been educated at the school of hard knocks. All this was true but he also knew that she adored Eric, so without lowering his gaze he quietly said, ‘Sorry, Nessie, but Edna is dead and we have Eric in custody.’
Laura screamed and threw herself towards Kitty, who wrapped her arms about her.
Nessie just kept staring at Mark but he did notice she was now wringing her hands. ‘I take it she didn’t . . . drop down dead?’
Mark slowly shook his head.
Breathing in deeply, and willing the tears that were now welling not to start falling she then asked, ‘And is my Eric somehow . . .?’
All Mark could do was nod but he had to suppress a compulsion to take her into his arms and try to comfort her.
Right then Laura broke free from Kitty and lunged towards Mark, and as she beat him on the chest she screamed, ‘Please tell me he maybe hit her and she fell down . . . tell me it was an accident.’
The constable was now fully aware that Mark knew this family well and that he required assistance from him so in a passionless voice that seemed to bounce of the walls and echo about the room he stated, ‘She was stabbed to death. Her carotid artery severed.’
Mark glared at the young constable. He was aware he was following procedure but Mark wanted to inform Nessie gently – he gritted his teeth – because he knew that there was no easy way that you could tell a mother that her son has committed – an offence that in Scotland was punishable by hanging – a word he did not wish mentioned in this house tonight. However, there were other questions he had to ask Nessie.
‘Look, Nessie,’ he haltingly began, ‘remember your Frank’s old gutting knife? The one he spent weeks carving his initials on?’
Nessie nodded. She then went into the ki
tchen and Mark heard her open a drawer that she then rummaged through. Spoons, forks and knives all clinked and clinked and as time passed they clinked faster and faster and then they heard the drawer being yanked from the dresser and the contents being flung on to the floor.
Kitty was the first to get into the kitchen and kneeling down beside Nessie she asked, ‘What is it you are looking for, Mrs Stewart?’ She had been so busy comforting Laura she hadn’t heard the sergeants question to her.
‘My Frank’s old gutting knife. Took it on all his fishing trips, so he did. I was going to get rid of it last year when he died but then . . .’ Kitty grabbed hold of Nessie’s hands to stop her rummaging among the cutlery. Nessie then looked into Kitty’s face, and as she silently implored her, tears washed down and splashed on Kitty’s hands. Nessie’s next words would have seemed so out of place to most people but Kitty knew from the experience she had gained in the hospital that at times of great stress and sorrow some people just babbled nonsense so she was not surprised when Nessie continued, ‘Well with Mrs Scott upstairs’ man being on the trawlers it’s a funny week that she doesn’t hand me in two or three huddies for our tea and of course they need a good gut . . .’ She stopped and grabbed hold of Kitty as the words she had just uttered brought it home to her that Eric had killed Edna with his dad’s knife.
By now everyone was in the kitchen and Mark looked at Nessie. ‘Look love,’ he whispered as he knelt down on the floor beside her. ‘Stop your looking. We already have it . . . I knew when I saw Frank’s initials on the wooden handle who it belonged to.’ He said no more to Nessie but he raged to himself, Why the hell did he take that blasted knife with him? Oh God in heaven, a good prosecuting lawyer will have no problem in proving he meant to kill her . . . and premeditation means he will . . .
Nessie was now up off her knees and, grabbing at Mark’s coat lapels, she whimpered, ‘Mark, please tell me they won’t . . . no they just can’t . . . hang him?’
Mark’s strong arms were now around Nessie because Kitty had jumped up to console Laura, who was screaming hysterically.
After Mark and the constable left, Laura and Kitty just sat quietly as Nessie spoke more to herself than to the girls.
Wiping some tears from her face she glanced up to the mantelpiece and gazed at the photograph that had been taken of her whole family. It had been taken just before Eric had left to fight in the war. Lovingly, she looked at Frank and herself sitting with their bairns, Eric and Laura, standing at their backs. ‘It’s all gone wrong, Frank. And I don’t suppose people will see now that when he was wee he was frightened of everything. Remember how even his own shadow terrified him. Kept looking round at it he did and over and over he would say, “Mammy, Mammy, why is it always following me?” No quite as smart as Laura, who it was true to say was never the top of the class but she always managed to get a seat in the top row.’ She softly chuckled. ‘See when he was in Couper Street School he was just so terrified of Miss Dodds.’ She was laughing now. ‘The bitch just had to belt one of the other bairns in the class and our Eric never put a foot wrong for the rest of the week. Loved to go to Lochend Park and feed the ducks, so he did. And when you were born, Laura, he was nearly six but he always wanted a hurl in the bottom of your pram.’ Nessie stopped and all that was heard was the tick, ticking of the clock until she whispered, ‘He loved music. Would race into the church hall and the first thing he did was to run over to the piano, hunch his wee shoulders and giggle, before he lifted up the lid and slid his wee fingers over the keys. Accomplished he was at,’ she began to sing, ‘Taradumdum, Taradumdum, Taradumdumdumdumdum.’ Eyes blurred with tears, all Kitty and Laura could do was exchange a glance at each other. Nessie then continued, ‘Wanted a piano of his own so he did. But where would the like of us get the wherewithal for a piano?’ She smiled again. ‘Persuaded him I did that a moothie was just as good and I could afford that. Just loved that mouth organ, so he did, and the tunes he could play on it.’ She chuckled. ‘Could have given that Larry Adler and his harmonica a run for his money. That moothie went everywhere with him even to the bloody war. Heard him playing it yesterday, so I did.’
’You know, Mum, I remember that mouth organ too. Mind you, I don’t think the one he has now was the one that you bought him when he was seven. But what I do know is he plays it just so wonderfully.’
Nessie nodded. ‘Well I cannae be sitting here jawing when that kitchen floor needs washing. They polis . . . what a mess they made.’
Laura was about to say to her mum that the kitchen floor requiring a wash didn’t matter when Kitty put up her hand to silence her. ‘Leave it be, Laura,’ Kitty whispered. ‘She knows she cannot do anything to help her son so she is going to keep herself busy. Wiping over the floor is something she can still do.’
Laura nodded. ‘Oh Kitty, we need to get him a good lawyer but we don’t have that kind of money. Even if Mum and I worked twenty hours a day we still couldn’t earn enough.’
‘True. But in a case like Eric’s there is a pool of lawyers that get appointed by the courts.’ Kitty sighed before suggesting, ‘And his case is such that they will be jumping over each other to defend him.’
‘Aye, big news day and someone will make a name for themselves.’ She stopped. She just couldn’t bring herself to audibly say, ‘Because if they manage to get him a reprieve from the death . . .’
‘Laura, how about you and I go to bed and cuddle in together?’
Kitty waited for an answer but Laura was looking out of the window at the dawn beginning to break. ‘Aye, fine, but know what I would like to do first?’ Kitty shook her head. ‘Just. Oh Kitty, do you remember when we were young and silly?’
Kitty chuckled before saying, ‘I don’t think that anyone would think us approaching twenty-one as old.’
‘No. I mean when we were just fourteen and on the first of May we climbed right up to the top of Arthur’s Seat so we could wash our faces in the May dew in the hope that it would make us beautiful.’
‘Right waste of time that was,’ Kitty quipped, trying to lift Laura’s spirits.
‘No it wasn’t. But right now I want to climb to the top again and just watch a brilliant sun rise over our city. Look over the gleaming Firth of Forth and towards the beautiful Lothians and onwards to Fife.’
Kitty nodded. She knew that right now Laura had to have something beautiful to look at and indeed looking over their homeland from the top of Arthur’s Seat was exactly what was required.
By the time Kitty and Laura got back from their trip up Arthur’s Seat they only had time to snooze in the armchairs for an hour before the alarm clock going off reminded them it was time for Laura to get herself ready for work.
Stretching herself, Laura mumbled, ‘Wish I still worked in the munitions factory at Craigmillar. But as I have only been working in Janis dress shop for two weeks, and I’m still sort of on probation, I’d better get myself moving.’
‘Well Janis is a much nicer type of job than the munitions.’
‘Right enough, Kitty, but there’s no overtime and no matter how hard you work there are definitely no bonuses.’
Having got themselves organised Kitty then walked with Laura just as far as her father’s house because it would have been alien to her to pass by without popping in.
As was to be expected the door was unlocked and when Kitty entered the kitchen Connie just stared.
‘Not going to say something like, “I’m glad to see you”?’
‘Well I know you were on night duty last night so you won’t have heard . . . but oh Kitty . . . see when I went over to the bakers for some bran scones at seven this morning and I was told about . . .’
‘The jungle drums working overtime, were they?’
‘Honestly, Kitty, I nearly threw up when Myrtle Black described how Edna had been hacked to pieces.’
‘That is a lie. It was one stab. And as the neck is soft tissue it would not have taken much force,’ Kitty vehemently defended.
&nb
sp; ‘Look dinnae take it out on me,’ Connie huffed before simpering, ‘I’m just repeating what I heard in the baker’s this morning.’
‘Is that so? Well tomorrow morning you will be able to put the clashing mob, who are enjoying and adding to the poor Stewart family’s misery, right?’ Connie meekly nodded. Kitty now on her high horse then added with such venom that her spit sprayed on to Connie, ‘Don’t suppose them that were making the whole sorry business worse gave a thought to Eric’s mother and sister. Connie, can’t you see in no way are they to blame but they are caught up in it?’
‘Look before you go on taking all your frustration out on me can I say the one in all this sorry mess that my heart bleeds for is Nessie.’ Kitty, now regretting berating Connie, just nodded. ‘And do you know, Kitty, before you came in I was thinking of getting Dora to watch my two so I could go over and see Nessie.’ Connie, still not sure that Kitty was thinking straight hesitated, ‘Trouble is I’m not in the habit of calling on her. To be truthful we just meet up at the club. So you see I wouldn’t want her to think I was prying.’
‘Don’t go this morning, you see Mark Bolan is in charge of the case and I heard him say to Nessie that he would come back this morning. Going to try, he is, to get his bosses to agree to her seeing Eric before he’s taken up to the High Street court to be formally charged . . .’
‘After that will he be allowed out on bail or does he go back to being held at Leith Police Station?’
Kitty shook her head. ‘No use pretending . . . he will be remanded and his crime is so serious there will be no bail . . . so I’m afraid he will be held at Saughton Prison until his trial.’
‘It’s a to-do, right enough . . . and the Stewarts are such a nice family . . . sure they don’t deserve this . . . especially Nessie . . . just getting over losing her man she is.’
‘So the poor soul is. The only good thing is that after five years in the care of German hospitality being a guest at Saughton will seem, to Eric, like being lodged in a posh hotel.’