by Ian Todd
“The end ae January? Whit’s happening at the end ae January?”
“Wan-bob and Charlie’s trial starts at the beginning ae February.
“Bit…”
“Ur you still here?”
“Look,” he sneered across at Pearl, sitting comfortably back in that leather, padded seat ae his, tossing her application aside. “Ah’ve goat tae be frank wae ye. Ah kin see nothing in this here application that wid gie me the confidence tae employ somewan like you. This is an honourable profession, so it is. Being a journalist wae a major newspaper like oors isnae like working fur The Morayshire News…some wee shitey toilet paper fly-sheet up there in the sticks amongst the chookter class. Christ, Ah phoned aroond hauf a dozen people in the know and Ah still couldnae find anywan that hid heard ae it.”
Fuck Peter The Plant…and Wan-bob Broon. It wis aboot time he stood up tae these basturts, he telt himsel, feeling a thrill shoot up they scrawny legs ae his. He wis the crime desk sub-editor oan the biggest selling daily in the country. Whit wur they gonnae dae? Shoot him? They widnae dare. He hid Hamish McGovern, the paper’s editor behind him. Aye, and even Lord Frank, the owner as well.
“Ah’m sorry, hen, bit despite yer obvious connections, Ah cannae employ ye, even oan a temporary basis.”
“Connections? Whit connections wid that be then?” The Ginger’s eyes flashed.
“Ah’ve made up ma mind. Ah wish ye aw the best. Come back when ye’re properly qualified,” he said tae the crestfallen face, as she stood up and walked slowly across tae the door, gieing him a nice wee panorama ae that mini-skirted pert arse ae hers.
“Bit?” she said, turning roond tae face him.
“Ah’m sorry, bit Ah’ve awready made up ma mind. Ah’ve goat ma reputation tae think ae,” he reminded her, cutting her short, as she aboot turned and vacated his office.
He watched her walk alang tae the lift at the far end ae the newsroom, looking longingly at the busy journos aw clicking away at their desks. He felt elated. He’d stood up tae the basturts efter aw this time. Wan-bob Broon and Charlie Hastie wur gaun doon fur life. Everywan in the toon said so. Even Peter The Plant said that gangsterism in the toon hid hid its day. He leaned tae the side slightly and watched her through his glass wall, as she pressed the button oan the lift, jist as a loud watery fart gurgled and exploded between the cheeks ae that arse ae his. So, who’d blasted Duggie Dougan wae a shotgun in the back? Who wis it that hid assassinated Black Pat McVeigh and that wife ae his oot in their farm in Milton ae Campsie before Streaky John McGinnis goat a bullet in the back ae that heid ae his in his big fancy hoose up in Colston? And whit hid become ae John The Haun and Willie Commotion fur Christ sake?
“Shit!” he yelped, jumping oot ae his chair, making a mad dash fur his office door, jist as the lift arrived. “Wait!” he shouted, stunning everywan intae surprised silence, as the lift door shut o’er behind her.
Pearl wis devastated and angry at hersel. Why the hell hid she put that extra stuff intae her CV? Even when she wis including it in her second application, she knew fine well that it wis a mistake and wid mair than likely come back tae haunt her. She swithered whether tae nip roond tae The Evening Times or alang tae The Evening Citizen oan Albion Street, bit the thirty-two arriving at the bus stoap, made up her mind fur her. She’d jist sat doon and wis in the process ae lighting up a fag, when she heard the clumping ae feet and the sounds ae a hot water tank aboot tae blow a gasket behind her.
“Pearl…Pearl, Ah caught ye,” Sammy ‘The Rat’ Elliot wheezed, grabbing a haud ae the pole tae keep himsel fae falling o’er, as the bus took aff.
“Mr Elliot?” she gasped, fag mid-air, startled.
“Aye, it’s me, hen. Look, Ah’ve…Ah’ve changed ma mind,” he gulped. “Ah’ll gie ye a chance. We’ve aw been there. Ye kin start oan Monday, so ye kin.”
“Really?” she squealed. “Ye’re no at it?”
‘Naw, naw, hen. The temporary job is yours until the end ae January, so it is.”
“Er, excuse me, Jimmy,” and auld wummin wae a fag sticking oot ae her face, leaning forward in her seat behind Pearl said. “Ye better check the soles ae they shoes ae yers, son. There’s an awfully strong smell ae shite aboot here since ye’ve arrived oan the scene, so there is.”
Chapter Forty Three
Dave McGovern opened his eyes slightly and looked across at that partner and co-accused ae his. The dorm wis in semi-darkness, wae jist the light fae the corridor gieing the sleepers enough darkness tae fall asleep. The basturt wis sitting oan his bed wae his back tae him, humming away tae himsel, knuckle-deep in wan ae they nostrils ae his. He quickly glanced across at the other two, lying in their pits opposite them. Paddy wis lying oan his left haun side, facing away fae the door that led oot intae the corridor. He could jist make oot the wee bit ae scrunched up toilet paper sticking oot his right ear. How he could sleep wae them as earplugs, he’d never know. The cause ae the earplugs wis lying oan Paddy’s opposite side, flat oan his back, snoring like a demented hippo oan heat. There wis nae build up tae a crescendo. It wis an unadulterated racket. He caught movement oot ae the side ae his left eye. Priestly hid started oan his lug wae a matchstick. It wis a disgusting, nightly routine. He watched as the basturt withdrew the match. He could see the globule lump ae wax fae where he wis lying. He wanted tae boak when the clatty basturt wiped it clean oan his blanket before inserting it back in tae that lug ae his, in search ae mair oily gold. He fought tae keep his breathing even. The shock ae finding a note tucked under his sheet when he pulled the covers o’er tae get intae bed wis still playing havoc wae that brain ae his. He wanted tae read it again, bit that wis oot ae the question, until Priestly hid finished oan his second lug. He’d been struggling tae come up wae a solution tae the new turn ae events. He wondered if it wis a noise-up. The note hid either come fae the auld jakey pass-man or wan ae the screws, bit wur they the author? Who wid want tae help him oot…or themsels? He wisnae daft enough no tae think that his life wis in danger in the jail. Paddy hid been reminding them daily since they’d been locked up in the hospital wing. Wance they wur sentenced, they’d be put across tae the halls before being shipped up tae Peterheid and slung in tae the protection wing amongst aw the sex offenders and child killers. It hid tae be Wan-bob or Charlie Hastie. Despite the constant interrogations in the country polis hoose, he’d kept his trap shut. Poor Paddy hidnae hid any choice, simply because he knew fuck aw. He certainly hidnae been aware that Shane Priestly hid taken him across tae meet up wae Wan-bob in Alexandra Park wan night and passed oan the info that Haufwit Murray hid blurted oot tae him oan his death bed. Nowan, apart fae the lug cleaner wae his back tae him in the next bed, knew that it hid been Finbar O’Callaghan, or Bumper, Paddy’s sergeant across in Springburn, that hid telt them wan night, when they wur hivving a pint, whit Haufwit hid come oot wae up in Stobhill. Why hid Bumper no been lifted alang wae his boss? That wis the key question, other than who the fuck the author ae the note wis. Priestly wis playing a blinder when he thought aboot it. Why wis he still locked up wae them and no stashed in some safe-hoose somewhere? That’s whit usually happened wae witnesses in high profile cases until the trial came roond …unless? Unless the safest place tae stash the grassing basturt wis tae keep him in wae them? Whoever thought that wan up wis smart. Wan-bob hid people in his pocket aw o’er the toon. Wae a wad ae dosh, it widnae hiv taken too much trouble tae track doon his co-accused in some deserted country cottage. No wae the murder ae a young nurse hinging o’er his heid. Alang wae child killers, rapists ae auld age pensioners, young lassie killers wur in there wae the rest ae the stoat-the-baws. He still couldnae figure oot why Bumper hidnae been included, unless Shane hid furgoatten the source? Nah. He wis too fly fur that, unless the basturt wis only feeding them information oan whit he knew they wanted tae hear. He’d come across that plenty ae times when questioning grasses trying tae save their ain skin. Insteid ae passing o’er the facts, a lot ae them jist said whit they thought the interrogator wanted tae hear, tae
make their evidence and themsels mair indispensable. He wondered whit Paddy’s reaction wid be if he found oot that it hid been his loyal dug that hid let the cat oot ae the bag. He tried tae remember how much Wan-bob hid gied him fur the info. He’d asked fur a hunner, bit the greedy basturt hid cut him doon. He remembered Shane accusing him ae ripping him aff when he telt him he’d only come away wae less than hauf ae whit they’d asked fur. If only he knew whit the fuck Priestly hid telt them. He also knew his chances ae trying tae wangle a deal fur himsel wur goosed. The time fur that hid been back in the wee country polis station. He’d need tae calm doon. He knew fine well that he’d only get the wan bite ae the cherry. He hid tae make it good the first time. There wid be nae second chances. He wis dying fur a slash, bit it could wait. He went o’er the plan in his heid. If he wis lucky, it wid work…bit, only if the two sleeping beauties opposite him stayed sleeping, then he’d become wan ae three under the spotlight. Paddy hid been hivving a go at everywan since they’d been dumped through in the day room. Even the screws hid picked up oan it. He’d need tae get shot ae the note permanently. His co-accused stood up. He kept his eyes shut and his breathing normal. He could jist picture the basturt. The rustling sound ae his pyjama jaicket being tossed oan tae the bottom ae his bed wis quickly followed by the striped troosers. There wis a pause. He could hear the breathing. He wis bending o’er. He heard the wee locker door beside the bed open. He wis withdrawing his towel. He felt his heart start tae thump. His body started tingling in anticipation. He felt the sweat oan his brow, as at last, the bare feet padded aff towards the corridor. He wanted tae open his eyes, bit he kept them shut. The sound ae the spray ae the shower gied him his cue. He lifted his heid up aff the pillow and squinted across at the pair ae dumplings opposite him. He swung his legs oot ae the bed and quickly withdrew the note fae under his pillow. He opened it.
‘Oot ae the last eleven visits tae Shane Priestly, eight ae them hiv been fae Cleopatra and that chookter inspector ae hers. He’s been telling them everything, gaun back years. Unless ye want tae go doon fur life, ye better shut the basturt up fur good.’
He quickly ripped the note up intae tiny pieces and shoved them intae his gub while reaching o’er fur his white plastic mug ae water. The note wis washed doon his gullet in wan go wae the help ae the liquid. He quickly slipped oot ae his pyjamas and grabbed his towel fae the radiator before quietly sprinting across tae the dorm door in the bare buff. The hissing ae the shower grew louder as he nipped alang the corridor and peeked in. Priestly wis staunin wae his back tae him, his heid full ae soap. The stupid basturt wis humming tae himsel. He stepped intae the room and looked aboot. Wae it being open plan, it made his task that bit easier. Tae the left ae the shower, two exposed toilet pans sat facing the steamed-up glass mirror above the sinks. He tip-toed forward, leaving his towel dangling oan the edge ae the sink. The milky soap wis running aff the back ae his co-accused’s hair and streaming doon between his shoulder blades intae the crack ae his arse, as he continued tae hum, happily, rinsing the soap suds fae his eyes. Efter quickly flinching his fingers, he leaned forward and grabbed a clump ae Priestley’s hair tightly in his haun, quickly drawing the heid back as a muffled, frightened yelp, omitted fae the mooth ae his victim, before he slammed the foreheid wae aw his strength against the four-cross grip ae the shower handle that wis level wae Priestley’s face. Despite the sound ae the hissing water and his heavy breathing in his ears, he heard the loud crack ae the bone within the thud, as the heid connected wae the chrome metal. He jumped back as the naked body crashed against the tiled wall and drapped under the buckling legs. He stood panting, allowing his breathing tae slow doon, as he took his dick in his haun and started tae pish, swishing style, oan the grassing basturt’s body, lying there, the back ae his throat gurgling away, sounding as if he hid a really bad cauld. The death rattle gied him a bit ae comfort. Efter shaking the drips aff ae his tadger, he knelt doon oan wan leg, quickly lifting up Priestley’s fit by the ankle while reaching across fur the bar ae sodden soap. He drew the soap alang the wet sole, before stretching forward and repeating the exercise across the serrated concrete flair ae the shower. He stood up and walked across tae the sink and washed the wee lumps ae thick, soggy carbolic soap fae the palms ae his hauns, making sure he scrubbed under his short fingernails. He turned and looked across at his partner, listening tae that gurgling throat ae his compete wae the gurgling sound ae the drain hole, as the edges ae the pool ae expanding red blood mingled wae the water, flowing towards the drain in the flair. Wae a quick swipe ae the soles ae his feet oan his towel across at the door tae dry them, he heided back alang the corridor, turning tae make sure there wisnae any tell-tale wet fitprints in his wake. Efter slipping intae his pyjamas and sliding between the stiff cotton sheets, he lay listening tae the sound ae the shower above Teddy’s snoring. Surely the basturt widnae survive the crack he’d heard, he telt himsel, turning o’er oan his pillow, away fae the beam ae light shining through the door fae the corridor.
Chapter Forty Four
“So, perhaps you can update us oan the disappointing developments up in Barlinnie, Bob?” The Assistant Chief Constable asked Chief Superintendent Bob Mackerel, as the other two braids and Wee Peggy McAvoy avoided looking across at Cleopatra and focussed their attention oan him.
Mackerel looked aroond the table as if lost in thought. Cleopatra’s face looked unusually whiter than white, if that wis possible, while Sam Bison, the heid ae Serious Crime and Intelligence, leaned o’er and lifted his fag packet and lighter aff the tap ae the table and lit wan up. The only faces that didnae hiv accusing looks oan them wur Cleopatra and Peggy McAvoy’s, who wis sitting there wae her pen poised o’er her wee pad, waiting tae take notes.
“Oan the face it, it looks like he slipped oan a bar ae soap and skelped his foreheid aff ae the shower tap,” he replied, ignoring Cleopatra’s eyebrows moving up an exaggerated hauf inch. “Bit of course, it wis definitely murder. The problem is which wan ae them committed it? McPhee’s blaming McGovern and McGovern’s blaming him. Teddy Bare’s saying it could hiv been either wan ae them, other than him.”
“Forensics?”
“They aw hid a shower that night. Priestly’d been the last wan in…at approximately hauf ten, according tae the others. They’ve aw claimed tae hiv been fast asleep, although they did say that that wis the time he normally heided alang the corridor tae the shower room. McGovern said that he reckoned it wis the best time fur Priestly tae hiv a wee quiet toss aff in the shower, undisturbed. The post mortem revealed that his testicles wur full tae the gunnels, so we kin rule that oot.”
“Because he never goat time tae,” Sam Bison added crudely, as the three men smiled.
“They’ve very little privacy up there,” Mackerel said, continuing efter the wee interjection. “Forensics took away aw their clothing and bedclothes, bit urnae expected tae come up wae anything revealing. Interestingly, wan ae McPhee’s socks wis found tae hiv a dollop ae jizz in it.”
“That’s spunk, tae you, hen,” Sam Bison said, feeling the need tae clarify whit jizz wis tae Wee Peggy, nodding at that notepad ae hers.
“Forensics ur checking who it belongs tae. When asked aboot it, McPhee claimed that it certainly wisnae his, the clatty basturt. Roseanne Cordone, the pathologist, noted that it looked like somewan hid taken a grip ae the back ae Priestley’s hair before smashing it wae some considerable force against the tap, oan the shower. Given the position ae where his body wis found, it’s hard tae tell if he landed there straight efter the initial collision or if he’d moved, efter lying oan the flair tiles ae the shower aw night.”
“Has forensics taken samples from under their fingernails?” Cleopatra wanted tae know.
“Of course.”
“Does the pathologist have a specific time when the head trauma was inflicted rather than us being dependent on three sleeping ex-policemen who are all the main suspects?” she asked, lighting up wan ae her slim Panatela cigars.
“Surpris
ingly, he wis still breathing…barely, lying under the running shower, at six o’clock in the morning, when the early shift came oan duty. Unfortunately fur him and us, he died in the ambulance oan route doon tae The Royal. If only they’d found him fifteen minutes earlier,” he cursed. “Due tae the blood loss, the pathologist reckons it could’ve been soon efter he’d turned oan the water, at the approximate time that the others said he usually went in tae the shower room maist nights, although wae the hot water gushing doon oan him aw through the night, it’s difficult tae be precise. Something tae dae wae the temperature assisting the blood flow.”
“Unbelievable that wan ae us wid resort tae that kind ae thing,” Sam Bison cursed, shaking his heid.
“Why do you say that, Chief?” Cleopatra asked him.
“Ah think that’s obvious, don’t you, Superintendent?” The Chief Superintendent shot back at her.
“Well, considering what they’ve been charge with…so far, I wouldn’t think anyone should be surprised in the least, that there is a murderer locked up in that hospital wing,” she reminded him.
“So, how his this affected the evidence against them, Murdina?” The Assistant Chief Constable asked.
“You mean with the key Crown witness against the others having died under suspicious circumstances? Well, I wouldn’t like to place a bet on the outcome of the trial when it goes up to The High Court. Despite meticulous investigation notes and corroborative statements, without the key witness being able to take to the stand, it’s weakened the case…considerably. The fact that Priestley’s murder took place out of reach of One-bob Brown and his co-accused, Hastie, puts the onus on us to try and ascertain which police officer murdered his colleague and why.”
“Or prison officer,” Mackerel interjected. “Wance they wur locked up fur the night, nowan could get access tae them…apart fae the night shift staff oan duty who hid keys that wid gie them access beyond the barred gate in the corridor leading intae the day room, the dorm and the shower room. There wur three prison officers oan duty doon in the gatehoose. A senior officer and two turnkeys. It hid been a particularly busy night wae transfers fae overcrowded polis station cells, dumping prisoners throughoot the night fae across the city. According tae the SO oan duty, none ae them hid specific responsibility fur patrolling oan the hour, every hour, throughoot the night, including the hospital and administrative wings upstairs. According tae their statements, the two turnkeys took turns in daeing the roonds. None ae them claimed tae hiv heard the shower running when they wur up clocking-in oan the wee patrol timer box that wis oan the wall in the corridor, jist as ye entered through the locked door at the tap ae the stairs. The two turnkeys claimed that the SO hid a few wee snoozes during the night, when there wisnae a van load ae prisoners arriving. The SO denies the allegation of course. The three ae them hiv been suspended.”