by Ian Todd
He’d tried tae reason wae Senga o’er Christmas.
“Bit, aw yer pals will be at hame oan Christmas Day.”
“Ah widnae feel comfortable.”
“Oh, Johnboy.”
“Tony won’t be either. And the only reason Jake and Simon will be at hame is because their families celebrate Hanukkah at this time ae the year. Peter, Snappy and Pat will be wae the lassies’ families because they don’t hiv any choice. And as fur Ben? Ach, who knows whit his excuse is.”
He searched the room wae they eyes ae his. He couldnae see the cat. He whistled, mimicking the wan she’d used tae call it through fae her bedroom. It suddenly appeared and bounded across the room, jumping up oan tae his knee, purring, as ‘Norwegian Wood’ started up oot ae the speakers.
“Well, cat, it looks like it’s jist you and me this Christmas,” he said tae it, gieing its ear a wee scratch.
“Aye, and ye’ll hiv tae look at changing that stupid name, so ye will,” hid been Simon’s parting shot. “Who ever heard ae anywan calling a cat Mr Hopkins, eh?”
Chapter Fifty One
Harold looked across the desk at Harry Bertram, Springburn’s answer tae Diana Ross’s Las Vegas wardrobe. He started tae feel uncomfortable. He’d been here before, when Harry wis in, oan behauf ae some new business client that wanted tae open an account in the branch. At least he’d taken the hint and hid stoapped bringing them in fur a personal introduction, efter hauf their faces hid been splashed across the front page ae The Glesga Echo at some time or other, efter being murdered or let aff when they’d been up in The High Court, charged wae extortion or worse. Despite letting it be known that he hid Harry’s accounts sitting oan the desk in front ae him, the hairdresser still hidnae come tae the point ae his unannounced visit. Insteid, he’d faffed aboot, crowing o’er Harry’s big fancy gilt-framed family tree lineage, that wis taking pride ae place up oan the wall where Her Majesty The Queen used tae hing, grimacing doon at him fae the wall opposite that desk ae his.
“Look, Harold, Ah’ll jist come tae the point, will Ah?”
“Er, yes, please do, Harry,” he said nodding, dreading whit he wis aboot tae be hit wae.
“An acquaintance ae mine, a good friend, his asked me tae speak tae you oan his behauf.”
“Yes?”
“Aye, he needs some paperwork looked o’er.”
“Paperwork?”
“Aye, invoices…receipts…that kind ae stuff…wae you being an expert in aw that.”
“Invoices?”
“Aye. He wants them sifted through, tae make sure that there isnae any incriminating evidence that could be held against him, if he should ever find himsel up in court.”
“Oh, I see,” The Banker whispered, a familiar sinking feeling starting up in the pit ae that stomach ae his. “And er, who’s in possession of these…er, invoices and files?” Harold asked, no noticing any luggage other than the glittering duffle bag sitting oan the hairdresser’s knees.
“Oh, Ah believe they’re in your safe, somewhere, Harold,” the auld Queen lisped pleasantly.
“My safe?”
“Aye, the branch’s. Ah believe oor friends in Pitt Street, The Serious Crime and Intelligence Department, hiv asked if ye’d hiv a wee look through the files ae Honest John McCaffrey, that big brute ae a man who sold dodgy washing machines tae aw they poor wee wummin…the wan that goat shot across in Woodside recently.”
“But…”
“Ma friend wondered if ye widnae mind hivving another discreet business person, like masel, hiv a wee gander oan his behauf, while ye wur at it fur the polis.”
“But, this is supposed to be confidential…on behalf of the bank. How did you find out that I…?”
“Ach, ye know fine well whit the toon’s like, Harold. God, ye cannae apply a wee bit ae eyeshadow withoot somewan telling ye that it’s no your colour.”
“But what if I got caught?”
“Caught? How wid ye get caught?” Harry scoffed. “Ye’ve been sanctioned tae go through that paperwork, here, in yer ain office, so ye hiv. Who’s gonnae find oot whit ye’re up tae, eh?”
“But they’ll know what’s in them…”
“Harold, believe you me, if they knew whit wis contained in they files, they widnae hiv come roond here and dumped they boxes oan tae somewan as important as you recently. Naw, this is a doddle, so it is…call it a victimless crime, if it’ll make ye feel better.”
“But, I wouldn’t know where to start, I…”
“Ach, well, I widnae worry aboot that, Harold, son. This friend ae mine his called in another wee favour fae another capable acquaintance ae his, who’ll be able tae assist ye in yer wee endeavour. Somewan who’s goat a lot ae respect fur ye and who Ah know, you hiv a lot ae time fur as well,” Harry interjected gleefully, clapping they ring-covered fingers and bangled wrists ae his.
“Acquaintance…”
“Aye, and like yersel, she’s as honest as the day is long, and also like yersel, wis persuaded tae help oot this dear friend in his time ae need. She’s satisfied that, her good business reputation isnae in any danger ae being compromised.”
“Er, can I ask who this mystery pers…”
“Why, it’s the wan and only 1975 Glesga Business Wummin Ae The Year hersel, Donna The Prima Donna. Donna will know whit tae look fur, tae protect that dear friend ae mine’s interests. That’ll leave you tae beaver away, working oan behauf ae oor good friends in the local constabulary, making sure that big brute disnae escape the hauns ae justice, even in death,” Harry ‘The Bouffant’ Bertram angelically assured him, looking upwards towards heaven, the same heaven he certainly widnae be getting intae, no wae the outfits he cut aboot the toon in.
Chapter Fifty Two
Coming back tae the toon hid been a baptism ae fire in mair ways than wan, Pearl admitted tae hersel, sitting oan the end ae her bed, biting intae her slice ae burnt toast that her ma hid brought through tae her. And tae think her ma and her pals ran a successful catering business, she smiled tae hersel.
“Whit the hell hiv ye done tae yer bedroom?” her ma hid screeched, open-moothed, as Pearl took the mug ae tea and toast aff her hauns, before shooing her back the way she’d come, laughing, as her ma struggled tae squeeze past her chest ae drawers that she’d dumped oot intae the lobby earlier, tae gie her mair room.
“Ah hope aw they tacks urnae gonnae make holes in ma good wall. Yer da will go aff his heid when he comes hame and sees whit ye’ve done,” she’d grumbled, as Pearl hid shut the bedroom door o’er behind her.
She sat and gazed at her efforts displayed up oan the wall. She’d come up wae the idea efter she remembered reading it in ‘Aw The Presidents Men,’ The New Testament ae Journalism, where Carl Berstein and Bob Woodward, the two main characters in the book, hid mapped oot who wis who in the Nixon administration up oan the wall, in the newsroom ae The Washington Post. She wis pleased wae whit she’d done so far. It highlighted where she’d been, who’d she’d spoken tae and where the obvious gaps wur that still hid tae be filled. Unfortunately, the blank spaces underneath some ae the black and white photos, hidnae any definite leads against them, other than the names ae those in the mugshots. At least it wis a start, she telt hersel.
At the tap ae her pyramid, the ugly mug ae Teddy Bare stared doon at her. Underneath him, starting oan the left, linked tae a drawing pin, wae a red and black typewriter ribbon attached tae it, wis a picture ae Lesley Bare. In the middle, again wae the ribbon still linked tae the other two photos, wis a grainy photo ae a group ae polis inspectors and sergeants, known members ae The Irish Brigade, snapped a few years back. She’d used a black felt-tipped pen tae get shot ae the faces that wurnae relevant tae her research, although she’d kept in Duggie Dougan, the Possil inspector, who’d been shot recently and the female sergeant who’d been suspended alang wae Bobby Mack, heid ae the north’s murder squad. The photo also contained who she thought wis the suspended female sergeant’s brother, Willie, another player in the story. Tae the
far right ae the group ae polis, Barbara Allan, the local Springburn cooncillor, smiled doon at her fae wan ae her election photos. Underneath the cooncillor, Pearl hid cut oot The Showgirls’ logo fae the tap ae wan ae the letters that hid previously been sent anonymously tae The Glesga Echo aboot some female workers being sexually harassed by their boss. Underneath The Showgirls’ logo, she hid a pair ae wee photos ae Geraldine Baker and Senga, which must’ve been taken in a photo booth. Below them, she’d managed tae find a photo ae a group ae young poliswummin at their passing-oot parade oot in Tulliallan, again borrowed fae The Echo’s archive section. None ae the WPCs in the photos wur related tae any ae the assaulted WPCs fae the sixties, bit it gied her a focus oan who they represented. Below the group photo, there wur two others, side by side. Wan ae Pricilla Presley, trimmed doon fae a bigger photo that hid been taken ae her staunin, smiling, wae her daughter and Elvis look-a-like man, ootside The Plaza Ballroom, the day he’d won the ‘Elvis Is The Main Man’ competition a few months earlier. Beside Pricilla, a black ootline ae a young WPC, representing the young traffic cop that hid been raped in a toilet across in the polis social club in The Gorbals, by the suspended sergeant’s brother, back in 1972. It wis this young WPC, that the ex-WPCs fae the sixties, hid sent letters ae support tae, efter she’d made an official complaint aboot her being raped. She let her eyes drift back across tae Lesley Bare. Underneath her wis another archive photo ae the inspector fae the murder squad, Wilma Thain, who’d been a sergeant at the time, in charge ae the investigation intae Lesley’s murder. Back in the middle section, underneath The Irish Brigade, she’d managed tae find a photo ae Collette James, which she’d trimmed doon fae a photo ae her staunin smiling wae a set ae triplets clutched in her erms, efter agreeing tae become a godmother tae wan ae the wummin who’d been demonstrating against warrant sales, doon at wan ae the closemooths, across in Possil. Wance again, aw the photos wur interlinked wae ribbon. Below Collette, the ugly mug ae Edward Wilson, the new senior procurator fiscal in the toon, stared threateningly at her. He looked like a mad axe-man. Underneath him, three photos sat side by side. The first wis Tony Gucci. In the middle, Glenda Metcalfe, the procurator fiscal that Michele Hope hid discovered in bed wae Graham Portoy oan the morning Senga wis heidin through tae The Appeal Court in Edinburgh. Beside her wis lover boy himsel, Graham Portoy. She wis sure that she’d goat it right, efter carefully rereading the section in the book, where the two hot journalists plotted their investigative assault. Underneath some ae the photos, she’d scribbled wee bullet points, ootlining their connection or their potential assistance tae her, which wid help tae unravel the truth behind the growing spider’s web surrounding Lesley Bare’s murder. Whit hid seemed like a straightforward investigation intae an inspector using his contacts in the polis tae help him obtain a reduced charge oan a domestic killing hid, somehow, grown erms, legs and a few heids. She wondered if that boss ae hers, Sammy ‘The Rat’ Elliot, wis aware ae the explosive minefield that she’d stumbled intae in the short time that she’d been wae the paper. Also, she wondered if he’d use whit she’d uncovered? Maybe his photo should be up there oan the wall as well? How much did he know aboot whit hid been gaun oan?
So, where hid she goat tae so far, she asked hersel, lighting up a fag before bending doon tae pick up her mug ae lukewarm tea aff ae the carpet at her feet. Well, fur a start, nowan hid wanted tae speak tae her. The only person fae the spider’s web that hid been forthcoming, so far, hid been Geraldine Baker, efter she’d telt Geraldine who she wis investigating, when they’d bumped intae each other in DIRTY JAKE’S BOUTIQUE, doon in Buchanan Street, the Saturday efter she’d been gied her first assignment fae The Rat.
“Look, Pearl, we cannae speak here. Ah’m aff the morra. If ye’re no busy, take a run up tae the flat in Hillheid and Ah’ll tell ye a wee interesting story that might shed some light oan the basturt ye’re investigating.”
It hid only been later oan in the efternoon ae the next day that she’d remembered her quick conversation wae Geraldine. Efter arriving at the flat, Geraldine hidnae messed aboot either. Wance they’d been sitting comfortably wae a mug ae tea each, Geraldine hid made it clear that the story she wis aboot tae tell her wisnae between her and The Glesga Echo, bit between Geraldine and Pearl, as pals. No only wid she deny hivving said anything, bit she wid never speak tae Pearl again, if anything she said wis attributed tae her efter Pearl left the flat. Geraldine hid then, in fits and starts tae begin wae, spent the next three hours telling her the story ae a twenty-four-year auld WPC called Collette James, who’d been admitted as an emergency patient tae The Royal back in June, efter trying tae commit suicide. The reason fur the suicide attempt? Her boss, who she’d been hivving an affair wae, hid unexpectedly, oot ae the blue, informed her that she wis being transferred tae another polis station oot in wan ae the hoosing schemes. Geraldine then went oan tae explain how this Collette James hid been the victim ae sexual abuse at the hauns ae her boss, Duggie Dougan, the recently murdered Possil inspector and the then chief inspector ae the north’s murder squad, Bobby Mack. No only that, bit Collette James wisnae the only young poliswummin in the service that hid been getting sexually exploited, before being passed oan tae other senior colleagues. Seemingly, this hid been gaun oan fur years, dating as far back as the early sixties. The perpetrators, tae those in the know, wur known as The Irish Brigade, a group ae corrupt polis officers who’d come up through the ranks thegither since the fifties. No only that, bit there wis a female officer in there as well…a Sergeant Sally Burke, who seemingly acted as some sort ae madam, by targeting young vulnerable WPCs oan behauf ae The Irish Brigade. It hid been difficult tae take everything in, as she’d sat there scribbling away, hivving tae reassure Geraldine that the notes wur jist fur her ain use. The revelations tumbling oot ae her mooth hid sounded like something oot ae a two-bit-dime American crime novel. It hid sounded pure fantasy.
“Bit, where dis Teddy and Lesley Bare come in tae aw this?” she’d asked.
“Teddy Bare wis…is…wan ae the original Irish Brigade. That wife ae his, Lesley? Seemingly, she’d confronted him aboot his involvement in sexually assaulting an auld colleague ae his, back in the early sixties.”
“Wis that anything tae dae wae a typed note that wis apparently found at the scene ae the crime?”
Silence.
Efter whit seemed like ages, Geraldine hid then gone oan tae telt her that the note she wis referring tae, wis probably either an extract or an original, that hid been written by wan ae the earlier victims fae back in the sixties.
“Dae ye know the name ae the lassie who wrote it?”
“Pricilla Presley,” Geraldine hid said, nodding.
“So, this Pricilla wan knew Lesley Bare when they served thegither in the force then?”
“Naw. The connection between them wis between Teddy Bare and Pricilla Presley’s man, who ur, wur, baith Elvis impersonators,” Geraldine hid replied. “Collette James wis the best pal ae Lesley Bare. Pricilla Presley wis a poliswummin wae Teddy Bare back in the sixties.”
When Geraldine hid telt her that Pricilla Presley’s man wis also called Elvis, she’d thought that Geraldine wis taking the piss oot ae her.
“Ah know that it’s probably hard tae believe, bit there’s been a conspiracy ae silence wae whit’s been gaun oan, Pearl. This his aw been hushed up.”
“So, how dae you know aw this?”
“There’s a group in the toon, a militant group ae wummin called The Showgirls. They’ve been trying tae expose sexual harassment against wummin in the workplace fur years.”
“So, why hiv Ah no heard ae them before? Mind you, Ah’ve been up in the Highlands fur a few years noo. This kind ae stuff widnae be reported where Ah worked.”
“It widnae matter if ye’d been back in Glesga or no. There’s some sort ae agreement…between the newspapers and the TV companies, including The Glesga Echo, by the way. They won’t print anything that The Showgirls send tae them. They think they’re aw a bunch ae cra
ck-pot wummin.”
“And ur they…a bunch a crack-pot wummin, Ah mean?” Pearl hid stupidly asked, as Geraldine hid sat back and scowled at her. “Sorry, that wisnae meant tae sound as shitty as it did.”
Pearl couldnae remember whit her expectations hid been regarding whit she wis gonnae find oot fae Geraldine, as she’d sat oan the bus, trying tae ignore the pervy, heavy breathing conductor, who wis auld enough tae be her da, trying tae chat her up. Whit she hidnae expected wis whit wis noo confronting her fae her bedroom wall. She’d known Geraldine Baker since they’d been at school. Her granny hid been in Spain during the civil war wae Johnboy Taylor’s auld auntie, Jeannie Smullen, back in the thirties. Mary Marigold’s article ‘Tales Ae A Broken Winged Dove Who’s Noo Flying High,’ aboot Helen Taylor, hid highlighted the life ae whit Jeannie Smullen and Geraldine’s granny hid hid tae put up wae back in the twenties and thirties. They hidnae taken any shite fae anywan then and neither did Geraldine noo. Geraldine claimed that she wisnae a member ae The Showgirls, bit hid sometimes acted as a go-between fur them, efter Collette James hid turned up at a pre-arranged meeting wae her, clutching a pile ae the letters that hid apparently been sent tae the young WPC that hid been raped in the toilet a few years earlier. The letters, aw written by ex-poliswummin, spoke aboot their experience at the hauns ae The Irish Brigade. At the time, the authors ae the letters hid said that they’d be prepared tae come forward. Naw, Geraldine couldnae remember the name ae the raped WPC…Susan somebody…bit hid said that the sergeant who’d raped her in the toilet hid been the brother ae the suspended female sergeant. She also didnae know if he wis still in the force. The only name she could remember apart fae Collette James, hid been Pricilla Presley’s.