Elvis The Sani Man

by Ian Todd

  “Coll…Collette…gied…gied me it,” she snivelled fitfully, sucking in moothfuls ae air, wiping away the blood that wis pishing doon her chin fae her broken nose. “Bit…bit…it’s awright, Teddy…Ah’ve…Ah’ve sorted it oot…nowan will know. Ah…Ah goat an agreement…you’re in the clear,” she pleaded, greeting.

  “Whit dae ye mean, Ah’m in the clear?”

  “Coll…Collette. She’s goat letters fae…fae a load ae ex poliswummin fae the sixties…”

  “Aye, and…”

  “They’ve written doon claims that…that they wur raped and…and forced tae resign…by…by The Irish Brigade, so they wur. Ah’m sorry Teddy. Ah thought Ah wis helping ye…us,” she sobbed, spitting oot whit she assumed tae be a tooth.

  “Ya fucking stupid cow, ye!” he screamed at her, drawing his erm back, before letting fly wae that fist ae his, as Lesley flew backwards across the room, tumbling and tripping as she went, before smashing the back ae her heid aff the corner ae the tiled fireplace, as the thumping oan the ootside door oan the landing competed wae the ringing ae the telephone in the lobby.

  6.50 AM

  “The phone’s ringing,” he murmured, efter nearly shitting the bed wae that first initial shrill beside that lug ae his.

  “Mmmm…”

  “The phone?”

  “Mmmm…”

  “Hello?” he mumbled, yawning, haudin the receiver at an awkward angle tae the side ae his heid.

  “Hello?” a surprised, confused-sounding voice asked.

  “Who’s calling please?”

  “Graham? Is that you?”

  “What?”

  “Graham…is that Graham Portoy? Is that you Graham?” Michelle asked, sounding really confused noo. “Oh, er, Ah wis phoning tae talk tae Glenda Metcalfe, the procurator fiscal.

  “Oh shit,” he exclaimed, drapping the phone oan tae the pillow as he scrambled forward oan his arse, before jumping up and starting tae pull oan his Y-fronts.

  “What? Who is it?” The Procurator Fiscal groggily asked, sitting up, naked tae the waist.

  “You better get it. It’s for you,” he replied tersely, sitting, pulling oan a sock.

  “Hello, who is this?”

  “Is that Glenda Metcalf, the procurator fiscal?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s me, Michelle Hope. The chairman ae the Free Johnboy Taylor Campaign.”

  “Yes, I know who you are,” she replied, guardedly, surprised. “How did you get this number?” she demanded, as Graham Portoy exited the bedroom door withoot looking back.

  Silence.

  “Ah…Ah wanted tae gie ye the heids up. The Glesga Echo will be running wae a big splash the morra morning, so it will.”

  “There’s a surprise,” The Procurator drawled sarcastically, no being able tae contain hersel.

  “Aye, well, they’ll be wanting tae know why wan ae the senior polis officers who reviewed the evidence intae the death ae that poor nurse, Rose Bain, wis none other than Inspector Paddy McPhee, The Stalker himsel…the same inspector at the centre ae allegations that he’s in the service ae well-known gangsters and who noo finds himsel being accused ae no only haudin back evidence in the Johnboy Taylor case, bit that he’s tampered wae the evidence that could lead tae the killers ae Rose Bain.”

  “What?” The Procurator hauf yelped, hauf screamed in horror doon the phone.

  “Ah’d also like tae take this opportunity tae alert ye tae the fact that Senga Jackson is, as Ah’m speaking, travelling oot tae Edinburgh tae meet Johnboy Taylor’s Queen’s Coonsel, Stuart McKenzie, who’ll be raising this new fact at a planned press conference jist before The Law Lords rule oan whether Johnboy’s defence team kin proceed wae his appeal,” Michelle informed her, lying, her voice quivering.

  “But…”

  “Of course, the only people that ur aware ae that fact is us…and noo you. Any herm that might come tae Senga or the evidence she’s carrying, before the press conference, will be laid at your door, so it will.”

  “But…”

  “Hiv a nice day and we’ll see ye in court,” Michelle said pleasantly, hinging up, fighting tae keep the emotion oot ae that voice ae hers.

  6.54 AM

  “So?” Jake McAlpine asked her, leaning back oan the sink unit, looking intae her eyes.

  “Wis it no you that telt me that the colour ae adrenalin wis broon?” Michelle replied smiling.

  “That good?”

  “Ah think Glenda Metcalfe’s jist shat the bed, so she his,” Michelle quipped, as the baith ae them burst oot laughing. “So, whit dae ye think then?” she asked nervously, wance the humour hid died doon.

  “It’s aw o’er, bar the shouting, so it is. Johnboy will definitely walk noo.”

  “Whit? Ye’re saying we’ve done it...seriously?” Michelle exclaimed, shocked and surprised in equal measure.

  “Well if he disnae, people might suspect that there’s been a conspiracy oan the go,” he replied, smiling.

  “Christ. Ah…Ah cannae believe it…ye reckon we’ve actually done it?”

  “Aye, and oan that happy note, dis that mean we kin get back tae daeing something aboot this morning hard-on ae mine?” he asked her, looking doon.

  “Well, this seems as good a place as anywhere,” Michelle replied, looking aboot the kitchen as the baith ae them burst oot laughing again.

  7.10 AM

  “His that Dave arrived yet?” The inspector asked Shane Priestly, jist as the phone oan the front desk jumped intae life.

  “Naw. He wis due in at six. It’s no like him,” Shane replied, as Skanky Smith, the desk sergeant picked up the phone and the inspector looked at his watch.

  “Aye, here he is. It’s fur you,” the sergeant said, haunin o’er the receiver.

  “Aye? Oh, hello, Willie. Say that again? Dave wis whit? When? By who? Whit dae ye mean ye’re no sure. Whit Division? Is there anything ye dae know, fur Christ’s sake? Okay, thanks fur that. Mind and keep me posted. Thanks, Willie,” The Inspector said, slamming doon the phone. “Dave McGovern goat lifted by armed polis, oot ae that bed ae his jist efter five o’clock this morning, so he did. Wan ae his neighbours phoned in asking whit wis gonnae happen tae his cat. And before ye ask, they don’t know who by. Kin ye fucking believe that?” he growled at the sergeants, wan ae them staunin there twitching, looking pale and sweaty.

  7.25 AM

  Alan Small, Queen’s Coonsel and Heid ae The Crown’s Criminal Division in Edinburgh, wis sitting in the Lord Advocate’s chair, gaun o’er his notes, when he wis interrupted by a light chapping oan the door.

  “Enter!” he shouted, irritated. “I thought I wasn’t to be disturbed, Margaret?”

  “Oh, er, I’m sorry, sir, but there’s a phone call…”

  “Phone call? Tell whomever it is that I’ll get back to them later. Can’t you see I’m busy and way behind this morning?”

  “Oh, er, the call…it’s from Glasgow, sir. She said that it’s critically important and that you’d want to take the call.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Glenda Metcalfe, the procurator fiscal, who’s been co-ordinating the Crown’s rebuttal against introducing the contents of the police inspector’s notebook regarding the youth serving fourteen years in Dumfries Young Offenders Institution down in Dumfries, sir. He’s up for consideration today.”

  Silence.

  “Alright, put her through, Margaret,” he said, a sinking feeling in the pit ae that stomach ae his, as he struck a match against the Swan Vesta matchbox and lit up a fag that wis sticking oot ae that wee pocket cigarette holder ae his.

  While waiting fur the call tae be transferred, he peered doon at the file in front ae him that stated that the contents wur in reference tae ‘The Crown versus John Taylor.’ Taylor’s case wis wan ae the dozen due up in front ae three ae the Law Lords later in the morning.

  8.00 AM

  “Ah hope he hisnae been allowed tae look oot the windae?” Lisa Marie warned her ma, allowing her s
poon tae clatter aff ae her Graceland porridge bowl.

  “Ur youse pair gonnae tell me whit youse ur up tae?”

  “Ur ye right?” Lisa Marie panted at her ma, no being able tae contain hersel.

  “Fur whit?” Elvis asked.

  “Follow me,” Lisa Marie squealed, jumping up, bursting wae excitement.

  “Whit’s she up tae noo?” he asked Priscilla.

  “Ye better jist dae as ye’re telt.”

  “Here ye go, Da,” his daughter sang, slinging his black diamond studded jaicket at him.

  “This better be good,” he growled, as Priscilla picked up her coat.

  “Wait fur it…wait fur it,” Lisa Marie squealed doon at the closemooth fae behind her da’s heid, as he held her up oan his shoulders by the legs. “Surprise!” Lisa Marie and Priscilla shouted as she removed the palms ae her hauns fae his eyes.

  “Fur Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed, as Lisa Marie slid doon aff his back and Elvis hauf ran across tae the pink Vauxhall 1957 Cresta PA sitting at the closemooth. “Whit the…”

  “Honest George drapped it aff late last night, so he did,” Lisa Marie screamed, dashing forward tae unlock the driver’s door. “He’s been working oan it fur ages, so he his.”

  “Aye, he managed tae get an original second-haun engine at a decent price, so he did,” Priscilla said, gaun across and kissing him.

  “Bit…”

  “Get in, Da. Hurry!” Lisa Marie shouted wae excitement, dashing roond the bonnet tae unlock the passenger door. “Ye’re driving me and Lucy Betts tae school the day, so ye ur.”

  “Ur you serious?” Elvis asked Priscilla, as she nodded, smiling. “Right, Ah’ll see ye later Mrs Presley,” Elvis growled, clearly excited, as he opened the driver’s side. “Ah’ll jist heid tae work efter Ah drap her and her pal aff.”

  “Aye, bit jist you mind and stay away fae that Tear Drap Café,” she warned him.

  “Ach, don’t you worry, hen. Ah’m no depressed anymair. No wae this beauty tae play wae. And anyway, Ah’ve heard that they’ve shut it doon tae allow the painters in.”

  8.50 AM

  “It’s true,” Skanky panted, efter bursting intae the inspector’s office. “They lifted Paddy McPhee this morning aroond aboot six o’clock, so they did. Kicked his door right aff ae its hinges, the basturts.”

  “Whit’s Bumper and the rest ae the Springburn boys saying aboot it?”

  “Ah spoke tae Bumper a few minutes ago. He reckons they’re fae oot ae toon, so he dis.”

  “Bit, Ah jist came aff the phone tae Mickey Sherlock doon at the Intelligence section in Pitt Street. He never mentioned anything aboot an ootside force operating, so he didnae,” he lied, trying tae conceal his growing panic.

  “Bumper said he’d been up at Paddy’s door. It’s aw boarded up like a vault, covered in corrugated sheeting, so it is. There wis a Strathclyde Polis sticker oan it saying ‘nae entry.’”

  “Whit the fuck’s gaun oan aboot here,” The Inspector growled, frowning. “Still nae word ae Dave McGovern?”

  “Naw. Nowan knows where they’ve taken him or Paddy.”

  9.15 AM

  “Hello?”

  “Aggie, is that you?”

  “Naw, it’s a shadow ae ma former self.”

  “Ha! Ha! Ye’ve no been trying oot they wacky diets again, hiv ye?” Jean Maguire asked, laughing.

  “Who is it?” Helen Birnie asked in the background.

  “Jean. It sounds as if Peter’s jist proposed tae her again.”

  “Tell her if there isnae a date attached tae it, then he’s at it,” Helen shouted, laughing.

  “Did ye hear that? Helen jist…”

  “Aye, Ah heard the cheeky cow.”

  “Whit time ur ye heidin doon tae the protest at The Sheriff Court?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Will ye come roond here and pick us up?”

  “Aye. Anyway, that’s no whit Ah’m ringing aboot, so it’s no. Ur ye sitting doon…as in the baith ae youse?” Jean asked, sounding as if she wis jist aboot tae hiv a premature birth, as Helen nipped across and put her lug up closer tae the phone.

  “Er, hiv ye no furgotten something?” Aggie asked her.

  “Whit…”

  “Ye heard me.”

  “Oh fur fuck’s sake, Aggie…okay, so how’s Silent then?”

  “Aye, okay, bit he’s no very talkative the noo,” she replied solemnly. “We received oor first ever letter, other than a visitors pass, fae him a few days ago. It wis bloody blank. Nothing written oan it apart fae the HMP Saughton stamp,” she replied, as the three ae them burst oot laughing.

  “Aw, at least he’s making an effort,” Jean cooed. “Christ, look at the wan Ah’ve ended up wae. Ah see him when he gets up in the morning and returns fur his bed at night, ” she drawled, as the three ae them laughed again.

  “Right, ye wur aboot tae say,” Aggie reminded her.

  “Oh, right. Ur youse baith sitting doon?”

  “Aye,” they chorused.

  “Okay then, get this wan…Ah know who The Silver Arrow is.”

  Silence.

  “Well?”

  “As in THEE Silver Arrow?” Helen chipped in, looking at Aggie’s cynical expression as she tapped the side ae her heid wae a manicured finger.

  “As in the great man himsel.”

  “Who?” they baith asked.

  “Right, ye’re baith sitting doon noo, aren’t youse?”

  “Aw fur fuck’s sake, Jean!” Aggie shouted.

  “Simon Epstein.”

  “Simon Epstein?” they baith chorused thegither.

  “As in oor Simon?” Aggie shouted at the mouthpiece.

  “As in The Carpet Blagger himsel,” Jean confirmed, chuckling.

  “Bit…how dae ye know that?” Helen asked her.

  “Noo, remember, ye heard it here first, so ye did,” Jean said laughing. “Right, Ah wis roond at Simon’s delivering a couple ae motorcycle helmets that Peter asked me tae drap aff and…”

  10.00 AM

  Sharon sat looking at the white phone, willing it tae dae something. She wis gonnae pull Issie’s hair oot by the roots when she caught up wae her. She’d been sitting since quarter tae nine waiting fur the bloody thing tae ring. She telt hersel fur the umpteenth time that she needed tae stoap picking the bloody receiver up tae her ear. Aw she wis getting wis a buzzing sound, or the dialling tone, as the engineer hid called it.

  “Right, Sharon, hen, Ah’ve ordered a telephone tae be installed intae aw the directors ae the company’s hooses. They’ll start putting them in first thing oan Friday morning,” Donna The Prima Donna hid informed her.

  “Oh, right.”

  “You hivnae a bloody clue who Ah’m talking aboot, dae ye?”

  “Naw,” she’d confessed.

  “You and aw the lassies, ya numpty, ye.”

  “Me? Us? A phone at hame?” she’d asked, surprised.

  “Aye.”

  “Bit, er, who’s gonnae pay fur them?”

  “The company. Hiv ye any idea how much money’s rolling in since we goat that other office block?”

  “Aye, er, Ah’m no sure.”

  “We hiv tae start running up a legit spending regime. If we’re gonnae rob the taxman blind, then we hiv tae demonstrate an expenditure requirement and five telephones is a good place tae start. Mind and tell the lassies tae make sure that engineer fae the GPO explains how tae use them,” Donna hid reminded her as she wis leaving her office.

  She’d been roond tae Issie’s earlier. She wis flapping aboot the hoose aw excited, wondering who she wis gonnae phone first. The engineer hid said that Sharon’s line should be up and running by aboot nine o’clock. She wondered if there wis something wrang wae Issie’s line. She’d wanted tae nip roond and slap the dizzy bugger fur putting her through aw this torture, bit she wis scared that she’d miss her call so hid anchored where she wis.

  “Imagine. People like us wae a phone? Christ, that’ll set the pigeons alight up
the close,” Betty hid said in wonder.

  11.30 AM

  Geraldine exited her closemooth, turning left. She’d gied hersel plenty ae time tae grab the twenty-four, the wee single Corporation bus that wid take her up tae Cadder tae meet Collette. Despite being up aw night wae Sister Liz, wading through Rose Bain’s polis file, she hidnae slept very well wance she’d goat back tae her flat. She hoped she’d be okay fur the backshift later oan. Tae say she’d been disappointed at no finding evidence ae a cover-up in the files, wis an understatement. She’d felt physically sick. It hid been Sister Liz that hid offered up the wee golden nugget fae the woodpile.

  “Look,” The Nun hid said tae her, haudin up the last page ae the three-page summary and conclusions fae the inspectors who’d sifted through the evidence before them.

  “Whit?” she’d stupidly asked, as Sister Liz smiled.

  “The bottom of the sheet.”

  “Aye?”

  “The signatures.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Sister Liz, Ah’m looking, bit Ah cannae see anything that Ah hivnae poured o’er hauf a dozen times awready.”

  “Chief Inspector Bobby Mack and?”

  “And, Paddy McPhee…Paddy McPhee? The Stalker!” she’d howled wae excitement, no fully realizing the significance ae the discovery.

  “The Stalker is at the root of everything here. If he’s been involved in deciding that there hasn’t been a cover-up on what happened to Rose Bain, and he’s the main suspect in a cover-up, then this whole review of how Rose Bain died, is surely a cover-up,” The Nun hid said, smiling and shrugging, as Geraldine pounced oan her, hugging and dancing roond the wee coffee table.

  “So, let me get this straight then. Ye’re saying the review process ae the case is flawed?”

  “What I’m saying is, I believe this confirms that, in actual fact, there was a cover-up. It also sheds light on why the authorities and Glenda Metcalfe, in particular, have gone to all these lengths to stop anyone getting access to The Stalker’s service notebook. Well, well,” Sister Liz hid sang, clutching her rosaries before turning and thanking The Blessed Holy Virgin Mother above the mantelpiece.