by Marie Rowan
“Which has led you to believe that one head was swapped for one body and the belongings of the swapped torso fell out of his pockets when it was moved into the kitchen.”
“Exactly. Now the post mortem report will be on your desk here as soon as possible. I’ll remind you of that dinner you’ve promised me. Make it soon, Ben.”
“I’ll do my best. Hang on and I’ll walk you along the street. Jake should have sorted the beat boys out by now and it’s time I interviewed the organizer of that meeting. I don’t expect he’ll have wandered far from Tara’s Halls. I’ll pick up Jake along the way and save him and Mr McLean the bother of coming back here.”
The two men parted where East Nelson Street met The Gallowgate. Pollock stood at the foot of the street and looked along and across at the smouldering ruins of Tara’s halls. A huge crowd of people had been penned in along the pavement on the opposite side of the street a safe distance away. A bird’s eye view from the windows of the tenement building immediately opposite was much sought after but forbidden as the structural engineers had had the building cleared till they had decided that the ruins were now sound. Suddenly an ear-deafening, thunderous noise answered that question for them and Pollock wished some such simple solution would be granted to his problem. Tara’s Halls were now completely no more and the occupants of the tenement building hurried back home and immediately threw up their grand-stand windows and viewed the depressing scene of total destruction. Pollock looked at the group that had not hurried away as the Halls had finally collapsed to zero and wondered if the owner was one of that official-looking lot. Jacobstein appeared at his side.
“All underway, Ben. The one in the eye-dazzling waistcoat,” said Jacobstein, “is Jerry Allison, the owner.”
“Then I’d better speak to him fast before he collapses almost, but not quite as spectacularly, as his building. Get a bottle of cold water for him, Jake. That pub’ll give it to you. That man will have to calm down fast. Here goes with the legendary Benjamin Pollock calming technique.” Jacobstein had seen it all before and it never failed to amaze or amuse him. He hurried to the pub reluctantly. “Mr Allison, I’m told, sir. I’m Detective Inspector Pollock and I’m in charge of this investigation. It is, of course, a murder inquiry. Terrible pity about your building, sir. If it’s at all possible, may I have a word with you in my office nearby? Any results we have relating to the fire which has caused you so much grief will, of course, be made available to you and your insurers. Always helps to get claims settled quickly. No need to wait until our murder case is solved.” That bit always helped cheer up the claimants and generally made them anxious to be more co-operative. “Perhaps a calming cup of tea is called for after the shock you’ve just had. There’s not much you can do here as the insurance assessors will not be allowed inside the perimeter for some time yet, possibly not till tomorrow. Ah, Mr Allison, here’s my sergeant with a cool drink for you. It will also take away the choking dust from your mouth and throat.” The distressed owner was too traumatised to protest and Pollock felt acutely sorry for him. He had met many businessmen and quite a few had an eye for profit regardless of anything else. But somehow this one seemed different.
Once they were all seated round Pollock’s desk, Jacobstein poured the tea and Pollock raided his own biscuit tin for some sort of edible comfort for Mr Allison. The man finally regained his composure. Pollock was clutching at straws and he knew it.
“Mr Allison, how long have you owned Tara’s Halls, just roughly?”
“Could you tell me first, Inspector Pollock, if you think that this was an accident or a deliberate attempt to destroy the building? Did someone simply want to cover up these horrible killings?”
“Right now, sir, we have no idea. Only the fire service can give us an answer to that. There were over three hundred people in it, so an accident is quite possible. But right now, I’ve no report suggesting that. Same with the fire although it was an unusually fierce fire, I’ll admit. We should have some answers tomorrow, but right now, there’s no sense in guessing.” Jerry Allison sighed then pulled himself together.
“Sorry, gentlemen, but it’s been a terrific shock. That building was a wedding present to my wife and me five years ago from her father. Frankly, he doesn’t think much of me and I suspect he was wanting me to fail. I’m not a great businessman and I admit I found it hard going. But we were beginning to make a profit – not much of one but we had plans. We were thinking of aiming at more small weddings, encourage the brake clubs of all the different football teams in the area to use the halls for their get togethers. Not big plans, but big hopes.” Mr Allison shrugged his shoulders. “Now gone to dust. My wife’s in East Nelson Street right now just staring at the remains of our future. She went hysterical when she heard folk talking about the bodies. She’s silent now, just staring, which is worse. God only knows how we stand with the insurance people.” Pollock wondered briefly exactly how badly the father-in-law wanted the young man to fail. Was it just bad luck someone wanted two folk dead on the same evening? “We made drawings of what the halls would look like if we split the main hall into two, made it into two more manageable entities, easier to let, partitions that could be opened to make it a large one again. We’ve even had a delegation or two of suffragettes round with the idea of using it for some of their meetings. Would’ve taken no time at all to erect the partitions and the necessary kitchens and lavatories. It could all have been done by me and the three men I employ. I’m a plumber to trade, and two of them are joiners, you see. I run my own busines, a very small business. That’s what irks my father-in-law. He doesn’t like those words ‘very small’. He’s the Watson in James Watson, Shipbuilders. He has a finger in a few pies as you can see from Tara’s Halls.”
“I wouldn’t take such a dim view of things if I were you, sir. This might just, all things being equal with the insurers, might just enable you to rebuild Tara’s Halls from scratch, make it more in line with what the public require today rather that what was needed forty years ago.”
“You could be right, Inspector Pollock, but it all seems such a disaster just when we were beginning to pick up. I’d best go back round to Janet. Is there something else you’d like to know?”
“Just one thing but perhaps your caretaker would be more informed. I’m told that both the larger kitchen and the nearest lavatory adjoining it were both out of commission this evening. Do you know exactly when the plumbing went so badly wrong?” Allison looked at Pollock in amazement.
“Were they? Then the caretaker should know the exact time.”
“The meeting began at 7pm and I have it on the best authority that prominent notices were put on both doors. It seems an additional precaution was that both doors were locked. You’re looking puzzled, sir.”
“I am, I’m very surprised. The minute any problems occur in either space when a function is in progress or before one is due to be held, I’m summoned first. I either call in myself or contact one of my men to go and see if they can fix it. The men get paid extra after normal working hours, so there’s no problem there. MY wife and I actually live nearby so I can be in control of the situation very quickly. I know absolutely nothing about any of this and neither does my caretaker obviously. He’s not mentioned it to me and I’ve been beside him since I arrived.”
“That’s very interesting, sir. I’ll have a word with your man. His name is?” asked Pollock. Jacobstein was quickly writing it all down in his notebook.
“Andrew Dorman. He lives in the house that lies between Tara’s Halls and the tyre company’s warehouse. I’ll have to find him a place to live. He can do his watchman at my plumbing premises. As I said, we’re not a big business, but we do sell plumbing and bathroom equipment on a small scale to other plumbers.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr Allison. We appreciate it.”
Pollock and Jacobstein sat in silence for a few minutes after Jerry Allison had left.
“So, what have we learned, Jake?”
�
�We’re looking for an intelligent, if warped, killer, Ben. That whole business was meticulously planned and carried out.”
“And possibly over and done with long before the crowds assembled in the halls.”
“So not necessarily two people dead from the list?”
“Yes, Jake. The vote took place at 8pm so our killer must have come to Tara’s Halls with them or knew they were likely to be there with the brake club crowd. We, of course, must begin with the latter as it’s all we’ve got at the moment.” Footsteps were heard hurrying up the stairs and Sergeant Manley from the front desk appeared moments later with a piece of paper in his hand.
“This was just handed in, Inspector Pollock. It’s for you and marked urgent.” He gave Pollock the note and left. Jacobstein waited patiently until Pollock had read and re-read it.
“It’s from Austin. Seems we might be onto something, Jake. Two men unaccounted for. Checked in but not now with their usual cronies in their usual pub. Both local men, namely Gavin Tierney and his brother Bruce. Could be our corpses. Austin’s gone round to their flats in Westmuir Street with one of our men. They live up the same close with their respective families. Austin will come straight back here. We’ll give him fifteen minutes and then we’ll return to the scene of the tragedy. Now.” But he got no farther for the door burst open and Quigley burst in.
“Nothing doing, sir. We didn’t get farther than outside O’Rourke’s pub. Another of the Tierneys was there calming his nerves with whisky. Seems the two brothers shot out of the flaming building and more or less – or almost, I should say, - fell under a tram in The Gallowgate. They’re in the Royal Infirmary with serious injuries, shoulder for Bruce, backside and concussion for Gavin. They seem to have been hit a glancing blow, a very heavy one, by one of the horses. Bones broken and dignity displaced.”
Chapter 2
Pollock and Jacobstein looked at Quigley with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.
“What the hell kind of information is that? What heading does that come under, son?” barked Pollock.
“Go out and come back in again with something that helps us, Austin, for heaven’s sake.” Jacobstein was being hard pressed to keep his temper.
“So, are we to assume, Austin, that everybody is accounted for?” Quigley nodded unabashed.
“All seen and ticked off. Most of them are either in the local pubs or in the street spectating. The organiser is on his way here once he’s finished his pint.”
“That’s good of him. Hope he’s not had too many.”
“It was a great shock to him, sir, for he’s been organising this for weeks and with several hundred Irishmen to please, it’s not been easy. The final straw seems to be all the brake clubs’ banners have been burned. He’s drowning his sorrows and wondering if he can sue Jerry Allison for negligence.”
“Nonsense. When I’ve spoken to him, we’ll go round to the Halls and glean what information we can. Is the fire brigade representative still there?”
“Yes, sir, and an insurance company assessor.”
“Well, if there’s anything to be seen, he’ll find it. Accident or fire-raising is Allison’s problem, not ours at the moment. Ours is finding a killer. As there’s nothing pointing us in the direction of an identification of the bodies as yet, we’ll concentrate on the scene of the crime at the moment.”
“And so far, we’ve no luck there either, Ben,” said Jacobstein. “I think this might be the organiser coming,” he added as footsteps announced visitors.
“Mr McLean is Irish, sir, and mad as a bull,” Quigley whispered.
“This is Mr John McLean,” announced Sergeant Manley and vanished abruptly back to the front desk.
“Have a seat, Mr McLean,” said Pollock as he gave the big, bluff Irishman the once over. Six feet tall, solidly built and with a bone to pick. “And before we go any farther, sir, not one man in this office set fire to those halls. Now, I’m DI Pollock, this is DS Jacobstein and I think you already know DC Quigley”
“Hello Austin,” said McLean after shaking hands all round. He sat down heavily and sighed. “If it’s help you need catching the swine who set fire to our banners, Inspector Pollock, you need look no farther than us to lend you a hand.”
“A generous off, sir, but we have our own way of doing things. Besides, officially and, I might add, unofficially, we have no information as yet as to how the fire began. It could go either way.”
“Not at the speed it took hold, it won’t.” Mclean seemed to know what he was talking about.”
“Either way, Mr McLean, it’s a tragedy for Mr and Mrs Allison. It’ll take more than a bit of sewing to replace their loss.”
“And they’re a nice, young couple. Hard workers, so they are,” said McLean with feeling. “That’s more than can be said for that chancer Watson, Jerry Allison’s father-in-law. Him and hard work are strangers. He’s third generation in that ship-building business. Just sits back and lets the lackeys make the money for him. Ran Tara’s Halls down, he did, and then gave it to Jerry Allison as a wedding present. The business was in the doldrums when they took over, plumbing a’ tae hell, it was. He thought the business would collapse before the building. Spiteful bugger. It wouldn’t surprise me if he put a match to it himself. Now, what were you wanting to ask me, Inspector Pollock? Young Austin here coming along, is he?” Pollock only just managed to stop himself saying ‘like a house on fire’.
“That he is, Mr McLean.”
“Did he tell you he’s my nephew?” asked John McLean. Quigley looked everywhere but at his boss. His feet finally became the focus of his eyes.
“He did not but I can see the resemblance.” Pollock smiled and clocked the shared red hair, big feet and height. McLean beamed with pride. “So, to come to the point, sir, before the pub runs out of beer.”
“If you’re thinking the landlord of The Clew Bay Bar started the fire to drum up some business,” interrupted McLean,” think again, for it was his wife who made that business and she rules the roost. Right now, she’s about going off her head about the loss of the Halls, for people going to and from functions there, always dropped into The Clew Bay for a drink or three. But now that I know everybody who was in the Halls tonight is safe, I’m going to try and find something to take the banners’ place on Saturday.”
“Rival supporters? Any trouble with them before?” mused Pollock. McLean shook his head decisively.
“The Cowlairs supporters are a bit feisty but give and get in return nothing more than verbal aggravation. We can give as good as we get.” Pollock sincerely doubted that it stopped at that but was certain it stopped long before thoughts of fire-raising took hold.
“I’m sure you’re right, Mr McLean.”
“If you want my honest opinion, Inspector Pollock, I think that fire was nothing to do with us. I’m told there were two bodies, skeletons, found and it seems to me that somebody was covering up that killing.”
“Now that’s a distinct possibility but we have to eliminate all aspects at the same time. Have you heard anybody – no names necessary – mention having seen or heard anything odd, unusual, totally outwith a supporters’ clubs’ function? We’re at the earliest stages of this case, so we have to follow up every story, every comment told to us, examine it and then discard or keep it under review. The corpses are two in number but actually no more than incinerated bones and dust. As you might realise, identification might be extremely difficult.”
“Or impossible?”
“That is definitely so, Mr McLean.”
“I’ve had folk out checking up on my list just ahead of your men and there are the usual titbits flying around. I’ll give you them minus the usual creatures from outer space or twenty thousand leagues under the sea.” That raised a very knowing laugh from the three detectives.
“It’ll make a change from the usual ‘him up the next close’,” said Pollock.
“Or occasionally ‘her next door’,” Jacobstein contributed, wondering if anything in hi
s meticulously-kept notebook held any relevant items.
“Anything you think might be at all relevant, Mr McLean.” Pollock lived in hope. Sergeant Manley re-entered and passed a note to him. A slight smile played around the DI’s sensitive mouth. “I might just be able to provide you with some information in return.”
“No need, inspector, for if my organisation can help in any way, then we will do so freely, for that fire might have turned into a disaster quite easily. As for the two poor bast – er, folk now lying dead there, well, who knows who they were or who their sorrowing relatives will be? Good folk or scum, nobody deserves to be chopped about like that. This is what was a bit odd about tonight. When the fire was first noticed, it was already well alight. Everybody scarpered, front door, back ones, some diving through windows, some trying to reach the skylights in the roof. It was complete panic, I regret to say. Some, naturally, tried the kitchen and the lavatory, both locked with notices on them. It was chaos, but suddenly the kitchen door opened, blown open, I suppose, and then the lavatory one, too. Some say it was flung open marginally before the blast. The perceived wisdom is not that it was blown open but that it was physically opened by someone. One of the lads says he saw somebody coming out of it. But there were people everywhere, shouting and cursing, so he has no more recollection of who the man was than you or I. Next thing, it was engulfed in flames. Like I said, it could be something or nothing. I suppose it could have been the killer or somebody who’d kicked the door in and, realising that it was an inferno, turned back and came out again”
“That’s extremely interesting, Mr McLean. Any name mentioned even if the supporter isn’t certain of his facts? It would at least give us a physical description to work from.” John McLean hesitated.
“I think you should speak to him yourself, Inspector Pollock.”
“I’ll do that, and I can assure you, we’ll put no pressure on him at all, sir.”