VENGEANCE IS MINE

by Marie Rowan

  “Well, Jake, you can add the CID to that list.”

  “Watson also said Allison can now concentrate on his plumbing business and he might give him the contract to see to the plumbing part when the new restaurant building gets underway. Should we keep a watch on him, Ben?”

  “No, Jake, that man’s too dumb to have worked this murder out. This one had planning and a slick, if sick, brain behind it. Premeditated and successful – so far,” Pollock added. “How is the questioning coming along?”

  “Three hundred men in utter panic saw three hundred different and suspicious activities committed by three hundred men of widely differing physical attributes. Even the size of boots differed widely. One man named his estranged wife and then was reminded that she had not yet returned from a trip home to Donegal. We’re actually interviewing the wrong people, with the exception of Kevin Lally.”

  “I’ll bring you up to date on that, Jake, when we get back to the office.”

  “Right, anyway, with that possible exception, I think we should be talking to the catering staff. They were there earlier than the main body and our man needed time. Stands to reason he was in that building earlier than anyone else, Ben.”

  “The caretaker should be next on our list. Meanwhile, Austin, round up the caterers and bring them along to the police station as soon as possible. Come on, Jake, and I’ll tell you all while we walk.” But Pollock’s good intentions were dealt a blow as Peter Brough hurried over to him.

  “Ben, a word, please.”

  “Certainly, Peter, what is it?”

  “Thought you might settle for a verbal report as an initial one.”

  “Anything that’ll save time, Peter. A suspicious fire?” Pollock suggested.

  “A small explosive device plus two cans that almost certainly contained petrol, for the caretaker says there were no cans of petrol ever kept on the premises and he’s worked here for over twenty-two years. Those two going off were the immediate cause, and, as the place was riddled with dry rot according to the aforementioned caretaker but denied by the owner of the premises, it went up in flames in no time. That there were no casualties is the miracle of the year. I think that might confirm your view that you’re looking for one person for two crimes. Must get back, I’m not so much the person in charge of the fire brigade this evening as the peacemaker between the owner who’s asking when he can expect the cheque to be in the post, and the assessors trying to commit the third crime of the evening.”

  “Good luck!” Pollock called and then proceeded on his way with Jacobstein to Camlachie police station.

  There was a fair number of folk waiting for Pollock in the front vestibule but Sergeant Manley left a constable in charge while he followed the detectives upstairs and into Pollock’s temporary office.

  “That reek of smoke is right into my clothes,” complained Pollock looking at his jacket which had undoubtedly seen better days and then at Jacobstein’s well-cut and presentable ensemble. As the police station was practically awash with whisky-soaked vomit every Saturday night, Manley hardly noticed the smell.

  “I’ve got Andrew Dorman, the caretaker, downstairs, sir, and he’s fit to be tied. He’s lost a comfortable, wee earner as well as his gold watch – a half-hunter – that was in his desk drawer, a gold pen, a silver snuff box – age unknown, but seems to have gained a few hundred years if it ever existed at all – and, wait for it, sir, a set of golf clubs given to him by Hugh Kirkaldy after he’d won The Open last year. Kirkaldy, not Dorman.”

  “All kept in that desk drawer, I take it?” asked Pollock smiling.

  “Quite possibly,” replied Manley. “He’s got six children so I expect an expensive perambulator will make it onto a revised list once his wife is consulted.”

  “Point him in the direction of the insurance boys, then stand well back. But send him up here first. You seem to have a representative of most of the households hereabouts downstairs, Roddy.”

  “That’s so. It’s the usual crowd when something big’s on the go. I’ll tell them I’ll send someone over to fetch the factor and he can deal with their complaints about burglaries that might or might not happen. That’ll scatter them. Ready for our closet millionaire, Mr Dorman, Inspector Pollock?”

  “Wheel him in. Did I catch a glimpse of Dr McPherson as I came up here, Roddy?”

  “You did. A young woman has been found in Honiton Street, face smashed off the cobbles. Could have been an accident, but as her hat with a clutch of her hair was found some yards away, that seems unlikely.”

  “Deceased?”

  “Just about. She’s lying in a house nearby where she was found. The doctor’s afraid to move her as her neck isn’t quite right. It’s a very clean and respectable house, so he’s left her there for the time being until he sends a note to the Royal Infirmary.”

  “Poor thing, that happening to a young woman. I’ll get Austin Quigley to run his eye over it as I’m too tied up with this case at the moment.”

  “Austin’s just come in, sir.”

  “Then give him what you know and let him have a word with Dr McPherson. He can take one of your men with him if you can spare one for an hour or so till we see Dorman and the catering staff. This place seems to have gone mad.”

  “Madder, is the word, Ben. It’s all this pent-up excitement over the Scottish Cup Final,” explained Jacobstein.

  “You’re right there, Jake, for we’ve been breaking up fights and squabbles all week,” sighed Manley and left shaking his head. His team had been knocked out in the semi-final by Celtic.

  “A snuff-box?” said Pollock laughing.

  “And a set of top-notch golf clubs. Dorman has some imagination.”

  “The man has ambition if no brains. Haul him in, Jake.” Jacobstein did just that and the caretaker strode into the office.

  “Take a seat, Mr Dorman. I’m DI Pollock and this is DS Jacobstein.”

  “Of Jacobstein’s American Emporium,” said Dorman, eyeing the well-dressed sergeant.

  “Of the Criminal Investigation Department, Mr Dorman,” said Pollock sternly. Both detectives could see a few suits swelling the lost-in-the-fire list. “Good of you to come round so promptly, Mr Dorman. You must be feeling quite shocked by tonight’s events.” But not too shocked to make up a wish-list, thought Jake Jacobstein sourly.

  “It knocked all life out of me, Mr Pollock. I’ve lost my job and me wi’ a wife and six children to feed and clothe.”

  “The snuff-box was a gift from your grateful boss for your devotion to duty, was it, Mr Dornan?”

  “That’s a wee secret, sir.”

  “A wee secret the insurance company will want proof of,” said Jacobstein lightly.

  “Oh, they’ll get that alright, don’t you worry about that, Mr Jacobstein.”

  “And Mr Kirkaldy will be pleased to settle any doubts those insurance men might have, I’m sure. We’ll let the police know and they’ll have a word with him,” said Pollock. “Now, about this fire and the two corpses left behind.” Dorman’s face was a battleground of expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Pollock gave him time to recover his speech.

  “So, what exactly are you wanting to know?”

  “Answers to a few questions if possible, sir. Those answers might just fill in some gaps in our knowledge. It would appear that although we know what was happening in Tara’s Halls while the meeting was taking place, we are not too sure of what was taking place in the Halls during the day. Could you give us a rough timetable as to who was in and around the place during that time and when they were actually there?” The detectives waited while Dornan slowly formulated his answers and Pollock began to wonder where fact would end and fiction begin, for Tara’s Halls’ caretaker had more than worry about his job in his eyes. “Anything you saw for example, Mr Dornan, that is not strictly relevant either to the fire or the murders will be kept strictly between these walls.” That assurance seemed to wake Dorman up.

  “It’s been a very busy day. I op
ened the Halls at 7am to let the cleaners in. A lot of visitors, prospective clients as Mr Allison calls them, were expected during the day, so cleanliness was at the top of the list. It usually is, for Mrs Allison is made from the same mould as her da. She says she pays good money to have the place kept clean as a whistle and that’s what she intends getting. So, that’s four of us now out of a job,” said Dornan very depressed and Pollock appreciated his concern for the others. “Don’t know what the mother-in-law will say but it’ll be plenty and to the point. My wife won’t be happy at her sisters losing their jobs as well.” That, thought Pollock, explains the undue consideration.

  “And did anything odd happen, anything unexpected, anyone turn up unannounced?” Dorman thought it over for a bit.

  “The four of us had breakfast when they were finished cleaning. Like their mother, they’re very particular. Fast but thorough.” His expression said he did not marry his wife because she had inherited this trait. Being house-proud had not been a factor in her attractiveness. Talking to Dorman was likely to be a slow process, Pollock decided, and knew he and Jacobstein’s chances of making it home were not very high. He decided there and then that he and Jacobstein were going to be sleeping that night in the soft furnishings department of Jacobstein’s American Emporium.

  “Does Mr Allison give you a programme for the day, Mr Dornan?”

  “Aye, usually on a Monday for each day of the week. If there are any changes, he puts in an appearance, or sometimes Mrs Allison does, and let’s me know.”

  “And were there any last minute changes for today?” asked the inspector. Dornan shook his head.

  “None. The agenda, as Mrs Allison calls it, ran smoothly from start to finish.”

  “You were hosting the brake clubs’ meeting and must have been very busy.”

  “That’s run-of-the-mill stuff. We do weddings and funeral teas and anything folk want and will pay for providing it falls within our licence. It was non-stop today as we also had groups being shown around.”

  “And who was the tour guide?”

  “Mrs Allison. She’s quite a sales-girl only she doesn’t like to be called that.”

  “And who were the groups?” asked Pollock.

  “There were five of them spread over the day. Two in the morning and three in the afternoon. One lot kept getting in the way of the staff who were doing bits and pieces for the brake clubs. Not official caterers, you understand, just folk attached to them who were used to feeding loads of men. It was more of a running buffet they were organising. They only needed a kitchen to warm things up in and make the tea. No actual cooking. They’ve done it all before but that group were a crowd of nosey buggers and kept strolling into places where they had no right to be. But if you really want the agenda for the day, you can have it. Mrs Allison likes me to be on hand as she says in case there’s a question she can’t answer. I’ve to spruce myself up and she calls me – in front of groups – her manager.”

  “Extra pay?” inquired Pollock.

  “No bloody chance of that. Six weans! No job! What am I supposed to do, Mr Pollock!”

  “Don’t worry about that, Mr Dorman, for Mr Allison told me he needs a watchman for his plumbing premises and he’s going to offer you the job. If it’s his father-in-law’s money, Mr Watson intends building a small hotel and restaurant and he’ll possibly employ you. Now, it seems that you were sent elsewhere by Mrs Allison about 6pm. Is that right?” Pollock waited until Dorman had stopped weeping at the news he was not unemployed.

  “Aye, I was. Now that’s great news about the job, sir. The watchman one will certainly do me till the new building comes along. I’ve worked for James Watson’s family for over twenty years and despite being a carnaptious wee swine, he’s always been good to reliable employees. My God, but that’s a relief. If I know Watson, he’ll have the new place up and running in jigtime. And if I know Janet Watson, this time she’ll have her name and her husband’s on the title deeds even faster.”

  “Then let’s go back to the agenda, Mr Dorman.”

  “Right. Where was I? I must get word to the wife about the job. Right now she’ll be screaming the place down and the weans will be screaming even louder. When she finds out I’m in here, she’ll be thinking the worst and that Sergeant Manley will arrest her for breaching the peace.” Pollock gave Jacobstein the nod and he went to have a word with Manley. He was back in two minutes.

  “Well, Mr Dorman, that’s settled. We’ll let your wife know what’s been happening and that you’ll be home directly. Now the running list, please, Mr Dorman.”

  “They were all there to check out the place, see the menus, decide if they would book the function with us. We kicked off with a wedding party, just a small one, really, about fifty folk in the Lesser Hall, they said. Could’ve held it in their room and kitchen only the bride’s father won fifty pounds on the horses and her mother collared the lot. The man two storeys up in the same close plays in a band so it was all fixed up. We would supply the catering, cheapest menu, the booze and the cake and they would see to the music. The next lot had real money but were reluctant to part with it. They own a factory just beyond Bridgeton Cross and their own cook was baking the wedding cake. They ordered the second of our three menus and nothing was said about drink because they’re Wee Frees. I just heard all this because I’m just there to answer awkward questions about the amenities and have nothing to do with the actual catering and such like. Their minister was to be in charge of the after-dinner festivities so god only knows what that will be like. Oh, not happening with us now, is it?”

  “Very staid?”

  “For some, aye, for others a supply of refreshments out the back if things had run to form. But only when the minister goes away. I think they distil their own in the hielands. Very potent.” Dorman blushed a little at this indiscreet indulgence, then moved swiftly on. “The other three groups came in the afternoon. The first was one of the city’s highland societies and they were thinking of booking the main hall for their grand ceilidh. I always look forward to these events. Anything goes and they clean up after themselves as they go along. And they never forget to tip in kind and cash. But all the three groups stuck together – the Highlanders because they’re here every year and at Christmas and the small wedding party because they were in a hurry to get it settled and the deposit paid before the faither found the wife’s purse. The factory group went into every nook and cranny, determined to get more than their money’s worth. Two of them were wandering freely with notebooks and pencils, and I had the devil of a job getting them all together again without getting their backs up. They were within my sight all the time. Then there were folk planning a works’ do in the Lesser Hall. It was one of the departments in Beardmore’s up the road. The accounts department. They have it in April because our rates are cheaper at that time of year than at Christmas. Very formal, they looked, and all dressed the same. One of the big bosses always calls in during the evening, so, it’s best behaviour till he’s gone and then fights galore. Sergeant Manley calls it his own annual bash. The band’s always first-rate, though, and the young folk have a great time. Although they know exactly what they’re getting from us, they still send four or five representatives round for an hour or so. It’s regarded by the chosen few as an annual perk. Mrs Allison always provides sherry, juice and cake for those having a look round.”

  “Well, that takes care of four of them, Mr Dornan. Now the last one, the one an hour or two, I take it, before the preparations started in earnest for the brake clubs’ meeting.”

  “That was a football team’s AGM then dance. That was why they were here, to look and perhaps book.”

  “What team was that then?”

  “Shettleston Emerald. Hopeless but keen. That’s their official motto, Mr Pollock, I kid you not and very apt it is, too. They also double up as a Celtic brake club. To be honest, they don’t actually play. They were beaten 26-0, 35-0 and 42-0 in their first three games. Being addicted more to the social si
de of the club than to the actual playing side, and having taken a good, hard look at the team’s results, the committee decided defunct was better than defeat. Now the only activity they indulge in is the annual Christmas and Spring dances and the AGM which is the proverbial donnybrook. They came today for the traditional look-round simply because Janet Allison has a soft spot for them and she substitutes whisky for the orange juice. They all tend to stick together, never moving from the table and they simply reminisce and have a good laugh.”

  “No wandering?”

  “None. They kid Mrs Allison on and she gives as good as she gets. All very friendly. The arrangements never change. We know all the committee members from way back.”

  “That’s a big help, Mr Dornan. By the looks of it, only the factory people strayed off the main route. I’ll have a word with Mrs Allison and get their details. It’s just possible they might have seen someone lurking about. It all helps to clear away the unimportant actions that took place that day. When did you first notice that the kitchen and lavatory just off the main hall were out of order today?”

  “When they blew up. I heard they were out of commission when I was standing in Great Nelson Street with members of the brake clubs after the fire. Wee Frank Milligan, he’s the treasurer of the local one, says they’re due a refund as they had no access to either of them. That was the first I heard of it. Mr Pollock, any chance of me getting back round to the Halls? I want a quick word about my job with Mr Allison, just to set my mind at rest, so to speak. I’ve six weans and they’re all greetin’-faced. They take after their maw and I’ve absolutely no desire to spend my days cooped up with them. They’re all under ten years of age. Two sets of twins and the oldest two are from my wife’s first marriage.”

  “In a few minutes, Mr Dorman. There’s just something else I’d like you to clear up for me. It’s been reported to me by one of my men that part of the premises under your care seems at odds with your standards of cleanliness.” Dorman shook his head emphatically.