The Silver Arrow Page 2

  “Is that still clogging up?” The Gatekeeper shouted fae behind the glass, looking at him as he emerged back intae the corridor.

  “Naw, sir, Ah wis jist putting a disinfectant block intae the cistern. That’s me finished in there,” he shouted, before scurrying back intae his cubby-hole tae wait, barely able tae contain the excitement in that voice ae his as he heard the social worker’s office door open and Fanny Flaw’s footsteps heiding in the direction ae the lavvy next door.

  “Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.

  Two young children were killed in a head-on road crash on Edinburgh Road, in front of The Shotts Hotel, this morning. It is believed that the children were sitting in the back of an Austin 1300, being driven by their father, when it shot through a red traffic light at the junction of Shotts Road, into the path of an articulated lorry. The eastbound section of the road was blocked off for several hours, causing heavy congestion…

  Engineers have downed tools and walked out on unofficial strike action after union officials failed to reach a pay settlement at McDuff and Sons Engineering on The Broomielaw this afternoon. Management have called the walk-out ‘madness’ as it was revealed that the order for delivering turbine engines to the Far East is three months overdue…

  Nine opposition football supporters have each been fined twenty pounds at the Central District Court today after pleading guilty to fighting on the platform of Queen Street subway in March of this year…

  It was all money in the bank for a Cowcaddens’ youth when he was rewarded with five pounds after he handed in a leather pouch containing over two hundred pounds yesterday. Grateful owner, Honest John McCaffrey, millionaire owner of Honest John’s Kitchen Essentials on Dumbarton Road, praised fifteen-year-old Gerald Dunlop’s honesty for handing over the pouch to a policeman on duty on Woodlands Road. Young Gerald’s employer, Mr Simon Epstein of Carpet Capers Warehouse on Shamrock Street also rewarded the honest younger by awarding him a further ten pounds…

  A forty-four-year-old women was found hanged in the Marine Police Court cells this morning, only minutes before she was due to be sentenced for rent arrears dating back to nineteen seventy two. Agnes Stewart, a single mother of three school-aged children had previously appeared in front of Justice of the Peace Brian MacDonald, and was warned that failure to pay back the arrears could result in a custodial sentence…

  In the same court, a seventeen-year-old mother of two was fined fifteen pounds for stealing milk from outside a grocer’s shop on Saracen Street, Possilpark, before it opened in the morning. Margaret Hamilton claimed the milk was for her children, as she had no money. Fining her, Justice of the Peace MacDonald told Hamilton that if everyone who didn’t have money just went about helping themselves to other people’s property, then there would be anarchy on the streets...”

  Chapter Three

  Senga started tae feel a bit uncomfortable. The man in the bowler hat, sporting the droopy moustache, sitting between and tae the left ae her and Johnboy’s lawyer, dressed aw in black, who looked like wan ae the Thompson Twins oot ae a Herge’s Adventures ae Tintin book, hidnae said a word in aw the time she’d been sitting in Graham Portoy’s bright, modern office, doon in Bath Street, other than tae gie her a wee nod efter they’d been first introduced.

  “This is Mr Swansea, Miss Jackson. He’s my precognition officer. If it’s alright with you, he’ll take down some notes whilst we discuss the reason behind your appointment.”

  “Swansea?”

  “He’s Welsh.”

  “Precognition officer?”

  “Oh, basically, Swansea interviews witnesses, takes statements from people who may or may not be able to assist in the cases of my clients. Research assistant would be a more appropriate title, I suppose, but the legal profession prefers to use terms and titles so as to impress and hopefully dupe people into believing they know more than they actually do,” he’d replied, smiling easily.

  She’d asked Simon Epstein if he wanted to come in wae her, bit he’d refused.

  “Too busy,” he’d telt her. “Bit while ye’re in there, kin ye gie Graham this?” he’d asked her, haunin o’er a broon envelope.

  “Whit’s in it?” she’d asked, squeezing the envelope wae her fingers suspiciously.

  “Ma final payment fur legal costs tae dae wae no hivving an up-tae-date tax disc.”

  “Whit…will Ah jist haun it o’er tae the receptionist then?”

  “Naw, it his tae be haunded tae Graham Portoy in person,” he’d replied pleasantly, as he drapped her and her flatmate, Lizzie Mathieson, aff ootside the front entrance in Bath Street.

  “Oh, in case Ah furget, this is fur you,” she’d said, attempting tae haun o’er the broon envelope.

  The lawyer hidnae made any move tae accept it. Jist when she’d been wondering whit she wis meant tae dae wae it, she’d felt it slip fae between her fingers. She’d been tempted tae ask The Thompson Twin how he’d managed tae retrieve the envelope fae five feet away withoot Senga being aware that he’d moved, bit hid decided against it.

  Withoot a word, Swansea hid slipped a letter opener, in the shape ae a serpent, oot ae his jaicket sleeve and swiftly slashed the envelope open wae wan quick flick, before returning the knife back tae where it hid emerged fae. Efter a few seconds ae reading the contents, whit appeared tae be a letter hid then been passed across tae Graham Portoy.

  “Are you aware of the contents of this envelope, Miss Jackson?” The Brief asked, looking up fae the letter.

  “No.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “A friend…er…an acquaintance…Simon Epstein. He asked me tae pass it oan tae ye,” she stuttered hesitantly, no too sure why she wis feeling guilty ae committing a crime she wisnae aware hid been committed. “He said it wis his final payment fur the costs ae his tax disc case or something tae that effect.”

  “I see,” he murmured, haudin her gaze, looking straight intae her eyes.

  “Why, is there something wrang like?”

  “Perhaps you can explain to me exactly what your relationship is with Mr Johnboy Taylor and why you’re here?”

  “Johnboy? Oh…er…well, we go back a fair bit…tae primary school days, in fact. We sat thegither in the same class…” she stammered, allowing her voice tae trail aff, managing tae drag her eyes away fae his.

  “I see…and?”

  “And whit?” she hauf yelped, hauf denied defensively, still wondering whit she wis supposed tae hiv done and where the hell the crime hid been committed that she wis obviously guilty ae.

  “Perhaps you can explain why you asked to meet me today. From the beginning, if you don’t mind?”

  “Well, Ah, er…”

  “And please don’t leave anything out, no matter how irrelevant or unimportant you may think it is,” he purred reassuringly.

  Senga wisnae too sure how long she spoke fur. It could’ve been twenty minutes or an hour and twenty minutes…she jist wisnae that sure. She’d burst intae tears a couple ae times, and thanked The Thompson Twin twice fur magically appearing by her side again, haunin o’er a tissue fae the box sitting oan the edge ae The Brief’s desk. The only time she thought she saw a flicker ae a reaction in they sharp lawyer’s eyes in front ae her, wis when she telt him aboot the relief she’d felt when Simon Epstein hid telt her ootside The Kings Arms Hotel in Lochmaben, oan route tae visit Johnboy in Dumfries Young Offenders Institution, that there wisnae any substance tae her flatmate Lizzie Mathieson’s theory regarding the suspicious death ae two ae her work colleagues up in Stobhill General Hospital. Twenty-year-auld Rose Bain hid been a nursing colleague who worked oan the opposite shift fae Lizzie in the emergency wards. Wan night, efter jist finishing a twelve-hour day-shift, Lizzie hid been asked by the ward sister, at short notice, if she could fill in fur Rose Bain, who’d called in sick at the last moment. During the night, Lizzie hid overheard the death-bed confession ae wan ae her patients, in a family room whic
h hid been set aside fur patients who wurnae expected tae make it, tae a polis inspector who’d somehow managed tae blag his way oan tae the ward and who went by the name ae The Stalker. Lizzie hid eventually evicted the polis inspector, efter they’d exchanged heated words and she’d threatened tae press the alarm button fur assistance. It hid been quite clear that the patient wis stressing efter being mercilessly questioned by the inspector. It hid also been obvious tae Lizzie that the duty doctor at the time hid been in cahoots wae The Stalker and hid allowed the inspector access tae the patient efter the ward sister hid went fur her tea break at wan o’clock in the morning. Although stressful at the time, Lizzie hid soon furgoatten aw aboot the matter and hid goat oan wae her job. That wis, until the staff nurse, Rose Bain, that Lizzie hid filled in fur, hid subsequently died a month or so later, efter being run o’er by a transit van that hid failed tae stoap ootside the hospital oan Balgrayhill Road, jist efter she’d finished the back shift at eleven o’clock wan evening. It hid also been roond aboot the time ae Rose Bain’s death, that a thirty-two-year-auld doctor hid been found hinging fae a staircase bannister in his big plush hoose across in Pollock. The newspaper reports claimed that the death appeared tae be as a result ae suicide. Doctor Walsh hid been the doctor oan duty the night the dying patient, a gangster type called Haufwit Simpson, hid babbled oot a string ae death-bed confessions tae the polis inspector. Lizzie Mathieson hid finally realised that her life could be in danger when she made the connection between the deaths ae Rose Bain and Doctor Walsh efter she’d read in The Glesga Echo that a poultry farmer by the name ae McPherson, who farmed oot near Alexandria in Dunbartonshire, hid drapped a fag in his bed efter falling asleep and hid perished alang wae a couple ae his sheepdugs. The gangster, Haufwit Murray, hid also mentioned a poultry farmer called McPherson who lived oot near Alexandria as being involved in the disappearance and murder ae a big time Glesga gangster fae Milton, called Blaster Mackay a few years earlier. This Haufwit Murray hid also, in fits and starts due tae his injuries, informed The Stalker aboot a stream ae incidents regarding who hid killed who in whit the newspapers referred tae at the time, back in 1971, as an underworld turf war. Astonishingly, Johnboy Taylor, a boy Senga hid known…and loved, since her primary school days, who wis currently serving fourteen years, the longest sentence ever handed doon tae a young person under the age ae twenty wan in Scotland, fur shooting two polis officers during a bank robbery in Maryhill, hid been declared innocent ae the crime that he wis daeing time fur by the dying gangster. When she finished gieing her statement, the lawyer asked her tae go o’er the story again. She wisnae too sure how their system operated, bit before she started her tale again, the door aff tae her right opened and a smartly dressed young wummin in a grey two piece suit, her auburn hair tied up in a bun at the back, who looked tae be in her mid tae late twenties, padded silently across the carpet tae The Thompson Twin. Jist as quietly as she’d arrived, The Lady in Grey, aboot turned and disappeared wae his notes in her haun, jist in time fur The Thompson Twin tae blink, before looking across at Senga in anticipation, pen and notepad, wance again, poised and at the ready.

  “And how do you know that the inspector in question was Paddy McPhee, Miss Jackson?” The Brief asked her efter she’d finished dabbing they eyes ae hers again wae a tissue.

  “Ah don’t, bit the description fae Lizzie hid The Stalker doon tae a T, so she hid.”

  “But, you couldn’t say for certain that it was him?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve been very patient and understanding, Miss Jackson. Before we conclude and I meet with your…er…friend, would it be possible for you to read over and perhaps sign a copy of the statement you’ve so kindly furnished me with today?” The Brief asked, as the door, aff tae the right, wance again opened, bang oan cue, and the same silent wummin entered carrying a sheath ae typewritten papers in her haun.

  “Aye, that wid be fine, bit if it’s awright wae yersel, wid ye mind getting The Thompson Twin here tae dispense wae that bowler hat he’s wearing. Ma flatmate Lizzie kin be a wee bit ae a sensitive soul and is easily freaked oot, so she is,” Senga asked Portoy, putting oan the friendliest smile she could muster under the circumstances.

  Chapter Four

  “What do you think, Swansea?” Graham Portoy asked, two minutes efter Lizzie Mathieson left, hivving signed her statement.

  Swansea didnae respond immediately, bit insteid, reached across and lifted up the correspondence fae Johnboy Taylor that Senga Jackson hid haun delivered. He read it again, this time oot loud in that deep, twangy Welsh accent ae his.

  ‘Graham, this is just a wee note to introduce a really good friend of mine, Senga Jackson, and her flatmate to you. Please listen to what they have to say, but keep everything under wraps. I don’t think I have to spell out the obvious danger that both of them are in. We’ve discussed the situation down here and believe we can exploit the information, but it will have to be done at a pace using methods that don’t arouse undue suspicion from a variety of well-known quarters. Of paramount importance here is the safety and protection of Senga Jackson and her flatmate, Lizzie Mathieson.

  In the first instance, Simon will be doing all he can to protect the confidentiality of the information, but there are risks. Whilst we have every confidence in your professional ability to put together a strong case for appeal purposes, accessing key information from the varying sources, without putting Senga and Lizzie in danger, will be difficult and challenging.

  I wish to retain your excellent legal services and hope you’ll continue to represent my interests now and in the future. Given my current status, it’s difficult for me to play more than a passive role in the further investigations that are required, particularly with regards to the need for the sensitivity highlighted above.

  After due consideration, and discussion with the team down here, I’ve nominated Simon Epstein to legally make decisions on my behalf and to furnish you with all the assistance that you would have had, should I have been free to do so. In the meantime, Simon has agreed to furnish you, and Swansea, if he is involved, with any additional information you may require to progress and strengthen my case for an appeal review.

  Please invoice any costs associated with the work to Simon at the Carpet Capers Warehouse in Shamrock Street.

  Johnboy.’

  “Interesting,” Graham mused, looking across at his man.

  “Fraught with danger, if you ask me, boyo,” Swansea declared.

  “For who?”

  “Bloody-well everyone, as far as I can see.”

  “For example?” the brief asked him, loosening his tie while leaning back in his chair and putting wan fit up oan his desk, while rapidly rattling a pencil between his teeth, using the index finger and thumb ae his right haun.

  “The girls are the most at risk. If One-bob Brown doesn’t get them, The Stalker will, for sure.”

  “You’re not suggesting that Paddy McPhee would do them harm, are you?”

  “No, but if that boyo makes the connection that the Mathieson lass was the one that was on duty that evening, then it won’t take long for one of One-bob’s boyos to pick up on it. Either way, their lives are in extreme danger.”

  “Yes, quite.”

  “And then there are the moral, ethical and legal considerations.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but did those two fine Scotch lasses just mention a possible triple murder?”

  “The girls sat here and individually gave us hypothetical statements, based on fears that they had somehow uncovered a crime, without producing a shred of evidence linking the deaths of the individuals concerned. Part of your job will be to investigate whether our law enforcement colleagues have responded to the deaths in the most appropriate manner and to ascertain whether there are, or has been, any concerns regarding foul play in the deaths of this Doctor Walsh and the farmer, McPherson. The key interest, as far as my client is concerned, is the link of a senior police ins
pector, who may have evidence in his possession that proves that my client is innocent. Your concerns regarding confidentiality being an issue within the Glasgow Police are real and will certainly affect how we obtain information, particularly with regards to the safety of the girls.”

  “And this Inspector from Linwood? Now, where did that boyo come from?”

  “That’s a new one on me. Something isn’t quite right here. I don’t doubt that Johnboy Taylor was in a car with Danny Murphy whilst the Clydeside Bank was being robbed, but why didn’t they put this forward as an alibi during his trial? This would have placed him roughly twelve to fifteen miles away, via the Clyde Tunnel, from Maryhill Road, obtaining under-the-counter information from a serving police inspector whilst the bank job was in progress. We need to find out who the inspector was and why Johnboy Taylor didn’t use this crucial piece of evidence at his trial.”