Dumfries (47 page)

“And yer point is?”

  “If Python Lee wis dying anyway, him being despatched ootside ae Wan-bob’s protection shield, widnae hiv been as sore as if he’d been alive, bringing in the sheckles?”

“Right, Ah see where that could’ve come fae. That’s a fair assumption tae make.  Bit, then there’s his conviction in 1959, doon in Cardiff, when he wis oan the tools?  The perverted basturt goat captured transporting a fourteen-year-auld school lassie who wis bound and gagged.  Who knows whit wid’ve become ae her, if he hidnae goat stoapped wae a faulty tail light oan the back ae his van.  He goat three years fur that, before heiding back up the road tae Scotland in sixty three, back tae they Polish parents ae his, who wur living across in Stoneyhurst Street at the time.  Ye hivnae picked up anything aboot his criminal background being known oot and aboot oan the streets, hiv ye?  Ye know how people feel aboot stoat-the-baws, especially roond aboot The Big Man’s bears?”

  “Naw, that’s never come up.  If it hid, he widnae hiv been allowed in Frankie MacDonald’s stable ae entertainers. However, there’s somewan else who’d hiv a motive.”

  “Aye?”

  “Ah’ve jist telt ye.  It could’ve been that mad mute, who done the damage tae Python Lee, as a comeback fur being stabbed by the younger ae The Simpsons.”

  “Christ, Paddy, so The Mankys droont Python Lee Jackson and then went tae aw that trouble ae dumping his body in the Iron Works?   Ask yersel, in aw honesty, dis that sound like they wee manky fuckers or wid they no jist’ve laid the basturt oot, where they’d killed him?” Daddy challenged him.

  “If Python Lee allowed Toffee Simpson tae hide oot in his place, The Mankys widnae hiv been too happy.  Think aboot it?  Everywan knows fine well that they’ve been hunting fur Toffee Arsed Simpson since the mute wan goat oot ae borstal, at the tail end ae 1971.  Young Simpson hisnae been seen since, due tae the fact that he disnae hiv his brothers tae protect him anymair.  And remember, the last known sighting ae Python Lee wis oan the 24
th
November 1972, as he walked alang Firhill Street, efter he returned fae a plastering contract doon in Wales the previous week.  Ah’ve also picked up that Tony Gucci took o’er a couple ae flats in the area roond aboot that time as well.”

  “And ye think Wan-bob Broon wid allow Gucci’s crowd tae get shot ae wan ae Top Stars Entertainment’s biggest money makers, jist because he put up the youngest ae The Simpsons fur a few nights due tae the fact that The Mankys wur efter him?”

  “Normally no, bit they wur gonnae lose Python Lee tae cancer anyway.  So, Wan-bob let them take oot wan ae his big stars, knowing fine well his true worth wis aboot tae expire anyway.  It wid jist be another wee tick oan the tab.  That’s how Wan-bob Broon works.  Nowan gets anything fur nothing.  He dis ye a favour and it costs ye two in return.  It’s a well-known fact that The Big Man his been trying tae bring young Tony Gucci intae the fold fur years.  The Big Man his always seen Gucci as the son he never hid.  It’s Gucci he sees as taking o’er fae him wance he’s gone.”

  “Paddy, where the fuck dis that vivid imagination ae yours come fae?  Honestly, ye should’ve been a bloody scriptwriter fur Dixon ae Dock Green insteid ae a bizzy. Ah’m starting tae worry aboot you, so Ah am. That obsession ae yers wae that Atalian-arsed wan his goat tae stoap, so it his.  Right…back tae Wee Eck Thomas.  There wis nothing mentioned aboot where Shaun Murphy finally ended up?”

  “Naw, although he did say that Snappy Johnston telt him wance a few years back that The Mankys hid access tae the boiler-room at the back ae the swimming baths up in Kay Street.”

  “Aye, bit did he say that they used the furnace tae get shot ae people?” Daddy asked him, his voice loaded wae cynicism.

  “Naw.”

  “So, whit else did Wee Eck say then?”

  “Basically, gie or take a few painful groans, the same as whit Haufwit awready telt me.”

  “Why did ye no come and speak tae me efter Bumper put two and two thegither and came up wae seven?”

  “And say whit?  Ah tried that before and see where that goat me…remember?  Whit wid’ve been the point? The fire boys report oot in Dumbarton concluded that the farmer’s death wis an accident and the doctor wis a depressed sadomasochist, who liked getting that arse ae his thrashed.”

  “And the lassie…the young nurse?”

  “Bumper spoke wae Big John Robertson, wan ae the local sergeants oot in Bishopbriggs.  Fae whit he said, she probably never knew whit the hell hid hit her.  He said she wis dragged under the Transit van fur aboot twenty feet before the back wheels went o’er the tap ae her.  She wis deid by the time the ambulance goat tae her.  Jist another hit-and-run tae add tae the rest in the city, although, unusually, the van wis never traced.”

  “And yer point is?” Daddy asked, biting.

  “That it wis definitely a professional job.  How many hit-and-run vehicles dae ye know that urnae found abandoned or burnt oot somewhere within a couple ae hours efter they’ve run o’er the tap ae some poor basturt crossing the road?”

  “Greasy Jake’s?”

  “That’s whit ma money wid’ve be oan.”

  “Did ye know that baith you and Bumper wur tailed within ten minutes ae hitting the toon centre…baith times?” Daddy informed him, changing the subject.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye, they worked a two-man team oan youse.  It made oor job even harder, trying tae watch your arses while covering oor wans at the same time, wondering if they wur daeing the same tae us.”

  “Did ye know who they wur?”

  “Spotty Hector and that ugly pal ae his, Chic Shand…two ae Greasy Jake’s gunmen and Peabody Moffat and Charlie Drake, two ae Peter The Plant’s enforcers.  Ye mean, ye honestly didnae know they wur oan tae youse?”

  “We wur too busy trying tae avoid your tails.”

  “Anyway, ya bloody eejit, ye.  It also means Wan-bob Broon is oan tae ye as well.  Christ, Paddy, and they call ye The Stalker?  Noo, wid that hiv happened ten or even five years ago, withoot ye being aware ae whit wis gaun oan?  Ye need tae accept that yer time his come and gone.  Ye need tae stoap farting aboot and accept that it’s a young man’s game noo.  That’s why ye’re an inspector.  Why kin ye no jist leave things tae other people and get oan wae whit ye’re supposed tae be getting oan wae, insteid ae aw this pissing aboot and getting involved in matters that ur none ae yer bloody business, eh?”

  “The only person who knows whit we’re up tae, apart fae masel and Bumper, is sitting in front ae me,” The Stalker replied, making sure Daddy understood that nowan ootside ae the room wis tae be telt whit wis gaun oan.

  “Paddy, ye’re such a bloody dumpling…you and that big glaikit pal ae yours.  Did ye no hear whit Ah’ve jist said tae ye?  Wan-bob is oan tae the pair ae youse!”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he’s two steps aheid ae ye, ya eejit.  Let’s jist say that whit ye’ve said is true aboot yer wee manky shitehooses being responsible fur daeing away wae Shaun Murphy and Tam Simpson…and Wan-bob getting shot ae Toby, Bootsy and Blaster McKay.  Where dis that leave ye?  Ah’ll tell ye, will Ah?  Wee Eck Thomas is long gone.  If Wan-bob Broon even goat a whiff that youse two lumps hid goat yer hauns oan him, he wis as good as deid, so he wis.  Noo, in some quarters aboot here,” Daddy said, glancing up towards the ceiling, “that wid be akin tae being an accessory tae murder, so it wid.  However, as ye’ve so subtly pointed oot, there’s only me and youse pair ae bampots that know whit youse ur up tae, meaning ye’ve still goat time tae redeem yersels, by putting yer cocks back intae yer flies and zipping them up.  Ye hid yer chance and as per usual, ye bloody-well blew it.  Meanwhile, chaos reigns up in Springburn while ye’ve goat Biscuit, Froggie and that other pair ae wasters, Hope and Glory, fannying aboot ootside pubs when they should be daeing whit the rest ae us ur daeing and that’s catching crooks.  Wee Eck Thomas’s maw his been oan the blower, alarmed that something’s happened tae her son and demanding tae know why a plainclothes bizzy his been hinging aboot ootside her hoose fur the past few weeks.  By her description it could only be The Bushwhacker…big ugly basturt, face that wis born tae scare weans, acting like an undercover bizzy.”

  “Aye, Fitz his been hinging aboot tae see if Wee Eck puts in an appearance.”

  “Well, get that arse ae his oot ae Burmulloch and back doon tae Springburn where it’s supposed tae be.  When she goes tae the papers pining aboot her innocent son being missing, Ah want us tae be able tae say we know nothing aboot his disappearance.”

  “So, ye’re telling me tae back aff?  Is that it?”

  “Ah’m telling ye tae start clamping doon oan aw they wee Neds who ur running amok every night, terrorising communities and driving everywan nuts wae their fighting, as well as drawing unwelcome attention tae the likes ae me.  Christ, Paddy, we’re snowed under doon here, trying tae justify oor very existence tae thick, uneducated chancers in second-haun suits, who ur only interested in retaining the vote in the same communities that ye’re choosing tae ignore.”

  “Aye, bit, whit exactly ur ye saying regarding that poor wee nurse, Daddy?”

  “Look, Paddy, don’t lay aw that concerned crap aboot the nurse oan tae me.  Aye, it’s terrible whit’s happened, bit we aw know why ye’re still poking yer oar in here, don’t we?  Whit Ah’m saying is that Wan-bob Broon his awready taken care ae any wee anomalies that might’ve arisen, thanks tae yersel.  So, even if ye did manage tae come up wae a few crumbs ae evidence tae substantiate yer repetitive theory oan who killed Tam Simpson, fae where Ah’m sitting, Wan-bob Broon his humped ye, yet again.  Ma advice tae you is tae get that arse ae yers back up tae Springburn and stay there and stoap aw this fucking aboot.  Ah’ve goat enough oan ma plate doon here withoot you making it worse,” Daddy shouted, spit spraying in aw directions.

  “And that’s it, is it?”

  “Ah’ve jist telt ye.  The trail his gone cauld because ae you and yer sidekick trampling aw o’er any shred ae evidence that we might’ve been able tae pick up oan, if only you’d shared that information wae the rest ae us at the beginning, insteid ae the pair ae youse prancing aboot like the Lone Ranger and Kemo Fucking Sabi.  Don’t try and hit me wae yer petty psychological shite aboot the poor wee nurse.  Ah’ve cleared up mair murders in this city than ye’ve hid hot dinners.  If ma conscience bothers me aboot that poor wee nurse when Ah eventually get tae ma bed the night, it’ll be because Ah’m responsible fur allowing somewan like you tae be still staunin there in a proud uniform that better men than whit’s sitting in front ae me hiv died prematurely fur defending!”

  “So, that’s it, is it?” The Stalker asked again, bristling, his heart gaun like the clappers.

  “That’s it.  Noo, if ye don’t mind, Ah’m busy,” Daddy snarled, flicking the light switch oan his desk tae green.

  “So, let me get this straight then. Ye’re telling me tae furget aw aboot that wee lassie…the nurse…is that right?” The Stalker demanded bitterly, staunin up, glaring at the Chief Superintendent.

  “Wis there anything else that this haufwit wan and Wee Eck Thomas mentioned in the passing that Ah should know aboot that ye hivnae awready fucked up oan?” Daddy asked, looking up at him, ignoring his question.

  “Naw, bit Ah’ve heard that Woodside Accommodation is being taken o’er by the Sing brothers.  Noo, who in a month ae Hail Mary’s wid’ve thought Bob Montieth wid’ve sold oot tae that pair ae sharks?  It jist disnae add up, so it disnae.”

  “Is that right noo?  Right, well, let me see whit Ah think ye’ve come up wae here, Paddy,” Daddy said, haudin oot his left haun, fingers splayed, index finger oan his right wan poised at the ready above the index oan his left.  “How aboot, a factor, whose business is really owned by well-known gangsters, who sells oot tae his main competition, The Sing Brothers, who everywan knows he disnae like, bit whose business is also owned by the same well-known gangsters, who own Woodside Accommodation. Bob Montieth’s financial records wur aw legitimate, as wis the sale, confirmed by the Inland Revenue investigative boys,” Daddy growled, finishing oan his pinkie.  “Whit exactly is it that ye think disnae add up?  Anything else ye’ve furgoat tae mention, Sherlock?”

  “Daddy, why ur ye such a smug cunt, eh?” The Stalker snarled at him, feeling a strange sense ae déjà vu coming o’er him.

  “Paddy, watch that mooth ae yers and draw that neck back in before it gets stretched.  And while ye’re at it, ask yersel why aw yer colleagues believe ye’re such a fucking disloyal loser and a pain in the arse who only believes in number wan…yersel?”

  Silence.

  “Right, anything else ye want tae upset me wae before ye leave…this time?” Daddy asked sarcastically, making a point ae looking at the door behind The Stalker.

  “Naw, no really, other than tae say that the Taylor boy wisnae in the bank oan Maryhill Road, which means he didnae blast Liam Thompson and that young pavement pounder that wis wae him.”

  “Oh, and who did then?”

  “Snappy Johnston.”

  “Ach, well, it’s aw the same who done it.  They’re aw as guilty as fuck anyway.”

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

Benson Flaw, The Glasgow Echo’s expert motoring columnist, believes the classic racing car that has been causing chaos at the weekends, tying up precious police resources, whilst being pursued along Great Western Road at excessive speeds up to and over one hundred and sixty seven miles an hour, apparently to the delight of pedestrians heading home after a night out in the town centre, is a 1936 Alfa Romeo 12C …   

  Glasgow Royal Infirmary have confirmed that a sixty-seven-year-old pensioner has died, as a result of his injuries, in what police confirmed as a hit-and-run incident by a stolen car on Alexander Parade yesterday…

Undercover-armed police exchanged gunfire with an armed gang who robbed a post office in Dumbarton Road this morning.  The gang made off with a four-figure sum of money.  Fortunately, no one was hurt and police enquiries are continuing…

  Police across Glasgow have denied that they were, at one point, overwhelmed between eight thirty and ten o’clock, last Saturday evening, after fourteen major street gang incidents, some serious, involving hordes of marauding youths, brandishing knives, terrorised local residents as they fought amongst each other in various no-go areas of the city.  The MP for Cathcart, Teddy Taylor, has stated that he will be raising his concern in The Commons this week and will be demanding the return of the birch…

A loving husband has been warned to mend his ways after he was fined twenty pounds at The Central District Court after admitting assaulting his common-law wife at their home in Easterhouse…

  Glasgow’s Lord Provost has said that the anti-litter initiative launched to great fanfare seven months ago will continue, despite suggestions that the initiative has failed to make an impact on the amount of litter on the streets…

A young woman, believed to be a prostitute, was found strangled and dumped in an industrial refuse bin in a lane adjacent to West Campbell Street in the city centre…”