Dumfries (30 page)

  “Dae ye think the dentist knows whit he’s in fur?” he’d asked Johnboy.

  “Ah fucking hope so,” Johnboy hid replied, gulping.

When the beast hid emerged, white as a ghost, moaning and haudin that jaw ae his, a mixture ae blood and slabbers swinging fae the back ae his haun, Baxter hid stood up fur his turn.

  “By the way, Ah’m sorry aboot whit happened up in Longriggend.  Ah thought ye wur oot tae attack me and Ah thought Ah’d better get in there first,” Johnboy hid murmured.

  Baxter hid stoapped and momentarily looked intae Johnboy’s eyes.  Johnboy hid tensed and wondered if he wis aboot tae say something or attack him, bit he’d jist shrugged they muscled shoulders ae his and turned, before disappearing through tae the empty chair and the white gowned butcher, who wis beckoning him tae come and take a seat.  When Johnboy hid returned, jaw still intact, tae the sewing shoap, he’d telt the boys whit he’d said tae Baxter.  Tony hidnae seemed too happy.

  “Ye wid’ve been better saying nothing.  Whit happened in Longriggend, happened. Keep him at a distance. He knows whit tae expect if he comes near any ae us,” Tony hid said.

  “Ah say we nip the basturt when we go fur oor tea later oan.  He’s obviously no goat the message and learned his lesson,” Snappy hid growled.

  “Naw, leave him be.  Baxter knows the score,” Tony hid said, lifting up another aff-cut tae start a new bandolier.

  “Bit he’s blaming us fur his sentence,” Snappy hid insisted.

  “Well, ye did bloody rob the fucking bank that he’s daeing nine years fur, Snappy,” Johnboy hid reminded him.

  “So whit?  He goat done fur it withoot any help fae us.  Whit the hell his that goat tae dae wae any ae us, eh?  Answer me that wan.”

  “Ah’m no saying that it’s goat anything tae dae wae us, bit it shouldnae stoap us fae feeling sorry fur the poor basturt, should it?” Johnboy hid challenged him, feeling himsel getting irritated.

  “Fuck him.  If he’s daft enough tae get the jail fur something he never done, then hell mend him fur being so stupid in the first place,” Snapper hid hissed, before adding quickly. “Ach, sorry Johnboy, ye know whit Ah mean.”

  “Snappy, Ah telt ye, drap the fucking subject and that goes fur you as well, Johnboy,” Tony hid growled, getting pissed aff, seeing where the conversation wis heiding.

  “Right, Taylor, grab yer banjo and they boxes,” The Tormentor scowled, efter unlocking his door.

  “Aboot bloody time.”

  “Whit?  Whit did ye jist say?” The Tormentor asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Ah asked if ye’ve goat the time.  Ah’m missing Top ae The Pops, so Ah am.”

  “Move!”

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

An unemployed electrician has been jailed for six months at Glasgow Sheriff Court after being found guilty of reconnecting households whose electricity had already been disconnected by the Electricity Board.  The man, appropriately named James Spark, claimed he was doing it because of concern for householders not being able to cook meals for their children and to keep them warm at night.  He denied making any money from his actions. Police believe Spark is responsible for reconnecting up to 2000 homes in the north of the city…

  A police marksman shot and killed a cow that had escaped from the lorry that was taking it to be slaughtered at Duke Street Abattoir this morning.  The beast was thought to be endangering the lives of drivers as it dodged in and out traffic as it headed along Duke Street in the direction of the city centre.  Unfortunately, a bus carrying primary school children, some as young as five, who had been held up in traffic and who were on a school visit to Glasgow Zoo witnessed the shooting.  An education spokesman at The Corporation reported just before we came on air that the school trip had to be abandoned…

  Another teenage joyrider has been killed in the city after crashing the stolen car he was driving whilst being pursued by police.  This brings the number of teenagers killed this year to seven.  The youth, believed to be aged fourteen and his female passenger, also fourteen, but unhurt, have not been named…”

Chapter Twenty Eight

  Flora Connor sat in the waiting room, avoiding eye contact wae the tarty-looking receptionist who wis sitting, typing at a desk across fae her.  Flora wis glad that the lassie hid whit looked like a pair ae heidphones oan that heid ae hers, covering her ears.  She wondered how somewan could type while listening tae music.  She strained her ears, trying tae see if she could make oot if it wis that loud pop music racket that she heard every time she switched oan her radiogram or telly these days.  This wis only the second time that she’d been in a solicitor’s office, bit she recognised the smell. The other time hid been when her Robert hid goat arrested, jist efter the lassie Broon hid disappeared fae the village.  The musty smell ae books and paper reminded her ae her school days.  It wis warm, bit she didnae want tae unbutton her coat or take aff her good heid scarf, which hid been a Mother’s Day present fae Robert the year efter his faither hid passed away.  Well, he hidnae actually went oot and bought it fur her.  She’d chosen and paid fur it hersel, bit he’d wrapped it up and gied it tae her at breakfast oan Mother’s Day.  She ignored the wee smile fae the lassie sitting typing when she lifted up her face tae unwind a completed paper sheet before twisting a blank wan oan tae the roller ae her machine.  Flora wis hungry, bit didnae think it proper tae take oot the soda scone that she hid in her bag.  It hid been a long day.  Normally she wid’ve walked doon intae Cambusbarron tae catch the bus, bit the villagers hid ostracised her since she’d been accused ae lying oan behauf ae Robert in court, efter she’d sworn oan the bible that Robert hid been at hame hivving his tea at the time that young slut, Ann Broon, hid disappeared.  Her hate mail hid increased tenfold efter she’d highlighted Robert’s innocence by taking oot advertisement space oan the billboards leading up tae Stirling Castle wae her favourite photo ae him, taken oan his fifth birthday. Surely people could see fur themsels that her wee angel widnae be capable ae hurting a fly?  She’d lost the battle wae the toon council tae get them kept up, efter the local business association clubbed thegither and goat a court order tae hiv them removed.  At least that hidnae been before it hid raised awareness and goat widespread publicity regarding Robert’s innocence. Flora wis still no convinced that the wee tart wis deid and thought that she wis probably living-in-sin, somewhere doon south, laughing at everywan.  She’d hid tae get a taxi tae come and pick her up and take her intae Stirling tae get the bus intae Glesga.  It hid cost a fortune, and she hid the same expense tae look forward tae oan the way back.  She wis sure the taxi driver wis charging her o’er the odds, bit she wisnae in a position tae argue.  She’d been aboot tae gie up, when the fifth number she’d rung hid agreed tae come and collect her.  Three ae the companies hid put the phone doon oan her when she’d telt them her address.  The other wan hid said they’d a taxi available, bit hid phoned her back five minutes later and said that they’d made a mistake and that aw the taxis wur fully booked.  Oan the way fae her hoose tae the bus station, she’d felt the taxi driver’s eyes oan her in the mirror, bit when she’d glanced up, he’d quickly averted they accusing eyes ae his.  Not wan word hid been said oan the journey other than tae say he’d be waiting at hauf past seven when the bus drapped her back aff in Stirling.  The journey fae Stirling tae Dumfries tae visit Robert wis ten times worse.  It meant an overnight stay.  She’d tried tae convince him that a visit every two months insteid ae monthly wis aw she could manage due tae the expense and her poor health, bit he’d goat upset and demanded she visit him monthly.  She’d become terribly upset when he’d accused her ae abandoning him and him being innocent ae any crime.  Efter her last visit, she’d cried fur days at the injustice ae the situation that her and her baby hid found themsels in.  Noo things wur starting tae look up.  She’d written tae him recently tae say that she’d be delaying her monthly visit by a week due tae a date fur the operation oan her bunions coming through.  She’d felt bad aboot hivving tae phone up the hospital clinic tae cancel her date, particularly efter she wis telt that she’d end up at the back ae the queue, bit that nice senior prison officer, Mr Dick, hid phoned her at hame, urging her tae make the effort tae get doon tae Dumfries as Robert hid some important news fur her.  He couldnae say whit it wis, bit it looked like Robert hid acquired new evidence that could prove his innocence.  When she’d arrived at the visit, Robert hid seemed so excited.  She hidnae seen him so agitated since he passed his driving test and laid aff Ernie Philips, the lazy labourer that Robert hid hid working fur him at the time and who’d condemned him fae the witness stand wae a pack ae lies.  She sat wae her eyes shut and went o’er whit it wis she wis tae say tae the solicitor.  She hid tae make sure she didnae miss anything oot.

  “It’s important ye say exactly whit Ah’m aboot tae tell ye, Ma,” Robert hid repeated fur the umpteenth time during her two-hour prison visit.

  She’d wanted tae write it doon, bit he’d insisted that she remember everything.   He wis suspicious ae anything written doon that could be ascribed tae him, so they’d spent the full two hours gaun o’er everything, word fur word, until he’d been satisfied that she’d goat it right.  She felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “You’re the only wan that understauns me, Ma.  It’s only us.  Da’s no here tae help us through this,” he’d whimpered when it wis time fur her tae leave.

  “Mrs Conner?  Mr Abraham will see ye noo,” the typing tart said, lifting aff her heidphones and laying them doon oan the desk, before walking across the room tae haud open the frosted glass door that announced ‘Silas Abraham, Solicitor’ oan it in flaky gold lettering.

  “Mrs Connor, sorry tae keep ye waiting.  Please, take a seat.  Perhaps Ah kin get ye a drink?  A cup ae tea or a glass ae water perhaps?” The Brief asked efter gieing her fingertips a limp haunshake.

  “No, Ah’m fine, thank you.”

  “Right, well, Ah’ll take it fae here, Louise,” The Brief said, nodding tae the receptionist, who closed the door behind her wae a wee click.  “Now then, Mrs Connor, perhaps you’d like tae explain why ye wanted tae see me?  Louise made it sound aw very mysterious.  Ah don’t usually see people unless Ah hiv an idea ae whit it is they wish tae speak tae me aboot,” he said, sitting doon behind the desk.

  Flora Conner looked at the solicitor.  Oan either side ae him, oan his tatty-looking desk, two stacks ae folders threatened tae topple o’er at any time.  It wis like looking at somewan through a hatch, she thought.  She could tell he hidnae built up his reputation oan his looks either.  He wis short, Jewish-looking, wae a receding hairline which wis in an advanced state ae retreat.  She wisnae surprised at the pinstriped troosers and waistcoat wae a gold chain running through a buttonhole and disappearing intae baith wee pockets.  She wondered if the white collar oan his blue pinstriped shirt wis detachable.  It reminded her that she still hid a bunch ae detachable collars belonging tae Douglas…God rest his soul…in the back ae wan ae her wardrobes, tied thegither wae a piece ae string.  Like everything else belonging tae Douglas, she jist couldnae bring hersel tae get rid ae it.  She felt humiliated hivving tae come here and talk aboot her private life wae this stranger…and a Jew tae boot…bit she knew this man hid the power in that balding heid and mind ae his tae get her baby oot ae the nightmare that hid engulfed them baith fur near oan eighteen months noo.

  “Ah believe ye represent a young thug, er, lad, called Jimmy Baxter?”

  “Yes, if it’s the same James Baxter that ye’re referring tae?” The Brief replied cautiously, raising his eyebrows.

  “Ah also believe that this boy is pleading innocent ae the crime that he’s been put in jail fur.”

  “Ah’ve a client who is currently serving nine years in Dumfries Young Offenders Institution.  Young Mr Baxter is still pleading his innocence, despite the fact that the appeal process instigated by him and represented by me, appears tae hiv been exhausted, unless, of course, new evidence, no awready tested in court, materialises that wid lead tae an innocent young man being set free.  Are ye saying that ye’re in possession ae such evidence, unknown tae me or the judiciary, er, Mrs Connor?”

  “Ah’m no in possession or hiv the, er, evidence…the new unimpeachable evidence…masel,” she replied, letting the weight ae whit she wis saying sink in. “Bit, er, that son ae mine dis.”

  “I see.  And yer son?  Is there any particular reason he isnae wae ye the day tae share this information wae me?” The Brief asked gently, making a show ae looking at his flaky gold stencilled door tae make sure her son wisnae hinging aboot oot in the reception area.

  “Ma son wid’ve liked tae hiv been here in person, bit unfortunately, like yer client, he’s also a prisoner doon in Dumfries.”

  “Oh, Ah see.”

  Silas Abraham sat back in his creaking seat and looked at the wee wummin seated across fae him.  He knew exactly who she wis the second she’d stated that her son wis serving time in Dumfries.  Robert Conner, at aged eighteen, sentenced tae life in January 1973 fur the murder ae a young schoolgirl in a wee village somewhere oot near Stirling.  Though the lassie’s body hid never been found, the jury hid unanimously found him guilty.  Despite an appeal in front ae three High Court judges in Edinburgh fur a retrial, the case hid been thrown oot and Robert Connor hid been sent back tae prison tae serve oot his sentence.  The case hid a higher national profile than other run-ae-the-mill murder enquiries at the time, due tae the lassie no being found, despite a massive search that hid extended as far as the south ae England and in particular, Cardiff in Wales, where she’d supposedly been seen frolicking wae some aulder man.  Aw the Scottish newspapers and news programmes hid ran wae the story oan and aff fur a number ae weeks at the time ae the disappearance and fur a further few days efter Robert Conner hid been sentenced. Flora Connor hid been demonised by the press and accused by the judge ae, at best, hivving impeded the murder investigation and, at worst, committed perjury oan behauf ae her son.  Young Ann Broon’s smiling face still stared oot at the public fae the notice boards at the entrance ae polis stations across the country.  Alang wae her picture, gieing her height, hair and eye colour and whit she’d been wearing oan the snowy night that she hid disappeared, the polis wur still asking the public if they could help find oot whit hid really become ae her.  Occasionally, a photograph ae her tearful parents wid turn up in The Glesga Echo or wan ae the other papers, pleading fur Robert Connor tae tell them whit he’d done wae their daughter’s body or fur anywan else who hid any information, no matter how trivial it might seem, tae come forward and help them get their daughter back tae them…deid or alive.  Silas hid been offered the Connor case through legal aid, bit hid passed oan it at the time.  The missing Broon lassie hid been the same age as his ain daughter, their birthdays being only a few days apart.

  “Ur ye in a position tae furnish me wae the type ae information yer son his in his possession, Mrs Connor?”

  “Ah’m sorry, bit only ma son wid be able tae gie ye an answer tae that question.”

  “And this information…his yer son spoken tae the polis…or the prison authorities?”

  “Ma son lives in a constant state ae fear, Mr Abraham.  He feels that if he shares whit he knows wae anywan, his life wid be even mair hopeless than it appears tae be at the moment.”

  “Bit, surely the authorities wid protect yer son, Mrs Conner?  They hiv a legal obligation tae protect his health and wellbeing.”

  “Ma son his asked me tae pass this message oan, Mr Abraham, and that’s whit Ah’m daeing.  If ye want tae find oot whit it is he knows, then ye’ll hiv tae talk tae him in person.  Whit Ah kin tell ye is that the perpetrators ae the foul deed that yer client goat sentenced fur, ur currently serving time in Dumfries jist noo, as we speak.”

  Silas knew aw aboot John Taylor and Samuel Smith, the two young thugs who’d been convicted ae the bank job that Jimmy Baxter, his client, wis noo serving time fur.  He also knew that there wur others involved in the bank job and that they too wur incarcerated doon in Dumfries, serving time oan separate charges.  He wis also aware that his client hid awready been attacked in Longriggend by Taylor and that Jimmy Baxter’s life wis constantly in grave danger, given the track records ae Taylor and Smith’s associates, Anthony Gucci, Patrick McCabe and William Johnston.  The rumours ae whit that particular gang ae young thugs goat up tae oan the streets ae Glesga wur rife and repeated amongst people who knew whit they wur oan aboot.   Depending oan who ye listened tae, it hid been suggested in some quarters…mainly by the polis, grant ye…that they’d been involved in several murders or disappearances ae people…maistly gangsters…and them still only in their teens.  The antics ae The Mankys, as they wur known, hid been the subject ae a lot ae lunchtime table discussions o’er the past few years.  There wisnae a criminal brief in the city that widnae gie their right eye-tooth tae hiv any ae them oan their books as clients.  It hid been whispered that Graham Portoy, son ae the late, great criminal lawyer,
Harry
Portoy, hid made an absolute fortune aff ae the backs ae The Mankys, baith through Legal Aid and as fee-paying clients.  It hid been the private fee-paying work that hid been the cause ae the speculation.  Silas knew Graham Portoy and that creepy precognition officer ae his, a Welshman named Swansea, through bumping intae them at the different court and polis stations scattered across the city.  He didnae know why, bit he’d never ever sat doon and hid an actual conversation wae Graham, the way he did wae the other criminal solicitors oan the circuit.  It wis usually jist a curt nod or a hello in the passing.  Portoy hid started aff as a gangly, awkward brief, whose initial performances in the district and sheriff courts hid led tae a lot ae merriment amongst his peers.  Glenda Metcalfe, the jewel in the procurator fiscal’s office, here in Glesga, hid been wiping the flair wae him when he’d first started practicing in the late sixties, covering the district courts. The general consensus at the time hid been that Graham wisnae a chip aff ae the auld block.  That hid aw suddenly changed wance his man, Swansea, and Gucci’s crowd hid taken up wae him.  While the Welshman hid become famous fur tracking doon and sniffing oot watertight witnesses fur the defence, The Mankys hid become walking adverts fur Graham’s law practice and noo, hauf the wee Neds in the city wur oan his books.  The rest ae the criminal briefs usually goat whit he couldnae take oan.  Portoy noo hid a swanky suite ae offices up in Bath Street, full ae young legal Turks like their boss, who hid a licence tae print money fae the Legal Aid pot.  Portoy also hid the pick ae the Queen’s Counsel crop.  Twice Silas hid been rejected by the tap QCs tae represent his client, Jimmy Baxter, as they wur awready representing people associated wae Graham Portoy and his manky-arsed rising stars.  It widnae be the first time that he’d wondered if the ootcome ae the Baxter case wid’ve been different if he could’ve goat Stuart McKenzie or Stephen Charles representing his client in front ae Lord Campbell ae Claremyle.