The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (35 page)

Chapter Fifty

“So, what now, Sarge?  To the left will take us down to Fort William and to the right, The Kyle of Lochalsh,” McTavish said, as baith their heids followed a trail ae caravans wae weans and dugs hinging oot ae the windaes heiding in the direction ae Fort William.

  “We wait.”

  “What?  All night?”

  “Naw, somewan’s gonnae come and meet us here.”

  Efter sitting fur aboot an hour at the A87 junction, a squad car finally showed up.  Wan ae the occupants…a sergeant…goat oot and came o’er.

  “Sergeant McPhee?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m Sergeant Stewart.”

  “How ur ye daeing, Stewarty-boy?  Any news?”

  “No, we’ve been sitting down at Eilean Donan Castle by Dornie since this afternoon.  If they’d come this way, we’d have spotted them.  We’ve seen plenty of dark green Land Rovers, but nothing with the number plates ANS 342F…sorry. ”

  “That’s a pity,” The Stalker replied, clearly disappointed.

  “I’ve got another car down at Eilean Donan to take over from us.  He’ll be there for another two hours.  If nothing shows up tonight, we’ll be back at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Aye, okay, Ah appreciate yer time,” The Stalkers said, cursing like buggery, efter the sergeant jumped back intae his car, did an aboot-turn and sped aff in the direction he’d come fae.

  “What now?” McTavish asked again.

  “I’m still convinced he’s heiding this way.  Whit wis the name ae the hotel we passed back up the road beside that big Loch?”

  “There’s two of them.  There’s The Lochcarron Inn and The Strathcarron Hotel?  The Lochcarron is probably the cheaper of the two.”

  “Right, let’s heid back tae there.  If we don’t come across them, we’ll get gaun pretty sharp the morra morning.”

Chapter Fifty One

  When Paul came back efter walking the dug, there wis nowan manning the reception.  He looked aboot before leaning
across and picking up the signing-in book.  He wis glad tae see that Saba hid put his name before hers.  He dipped the nib pen intae the wee bottle ae ink and put Mr & Mrs in front ae his name.  They wur noo signed in as Mr & Mrs Bob & Margaret Blair, Rose Street, Tain.  He placed the book back where he’d found it and heided through the door intae the bar.  Aw the tables alang the windaes, which looked oot oan tae the Loch wur full.  He sat doon at a table jist oot ae sight ae the reception area, tae the right as ye went in through the door.  He wisnae too happy wae the location, as he’d hiv preferred a clear view ae who wis coming and gaun fae the front door ae the reception, bit at least he could keep his eye oan the Landy and the boat between the faces ae the two love-birds who wur sitting coo-ing at each other in front ae the windae across fae him.  While he wis waiting oan Saba, he looked aboot.  There wis a poster up oan the wall beside him announcing that somewan called The Bonnie Highlander wis playing live in the bar, starting at eight thirty.  There wis plenty ae people…maistly couples…aw ignoring their grub and looking intae each other’s eyes.  Aw the tables wur full and the bar wis aboot two deep, so the place wis busy enough fur them no tae staun oot in a crowd.  It wisnae long before Saba arrived.  She looked aboot eighteen or nineteen, he thought, and looked gorgeous tae boot.  He wis conscious that aw the hounds at the bar, as well as the guys sitting wae their wummin folk, who didnae hiv their backs tae Paul’s table, stoapped whit they wur daeing tae eye her up.  So much fur trying no tae staun oot in a crowd, Paul thought tae himsel.  She’d been wearing a towel wrapped roond her when she wis sitting in front ae the mirror in the bedroom.  Noo, she wis wearing a figure-hugging blue dress and matching shoes wae a silver necklace wae some sort ae blue stanes in it.  She didnae see him sitting jist roond the corner fae the door as she entered the bar.  He goat a waft ae the lovely perfume she wis wearing earlier as she sauntered confidently past him.

  “Margaret,” he called pleasantly, cursing under his breath that she’d clearly furgotten her name.

  “Excuse me, love, he’s sitting over there,” an English guy, wae his tongue hinging oot, pointed oot tae her, much tae the disapproval ae the bar hounds, who wur hoping she wis heiding their way.

  “Oh, right, thank you,” she said tae Dribbling Mooth, wae a smile that caused that tongue ae his tae droop doon even further.

  “Margaret?  Remember Margaret?” he whispered tae her.

  “Yes, sorry.”

  “By the way, ye look stoating, so ye dae.  Hauf the guys in the bar are gieing ye wee glances oot ae the side ae their eyes, while the wummin folk obviously hate yer guts, so they dae,” he said tae her.

  “A compliment?  From you?  Oh that’s nice…and a first.”

  “Aye, and Happy Birthday, by the way,” he said, The Bonnie Highlander’s poster jist hivving reminded him that it wis the seventh day ae the seventh month.

  “Oh Paul, how sweet of you.  Thank you.”

  “Aye, Ah wis
hoping tae get ye a wee present, bit the last shoap we came across wis back in Ullapool and because ae yer lip, Ah never knew whether ye’d be wae me much longer, so it went oot ae ma mind, so it did.”

  “Never mind…I’m starving.”

  “Oh, and there’s live music in the bar later oan, by the way.  Somewan called The Bonnie Highlander, so at least ye might get serenaded oan yer birthday fae some rock star in a kilt, eh?”

Chapter Fifty Two

  The Stalker felt drained and exhausted.  He wisnae too sure if it wis tae dae wae the journey up north or the excitement ae being back oan the job.  He rubbed his eyes and felt them sting.  It hid been a long day and he’d obviously goat oot ae the habit ae living oan his wits.  Being oan the train up north hid gied him time tae come tae terms wae being back.  He’d kept thinking back tae earlier in the year when himsel and Fin hid been hauled in and suspended.  It hid been aboot two weeks efter Mick Murphy hid gone up in flames in his hoose in Martyr Street, oan the same day that Tiny, the wee midget boss ae The Stanhope Street Stables hid goat buried.  Whit hid started aff as a good month hid ended up wae himsel and Fin being broken intae tiny wee bits.  A couple ae weeks earlier, they’d started picking aff The Mankys who’d been oan the run, wan by wan.  They’d goat the mute…the wan they called Silent…first.  That hid been straightforward enough.  He’d stalked Paul and the mute tae a bottom flair tenement in McAslin Street.  They’d supposedly been helping some auld wummin oot who’d lost aw her furniture when somewan hid broken intae her hoose while she wis in hospital.  The silent wan and Paul hid been re-stocking her hoose wae auld furniture that hid been abandoned by folk who’d awready flitted oot ae other hooses in the street and hid been lying empty. He remembered being disappointed at the time because they’d goat the quiet wan insteid ae McBride.  Fin and himsel hid messed it up when they’d shot their bolt too early and sprang oot tae jump the boys.  They hidnae twigged that the pair wur moving a sideboard through the ootside door ae the auld wan’s hoose.  Paul hid been oan the inside, oot ae reach, and despite his attempts tae free his mate, Fin and himsel hid hauled the wee mute basturt away.

  “Look oan the bright side, Paddy, we’ve goat wan ae the wee basturts, eh?” Fin hid said tae him.

  They’d taken the wee toe-rag o’er tae Pinkston tae wan ae the auld sheds up at the railway line.  Despite leathering intae the wee fucker fur aboot an hour, he’d kept his gub shut and widnae tell them where the other boys wur holed up.  He wis well-named.  The next wan tae go doon hid been Taylor…another wee squealer who’d kept his trap shut, despite getting his hee-haws crushed under Fin’s big shovel hauns.  It hid taken them another two weeks tae track the other three doon.  Fin hid been in his element.  They didnae call him The Bumper fur nothing.  It hid been a real Battle Royale, he remembered, smiling.  There hid been eight bizzies against the remaining three Mankys in haun-tae-haun combat in a wee tenement living room.  Nowan hid been sure who wis whacking who.  When the bizzies hid arrived oan the scene, crashing through the front door, The Mankys hid jist stood facing them.

  “Right, oan ye come, ya bunch ae wankers.  Who’s first?” Gucci hid challenged them, kicking it aw aff.

  Efter they’d hauled them doon the stairs intae the Black Maria van that wis sitting in the street, they’d hid tae drap McManus, under escort, aff at The Royal Infirmary tae get some stitches in his napper.  Later oan, they’d aw been sitting in the canteen, doon at Central, when Hammy Shand, wan ae the turnkeys, hid popped his heid roond the door and telt him and Fin that they wur wanted roond at Greendyke Street,
straight away.  The place hid gone quiet.  The criminal investigation teams fae ootside the city, who wur suspending everywan, right, left and centre, hid been based o’er there.

  “Us?” Fin hid asked, surprised.

  “Youse,” the turnkey hid replied.

  The baith ae them hid dragged their feet as they left Central, like a couple ae condemned men aboot tae face the rope.

  “Whit dae ye think, Paddy?”

  “Ah think we’re fucked, that’s whit Ah think.”

  “Why?  Why us?  We hivnae done anything,” Fin hid bleated miserably.

  “Fur Christ’s sakes, Fin.  Dae ye no read the papers?  Every single paper in Scotland his us oan the front page.”

  “Ye mean the criminal investigation team?”

  “Naw, Ah mean us.  Look whit’s happening.  We’re probably the only two sergeants who ur left staunin in the central and north divisions ae the city.”

  “That’s because we’ve no been oan the bloody take like the rest ae they piss-pots,” he’d replied, bitterly.

  “Well, Ah’m no gonnae haud ma breath,” The Stalker hid said, as they entered through the glass doors.

   “Right, boys, I’m not going to mess about here.  You, Finbar O’Callaghan and you, Patrick McPhee, both police sergeants covering the Townhead district of The City of Glasgow, are forthwith suspended during the current investigation into police corruption in the city.  I must warn you that the both of you are under suspicion and are expected to comply with requests by investigating officers to attend interview.  I must also remind you that all interviews will be conducted under oath and your compliance will be appreciated.  You will not return to your work base nor contact any of your colleagues. Your lockers at Central HQ are being taped up as we speak as part of the investigation.  Any belongings stored can be collected from this building after tomorrow.  Failure to comply will mean automatic dismissal from the force.  Being dismissed will not preclude you from the investigation or any charges associated with it.  You have the right to have representation with you during the investigative process.  Do I make myself clear?” Superintendent Ingram ae the Galloway Polis hid recited tae them.

  “Fuck you, pal.  Who dae ye think ye ur, dragging us in here like a pair ae bloody criminals?  While youse ur aw sitting oan yer arses doon here, congratulating yersels oan how many bizzies ye’ve knifed in the back, we’ve been oot trying tae keep the shite aff the heels ae the shoes in this city,” Bumper hid snarled, lifting up his erms and showing the superintendent the cuts and bruises oan the knuckles ae the back ae his hauns.

  Since the suspension, The Stalker hid been interviewed aboot hauf a dozen times and then he’d heard nothing mair.  It wis the waiting that hid been the hardest and no knowing whether he wis gonnae get slung in jail or no.  He’d heard whit wis gaun oan.  Chookter bizzies hid been arriving early in the morning, telling long-serving, loyal Glesga bizzies tae pack an overnight bag.  The Glesga bizzies hidnae been returning hame, hivving been remanded up tae the Bar-L.  He thought aboot poor Bumper. Efter his ootburst tae the superintendent, the basturts hid gone away and redoubled their efforts tae get something tae stick that wid gie them the opportunity tae charge him wae corruption.  It wis imperative that the young lassie…Lady Saba…wis found safe and sound, bit equally important, he hid tae get a haud ae McBride and be the wan tae clamp they cuffs oan him.  If he could manage that, then he’d be back oan the streets.  Wance there, he’d be in a better position tae get Bumper back tae work as well.

  “Look at that.  Is that not lovely now?” McTavish asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

  The Stalker looked across the Loch as they descended another steep hill.  It wis starting tae get dark and the water wis as smooth as glass.  He could see the twinkling ae lights in whit wis obviously a hotel.

  “That’s The Lochcarron Inn you’re looking at.  Look further down to your right.  That’s The Strathcarron Hotel.  We should try the Inn first and if it’s full we can double back.  There’s only about a mile between them.

  “Nice boat,” said The Stalker, as they goat oot ae the polis Land Rover and heided in the direction ae the entrance and the sound ae an accordion.

  The Stalker peered through the glass door intae the bar.  Some guy in a kilt, wae a grey bouffant hairdo and wan ae the biggest cheesy grins The Stalker hid ever clapped eyes oan in his life, wis staunin up oan a wee stage, winking at aw the people sitting watching him.

  “Er, excuse me, you wouldn’t have two single rooms for two weary travellers, would you?” McTavish asked the wee lassie that hid appeared fae the staircase, carrying a tray wae hauf a dozen empty glasses oan it.

  “Oh, I couldn’t tell you, sirs.  I’ll need to ask Mr McIntosh, the owner.  If you give me a minute, I’ll be back in a second,” she replied, squeezing past The Stalker, who held the door open fur her.

  “Dae ye fancy gaun through tae the bar fur a pint, McTavish?”

  McTavish looked through the glass, as people stared back towards them, looking nervous.  

  “Och, I don’t know.  I think it would be better if we didn’t have these uniforms on.  People are funny when it comes to drinking and police uniforms.”

  “Fuck them.  Oor money is jist as good as theirs.”

  “Let’s wait to see if we get a room, although I must admit, that boy is good on the accordion,” McTavish replied, leaning across and scanning the guest register.

  “Anything?”

  “No, just your average sales reps who’ve taken their fancy bits away for a few days behind the wife’s back,” McTavish replied.

  “Ah wonder whit they’d dae if we charged intae the bar, demanding identification fae them aw while cross-checking who they’ve signed in as, eh?” The Stalker asked McTavish, as he eyed-up the wee lassie wae the Charlotte McLeod name badge oan her blouse, heiding their way.

  “I’m sorry, gents, but we’re fully booked.  Mr McIntosh said you could try The Strathcarron Hotel, which is just along the road.”

  “Ach, never mind.  Thank ye, lass,” McTavish said, as he heided ootside, followed by The Stalker.