Hard Rain, Cold Hearts, page 13
‘You reckon. Did you know something that you didn’t tell me about?’
Bancroft shook his head.
‘No, honestly, I didn’t know anything for definite, I just had a hunch. The way he stepped back from the Sea Scouts after all those years was strange though. He was totally committed to them, you just don’t walk away like that, I thought at the time there was something not right about it. And here’s something you should take on board. Always look for the reason as to why something happened. In this case why did McIntosh walk away from the Scouts, because believe me, there’s always a reason. Then when you work out the reason, you can plan your next step. It’s a sound strategy that’s served me well over the years. When you know the causal factors, you can solve most problems.’
‘So, you did know something then?’
‘That’s not what I said. I had no definitive proof; it was just a feeling that something didn’t add up. And it looks like, when all’s said and done, that I was on the money. How I worded the letter also helped, it had to be carefully crafted, I couldn’t go overboard with the accusations. A strong suggestion of wrongdoing on McIntosh’s part and, of course, feelings of hurt and anger, caused by his actions, that was what I was trying to achieve. You see if his conduct had been more serious, let’s say there had been multiple offences over a longer period of time, then he would never have just been allowed to walk away in the manner that he did. The police would have become involved, and no doubt charges would have followed. Because that didn’t happen, I reckoned any wrongdoing on his part would have had to have been relatively minor and perhaps even a first offence if I can put it that way. So, thinking about all of that, I took a calculated gamble, pitching the letter the way I did. The result, well we hit the jackpot. If there had been absolutely no truth in the allegation, then he wouldn’t have resigned the way he did. He’d have fought it tooth and nail. I know I would, and I presume you’d be no different.’
George scratched his head.
‘I’ve got to hand it to you, that was clever. I would never have worked all that out for myself.’
‘Perhaps not, but remember, the letter and allegation were your idea, and it turned out to be the perfect solution, so between us we pretty much nailed it and that’s the mark of good teamwork. The sum of the parts and all that.’
George nodded in agreement.
Bancroft got up and put on his coat.
‘But it’s not quite mission accomplished. We’re only halfway there, remember what we discussed. And part two of this project is going to be challenging, there’s no doubt about that, but I’m up for it if you are. You just need to set it up then we’re good to go.’
George rubbed his hands.
‘Couldn’t be more ready. But if we could make it this weekend rather than the next then that would make me a very happy boy. The Gers are home to Aberdeen a week on Sunday and I’m keen to go to that one, if we beat them the league is definitely on, so you’ll understand why I want to be there.’
‘Sure. It makes no odds to me, but the sooner the better. I’ve kept both dates free, so the ball’s in your court. An early heads up would be good though, I don’t want to waste the weekend sitting about.’
‘No worries on that score boss, I’ll call you right away if it’s a goer.’
Bancroft smiled and patted George on the back.
‘Right, time we weren’t here, early start tomorrow, we need to get that PM done by eleven. That will give us plenty of time to get washed up and ready for the funeral. It’s going to be a tough day for old Swifty, that’s for sure.’
Chapter 11
Perhaps surprisingly for a city the size of Glasgow, the ‘Dear Green Place,’ is particularly well endowed with parks and wild places. The Linn Park, 200 acres of undulating mixed woodland on the southside of the city, is certainly one of its finest, and in Campbell Morrison’s book, it could lay claim to being the undisputed number one. He would admit to being somewhat biased, since moving to Glasgow 20 years ago, he had spent most of that time living close to the park. Five years in a tenement flat in Mount Florida was followed by two years in a mid-terrace in Cardonald. Anti-social neighbours and the proximity of the local drug dealer necessitated a move from there and for the last 13 years he had lived in a modest three bedroomed semi in Seil Drive, Simshill where, from his front bedroom window, he could just about see the edge of the park.
His association with Linn Park went way back. He was seven or eight when Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Iain had taken him, his sister, and his younger cousin Donald for their first visit. Thereafter, three weeks of every summer holiday were spent at his aunt and uncle’s flat in Algie Street, only a stone’s throw from the Battlefied monument and the Victoria Infirmary. Long walks through Linn Park after church on a Sunday became something of a habit, even though Queen’s Park was only a couple of minutes from their flat. Aunt Chrissie much preferred the rugged wildness of Linn Park. Boating ponds and manicured lawns had their place, and if she wanted that she could cross the road to Queen’s Park, but a walk in the Linn Park offered something quite different, reminding her, as it always did of her roots. Of course, it looked nothing like her home in the Western Isles, where, for a start, trees are as rare as hen’s teeth. But nevertheless, it connected with her in the same way a walk along the machair in Valtos did, somehow it was authentic and real.
Secluded forest trails meandering past mature trees of oak, beech and pine, Linn Park has none of the busyness of Rouken Glen or Queen’s Park that seem to teem with people no matter the time of day. Perhaps it’s because Linn Park has fewer open spaces, step off the beaten track and you can always find a solitary spot to sit a while, read a book or contemplate the beauty of nature. That sense of peacefulness and wellbeing could also be found by the White Cart River that snakes lazily through the western edge of the park on its way to meet the Clyde at Renfrew. Running past the ruins of old pump stations and mill buildings, the river provides tantalising glimpses of its industrial past when it was the life blood of snuff, paper and waulk mills.
Down river from the iconic white iron bridge, on the Netherlee side of the park, are the Linn falls, a wide expanse of volcanic dolerite sill where the upper waters of the Cart cascade over twenty-foot falls to a horseshoe shaped basin below. The Southside’s very own version of Niagara Falls.
Dense pockets of mixed woodland and thick undergrowth; rhododendron, dogwood and hawthorn mainly are a feature of the park and provide sanctuary for an array of wildlife. Birdlife too numerous to mention as well as roe deer, badger and even the elusive otter. A recent visitor and a sure sign that the river has cleansed itself to support a head of fish to sustain these engaging creatures.
In springtime, carpets of bluebells and golden primroses burst skywards where the trees are thin and the sunlight abundant. Forest green banks, groaning with wild garlic creep up from the water’s edge filling the air with their heady scent. And then, to crown it all, the quiver of a kingfisher, a flash of orange and aquamarine, the rainbow bird of the river.
These moments of joy were the reasons Aunt Chrissie preferred to spend time in the Linn. Other parks might offer more in the way of leisure activities, a children’s playground, perhaps a bandstand, but as far as she was concerned, they couldn’t hold a candle to her beloved Linn Park.
*
Campbell was already in the car filling in the journey bill when Asif appeared in the car park. He smiled to himself as Asif scanned the rows of parked cars looking for his neighbour. It was clear that he’d taken on board his warning. Asif was wearing old jeans and a pair of scabby Adidas trainers. The look was rounded off with a white polo shirt and a black Berghaus jacket. He certainly didn’t look like Serpico, but he was a dead ringer for half the ‘Neds’ who frequented their patch, he was wearing their uniform. Not that that would really matter, it was unlikely that they were going to be seen by many people. They were going to be positioned in the top woods to the side of the crematorium, where they would have an unrestricted view of those attending the funeral.
Campbell tooted the horn to indicate where he was parked. Asif picked his way through the rows of parked cars and opened the passenger door.
‘Nothing out of ten for observations!’ remarked Campbell sarcastically. ‘I hope that’s not a sign of things to come, I need you on it this afternoon.’
Asif scoffed.
‘When every other unmarked car in the car park is a blue Astra then it’s not easy to find the one you’re looking for. But no worries about this afternoon, I’m looking forward to it, it’s been ages since I worked in plainclothes, my sergeant always picked the same guys if he needed plainers. I always seemed to get overlooked, funny that, eh?’
‘Yep, I know the feeling, the same thing used to happen to me. But it was even worse if you were female. They never seemed to give any of the girls a chance, which apart from being discriminatory is also just stupid. A guy and a girl make ideal plainers; nobody gives them a second thought; people just assume they’re a couple. On the other hand, two hulking six-foot somethings that look like a pair of second row forwards, well they stick out like a sore thumb, I’ve never understood the thinking behind it.’
‘Hmm, that’s a good point.’ replied Asif. ‘I’ll try and do things a little differently then if I’m ever a sergeant.’
Campbell frowned.
‘What do you mean if? It’s when not if, Acting Detective Constable Butt. You’ll going to go way beyond a sergeant. You see I’m banking on it. You’ll going to achieve the high rank that has eluded me, you’ve got bags of time on your side, a good work ethic and a fair bit of ability. Combine all that and you should do alright. The days of neanderthals like DCI Fairbairn are coming to an end thank God. He will go the same way as the dinosaurs and then it will be for young folk like you to make the changes. To drop the nepotism and old boys’ network and favours done on a handshake. The job deserves it, and so do the public. It’s time this job was dragged into the 21st century and you, and others like you, are just the people to do it.’
Asif didn’t know what to say. He’d only known Campbell for a week, but other than Jan who used to have to write his probationer assessments, that was about the nicest thing anyone had ever said about him since he joined the police. He had clearly made a positive impression. Campbell wouldn’t have suggested that he had the potential to go far in the job otherwise. But the feelings were mutual. He had the upmost respect for Detective Sergeant Morrison, he was one of the good guys and Asif knew how fortunate he was to have been neighboured with him. Things might have been very different if he’d been allocated Moley Banks or a couple of the other Detective Sergeants who worked out of Aikenhead Road.
Campbell was anticipating what Asif was about to say.
‘Now don’t go all soppy on me. Remember you’re only at the start of this journey, lots could still go wrong. The job is littered with casualties whose careers have come to a dead end for no apparent reason. So, you’ll need to keep working hard, there’re no shortcuts and there will be setbacks. You’ll need to be prepared to fight your corner, when necessary, but equally, you need to learn when it’s time to keep your mouth shut. That was a rock I perished on plenty of times. You might lose a few battles along the way, but in the end, you’ll win the war. That’s your route to success, I really don’t think there’s any other way.’
Asif puffed out his cheeks and nodded. He had been hanging on every word.
Campbell picked up a holdall from the back seat and handed it to his colleague.
‘Right, enough about your career. We need to check the equipment. There should be two sets of binoculars, a map, and a pair of back-to-back radios in there.’
Asif put his thumb up.
‘Roger that. And there’s also four rolls, two packets of crisps and two cans of coke.’
Campbell chuckled.
‘Provisions for later. An army doesn’t march on an empty stomach. And anyway, the rolls are from the Inglefield dairy, they don’t come any better than that.’
Asif beamed like a Cheshire cat.
‘Nice one. They’re the best in the business, we even sent the panda car from Pollokshaws to get our rolls from there on the early shift, highlight of my day were my cheese salad rolls from the Inglefield diary.’
Asif looked at his watch. It was just after 1030 hrs. The funeral wasn’t until two. He knew they would have to be in position early, but not this early. What were they going to do for the next couple of hours?
‘We’re going to be hanging about for a heck of a long time if we head up there now, aren’t we? It’s more than three hours till the funeral.’
‘Well spotted.’ said Campbell starting the engine and driving out the yard.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you first, and it’ll be a trip down memory lane for me.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ replied Asif scanning the junction to the main road, ‘Ok, clear left, nothing coming.’
*
The rows of neatly ordered black granite stones with their gold lettering in both English and Arabic were familiar to Asif. Over the years he had visited the cemetery several times, most recently for the burial of a long-time friend of his father. Nowadays, most Muslims living in the south of the city chose to be buried in the Cathcart cemetery and the evidence of several recent internments was apparent by the piles of fresh flowers that still adorned the graves.
Campbell parked in a layby near to the entrance of the Muslim section of the cemetery. Immediately across the road, hidden behind an imposing eight-foot stone wall, was the original Cathcart cemetery that was the final resting place for many of the great and the good of the city’s southside. Grand family tombs, recording generations of family loved ones, and towering obelisks sat aside more modest stones and a clutch of Commonwealth war graves. Young men, many still teenagers, providing a poignant reminder of the lives lost in service to their country. Their white Portland gravestones still standing tall, repelling the inexorable march of ivy, vine and bramble briars, soldiers to the very end.
There had been no burials in this part of the cemetery for many years. With the exception of the Muslim section, interments now took place in the Linn Cemetery, on the other side of the park adjacent to the crematorium. The original Cathcart cemetery, while still maintained, was an increasingly wild and overgrown place. Many gravestones lay flattened, felled by vandals, or rendered unstable by time and the ravages of the elements. The grounds were a memorial to times past and long forgotten people. In recent years the cemetery had become the domain of dog walkers, pram pushers and keen-eyed naturalists trying to catch sight of the many species of birds and animals who now set up residence in the trees and undergrowth.
‘Wow, I had no idea it looked like this.’ remarked Asif following Campbell through an opening in the wall that led to the cemetery.
‘I’ve only ever been in the cemetery across the road. I never even thought to come across and have a look in here.’
Asif peered at the row of stones that were set against the perimeter wall.
‘Some of these gravestones look ancient, I can’t even read the dates on this one it’s so faded.’
Campbell started to laugh.
Asif looked perplexed.
‘What’s so funny? I was just wondering how old the stone is.’
Campbell put up his hands.
‘Honestly, I’m not laughing at you. But what you said made me think of the graves at Callanish on the island of Lewis where I’m from. They date back to around 3000 years BC, now that’s properly ancient. I’m not sure of the exact date, but this cemetery opened around 1880, that’s only 120 years ago. So, you’ll understand why I was laughing, in the greater scheme of things, they’re really not that old.’
Asif thought for a moment.
‘I suppose, but don’t you think they look much older than that? This one for example, all the inscription has disappeared, you can’t make out a single word. I would have guessed it was hundreds of years old.’
‘It’s probably got something to do with the way it’s facing, if it’s exposed to the prevailing wind and rain, then I would have thought it would age more quickly, but don’t quote me, I’m no expert, that’s just an educated guess.’
The two men continued their conversation as they made their way along the central path that took them past a compound surrounded by a large metal palisade fence. A couple of council vehicles were parked outside the compound gate.
‘What exactly are we looking for?’ asked Asif as they turned down a rutted path that was full of waterfilled potholes.
Campbell stopped and scratched his head.
‘I’m just trying to get my bearings; it’s been a long time since I was here. I could do with Aunt Chrissie right now, she’d find it immediately, it was her who first showed me it when I was a boy. This was a regular place of pilgrimage for my aunt and uncle on a Sunday. We used to come in here before heading across to the park.’
They continued a little further along the path. Asif’s eyes suddenly lit up. It was a strange thing to see in a cemetery, but if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, then the grey granite cross standing underneath a large horse chestnut tree was adorned with a Celtic scarf.
‘Well, it looks like we’ve found it, I knew we were in the right area. This, my friend is the final resting place of William Patrick Maley, the first, and longest serving manager of Celtic football club. He also played for the club; in fact, it was Brother Walfrid who signed him if memory serves me right. When I introduce you to Aunt Chrissie, she’ll tell you all about him.’
Asif stared at the rather plain looking grave. He looked a little embarrassed. He’d heard the name, but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t have told you that he was the first manager of the team he now supported. He thought for a moment, then it came to him, he remembered why he knew the name.
‘He’s the guy in the song! The one we sing at Parkhead.
Willie Maley was his name, he brought some great names to the game, when he was boss at Celtic Park.
