Gillespie and I (52 page)

That was when I have to tell her the child is dead. I explain about the accident and the child hitting her head on the ground. At first the lady did not believe me. So I took her inside and showed her what was in the trunk. When she saw the child dead, the lady is turned very white in the face and she sat down on the ground. She is holding her head like this (prisoner demonstrates). I think she may faint. After some minutes when she stood up, I thought she might attack me. She said some terrible things, not very ladylike, and then she left but twenty minutes later she came back. She was cold to me even though I tell her it was an accident. She tells me to get rid of the body, bury it somewhere deep, outside town. She tells me to say no word to any man. I told her not to worry, Belle and I are going to America. She said, ‘I suppose you will want more money', and so I tell her we will take the ransom. Then she is angry again because she never said we should get a ransom. It was not in her plan. She told me absolutely I must not write any more notes to Mr Gillespie. She said she would give me what money I need. We make arrangement to meet a few days later when she will give me more money. Then she left.

That night, I buried the body. I hired a cart and waited until it was dark and then I put the child in the cart and took her out of town along the Carntyne Road. I buried her in the woods, out of sight of the road. May God forgive me!

The lady that paid me, her name is Harriet Baxter. I cannot recall how I know her. I met her somewhere. I remember now, it was at the Exhibition, two years ago. We have had some conversation there. That was how I knew her. I only saw her again, by chance, a few times here and there in the town. One time, last April, I saw her and she told me she want me to do something for her. She says she will play a trick on her friend. She wants this friend to believe that her child is gone missing. Because the child knows her, Miss Baxter needs a stranger to take her. That is why she asks me. She says the child is to be taken for one night only after which I am to return her to her street unharmed. It is for one night only because she did not want her friend to worry too much. The child is to be well looked after. We are to give her nice food and toys, whatever she wants. Miss Baxter will pay for all. We are to rent a nice rooms to keep her in and we are to hire a closed carriage so that we can take her, quick and easy and return her, the same. Miss Baxter said we should get a nice quiet rooms so the child would not be frightened and so she would not be seen by our neighbours.

When I say ‘we' I mean Miss Baxter and myself. Not my wife. She is innocent.

When Miss Baxter ask me at first to help I said no, because it was breaking the law I think. But she tells me I would not break the law, it was only a little trick on a friend. So I agree to help. After that, I met her three or four times, on Saturdays, when I have a half-day. We met at Lockhart's Cocoa Rooms in Argyle Street. It's busy there always and we won't be noticed. Miss Baxter would not write anything down, and so, many times, she will go over the plan, what had to be done. She had prepared all, she had thought of everything. She said I must recognise the children and so, one Saturday, I had to wait at Charing Cross so she could show me the girls as she walk past with them. Another day she showed me the gardens where they play and the street corner where I must return the child. She would not walk beside me. She walk in front and if she wanted to point to something so I see it, she bend down to tie her shoelace and speak to me quiet as I go past. She told me to take a sight of the area two or three times on Saturday afternoons and work out the best streets to get away with the child. I should also watch the police, how often they walk the street, what times, and so forth. I can't remember dates but it was always a Saturday we met.

I am now shown a calendar for 1889 and I can confirm that the days we met at Lockhart's were the 13th, 20th and 27th of April. On the 20th she also took me to Woodside to show me the area. The 27th was when she took the children for a walk past Charing Cross so I can recognise them. She wants me to take the child in the middle of May or later, when the weather will be warmer. She was sure they would be in the gardens most Saturdays. It was just a coincidence that when I went to take a sight that day it was already warm enough and they were playing in the gardens.

The last time I saw Miss Baxter at the Cocoa Rooms was a few days after the child was buried. She gave me another £25. We had in total £100 from her. But that was six months ago. Now the money is not so much. I was going to ask her for more money.

I cannot say why Miss Baxter wanted this done. I never ask her why. There was not much harm in it, since we were to look after Rose well and return her the next day. If my health were not so bad I would never have done it. It is Miss Baxter who is to blame. As for what happened to the child, it was an accident. It was the horses. They were going too fast. So far as that is concerned that is the driver's fault.

The jacket I buried along with the child was brown. I had worn it for years. There is about £20 pounds left of the money, what was found by the police in the cupboard in my home. We did not go to America because how would we get more money from Miss Baxter? It was always three o'clock when I met her at Lockhart's and always on a Saturday. None of this would have happened if it were not for that woman. I wish I had never laid eyes on her. It was her idea, her fault. I was just a prawn. I was just a prawn in this matter. Since then not a day is gone by but I think of handing myself in to the police. For the record, she gave me £25 on the 13th of April, and £50 on the 20th of April. And on the 11th of May after the child died she gave me another £25.

I deny that I was drunk when I took the child or when I stepped in front of the tram. Before I took her, I was in a public house on St George's Road for a time, but I only had a few. I can't remember the name of the bar. I was not long in there, perhaps a few hours. I was not drunk. Is Belle saying I was drunk? She was the one who was drunk. If she had not gone off and left me to do it I might not have been knocked down. I suppose she is saying she tried to stop me from take the child? Well, she was there. She was with me. She is as guilty as I am. You can tell her to (series of words deleted). (Prisoner lapsed into German and refused to continue the interview.)

During the recitation of this extraordinary declaration, it was only by gritting my teeth, and pressing my back against the rear panel of the dock that I was able to prevent myself from jumping off the bench and causing a scene. Every false accusation, every invention, went through my body like a sting. I wanted to cry out: ‘Don't believe him; it's all lies, every word a lie!' All the while, as the clerk read on, I was aware of the jurymen. Every so often, one or other of them would turn his head, to look at me. I kept my eyes lowered, too mortified to glance up, in case I should find myself the subject of suspicious or reproachful scrutiny. Schlutterhose sat there, just a few feet away from me, his expression as mild as milk. How did he dare?

When the clerk had finished reading, Lord Kinbervie explained to the jury that a confession of guilt in a declaration was not, of itself, a sufficient ground of conviction; nor was Mr Schlutterhose's declaration to be considered evidence against any other person, except himself. It was all very well to point this out, but rather too late; for, surely, now, the jury would have countless images in their minds, many of which involved me. I could hardly bear it. I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball, and hide myself away, in some quiet corner.

Meanwhile, the slick machine of the court proceedings did not miss a beat; there was no pause to accommodate my trifling emotions, or to allow me to recover; Detective Sub-Inspector Stirling had already been called. As we waited for his arrival, I glanced to my right, only to realise that the kidnappers had been stealing a look at me. Belle turned away, giving me the ‘cold shoulder', just as Schlutterhose lowered his fist, and shook it at me: a deliberate, artificial gesture, designed to dramatise, for the benefit of anyone watching, the supposed enmity between us.

I had thought that Detective Stirling was quite an intelligent man, capable of independent thought but, presumably, there was enormous pressure upon him to corroborate the line of argument being pursued by the Crown. It was a shame that he chose to put a certain emphasis on his testimony. As for what had happened in the Clarence on the way into the police office, I must stress that I was terribly alarmed, not to mention stunned, at having been arrested. Hence, the short laugh that I gave, after a long silence, a laugh that was simply the product of nerves and incredulity, a laugh of exasperation, if you will. There was nothing malign about it, and certainly nothing that was ‘chilling'—as Stirling was encouraged to comment, by Aitchison. However, to my dismay, MacDonald failed, once again, to challenge this statement.

After Stirling had quit the stand, and with the hour advancing, Kinbervie suggested that the prosecutor call his last witness for the day. I could tell from the way that Aitchison's fingers were twitching that he was determined to finish on a high note and, following a brief hiatus, he asked for Helen Strang to be called. Miss Strang, a waitress from Lockhart's Cocoa Rooms, turned out to be a doughy-faced woman, with thick, dark eyebrows, uneven teeth, and a blotchy complexion. After a few initial questions, the Advocate Depute asked her whether she had been at work on the 20th of April, the previous year. Strang confirmed that she had.

‘And what do you remember from that day?' asked Aitchison. ‘Do you remember any customers in particular?'

‘Aye, there were three folk in the inglenook, at the side, a foreign man and two ladies. They came in about three o'clock.'

‘Did these people arrive as a group?'

‘One woman and the man came in together—they seemed like a married couple. And then the other lady arrived about five minutes later.'

‘Why do you remember these customers in particular?'

‘Well, they didnae seem to belong together. The couple didnae look quite respectable, if you know what I mean. Then the woman who came in, on her own, she was definitely what you might call a lady, and she was English as well.'

‘How do you know she was English?'

‘She spoke to me. She asked for coffee. Coffee with milk. The other pair had ordered tea. Mind you, the man did ask, before the other woman arrived, if we sold ale, but his wife told him not to be daft.'

‘But these people did know each other?'

‘I think so, aye. They were huddled over talking, for near enough an hour.'

‘Huddled over, you say? Did they talk loudly, or quietly?'

‘Quietly, sir.'

‘And did you hear anything they said?'

‘No, sir, except when they gave their orders.'

‘Is there anything else you remember?'

‘Aye, sir. After they'd been there about an hour, I went over to ask if they wanted anything else. Well, see as you walk over, you can see into the inglenook. You cannae see the customers very well, and they cannae really see you, but you can see the table in the middle. And while I was walking over, I saw the English lady pass something across the table to the man.'

‘What was it?'

‘It looked like a sort of package.'

‘A sort of package you say? Was it large, or slim?'

‘Slim, sir.'

‘And what did the man do with this slim package?'

‘He put it in his pocket. By the time I got to the table, he'd put it away.'

‘Now then,' said Aitchison. ‘I must ask you, Miss Strang—can you see those three customers here today?'

The waitress looked around the court, from face to face, for what seemed like an eternity until, at length, her eyes came to rest upon Schlutterhose. She stooped and peered over at him, then slowly pointed her finger, first at Hans, then at Belle, and, finally, at me.

‘These three here are very like the customers I saw that day.'

How difficult can it have been to recognise us as the accused, I wonder, given that we were, all three, seated in the dock? I turned to the jury, to see if they might look as scornful as I felt, but, by the expressions on their faces, they all seemed to have treated this identification as valid. It was nothing less than ludicrous. To think that my fate rested in the hands of this crackpot. I am being unkind, of course, but only wish to convey how I felt, at the time. Lives were at stake; not that I cared two figs for Belle and her husband, but all the same, surely someone should have realised that this woman was simply desperate for attention, and prevented her from taking the stand?

Pringle could not resist cross-examining Strang, but he failed to elicit much more from her than Aitchison had already done, and I was glad when he relinquished the floor. I wondered how MacDonald could possibly counter such apparently damning testimony.

‘Miss Strang, you say you saw these people on Saturday, the 20th of April last year. How is it that you remember that date, so precisely?'

The waitress gave a shrug of her shoulders. ‘I don't know, I just do.'

‘Did someone, in the course of your precognition, mention that date to you?'

‘I don't think so.'

Aitchison jumped up, but was waved down by the judge.

‘Yes, yes,' said Kinbervie. He gave my counsel a warning look and then advised him to continue. MacDonald's next question took me quite by surprise.

‘You had a famous customer, a while ago, did you not, Miss Strang? Your colleagues at the Cocoa Rooms are still full of talk about it. Towards the end of last year, I believe it was.'

Strang nodded. ‘Aye, sir, it was Miss Loftus, from the Theatre Royal. I served her, sir. We were all very excited to see her, right there, in the room.'

‘So I believe. You're a follower of Miss Marie Loftus, are you? You've seen her on the stage in
Robinson Crusoe
, perhaps?'

‘Oh, yes, sir, quite a few times. She's one of my favourites.'