The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (38 page)

Chapter Fifty Eight

  “I know you find this difficult, your Ladyship, but the more publicity that’s generated, the more likely someone will spot her and hopefully lead us to her whereabouts,” Inspector Cotter pleaded wae the Duchess.

  “Riddrie said there’s a throng of reporters,” The Duke said.

  “As well as the BBC and Scottish Television, there are reporters from The Press & Journal, The North Star, The Northern Times, The Glesgie Echo and The Ross-shire Journal.  I also understand that journalists from The Glesgie Evening Times and Citizen are on their way too, your Lordship.”

  “Look, why don’t we get this over and done with, dear?” The Duke asked The Duchess, haudin oot his haun tae her.

  The flashbulbs and clicks ae the cameras erupted as soon as The Duke and Duchess entered the room, followed by a barrage ae questions.

  “The Duke and Duchess of Kyle will be happy to answer your questions if you conduct yourselves in a proper manner, ladies and gentlemen.  May I ask you to be sensitive at this distressing time and show some respect?  Now, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Inspector Cotter and I have been asked to officiate at this press conference.  Right, who’s first?  You, sir?” Cotter said, pointing tae a reporter.

  “Jock Paterson, Aberdeen Press and Journal.  I wonder if The Duke or Duchess could tell us if their daughter, Lady Saba, left a note saying she was leaving home?”

  “There was no note.  My daughter’s disappearance was quite unexpected and sudden,” The Duke replied.

  “Begging your pardon, but do you believe there was a boyfriend involved in Lady Saba’s disappearance?” Sandy Ferguson fae The North Star enquired.

  “Certainly not, sir!  My daughter was about to celebrate her fifteenth birthday with her mother and father.  She’s a sweet and innocent child who has shown no interest in boys,” The Duchess exclaimed, wiping a tear fae her eye wae a silk handkerchief, emblazoned wae the Kyle ae Sutherland coat ae erms.

  “Harty Field, Ross-shire Journal.  It’s been said that there may be a link with a young ruffian who moved to the Kyle from Glesgie, your Lordship.  Do you think there may be a connection between the boy and the disappearance of her ladyship?”

  “You would need to address that question to Inspector Cotter,” The Duke replied, looking across at the Inspector.

  “Well, as you are aware, Ross and Sutherland Constabulary, who are leading the investigation into the disappearance of Lady Saba, have not ruled that possibility out, although at this time, we are still following that line of enquiry.”

  “Mary Marigold, Glesga Echo.  Is it true that the force up here in Ross and Sutherland hiv hid tae draft in a mair experienced investigative polis officer fae Glesga?”

  “Ross and Sutherland Police contacted Glasgow Police and requested assistance…I repeat…assistance…to help us with our line of enquiries.  This came about at the request of our own intrepid investigating officer, Swein McTavish, who can’t be here today because he is out attempting to resolve this mysterious disappearance.”

  “Given Sergeant McPhee’s rank, inspector, dis that mean he’s the senior investigating officer and that PC McTavish will be taking orders fae him then?” Mary Marigold pressed, notebook and pencil in haun.

  Inspector Cotter looked as if he’d jist been skelped across that grey face ae his wae a wet, broon trout.

  “Swein McTavish was recently promoted to the rank of sergeant, well before Lady Saba disappeared.  He’s well known in the Highlands and beyond for ‘always catching the fox,’” Cotter replied, gulping.

  “Is that what they call McTavish, Inspector?” John Turney, fae The BBC News asked.

  “What?”

  “The Fox?”

  “Obviously, as professionals, we do not go in for that sort of nonsense, but I do believe that Sergeant McTavish has been referred to by that name in certain underworld quarters, up here in the Highlands.” 

  “Angus Ross, Highland News.  If you could speak to your daughter now, your Lordship, what would you say?”

  “I would ask her to keep her chin up, and to remember that she is a MacDonald and to hold tight.  Mummy and Daddy will be coming for her very soon.  I would ask that if anyone knows the whereabouts of our darling daughter, then please contact us or the police as soon as possible.”

  “His there been a demand fur a ransom?” Swinton Maclean, fae The Glesga Evening Times shouted oot, still panting, efter jist arriving oot ae a taxi fae Inverness.

  “We haven’t received any demand,” a shocked Duke ae Kyle replied, as The Duchess broke doon in tears and aw the bulbs in the cameras in the room started popping in her direction.

  “Right, ladies and gentlemen, that will be all for today.  Ross and Sutherland Constabulary will issue a briefing statement later today unless anything new comes to light before then.  In the meantime, his Lordship has requested that you all leave the estate and do not re-enter the main gates unless invited,” Cotter shouted, as Riddrie and him escorted the grumbling press towards the door.

Chapter Fifty Nine

  Swein McTavish felt sick and his guts wur still gieing him gyp.  He’d awready been tae the toilet twice since breakfast.  He didnae know whit the hell tae dae next.  When he’d looked oot ae his bedroom windae when he’d goat up, the Landy and The Dignity sitting oan the trailer behind it hid disappeared.  He didnae think he’d been spotted, although he couldnae be sure.  He hidnae expected the pup, Wan-eye, tae be sitting in the back ae the Landy.  His heart hidnae slowed doon fur aboot an hour efter he’d goat into his ain Landy and sped back tae the hotel.  Should he tell the Sarge?  Whit if McPhee asked why he hidnae telt him before noo?  Whit the hell wis Innes up tae?  Why wis Paul McBride sitting in Lochcarron wae Innes’s boat?  Wis Lady Saba wae him?  McTavish hid tae find oot exactly whit wis gaun oan, bit how?  He felt terribly disloyal, bit he didnae trust McPhee.  There wis an underlying edge tae him.  He sensed the violence lurking jist under the surface.

  “Ah spoke tae ma boss jist before breakfast.  He says that yer boss, Cotter, his said that ye’ve tae carry oan assisting me and he’ll see ye when ye get back up the road in a couple ae days’ time,” The Stalker informed him, breaking intae his train ae thought.

  “Is that it?”

  “That’s whit Ah wis telt tae tell ye.”

  “I’ll have to phone the inspector and speak to him myself,” McTavish said, as he turned left oan tae the A87 at the junction where they’d turned back the night before.

  “Ma boss says he’s been in contact wae the guys in Dumbarton.  There’s lookoots at aw the main junctions fae there intae Glesga.  Ah’m no gonnae mess aboot.  We need tae get doon the road a bit tae see whit’s gaun oan.  Ah need tae be in the thick ae it when oor man’s sighted or caught, so step oan it.  We’ll heid doon tae Crianlarach and see whit the score is doon there.”

  “If we come across a phone box, I’ll need to phone in, despite what your boss says.  I work for Ross and Sutherland and I take my orders directly from them.  They’ll expect me to make contact.  That’s the rules whenever we’re out and about beyond our local boundaries,” McTavish lied.

  “Well, suit yersel, bit the chase takes priority.  Ah’m sure we’ll come across a phone box wance we hit Fort William,” The Stalker responded, hoping tae stall McTavish fur as long as he could.

  McTavish wisnae really listening tae Sergeant McPhee, as he’d come up wae a possible solution tae the predicament he wis in.  If he could get tae a phone box before five o’clock, he’d be able tae contact Packer at the vet’s in Lairg.  If Packer didnae know whit wis gaun oan, he’d get him tae take a run up tae Innes’s and find oot.  He felt better.  His stomach started tae settle, although he knew he wid hiv tae make a decision soon oan whether tae blow Paul’s cover or no.  He still wisnae convinced that the lassie wis in danger or wid come tae any harm…if she wis wae him.

Chapter Sixty

  Pat Molloy, The Big Man, sat at his usual table in his club, The Carlton, reading The Racing Times, wae his feet resting oan a stool in front ae him.  He’d awready picked his nags and Shaun Murphy, his scar-faced right-haun man, hid awready phoned them in tae his bookie, Ned The Nag.  Life wis good, he thought tae himsel as he skimmed the pages.  Nowan needed tae tell him that he wis the tap dug, the wan wae the biggest baws in the toon.  He knew fine well where he stood in the queue.  He wisnae really reading the paper, bit hid been using it as a cover tae try and get they brains ae his unscrambled.  He hidnae gone tae bed until aboot five o’clock that morning and even when he hid, it hidnae been tae hiv a kip.  Efter the club shut up shoap, he wis supposed tae hiv gone tae meet up wae the wee blonde thing that hid started in the club the previous week.  Unfortunately, he’d goat delayed oan account ae a wee well-known fly man, who’d made the mistake ae trying tae take the pish oot ae him.  It never ceased tae amaze him that there wur still eejits and bampots oot there who wur willing tae bare their arses above the water line.  He’d been well-pissed aff at the interruption tae his scheduled date.  Hawkeye Campbell, a wee two-faced sleekit basturt fae Possil, hid come tae him, pleading fur a wee bit ae work earlier in the year because he’d needed some dosh in a hurry tae pay aff the Simpson brothers, who wur gonnae nail the prick tae a door fur no squaring up his ootstauning loan tae them oan time.  He’d made the mistake ae feeling sorry fur Hawkeye at the time and hid goat Shaun tae haun o’er a van load ae good quality Benson and Hedges fags, fur him tae punt tae some crowd oot in Kirkintilloch.  He couldnae bloody believe it when the wee scabby fuck-face hid done a runner.  As if that hidnae been bad enough, he’d ended up hivving a major run-in wae Tam Simpson aboot who wis gonnae kill the sleekit wee tadger first.  Tam hid demanded first shout at Hawkeye’s baws, bit Pat hid been hivving none ae it.

  “He owed me first, Pat, so Ah want first shout,” Simpson hid growled.

  “Ah don’t gie two fat fucking monkeys.  Any prick that lays wan finger oan Hawkeye will answer tae me and Ah don’t gie a shit who they ur or where they come fae.  That wee two faced knob-end is mine.”

  Tae keep the peace and tae show that there wisnae any hard feelings, he’d agreed wae the Simpsons that he’d get him first, bit wid leave a wee bit fur them.  Tam hid reluctantly accepted, although The Big Man knew Tam didnae really hiv any choice in the matter.

  “Well, make sure he’s no fucking deid by the time Ah get him,” Tam hid grumbled.

  And noo the wee sleekit knob-end hid resurfaced, still skint, bit alive and kicking.  The Big Man hid been sitting oan his stool the previous night at the end ae the bar. He’d been watching the punters losing their dosh, haun o’er fist, while at the same time, getting the odd glance ae the wee blonde’s arse, every time she bent o’er tae fill the finger dishes wae nuts fae the box under the bar.  Danny Murphy, Shaun’s brother, hid suddenly appeared oan the scene, aw excited, and hid come across tae whisper in his ear.

  “Ah’ve goat a wee present fur ye, Pat.  Hawkeye Campbell is tied up in a GPO sack in the back ae ma car, doon in the lane,” he’d beamed.

  “Christ, yer timing could be better, Danny.  Ah’m jist aboot tae go aff and get ma Nat King Cole wae that wee blonde thing behind the bar,” he’d grunted.

  “Whit dae ye want me tae dae?”

  “Take him o’er tae the warehouse in Coocaddens.  Ah’ll be up in twenty minutes.  Ah’ll need tae make ma excuses here.”

  He’d motioned Blondie across.  She wis a wee stoater and he tried tae remember her name noo, bit he couldnae come up wae it.  Kathy or something like that seemed tae spring tae mind.

  “Listen, doll, wan ae the boys his jist came in tae say ma sister’s been up aw night wae the skitters.  Ah’ll hiv tae nip across tae see if she’s okay, bit Ah’ll catch up wae ye later oan. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is, Pat.”

  “Right, if Ah’m no back before three o’clock, wan ae the boys will take ye o’er tae ma place.  Ye jist help yersel, hen, and Ah’ll see ye soon,” he’d said, gieing her arse a wee pat before slipping aff his stool and heiding fur the door.

  It hid only taken Hawkeye two seconds flat tae realise that he wis in trouble…big trouble.  Efter hivving been driven aboot the toon in the boot ae a car fur hauf the night in a GPO sack, he’d finally been let oot, blinking like a hauf dud light bulb that wis aboot tae conk oot.  He’d clapped eyes oan The Big Man sitting oan a comfy chair, cracking his knuckles, and hid let oot a terrified wail, knowing full well he wis stuck in the middle ae Shite Street and there wis nae escape.

  “Right, Ah’m only gonnae ask ye wance…where the fuck’s ma dosh, ya wee queer, ye?”

  “Aw Big Man, Pat, Ah’m sorry.  Gie me another chance, pleasssse!” the hawk-eyed snivelling wee basturt hid wailed.

  “Right, yer time’s up.  Ah warned ye, Ah wis only gonnae ask ye the wance and ye widnae bloody listen,” Pat hid replied, nodding tae the team who’d been staunin in a semi-circle behind the crooked wee schemer.

  Pat reckoned that they’d spent aboot forty minutes oan him.  Pat hid goat in there first.  The boys hid tied him tae an auld seed-room door that hid sitting leaning against wan ae the walls since the fifties efter ripping the clothes aff ae him.  He always knew that sooner or later, he’d come up wae a good use fur it wan day.  Pat hid started oot oan that face and rib cage wae a new knuckle-duster that he’d goat recently, although he’d hid tae dump it efter five minutes because it wis too heavy and kept knocking Hawkeye oot.  Efter he’d finished wae the knuckle-duster, he’d used Hawkeye’s baws fur penalty practice, before haunin him o’er tae the squad who wur patiently waiting their turn.  Shaun hid hid tae revive him aboot hauf a dozen times efter that.  They’d placed bets amongst themsels oan who could take each ae Hawkeyes toe and fingernails oot in the wan go wae a pair ae pliers.  Peter the Plant hid won it wae three finger and two toenails.  The Big Man couldnae believe where the fuck the time hid gone and wis feeling as randy as an auld goat by the time he’d asked Shaun tae gie him a lift hame.

  “So, whit dae ye want done wae Hawkeye noo, Pat?” Shaun hid asked.

  “Ye better deliver him up tae they Simpsons in Possil.   Ah widnae want them tae think we wur reneging oan oor wee agreement. Try no tae kill the basturt when ye nail him tae the door, eh?  We widnae want tae gie this wee shitehoose an opportunity tae miss the party up in Possil,” he’d instructed them.

  When he’d come intae the club this morning, Shaun hid telt him that they’d drapped the door oan the ground face doon, wae Hawkeye still nailed tae it, when they wur getting him oot ae the van at the Simpsons’ garage at the tap ae Balmore Road up in Lambhill.  Toby Simpson hid gone aff his heid at them.

“He better be fucking alive, ya bunch ae useless pricks,” Toby hid scowled at them.

  “And wis he?” The Big Man hid asked Shaun.

  “Well, he wis blowing red bubbles oot ae that gub ae his, so, as far as we wur concerned, he wis breathing when he arrived, so there shouldnae be any complaints or come back later,” Shaun hid replied.

  The Big Man threw The Racing Times oan tae the table in front ae him and stood up.  He turned and looked at himsel in the mirror.  He wisnae too displeased at whit looked back at him.  He’d jist turned forty five.  Although it wis difficult tae see wae the subdued lighting in the casino, fae where he wis staunin, he didnae hiv much ae a paunch oan him.  His hair wis still aw there and apart fae a wee bit ae ruddiness aboot the jowls, he reckoned the lassies wid still fancy him fur his looks fur a few years yet, rather than fur whit they could get oot ae him.  He rubbed his jaw and caught the flash ae a light bouncing aff the diamond oan his pinkie ring and thought aboot the information he’d received a hauf an hour earlier fae Bob the Bore.  It hid been difficult tae contain the excitement simmering away in the pit ae his guts.

  “Noo, listen, Bob, Ah’ve no goat aw fucking day, so spit it oot withoot bloody dribbling aw o’er ma good tablecloth,” he’d said tae him.

  “This is the big wan ye’ve been waiting fur, Big Man,” he’d dribbled.

  “Get tae the point, Bob.”

  “Ah jist aboot came in ma troosers when Ah heard,” he’d dribbled even mair.

  “Aye?”

  “Ah’m wanting two score fur it.”

  “Bob, ye’re starting tae get oan ma tits noo.”

  “Ah’m telling ye, Big Man, this is straight oot ae the oven.  It hisnae went anywhere else.  Fresh as a daisy, so it is.”

  “If that boring prick disnae put us oot ae oor misery soon, Ah’m gonnae flatten they baws ae his,” Peter the Plant hid scowled fae the stool he wis sitting oan o’er at the door.

  Pat hid looked across the table at Bob.  Bob hid been gieing him hot tips and ‘hot aff the press’ info fur years.  He’d been a polis inspector o’er in Govan in the fifties bit hid goat the sack efter his then sixteen year auld girlfriend hid died oan somewan’s kitchen table, hivving an abortion.  He’d cracked up and hit the booze big time.   Efter a couple ae weeks ae no turning up fur work, or when he did, being pished, they’d sacked the boring basturt.  When he wis in charge, he’d been popular amongst the young bizzies oan the beat at the time and there wis a lot ae resentment in the ranks when they’d goat shot ae him.  Aw they young bizzies wur noo aw sergeants and inspectors, who still hid a saft spot fur him and that wis where he tapped aw his good info fae.

  “Bob, fur me tae haun o’er forty squidlies, Ah’d need tae see the steam coming aff the shite,” he’d said tae him.

  “Pat, ye’ll appreciate this…honest,” Bob hid promised.

  “Right, Peter, Ah want tae see two score oan that table, as in the noo,” The Big Man hid said across tae The Plant.

  “Ah know who’s goat her,” Bob hid tittered gleefully, lifting up the two twenty-pound notes and slipping them doon the front ae his troosers, knowing fine well that nowan wis gonnae be stupid enough tae put their hauns doon there tae take them back.

  “Who’s her?” asked The Big Man.

  “The Duke’s daughter!”

  “Whit Duke’s daughter?  Hiv you any idea whit he’s oan aboot, Peter?”  The Big Man asked The Plant, who wis noo back ensconced oan his stool.

  “Ah hivnae a clue.”

  “That Duke wan up in the Highlands?  Wan ae the richest men in Scotland…in Britain even…fae whit Ah’ve heard.  Ah know who’s grabbed his daughter,” Bob said gleefully, looking fae The Big Man tae The Plant and back tae The Big Man again.

  The Big Man hid sat up, hangover instantly furgotten aboot.

  “Who?”

  “Wan ae us, or should Ah say, wan ae youse.”

  “Bob, Ah’m gonnae fucking strangle ye if ye don’t get tae the point…and quickly,” Pat threatened him, no being able tae contain himsel, sensing he wis aboot tae hit the jackpot.

  “The daughter ae The Duke ae Kyle up in the Highlands went missing yesterday.  Everywan thought she’d jist ran away tae get her hole, bit it’s turned oot she’s been kidnapped.  Did ye no see The Glesga Echo this morning?  It’s aw o’er the front page, so it is.”

  “And where’s the connection wae us then?” The Big Man hid asked.

  “Tony Gucci and his band ae merry Mankys.  Seemingly wan ae them, Paul McBride, wis up there and cottoned oan tae the situation.  It went like clockwork, so it did.  Efter casing the joint fur months, they hit The Duke yesterday.  Disabled aw the cars in the place and then fucked aff wae the rich bitch.  Ah’m telling ye, this is the mother lode, Big Man.”

  “How dae ye know it’s them?”

  “Believe you me, Pat, Ah’ve jist goat this fae the horse’s mooth, so Ah hiv.  The inside man wis definitely Paul McBride.  The bizzies hiv cottoned oan tae whit’s been gaun oan.  Ah’ve been telt that the Tally and that Joe McManus wan ur trying tae connect up wae him as we speak.  Daddy Jackson is hivving the whole ae the toon turned o’er looking fur Gucci and McManus.  Ah’ve heard that, efter the snatch, McBride heided aff in the opposite direction fae where the bizzies thought he’d take her.  They’ve sent Paddy McPhee up tae the Highlands tae track McBride doon because they chookter bizzies up there hivnae goat a fucking clue ae whit’s gaun oan. 

“The Stalker?  He’s back?  Ah thought that prick hid been suspended as part ae the corruption investigation?”

  “He wis, bit Daddy brought him back specifically fur this wan.  Daddy’s walking aboot wae a permanent hard-on jist noo.  The place is buzzing as he sees this as a way ae redeeming themselves efter you...er…Ah mean, efter somewan released aw they corruption files tae The Glesga Echo and caused Sean Smith tae shoot himsel in the heid before the ceiling came doon oan tap ae them aw,” Bob The Bore said, wae a knowing wink.

   “Right, Peter, gie oor Bob here another score.  Where’s McBride taking her, Bob?” The Big Man hid asked, trying tae appear calm.

  “Nowan’s goat a clue.  Aw they know is that he’s bringing her intae the city via the Dumbarton side.”

  “Right, ye’ve goat yer money, Bob, plus an extra score.  Under nae circumstances dae ye mention tae anywan that ye’ve telt me anything aboot this.  Hiv ye goat that?”

  “Don’t ye worry, Big Man, ma lips ur sealed…as usual,” Bob hid said, staunin up aw ae a sudden, before scurrying away doon the stairs.

  The Big Man hid awready made up his mind whit he wis gonnae dae before Bob hid finished telling him whit the score wis wae The Duke’s daughter.  Wance the wee dribbling basturt hid disappeared, he’d goat The Plant tae phone aboot tae get as many ae the boys roond fur an emergency meeting as he could, at short notice.  It hid only taken ten minutes before a squad ae them wur aw lounging aboot in the club. He’d telt them whit The Bore hid telt him and hid ootlined his plan tae them aw.