Dumfries (15 page)

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

  Midnight bus services in Glasgow are once again under threat after it was revealed that seventeen members of Corporation Bus staff have been assaulted over the past three months by drunken passengers accessing the services after midnight in the city’s George Square at weekends.  A member of the Transport and General Workers Union is calling on management and police to take tougher action or be faced with industrial action…

  Police have uncovered the body of a man in the boot of a car in Balmore Industrial Estate on the north side of the city.  Today all roads leading to the scene of the crime were still cordoned off.  It is believed that the man, who is understood to be in his late thirties, was found blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back…

  Glasgow Business Association President Tom Goodman has praised Glasgow’s shoppers for their confidence which was demonstrated by increased spending in the city centre shops during the lead up to Christmas last year.  Mr Goodman stated that this is further evidence that the association members are responding to what the public wants and are already preparing for another bumper turnover this year…

  An attractive typist told the High Court in Glasgow today that she thought she was going to die after twenty-five-year-old Brian Kennedy raped her over a period of two days after luring the pretty nineteen-year-old back to his flat in Collina Street, Maryhill, and plying her with drink and drugs before chaining her to a bed.  It was only after a neighbour heard the girl’s frightened whimpering that she was rescued after Kennedy left her gagged whilst he went off to work….

Glenda Metcalfe, the procurator fiscal at Glasgow Sheriff court, appeared to fall out with Sheriff Clifford Burns today during an exchange of words between the two lawmakers.   Sheriff Burns called for a ten-minute recess before court proceedings were allowed to continue on to the next trial of a serial housebreaker.  The row appeared to centre on the sentencing of a man who the procurator fiscal successfully convicted of assaulting his wife.  Sheriff Burns appeared to treat the offender leniently, after letting thirty-six-year-old Arthur Sinclair, an accountant, off with a ten-pound fine, after his wife convinced the sheriff that it was her fault that her husband had assaulted her.  This was despite Sinclair having been previously charged and found guilty of assaulting Mrs Sinclair eight times over the course of their twelve years of marriage.  Sheriff Burns reminded Miss Metcalfe that it was his court and his word was law.  Miss Metcalfe was unavailable for comment after the busy days court sessions ended…

  Health bosses have admitted that staff in the casualty department of Glasgow Royal Infirmary could barely cope last weekend due to the number of football drink-related admissions. The newsroom can exclusively reveal that the majority of the admissions were domestic violence related, after mothers, housewives and girlfriends were bussed, driven or dropped off at casualty to receive treatment after being assaulted in the family home…”

Chapter Thirteen

  “My God!  Whit the fuck hiv ye done tae him?” John Mackay, Longriggend’s Principle Medical Officer’s voice echoed in the cell, bending o’er the prisoner.

  “Ah think he’s pished and shat his breeks,” the screw’s muffled voice replied through the prison issue scarf that wis covering his nose and mooth.

  “How long his he been lying here like this?”

  “Er, since Wednesday, Ah think.”

  “Bit, no in this state…surely?”

  “Aye, Ah think he’d hid a few wee skelps oan that napper ae his oan the way doon tae the digger.  It wisnae aw done efter he arrived,” the digger screw retorted defensively.

  The MO looked aboot.  The inmate wis lying oan the groond, surrounded by a two-feet-wide puddle ae hauf dried blood aboot his heid and shoulders.  He pulled oot a pen-torch and shone it oan the YOs matted heid as he attempted tae separate the crusted, congealed, blood-soaked hair oan the scalp.  Although the hair wis short, it wis difficult tae make oot the extent ae the damage.

  “Son, ur ye awright?” the MO asked, his voice bouncing aff ae the dark steel plate walls, as he bent closer tae the prisoner’s ear.

  “He probably cannae hear ye wae aw that snoring he’s coming oot wae,” the other digger screw o’er by the door volunteered.

  “Christ, Ah’m no sure if we’re too late, so Ah’m no.  Apart fae batons, whit else wis used?” the MO demanded tae know, trying hard tae keep the panic fae creeping intae that voice ae his.

  “He might’ve goat a few wee kicks oan that arse ae his or a couple ae slaps aboot the chops wance they goat him doon here.”

  The MO stood up and rubbed his chin wae his haun, as he looked aboot the fetid cell.  It wis then he noticed the food trays, the grub oan them untouched, sitting oan the flair beside the door.

  “Wednesday, did ye say?” he asked, looking at the two digger screws, staunin there in the semi-darkness, faces hauf hidden by their scarves, glassy eyes reflecting the light fae the MO’s wee pen-torch, looking like a couple ae characters’ oot ae Great Expectations.

  “Aye.”

  “His he eaten or drank anything since then?”

  “Ah don’t know…Ah doubt it.  They take the tray away and replace it efter every meal.  As far as Ah know, he hisnae touched anything since his arrival.  The SO telt us no tae take his tray away last night and this morning, so as tae try and encourage him tae eat.”

  “Tae eat?”

  “Aye.  He also said that he couldnae gie a fuck, and that he could go oan a hunger strike and die fur aw he cares.”

  “Whit senior officer wis that then?”

  “Bob Mackintosh.”

  “Is he oan duty the day?”

  “Aye.”

“Right, go and get him doon here…as in right noo,” The MO snarled.  “And another thing, get PO Smith across at the reception tae phone fur an ambulance straight away.  Tell them it’s an emergency, so it is.”

  “Bit, er, the SO said the basturt wis at it, when Ah informed him earlier that he wis making snoring noises,” The Digger Screw replied, hesitating, nodding towards the YO oan the flair.

  “Dae as Ah fucking tell ye!” the MO screamed, as his voice boomed aff ae the walls throughoot the digger, as the pair ae mufti’s disappeared.

  The MO wisnae too sure whit he should dae next.  The prisoner wis awready lying in the recovery position, although that wis probably mair a fluke, than anywan putting him like that.  He’d meant tae ask the digger officer whit the boy’s name wis.  Wan ae them hid said that the YO hid been slipping in and oot ae consciousness since Wednesday.  It wis noo Friday.  Christ, two days wis a long time if ye hid a heid injury, he cursed tae himsel.  He bent doon again and lifted the YOs haun and felt fur a pulse oan his wrist, bit couldnae detect anything.  He’d been a prison medical officer fur fourteen years noo.  Although he walked aboot wae a white coat o’er his uniform, the coat didnae signify anything special.  None ae the prison MO’s in Scotland’s jails hid any training other than basic first aid. Every couple ae mornings, a doctor arrived up at the establishment and delegated whit YO wis tae get whit medication and it wis the MO’s job tae ensure that they goat it under supervision.  He’d heard talk aboot MO’s maybe getting trained up tae Health Service Staff Nurse level, bit that hid goat binned when the management widnae talk tae the POA aboot enhanced payments.  He’d been disappointed as maist ae the MO’s that hid been asked aboot training up, hid said they wanted it as they felt totally inadequate in carrying oot even the basics in first aid.  Enhanced payments wisnae an issue. He could’ve done wae that training noo, he cursed tae himsel, as he looked doon at the lifeless body.  The digger officer hid been right in wan respect.  The boy hid certainly shat and pished himsel.  The MO looked towards the cell door and beyond the dark shadow ae the muffled officer, hinging aboot at the bottom ae the dungeon steps, looking like a spare prick at a wedding. The sound ae tackity-boots, stomping doon the stairs tae the cell-hoose, underneath the bottom landing ae the wing wis drawing closer.

  “So, whit’s the score, John?” the SO barked, wheezing intently efter the long walk, fae wherever he’d been tracked doon tae.

  “This boy’s in a bad way, so he is, Bob,” the MO replied.

  “So, fix him up then.”

  “Ah cannae.  We’ll need tae get him doon tae Monkland’s General…as in pronto.”

  “Oan who’s authority?” the SO demanded, leaning o’er and peering at the noisy, snoring prisoner.

  “Mine’s.”

  “Bit ye’ve jist said ye don’t know whit’s wrang wae him.”

  “Ah said, he’s in a bad way and he needs professional help that Ah cannae gie him,” the MO retorted, feeling the anger welling up.

  “He’s at it.  He’s kidding oan he’s sleeping.  Listen tae him,” the SO sneered, using the sole ae his tackity-boot tae shove the YO oan the shoulder tae try and revive him as he waved his haun in front ae his nose, while the two digger officers sniggered behind him.

  “Ah think that’s the blood in the back ae his throat.  He’ll choke or get blood in his lungs if we don’t get him oot ae here.  If he’s been lying here since Wednesday, he’s probably goat a fractured skull…or worse.”

  “So, whit ur ye saying then?”

  “Fur fuck’s sake, Bob, dae Ah need tae spell it oot?” the MO shouted in disbelief, nearly being deafened by the sound ae that voice ae his bouncing aff the steel walls in the confined cell.

  “Aye, ye bloody well dae!” The SO shouted back. “So, whit the fuck ur ye saying then?” he asked, his voice lowered this time.

  “Ah’m saying ye’re gonnae hiv a deid prisoner oan yer hauns if ye don’t get him tae fuck oot ae here and doon tae that hospital.  There’s nothing in this nick we kin gie him that’ll help him.”

  “Hmm, Ah don’t know,” the SO murmured, taking aff his peaked hat tae scratch that heid ae his.

  “Bob, Ah’m telling ye, ye’ll hiv a lot ae explaining tae dae if this boy dies doon here,” the MO pleaded, fear in his eyes, as a snottery, blocked up, gurgling sound escaped fae the body lying in the dark puddle oan the flair between them.

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

  Major hoteliers in the north of the city have become alarmed following a third armed hold-up in as many weeks when a shotgun wis fired and blew a hole in the ceiling in the front reception of The Galloping Beauty Hotel in Bishopbriggs, at nine twenty this morning.  It’s believed that a four-figure sum was stolen after the receptionist was forced at gunpoint to open the safe to the raiders. The young, pretty nineteen-year-old female receptionist on duty at the time has been kept in overnight at Stobhill General Hospital for observation, suffering from shock. Police have asked all hoteliers in the city to transfer money to banks rather than keep it in hotel safes…

  A mother, whose son was sentenced to life in prison in January of this year for the murder of fourteen-year-old missing Stirlingshire schoolgirl, Ann Brown, in the village of Cambusbarron, has petitioned all of Scotland’s MPs, pleading her son’s innocence.  Mrs Flora Connor claims that her son was with her at the time of the youngster’s disappearance. The schoolgirl, whose body has never been found, disappeared on the way back…

A Springburn police sergeant denied in Glasgow Sheriff Court today that he had a notorious reputation for regularly assaulting prisoners, particular young street-gang members, whilst apprehending and being left in his care in the cells of various police stations, stretching back eighteen years.  Police Sergeant Finbar O’Callaghan, was giving evidence against two street-gang member brothers, caught carrying offensive weapons on Springburn Road on the tenth of March this year.  Sergeant O’Callaghan claimed he had never heard the nickname ‘Bumper,’ supposedly given to him by local gang members due to his excessive arresting techniques.  Sergeant Callaghan was challenged repeatedly by defence solicitor Grahame Portoy of using excessive force by using police patrol vehicles to run over those attempting to abscond or to evade arrest.  Sergeant Callaghan claimed he had no idea why the two accused had to attend casualty up in Stobhill General Hospital, two hours after being arrested, stating that the injuries were probably inflicted on each other as a result of a fight between them, before he arrested them.  Procurator Fiscal, Glenda Metcalfe, demanded that Sheriff Clifford Burns dismiss Mr Portoy’s insinuations and find the youths guilty of mobbing and rioting and placing local residents in a state of fear.  The brothers were later found guilty and fined twenty pounds each…

  Two women, believed to be prostitutes, were arrested for brawling in Douglas Lane, just off West George Street.  It’s believed they were fighting over a client…

  Three women from Springburn were each fined twenty five pounds after being found guilty of breach of the peace at The Marine District court for assaulting sheriff officers in the course of conducting a warrant sale in Morrin Street yesterday…

  A single mother of seven young children aged between eighteen months and eleven years was warned by JP James Harris that she would be sent to prison if she didn’t get her act together, and make sure her four eldest children got out of their beds and out of the house to attend school.  Fining thirty-five-year-old Jean McAlister twenty pounds, JP Harris informed the single parent that this was his last warning to her at the city’s Central Police court this…”