‘Aye, I kent fine. He was in an awfu’ bad way, pair man.’
‘And sometimes Hugh would come home late and maybe the worse for wear? As though he was fu’?’
‘I heard him sometimes.’
‘But not that night?’
‘Well, maybe. You know, you don’t always notice. And you don’t like to stick your nose in, do you?’ she said pointedly.
‘In the couple of weeks before they took him away, did you hear or notice anything strange, anything unusual?’
‘Whit like?’
‘Like a child greeting or shouting. In Hugh’s house. Anything at all?’
‘No, nothing. Just normal.’
‘Why did you leave, Mrs Reid?’
She got up and flung her fag end on the fire, then stirred the sorry pile of slag to coax a flame out of it. She turned, poker in hand. ‘We just wanted a change, so we did. Is there anything wrong in that?’ Her voice was louder, more on edge, as though she was running out of patience.
‘No, of course not. It’s just… unusual, that’s all. And why did you come here?’
‘We fancied it. The sea air and that. For the weans.’
‘Where are the weans?’
‘Oot playin’
‘And how are the weans, Mrs Reid?’
She raised the poker like an epee and pointed it at my chest. Her sallow skin was glowing with a fierce anxiety. ‘An’ whit’s it to you? Whit are you askin’ about my weans for?’
‘It must be quite a change for them. I was just wondering how they’re getting on?’
For a moment she stood there, a fat dowdy tigress ready to belt me with a poker for even thinking about her kids. Then her shoulders slumped, she put the poker down and lit up again.
‘They’re fine, just fine…’ Her face slowly settled and turned from anger to what I can only call despair. I hated myself but I had to push.
‘Mrs Reid, there’s a man in Barlinnie Prison. Your neighbour. A war hero. They’re going to hang him in a few weeks for something he might not have done. If you have anything to tell me that could help us find the truth, then… Well, that would be good of you.’
Slowly her eyes filled up and tears started running down her creased face. Her chest heaved and I wondered if she was going to have a heart attack. Finally the sobs began and she sat hunched and wheezing in her chair.
‘I cannae tell you. I just cannae.’
‘Was there someone else there that night? Did you hear someone else?’
Her chest settled and she looked at me through red puffed eyes. She nodded.
‘Do you know who it was?’
She hesitated and then nodded.
‘What happened? Just tell me in your own words.’
Her eyes pleaded with me not to ask this of her. I held her gaze.
‘It was late. Well past bedtime. It woke the weans. I heard feet, two pair. Yin of them no’ so steady. Then voices. Wan was shooshing the other. Then his door opened and they went inside.’
‘Who did, Mrs Reid? Who went in?’
‘Yin was Donovan. His voice was slurred, but I kent it fine.’
‘And the other?’
‘Yon priest.’
My blood stopped. ‘Father Cassidy?’
‘Aye, him.’
TWENTY-ONE
I took the bus back to Brodick and caught the late-afternoon ferry to the mainland. I was in luck. The Glen Sannox was laid up for few days with engine problems. The sleek paddle steamer Jeanie Deans had been diverted from its usual runs up Loch Long to Arrochar. It would dock at Craigendoran instead of Ardrossan but the rail link along the north bank of the Clyde into Glasgow was quicker. Its twin red, white and black banded funnels belched long trails of steam as we set off for the mainland. I stood on the deck hanging over the rail, watching the white water churn past. The sea was as calm as it got out here between the island and the mainland; waves rolling past rather than flinging themselves at the bow. The big paddle wheel slapped rhythmically round and round; my brain seemed to be connected to it. It made no sense. Why in – literally – God’s name was Patrick Cassidy, man of the cloth, hiding this information? And why had he arranged for me to uncover it?
I was so lost in my reveries that I didn’t notice the two men who joined me at the rail, one on either side. They weren’t just taking the air. Their shoulders were touching mine. Their hats were pulled down over their faces. The one on my left turned to me.
‘A’ right there, Brodie?’
I made to stand back and found they had pinioned my arms. For a moment I thought they were police, until the one who’d spoken nodded to his pal. They bent swiftly and expertly and grabbed me behind the knees. Suddenly I was in the air, my hips rammed against the wooden railing. My hat went first. I watched it sail away and tried frantically to cling to the rail. But they’d got right under me and my weight was now beyond the point of return. A further heave and I went over the rail in a very bad piece of gymnastics.
My body sailed right over, but my hands still clung desperately to the wood. I crashed against the side, winding myself. In sheer desperation, I flung myself round and grabbed the bar below the rail with my right hand. I now clung with my face against the railing and my legs flailing on the side of the boat. I looked up into two grinning faces. One of them I recognised from my barney in the gents the other day.
‘Nice day for a swim, ya fucker!’ cried Fergie, pulling out a bike chain which he’d kept tucked up over his shoulder under his jacket. He lashed down at me and caught me on my head and shoulders with the sharpened links. Then he and his pal chose a hand each and stamped on it. I tried to hang on but it was useless. Before the next swing of the chain ripped my face open I pulled myself up, got one foot on the edge of the deck and swung a punch at Fergie. He stepped back and swept the chain at my head. It caught me on my left cheek, wrapped itself around my head and tore the skin off my jaw. As I jerked away I glimpsed his pal pull out a bayonet and plunge it towards my chest.
I did the only thing I could. I jumped.
I was a long time in the air, and I could see their grinning faces watching me every foot of the way. I hit the water and went under. Deep, deep into the green. The cold stopped my heart. The salt tore at my open wounds. I was blind in the mill race of the churning wake. My one piece of luck had been to stand downstream from the paddles. Otherwise I would have been fish bait by now. As it was, I was only drowning.
I kicked and struggled upwards and blasted into the air spewing salt water like a sounding whale. I lay flapping and coughing in the chopped furrows of the ferry. White spume kept slapping my face and forcing water down my every orifice. I felt my coat dragging me back under and struggled out of it. The shoes went next and then my jacket. Already my energy was fast dissolving as the adrenalin levels dropped. With a final push I struck away at right angles from the wake and splashed and swam till I found myself in calmer waters.
I rolled on to my back and lay gasping and spluttering like a harpooned seal. I concentrated on calming down and conserving my energy. When my body had relaxed a little and I could float without too much kicking, I turned and looked round for the boat. It was a fast disappearing hulk on my horizon. No one except my deadly pals had seen me fall. No sign of a crewman calling ‘man overboard’ and a nice red lifebelt floating my way. There were still waves rolling me up and down but it was the normal swell that ran down the Clyde all the way to America.
‘You bastards!’ I screamed, and slapped the waves in impotent fury. The thought of dying at the hands of these scum was too much to bear. I vowed to wring their dirty necks next time we met. If…
The cold water began to cool my ire. I took stock. Fergie had timed it nicely. The distance between Brodick
