The party next week would be fun. Everyone still saw her as a wee lassie, but she was becoming more and more accepted into their group. They were a close bunch. Well the blokes were. But each of the girls had been nice and had given her time during the past 2 years. So now, instead of it being a chore, it sometimes turned into a nice girly night as she discovered more about them and their past.
She would wear a basque and her voluptuous body would spill out. But that’s what they wore in the 50’s wasn’t it? Simon would fondle and arouse her. He did everything right.
He would be dressed in a 50’s suit with Stetson and fake moustache for comedy value. She would dress him and everyone would appreciate the effort.
Tonight it would be a drunken night at the bar, though, and then coping with drunken fondlings until she was drunk enough to appreciate and reciprocate the attentions. Possibly some back alley action or some stroking in the disabled toilets. But that was something she enjoyed. Not something she worried or felt bad about. It was part of the excitement of being with Simon. She loved him and she would do anything for him.
2
Ian Ingram lay staring at the pale ceiling in his cell. It had been a year already. He shouldn’t be here. His thoughts over the past year had often reduced him to tears. His wife hadn’t coped and had been put on suicide alert after being taken into Gogarburn hospital. She would remain there. There was nothing he could do to help her. His world had been turned upside down and all that was left to Ingram was to think.
The cell door lay open. Exercise time. Ingram lay a bit longer. Staring. Thinking. He knew what he had done was wrong, but what hurt most of all was that his actions had not avenged his little Olivia’s death at all. He pushed himself from the wafer thin mattress, moving towards the openness of the large hall in front of him. The bars overlooking the mezzanine gantry of Barlinnie Z section had been painted a rusty red colour. Forth Bridge Red. His thoughts had moved from anger to deep sadness, to anger, to deep sadness. Positivity was difficult here and a deep screamed shout was followed by two officers dragging a suited con away after another skirmish. It was not something that made him jump anymore. It was the norm. It was Ian Ingram’s life. But still he thought. About the night he found his little girl lying in the mud. A dirty body lying on top. He had plunged, he had lunged. Thrown the body off. It was him. From the bar. It was him. Looking for something. A treasure hunt they said. Looking for a clue.
He cracked each knuckle and put his hands in his pockets looking down the cold steel stairs towards the exercise ring. He needed more information about the people who were on that treasure hunt. He was sure of this now. The man known as Dev Coulding was there, it was true. But he was lifeless. He was still warm, but lifeless. He needed more information and there was still a clue that those people were not looking for. He knew it and it was there. He had found his little girl with the biggest clue because she was wearing it around her on that horrific, cold night.
A bell sounded. No time to go to the ring. No worries. Some more time to think. He had one person who still believed in him. His solicitor had not done well for him. He lacked spirit and they got into a dogfight. It was easy for the prosecution to say Ingram had the weapon in his hands. Had been seen by others storming after Coulding. Had been found dripping fresh blood from Couldings body. Had no reason to be there, but no recollection of why he had chosen to search up the lane towards Olive Island. Car headlights. Something turned him off the main road towards his daughter. A father’s love. A faint cry. A subconscious knowledge that something just was not right.
He turned back towards his bed again. Bad, grey fabric covered the home comfort of his criminal life. He had been able to dream some nights, and felt the freedom that allowed before he would again awaken and open his eyes to the scratchings of previous tenants on the breeze block wall beside him. He pushed his hand under his pillow, feeling for an envelope. A guard moved past his cell, glaring at him through the bars, before continuing with his patrol. Same old, same old. Ingram pulled the envelope out from the bed. It carried the prison stamp. He had worked favours, cigarettes aplenty for this. It was something he needed and it might just work. Might just get him out of here. Might just help him to find out who stole his daughters life from her.
The first letters had arrived in November. The postmark showed they were from the Prison Service in Glasgow, from a post office box there. The Inspector in charge, David Duffel was not familiar to Aids but the request seemed reasonable and who was going to argue with the authenticity. The letter asked for further information regarding the night when Dev died. Where he was, who had set up the game, who had written the clues, which couples had gone where. He would speak to Bob before responding. They had all been through this. Did they want more turmoil? Hadn’t they been through enough over this horrible event?
Finding out a good friend was dead was bad enough. But that he had been a paedo and a murderer was too awful to comprehend. Aids had thought about how he could or should have helped Dev. Instead he had kicked him to the kerb after getting together with Monica and having the kids. Dev seemed lost. A little directionless and unfocused. Sometimes he would appear after weeks of no contact announcing huge ambition and creativity then once again lose himself in it all and disappear once more. Next time he saw him he would be drunk at the bar spouting shit and telling Aids how much he loved him and that everything would work out. Aids had a big heart and wished he had been more caring – but Mon always made him feel bad about having Dev about. She had once dated him and it obviously had not ended well. But if it hadn’t been for that he would not be with the woman he loved and who shared his life.
Then on top of the worries about Dev had come the financial worries. One huge bill had come in and it was make or break. A 20 to one shot had meant the gas and electricity stayed on and gave a little more for Aids to play with besides! It had been a little miracle and as he watched the unfancied filly romp home, he had pledged to use this good fortune to get out of his mess. A few weeks later the bills needed paying again and he took a gamble too far. A cheque had come in, unsigned, from a customer at work. Aids had put it aside and requested a duplicate be sent over. Meantime he had accidentally written off the cheque when trying to update the database and, all of a sudden, a company was free from debt with a 10,000 pound cheque to spare.
It was not a difficult decision, no matter how gut wrenching it was for him to swallow. For Mon, for the kids, he had to make sure they paid the bills. The cheque cleared in his personal account days later and that was it. A few months later a letter had come through from the customer. They had requested receipt of the cash. One falsified receipt later, explained away as a mistake, and a valid receipt number disappeared from Fleck and Fraser office and back to the customer.
He would not have thought about doing it again until a quote came in which was for a new security system in their office. The quote had been for 60,000 pounds. It had been pushed through by the MD. He just had to send out the order.
The letter he sent declined the offer. Bob had helped him to get a good system for 15K and with 3K labour costs, they had managed to make 42,000 profit. 21K each. Both schtum with the girls and any of the others. But this time the bosses had become wary. They wanted assurances. They had paid for an around the clock, 24hr call line and were waiting for the attention of the company. Aidrian had managed to talk around the issue at various monthly meetings, but time was growing thin. It would come out - and how. It was fraud. He would be found out, especially when they traced some of the money going to his bank account.
So Dev had died at a time when things were bad… but to some extent this improved Aid’s situation. His company gave him leave of absence on full pay. Without the name of the company they had dealt with they did not have a direct lead, and so long as he and Bob said nothing, they would not. Unless F and F checked their own employee bank accounts.
Aids tugged on the bedsheet, wrapping it up to his ears like a child hiding away from a scary film. Mon was already out with the kids. It was Monday morning and after nine. He should have been at work. The phone had not rung yet and Mon said she was not phoning in on his behalf. He could do it himself if he was just going to fanny about the house all day getting under her feet. He felt bad enough and now Mon was on his back. He would have to tell her. Even if it made matters worse.
Dev had known about his problems. Dev had a good ear. But maybe it was just as well he was dead. Because things were just about to be opened up and Mon wouldn’t rest until she heard everything from everyone who knew anything.
‘Hi it’s Aidrian. Listen I’m really under the weather. Something I’ve picked up from the kids. Hopefully I’ll be in tomorrow, but I’ll see how I feel. Might just go to see what the doctor thinks.’
