Dumfries Page 12
“Good, he’s here,” she murmured tae hersel, as an officer appeared at the bombproof plate glass observation windae, beside the single entry door tae the left ae the main gate, watching her.
Fanny didnae need tae actually see the name printed oan the cover ae the blue folder that wid be sitting in amongst the pile, oan tap ae her desk, tae know that it contained the historical and current criminal background details ae Anthony Gucci. She knew it wis him as soon as her boss, Alex McRae, hid mentioned Thistle Park and an ex-inmate wae an Atalian name in the same breath. She reckoned he’d be aboot nineteen by noo. The last time she’d seen him hid been jist before Christmas in Thistle Park Approved School in Paisley in 1968. She’d been a young, eager-tae-impress, newly-qualified social worker, attempting tae make her mark in her first job efter graduating. It hid nearly become her first and last job within the criminal justice system. She felt hersel shudder, remembering how her life hid come tumbling doon, roond aboot her ears. It hid also been aboot that time that she’d discovered that she wis pregnant wae her son, Jake. If that hidnae been bad enough, the events that hid taken place involving Tony Gucci and a group ae other young feral tearaways fae the Toonheid district, near the city centre in Glesga, hid tipped the balance. As a fourteen-year-auld, Anthony ‘Tony’ Gucci hid been the leader ae a group ae boys who’d refused tae accept their sentences, and who’d spent their waking hours systematically undermining the regime ae the school. The social background reports oan the boys at the time hid been appalling, even by Thistle Park standards. The school authorities hid been at a loss oan how tae deal wae them, and hid gied up oan any form ae rehabilitation attempts wae them. The heidmaster at the time, an ex-naval commander, hid welcomed and supported Fanny’s attempt, despite stiff resistance fae the majority ae the school staff, tae try and integrate the boys back intae the mainstream. The staff at the time hid protested and warned anywan who wid listen, that attempting tae work wae this particular group ae boys, wid end in disaster. She could still taste the bitterness five years oan efter they’d been proved right. It hid taken her almost three years tae venture back tae working wae young offenders efter that. She could still remember the first time she met the boys. The Mankys! That’s whit they wur called, she noo remembered. She’d been trying tae remember their gang name oan the way across fae her office. The school management in Thistle Park hid mair or less abandoned them tae a classroom in a prefabricated war-time hut, where they’d sat aw day, either sleeping wae their heids oan the desks, or watching children’s and schools’ programmes oan television. Eager tae prove tae everywan how capable she wis, she’d chosen the group as a project, aiming tae re-integrate them intae the mainstream school regime, as a result ae the Kilbrandon Report, which hid contained recommendations oan how juvenile delinquents in Scotland wur tae be treated fae there oan in. Her strategy hid been tae try and split the boys up by placing them within different working parties in the school. The heidmaster hid been encouraging and supportive, while the all-male staff, hid thought she’d left her sense at hame efter leaving fur work in the mornings. The real problem hid started when the heidmaster hid agreed wae senior staff, oan the grounds ae security, that four ae the boys hid tae be closely supervised at aw times and wur no allowed ootside the main building. Efter placing maist ae the boys intae work parties, the four security risks…Tony Gucci, Johnboy Taylor, Joe McManus and a strange, introverted boy called Samuel Smith, who the others called ‘Silent’…hid been assigned tae help build the set fur the annual school Christmas concert. At first, aw the boys hid refused tae get involved. They’d seemed perfectly happy tae be hinging aboot, daeing nothing, aw day, every day. It hid soon become clear that if she could persuade Tony Gucci tae participate in her programme, the rest wid follow. Fanny could still remember the day she’d come face-tae-face wae him fur the first time. Before that, she’d spent a good bit ae her time observing him fae a distance. When he’d been escorted in tae an office in the corridor ae the classroom huts where the boys vegetated during the day, she’d asked the teacher tae leave them alane. She could still picture the horror and shock oan the teacher’s face. Efter being left alane wae Gucci, she’d suddenly found that she couldnae speak. O’er the years, she knew that she’d sub-consciously avoided asking hersel why that wis. The handsome fourteen-year-auld, wae the Atalian good looks tae go wae his name, sitting opposite her, hid oozed charm and an innocence that belied the psychological profile that hid categorised him, even at that young age, as a dangerous psychopath. She thought back tae that first meeting…the long embarrassing silences, as she sat trying tae explain tae him whit it wis that she wis trying tae dae, how honesty and integrity wur at the heart ae whit she wis telling him and that him and the rest ae the boys could trust her. She smiled as she remembered that she’d jist aboot jumped oot ae her skin when he’d suddenly spoken fur the first time, asking her if he could hiv a read ae his file, which hid been sitting oan the desk between them. Up tae that point, he’d jist sat looking at her wae an amused twinkle in they dark eyes ae his. When she’d refused his request, he’d asked her in aw innocence, in a soft gentle voice, why no? He wanted tae know whit wis so special aboot the contents ae the file that it wis such a secret. He’d then gone oan tae accuse her ae hivving double standards by no trusting him and gieing him access tae background information that wis kept oan him. He’d been as sharp as a razor, even at that age. Efter her refusal, he’d hardly spoken efter that, bit hid jist sat looking, brooding, listening tae her diatribe aboot how important it wis fur them…fur her…tae be able tae support them tae dae their time like the majority ae the other inmates in the school, who’d accepted their lot, and jist goat oan wae it. Thinking back, she couldnae believe how naïve she must’ve sounded tae the fourteen year auld Tony Gucci. Withoot a word, he’d suddenly stood up and left. Efter he’d disappeared back tae join the other boys, she remembered sitting staring intae space, her heart pounding and the sweat running aff ae the palms ae her hauns. Within a day or two, aw the boys hid suddenly agreed tae move oot ae the classroom and be delegated tae work in various working parties. It hid almost been too good tae be true. She’d found oot later that it hid been Johnboy Taylor who’d influenced Tony Gucci tae take her up oan her offer tae get the boys moved oot ae the classroom. At the time, he’d been the schools maist prolific absconder. Within a month or so, wan ae them, a boy they called Baby Huey, hid actually managed tae earn enough good behaviour points tae earn some hame leave. The transformation in behaviour in such a short space ae time hid actually earned her grudging respect fae some ae the dinosaurs that constantly advocated sharp, shock treatment fur young offenders. Whit her and none ae the other staff hid realised until it wis too late, wis that Tony Gucci, Johnboy Taylor, Joe McManus and Samuel Smith hid used their new-found freedom tae plan an escape fur the evening ae the VIP Christmas Concert. In attendance hid been Paisley’s Lord Mayor and his wife, The Chief Constable and various high profile guests such as consultants fae the nearby Dykebar Psychiatric Hospital. During a particular rousing part ae the musical production oan stage, The Mankys hid broken a windae and escaped. Tae complete her humiliation, they’d stolen her car fae ootside the main entrance block which hid contained not only Tony Gucci’s case files, the wan she’d refused him access tae, bit the files ae aw the original boys who’d been kept under strict supervision in the classroom. It hid only been efter the guests hid left at the end ae the concert that the escape hid been discovered. By that time, the boys hid probably been hauf way back tae Glesga. When she’d left tae go hame, she’d discovered that her wee Mini, wae her bag ae files, wis gone. Efter trudging back tae the building tae report the theft, she’d been confronted by two lines ae staff, aw wielding batons that wur being cracked aff the heids and backs ae the rest ae the original boys fae the classroom, as they wur being kicked and prodded tae run the gauntlet tae the only secure cell in the school. She’d never witnessed violence like it. Some ae the boys hid been screaming, trying tae defend themsels as best they could,
as their heids wur cracked open and their blood splashed everywhere. She’d been totally traumatised efterwards and hid stayed in her bed fur aboot a week. She’d never gone back tae the school efter that. It hid been aroond aboot that time that she’d discovered that she wis pregnant. Her severe morning sickness hid been the excuse she’d been looking fur tae make a hasty retreat. It hid taken her years tae get o’er the trauma ae whit she’d witnessed that night. Oan reflection, she knew she should’ve reported whit she’d witnessed tae a higher authority, bit it hid aw seemed so unreal at the time. There hid been many a sleepless night o’er the years, when she’d doubted whit she’d actually witnessed. Wance her son Jake wis aboot two years auld, her mother and father hid agreed tae look efter him, while she went and worked part-time, as a juvenile support worker in an orphanage. She never saw or heard whit hid happened tae any ae they particular boys efter that…until noo. She wondered who the other two boys wur that Alex her boss hid mentioned? Johnboy Taylor, Samuel Smith or Joe McManus being the likely candidates. Oh well, nae doubt she’d find oot soon enough, she thought tae hersel, as she opened her driver’s door.
Efter pressing the prison’s outer doorbell and being let in, tae the mechanical droning sound ae the electric door clicking open, Father Leonard wis awready staunin oan the other side waiting fur her.
“Fanny, you’re back. How was the honeymoon?”
“It was fine, Father. What about yourself, how are you doing?”
“Oh, never a dull moment, at least, not in this place,” he sniffed, looking aboot the gatehoose.
“Yes, I heard there had been some changes since I’ve been away. Look, I need to check out what’s waiting for me in the office. Can we get together later…say, in half an hour or so?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine. Governor Crawford wants a meeting with us, together, at half past ten. I’ll pop in by your office about ten and I’ll fill you in on what the situation is, although it sounds as if you already know.”
“Alex McRae informed me when I went in to HQ this morning. This won’t be a permanent ban, will it?”
“I’m not sure. The prison officers are all delighted, of course. I think we may have to go back to the drawing board.”
“Okay Father, I’ll catch you at ten,” she said, heiding fur the stairs in the gatehoose which wid take her up tae the social work base.
“Good evening. My name is John Turney and these are the news headlines in Scotland tonight.
A twenty-eight-year-old man found collapsed with gunshot wounds in the early hours of this morning, in the Gallowgate district of the city, was found to be dead on arrival at The Royal Infirmary, a hospital spokesman confirmed…
A debt collector for the Clydesdale Provident Company is recovering in hospital after being attacked and robbed at knifepoint in Govan last night. It is believed the assailants made off with several hundred pounds…
A man who believed he could fly has died in Glasgow Royal Infirmary of his injuries. Twenty-five-year-old Mr James Johnston, leapt from the nineteenth floor of a multi-storey block of flats in Sighthill last night. Despite efforts by police and fire brigade officials to talk him down, using loudhailers, Mr Johnston insisted he knew what he was doing and waved to the crowd below, before diving from the window ledge. It’s believe that Mr Johnston had consumed a large amount of hallucinogenic drugs a few hours earlier before police were called. Miraculously, it appeared that Mr Johnston was still alive and conscious, although in great pain, after he landed on top of a police squad car, but unfortunately, died soon after admission to The Royal Infirmary…
An eventide home for the elderly in Knightswood has been quarantined after a suspected outbreak of food poisoning. Eleven patients were admitted to the Victoria Hospital in a fleet of ambulances. Police have arrested the owners of Heavenly Harmony, Mr and Mrs Douglas Cairns, after Corporation Sanitary Officer, Elvis Presley, took away the contents of the home’s fridge and freezers. The old folks home on…
Figures show that the murder detection rate in the city has risen for the third quarter in a row. The city’s Assistant Chief Constable Jack Tipple has praised the dedication of the men of Scotland’s largest Police force as truly professional…
A father of four was fined twenty pounds today at the Marine District Court for assaulting his common-law wife by punching her in front of her mother and neighbours over a dispute concerning his drinking…
Three generations of the one family will appear in court in the morning after being arrested for brawling in the street and committing a breach of the peace. Eleven members of the Carmichael family from Gardedie Street in the city’s Blackhill district fell out over the ownership of a horse named Norman. Whilst the whole family were arrested and are spending the night behind bars, the horse was last seen grazing in nearby wasteland totally oblivious to the commotion that ensued earlier in the day…
Doctors at Glasgow Royal Infirmary have informed the family of mother-of-two Sheila Campbell, who was admitted with severe face and head injuries, that her chances of recovery are slim. Police have already charged Mrs Campbell’s husband with attempted murder when he appeared up in court on Monday…”
Chapter Twelve
George Crawford gently tipped the spout ae his wee watering can and watched the clear liquid pour oot intae the first ae the three pots, staunin tae attention alang the windae ledge in his office. It wis clear that it hid been a while since he’d last watered his cactus plants, which left him feeling a tad guilty. The soil in the pots hid dried oot and hardened, rebuffing the water, causing the liquid tae run across the tap ae it and spill o’er the edge ae the pot, creating a wee puddle oan the white painted sill. He smiled. A few years earlier, he wid’ve goat himsel intae a right auld tizzy and taken it oot oan whoever wis within range ae him, whether it wis a prison officer, an inmate, or his dear and beloved wife, Alison. Noo, he eased back oan the upturned spout and moved oan tae the next pot, patiently allowing whit wis left ae the escaping liquid in the first pot an opportunity tae soak and gurgle in tae the resisting, rock solid hard soil. He sighed contently. He didnae take too kindly tae resistance. He’d hid tae learn o’er the past few years that aw resistance wisnae necessarily bad though. He felt he could noo make a distinction between natural resistance, nature’s gentle reminder that there wur always other forces at work, and those who resisted simply because they wur a threat tae the natural order ae things. He focussed oan the second pot, this time observing and appreciating the characteristics ae the soil. The edge ae the lightly bleached dirt hid separated fae the sides ae the pot as it hid dried oot. He hidnae noticed that oan the first wan, and glanced back at the wet sodden soil in the first pot tae check it oot. The newly wet soil hid started tae expand in places and wis noo touching the sides. He advanced closer tae pot number two, and ever so gently tipped the spout forward. A rush ae water spat oot ae it and in his panic tae stoap a repeat performance ae the first pot, he tried tae level the can in his haun too abruptly, which in turn, caused the water no only tae schoosh oot aw o’er the tap ae the second pot, bit sent a squirt ae water up the glass ae the windae pane behind the bars before it also joined the overflowing, growing puddle oan the sill.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” he muttered between clenched teeth.
He stood back, eyes narrowing, watching and listening, trying tae ignore the rat-a-tat-tat sound, ae the irritating drips landing oan his polished wooden floor, creating the birthing ae another messy puddle.
He shut his eyes and counted tae five before inhaling deeply, while haudin the watering can by the haundle, and the spout at the same time. He tilted his heid o’er tae the left ever so gently and studied the contents ae the third pot. Everything wis as he expected. The separation ae the shrunken dry soil fae the side ae the pot, the wee gap that hid led him intae a false sense ae security wae the first two, pretending that it could take mair water than it obviously could, wis sitting there, waiting tae trip him up. He smiled. He’d goat a measure ae whit needed tae be done n
oo. He remembered his father showing him, as a boy, how tae pour petrol oot ae a gallon container. Rather than jist jump in, as he’d done wae the first pot, he needed tae pour the liquid oot ae the spout at a forty five degree angle, gently, avoiding the weight ae the water in the base ae the can being propelled forward, allowing gravity tae snatch away his control. He shook his heid, flexed his neck and stood up straight, clasping the can in baith hauns, close tae his body this time, and slowly…very slowly…used his stomach tae control the forward motion ae the can. He held his breath, as a gentle slow trickle appeared fae the spout and started tae disappear between the side ae the pot and the baked, dry soil. Wae his tongue peeking oot ae the side ae they lips ae his, acting as a rudder, he gently bent forward, jist tipping the watering can ever so slightly wae his stomach, as he applied the right consistency ae body pressure, controlling his forward motion wae his toes, tae gie the water a mair controlled flow. Jist as the rising water in the pot quietly gurgled and appeared level wae the surface ae the soil, a sudden thumping oan his office door startled him aff balance, causing the contents ae the watering can tae surge oot ae the opening oan the tap ae it, overflowing the plant pot before the water gushed oan tae his awready flooded windae ledge. No only that, bit the front ae his beige, cavalry twill troosers, jist above his knees and below his belt buckle, hid turned a sodden dark broon colour.
“What?” he howled, jumping back, attempting tae avoid the water, bit spilling mair ae it oan tae the flair at his feet, as the synthetic soles ae they cheap shoes ae his, hid him running oan the spot like the clappers, skiting aw o’er the flair like a hopelessly drunk ice skater.