Gallowglass (29 page)

SIXTY-TWO

I
stepped forward with my mother and Sam, holding their hands, and read the stone words to myself.

Douglas Brodie

Born 25 January 1912
Died 26 June 1947

‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’

They should have sent a chill down my spine but they were just words. They had no relevance. Someone else with that name had died.

‘Is that all you could come up with?’ I asked the pair of them.

‘As I recall, Douglas, you chose the words.’

‘Ah, so I did, Sam. So I did. How pompous of me. And can I just say again, to both of you, how sorry I am to have put you through this.’

Sam looked at me with eyes that were filling up. Why? This was no moment for tears.

‘Just don’t let it happen again, Douglas Brodie. OK?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

My mother butted in. ‘I’ll second that. It’s not in the order of things.’

‘Wheesht, Mum.’

I hugged them both and we dabbed our respective eyes with hankies.

‘Enough o’ the watterworks,’ said Duncan, standing forward. ‘In the absence of a good priest or even a bad minister, it fa’s on me to say a few words.’

There were good-natured groans from the mourners.

‘A few words. I meant it. We’re gathered here today to reverse a crime done to our good friend, Douglas Brodie. Ah think we can all see why villains want rid of the man. He is fearless in his quest for justice. He is a true friend. And he sets an impossible example of guts and determination.’

‘It’s fair wearying at times,’ said Wullie and drew a laugh.

‘What we hope for you, Douglas Brodie – and for us too, please – is a period of tranquillity. Naebody shooting at you or bearing false witness against you.’

Duncan paused and stared intently at me. He dropped his voice so that some of the listeners had to strain their ears.

‘We want you to have peace in your life, Douglas. Let others carry the load for a bit. And savour the sunny days like this, surrounded by your friends.’

He reached out and shook my hand. There was a quick chorus of hear, hear, a round of applause and a flush of embarrassment all down my neck.

Duncan finished with a flourish. ‘We don’t want a wordy reply, Brodie. Spare us your fine prose. Give us action!’

I turned to Eric. ‘Did you bring it?’

The day goes quiet. Far beyond the lines of headstones, the green hills shimmer in the heat. Eric hands his pipes to Duncan, who holds them as though they’ll bite. Eric walks round the back of my gravestone and heaves up a massive sledgehammer. He lays it ceremoniously across his arms and bears it to me like a king’s mace. I take it and feel the dead weight dragging to one side. I let its head fall to the earth
with a thud. I take a good hold of the handle and step forward. I take one long, last look at the forlorn words, swing the hammer up behind me and bring it through, like a good drive down the fairway. In that short arc…

. . . and then the metal head strikes the stone in its black heart with a loud crack. The whole top half, bearing my name and birth date, crashes behind the jutting remnants. I take another swing to erase my death. And another, until there are just broken shards of marble scattered over an empty grave.

I turn back, panting slightly. My little gang are staring at me, wide-eyed and shocked. It’s some sort of desecration, isn’t it? Then their rational minds take over and applause bursts out again. Time restarts…

*

I walked over to Sam and my mother and embraced them again.

‘Much better,’ whispered Sam.

Wullie coughed theatrically. ‘Funerals are gie thirsty affairs. Resurrections even worse. Is it no time for the wake, Brodie?’

‘The
awake
, surely?’ suggested Harry. ‘By the way, Brodie, I’d like to add my little bit of sunshine to this joyous event.’

‘Just your being here is enough, Harry. Without your help’ – I pointed at the smashed stone – ‘that might have been for real.’

‘That’s as may be. But you have some compensation coming to you for what you’ve been put through.’

He put his hand inside his blazer pocket and drew out two envelopes. He selected one and handed it to me. I took it and opened it. There was a typed note:

Dear Mr Brodie
,

I just want to say I’m very sorry for taking your money. As you can see, I kept it safe
.

Yours truly…

It was signed, in a great looping scrawl, ‘Pamela McKenzie’.

I dug in the envelope again and pulled out a cheque for £50 to be drawn against the Scottish Linen Bank.

Harry grinned. ‘There’s more. Gibson’s insurance company is
very
grateful. You saved them a very significant sum of money.’

He handed me the second envelope. I opened it and pulled out another cheque, for a sum that a man could retire on. Or a couple.

‘Harry, this is ridiculous.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s ridiculous what was done to you and the risks you took. I’m also expecting some recompense from Scottish Linen itself. You stopped them haemorrhaging money.’

‘But not the pound collapsing.’ The papers were full of it.

‘Nothing was going to prop us up against the dollar. We’ve had our day, Brodie.’

‘I hope you’re looking after Airchie Higgins?’ I nodded at Airchie, fondling his medal.

‘In every sense. After this we’re whisking him off to London to work for us.’ He drew closer and lowered his voice. ‘We daren’t leave him alone up here with cash burning a hole in his pocket.’

‘Or his liver. Thank you, Harry.’ I shook his hand. I looked round at them all. ‘Thank you. Thank you, all. I’m sorry that it’s taken my own demise to appreciate what good friends I have. I’ll try to make up for it, starting with sausage rolls, and strawberries and cream back at Sam’s house. And maybe a wee dram, eh, Wullie? Eric, will you lead the way?’

Eric took back his pipes and began warming them up. My mother took charge of Wullie’s wheelchair. He grinned up at her.

‘Come on, Agnes, gie me a hurl! Pretend this is ma bogie!’ he called out. And they set off down the hill as though on their way to a wedding. Eric found his key and suddenly the air was rent with the skirl of the pipes. I held Sam back as we watched them descend.

‘What’s he playing now, Douglas?’

‘“
Cabar Feidh
”. “The Antlers of the Deer”. It’s the marching tune of the Seaforths. He’s playing it pretty well for a Black Watch man.’

‘He must be. You’re getting teary.’

‘Naw, just dust from my gravestone. The last time I heard it was when the regiment was dismissed outside Bremen. They went home without me. And I went off to interrogate some Nazis.’

Sam raised her hand with a hankie in it and dabbed my eyes like a mother with her wee boy.

‘Silly how it hits you.’ I pulled her hand down and took her shoulders. ‘Do you know the size of that cheque from the insurance company? It changes everything, Sam.’

She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. She looked solemn. ‘Cheque or no cheque, Douglas, there’s something I need to ask you.’

Oh God, just when things were on the up. Not only was I in funds, McCulloch had written a formal letter inviting me to rejoin the force in Glasgow with the rank of Chief Inspector. Was she going to tell me she’d been invited to take silk, move to Edinburgh? Was she going to dash the wine cup from my lips? She continued.

‘A few months ago, you asked me to marry you.’

‘I did. You told me you were a career girl. Are you getting your KC?’

She shook her head and smiled up at me. ‘Is it still on offer?’ she asked.

I flushed. ‘Of course.’

‘Oh, good. In that case, I accept. On one condition.’

‘What? Name it.’

‘That we do it soon.’

Her blue eyes were dancing now. She’d never looked better. Her skin was flushed and shining with health. Blooming, in fact…

Big thanks to:

Richenda Todd, my assiduous editor, for coaxing the best from me. Ian Marshall, visiting professor of Cass Business School, for his pre-computer banking insights. Bryan McLaughlan for the glorious story of ‘Sticky’. Sarah Ferris, first reviewer, cheerleader and fellow plotter.

Read on to discover more titles
in the
Glasgow Quartet
…

DOUGLAS BRODIE BOOK 1

THE
HANGING
SHED

Glasgow, 1946
: The war is over, but victory is anything but sweet. Ex-policeman Douglas Brodie is back in Scotland to try and save childhood friend Hugh Donovan from the gallows.

Donovan returned from war unrecognizable: mutilated, horribly burned. It’s no surprise that he keeps his own company, only venturing out for heroin to deaden the pain of his wounds. When a local boy is found raped and murdered, there is only one suspect…

A mountain of evidence says Donovan is guilty, but Brodie feels compelled to help his one-time friend. Working with Donovan’s advocate, Samantha Campbell, Brodie trawls the mean streets of the Gorbals and the green hills of western Scotland, confronting an unholy alliance of church, police and Glasgow’s deadliest razor gang along the way.

Can Brodie save his childhood friend from the gallows? Or will Donovan meet his fate in the notorious hanging shed?

Praise for
The Hanging Shed
:

‘The word-of-mouth hit that is leaving its fellow thrillers in its wake. Ferris is a wonderfully evocative writer’

Observer

DOUGLAS BRODIE BOOK 2

BITTER WATER

Summer in Glasgow. When the tarmac bubbles, and the tenement windows bounce back the light. When lust boils up and tempers fray.

When suddenly, it’s
bring out your dead…

Glasgow’s melting. The temperature is rising and so is the murder rate. Douglas Brodie, ex-policeman, ex-soldier and newest reporter on the
Glasgow Gazette
, has no shortage of material for his crime column.

But even Brodie baulks at his latest subject – a rapist who has been tarred and feathered by a balaclava-clad group. Brodie soon discovers a link between this horrific act and a series of brutal beatings.

As violence spreads and the bodies pile up, Brodie and advocate Samantha Campbell are entangled in a web of deception and savagery. Brodie is swamped with stories for the
Gazette
. But how long before he and Sam become the headline?

Praise for Gordon Ferris:

‘Electrifies readers…a rising star of Scottish literature’
Scotsman

DOUGLAS BRODIE BOOK 3

PILGRIM SOUL

It’s 1947 and the worst winter in memory: Glasgow is buried in snow, killers stalk the streets – and Douglas Brodie’s past is engulfing him
.

It starts small. The Jewish community in Glasgow asks Douglas Brodie, ex-policeman turned journalist, to solve a series of burglaries. The police don’t care and Brodie needs the cash. Brodie solves the crime but the thief is found dead, butchered by the owner of the house he was robbing. When the householder in turn is murdered, the whole community is in uproar – and Brodie’s simple case of theft disintegrates into chaos.

Into the mayhem strides Danny McRae – Brodie’s old sparring partner from when they policed Glasgow’s mean streets. Does Danny bring with him the seeds of redemption or retribution?

As the murder tally mounts, Brodie discovers tainted gold and a blood-stained trail back to the concentration camps. Back to the horrors that haunt his dreams. Glasgow is overflowing with Jewish refugees. But have their persecutors pursued them? And who will be next to die?

Praise for Gordon Ferris:

‘Ferris is a writer of real authority, immersing the reader into his nightmare world…everything speaks of an original voice’
Independent

Read on to discover titles in the
Danny McRae series…

DANNY McRAE BOOK 1

TRUTH DARE KILL

The war is over
. But there are no medals for Danny McRae. Just amnesia and blackouts; twin handicaps for a private investigator with an upper-class client on the hook for murder.

Danny’s blackouts mean that hours, sometimes days, are a complete blank. So when news of a brutal killer stalking London’s red-light district starts to stir grisly memories, Danny is terrified about what he might discover if he delves deeper into his fractured mind.

Will his past catch up with him before his enemies can? And which would be worse?

A fast-paced thriller by the author of the Kindle sensation
The Hanging Shed
, a Douglas Brodie investigation.

Praise for Gordon Ferris:

‘Great feel and authenticity… terrific’
Val McDermid

DANNY McRAE BOOK 2

THE UNQUIET HEART

London, 1946
. Danny McRae is a private detective scraping a living in ration-card London. Eve Copeland, crime reporter, is looking for new angles to save her career. It’s a match made in heaven… until Eve disappears, one of McRae’s contacts dies violently and an old adversary presents him with some unpalatable truths.

McRae’s desperate search for his lover draws him into a web of black marketeers, double agents and assassins, and hurls him into the shattered remains of Berlin, where terrorism and espionage foreshadow the bleakness of the Cold War. And McRae begins to lose sight of the thin line between good and evil…

The thrilling sequel to
Truth Dare Kill
by the author of the Kindle publishing sensation,
The Hanging Shed
.

Praise for Gordon Ferris:

‘Evocative, beautifully told…Ferris might just become the new Ian Rankin’
Daily Mail