Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 (19 page)

Chapter Twenty Eight

  “Right, Miss Metcalfe, who hiv we goat here?” asked JP, knowing fine well who it wis that wis staunin in front ae him.

  “This is Helen Taylor, aged thirty eight, residing at wan-wan-seven Montrose Street, Toonheid.  She’s accused ae breach ae the peace and assaulting a polis sergeant tae his severe injury ootside a closemooth at number sixty eight John Street, oan the sixteenth ae September nineteen sixty five, which wis yesterday, yer honour,” replied the procurator fiscal.

  “Ah see, hmm.  And how serious wis the assault oan the sergeant, Miss Metcalfe?”

  “The officer wis left wae a right keeker oan his right eye, yer honour.”

  “So, how come she’s here and no alang at the Sheriff Court then?”

  “While the assault wis quite vicious, the sergeant in question will survive, yer honour.  Ah recommended the Sheriff Court, bit wis informed that ye’d want tae deal wae this wan yersel.

  “Whit?  Ah...er...oh, aye, right, Ah furgoat.  Carry oan, Miss Metcalfe,” JP said, looking across at the wooden bench towards Colin, the Toonheid inspector, who wis sitting there wae Big Jim Stewart, wan ae his sergeants.

  “The accused wis seen by a number ae eyewitnesses tae punch Sergeant Liam Thompson in the eye as he arrived tae break up a riot.”

  “A riot, ye say?” JP asked, tilting his horn-rimmed glasses so he could get a good swatch ae the defendant in the dock.

  “Indeed.”

  “Is this connected wae the rabble Ah’ve jist dealt wae five minutes ago, Miss Metcalfe?” he asked, glancing across at Betty and Sharon, the only two ae the wummin whose men hid let them stay tae watch the proceedings.

  “Aye, it is.”

  “So, how come she wisnae lumped in wae them?” he asked, knowing fine well that Taylor wis staunin her ground and pleading not guilty.

  “Oot ae them aw, Taylor is the only wan that’s contesting the charges and pleading ‘not guilty’ yer honour.”

  “Is that right, Mrs Taylor?  Ye’re pleading not guilty, ur ye?” he asked, no believing his luck that at long last, efter aw these years, the bitch wis at his mercy.

  “Aye.”

  “Right, so where’s that brief ae yours tae put forward yer plea?”

  “Mrs Taylor his refused the services ae a court-appointed solicitor, yer honour,” the procurator volunteered.

  “She his, his she?  Noo, why dis that no surprise me, eh?  So, who’s representing her?”

  “Ye wid need tae ask Mrs Taylor that wan yersel, yer honour.”

  “Mrs Taylor?”

  “Ah’ve nae faith in the abilities ae the lawyers that came tae see me this morning.”

  “Oh, ye hivnae, hiv ye?”

    Silence.

  “And ye think ye’d dae better staunin there oan yer ain, arguing yer ain case, dae ye?”

  “Ah believe that whit Ah hiv tae say will show that Ah never assaulted anywan, anywhere, and certainly no up in John Street.”

  “Right, well, we’ll soon see aboot that, won’t we?  Seeing as we aw know the assault charge is connected tae the rabble who aw pleaded guilty earlier, Ah think Ah’ve goat the picture ae whit wis gaun oan.  O’er tae yersel, Miss Metcalfe,” JP said, nodding.

  “Ah’ve asked the eyewitnesses who wur present yesterday tae be here the day, yer honour, including Sergeant Thompson, the assaulted sergeant.”

  “Well, ye better shout him in then.”

  Aw heids in the courtroom swivelled tae follow the court usher as he went across and opened the door wae a sign that said ‘Witnesses’ oan it.

  Helen looked across at Liam Thompson as he stood fidgeting aboot in the witness box, gaun through his pockets, before extracting a wee black notebook.  She felt a wee painful twinge oan the knuckles ae her right haun.  She wanted tae burst oot laughing.  It looked as if somewan hid stuck a squashed purple plum oan tae that face ae his where his eye socket should’ve been.

  “So, Sergeant, in yer ain words, tell us how ye came tae be sporting a black eye?”

  “Well, masel and a group ae other officers arrived forthwith tae break up a riot that wis in progress ootside a closemooth at number sixty eight John Street yesterday morning.  As Ah ran across tae protect the sheriff officers and potential buyers, who wur attending a warrant sale, Mrs Taylor scudded me oan ma right eye wae her right fist…tae ma severe injury,” the sergeant droned stiffly, looking up fae his notebook wae his wan good eye.

  “And whit happened then?” asked the procurator fiscal.

  “Ah hit the deck like a sack ae totties,” he replied, tae a titter ae laughter fae the crowded public benches.

  “So, she knocked ye oot in wan go then?” the procurator fiscal asked, as aw eyes in the court looked between Liam Thompson and the defendant.

  “Well, Ah widnae say it wis a knockoot blow,” he replied defensively.

  “So, whit wid ye say it wis then?”

  “Ah’d say that she fluked a lucky punch through ma defences.”

  “Whit Ah’m trying tae get fae ye, Sergeant, is that when ye went doon, ye stayed doon.  Is that right?”

  “Well, Ah widnae say that exactly.”

  “So, ye goat back up and re-joined the affray?”

  “Efter ma heid cleared, Ah managed tae get back up tae restore order.”

  “And that’s when ye arrested Taylor?

  “Wance Ah managed tae calm things doon, me and ma men lifted her and her screaming cronies and proceeded tae cart them doon tae Central tae be charged.”

  “Mrs Taylor, dae ye want tae contradict or challenge anything Sergeant Thompson his jist said?” the procurator fiscal asked, turning tae face Helen.

  “Aye, did he jist say he arrived tae break up a riot?”

  “Sergeant Thompson?”

  “Aye.”

  “And the riot wis in full flow when ye arrived, wis it?” asked Helen, exaggerating the disbelieving, surprised expression oan her face.

  “Aye.”

  “How tall ur ye?”

  “Eh?”

  “Ah asked ye how tall ye ur?”

  “Er, six feet three and a hauf.”

  “So, ye’re claiming that it wis me, aw five feet four inches ae me…a wee skinny wummin…who knocked ye oot wae a single punch then?” Helen asked, as laughter erupted fae the public benches.

  “Ah think Ah awready mentioned that efter Ah hit the deck, Ah sprung back up oan tae they feet ae mine pretty pronto, so Ah did.”

  “And jist before this so-called ‘knockoot punch’ landed, wur ye swinging a polis baton aboot at aw and sundry, by any chance?”

  “It wis a Thursday,” he reminded her, looking across and getting a wee wink back fae Big Jim.

  “So, ye never hid a baton in yer haun when ye ran across tae stoap a bunch ae wummin, peacefully protesting ootside the closemooth ae an auld age pensioner who wis the victim ae a warrant sale taking place in her damp hoose up in John Street, because she couldnae afford the rent?”

  “Naw.”

  “Did any polismen hiv batons in their hauns when they charged o’er tae break up this so-called riot?”

  “Ma men hid tae eventually draw their batons tae defend themsels.”

  “So, ye’re saying that ye didnae hiv a baton in yer haun before youse aw charged o’er tae the peaceful demonstration.  Is that right?”

  “Aye, that’s right,” he replied, as the procurator fiscal jumped up oot ae her chair.

  “Okay, thanks, Sergeant Thompson.  Ye kin leave the witness staun, bit Ah wid ask ye tae hing aboot till Ah tell ye that ye kin leave the building,” the prosecutor said, dismissing him.

“Er, Ah wisnae finished questioned him,” Helen objected, as the sergeant joined his other two colleagues.

  “Is that it, Miss Metcalfe?” JP asked, pleased that the defendant hid been body-swerved fae continuing her line ae questioning.

  “Naw, yer honour, Ah wid like tae call PC Scullion Smith.”

  “Is this gonnae take long?” JP asked, looking at the clock up oan the wall.

   “PC Smith will be able tae corroborate whit Sergeant Thompson his jist stated as a fact, yer honour.”

  “Right, gie him a shout then, Bob,” JP said, looking across at the court usher.

  “Ur ye PC Scullion Smith and wur you drafted in fae Possil tae attend a riot taking place up in John Street, Toonheid, yesterday morning?”

  “Aye, that’s right.”

  “According tae Sergeant Thompson, sitting o’er there, he wis punched oan the eye by that wummin…the accused…sitting o’er there in the dock.  Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, ye saw it happen?”

  “Aye, Ah did.”

  “So, whit happened?”

  “Ah wis lying oan the deck, haudin ma ba...hauns between ma legs and when Ah turned roond, Ah saw her punching The Sarge.”

  “Ye’re sure aboot that?  Ye widnae be mistaken?”

  “Naw, naw.  It’s no every day ye see a punch like that, and believe you me, Ah’ve seen a few.  It’ll be a long time before Ah furget that wan,” the PC stated straight-faced, as everywan burst oot laughing, except the injured sergeant and his colleagues.

  “And whit wur ye daeing oan the ground, PC Smith?”

  “As Ah said, Ah wis haudin ma ba...oh, Ah see whit ye mean.  Ah’d jist been trampled underneath by a herd ae fat wummin.”

  “Bit, ye saw whit happened.  Is that right?”

  “Oh, aye.”

  “Mrs Taylor, dae ye want tae ask PC Smith anything?” asked JP, looking up at the clock again.

  “Ur ye stationed in the Toonheid?”

  “Naw.”

  “Where ur ye normally based?”

  “Possilpark.”

  “So, why wur ye in John Street yesterday?”

  “Ah wis called in tae help oot the local boys.”

  “Fur whit?”

  “Tae repel a riot.”

  “When wur ye asked tae come tae the Toonheid?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “So, ye said ye wur lying oan the deck because ye wur trampled by some wummin.  Is that right?”

  “Aye, and no jist the wance either.”

  “So, it wis mair than wance then?”

  “Aye.”

  “And ye wur injured?”

  “They deliberately went fur ma ba...bottom hauf, if ye know whit Ah mean?”

  “Naw, whit dae ye mean?”

  “Well, they charged me and Ah fell back and oan the way o’er the tap ae me, they deliberately dug their high heels intae that crotch ae mine.”

  “Twice?”

  “Aye, oan the way there and the way back.”

“So, ye wur writhing in agony then?”

  “Agony?  Ma left ba...er…nut…wis punctured like a pin cushion, no tae mention the severe bruising.  They’re the size ae tennis baws noo.  Whit dae you think?”

  “And efter ye’d been run o’er by a group ae wummin, whit did ye dae then?”

  “Ah curled up, screaming in agony.”

  “So, ye wur howling and greeting then?”

  “Naw, naw, the tears wurnae because Ah wis greeting.  The tears wur tears ae pain,” he replied tae mair laughter fae the public benches.

  “Bit, through they agonising tears ae yers, ye still managed tae see Sergeant Thompson being assaulted by me.  Is that right?”

  “Aye,” he replied, as the procurator sprang back up oan tae her feet.

  “Okay, fine.  Ye kin leave the witness staun, PC Smith, bit Ah wid ask ye tae hing aboot till Ah tell ye that ye kin leave the building,” the prosecutor telt him.

  “Er, excuse me, bit Ah wisnae finished questioning him,” Helen objected, looking fae the prosecutor tae JP and back again.

“Is that it, Miss Metcalfe?” JP asked quickly, avoiding eye contact wae the defendant.

  “Jist wan mair witness, yer honour.”

  “Right, oan ye go, bit make it quick, eh?”

  “So, PC Cross, whit happened tae yer eyes?”

  “Ah contracted strabismus jist efter Ah joined the force,” Crisscross replied tae laughter.

  “Naw, Ah meant yer black and blue bruised eyes.”

  “Oh, right.  Ah wis assaulted by her pals,” the squinty-eyed PC said, pointing across at the defendant.

  “And whit did ye see yesterday morning when ye wur in attendance, attempting tae quell a riot up in John Street?”

  “Ah saw her putting wan oan ma sergeant.”

  “Whit dis that mean?”

  “It means Ah saw her punch Sergeant Thompson oan the eye.”

  “And where wur ye when ye saw this?”

  “Ah wis lying oan the pavement ootside number sixty eight.”

  “That wis efter ye’d been assaulted?”

  “Aye, wan ae them stuck the heid oan me.  When Ah looked up, Ah saw her punching The Sarge.”

  “And ye’re sure aboot that?  Ye widnae be mistaken?”

  “Naw, she’s a well-known trouble-maker that wan, so she is,” Crisscross said, glad tae stick the boot in.

  “Mrs Taylor?” the procurator enquired, taking a seat.