The Last Witness (21 page)

‘You, how did you get here so quickly?’ he said, unsettled by the appearance of the man above him. ‘Fuckin’ typical. We’ve got tae move a’ the shit on the busiest night o’ the year. Whit aboot this pair on the roof ye told me aboot?’

The man said nothing, just gestured to Tommy to follow him up onto the fire escape.

‘Whit the fuck’s wrong wi’ you?’ said Tommy, as he placed his right foot on the first rung of the rusting ladder.

Daley had been surprised when Donald expressed a desire to join the throng of people and watch the parade of floats leading up to the official switch-on of the Christmas lights. Had his boss not consumed so much alcohol, he would more likely have spent the evening in his hotel room, or back at the police office weaving his interminable webs.

Daley’s thoughts drifted to the visit he had paid Liz at the hospital earlier that day. He was worried by how pale and tired she had looked, but the doctor assured him that it was merely an after-effect of the trauma she had suffered, combined with her condition. She dozed as he held her hand. He tried to picture what their child would look like, hoping earnestly that it would resemble his wife and not him.

Once he had been assured that she was in no immediate danger, he had rather welcomed the break, the chance for some space amidst the turmoil of the last few days. He kissed her on the forehead before taking his leave. Only as he walked down the long corridor of the hospital did the darkness again encroach on his mind.

Thoughts of Liz were banished by Scott, who beckoned him and Donald through the crowd to a better vantage point. He was surprised how busy the street was, and
reckoned that the great majority of the town had turned out to witness the spectacle. Beside him, Donald was huddled into a heavy, and no doubt expensive, overcoat. Daley could hear him swear under his breath as they made their way through the throng, Scott on point.

‘Just here, boys,’ Scott called over his shoulder, gesturing to the doorway of a shop. Inside, visible through the large windows, people were drinking from plastic cups and helping themselves to mince pies.

‘I might have known we’d end up at a bookie’s,’ Donald moaned as they took their position in the large doorway. ‘I hope they’re not consuming alcohol in there. Free or otherwise – an absolute contravention of their licence under the Betting, Gaming and Lotteries Act.’

‘Aye, well, since we’ve been consuming alcohol ourselves, an’ we’re off duty, I dinnae think we should attempt an intervention the noo, sir,’ Scott joked, winking at Daley.

‘I’m sure your bookies’
interventions
are very frequent, Brian,’ Donald replied, turning his attention to a woman with a large furry hat who had positioned herself in front of him and was obscuring his view of the pageant route on the road beyond. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, tapping her on the shoulder, ‘we are police officers and require a clear view of the proceedings. Please move along.’

‘Whoot?’ said the woman, frowning at Donald. ‘Who died an’ made you king o’ the world? Piss off!’ She turned her attention to a small child fussing at her feet.

The look on Donald’s face sent Scott into paroxysms of silent mirth. The superintendent was about to speak when a voice issued forth from an incredibly loud public address system.

‘Noo, how are yiz a’ daein’?’ was the first question, accompanied by a blast of jaunty accordion music. This prompted a less than enthusiastic response from the crowd, ranging from pleasant hellos to more profane utterances. One shout of ‘Fuck off, Dan!’ could be heard above the rest, which caused a ripple of laughter amongst the citizens of Kinloch.

Unabashed, and with a brief clearing of the throat, the announcer continued. ‘Noo, in whoot’s a first for us a’ at Kinloch FM, we’re proud tae be covering tonight’s entertainment live, broadcast tae ye all wi’ oor PA, for which we can thank the good people at Rankin Motors! Gie it up for Rankin Motors!’ This was greeted by a ragged cheer. ‘Can ye hear me?’ he roared, after which cries of ‘Turn it doon, for any sake’ or ‘Shut that fuckin’ thing up’ were heard.

‘I’m no’ giein’ away the identity o’ oor special guest, but a’ I’ll say is yous should a’ look up,’ he announced.

Suddenly, from somewhere above their heads on the four-storey tenement behind the policemen, a powerful spotlight illuminated the flat roof of the building across Main Street. Daley could hear the strangled whine of bagpipes being inflated, then the roll of snare drums before the pipes sounded, in readiness for a tune. Then, without warning they burst into life. The crowd applauded, and to his left Daley spotted the flash of silver buttons and tartan as the pipe band rounded the corner of the esplanade and began their march up Main Street.

‘Pit yer hands the’gither for the Kinloch Pipe Band!’ bellowed Dan, clearly audible above the skirl of the pipes and the cheers of the crowd.

Daley looked side on at Donald, who looked less than impressed by the commencement of the festivities, possibly
because the woman in front of him had been joined by some of her friends and their offspring, one of whom – a small boy with a runny nose – was tugging at the hem of the superintendent’s coat, while looking up at him with big eyes.

Behind the band, flat-backed lorries made up the procession, each decorated according to different themes. A group of hairy-chested, bikini-clad men, all wearing long platinum-blonde wigs, gyrated under artificial palm trees on what looked like half a ton of sand. They held cans of beer and were obviously a little worse for wear, staggering as the vehicle chugged up Main Street, waving and shouting to the crowd.

‘They must be freezin’,’ Scott shouted in Daley’s ear, as he watched Donald give the little boy a nudge to try and make him let go of his coat. The women in front were busy throwing coins into charity buckets carried by men dressed as Santa Claus.

‘Credit where credit’s due, mind you,’ said Scott. ‘They’re a right community doon here – the way it used tae be.’

Each float was accompanied by its own music, which blared out of speakers on the back of every lorry, making the din truly deafening.

‘A big hand fir the lassies fae the Douglas Arms,’ shouted Dan, as a float done up to look like a Restoration inn passed slowly by, populated by half a dozen women dressed in low-cut, lace-up bodices, who laughed merrily as they threw small toys into the crowd, sending the children of Kinloch into a frantic scramble. Daley could smell fried onions and burgers being cooked in a van further up Main Street; it would be doing a roaring trade. Despite his meal at the County, his stomach began to rumble. To his right, he could see Donald
wiping furtively at a trail of snot left slathered across his coat by the little boy, who was now deep in the scrum of children trying to get their hands on one of the precious toys which were still being sent spinning into the crowd.

‘A big cheer for Santa!’ Dan announced, as the star of the parade rounded the corner. A large man dressed as Father Christmas sat in an elaborate grotto, replete with elves dressed in exceptionally short green skirts and matching hats.

‘This is practically pornography,’ declared Donald, as one of the elves raised her skirt even higher, to reveal suspenders holding up green fishnet stockings. She was rewarded with a lascivious jeer from the men in the crowd.

‘Aye, you’d know,’ said Scott under his breath. ‘There’s no’ enough o’ this type o’ thing noo’adays,’ he continued more audibly. ‘It’s great tae see the kids oot an’ aboot, an’ no’ wi’ their heids stuck intae some computer.’

‘Very laudable, I’m sure,’ the superintendent replied, again examining the hem of his coat with a look of disgust on his face.

The women in front of them were making the most of the event by passing a bottle of sparkling wine around; they had come prepared with plastic glasses and two large bags of crisps. They chatted merrily, shrieking with laughter at the sights and sounds of the evening while their children played happily with their new toys, salvaged from the scramble.

Daley took it all in with a burgeoning feeling of warmth and contentedness. Maybe it was down to the goodwill of the season, or perhaps the alcohol he had consumed, but more likely, he reasoned, it was the feeling of being part of something bigger than yourself. He had become used to being a reluctant
witness to all that was wrong with humanity; it was easy to become the jaundiced observer, with the expectation that things could only get worse, never better. But here and now, as part of this little community, he felt a surge of hope.

Across the road, now that the procession had passed by, he spotted a man holding the hand of a toddler. The little boy was muffled against the cold with a blue bobble hat and a thick jacket. He stared up wide-eyed at the lights and the people as the man kneeled at his side, whispering in his ear and pointing to everything around them – helping this tiny, new mind make sense of it all. A broad smile was spread across the man’s face.

Daley realised that he would soon be that man; he was about to jump onto the merry-go-round of fatherhood, with all of its attendant highs and lows. His heart began to beat more quickly as the responsibility of it all brought emotion welling up in his chest. One thing was certain: there were many worse places to bring up a child than Kinloch. This unique town appeared to have retained something lost by many other communities in the modern, complex world; a sense of belonging and home, of being part of something more. He beamed with pleasure.

As Daley bathed in the glow of impending fatherhood, he didn’t notice that someone had appeared silently at his side. He turned to the figure and was pleased to find Hamish, puffing clouds of blue pipe smoke into the night air.

‘A fine sight, Mr Daley,’ he said. ‘Aye, fine, indeed.’

‘Yes, Hamish,’ Daley replied, still smiling at the little boy across the street who was now pointing excitedly at Santa.

‘No’ so nice fir Duncan Fearney, mind you, eh?’ Hamish turned his slanted gaze to the detective.

‘How do you know about that, Hamish?’ Daley hissed into the old man’s ear. ‘Don’t answer that,’ he said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Just don’t let the boss hear you. He’ll have you up in the office being questioned as a possible accomplice before you know it.’

‘Aye, weel, he’ll need tae get past this lot first,’ commented Hamish, gesturing to the crowds with his pipe. ‘I remember in 1952, young Erchie Dougall went AWOL fae his National Service – jeest at this exact time o’ year.’ He smiled at Daley. ‘In them days, a’ we had wiz a big tree wi’ a few lights on it, doon at the cross – nane o’ this extravagance. Mind you, the folk turned oot jeest the same tae see the lights go on, an’ the star pit on top o’ the tree.’

Daley listened patiently, knowing that Hamish would eventually reach some point pertinent to what they had been talking about.

‘So there wiz half the toon, gathered roon’ the tree – drink havin’ been taken, mind you. These two redcaps appeared; apparently they’d known aboot poor Erchie’s movements an’ had decided the time was ripe tae catch him, oot in the open, so tae speak.’ He had to raise his voice, as the pipe band was now blowing a particularly strident reel nearby. ‘So yer two men made their move. They grabbed oor Erchie an’ tried tae drag him intae custody an’ back tae the army, where nae doubt he wid have been fair badly treated fir his indiscretion.’

‘Being absent without leave is a bit more than an indiscretion, Hamish,’ said Daley with a smile. ‘What happened?’

‘Och, tae cut a lang story short, before they could get tae Erchie, they got mobbed by the crowd an’ flung intae the loch. Aye, they wirnae fae the toon, ye understan’. As ye know
fine, we may fight like fury amongst oorsels, but woe betide any strangers that pick on one o’ oor ain.’ He smiled at Daley as he took another long draw of his pipe.

‘Very clever, Hamish. But I’m warning you, whatever you know about recent events, say nothing.’ Daley raised his brows at the old man.

‘Did I no’ tell ye: Duncan Fearney is a desperate man, Mr Daley, an’ as ye know fine yersel, desperate men dae desperate things.’

‘I would like to talk to you tomorrow, Jim,’ Donald slurred in Daley’s other ear. The effect of the quantity of wine the superintendent had consumed had now well and truly kicked in, no doubt accentuated by the cold evening. ‘Most important . . . Most sensitive. I . . .’

‘Let tomorrow deal with itself, sir,’ Daley interrupted, the feeling of contentment draining from him at the mere sound of Donald’s voice.

‘Tomorrow it is then,’ replied the superintendent with a small hiccough. The look of disdain reappeared on his face as the group of women in front, who had now donned party hats, burst into song.

‘Noo, ladies and gentlemen, can I have yer attention please!’ Dan’s voice boomed from the loudspeaker. ‘As yiz a’ know, the lights went on last week.’ This elicited a jeer from the crowd. ‘Noo, come on – it’s nae use blaming big Hughie. He just pulled the switch when he should ha’ kept his hand on his ha’penny.’ The crowd continued to grumble. ‘Well, when we switched them off again, everybody complained, so they were jeest left on.’

To a background of ‘Get on wi’ it’, ‘That’s a load a’ shite!’ and ‘Away an’ bile yer heid!’, Dan, a determined performer
if nothing else, pressed on. ‘Since the lights are on a’ready, the community council have managed a wee surprise.’

‘Are they sober?’ shouted someone.

Dan ignored this. ‘Tonight,’ he continued, ‘oor special guest comes a’ the way fae darkest Africa . . . Ladies an’ gentlemen, Tarzan!’ He roared into the microphone, and the PA system whined in protest. ‘Tarzan will descend via the wire, fae the top o’ Woolies – or whoot wiz Woolies – an’ land jeest here, where he will press the switch that will set off a fireworks display!’

‘Fuck me,’ Scott said in Daley’s ear. ‘I hope they health an’ safety boys have checked a’ this oot. The last thing we need is Tarzan splattered a’ over the boss’s good shoes.’

‘Are yous ready?’ Dan encouraged his audience. ‘Ten! Nine! Eight!’ The crowd joined in the countdown as a spotlight whirled to the top of the building across the street. ‘Seven! Six! Five! Four!’ Only then did Daley spot the thin wire, which angled down from the top of the building to the pavement below.