When Sorry Is Not Enough (21 page)

‘But you had just asked John.’

‘Yes, but John is not really in the know. And I have this feeling that …’

‘Like me that you know that the dead woman is Jessie Scott and that she’s probably committed suicide because she was the one who murdered …’ Sally knew from the look of abject horror that was now on Luke’s face that she had got it wrong. ‘Oh no, you think the poor soul herself was murdered,’ she whimpered.

Luke now appeared to be going to bang his head off the wall. ‘Look, Sally, the woman who was dumped in the harbour is not and I repeat
not
Jessie Scott.’

‘Then who is she?’

‘These officers I just spoke to don’t know. All they are sure of is that the poor victim was not a known pro – you know, not a local whore. And as we all know, Jessie Scott is.’

‘What does this mean?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t want you to discuss anything I have just told you with anyone – and anyone includes Nancy.’ Luke switched on the kettle. ‘You are so bright, Sally, that I have always stood in awe of you. But just recently you seem never to put your analytical brain into gear. Always your fertile imagination is allowed to run away with itself.’

‘Sorry. I just so want Irish to be free and yes, because I want the culprit to be someone I don’t admire … Jessie Scott would fit the bill.’

* * *

The visiting halls of any prison are, or appear to the visitors to be, cold, soulless echoing tombs. Any time Luke had to visit any of the prisons his free spirit felt trapped and he always wondered how such environments could inspire anybody to rehabilitate. Today he was accompanying Kathleen Kelly. She was a woman whose beliefs had been sorely tried since her son was convicted of the most heinous of crimes – murder.

As they walked towards the prison visiting hall Luke wondered how this small, dainty, devout woman was going to cope in this environment. It was a desolate and soulless place where she would not be allowed to cradle her son to her breast and whisper to him that she loved him – that she believed in him – that she knew, had always known, that he was innocent.

Luke need not have concerned himself about Kathleen. On entering the hall she sat herself down at a table and, placing her hands in her lap, she waited patiently for her son to join her.

No one could have foretold the difference that there would be in Irish since Luke had last seen him in Peterhead Prison.

‘Saughton suit you better?’ an impressed Luke asked as he offered Irish his hand.

‘Aye. And I don’t know why but these last few days I am not only treated well but with respect.’

‘Ah,’ was all Luke replied.

‘Son,’ Kathleen began as she slipped her hands over the table towards him. ‘Luke here, his sister and her son are working very hard to get you released.’ She hesitated to purse her lips. ‘Don’t want to build your hopes up but they say, and I don’t think they would try to fool us, that it’s looking promising.’

Irish was now gently stroking his mother’s work-worn hands but his eyes challenged Luke when he uttered, ‘No one had better try to fool us again.’ Kathleen frowned. Irish massaged her hands. ‘No need to worry, Mother. As I said, I’m being treated with respect now so I know that things will probably work out for us.’ Closing his eyes he appeared to be dreaming. Time stood still. Silence was golden. Healing had arrived at the threshold.

It had been difficult for Sally to stand at the gate of her guest house and watch Luke drive off in her car.
Why
, she wondered,
did I not summon him a taxi?
True he was taking Kathleen to visit her son in Saughton Prison but Sally required to be getting herself over to the Royal Stuart pub in Easter Road for a meeting with Nancy.

The thought that Nancy was going to be married – have someone to care for her, to provide for her – was a dream come true for Sally.

She had rung for a taxi and was waiting on the top step when a voice behind her said, ‘You going to the Four Marys?’

Sally shrugged. ‘No, Maggie, I’m not. Josie is back there in charge and it is up to her whether she makes a kirk or a mill of it.’

‘Oh, so where are you off to?’

‘I am going over to the Royal Stuart,’ was Sally’s terse reply through gritted teeth.

‘That right and here is me needing to talk to you.’

‘About what?’

‘Just that I will be sixty next week and so I’ll be getting my old-age pension from the state. That has set me thinking of leaving here and just getting a wee part-time job – maybe packing shelves in ASDA.’

Sally was caught wrong-footed. ‘But you only work here part-time.’

‘Aye,’ sniffed Maggie as she wiped her nose on her fingers, ‘but I’m no appreciated. Well I’m no given the same time of day as … let’s say … a whore.’

Sally bristled. Incensed she was but she thought before she replied, ‘You’re quite right, Maggie. Everyone should broaden their horizons and ASDA will open up a whole new world for you. Now do you wish to work your week’s notice or do you wish to leave today?’

‘Em. Em. Em,’ Maggie stuttered, ‘I havenae applied to ASDA yet so I suppose I’ll work the week’s notice.’

Pulling on her leather gloves Sally smiled. ‘Good. That will give me time to find a replacement. Oh look, here’s my cab.’ Running down the stairs Sally chirped back, ‘See you, Maggie, and believe me, I think that you going to work elsewhere will work out to all our advantages.’

Why is it,
Sally thought when she looked at Nancy,
that a woman who knows she’s loved takes on such a beautiful glow?
She further acknowledged that Nancy just seemed like a spring day and nowadays a smile was never far from her face.

‘It’s yourself, Sally.’

‘Aye, Nancy, it is none other than me so pour me a coffee and let us have a powwow.’

Sally and Nancy were soon sitting opposite each other at a small table. ‘Did you manage to speak to Benny about having a church wedding with a reception?’

Nancy nodded. ‘He wasn’t very keen when I first broached it but later on he said, if it was what I wanted then okay. But he’s no wearing a kilt.’

Sally laughed. ‘That’s a pity for I’m sure he would have the legs …’

‘And behind,’ interrupted Nancy.

‘… for it.’

Both women’s laugher echoed around the room. Nancy was first to gain her composure and her demeanour changed. ‘Here, Sally,’ she whispered, ‘is there any word on who the poor woman was that was fished out of Newhaven?’

‘No.’

‘I’m just so feared that it’s going to end up being Jessie Scott or worse still her halfwit pal, Jenny Geddes.’

Forgetting that Luke had asked her not to discuss the case with anyone, especially Nancy, Sally blurted, ‘No, it’s neither of them. Whoever she is she is no a local … well you know, Nancy.’

Nancy looked perplexed. ‘Neither of them?’ she murmured. Sally shook her head. ‘But, Sally, both of them have gone missing.’

‘I know. Here, Nancy, you don’t know where they might be holed up, that is if they are in hiding?’

Nancy at first shrugged then a peculiar look came to her face but it was a full two minutes before she said, ‘Jessie had a mother once. And before you say it I know we all had a mother once but Jessie’s mother stayed in Royston Mains Gardens – pillar of the church she was there.’ Nancy tutted. ‘But when Jessie went on the game her mother disowned her and she moved back down to the fishing port in East Lothian that she had come from – fisher folk are usually family minded and as far as I know she was welcomed back.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘Just that with Jessie’s mother being all holy and … possibly forgiving … well she just might … sort of harbour them.’

Sally sat quietly mulling over what Nancy had told her and she was just about to ask Nancy which port in East Lothian Jessie’s mother came from when Nancy said, ‘I remember now where Jessie’s mother hailed from – Port Seton. And before you ask, Jessie’s mother’s name is Martha Liston.’

‘Not Scott?’

‘Naw. Scott was the name of the man she was married to but he got blind drunk one night and that was the end of him.’

Sally looked bemused and giving a little titter she suggested, ‘But getting blind drunk doesn’t usually lead to your demise.’

Nancy huffed and sniffed before quipping, ‘Does if you fa’ under a number six bus.’

Solicitors make appointments to see their clients in prison which saves them having to cope with the relatives who are always badgering to know why their beloved, always innocent and misjudged, are not being released.

On the day Bobby had arranged to meet with Irish in Saughton Prison he was apprehensive. Luke, who was usually cautious, had built up Irish’s expectations. Bobby knew that Luke had a guilt complex about Irish – but he also knew guilt complexes never swayed the argument with the Law Lords.

Bobby was sure that he had built a watertight case but the senior of the three judges, who would be assessing the appeal, was the Lord Justice Clerk – the aptly named Lord Granite – a hardliner who very few could persuade, no matter how long they chipped away at him, to change the original verdict.

Today Bobby was going to have to tell Irish that yes he had built up the strongest of cases. And yes another body being found in similar circumstances and killed in a similar way added weight to their submission, but they had drawn the short straw with Lord Granite.

When Irish was shown into the small interview room Bobby’s jaw dropped. The last time he had seen Irish he had been a wreck of a man who had been crushed by the system. Today he walked into the room with an air of hope and jubilation. Immediately, he offered his hand to Bobby and when he accepted it Bobby noted that even Irish’s handshake was strong and reassuring. Hope had been reborn in the man.

Swallowing hard, Bobby began, ‘Just here today to let you know we have a date for a full hearing.’ He stalled before slowly appending, ‘Lord Granite will be in the chair.’ He grimaced. ‘I know that will worry you but I still think we may win.’

Irish offered a shrug of his shoulders and smirked, ‘Aye, but the other two who will be sitting with him are Lord Grey and Lord Semple – and they’re known for their leniency?’

Bobby leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t help but laugh uproariously. Shouldn’t he have known that the secret information about the judges he had received only that morning would have already been filtered into this secure-walled penal institution yesterday?

The old man, wiping some froth from his whiskers after taking a slurp from his pint, looked adoringly at Josie. ‘Ken hen,’ he began, giving her a lecherous wink, ‘this place wasnae the same without you. Without a doubt you are a ray of sunshine.’

Knowing the man was only speaking the truth, Josie beamed. ‘Aye, away on a management training course I was.’

‘You were?’

Josie nodded her agreement. ‘Well, nowadays you have to update your skills, and the other folk on the course – boy did they learn from me.’

Before the old man could reply to her, two men, quite evidently plain-clothed police officers, entered. ‘The manager in?’ the older of the two men asked with a cold edge to his voice.

‘Aye,’ replied Josie who was immediately aware that the officers were not from Leith ‘D’ Division.

‘Tell him we wish to speak to him.’

‘That’ll be difficult,’ the old man said taking another slurp from his beer.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because there’s nae a
he
in charge here.’ He cackled. ‘Do you no ken this is Sally Mack’s pub and she only employs women.’

The men exchanged exasperated glances with each other before the younger of the two sneered, ‘So can we speak to this suffragette landlady, this Sally Mack?’

‘No,’ was Josie’s terse reply, ‘but you can speak to me, Josie Mack, because I’m the manageress in here.’

Immediately, the shorter of the men took out a rolled-up paper which he then straightened out. ‘See this photograph,’ he began, while thrusting the paper in front of Josie’s eyes. ‘Have you ever seen her around here?’

Josie peered at the likeness and she had to stop herself from blurting, ‘Yes’. Something was telling her to deny having met the woman. Especially as it was evident that the photograph had been taken after the poor soul was dead. ‘Is this the woman that was found in Newhaven?’ she gulped.

Both men nodded. ‘Anyone else here that might have seen her?’

‘No,’ Josie lied.

‘Aye, Josie, you ken fine Rita might hae.’ The old man turned to the detectives. ‘See Rita, she kens mair about everybody’s business than her ain.’

‘Oh yes,’ Josie chuckled nervously, ‘Rita, she’s our cook and …’

‘Underpaid dogsbody,’ Rita announced as she emerged from the kitchen.

Squinting at the photograph, Rita wondered why Josie had denied ever seeing the victim. There was no way that Sally, Josie or herself could forget this lassie. Nonetheless, Rita decided to take her cue from Josie and, nonchalantly passing the photograph back to the detective, she confirmed, ‘No she’s never been in here.’

The detectives had just left when Josie and Rita huddled themselves into the kitchen. ‘Did you lie because you didn’t want the pub involved in this murder?’

‘No, Rita. It’s … oh … I just feel it in my bones that it has something to do with Irish, and poor Marie’s murder.’

‘Right enough the whole thing has just too many coincidences for there no to be a link.’ Rita’s tongue began to circle her mouth before she tentatively croaked, ‘But what are you going to do?’

‘The only thing I can do – get hold of Luke or Sally and warn them.’ Lifting her coat off the hanger she picked up from where she had finished. ‘Can you hold on here, Rita, ’til I come back?’

Rita had just taken up her position behind the bar when she heard Josie herald a taxi.

Luke and Sally were staring at Josie who was confused because the two of them looked completely confounded.

‘Did we do wrong?’

After a few gulps followed by a deep inhale Sally managed to mumble, ‘Josie, what we are finding difficult to take in is …’

‘That the woman was in Newhaven harbour and …’

‘No,’ expounded Sally, ‘not that she was in the harbour, but why you told the police you didn’t know who she was.’