May God Forgive

Alan Parks

• Publisher: Canongate Books
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN:
  9781838856793
• eBook ISBN:
  9781838856762
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

WINNER OF THE McILVANNEY PRIZE
SHORTLISTED FOR THE IAN FLEMING STEEL DAGGER 2023

Glasgow is a city in mourning. An arson attack has left five dead. Tempers are frayed and sentiments running high.

When three youths are charged the city goes wild. A crowd gathers outside the courthouse but as the police drive the young men to prison, their van is rammed by a truck, and the men are grabbed and bundled into a car. The next day, the body of one of them is dumped in the city centre. A note has been sent to the newspapers: one down, two to go.

Detective Harry McCoy has twenty-four hours to find the kidnapped boys before they all turn up dead, and it is going to mean taking down some of Glasgow's most powerful to do it . . .

25th May 1974

FORTY-THREE

It was beginning to feel like McCoy was never out of Royston. Wattie pulled up in the car park by the Charles Street flats and took the key out the ignition. McCoy looked up at the towers, wondered if the woman was up already, selling whatever it was in the Irn-Bru bottles to the men from the Model across the street. Seven o’clock in the morning might be too early even for her.

He yawned, stomach had got him up at five again. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Kept thinking about time running out. It was Saturday morning now. They had to find Malcom McCauley alive today or they’d likely find his body tomorrow.

‘No luck with Trisha O’Hara,’ said Wattie. ‘Got them to run it this morning. One Trisha O’Hara lives in Knightswood, arrested for shoplifting four years ago. Aged fifty-one at the time.’

McCoy tried to get his mind off Malcom McCauley. Pay attention. ‘Wasn’t holding out much hope. Paul said she changed her name all the time.’

‘And now he’s run off again? Not an easy man to pin down, young Paul Cooper.’

‘Told Sister Jimmy to find him last night,’ said McCoy. ‘Made it clear his dad wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t.’

‘Makes sense. Did you know this was called Glenconner Park?’ asked Wattie, pushing his arm into the sleeve of his raincoat.

McCoy shook his head. ‘Always just thought of it as the patch of grass by the school.’

‘Me neither,’ said Wattie, raincoat now successfully on. ‘Had no idea what the guy was talking about when it was called in.’

‘Don’t tell me it was another bloody dog walker?’ asked McCoy, getting into his own overcoat. Not the easiest manoeuvre in the front seat of a Viva.

‘Not this time. Postman going for a pee. You ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’ McCoy opened the car door and the wind almost pulled it from his hand, stepped out into the pouring rain.

By the time they’d walked across the car park and the football pitches they were soaking. A wild wind was driving the rain sideways and right into their faces. Up ahead, in the trees, a corner of the canvas that had been erected over the body had come loose, was flapping wildly. A uniform was trying to grab it, not having much luck. McCoy and Wattie ducked down under it, grateful for whatever shelter it afforded, and had a look at the reason they were in Glenconner Park.

A middle-aged man was lying on the grass staring up at them. A livid red line slashed across his neck, blood on his wet shirt. An ordinary man. He was wearing a pair of suit trousers and a pale blue shirt, black slip-ons. Clothes were soaking, stuck to him, could see the outline of his vest under the shirt. His face looked familiar for a second and then it was gone. Probably just looked like every other working man in Glasgow. A uniform handed McCoy a wallet. He opened it up, unfolded the driving licence. Read it out. ‘Ian Barrett.’

McCoy looked through the wallet. Couple of photos of what looked like his mum and dad at the front at Blackpool, pools coupon, found a wage slip. ‘Worked for the Corporation,’ he said. ‘Janitor at Atholl House.’

Wattie looked blank, the first uniform shook his head.

‘Atholl House?’ They turned to see the other uniform had managed to tie the canvas down. ‘It’s a mother and baby place, up in Partickhill.’

McCoy could feel the rainwater seeping into his socks and down the back of his shirt.

‘We’re not that far from Sighthill Cemetery,’ said Wattie, voicing what McCoy was thinking. ‘He’s been strangled as well.’

McCoy glanced at him. ‘Not much in common with the girl though. This guy is a working stiff, a man, middle-aged.’

‘Maybe what they had in common wasn’t physical.’

‘Hurts me to say it but you’re getting better, Watson.’ He looked at the uniform. ‘The postman have anything to say?’

‘Not really. Had just done the flats and was going across to the primary school, was desperate for a pee so he came into these trees. Found him lying there.’

McCoy looked around. Traffic was busy on Royston Road, but in the dark it would be easy to turn up the wee road to the football pitches, unload a body, dump it. ‘Need to organise a door-to-door of any of the flats that overlook the park,’ he said. ‘See if anyone saw anything, a car parked here maybe, anything like that. He have anything else on him?’

The uniform opened the brown paper evidence bag he was holding. ‘Just under a pound in change, packet of Regal and a box of matches, a snotty hanky and a key.’

‘A key to what?’ asked McCoy.

‘No idea,’ said the uniform, digging in the bag. ‘Funny-looking thing.’ He pulled his hand out and held the key up.

McCoy couldn’t believe it. It was a large iron key with a square hoop at the end. The same as the one they had found in Dirty Ally’s flat.

‘Fuck,’ said Wattie. ‘What’s that doing there?’

‘Put that in a separate bag and then give it to me,’ said McCoy.

Uniform nodded, wandered off out the tent in search of the crime kit.

‘That’s the same as the other one, isn’t it?’ asked Wattie.

‘Yep.’

‘Why have him and Dirty Ally got the same key? Did they know each other?’

‘Must have done,’ said McCoy. ‘And now they’re both dead.’

‘And he’s been killed the same way as the girl in the cemetery. You think it’s all connected?’

McCoy looked across the road at the Great Northern, grey and dark in the morning gloom.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Oh yes . . .’

FORTY-FOUR

It didn’t take long to find Bert Cross. He was sitting in the same chair as last time, same raincoat on, same magazine for all McCoy knew. He looked up, flicker of fear in his bright blue eyes. ‘All right, son?’

‘Not really,’ said McCoy. ‘C’mon, we’re going to take a walk.’

Cross sighed, got himself out his chair, and McCoy led him downstairs to the office.

‘This is most irregular,’ said Swan as McCoy, Wattie and Cross settled themselves into seats. ‘Maybe I should stay here and be a witness to what is happening.’

‘No need, sir,’ said Wattie. ‘Just a friendly chat. If you could shut the door on the way out, that would be much appreciated.’

Swan hesitated for a moment, realised he’d been beaten and left.

‘What’s this all about, son?’ asked Cross. ‘I told you all I knew last time.’

‘Don’t think you did, Bert,’ said McCoy. ‘How much did he give you?’

Cross sank back in his chair, looked like what he was, a frightened old man. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, son.’

‘Let me make it easy for you,’ said McCoy. ‘We can have a wee chat here, goes no further, and you can go back upstairs and finish your People’s Friend. Or I can charge you with wasting police time and take you down to the station, put you in a holding cell, and forget you’re there for a couple of days. Your choice.’

Cross blinked, realised he didn’t really have an option. ‘A fiver. He gave me a fiver. You don’t have a fag, do you, son?’

McCoy dug in his pocket, handed over a packet of Regal and his lighter. Cross took them in his shaky hands, lit up, breathed in deep.

‘Just tell me what happened that morning,’ said McCoy. ‘Take your time.’

‘I get up early, always have done. Haven’t worked for near on twenty years but I still get up at half six. Up and about before everyone else, that’s me. So I’m scrabbling about the yard like I do most mornings. Sometimes there’s ginger bottles in the bins, can take them back for money, sometimes there’s something to sell.’ He smiled. ‘Never thought I’d end up as a bloody bin raker but there you are. Christ, if my mother could see me now she’d—’

‘Bert. That morning.’

Bert held his hands up. ‘Sorry, son. Anyway, I’m out there doing that and a bloody slate lands beside me, smashes into smithereens, could have bloody killed me, so I look up and there’s two people on the roof. I recognise Ally but not the other guy.’

‘And?’

‘The other guy is standing right beside Ally, looks like he’s talking to him, and Ally’s shaking his head, trying to get away from him, but the guy’s got hold of his arm. Next thing, he’s got Ally round the waist and he’s dragging him to the edge of the roof . . .’

‘What happened then?’ asked McCoy.

Cross shook his head. Looked determined. ‘I’m no doing it.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’m no saying any more. The worst you can do is put me in the jail for a couple of nights. Compared to here that’s no much different. I’ve been in before, I’ll live. But . . .’

‘But what?’ said McCoy.

‘But what if that guy finds out I’ve tell’t. Who’s to say he’ll no come after me next.’

‘For fuck sake,’ said McCoy.

Cross sat there looking defiant, cigarette in his trembling hands.

‘You’re not going to tell us what he looked like?’

He shook his head.

‘Okay. Your choice. Fuck off.’

Cross looked surprised.

‘Now,’ said McCoy. ‘Get to fuck.’

Didn’t need to be told twice. Was off and out the door in seconds.

‘You’re letting him go?’ asked Wattie.

‘What else can I do?’ said McCoy. ‘I can’t beat it out of him. If he gets anywhere near a judge, he’ll suddenly become even more forgetful than he already is.’ He sighed. ‘Far as he’s concerned, he’s doing the right thing. Hard to argue.’

‘From what he said, Ally was chucked off the roof?’ said Wattie.

‘Sounds like it. Or frightened so much he jumped. Whatever, he ended up dead.’

‘So that’s Ally, the girl and the bloke this morning. All killed. And we still don’t know why, or who did it.’

‘There’s someone who might have a good idea,’ said McCoy. ‘Paul Cooper. Let’s give Sister Jimmy until the end of the day to find him.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

McCoy stood up. ‘Fuck knows. We’ll worry about it then. Now let’s go and see who this bloody janitor is.’

They walked out the door of the Great Northern, headed up the road towards the car. Two guys sheltering in a bus stop stepped out as they passed. Both were sixty-odd, battered by life, no doubt staying at the Northern.

‘Can you spare some change, son?’ one asked. Held out a grubby hand.

The other one, torn blue jumper under a suit, smiled at them both, front teeth missing. Seemed to be somewhere else.

McCoy stopped, got his wallet out, pulled out a fiver and handed it to the one with the blue jumper.

‘Christ. Thanks, pal, thanks a lot. I’ll remember you in my prayers.’

McCoy said nothing, started walking towards the car.

‘What’s up with you, Daddy Warbucks?’ asked Wattie. McCoy stopped, looked back round at the two men hurrying up the road, no doubt heading to the nearest off-licence. Turned back. ‘See the one with the blue jumper?’

Wattie nodded.

‘That’s my dad.’

FORTY-FIVE

‘You okay?’

McCoy continued staring out the windscreen at the wet road ahead.

‘Are you?’

‘Just drive the fucking car.’

Wattie sighed, did just that. They were headed for the West End and Atholl House to try and find out what the dead janitor’s story was and why he had the same bloody key as Ally. McCoy watched the windscreen wipers go back and forward. That was all he felt like doing, anything to avoid thinking about the man in the blue jumper.

They turned into the gravel drive of Atholl House. It looked like it had once been a private house. One of those big sandstone villas that shipyard or industrial tycoons had built on the tranquil banks of Partickhill. Enough room for the family, the cars, the servants up in the eaves. Now, like Partickhill it...

Table of contents

• 20th May 1974
• 21st May 1974
• 22nd May 1974
• 23rd May 1974
• 24th May 1974
• 25th May 1974
• 26th May 1974
• 27th May 1974
• 28th May 1974
• 29th May 1974
• 30th May 1974
• Three Months Later
• Acknowledgements