The Quiet Ones Read online

  This came as a bit of a shock to Oonagh. ‘Why?’

  ‘This is our last meeting. And to be honest I don’t care if you believe me or not. But I’m telling you that I have people who’re only too happy to help me by killing those creeps.’

  46

  ‘He was a troubled soul, Alec.’ Ellie Simpson pushed the plate of biscuits on the table towards him as she stirred her tea. Alec gave that tight-line smile that said he agreed with her, but in truth he had no idea what Tommy Gallagher had been through. ‘Thanks for coming though, it was good of you.’

  Only three people had turned up to pay their last respects that morning, a sorry looking bunch they made, huddled under umbrellas as Tommy Gallagher’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Alec had guessed there wouldn’t be the usual steak pie at the local pub afterwards, but took the offer up when Tommy’s sister invited him back for a cup of tea.

  ‘I met him a few weeks ago, in the Saltmarket.’ He blew on the hot tea. ‘Did he tell you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t seen him for a few years.’ Something, perhaps guilt, passed over her face. ‘He was… he wasn’t in a good way.’

  Alec reached across and touched her hand. ‘’S OK.’

  ‘I couldn’t have him here, Alec.’ Ellie Simpson tugged at her ear lobe. It suddenly seemed very familiar and fired up a memory in Alec; Tommy used to do the very same thing when he was worried. ‘He’d be fine for a day,’ she continued, ‘then… I had to think of the kids and, to be honest, John was sick to the back teeth of him.’

  Alec knew only too well what she was talking about. ‘Sometimes we need to know when to let go too.’ He wasn’t sure if this would appease Ellie Simpson’s guilt, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘He told me he’d had two kids. D’you know where they are?’ Despite what might or might not have happened, they had a right to know their dad was dead.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Never kept in touch after him and Alison split up.’ Ellie gave a pretty cut-and-dried account of Tommy’s downfall. He’d gone down to Manchester after he’d left school. Met and married a local girl, Alison. Ellie hardly knew her. Then two kids and a divorce later Tommy had been back in Glasgow, in and out of temporary jobs and rented accommodation. ‘He could never settle, that was his problem. And the drink, he never seemed to be able to know when to say no.’

  Ellie Gallagher was four years younger than her brother but could have passed for his daughter. Life on the streets hadn’t been kind to her brother. She’d told him that Tommy had just seemed to drift in and out of jobs, getting laid off when he’d failed to show up for work, or, even worse, when he’d turned up still half-cut and reeking of booze after a heavy session the previous night.

  ‘Your family all well?’ She seemed to want to change the subject.

  Alec nodded. ‘Yip. Mum and Dad still in Helensburgh.’ He hadn’t spoken to his own brother in almost a year but couldn’t be arsed going into details. ‘I was sorry to hear you lost your mum.’

  ‘Well, at least she never had to see Tommy the way he was.’

  Every cloud, thought Alec, but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Our mam always thought he’d be a footballer. Make the big time. He was good enough, you know.’ A slight note of pride touched her voice as she remembered her brother during happier times.

  ‘Aye, better than me. I was flipping hopeless,’ Alec said, and meant it.

  ‘I blame that creep, Nugent. Pervert.’

  Alec felt his scalp tighten. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. ‘Why d’you say that?’

  ‘You know he coached our Tommy for a bit.’

  This piece of information was news to Alec, either that or he’d forgotten. It was all so long ago and he’d moved to the other side of the city when he’d started secondary school and lost touch with most of his old mates. Seemed ridiculous now, with Facebook and mobile phones. But back in the day all it took was a different bus route to split up supposedly life-long pals.

  ‘You know Nugent is dead.’ Even as he said it, he knew how ridiculous it sounded.

  She nodded. ‘I had heard, yeah.’ Then let out a hollow laugh. ‘You must have a line-up of suspects as long as your arm with that one.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Alec meant it. Despite the accusations against Harry Nugent, they were no nearer to finding his killer. ‘What d’you know about him, Ellie?’

  ‘I know he was a filthy creep and I blame him for ruining our Tommy’s life.’

  Alec had to go easy with her. ‘If you have any information, then…’

  ‘I used to hear him crying in his bed at night. He thought I was asleep, and he’d try to be as quiet as he could. Used to think it was ’cause Dad died. But Tommy held it together for me and Mum. Would have done anything for us.’ The memory gripped Ellie as she placed both hands on the kitchen table, leaning over, taking deep breaths. ‘But it was always after football. Always after seeing that Nugent. I heard him being sick more than once too.’

  ‘Did he ever talk about it?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not then. Then one day he came home and that was it. Never went back. My mum phoned Nugent, but he said Tommy had been caught drinking and he’d dropped him. That was nonsense. He lived and breathed football. He’d never do anything to jeopardise that.’ Her shoulders softened slightly and she sat back down. The kitchen was warm but she gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Anyway, Tommy was round here one night. About five years ago. Drunk, needless to say. Before he’d ended up on the streets. And it all came spilling out. He was crashed on the sofa…’ she tipped her head towards the front of the house ‘… but he was rambling. And that’s when he told me. Told me how that man used to touch him.’ She clasped her hand over her mouth and gulped as the tears spilled over, splashing onto her blouse. ‘It made me sick. Our Tommy.’

  Alec jumped out and rounded the table, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Ellie,’ he said, and meant it. ‘I wish he’d told someone. I mean, gone to the police or…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not now. Not knowing how badly Tommy and the rest of the boys had been let down. There was a time when he’d been jealous of Tommy Gallagher and his talent on the pitch. The way the ball had just seemed to be part of him. An extension of his foot, going where and doing whatever Tommy wanted. Alec had once thought how different his life might have been had he been as talented as Tommy Gallagher.

  ‘Things were different then, Alec.’ Ellie’s voice snapped him back to the present. ‘Men didn’t admit that stuff like that even existed, let alone happened to them.’

  Alec wanted to tell her she was wrong, that the police would have been there for Tommy, that he’d have got help, that Nugent would have been put away. But he couldn’t.

  ‘D’you know, he used to make Tommy ask him for money after he’d abused him.’ She was crying now, pressing the tissue into the corners of her eyes. But that last statement felt like a punch in the gut to Alec. It was exactly what Joe McLeish had said. ‘What kind of sick bastard does that to a boy? He was just a kid, Alec, just a kid.’

  Alec wrapped both arms around her now as Ellie Simpson gave way to her grief. He could feel the sobs go through her body and stroked her hair as she buried her face into his chest. His own tears stung the backs of his eyes as she sobbed for the loss of her brother. ‘Had it not been for that man…’ she straightened herself, patted Alec’s hand on her shoulder to let him know she’d composed herself ‘… well, our Tommy would still be alive. Oh, I’m not saying he’d be playing in the premiership, but he would never have ended up the way he did had it not been for Harry Nugent.’ She stood up, wiping her hands across her cheeks, then busied herself rinsing the cups. ‘Tell me this, Alec, did he suffer?’

  Alec gave her a look; initially thought she was talking about Tommy. He couldn’t bear to tell her about the catalogue of injuries that chronicled his suffering in the months leading to his death.

  ‘I heard his tongue was cut out – is th
at true?’ She placed the cups in the sink and tipped her head back, looking out into the garden. ‘You read so much guff on the Internet it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s fake.’

  ‘Between you and me, Ellie?’ Alec reckoned he had little to lose. ‘Yeah. We think he probably did suffer. Whoever killed him terrified him.’

  ‘At least that’s something,’ she said.

  The earlier rain had stopped as Alec walked to his car; it left the air feeling clean and the colours of the city more vibrant. The lump in his throat ached and he swallowed hard. It had been a long time since he’d cried, but he felt no shame for the tears that now streamed down both cheeks as he thought of the wasted lives of countless young boys. Boys like Tommy Gallagher who’d only wanted to play football, but had ended up on a slab because of pigs like Harry Nugent.

  47

  Oonagh knew she was freefalling her way to burnout trying to tackle this almost on her own, but she didn’t trust anyone else to share the load. She had almost enough material to go ahead with the programme; once she’d compiled it she’d take it to Alan. She knew once he saw what she had he’d give her a decent video editor and the green light to go ahead.

  This new information from Sarah Nugent was the icing on the cake. She’d need it ‘legalled’ and then she’d be good to go. There was nothing in the programme that alluded to who killed Nugent, or indeed Petrie or Cruickshank. To be honest, Oonagh had long given up caring who’d committed the deed. What she wanted to get out there was the fact that the three had caused so much suffering and they had in fact been connected with one of the most sickening cases of abuse she’d had the misfortune to cover.

  She spotted Sophie at the other side of the open plan area; as usual she looked exhausted. She was shaping up to be a decent journalist, but Oonagh knew she’d need to toughen up.

  Oonagh popped her head out of the door of her office. ‘Hey, Sophie, you got a minute?’ As ever, Sophie was eager to please and dropped whatever it was she was doing and came in and sat opposite Oonagh.

  ‘How you getting on?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Fine, yeah.’ She was wearing a dark high-neck sweater, the sleeves pulled down over her hands. Oonagh wondered if this was to hide yet more bruises.

  She had to ease into this, wanted to let her know that if Charlie was abusing her then she had a safe place to talk. ‘Sophie, this might be none of my business, but I’m making it my business.’ Oonagh tried to think what she would have wanted when she was Sophie’s age. Would she have appreciated some stranger at work wading into a domestic crisis? Sophie sat on her hands and looked down, saying nothing.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Sophie, but if Charlie’s…’ she considered her choice of words ‘… if Charlie’s bullying you, then you don’t need to stay with her.’ It sounded very benign, but Oonagh didn’t want to scare her off.

  ‘She’s not, she’s just…’ Sophie looked as though she was about to cry ‘… got a strong personality.’

  Oonagh gritted her teeth slightly. She’d heard it called many things, but this was ridiculous. ‘Sophe, I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve seen the marks on your arms. If Charlie’s strong personality means she’s slapping you about, then it’s time to ditch her. Call the police. I’ll help.’

  Sophie looked genuinely shocked. ‘Charlie? Hit me?’ She stood up. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are?’ She was crying now. ‘She’d never lay a finger on me. All she does is try to help.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie.’ And she was, sorry she’d upset her, but not that she’d brought it up. ‘But I’ve seen the way she is, and I don’t think I’ve seen you come in without a fresh bruise.’

  Poor Sophie. Oonagh had seen it so many times before. Girls, women, covering for their violent partners. Admittedly, this was the first time she’d seen the scenario between two women. She didn’t have a clue how the usual agencies would deal with this one. By this time Sophie’s tears had spilled over, splashing down her cheek onto her jumper. Oonagh handed her a tissue and perched herself on the arm of Sophie’s chair, patting her gently on the back. ‘It’s not Charlie. It’s my brother, Jake.’

  ‘What?’ Oonagh was not expecting this.

  ‘He doesn’t mean it, but he’s getting bigger and he’s hard to handle and sometimes he accidentally headbutts me if I’m getting him dressed, or he’ll grab my wrist and if his joints are going into a spasm he digs in and can’t let go.’

  Oonagh felt herself go weak. ‘Oh, you poor love. I’m so, so sorry. I thought…’ Shit, what a bloody wrong call that turned out to be. ‘Does Jake live with you?’

  ‘Yeah, with me and my mum. He’s a great kid, honestly. He’s always laughing. But he’s getting heavier, and harder for me to manage.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie, really I am. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘Can you get help, or respite care?’

  ‘A bit, but it’s expensive. Anyway, we’re fine, honestly.’ She got up to go and Oonagh’s heart ached as she watched her sit back down in front of her PC and get to work. She was just a kid herself.

  Oonagh knocked on Alan’s door, then did her usual of barging in before he’d had the chance to tell her to bugger off.

  ‘Hey, Oon, who’re you noising up today?’ Alan thought he was being funny, and maybe on another day he might have been right.

  ‘Sophie…?’ Oonagh gave him a moment to take in the name, but it was obvious that Alan was oblivious. Oonagh tipped her head towards the main office. ‘Young girl, trainee.’

  The penny dropped. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s very good. I’ve mentioned her before. Anyway, I want you to give her a permanent contract.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’ll just call HR and tell them you’re in charge of all personnel from now on.’

  ‘Alan, stop being sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you. What’s the problem? She’s a good kid, a hard worker and needs a full-time job.’ They both knew what the problem was. It was cheaper all round to keep trainees on rolling temporary contracts. No sick pay, no job security and it kept them hungry and eager to put up with any shit that was thrown at them.

  ‘No, Oonagh, that’s not how it works. I’ll keep her on for now, but that’s about the size of it.’ He made a play of sorting out some papers on his desk. ‘Was there anything else?’

  Oonagh stood up to leave. ‘Not really.’ She got to the door and stopped. ‘Oh, by the way…’

  Alan sighed. He knew Oonagh’s style by now, knew a bombshell was about to be dropped. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve erm…’ she examined her nails ‘… established a link between Nugent, Petrie and Cruickshank.’

  ‘You’re bullshitting me, Oonagh.’ It had been a long time since she’d seen Alan this animated. She had him right where she wanted him.

  ‘Nope, I’ve got it all, and you’ll wet yourself when you find out what they were up to.’ She moved back into the room and sat on the chair opposite him.

  ‘So.’ Alan closed the lid on his laptop. ‘Spill the beans.’

  ‘I need a shit-hot video editor, and I’ll have this ready to air in less than a fortnight. Can you get me a slot?’

  ‘Fuck. Yes! You’ll need it legalled, though.’

  Oonagh nodded; that wouldn’t be a problem. Suddenly Alan seemed to forget that he’d given the story to the senior crime correspondent, who was still using all his favours with the Glasgow gangsters to find out what happened.

  ‘I don’t have a clue who killed them,’ she said, ‘and as far as I can see neither do the police. But nothing in the programme alludes to that – it’s a background piece. A very detailed background piece that’ll blow the lid on the whole thing.’

  ‘If I jumped up and kissed you right now would you report me for sexual harassment?’

  ‘No, but I might be a little bit sick in my mouth.’ She’d known Alan a long time.

  Alan was grinning. ‘I suppose you wa
nt Sophie as your researcher on this.’ He knew how she operated. How Oonagh knew how to get her own way.

  ‘No, Alan, that ship has sailed.’

  He folded his arms, clearly wondering what was coming next.

  ‘I want her on a permanent contract and a raise. And I want you to give it to her as a cash expense payment every month so she’s not hammered by tax.’

  ‘Have you lost your marbles?’

  ‘An extra fifty quid a month. That’s peanuts to you.’

  ‘Absolutely fucking not. D’you have any idea how many girls, just as good, if not better than Sophie, are battering on my door each week offering to work for nothing, just for a chance to get their foot in the door?’

  ‘I do, Alan, and that’s what’s wrong with this fucking industry. It preys on people’s insecurities and bleeds them dry until they end up washed up, with no home life, popping pills and downing the booze just to stay afloat.’

  ‘It’s a tough gig, Oonagh, but that’s just the way it is.’

  She stood up to leave, and leaned against the wall as she gripped the door handle. ‘I’m putting my money where my mouth is here. Give her an extra fifty quid and I’ll match it.’ Oonagh knew the difference a clear hundred quid a month would make to someone like Sophie. It wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it would make life a wee bit more palatable.

  Alan shook his head. ‘Absolutely no way. I’ll give her a six month contract.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She opened the door. ‘Shame, I think the network would have liked my programme.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean, Alan, I’m not handing it over. Instead I’ll punt it.’ They both knew Oonagh had enough contacts in this industry to approach a rival station with this, and they both knew they’d bite her hand off for the chance to air this. ‘Sky’ll pay silly money for this.’

  ‘Can I remind you that, under the terms of your contract, everything you make here is the property of the station?’

  ‘And can I suggest you check out my workload and input over the past few weeks. I’ve met every deadline and worked every shift I was assigned to. Alan, I put this together in my own time, using my own equipment.’