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Authors: Gordon Ferris
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trouble, Brodie. Was it like this when you were in the polis?’
‘These letters, this warning. You’re saying we should take it seriously? And that I should run with it?’
‘Aye. There’s something going on. Could be big. And you’ve got an inside track by the sound of it. You’ve nothing to lose by following it up. Except a lie-in on
Sunday.’
‘What are you up to that you can be so magnanimous? A new angle on Morton’s murder?’
‘I’ve a couple of leads.’ He tapped the side of his empty glass to signify it was none of my business. This was his scoop and he wasn’t about to share it. ‘Same
again, laddie?’
NINE
N ext morning, ignoring the pain between my eyes, I presented the letters to Big Eddie. I didn’t mention my suspicions who was behind it. Lack
of proof still kept me back, but also a daft reluctance to betray the Highlander a second time. It was suspect logic, but Eddie was getting enough material for a story as it is.
Eddie eyed me up. ‘Next time you get an effin’ written confession from a nutter you bring it straight to me. Is this for real?’
‘That’s why I ran it past McAllister. He thinks there’s something in it. Especially after they followed through with their threat.’
I told him about the retribution dished out on Gibson but didn’t mention the loss of his wee finger, or that he shared the mutilation with Docherty. It was partly my police training
kicking in. I was reluctant to make the whole story public. Always keep something back when talking to the press had been the advice of Duncan Todd ten years ago. You never know when
it’ll come in handy. Even though I now was the press, it seemed as if I couldn’t quite shake the habit.
Besides, it wasn’t as though we didn’t have enough macabre details to titillate the unhealthy appetites of the Gazette readers. Or editors. By the end, Eddie was shaking his
head with disapproval and rubbing his hands with glee.
‘Terrible, terrible. Write it up, Brodie, write it up.’
‘Can we say anything about the rape charge?’
‘ Alleged . That’ll keep us clean. The dirty bastard deserves a’ he gets.’
‘So who’s side are we taking? The law or the Marshals?’
‘It’s a good question, Brodie. Let’s play both sides for a while.’
‘Terrible punishment but terrible alleged crime?’
‘You’re fair getting the hang o’ this. You’ve got the instincts of a newspaperman. You just need to learn how to write like one. Cut oot the big words and tell the
story.’
‘How about inviting the loonies who did it to give up their evil ways?’
‘Christ, we don’t want them to stop now, Brodie! This is effin’ gold!’
He saw my look.
‘I mean of course we want them to stop. This is pure vigilantism – is that a word, Brodie? You’ve got the Latin. But maybe not quite yet. It’s not as if they don’t
deserve it. I mean . . .’
I was in a similar quandary. My police training told me everything the Marshals were doing was plain wrong. My heart applauded.
‘I know what you mean, Eddie. But we don’t have any cast-iron proof that the likes of Docherty or Gibson earned their punishments. Even if they did, and even if we’re secretly
pleased at their come-uppance, we surely can’t publicly condone eejits going round maiming folk until they see the light?’
‘No, no. You’re right, of course. It’s our duty to take the high moral ground.’ He dropped his voice. ‘So that we can shout gardyloo and chuck things doon on
Labour about the crime rate rising since they got in.’
‘Is that relevant? Is it even true?’
‘The truth is what the readers think it is. They think the politicians are useless. No point getting them confused.’
‘What about the police? Should we be chastising them for failing to nick the baddies or stop the vigilantes?’ It was as if I’d insulted his mother.
‘Do you have any idea how much shit hit the fan back in April with your last set of calumnies
‘These letters, this warning. You’re saying we should take it seriously? And that I should run with it?’
‘Aye. There’s something going on. Could be big. And you’ve got an inside track by the sound of it. You’ve nothing to lose by following it up. Except a lie-in on
Sunday.’
‘What are you up to that you can be so magnanimous? A new angle on Morton’s murder?’
‘I’ve a couple of leads.’ He tapped the side of his empty glass to signify it was none of my business. This was his scoop and he wasn’t about to share it. ‘Same
again, laddie?’
NINE
N ext morning, ignoring the pain between my eyes, I presented the letters to Big Eddie. I didn’t mention my suspicions who was behind it. Lack
of proof still kept me back, but also a daft reluctance to betray the Highlander a second time. It was suspect logic, but Eddie was getting enough material for a story as it is.
Eddie eyed me up. ‘Next time you get an effin’ written confession from a nutter you bring it straight to me. Is this for real?’
‘That’s why I ran it past McAllister. He thinks there’s something in it. Especially after they followed through with their threat.’
I told him about the retribution dished out on Gibson but didn’t mention the loss of his wee finger, or that he shared the mutilation with Docherty. It was partly my police training
kicking in. I was reluctant to make the whole story public. Always keep something back when talking to the press had been the advice of Duncan Todd ten years ago. You never know when
it’ll come in handy. Even though I now was the press, it seemed as if I couldn’t quite shake the habit.
Besides, it wasn’t as though we didn’t have enough macabre details to titillate the unhealthy appetites of the Gazette readers. Or editors. By the end, Eddie was shaking his
head with disapproval and rubbing his hands with glee.
‘Terrible, terrible. Write it up, Brodie, write it up.’
‘Can we say anything about the rape charge?’
‘ Alleged . That’ll keep us clean. The dirty bastard deserves a’ he gets.’
‘So who’s side are we taking? The law or the Marshals?’
‘It’s a good question, Brodie. Let’s play both sides for a while.’
‘Terrible punishment but terrible alleged crime?’
‘You’re fair getting the hang o’ this. You’ve got the instincts of a newspaperman. You just need to learn how to write like one. Cut oot the big words and tell the
story.’
‘How about inviting the loonies who did it to give up their evil ways?’
‘Christ, we don’t want them to stop now, Brodie! This is effin’ gold!’
He saw my look.
‘I mean of course we want them to stop. This is pure vigilantism – is that a word, Brodie? You’ve got the Latin. But maybe not quite yet. It’s not as if they don’t
deserve it. I mean . . .’
I was in a similar quandary. My police training told me everything the Marshals were doing was plain wrong. My heart applauded.
‘I know what you mean, Eddie. But we don’t have any cast-iron proof that the likes of Docherty or Gibson earned their punishments. Even if they did, and even if we’re secretly
pleased at their come-uppance, we surely can’t publicly condone eejits going round maiming folk until they see the light?’
‘No, no. You’re right, of course. It’s our duty to take the high moral ground.’ He dropped his voice. ‘So that we can shout gardyloo and chuck things doon on
Labour about the crime rate rising since they got in.’
‘Is that relevant? Is it even true?’
‘The truth is what the readers think it is. They think the politicians are useless. No point getting them confused.’
‘What about the police? Should we be chastising them for failing to nick the baddies or stop the vigilantes?’ It was as if I’d insulted his mother.
‘Do you have any idea how much shit hit the fan back in April with your last set of calumnies
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