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Authors: Gordon Ferris
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pawnbroker.’
‘McGill?’
‘Aye, him. Look, the thing is, Mr Brodie . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘Ah’m a jeweller. Ah work from home. Ah do work for the other jewellers with shops. Paddy Craven
came to oor house with some stuff a wee while ago. It wisnae the first time.’
‘Stuff?’
She looked on the point of tears again. ‘Ah didnae ask Paddy too many questions. Ah need the work. He’d bring in some old jewellery. Used stuff. Ah would put them in new settings or
at least clean them up, mend them if needed.’
‘I see. Shouldn’t you be saying this to the police? I know a copper who’d be glad to hear it all. A decent man.’
That set her off properly. It took a while with hankie and sniffs to get back to the story.
‘Maybe, but first Ah hud to see you. Ah’ve read about you. Ah always read your wee column.’
‘Thank you. Now what is it you’re telling me?’
‘In case it isnae obvious, Ah’m Jewish.’
It was, but from where? Her accent was local but there was something else in it. Was she here because of guilt? She’d read about the thefts and had realised she was party to these crimes
against her own people?
She reached into her bag and came out with a piece of cloth. She set it down on the table and opened it carefully, uncovering two lozenges of glittering yellow metal. Each was about an inch and
a half long and an inch wide, with the thickness of a florin. The edges were rounded and they were without markings. She picked one up and placed it in my hand. It was heavier than it looked. I
rubbed my thumb over it, enjoying the smooth weight. I wanted it.
‘Gold?’
She nodded.
‘Paddy?’
She nodded again.
‘Why are there no assay marks?’
She picked up the second small ingot and rolled it between her fingers. Gingerly.
‘Ah suppose it was stolen, Mr Brodie. The thing is, when Ah was using it, you know, melting it to make rings or to hold jewels, Ah tested it. There’s still some traces of
amalgam.’
‘From old jewellery?’
‘Gold fillings.’
She must have seen my cogs weren’t meshing. She waved it at me.
‘Teeth, Mr Brodie. From the camps.’
I dropped mine.
ELEVEN
S he burst into tears properly this time. I was my usual hapless self in front of tearful women. I proffered my hankie and called out to one of the
secretaries to bring us some tea. By the time it arrived Ellen Jacobs had pulled herself together somewhat. Though the secretary gave me a funny look. Morag would have primed her.
I tried. ‘They could come from anywhere.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s what Paddy said. Ah didn’t know what to do. How to stop.’
‘He could have stolen them from a dentist or . . . a mortician?’
She raised her eyebrows at me, as though I was being stupid or slow instead of self-deluding.
‘No’ like this. You need a furnace. And they’re unmarked. Ah
know
where they come from. You wrote about the thefts among ma . . . among the Jews. And the papers are
full o’ the other stories. Out there in Germany. At the trials. It’s all coming out. And here Ah am, wi’ this!’
‘How many did he steal?’
She played with one. ‘About eight.’
‘And he stole them from a Jew, here in Glasgow? That doesn’t make sense, unless the Jew was in a concentration camp and managed to steal the ingots in the first place.’
‘That’s what Ah think.’
‘Do you know who Paddy stole them from? Do you know the address?’
‘He never told me anything.’
‘Wait here a minute, please.’
I left her alone and found Alan Clarkson, the head of administration. I asked him to retrieve my package from the office safe. I then went back to the conference room. A short while after, Alan
came in bearing a cloth. I gently unwrapped the velvet package and laid out the jewellery collection on the table in front of Ellen Jacobs.
‘Do you recognise any of these?’
Her long slim fingers reached out and with sure movements, like a bird pecking at seeds, picked out
‘McGill?’
‘Aye, him. Look, the thing is, Mr Brodie . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘Ah’m a jeweller. Ah work from home. Ah do work for the other jewellers with shops. Paddy Craven
came to oor house with some stuff a wee while ago. It wisnae the first time.’
‘Stuff?’
She looked on the point of tears again. ‘Ah didnae ask Paddy too many questions. Ah need the work. He’d bring in some old jewellery. Used stuff. Ah would put them in new settings or
at least clean them up, mend them if needed.’
‘I see. Shouldn’t you be saying this to the police? I know a copper who’d be glad to hear it all. A decent man.’
That set her off properly. It took a while with hankie and sniffs to get back to the story.
‘Maybe, but first Ah hud to see you. Ah’ve read about you. Ah always read your wee column.’
‘Thank you. Now what is it you’re telling me?’
‘In case it isnae obvious, Ah’m Jewish.’
It was, but from where? Her accent was local but there was something else in it. Was she here because of guilt? She’d read about the thefts and had realised she was party to these crimes
against her own people?
She reached into her bag and came out with a piece of cloth. She set it down on the table and opened it carefully, uncovering two lozenges of glittering yellow metal. Each was about an inch and
a half long and an inch wide, with the thickness of a florin. The edges were rounded and they were without markings. She picked one up and placed it in my hand. It was heavier than it looked. I
rubbed my thumb over it, enjoying the smooth weight. I wanted it.
‘Gold?’
She nodded.
‘Paddy?’
She nodded again.
‘Why are there no assay marks?’
She picked up the second small ingot and rolled it between her fingers. Gingerly.
‘Ah suppose it was stolen, Mr Brodie. The thing is, when Ah was using it, you know, melting it to make rings or to hold jewels, Ah tested it. There’s still some traces of
amalgam.’
‘From old jewellery?’
‘Gold fillings.’
She must have seen my cogs weren’t meshing. She waved it at me.
‘Teeth, Mr Brodie. From the camps.’
I dropped mine.
ELEVEN
S he burst into tears properly this time. I was my usual hapless self in front of tearful women. I proffered my hankie and called out to one of the
secretaries to bring us some tea. By the time it arrived Ellen Jacobs had pulled herself together somewhat. Though the secretary gave me a funny look. Morag would have primed her.
I tried. ‘They could come from anywhere.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s what Paddy said. Ah didn’t know what to do. How to stop.’
‘He could have stolen them from a dentist or . . . a mortician?’
She raised her eyebrows at me, as though I was being stupid or slow instead of self-deluding.
‘No’ like this. You need a furnace. And they’re unmarked. Ah
know
where they come from. You wrote about the thefts among ma . . . among the Jews. And the papers are
full o’ the other stories. Out there in Germany. At the trials. It’s all coming out. And here Ah am, wi’ this!’
‘How many did he steal?’
She played with one. ‘About eight.’
‘And he stole them from a Jew, here in Glasgow? That doesn’t make sense, unless the Jew was in a concentration camp and managed to steal the ingots in the first place.’
‘That’s what Ah think.’
‘Do you know who Paddy stole them from? Do you know the address?’
‘He never told me anything.’
‘Wait here a minute, please.’
I left her alone and found Alan Clarkson, the head of administration. I asked him to retrieve my package from the office safe. I then went back to the conference room. A short while after, Alan
came in bearing a cloth. I gently unwrapped the velvet package and laid out the jewellery collection on the table in front of Ellen Jacobs.
‘Do you recognise any of these?’
Her long slim fingers reached out and with sure movements, like a bird pecking at seeds, picked out
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