Screen Savers

Chapter 7

Crow Road is one of the nicer parts of the western side of Glasgow. It runs from Anniesland Cross, past the High School, through Jordanhill into Broomhill, and down to Dumbarton Road. You wouldn’t call it posh at any point, nearly all of it is very neat and well-looked after.

Malcolm and Myrtle Campbell lived on the second floor of a big red sandstone tenement in a street just off Broomhill Cross. I had heard of a ‘wally close’ — or half-tiled common entrance, to non-Glaswegians — but in all my time in the city I had never been in one, until then.

Even in mid-evening, the stairway was bright and airy, lit from above by a cupola. As I climbed I guessed that Mr Campbell’s time inside hadn’t affected his earning power; the building looked moderately expensive.

I turned on to the second floor landing and found the Campbell flat immediately on the right. The front door was freshly painted, in royal blue; that tells you a lot in Glasgow. I took a deep breath and pressed the button which was set in the upper panel, looking like a penalty spot. After a few seconds, it opened, wide enough for me to see a short, slim, blonde girl in denims and an Oasis T-shirt.

‘Mrs Campbell,’ I began as brightly as I could, ‘I’m Oz Blackstone. I-’ She slammed the Rangers colours in my face. I sighed, and rang the bell again, taking half a step back. I began to count.

I had reached nine, when the door swung open again, suddenly and violently, framing a stocky, powerfully built man, dark-chinned, with a scar running across the bridge of his nose. He looked to be in his mid-thirties; he was balding and what was left of his hair was cropped very short. He wore jeans, like his wife, and an orange vest, showing off his collection of tattoos and his heavy shoulders. The instant I saw him, he reminded me of someone, someone nameless but nasty. Even if I hadn’t known about Malcolm Campbell’s record, I’d have treated him very carefully, just on general appearance.

His mouth was narrow and his tight lips barely moved when he spoke. ‘You don’t take a telling, pal, do you. I’ll give yis one last chance. Get down those effin’ stairs, or yis’ll crawl down them.’

I smiled at him, knowing something that he didn’t: that I was going to enjoy the next few seconds. ‘Mr Campbell,’ I said, evenly. ‘All I want is to talk to your wife.’

‘Well, she disnae want tae talk to you.’

‘She will, though.’ I held up my right thumb. ‘See that?’ I asked him, still grinning. ‘You’ve got no idea what I can do with that.’

He smiled back at me. His smile was even less pleasant than his threatening expression. ‘Show us, then.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists, rippling the muscles of his shoulders as he spoke, anticipating pleasure.

‘You asked for it.’ I raised my thumb again, jerked it towards me, once.

All of a sudden the landing seemed much smaller, and darker, as a huge shadow moved up from the staircase, and round the corner, to block out the light.

I remember the first time I saw Jerry Gradi in the flesh. Six feet, eight — tall, wide and deep. Three hundred and eighty pounds, all of them hard as nails. Dyed blond hair cropped short. Nose flattened into his head. Small piggy eyes. Pink ears which looked handmade. I’ll never forget that first flash of instant terror.

‘This is my pal, Jerry’ I said. ‘Jerry, this is Mr Campbell. He isn’t being very co-operative. He was going to give me a doing.’

‘Oh,’ grunted The Behemoth.

Malcolm Campbell’s mean mouth hung open as he gazed up at the GWA World Heavyweight Champion. For the first time, I was aware of Myrtle, standing behind him. ‘I’ll get the polis,’ he croaked.

‘How many you gonna get, and how fast you gonna get dem here?’ asked Jerry, in his wrestler voice.

‘I don’t think you’ve got many friends down the nick, Malcolm,’ I said. ‘Now let’s get reasonable, while you’ve still got a friend in me.’

I looked over his shoulder at his wife. ‘Come on, Mrs Campbell. A few questions, that’s all; there’ll be no comeback for you, I promise.’

‘Aye, okay then,’ she conceded, almost wearily, with a glance at her husband which promised consequences later for his surrender. . a shade unreasonable, I thought. ‘Come on through, but tell your pet gorilla to be careful no tae stand on anything.’

She led us through the square hall and into a big living room. EastEnders was on the television and I knew at once who Malcolm’s lookalike was. ‘Sit down,’ she said, then looked doubtfully at Jerry. ‘Not you, though.’

I took one of the two armchairs, opposite Myrtle, while The Behemoth stood behind her husband, as he sat on the matching settee. ‘I’ll bet you’re no as tough as you look,’ Malcolm muttered. Without a word, Jerry stretched out the tree-trunks that passed for his arms, gripped the back of the heavy sofa at either side, straightened his back and effortlessly lifted it, and its two hundred pound occupant, three feet off the ground.

‘Stop that you!’ Myrtle shouted. ‘Put him down! And Malkie, you keep your mouth shut.’

Both of them did as they were told.

‘Right Mr Blackstone,’ she went on. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘How do you feel about Susie Gantry?’

‘Miss Gantry? I suppose I like her well enough.’

‘Even though she sacked you?’

‘She didnae sack me, Ah left.’

‘After you were caught smuggling photocopies of documents out to your old boss,’ I pointed out.

‘Aye, but she gave me the chance to resign. She said that if I did she’d give me a good reference. She did too, and two weeks’ extra pay over and above my holiday money and wages in lieu of notice.’

‘So if you liked Susie, why did you betray her like that? Why did you do that for old Donn?’

‘Ah didnae do it for Mr Donn. Ah did it for Stephen.’

‘Who?’ I looked at her, puzzled.

‘Stephen Donn, his nephew. He worked at Gantry’s for a while.’

I felt myself frown as I remembered. The young book-keeper installed by Susie’s father at the time of Joe Donn’s brief reinstatement. He must have worked there for such a short time that his name didn’t figure on the list Dylan had given me. It wasn’t only my memory that was triggered. In the silence, I realised that Myrtle was staring at me.

‘Blackstone, you said your name was. That accountant girl Miss Gantry brought in, she was called Blackstone too. Was she. .’

‘My wife,’ I said, not looking at her, avoiding the expression which I knew was on her face, the one I had seen so many times before, the one that always brought it all back. ‘So why did you put your job on the line for Mr Donn’s nephew?’ I went on, quickly.

For the first time, she hesitated. ‘He just asked me,’ she answered, at last. ‘He said that Mr Donn was going to the papers to get even with Miss Gantry, but that he needed some stuff from the office.’

‘He just asked you,’ I repeated. ‘And you just did it? Why, for God’s sake? Why didn’t you tell Susie?’

‘You don’t know Stephen.’

‘No, I don’t. Tell me about him.’

She looked over at her husband. ‘He and I had a fling,’ she murmured. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed to slits. He began to rise from his seat on the sofa, until Jerry’s huge hand gripped his shoulder and slammed him back down.

‘It was when you were inside,’ Myrtle exclaimed, speaking to her husband with a plea in her voice. ‘I was really angry with you, remember? Ah told you we were finished, and at the time Ah meant it. It didn’t last long, only about a month.’

‘So?’ I knew I had to keep control of this discussion.

‘He threatened to tell Malkie about us if I didn’t do what he wanted.’

‘And you thought that if he did, Malkie would beat the shite out of him and wind up inside again? Is that it?’

She surprised me by shaking her head. ‘No. I was afraid that he would try, and get himself killed. Like Ah said, you don’t know Stephen.’ She glanced across at her husband again.

‘You’re a hard man, love, but you’d never really hurt anyone. No’ really hurt them, Ah mean. It’s not in your nature.

‘Stephen would, though. He’s a real bad bastard.’ Her voice tailed off, and her eyes moistened.

‘Remember that cousin of Miss Gantry’s?’ she asked me suddenly. ‘The one who came tae a bad end?’ Remember him? I can never forget him. I nodded.

‘Stephen was palled up wi’ him from way back. They were in the same rackets. Believe me, Mr Blackstone, you do not want Stephen Donn for an enemy.’

I decided to leave it at that. Malcolm Campbell showed us to the door, silently. As he was closing it on us, Jerry put a hand on it to stop him. ‘Don’t you go laying a finger on that little wife of yours,’ he murmured, ‘just in case I find out. ’Cause believe me, buddy, I can really hurt people too.’