Summary Justice

By Robert Durrant Author

Gangster Crime in Edinburgh, Scotland

Within days of being released from prison, an Edinburgh gangleader brutally murders a defenceless grandmother in a drunken rage. For years he had harboured a grudge against her son. For the murderer, justice had been done.

For those who enforce justice, relationships that develop between criminals, police officers of all ranks, and lawyers who play for both sides as though it were a game, often a well paid one, are complex and, in this case, extremely dangerous.

As retaliations abound, with deaths aplenty, few realise that more summary justice is being meted out, short circuiting the normal process of the law.

As the perpetrator of this most efficient form of removing unpleasant people from society begins to appreciate things are ‘getting out of hand’, so to speak, the pressures of possible exposure and arrest dawn.

A thought-provoking novel that views the depths to which an otherwise upright citizen can so rapidly sink.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Durrant Author
• Release date: Apr 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005037116

Robert Durrant Author

Robert Durrant is a native Scot living in Edinburgh the capital of Scotland.His interests are broad and includes his time spent writing fiction novels. A process that, by his own admission, can be quite challenging but also, thankfully, hugely rewarding.This is why he wrote his first novel ‘The Wake Crasher’, a humorous look at the darker side of life through the eyes of young adults struggling to make ends meet in a world where austerity is the catchphrase of the decade.Robert has a stressful job managing a large turnover and operating to tight schedules, meaning he understands the need for working to fixed dates. This has helped him to ensure he not only completed his first novel, but now has a second novel ready for publication. No doubt he has drawn on his current and previous experience to fuel the material for his fiction novels, perhaps witnessing, as a police officer, a few events the public would not be privy to.So if you enjoy 'The Wake Crasher' then be sure to look out for his second novel, a thriller called “The Reluctant Killer”, the first in a planned series.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was a bleak night, and the driving rain unforgiving. Street lights fought with the dark, trying to give some glimmer to the pavements and roads.

He saw his chance. He had to protect his friend. This is the only way. It’s now or never. Can’t believe I have to do this, he whispered to himself. His hands were shaking as he put the cable in his pocket.

He looked up and down the street. Was he really going to do this? Part of him was hoping he would see someone; a witness who would give him a reason not to do it.

But there was nobody about, other than his quarry, who was at his gate now, turning into the short pathway from the street to the front door. He quickened his pace, pulled the cable out of his pocket, and wrapped it around his hands, pulling it taut. There were head-high bushes lining the path. Just as his target arrived at his front door, he caught up with him.

The bastard, McGregor, was unaware of the man stalking him until he had closed in, wrapped the loop around his neck, and pulled back. His hands came up, trying to tug at the wire, pull it loose again. He was a big man, heavier than his assailant. When he was able to grab the wire he started to buck and twist like a wild horse. McGregor had no time to understand why this was happening. The drinks he’d consumed didn’t help; they had numbed his senses.

The man tightened the cable, twisted and pulled. He was somewhere else. It felt like he was watching a film and was detached from the world. He knew what was happening. It just felt so right. Justice was being done and McGregor would be dead soon. The world would now be a better place.

Falling forward, his body writhing, Jimmy McGregor could feel his eyes bulge. His neck cracked as his knees hit the ground. His life was over.

The assailant made sure he pulled the cable back from McGregor’s neck. Looking around again, he paused at the end of the pathway. Nobody in sight. He walked away leaving the crumpled body out in the rain.

Chapter Two

It’s 1986, Police Detective Stephen Craig had enjoyed a successful period at work when, no matter how serious the crime, he had managed to get results which brought several criminals to justice. The upshot of this required several days attending courts where the accused as usual pleaded not guilty. Many being brought to justice didn’t bother to turn up at court.

Sometimes the not guilty plea is just to play with the legal process. On other occasions this is due to unscrupulous defence lawyers who continually advise their clients to plead not guilty, no matter the amount of incriminating evidence against them.

For Stephen this was one of those times. He had six cases going to trial within four weeks. Like most police officers, Stephen thought going to court was a necessary hindrance.

No matter how much preparation officers do for a court appearance there is no knowing how long they might be sitting in witness rooms waiting to be called. This is a long and tedious process which takes up a substantial slice of police time.

Stephen’s current case, where he was being called as a witness, was adjourned before anyone was called and he was able to be at his desk by eleven that morning.

His next case was a murder trial at the High Court and the accused, Jimmy McGregor, was known throughout the city.

Stephen’s partner, Jim Logan was also a witness. Logan had doubts about the trial.

A few weeks earlier, Jimmy McGregor had been released on licence and decided to waste no time in settling what he thought were old scores. Everyone older than thirty carries baggage, but because of his upbringing, McGregor’s baggage was a mule train and his grudges against various people huge.

One of those grudges he held was for James Elder, from whom McGregor had rented a one-bedroom apartment prior to being arrested, then sent to jail.

Elder lived in an affluent area of the city, sharing his large house with his wife, two teenage sons and his mother, Elizabeth Elder. They appeared to be a close family.

Elizabeth was frail, partially-sighted and slightly deaf and had moved in with her son so she could be cared for and want for nothing. She had an en-suite bathroom and a small lounge with a television which allowed her privacy if she wanted to be alone.

The family employed a cleaning lady, a gardener, and a private nurse who would call in on Elizabeth three times a week. Elizabeth wanted for nothing.

It so happened that, when McGregor was released from prison, the Elder family had headed off on holiday for two weeks to their winter property in Florida. Elizabeth Elder had chosen to stay at home; she felt safe and secure there.

McGregor had met some of his old cronies at a pub in town and asked after his old landlord. He was sly enough to make his enquiry sound as though he was asking after a former acquaintance.

Jimmy McGregor decided he would pay a visit to James Elder and, in his twisted frame of mind, settle old scores.

The day after meeting his ‘friends’, McGregor arrived at the Elder family home. He had lain in bed all day within the supported tenancy he had moved into after leaving prison. Having consumed three-quarters of a bottle of vodka he was eager to face James Elder. There was no plan. His anger had been building all day as he wallowed in self-pity, throwing back drink after drink.

After ringing the bell and banging on the door his temper began to rise. McGregor stooped down and opened the letterbox. Peering through the gap he could see a light on at the end of the hallway and could hear what sounded like a television or radio. In his drunken rage he assumed the Elder family were home, aware he was at the front door, and all were ignoring him.

Elizabeth Elder was dozing in her armchair. The television was only a few feet away from her and the volume was very high but this didn’t stop the old lady from slumbering.

McGregor was an old hand when it came to breaking and entering people’s homes. He pulled his jacket over his hand, picked up a large stone, part of the edging around a border in the garden, and smashed a pane in one of the sash windows. He released the catch, the window slid open, and in seconds McGregor was deftly entering the Elder house.

Elizabeth Elder did not hear the window shatter and then open. A hand roughly seizing her around the mouth awakened the old lady.

Where’s James? a rough voice shouted at Elizabeth.

The old lady tried to scream. She was frightened, knowing the man in the room was deadly serious. A face was in front of her; the stench of stale alcohol was overpowering. Her left hand reached out and seized an ashtray from the side-table next to her chair.

McGregor yelled as the ashtray smashed into his face. He stumbled backwards. Elizabeth Elder screamed and then McGregor’s blind rage took over. The autopsy would later show the old lady had twenty-three broken bones. Her face was almost unrecognisable, and no attempt had been made to hide the body. McGregor only stopped lashing out with the ashtray he had grabbed from Mrs Elder when exhaustion took hold.

Coming to his senses, he was kneeling over Mrs Elder. Blood was everywhere. He let out a blood-curdling roar, knowing he had just committed a heinous crime. Scrambling to his feet, McGregor staggered from the room into the hallway. Finding a bathroom, he washed his hands. Looking into the mirror above the wash hand basin he stared at his blood-spattered face. His clothes were drenched in blood.

It took five minutes for Jimmy McGregor to wash his face. He took off his jacket, thinking he would ditch it on the way home. He then removed his t-shirt and turned it inside out before placing it back on his body.

Soon McGregor found a bottle of bleach, a kitchen-cleaning spray, and a cloth. He knew enough to clean away any trace of fingerprints or marks that might lead the police to him.

However, hygiene and cleaning were not McGregor’s strongest points. After five minutes clumsily attempting to erase any trace of himself at the Elder house, McGregor was out in the street. He stuffed his jacket into a plastic carrier bag he’d found in the kitchen and left the house the same way as he had entered.

McGregor walked for half an hour oblivious to people passing him in the street. It was only when he had almost reached the accommodation the prison authorities had helped him secure before his release back into the community that Jimmy snapped out of his trance. He was still carrying the bag with his blood-soaked jacket. Stopping, he placed this inside a street bin.

Arriving home, Jimmy was interrupted by a fellow former inmate, Jackie Curran, shouting, Oh, mate! What a mess. What have you been up to?

Curran continued, You look wild, man!

Fuck off! You ain’t seen me, Jimmy sneered. You ain’t seen me! Right, Jackie! He brushed Curran aside. He walked inside the common hallway and entered his bedsit.

The bedsit was decent-sized with a shower room and toilet. His room was sparsely furnished. The day-bed had a duvet thrown over it. There was a free-standing wardrobe and a chest of drawers with a colour television on top. The room had a small kitchen area with a tiny stove sitting on top of a laminated kitchen worktop. A noisy old fridge was underneath the work surface. A loaf of bread lay across a plate. The sink was full of unwashed dishes. His room was crying out to be aired. McGregor had never known hygiene when growing up.

Jimmy locked his bedsit door and pulled the bloodied clothes he was wearing from his body. His dirty, oversized underpants were soiled from all the nervous energy spent killing Elizabeth Elder.

Placing his clothes in a plastic shopping bin he entered his excuse of a shower room. The shower curtain was hanging off more than riding on the rail. McGregor never noticed, climbed in, and showered for the first time in days. He never washed daily and felt people should only wash when they were really dirty. Today was one of these days; his body was caked in blood. His chest especially was covered from turning the sports top inside out at the Elder household.

Jimmy stood still, eyes firmly closed as the warm water swarmed over his body. After a while he began to cry as the enormity of his latest crime engulfed him. McGregor hated himself, always had. His family disliked him. Jimmy’s entire life had been a lonely existence. The McGregor household was one where most of the family would be in jail, the local drinking den, or out on a crime spree. Parental control was non-existent. At school he’d struck up few friendships and was detested by the teaching staff. He was full of self-loathing, detesting himself as much as he detested most other people.

After a long shower McGregor stepped out and began to dry himself. He looked into a wall mirror. All he saw was a wild-eyed man: bloodshot eyes with huge bags stared back at him. His hair was still wet and he noticed some grey hairs and the first signs of balding. How strange, he thought, as he seldom paid any attention till then to his looks and now having bludgeoned an old lady to death he was suddenly aware of his own features.

He knew he had to get dressed and go out into the streets with the shopping bag now containing all his blood-soiled clothes. After walking for two minutes he paused at a street bin and squeezed the carrier bag into it.

Standing still at the bin, Jimmy noticed his hands were shaking. His thoughts turned to drink. He needed a scotch, and then he wanted sleep.

Jimmy strolled down to his local store, KeenKost, where Mohammed Akram and his family worked all the hours they could. KeenKost was on the corner of the street where the rehabilitation bed-sits were. All recently released inmates shopped there. Akram was used to their foibles. Some were aggressive, others just wanted to shop and leave, trying to avoid anyone noticing them.

McGregor picked up a ham and cheese roll sealed in cellophane. Then on his shopping list was a half-bottle of Famous Grouse whisky, a full bottle of Scotland’s other national drink, Irn Bru, and a large packet of crisps.

Jimmy thumped his shopping down on the shop counter. Twenty Benson & Hedges fags, he requested. There was rarely a thank you or please in his conversation.

Jimmy threw down a ten pound note on the counter and grabbed the bag. Just gimme the change, he growled, barely moving his lips.

Within minutes Jimmy McGregor was lying along his bed. A third of the ham and cheese roll was rolling around his mouth along with a mouthful of whisky just swilled from the bottle.

McGregor’s thoughts were firmly on the Elder family. He thought of Elizabeth Elder; it was not his fault she was dead. This was all James Elder’s fault. He had let Jimmy down and was not home when he called. Perversely McGregor’s brain tried to justify the murder. As he took another swig from the bottle he thought of his lawyer, Mary Swan. Even if the police came after him, she would see him right. Mary will sort this, McGregor said out loud.

On his tenth swing of whisky McGregor had made the decision he would not contact Swan unless the police questioned him about Elizabeth Elder. After all, in his twisted logic, he had been forced to go to the Elder household to sort things out. It wasn’t his fault the old lady had been there. She had hit him first, he had the bruise on the side of his face to prove it. Elizabeth had got what was coming to her. McGregor felt he had settled a score with the old lady’s son. Besides, he thought, nobody would probably find her for some time. He could rest and worry about the police later. He finished his whisky, leaving most of the cheese and ham roll uneaten on the side of his bed. He drifted into a drunken slumber.

Chapter Three

Two days later the Elder family’s cleaner arrived for work. There was not much to Jessie, a small lady who looked like the stereotypical cleaner, arriving and leaving with her pinny on.

Jessie had been working for half an hour when she noticed blood marks in one of the bathrooms, and towels covered in blood. It looked as though someone had been washing off some blood then used the towels to clean the rest. She followed a trail of bloody footprints from the bathroom and along the hallway into Elizabeth Elder’s lounge. It was not the body on the ground that alerted her to something being very wrong but the blood that was splattered everywhere.

Jessie’s eyes then caught sight of Elizabeth Elder’s hair. She was lying face down, her arms and legs contorted around. Her head was covered in congealed blood matted to her hair. The cleaner screamed, her hand covered her mouth in shock. Oh dear God! Oh God!

It was obvious Elizabeth had died a violent death; there was nothing natural about the way her body lay on the floor. Jessie stumbled out of the room and although dazed by the sight in the lounge she made for the telephone in the entrance hall.

Numbed with shock, she called the police. A jolly voice answered the 999 line. Jessie did think the female sounded oddly happy as she enquired Police, Ambulance or Fire?. The Elder household cleaner quietly requested the police. A male voice then came over the phone. Police. How can I help you?

Ma, Ma’ boss’s mum. She’s dead. Just foun’ her, Jessie said. She tried to keep calm but her voice was breaking. I think she’s been killed. There’s blood everywhere.

The man on the phone asked Jessie who and where she was.

I’m in the hall. Near the front door, Jessie said, before giving her employer’s address. Now terrified, the realisation hit. She was speaking to the police.

Stay on the line. The operator was concerned for her safety but knew that if this really was a murder then he had to keep the witness safe and at the locus until police officers arrived.

Jessie could hear the operator speaking. She understood he was on the radio asking for officers to attend the scene. ‘A woman was dead and blood’, were some of the words she picked out from the conversation.

The male operator returned to the call and continued talking. Are you sure you are alone? Stay on the phone.

It took the police just a few minutes to arrive.

Jessie had left the room where Elizabeth’s body lay untouched. She had no way of knowing that the killer was not still nearby or even in the house. From the hallway she could see through the glass panels in the front door to the Elder’s driveway and the street beyond.

A distant siren first and then the blue light coming up the street confirmed to Jessie that help was on the way. The operator asked if the police were there yet. A’ can see them cumin, Jessie replied.

Maggie Morgan and Rob Stevens were in their patrol car when they received the radio message requesting someone to attend. They had been on duty since six in the morning. It was now eleven fifteen and they had just finished their break. Morgan was a couple of pounds better off after playing cards with her colleagues.

Since being married, Rob had built up a reputation for being sullen and extra responsible. His nickname was Cuffs’. At first this name was only mentioned behind his back, but police being police, the name was slowly brought out into the open.

Jessie told the operator she was putting the phone down so she could open the front door.

As Maggie Morgan approached, Jessie burst into tears. All the emotion she had been holding within flowed out. Ma’ boss. His mum. She’s in there. She’s died, the cleaner said through tears.

Instinctively Maggie placed her left arm around Jessie. What’s your name? she asked.

Jessie. I’m the cleaner. The boss’s mum, she’s in there, Jessie said. She was crying.

Okay, Jessie, Maggie said. Where is your boss’s mum?

Cuffs meanwhile picked up the telephone and told the operator they had arrived and were with the caller before hanging up.

She’s in there. Room along the hall. Just on the right, Jessie whimpered.

Rob. Try the room along the hall on the right, Maggie said loudly.

Cuffs walked into the lounge and found Elizabeth Elder’s blood-soaked body. Her head was caved in. He could see the congealed, matted blood on her hair. The lady was definitely past any chance of living. She had been dead for a while. The police officer noticed the window had a broken pane and was slightly ajar. He guessed this was probably the culprit’s way in and possibly way out of the house.

Maggie. There is a body. This is a murder, no doubt. Stay with the witness, he said. Bravo one four to bravo delta.

Go ahead, bravo delta. Cuffs then described the scene, explaining there was a witness who Maggie was looking after. He requested the Criminal Investigation Department attend as soon as possible.

Knowing not to touch anything, Cuffs didn’t move further into the room. He knew full well that touching anything could damage crucial evidence. Rob Stevens then noticed the bloody footprints going from the room along the hallway. He followed them into a bathroom and could see someone had obviously been trying to clean blood off themselves. The towels were covered in stains and the wash hand basin had blood marks all around it.

Let’s go inside, out of the cold, Maggie was saying to Jessie. Is there a room in the house, even the kitchen, where we can get a nice cup of tea? Maggie gently applied pressure around Jessie’s shoulders to steer the cleaner back into the house.

Cuffs let her get on with it. This was the best way to handle things; let Maggie get on with the witness while he searched for evidence. Going to check all the rooms, Maggie, he said. Make sure nobody goes near those footprints.

She winked to her colleague as she passed him, noticing blood on one of the walls in the hall.

I’ve worked for James Elder for a long time, starting out cleaning for him at his work. I’m in my seventies now and work just two days a week at this house. I am quite lonely after my husband died. Working a couple of days a week gives a focus to my life. The money is helpful too but I never ever thought I’d see this . . .. Jessie broke down as she chatted nervously.

The two women had just sat down at a breakfast table with three cups of tea when Cuffs walked into the room.

House secure. Whoever was here is long gone, Rob said. He did not want to sit down, preferring to keep an eye out for the CID. He knew the police surgeon would attend as well as forensics and probably any senior staff who would want to get in on the act.

Detectives Stephen Craig and Jim Logan were in their unmarked police car nearby when they received a message to attend at the house of a James Elder.

James Elder? Sure, he’s the rich guy who always sails close to all the scum around here, but never been in trouble, Stephen said as he steered their unmarked police car to the Elder family home.

He’s just never been caught, Jim replied. Am I right in saying it’s Maggie Morgan and Rob Stevens down at the scene?

Yep. At least they are a sensible partnership. They’ve been working together for four or five years and always keen to attend emergency calls, Craig said.

Agreed. Decent guys. Maggie has something about her, Logan quipped.

Haha . . . you fancy her?

Why not? said Logan. Does Rob Stevens know why he is called Cuffs?

Stephen Craig laughed. No idea. To be honest it is something I don’t know the meaning of either.

Cuffs. He is such a serious, sullen, extra responsible bloke. It stands for cheer up for fuck sake!

Hey, Cuffs! What’s up? Logan enquired as he walked into the Elder house.

Elizabeth Elder’s contorted body lay on the floor. It was obvious she had met a violent end.

Cuffs pointed out the slightly open window with the broken pane. "Think that’s how the scumbag who did this entered the house and most likely left too. I’ve been through the place. All the windows and doors are secure except this one.

Stephen Craig bent down over Elizabeth’s body. He didn’t want to touch her until forensics arrived. The duty police surgeon, the person responsible for determining the cause of death, was also attending.

Craig noticed the glass ashtray with its bloodied edges. You got a production bag? he asked Logan. Think we have our weapon.

Jim Logan maybe liked shortcuts but he always arrived at a call fully prepared. He took his notepad from his jacket pocket and pulled out a clear plastic production bag which was held by an elastic band to the back of the notepad.

Craig placed the bag over the ashtray. He did not want to touch it until forensics had a chance to check it for fingerprints and any clothing fibres the culprit might have inadvertently left behind.

How could anyone break into a house, murder a defenceless old lady, then leave? Stephen Craig asked as he looked around the room "We’ve got to be looking for one screwed up soul. Do you not agree,