Bobby McGee

Chapter Fifty-two. The Visitor.

Chapter Fifty-two

The Visitor

On the 24th August, Scarsgill, who had spent the summer as a yachting instructor based in Whitby, was charged with the murder of Merson, and transported to Preston prison. The prosecution argued against bail, and despite the fact that Scarsgill had no criminal record he was remanded in custody. For two weeks he occupied a cell adjacent to one holding Michael Walcott, a convicted felon with a history of violence, and an addiction to weed.

Eventually, Scarsgill was granted bail, on condition that he surrendered his passport and reported daily to Whitby police station.

                                                                                           *****

Two days after Scargill's release, Walcott was languishing in his cell, when one of the guards rapped on the iron bars with his truncheon.

"You've got a visitor, Walcott."

"Not expecting nobody."

"He insists on seeing you. Says it'll be worth your while."

"Really."

"Yup."

"Okay. Let him in."

A well dressed, professional looking man, with a blonde crew-cut, horn rimmed glasses and a tan that couldn't have been acquired at Blackpool, entered the cell. The guard stood outside, peering occasionally through the small barred observation port.

"Do I know you?"

"No, Mick. You don't. I've come to see you about a matter that will benefit both of us." The stranger spoke in the slow clipped manner of the educated northerner, with just a trace of an accent.

"What might that be?"

"I gather you have just spent a couple of weeks in the company of a prisoner named Scarsgill. Correct?"

"Yea, and what a bore he was."

"Did he ever tell you why he was in prison?"

"Yea. Said he was accused of murder. What a load of shit that is. No way he could kill anyone."

"Apparently there's a lot of evidence against him."

"All fake. He claims he's been set up."

"So he did speak about the case."

"All the fucking time. Never shut up. Claimed that some high and mighty bunch of mother fuckers had it in for him."

"Did he name any names?" 

Walcott, sensing the tension in the visitor's voice, paused before answering. "Not any one person. He just went on and on about some bloody club he belonged to. Strange name, sounded foreign. Meant nothing to me."

"He's only trying to shift the blame. Now look Mick, it's in your best interests and those of my associates that we ensure this murderer's conviction."

"How's it in my best interest?"

"Look in the parcel, Mick."

The stranger handed over a small rectangular package.

"The guard!!"

"Don't worry, Mick. I've taken care of him."

Walcott carefully unwrapped the package. His mouth fell agape and his eyes bulged, as he raised the box to his nose.

"There's more of that, Mick, much more. Just do as I ask and I'll see you alright."

"What do you want me to do?"

The stranger passed Mick a piece of paper."Read this, memorize it, destroy it, and then contact the police."

Mick slowly read the document. "Is this what really happened?

"We think so."

"I don't know about this."

The nameless one reached over as if to reclaim the package. Walcott clamped his wrist. "You're sure there's more of this?"

"Lots more. One other thing, Mick, when are you up for parole?"

"Two more years."

"My associates are people with influence. You cooperate and they could have your hearing advanced, and recommend a much shorter sentence."

Walcott needed no more enticement.

"It's a deal," he said.

"You won't regret it," replied the stranger.

                                                                                                                       *****

"Did you know that ponce, Jack?"

"Never saw him before," replied the bribed guard.

"Police?"

"Definitely not."

"Lawyer?"

"Not from round here."

"You know, Jack I think old Scarsgill had it right."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Got a match?"

The guard slammed the portal shut.

                                                                                                    *****

McGee had spent the morning in juvenile court pleading leniency for two of the Stewart boys who had been caught stealing apples. Since he was in the vicinity, he decided to call in at the station and share a cuppa with whoever was on duty. A relatively new recruit stood at the front desk.

"Have you heard?" asked the fresh faced young constable.

"What?"

"They got a confession."

"From Scarsgill?"

"Not directly. The silly bugger went and blurted it all out to another convict, a fella called Walcott. Told him everything, how he did it, how he got rid of the body, everything."

"Hold on, son. I wouldn't bank on this. These convicts, some of them'll do anything to get a bit of attention. Telling a bag of lies means nothing to them."

"But he told them where Merson's car had been dumped."

"Where?"

"In one of the flooded mine workings near Loppergarth. They're all out there now searching the area - police divers, detectives, everybody."

"Probably wasting their time. Mind if I make myself a cup of tea?"

"Help yourself."

"You want one?"

"No thanks."

The kettle had barely boiled when a beaming Wolfe, accompanied by two of his subordinates sauntered in to the office. He spotted McGee over at the tea counter."We've got him now, McGee. Merson's Jag has been found, and would you believe Scarsgill's golf clubs were in the boot? Everything fits."