Edward Kane, Advocate in The Hanged Man. Chapter 11: ‘I can get a guinea for every drop’

Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

Gallows Gibney was on his fourth rum and the narrative was flowing more freely now. Mackintosh looked up from his notebook: ‘I would imagine, George, that if someone about to be hanged they would have a lot to be scared about. Maybe that was it.’

‘No. No…’ The hangman frowned: ‘It was more like somebody acting as if they were scared.’ He took a sip of his rum and smiled. ‘And I should know. I’ve helped quite a few folk over to the other side.’

Mackintosh scribbled. The hangman smiled: ‘He said he was so cold, he wasn’t going to undo his collar studs…’

Edward Kane, Advocate in The Hanged Man. Chapter 11: ‘I can get a guinea for every drop’ (Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane)

The detective looked up: ‘Not his choice, surely…’

Gibney sat back in his chair: ‘I let them dress how they like. Believe me, Mackintosh – makes no difference if he’s wearing a dinner suit or a bathing suit. The rope will get you in the end.’ He leaned forward: ‘But I’ll tell you a secret – in most cases, it’s not this that kills you…’ He grabbed himself around the neck and made a strangling motion. ‘No. It’s the drop. The drop is the thing.’

Mackintosh of the Detective was puzzled and shook his head. “Broken neck?’

The hangman continued, conspiratorial now: ‘Every time. That’s what folk don’t understand. That’s why I can get a guinea for every drop. I have to work it out every time. The size of the man. The length of the rope. The depth of the drop. Then the drop – broken neck’. Gallows Gibney tapped his index finger against his forehead: ‘I have it all worked out in here.’

Edward Kane, Advocate

The detective looked up from his notebook: ‘And what if the drop doesn’t do it?’

Gibney gulped his rum: ‘Then the rope takes over.’

Mackintosh bit the end of his pencil. He was thinking about the next part of the conversation, and that was going to be difficult. He broached the difficult subject: ‘George, I’ve known you a long time, and nobody doubts that you’re very good at what you do…’

Gibney smirked: ‘And I know you, Mackintosh, and here comes trouble…’

‘…but…but - and I’m only saying what I’ve been told by other people – but some of them say that on that day, on the day of the hanging – that you were…you were…drunk.’

The hangman squeezed his tumbler of rum, whitening his knuckles. He glared at the detective and said nothing.

****

The Monkey Macpherson had never seen Mr Horse so upset: ‘It’ll turn up, my friend. It’s just a jacket. And I’m not being cheeky, buddy, but let’s face it – that jacket was a bit of an old rag, eh? We’ll get you another one for next to nothing, maybe go down to The Vaults.’

‘Monkey – you don’t understand. It’s not the jacket, my friend, it’s what’s in the pocket.’

‘And what’s in the pocket?’

Horse shook his head. Speechless. He put his head in his hands.

****

‘Alright, Mackintosh - I’ll be square with you.’ Gibney put his hand on his heart: ‘I swear – on my mother’s grave – not a drop of liquor passed my lips that morning. But…yes...I was maybe a wee bit off my game that day.’

‘How so?’

“The night before, that was the problem. I was at here at this table – you know, my usual table – and a bunch of young folk came in. Varsity types, with the posh voices and the scarves and the throwing their money about. I think they were celebrating something – I don’t know what – and it was…’. (at this point the hangman affected a cultured accent) ‘“Drinks on the house for our esteemed friend at the table.” And they kept them coming. And I like to be sociable...’

The detective smiled: ‘So, the night before the hanging, you were – how shall we put it: “three sheets to the wind”…’

Gibney chuckled: ‘I’m telling ye, Mackintosh, by the end of the night, it was more like “Man overboard”…’

The detective frowned and bit the end of his pencil.

TOMORROW: I thought it was a rag