Free Pilgrim Soul by Gordon Ferris

mine,’ she said, unable to contain a certain pride in her voice.
    ‘They’re lovely.’
    ‘Not now,’ she said and raised her anguished eyes to mine.
    ‘Did you take them to McGill’s?’
    ‘No. Paddy did a’ that side of things. Ah made the jewellery and put an estimate on them. Then he took them round to McGill’s. Depending what happened Ah was to get twenty per cent. But as you can see, they didnae sell well.’
    ‘And now he’s dead. And so is McGill. You never met him? The pawnbroker?’
    ‘Once, when he was trying to price some of the bits and pieces too low. He was jist trying it on, so he was.’
    ‘Who do you think killed the pawnbroker?’
    ‘Ah don’t know.’
    ‘Did Paddy have a pal? An accomplice? Someone wanting to get even?’
    ‘Ah jist don’t know. He could have. But Ah never met anyone except Paddy.’
    ‘One last question, Ellen. Did you make keys for Paddy? From a mould?’
    Her already flushed face went scarlet and the tears oozed again. She nodded.
    I had no choice. I called Duncan Todd. He came straight round. He went through the same questions I did, but this time Ellen Jacobs was less given to weeping. Maybe Duncan had a gentler way with him. Maybe she’d unburdened everything with me.
    Duncan was pursuing a point. ‘Are you sure Craven didnae give you any clues about where he got this?’ He pointed at the yellow ingots.
    ‘He never telt me names. Or addresses.’
    ‘How did he choose his targets?’
    ‘He kept his eye out. Always looking for folk wi’ money. Businessmen, stallholders, that kind of thing. He had a job as a gasman. Did you know that?’
    ‘Yes. And he went after Jews in particular?’
    ‘Aye. He said Jews had all the money.’
    ‘Did he know you were a Jew?’ Duncan asked.
    ‘Ah suppose so.’
    ‘Did you no’ mind?’
    She flushed. ‘Not until this!’ She pointed at the gold.
    I picked up on this. ‘How did you get into this, Ellen? You don’t seem like a crooked jeweller.’
    She winced at the adjective. ‘Ah live in the Gorbals. Do you think Ah choose to?’
    ‘You go to Isaac Feldmann’s synagogue?’
    She nodded. ‘Not since this. But Ah know Isaac.’
    I kept pressing. ‘What about family?’
    ‘Ma mother lives wi’ me. Just the two of us. We got out in ’35 when they took away our rights bit by bit. Made us wear a yellow star in the street. Ah was just a wee girl. Ma father stayed on to try to keep the business going. He was a pharmacist. He said even the Nazis needed pills. Maybe more than anyone. He never got out.’
    Her anger wiped the guilt from her face. She had more reasons than most for trying to climb out of the slums, make a life for herself. One of the new Scots. A descant to an old tune.
    ‘Where from?’
    ‘Berlin.’
    ‘Sie sprechen gutes Englisch. Obwohl mit einem Gorbals Akzent! Wo haben Sie es gelernt?’
    ‘An der Schule. Und hier. Offensichtlich. Und Sie? Ihr Deutsch ist gut. ’
    ‘Aw right, you pair, that’ll dae. Speak Scots.’
    I shrugged. ‘University, then the army. I was based in Lüneburg for a few months after the armistice. I got to know whom we’d been fighting. And why.’
    ‘Lüneburg? The Belsen trials?’
    I nodded, surprised she knew the connection. She held my eyes for a beat and then turned to Duncan. ‘Are you going to arrest me?’
    ‘Ah’m thinking aboot it. You are an accomplice. Hell, you cut keys for him! Any reason why Ah shouldnae?’
    She looked down. ‘Nane at a’. But can Ah speak to ma mum? She disnae speak English very well. She’ll be that worried.’
    Duncan and I looked at each other. He shook his head.
    ‘Just leave your address. When Ah need to find you, Ah’ll come and get you.’
    She looked surprised. I stared at Duncan. Getting soft in his old age? Or didn’t fancy the paperwork? Another question occurred to me.
    ‘Why did you come and tell us all this, Ellen?’
    She stared, big-eyed, at me, then at Duncan. ‘Because this is wrong.’ She poked at the