Dark Angels (31 page)

As I stood to make my objection Lord MacDonald intervened.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said helpfully, reading my mind.

‘And now we are twelve,’ I said to Joe as the last jury member took his seat. ‘The judge is just going to swear them in–then we’ll adjourn, and have a coffee.’

‘Court rise,’ the Macer shouted, and we stood while the judge left the bench.

‘He’s got as much power as the Pope,’ said Joe in awe.

‘He’s got a damn sight more authority,’ I replied.

Tidying my papers, we waited for the crowd to disperse.

‘You’ve not lodged any special defences–is that wise?’ asked Hector. He had removed his wig and was openly scratching his head as though he had nits. It didn’t stop him being condescending though.

‘You wouldn’t know a special defence if it came up and bit you on the arse, Hector, so no wonder you’re surprised. Let’s be honest–the whole criminal arena is a bit of a mystery to you isn’t it?’

Joe followed me out. ‘Do you have to be so rude?’

‘First of all, that’s bloody rich coming from you, and secondly, it’s just gamesmanship–we’re only playing.’

Parliament Hall was busy with advocates and their agents. The public had gone downstairs for coffee. We
usually drank in the Lower Aisle, a cellar of St Giles’s Cathedral that had been turned into a café, but necessity demanded we hang around to ensure we did not miss the case being called. An industrious hum echoed round the hall, and the names on everyone’s lips were Kailash Coutts and Brodie McLennan. Small clumps of people were dotted around.

‘They’re all gossiping,’ I pronounced disdainfully.

‘How can you tell?’ Joe sounded doubtful–he was impressed by the superficially serious expressions and I was amazed to see him so out of his depth.

‘They’re not working because if they were they’d be pacing up and down. They’re all talking about me anyway so no one cares if they’re overheard as there’s only one subject.’ The bobbing heads were jiggling up and down with rapt attention, and repeatedly looks were thrown over their shoulders in my direction. Hector McVie came into their midst like a redeemer. For a fat bloke he held himself well, his shock of faded gold hair was thick and sleek, kept in place by some expensive gentleman’s grooming cream.

‘Your opponent looks well–for his age.’

I had no doubt that Hector would consider himself damned with faint praise from Joe.

‘He’s having a mid-life crisis,’ I replied, nodding in Hector’s direction.

‘Well, unless he’s going to live until he’s 120, I’d say he’s a bit old for that.’

‘There’s some talk that on a recent trip to LA he had hair extensions.’ We both stared at his head, as he stood alone by the empty fireplace, pulling his fob
watch out of his pocket, and looking at the time, over and over again, all the while scratching his head.

‘Brodie–I’ve been trying to find you.’ Jack Deans had hold of my shoulder and was pulling me to face him.

‘No surprise in the judge then,’ he continued. Jack was out of breath, and peering anxiously from side to side. ‘Lord MacDonald’s recently been appointed a Senator of the College of Justice.’ Jack’s breath was steadier now. ‘Do you know what the first thing he did was?’

Again a question I was not allowed to answer. I shook my head.

‘He gave a speech to the Enlightenment and then resigned–before he even told his own family, he had to inform the Enlightenment.’

‘Jack, it’s no longer a surprise to me which judge is a member of the Enlightenment. You’d have a better chance of shocking me if you told me one that wasn’t.’

‘Lord MacDonald isn’t just “any” judge. He’s the one with the most to prove–the most biddable because he has to perform his first favour. Watch your back in there, Brodie–because Kailash isn’t being prosecuted by Hector McVie; Lord MacDonald is the lead counsel.’

With that warning he disappeared off for his caffeine shot.

‘The trial’s getting to him already,’ I said.

‘Who? Jack Deans?’

‘No, Hector McVie.’ I was focusing on the opponent I could do something about. ‘Maybe he’s waiting on someone. Could be his new twenty-five-year-old girlfriend. I think that’s who he’s changing his looks for–no matter how much money he spends, he’s no oil painting.’

‘I don’t think you should count on that–look…’ Joe pointed to Bunny MacGregor; the clipping sound of her heels cut through every conversation in the hall, stopping them dead. A nippy breeze seemed to flow wherever she walked. Hector McVie greeted her effusively It was wholly inappropriate for the Advocate Depute to be lunching with the victim’s widow. Unlike England, our criminal justice system is not adversarial and the prosecution has a duty to be seen to be fair to the accused.

‘What could they possibly have to say to one another?’ I turned to Joe.

‘If I was him–I’d be promising to nail the bastard who killed her man.’

‘I don’t think he’d say it quite in those terms–but you’re probably right.’

‘It’s a wonder she’s not come over to you–are you no’ supposed to be nailing the exact same bastard?’

‘Hardly likely.’

Sufficient time had now passed for me to know that court was adjourned until after lunch. It was standard practice in court for the judge to inform you when court would reconvene, but something must have happened to prevent this. I contemplated following Hector and Bunny to their eatery, but one look at Joe was enough to know that surveillance would never be his forte.

‘I’m going to the cells to check on Kailash–you can come if you want or meet me at the crossroads, where all the main corridors meet.’

Joe shivered. ‘When hell freezes over–that’s when I’ll go voluntarily into a prison cell.’

Kailash’s cell was set into the wall and the bars ran from floor to ceiling. I crept up on her unannounced. It was a tableau; her plate of stodgy prison fare lay uneaten in the corner. She sat on the narrow bench, sideways so that she could use it as a table. Intrigued I tried to sneak up on her to see what engrossed her so.

Her senses were too quick for me, and she turned to face me. Standing up she made no effort to hide her actions. The turnkey moved towards me and opened the cell. Kailash held a pack of cards in her hand as she came to shake my hand.

‘You look good today. Thank you for making the effort,’ she said, moving her eyes from my polished heels to my perfectly fitting suit, and politely never remarking on the fact that she had provided them.

I actually blushed at her kind words.

‘I suppose it’s too early to say how we’re doing?’ she continued.

I nodded.

‘I don’t like the look of the judge. He seems–uncompromising.’

‘Well, we’ve got the weekend to think about it–we’re not going to get started this afternoon. The judge will swear in the jury, and then adjourn.’

‘So there’s nothing to worry about then?’

Her voice was insistent.

‘Well, not this afternoon–it’s just a formality.’

She placed her arm around my shoulder; again her scent was delicate and sweet. Lightly she manoeuvred me over to the bench.

‘If there’s nothing to worry about–why do I keep pulling this card?’

Her fingers reached into the pack at random. It was done at lightning speed, as if she hoped that speed alone would save her. It did not.

In her left hand she held aloft the ‘Hanged Man’. I took the card from her; it was from a very old hand-painted pack. The workmanship was exquisite.

‘They’re from my mother–eighteenth century, hand-painted Italian. The only thing of use she gave me–the other thing she bestowed upon me was the name Bernadette. I know which has helped me more.’

I looked at the card again. The problem was, I couldn’t just dismiss Kailash’s fears because I look for signs and omens too. I was glad when the case was called again. Kailash and I looked at each other, at the card that I still had in my hand, and then reassembled back in court nine.

The jury sat in their box. Kailash was wedged between her guards and I sat in my appointed place.
Even Joe was where he should be as we all waited on Lord MacDonald.

‘Is he taking instructions from somewhere?’ Joe’s voice was loud. As if we were in church, people turned to see who was making the noise.

‘Shut up or speak in a lower tone,’ I hissed.

‘But yer man–he’s no’ here.’

‘Court!’ shouted the Macer and we all stood as Lord MacDonald entered. Sitting down, he offered no explanation or apology for his lateness. It was approaching 3.30p.m. when he started to swear in the jury and I could see Kailash visibly relax as she realised her first day in court was almost over. At 4.20p.m. I started to tidy away my papers.

The voice came booming from in front of me:

‘Mr McVie, are you ready to call your first witness?’

In stark amazement, I looked at Hector, but a silent moment of understanding was passing between him and Lord MacDonald. In Scotland there are no opening speeches. The Crown call their witnesses and get on with the case, but they don’t sit late at night. Right now the alarm bells were ringing–the first witness being called at this time of day?

‘I am, M’Lord. The Crown calls Roderick Buchanan.’

The Macer went out into the passageways of the court and shouted, ‘Roderick Buchanan, Roderick Buchanan,’ like a town crier, over and over again.

Like a rabbit in the headlights of a car, Kailash turned to me, her eyes demanding an explanation. Shrugging my shoulders, I could offer none. That sly old bastard had pulled a fast one on me, and there was no way I
could say anything now. To object would be to let them know that I had no intention of being an Amicus Curae.

‘Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?’

Roddie’s hand was on a copy of the Bible as he answered yes. He looked as shocked and nervous as I felt.

‘Is your name Roderick Dougal Buchanan?’

‘It is.’

‘And do you reside at 653 India Street, Edinburgh?’

‘I do.’

My heart rate refused to slow down. I caught Jack Deans’ eye and he knew I had been ambushed. The list of witnesses and productions that had been delivered to me last night was incomplete. The new list of witnesses contained one additional name–Roddie. I had no idea what he was going to say, but whatever it was would be bad for me.

Fear caused my mouth to dry and every sound was heightened. I could hear Joe fiendishly writing away, noting everything Roddie said. I poured myself some water; it was lukewarm and fetid. I looked at Roddie through the glass. What the fuck was he playing at? From my first phone call to his wife we had fought to keep the firm free from the old scandal and now here he was where it was all bound to be dragged up again. Unless he’d been forced to come clean…

‘And are you aged fifty-five?’ Hector’s voice was calm and commanding

‘I am,’ replied Roddie. I wanted to shout that he was old enough to know better. I had no idea what game he was playing or what the stakes were.

‘Now, Mr Buchanan–do you know the accused?’

Roddie nodded, his voice failing him? Whoever was making him do this had tightened the thumbscrews. I almost felt sorry for him.

‘Would you mind pointing out the accused?’

Shakily, Roddie raised his finger and pointed.

‘Let the record show that Mr Buchanan has pointed to the accused, Kailash Coutts.’

I have always thought it was a ridiculous practice; of course the accused is the person sitting in the dock between the prison officers–who else is going to be there?

‘So, Mr Buchanan, would you mind telling the members of the jury exactly how you met the accused.’

Roddie looked at me beseechingly, his eyes flicking under his lids. The sweat was running down his cheeks forming glistening pools in his beard. I couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘Objection to the relevance of this line of questioning, M’Lord.’

A sigh escaped from Roddie’s lips that could be heard around the hushed courtroom. Hector McVie was on his feet. Pulling his gown straight, he looked directly at me as he spoke. I pulled myself up to my full height. I could not let this line of questioning be heard in front of the jury. My client would be lost as her reputation would be immediately impugned, thus making her a less credible witness. If the press got a whiff of what I was beginning to suspect Roddie was about to say then the firm was finished.

‘M’Lord,’ began Hector, ‘I’m asking for a little leeway here. Relevancy can be established.’

The first duty that a court lawyer has is to the court; it is important not to mislead a judge, and Hector McVie had an established reputation at the bar. If he was telling the judge that he could establish relevancy, then he was entitled to be heard. I could sense the decision going Hector’s way.

I jumped to my feet; it was like the last rash act of a dying man.

‘M’lord could hear the evidence without the presence of the jury and the press–under reservation.’

Lord MacDonald smiled, and I knew that I had played into their hands. Roddie relaxed measurably as the jury filed out of the courtroom as did the public gallery, including the press. The judge had told them they were not allowed to speak to anyone about the case. The sternest warnings were given to the press, they were not authorised to comment on any of the evidence or witnesses who had spoken today. Failure to abide by this judicial direction would result in their paper being fined tens of thousands of pounds for contempt of court. For the moment, Roddie and the firm were safe. All that mattered to me was that if the firm was protected then so was I.

Joe stood up to leave but I pulled him down. Lord MacDonald cast a suspicious eye over him. As the last body left the court, the Macer locked the door. The room felt horribly intimate. Lord MacDonald was the first to break the silence. I noted that we had already sat beyond the usual time, and I wondered how long we would be asked to stay on a Friday night. Or what
the end of the evening would bring–someone would find their reputation in tatters.

I didn’t fancy the odds on whether it would be Roddie, Kailash or myself. But I knew I had enough of a survival instinct to at least try to make mine a little better.