Dark Angels (32 page)

‘Mr McVie–if you are ready?’ Lord MacDonald raised his pen and nodded that he was anxious to proceed.

‘Thank you, M’Lord,’ replied Hector politely–court speech is always polite, even when you are knifing someone in the back.

Hector cleared his throat, and continued.

‘Mr Buchanan–if you’d like to tell the court about your relationship with Ms Coutts?’

It was obvious from Roddie’s demeanour that he wanted to do no such thing–and who could blame him?

‘Ms Coutts and I had an intimate…business relationship.’

‘So,’ said Hector, twisting the knife a little deeper, ‘you paid for certain services from Ms Coutts?’

‘That is correct.’

There were several embarrassed coughs going on around the court.

‘To the best of your ability, can you please give the court a job description for Ms Coutts?’

‘Ms Coutts is a professional Madam. A dominatrix.’

‘And does Ms Coutts have a place of business where she operates from?’

‘Well,’ stumbled Roddie, ‘sometimes she would be mobile–come to a hotel room perhaps–and at other times we would meet at her club.’

‘And what is the name of her club, Mr Buchanan?’

‘The Hellfire Club.’

The clock’s tick sounded particularly loudly now. I stared at a bee buzzing madly, hitting itself repeatedly off the windowpane. There was no escape for the bee, very little for Roddie, but how much could I bank on? The courtroom was warm and airless; suddenly I felt very tired.

‘The Hellfire Club. It sounds unique,’ oozed Hector, miraculously acting as the moral barometer despite the fact that he had probably been there himself. ‘Are the services offered there by Ms Coutts and her staff…special?’

I glared at him–wet yourself and get it over with Hector, I thought.

‘Other establishments offer BDSM.’

‘For those of us who are not familiar with this rather particular area of life, would you please explain what…’ Hector looked theatrically at his notes as if he could not remember the acronym from seconds before, ‘BDSM means?’

‘BDSM stands for bondage, discipline and sadomasochism, I believe,’ came the response of Lord MacDonald, helpfully clearing up the matter. Hector and I stole a glimpse at one another and I suppressed a smile. The judge flushed appropriately.

‘Thank you, M’Lord,’ Hector said seamlessly. ‘So, Mr Buchanan, are there other professional dominatrix in Edinburgh?’

‘Oh yes–there most certainly are!’ Roddie nodded animatedly.

‘Objection, M’Lord–my learned friend promised the court that he would establish relevancy. Unless he intends to publish a directory to the unwholesome aspects of Edinburgh night life, I fail to see what relevance this all has,’ I interrupted.

‘M’Lord–I crave the court’s indulgence for a few more minutes.’ Hector sounded like a virtuous supplicant.

‘Granted, Mr McVie–but do hurry up. Ms McLennan–your objections have been noted.’ Lord MacDonald was glancing anxiously at the clock, no doubt mindful of his evening appointments.

‘So, Mr Buchanan–if there are other professional ladies who offer these BDSM services, why did you choose Ms Coutts?’ Hector spat out the words as if they left a sour taste in his mouth.

Roddie shifted uneasily from foot to foot, and muttered inaudibly.

‘Tell the witness to speak up–I can’t make out one word he’s saying,’ Lord MacDonald hissed angrily, oblivious to the fact that Roddie found the next sentences mortifyingly embarrassing to repeat.

‘Kailash offered other services–special services that the other Tops don’t.’

‘Tops–what on earth are Tops?’ Lord MacDonald was obviously tired and hungry for he was getting
testier by the minute. As well as that, his knowledge of S&M seemed to have run dry.

‘Sorry, M’Lord–a Top is a person who is dominant in sex and a Bottom is someone who is subservient,’ Roddie added helpfully.

‘And I take it from this that you are–a Bottom?’ Lord MacDonald looked pleased with himself at mastering this new idiom.

Retrieving his examination from the judge, Hector asked the next question.

‘And what services did the accused offer that others in this city would not?’

‘Objection, M’Lord–all the witness has said is that the other ladies did not offer the service, not that they refused,’ I added.

‘Well, did they refuse?’ the judge asked, curiosity showing in his eyes.

‘Yes, they did,’ Roddie answered.

I had just shot myself in the foot. Basic golden rule–if you don’t know the answer to a question, don’t ask it.

‘And why did these other ladies refuse?’ Hector threw me a smile, in recognition of my unwitting help.

‘They said no because it was too dangerous. The practice is not recommended–unless the provider has medical knowledge and specialist equipment.’

‘And does Ms Coutts have these?’ Hector was looking round the court, very pleased with himself.

‘Yes. Kailash has what they call a…a white room…a room where…’ Roddie took a coughing fit and grasped for a glass of water. Without putting the glass down, he spoke hurriedly.

‘Where pseudo-medical procedures are carried out.’

‘And what pseudo-medical procedure did Ms Coutts carry out for you?’ Hector winced with all the drama of a third-rate soap star in pantomime.

‘She–erm–she injected a saline solution into my testicles causing them to swell.’

Even Lord MacDonald was shifting uneasily on the bench. I could hear Joe, and a lot of other men in the room, cross, and uncross legs.

‘Does this mean that Ms Coutts has knowledge of anatomy, and physiology?’

‘Oh yes, she has an extensive education on the arteries and blood supply in the body–it would be dangerous if she nicked either of those during her…procedure,’ assured Roddie. We were all satisfied that Kailash knew exactly how to inject bollocks with saline, but I knew precisely what was coming next.

‘So when Ms Coutts set out to kill Alistair MacGregor, the deceased, she knew–or ought to have known–that severing the carotid artery would lead to death. Furthermore…’

‘Objection, M’Lord–the witness is not a professional and cannot speak as to Ms Coutts’ knowledge at the time of the incident.’ I was on my feet, shouting.

‘Furthermore, her knowledge of the body is such that she should have been able to save him had such an accident occurred.’ Hector continued to speak over me. I was still on my feet trying to drown him out, but the damage had been done.

‘Your objection is upheld, Ms McLennan,’ Lord
MacDonald nodded in my direction, indicating that I should now sit down.

‘Very well, M’Lord, my last question is withdrawn.’ Hector looked unrepentant. The information was out there. I looked around the courtroom–everyone was an insider and this was a secret kangaroo court.

‘Before we move on–does this procedure have a name?’ asked Hector.

‘It’s called “ball torture”.’ Roddie shook his head in embarrassment.

‘So would it be safe to assume that a woman who would carry out such–ball torture…’ Hector stopped and pointed directly at Kailash. ‘Would it be safe to assume that such a woman hated men in general or just one man in particular?’

‘Objection, M’Lord. My friend is leading the witness. Furthermore Mr Buchanan is not a professional witness, and is unable to speak to the state of mind of the accused.’

‘Objection upheld–Mr McVie, I must ask you to contain yourself to the evidence that the witness can speak to.’ Lord MacDonald was smiling at Hector McVie all the while he was giving him this reprimand.

My mind was spinning.

Why had Roddie agreed to give evidence in the first place? Because the court knew they could rely on me to keep it a secret? They knew that I would try to stop Hector impugning Kailash’s reputation. And if I did that then I was not an Amicus Curae.

I was the one who had moved to throw the jury and the press out. I was the one who had created this
clandestine court. Inadvertently, I had fulfilled Eilidh Buchanan’s command to keep it hush-hush.

‘M’Lord, no doubt my friend will point out that the accused lacks motive to kill in this case, and so I would bring the court’s attention to Crown Production number thirty-four.’

I looked up my new production list, and in particular the last item.

Number thirty-four…a Nokia mobile phone.

My heart stopped. The Macer handed Roddie a blue and silver mobile phone. I thought I recognised it, but hoped I didn’t.

‘Do you recognise the number of this phone?’ asked Hector, holding it up and pushing a piece of card with the number printed on it towards my beleaguered colleague.

‘Yes,’ answered Roddie, looking mystified.

‘Well, would you like to tell the court whose phone it is?’

Again Hector’s expansive arm movements addressed the public benches–he seemed to have forgotten that no one was there.

‘It’s the number I used to contact Kailash on–to arrange our…trysts.’

‘Trysts?’ repeated Hector. ‘How wonderfully romantic.’ Sensing my objection coming and Roddie’s discomfiture, he quickly went on.

‘Now, you can see that there is a text message on the screen. Would you like to read the message to the court, and the date it was received by the accused?’

Roddie took his half moon gold-rimmed spectacles
out of their case and placed them on the end of his nose. They made him look like everyone’s favourite Grandpa–if they just hadn’t heard of his bollock debacle. Clearing his throat he began to speak.

‘“Meet u as arranged. Alistair” received on 15 August.’

‘The text message was received the night Alistair MacGregor was killed by the accused.’ Hector’s voice was pounding and suitably dramatic.

Kailash turned and looked at me accusingly. The last time that she had seen that phone, it was in my possession at Cornton Vale. The only conclusion she could draw from it was that I had handed it over to the Crown. It was an incorrect assumption–the last time I had seen it was when I placed it in a locked drawer in my office.

Roddie refused to meet my eye. He must have stolen it. What else had he taken? I could not object to this evidence because the moment it came into my possession I should have handed it over to the Crown. Failure to do so was perverting the course of justice, a criminal offence for which I had known police officers get four years. Glasgow Joe was poking me on the back urging me to get up and say something. I was being massacred. My own actions were coming back to haunt me.

One of my mother’s favourite sayings suddenly came clear into my mind: ‘What you dae in the night–the devil sees in the light.’ I thought she used it as a warning about teenage pregnancy, now I understood her true meaning.

‘Objection. M’Lord, my learned friend has no way
of knowing that the man who sent the text was Lord Arbuthnot.’

I was deliberately using his judicial title not his actual name. It was a small point, but sometimes your clients demand that you give them a good spraff, especially when their case is hopeless.

‘Your objection is noted, Ms McLennan.’ Lord MacDonald peered down at me, and stroked the front of his robes smoothing the red Templar cross on the white satin. In 1812 there wasn’t a member of the judiciary that had not been a member of the Enlightenment. That was when the robes had been redesigned to honour their Templar past and in true Masonic tradition the meaning of their symbols was hidden in plain view.

‘Now, Mr Buchanan, my friend objected when I asked you if the accused hated all men.’

Roddie nodded to show that he recalled that objection.

‘But are you able to say if Ms Coutts hated any men in particular…’ he rushed his last words out.

I was on my feet.

‘Objection! Hearsay.’

It appeared that Roddie had been well coached for he shouted out too: ‘Kailash Coutts stated that she hated Alistair MacGregor, and that one day she would kill him.’

‘Objection!’ I screamed.

‘You are a bare-faced liar, Roddie Buchanan.’ Kailash was on her feet, the prison guards were struggling to contain her as she tried to jump out of the dock and get to Roddie.

‘Order! Order!’

Lord MacDonald was crimson in the face. The prison guards had pushed Kailash so hard that she had fallen onto the floor of the dock, where one woman pulled her up. Kailash was as red as Lord MacDonald and it was the first time that I had ever seen her dishevelled.

Calmness came over the court, like the morning after a squall, as everyone resumed their seats.

‘M’Lord, that concludes the Crown’s examination of this witness.’ Hector flicked his gown up and sat down.

‘Ms McLennan–in view of the lateness of the hour, court will adjourn and resume on Monday when you may cross-examine the witness.’ Lord MacDonald then turned to Roddie. ‘Thank you for giving your evidence in such a straightforward manner–you are of course still under oath, and you are not allowed to talk about this case to anyone.’

This admonition could not have been more trite. As Roddie stepped down from the witness box and was led outside, the notion of him speaking to anyone else about his private behaviour was unthinkable.

‘Court rise!’ the Macer shouted. Those present shuffled to their feet, and as Lord MacDonald processed out of court, the clerk began to tidy up the well.

I looked across at the window to see how my friend was doing. The bee lay with his legs up against the closed window.

Like everything else–buggered.

Taking a piece of paper, I walked round the front bench through the well of the court. Picking up the bee on the paper, I threw him out. I was almost caught in my maudlin mood as the clerk handed me a piece of paper.

Nothing to lose, I thought and made my way to the Hall. Hector stood before Chantry’s statue of Lord President Blair. As I approached him, he immediately began to talk.

‘Men such as these,’ he tapped the marble shoe and the tap reverberated round the walls, ‘they are more than mere personalities–they represent the law, Brodie. And if a man like Alistair MacGregor is seen to be flawed then the rule of law in Scotland is also faulty. We can’t allow that to happen now–can we?’