Murder in Court Three (14 page)

Baggo said nothing but took another sip of beer.

‘Now I'm not going to say anything about this little chat if you don't,' Osborne said. ‘But it would be in both our interests to stay in touch. Allow me to put my number into your mobile. Put yours into mine.' He slid his phone across the table. Reluctantly, Baggo did as he was told. Osborne's grin revealed broken and stained teeth. ‘And you may call me Noel. Now, must go.' He drained his glass and left the pub.

Angry and confused, Baggo replayed the previous half-hour, asking himself what he should have said and done. His most basic mistake was to be so anxious to impress Melanie that he had allowed his tongue to run away. Depressed, his drink unfinished, he left five minutes after Osborne.

After leaving Osborne, Baggo visited a golf driving range beside the Braid Hills and spent three quarters of an hour venting his frustration on a large bucket of balls. By the end his drives were no straighter but he felt better. He realised he was hungry and found a fish and chip shop. With a mouth-watering aroma filling the hired car, he drove to the road up Salisbury Crags where he parked in a lay-by and sat munching his fish supper covered with tangy, brown sauce. In front of him, the blue waters of the Forth stretched across to the purple shadows of Fife. But he was in no mood to admire the view. After the last greasy chip had slipped down his throat, he drove back to India Street and rang Lord Hutton's doorbell.

‘Well, what is it?' the judge demanded. He was still wearing his suit trousers. His shirt, its collar removed, was open at the neck and sweat stains darkened the fabric under the arms. Baggo caught a whiff of gin.

‘Detective Sergeant Chandavarkar, Lord Hutton.' Sounding as respectful as he could, Baggo produced his warrant. ‘I regret having to disturb you at home but I need to ask you a few questions. It won't take long.'

Hutton inspected the warrant. ‘The Serious Fraud Office? You're a long way from home aren't you?'

‘I was seconded to help in the fraud case Mr Knox was prosecuting and now I am helping to solve his murder, my lord.'

Hutton looked at him with what seemed lofty contempt. Baggo had already decided this would not be a doorway he would barge into if entry was refused. To his surprise the door opened fully. ‘Come in,' Hutton said, turning away.

The smell of gin became stronger as Baggo shut the front door and followed the judge into his lair. They went downstairs into the basement then along a corridor to the back of the house and into the kitchen. It was a large room, facing west, and had French doors leading to a sunken patio from which the last rays of the sun had gone. An Aga took up most of one wall. In the centre of the room a rustic-style table had a single setting. Cardboard files, an open bottle of red wine, a nearly-empty bottle of gin and glasses formed a semi-circular barrier round the judge's place, outside which lay a phone and a laptop.

Hutton picked up a tumbler containing clear liquid and a slice of lemon, and drained it. As he did so the unmistakable ping of a microwave sounded.

‘I put this on before you rang,' he said, as using a stained oven glove, he removed a plastic dish, peeled off the cover and heaped the food, which looked and smelled like paella, onto an Old Chelsea plate. ‘Take a seat,' he said as he sat down, ‘and have some wine. 2007 St Emilion. Drinking nicely now.' He poured generous measures into two wine glasses. ‘And don't give me any of that “I'm on duty” crap,' he added sternly.

Baggo hesitated then did as he was told. He would get more out of the judge if he kept him mellow. He sniffed the wine. It had a fine bouquet. Then he took a sip and swirled it round his mouth. ‘Lovely,' he said.

‘So you have a palate?' Hutton said, the surprise in his voice audible.

‘My father appreciated fine wine and taught me a bit.'

‘Good, good,' Hutton said through a mouthful of paella. ‘I taught myself.' He took another mouthful of wine and refilled his glass. ‘My wife is away at the moment. She likes the country at this time of year. So I'm left here with my work and a cellar full of excellent wine. I try to get through both.' He smiled then pointed to the cardboard files. ‘Criminal appeals. We sift them to see if any are worth a full hearing in court. Any real chance and we give them a shot, but most of them simply want to get interim liberation so they're out during the nice weather. It's the same at Christmas. That means we have a hell of a lot of reading to do. But why are you here? What do you want to know?'

‘We have just learned that you were present at the function on Friday night when Mr Knox was killed, and I wonder if you can help us?'

‘If I can I will.'

‘Do you remember seeing Mr Knox after dinner?'

‘Yes.'

‘What was he doing?'

‘Talking.'

‘With whom?'

‘A lady, not his wife. She was most attractive and wore a long black dress.'

‘How would you describe the way they were talking?'

‘Intimate, confidential.'

‘Did you see either of them later?'

Hutton put a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed it carefully. Appearing to make up his mind, he drank some wine and sat back in his chair. ‘I was involved in the archery match and went to collect my equipment from the judges' retiring room. On my way back to Parliament Hall, Knox said something to me in passing. He appeared to be a bit drunk and what he said was indistinct but it was a barbed remark about hitting the right target. I thought no more of it at the time.'

‘But was that not rather cheeky of him, my lord?'

‘Of course it was, but he was no respecter of persons. Neither am I, frankly, and that was the bit about Farquhar that I liked. It was certainly not worth making a fuss about. To do so would have made me appear petty and foolish.'

‘What about after the archery?'

Hutton's small mouth twisted into a smile. ‘I am of course aware of what is being said about Knox's death. Indeed there can be few who are not. After the archery contest was over I went for a drink and, as I was passing the end of the corridor leading to Court Three and other places, I saw the woman with whom Knox had been speaking after dinner coming towards me from the direction of Court Three. She had an air of excitement about her, that is all I say. She went past me, perhaps to the Ladies. I watched for a very short while, no more than half a minute, to see if anyone should follow her but no one did, and I got my drink. At the time it crossed my mind that illicit sexual activity might have been involved, but I thought little more about it until I heard that Knox had been murdered. By the way, you will probably find my fingerprints are identified among those gathered from Court Three as I sat there last week. Now, I want to know, how is your investigation proceeding?' He poured more wine into his own glass and topped up Baggo's.

Baggo, who had been taking careful notes, would not normally tell a witness how an inquiry was going, but this man was a judge. ‘We have a number of leads, my lord, but it has proved difficult to narrow the field. We are following the evidence and expect to make progress.'

‘Do you think it was that policeman, the woman's husband?'

‘We can't entirely eliminate him, my lord.'

Hutton looked unimpressed. ‘In other words, you haven't got a clue yet. But tell me, and forgive me for being personal, are you made to feel an outsider in the police, institutional racism and all that?'

‘No, no, not really,' Baggo stuttered.

‘So you are, but you have found ways of coping.' It was a statement. ‘I hope you don't mind me asking, but I know how you must feel.' He swallowed more wine and emptied the bottle into his glass, filling it to the brim. Baggo knew this was no way to appreciate what was a very fine wine. He anticipated some indiscretion.

‘In Glasgow when you're asked what school you went to, they want to know your religion. When they ask you that in Edinburgh, it's your social class they're trying to find out. I say I was educated at Merchiston. I see that means nothing to you, but Merchiston Castle is an expensive boys' school, close to Firhill, which is the comprehensive I actually attended. When I wis a laddie I didnae speak wi' plooms in ma mooth like I dae the noo. I changed it as I would never have progressed in my profession.' His accent switched to broad Scots from anglified and back again. ‘I've always been an outsider in the law. Don't play bloody golf, for one thing. Thank goodness for the Judicial Appointments Board or I'd never have made the bench. I know I'm not popular, but frankly I don't give a damn. I do my job and I do it well. I work in a law court not a polite drawing room.'

‘You must have made your parents very proud.'

Hutton nearly choked on his wine. ‘Proud? My father was ashamed of me, particularly after I changed my accent. I was a traitor to my class, an English stooge. When I was called to the bar he refused to come to the ceremony.'

‘He must have been a hard man.'

Hutton stared at Baggo. ‘Hard isn't the word for it. He was like granite. When I was thirteen a group of boys from the school chased me. They hated swots and I was one. They caught me in the street in front of my house and began to beat me up. I shouted for my father and he came to the door. The boys stopped hitting me but then he said, “Fight yer ain battles or ye'r nae son o' mine.” He went back in and closed the door. They carried on beating me up and left me bleeding in the street.' Trembling at the recollection, Hutton took a deep draught of wine.

‘I was lucky. My father always looked out for me,' Baggo said, amazed and somehow privileged to have the judge open up in this way.

‘I vowed that if ever I had a child I would do anything to protect them. And I meant it.'

‘And do you, have a child, I mean?'

Suddenly abrupt, Hutton said, ‘No. My wife and I are childless.'

They sat in silence, Baggo sipping his wine, Hutton swallowing his. Hutton changed the subject. ‘Don't you get infuriated by the stupidity that criminals show? Do you ever long for a worthy opponent?'

‘I am quite lazy, my lord. The stupider the criminals the better, as far as I am concerned. Of course, before I retire I would like to defeat at least one criminal mastermind so that I can boast to any grandchildren I might have, but the rest of the time I am happy with those who make mistakes.'

Baggo couldn't decide if the judge was playing a clever game, using unusual confidences to deflect him from asking awkward questions, or he was a lonely drunk, pathetically grateful for a stranger's ear, revealing things he would never have told someone he knew better.

‘Is there anyone who is likely to remember you when you bought your drink after the archery, my lord?' he asked.

The judge saw that he was being asked for an alibi and the atmosphere suddenly became frosty. ‘No,' he said.

‘And can you tell me what you did during the early part of yesterday evening?'

‘I can't think why you're asking me that, but I went for a long walk, by myself, up the Pentlands, parking in the Flotterstone car park.'

Baggo sensed that it was time to go. He decided to try a technique that had worked on the television for Colombo. Finishing his wine, he thanked Hutton very much and told him he had to be on his way. He said he would see himself out but Hutton rose from his chair and, staggering slightly, led him upstairs and into the hall.

‘One last thing, my lord,' Baggo said at the front door, ‘you appear to be very friendly with Mrs Knox. Is there anything we should know about your relationship so that we can handle the matter discreetly?'

Hutton's whole body twitched. His gimlet eyes boring into Baggo's, he spoke slowly and calmly. ‘That is a grossly impertinent remark which I am reluctant to dignify with a reply. But I will say one word: no.' He slammed the front door, pushing Baggo out onto the doorstep.

Baggo went to his car which still smelt of fish and chips. As he reversed out of his parking space he saw the judge's white face glowering out of a ground floor window. On his way to his B and B, driving along Mayfield Road, Baggo was stopped by Edinburgh police and breathalysed. He was relieved to pass. The judge cast a long shadow.

Refreshed by her best night's sleep for some days, Flick set off for the Thursday morning briefing in Cupar with new confidence. The previous evening, she had discussed developments with Fergus and she had allowed him to talk her into having a glass of wine. He agreed with her that the Traynors' story had the ring of truth. Moreover, the only way Lynda could have known where the bows and arrows were, was if she had emerged into the corridor as they were being stowed. If she was the killer, she must have gone to the judges' retiring room and picked up an arrow before returning to Court Three to stab Knox. If she had done that, someone would have been bound to see her. She had no motive for killing her lover and it seemed safe to eliminate her. The difficulty in taking an arrow from the retiring room unobserved also made the Chief Superintendent an unlikely killer, but he could not be entirely ruled out. He had, after all, lied about his knowledge of his wife's affair with Knox, and Flick was sure he was responsible for the bruise on her face.

Still unsettled by his visit to
Vita Dei
, di Falco had phoned to report Dolan's threats and his knowledge of the contents of the letters to Cuthbert.

Flick had said, ‘If he mistook Knox for Cuthbert, without his wig, and saw him going off to have sex with Mrs T, might he have imposed his own punishment? Remember, no one notices waiters, so he might have picked up an arrow, hidden it in his uniform, and gone to Court Three and back without anyone thinking anything of it. And they had white gloves, so no fingerprints.' Fergus had agreed.

Baggo also had phoned to tell her about his meeting with Hutton, but neither Flick nor Fergus could see any motive for a High Court judge to murder a leading QC, even if he was a bit soft on his wife. Whatever she might say, Eloise Knox had a strong financial motive for ending her unhappy marriage through homicide, and she could not prove that she merely drifted about in the fresh air before the dancing began. However, it would have been difficult for her or the judge to pick up an arrow from the retiring room without being seen.

They had gone on to discuss the possible links to the fraud case. Flick said, ‘The trial is going smoothly and as it nears its end, two people who have no connection we know of, but who have a link with the case, are brutally murdered. If it's a coincidence, it's a very odd one.'

Fergus said, ‘My gut tells me it's too much of a coincidence, but I have no idea how it all ties in. And it's bizarre having two of the accused at the same function as the prosecutor.'

‘There would be the same problem for them as the Traynors, picking up the arrow from the retiring room without someone seeing them. I think we need to look at the waiters, especially the pair with records: Dolan, who's violent and fanatical enough to kill both Knox and Walker, and Thomson, who happens to be the son of one of the accused, though they say they don't get on.'

Fergus poured himself more wine. ‘That's another coincidence. You're getting there, my love. Slowly but surely.'

‘And to hell with Inspector No.'

As she drove past productive fields, rich and yellow with oil seed rape, Flick mulled over what had been said and began to sort out the priorities of the day and the tasks she would allocate.

When she arrived at the office she found an autopsy report and an update from the Glasgow lab. Tam Walker had been struck on the back of the head with the African stone statue and then asphyxiated using a cushion. The pathologist gave the time of death at between six and seven pm on Tuesday evening. Walker had consumed beans on toast and lager about two hours before the fatal attack. His killer had been careful. The forensic scientists had found nothing that would aid the inquiry.

Looking at the whiteboard, Flick was pleased to see more green evidence than red questions. She drew a blank square beside Eloise Knox. If Chief Superintendent Traynor merited whiteboard anonymity, so did Lord Hutton.

The briefing started at nine am, Baggo being the last to arrive after driving from Edinburgh. More in command than she had been the previous day, Flick summarised the situation as she saw it then added, ‘If we are looking at a murderer who is connected in some way to the fraud, we may well be looking at someone involved in the scam who has managed to stay under our radar. If so, that person has felt it necessary to kill two people in the last week. We might solve both murders by looking again at the fraud.'

‘I agree,' Baggo said. ‘The crown junior, Melanie Arbuthnot, told me that at the end of the court day last Friday, Knox said something about having to re-think things. He had been taking Burns through a lot of e-mails that he had sent but pretended not to understand. Maybe he really didn't understand them. It could be that Burns has been set up to be the fall guy. After all, barring a mad jury, he is bound to serve some serious time.'

Flick said, ‘Why don't you get a look at these e-mails? Perhaps you'll find something we've missed.'

‘I was planning to, Inspector ma'am. I might even find the missing millions, but that may be pie in the sky.'

Wallace held up a copy of that day's
Good News
. ‘There are a couple of things of interest here,' he said. ‘First, a quote from Osborne: “I am sure Inspector Fortune is handling a most difficult case as well as possible. I trained her well.”'

Flick raised an eyebrow. ‘He wants something,' she said. ‘But he's not getting it. What's the other thing?'

‘This is more serious,' Wallace said. ‘Pete Bothwell writes: “The
Good News
reward of a massive twenty thousand pounds may be claimed later today. This newspaper has been approached by someone who says they can provide evidence against the savage killer of Farquhar Knox. Don't fail to read tomorrow's paper to learn more.” What should we do, ma'am?'

‘I don't plan to read about it in the paper. We must find out who he's meeting and see what they have to say.'

Baggo said, ‘The e-mails will still be there tomorrow. The paper is based in Edinburgh. Billy knows Bothwell by sight. I would like a shot at him, ma'am.'

Flick thought for a moment. By rights she had already given Baggo one important task and Wallace was her sergeant, ranking equally with Baggo. She should give Bothwell to him, but dealing with the press often required flexibility and inventiveness.

‘Sergeant Chandavarkar and DC di Falco are to find Bothwell and learn all they can. Keep closely in touch with me,' she warned.

‘What do you want me to do, ma'am?' Wallace asked. Flick sensed he had taken offence.

‘Please take acting DC McKellar and interview or re-interview people who were at the function on Friday, concentrating on whether they saw the Smails, Maltravers, Mrs Knox or Lord Hutton between the end of the archery and the start of the dancing. Did they see any waiter behaving oddly then? Also, did they see Knox talk to anyone, apart from Lynda Traynor, at any time during the evening? We know he said something cheeky to Hutton before the archery. See if anyone remembers that. I shall remain here. DC Gilsland and I will be busy researching a variety of things on the internet.'

‘Thanks, Lance,' she said to Wallace as they left the room.

‘Ma'am,' he grunted.

Back at her desk she sat thinking how she might have handled it better.

* * *

Good News
occupied a large steel and glass cube in the Newcraighall estate on the east of Edinburgh. What the building lacked in imaginative design it made up for with brashness. The paper's name was plastered along the top of each of its four walls. Lit up at night, those letters whose neon still functioned could often be seen from aircraft coming in to land. The letters with non-functioning neon revealed the state of the paper's finances more eloquently than any set of accounts.

It was well after mid-morning when Baggo parked outside the offices. A pretty girl in the shabby reception area greeted them with what seemed like genuine friendliness. Yes, she said, Pete Bothwell was in. Baggo told her that they were there to see him about the Knox case. He gave their names but did not say they were police. She lifted the phone but got no answer. She dialled another number and asked for Pete. Whatever was said made her giggle.

‘He's avoiding me again,' she told the officers. ‘Don't worry, though. I'll find him. Take a seat over there. There's a coffee machine in the corner.'

The coffee tasted like the residue from a chemical experiment and the magazines were old. More than half an hour passed without any sign of Bothwell. It was time for a different approach. ‘We are police officers on a major investigation and we need to see Mr Bothwell now,' Baggo told the girl. ‘If you don't find him within ten minutes I shall have to see the editor.'

Her face wrinkled with concern, the girl phoned different numbers, asking for Pete. Baggo stood over her. ‘I just can't find him,' she said, anxiety making her voice shrill.

‘I trust you are not giving us the run-around,' Baggo said quietly, ‘or you could be in serious trouble.'

‘No, honestly, no,' she stammered.

‘Well I need to see the editor now. I can't afford to waste more time.'

‘But Mr Waddell doesn't see people without an appointment.'

‘He'd better start or he will be prosecuted for obstructing the police.' Baggo turned to di Falco and told him to stay there and make sure Bothwell didn't slip out of the building. Then he stood over the girl. ‘Now,' he said, ‘take me.'

Throwing her head back in a huffy gesture, she led him through a door leading to an open-plan office. At the far end was a door with EDITOR written on it. Tentatively the girl knocked on it. She was answered with a bellow of ‘Fuck off'. Baggo opened the door and stepped into a cluttered, dusty room. A small, bespectacled man with rabbit's front teeth sat behind a large, pine desk. His pink shirt was crumpled and sweat-stained. A smell like the stench of prisons hit Baggo's nose. The man looked up from the computer in front of him. ‘I thought I told you to fuck off,' he said.

‘I am a police officer and I need to speak to Pete Bothwell urgently,' Baggo said, producing his warrant.

The girl slipped out, closing the door behind her.

‘Why do you need to speak to Pete?' The editor's eyes shifted round the room as his tone became almost casual.

‘We have reason to believe that he might be able to lead us to a crucial witness in an on-going murder inquiry. Please help us find him.'

‘I don't keep tabs on my journalists.'

‘I know you'll be looking to Bothwell for a story to put in tomorrow's paper, and I'm sure you'll be able to find him if you want to. You don't want to be charged with obstructing the police, do you?'

‘No. Look, there's no need to take that sort of approach.'

‘Well find him. Now.'

All bravado gone, the editor shrugged and lifted his phone. ‘Alfie, where's Pete? Yes, now.' He listened, smiled then got up. ‘Follow me,' he said.

Baggo followed as the editor went through the open-plan office and into the male toilets. One cubicle was occupied.

‘Pete, you daft wanker, come out of there,' the editor shouted.

Slowly the bolt was withdrawn and an apprehensive-looking young man emerged. Baggo saw why Inspector No called him Pizza.

The editor grasped the front of Bothwell's shirt, making up with aggression for his lack of height. ‘This is a police officer. We don't fucking mess with them. Right?' He turned and left.

‘Right, Mr Bothwell, we need to find somewhere we can have a word in confidence,' Baggo said.

Pausing to pick up di Falco at reception, and to give the girl a stern look, Baggo went with a cowed Bothwell to a disused office. He told him to sit on a chair facing a desk. He and di Falco sat on the edge of the desk. It was designed to be intimidating and, from the expression on Bothwell's face, it was.

Quoting that day's paper on the subject of the reward being claimed, Baggo put his face close to Bothwell's. ‘Three questions. Who? Where? When?'

‘Journalists don't reveal their sources,' Bothwell's voice caught.

‘This isn't a source. It's someone claiming a reward and they'll have to come out in the open.'

‘Right now they're just a source.'

‘This is a murder investigation. If you obstruct us we will prosecute you.'

‘If this works as it should, I'll get my story, my source will come forward and get the reward and you'll have your witness. Without the reward this witness would not have come forward at all. I'm helping you, if only you'd realise it.' As he spoke he gained confidence, lacing the last words with contempt.

‘We have to know now …' Baggo was interrupted by his mobile. It was Inspector No. He listened then said, ‘Right, we'll be there.' He said to di Falco, ‘Don't let him move.' Then he went out to the car to phone Flick without being overheard.