The Silver Arrow (31 page)

“Ah mean, where wid Peter Manual hiv goat tae, if it wisnae fur the dedication ae the officers involved, eh?” Sam Bison, heid ae the city’s Serious Crime and Intelligence Division asked, tae further nods ae approval, hivving been wan ae the officers investigating Manual and subsequently being present as a witness tae his hanging, clearly feeling the need tae be coonted.

  Glenda tried no tae burst oot laughing.  If ever there hid been a cock-up ae aw cock-ups, that hid been the classic wan.  She’d researched the case fur her final thesis when she’d studied fur her law degree.  Despite hivving hid Manual in custody and being telt by everywan and their wan-eyed-dugs that he wis their man, Manual hid still been released tae go oan tae murder mair wummin before the penny hid finally drapped wae the investigation officers.  Fascinating though aw this wis, she still wisnae sure why she’d been invited alang, although she didnae hiv long tae find oot.

  “Miss Metcalfe, I understand that you recently had the privilege of getting access to and reading the statement made by the nurse…a…a…Miss Mathieson, at The Sheriff Court recently?” The Edinburgh Brief asked, looking up fae his papers.  “This being the one who was actually present on the evening that this poor unfortunate patient, Mr Murray, made his claims to Inspector McPhee.  What did you make of her statement?” Alan Small asked, speaking fur the first time, as aw heids turned and looked at her.

  “Well, I only got to read it the once, but I thought she was convincing,” she replied nervously, glancing across at her boss, who gied her a wee supportive smile.

  “So, would you agree with our police colleagues here that Inspector McPhee doesn’t have to answer for his unorthodox interview techniques, and that there is no conclusive proof that the death of the three principles mentioned is suspicious?  Also, that the sudden disappearance of this scrapyard gangster, Mr Thomas, is in no way connected to the ramblings of a confused, dying man?  However, if you do not agree, then presumably the additional revelations, as contained in the inspector’s service notebook regarding the apparent innocence of this young thug, Taylor, should be perhaps considered as an, er, apparent, miscarriage of justice as well?” he asked pleasantly.

  Shit, shit, shit and bloody well shit, she cursed inside, trying tae keep her composure intact, wanting desperately tae make a dash fur freedom through the nicotine stained oak panelled door.  She wis acutely aware ae aw their eyes, including Peggy McAvoy’s, boring intae her face.  She wanted tae throw up, or at least tae be excused tae go fur a pee before she answered the question.  Squeezing her thighs tightly thegither, she looked doon the table at the dapper wee man in the pinstriped suit.

  “If what the officers present today have said was indeed fact, rather than wishful thinking, then perhaps I would agree,” she stammered, instantly getting disappointed looks fae The Braided Bunch.

  “Go on,” Alan Small said encouragingly, a wee smile cracking open those deadpan features ae his fur the first time.

  “Well, I can only base my initial observations on the transcript of Inspector McPhee’s service pocket notebook and what I read of Nurse Mathieson’s statement, in the presence of Sheriff Burns and John Taylor’s solicitor, but I would contend that any half decent defence team, who were worth their salt, would tear apart most, if not all, of the arguments that I’ve heard here today.”

  “I see,” he said, pursing his lips and placing his thumbs under his chin while clasping his fingers thegither.  “And what legal advice would you offer to our police colleagues here, that would ensure that their position, and thus The Crown’s, would not be compromised by the contents of the notebook, in the unlikely event that this young man was, in fact, proved to be innocent of the charges of robbing the bank and gunning down two serving police officers?”

  Silence.

  There it wis.  The Edinburgh Brief hid invited her in tae point oot the weaknesses in The Braided Bunch’s assertions.  She looked across at her boss.  He wis looking at her calmly, bit intently.  It wisnae aboot the murders ae three innocent people who happened tae be in the wrang place at the wrang time, nor the disappearances in the night ae evil gangsters who nowan wid shed a tear o’er anyway.  It certainly wisnae aboot the methods used tae extract information in the back ae a Black Maria van oan some dark wasteland, away fae prying eyes and ears, in the middle ae the night, that threatened the cover-up that wis being formulated and played oot in the room.  It wis aboot the teenager…the boy…Taylor.

  “Er, well, I would say that, under no circumstances should Taylor’s defence team have access to the inspector’s service notebook, at any cost.  Despite most of those mentioned in it having either died or gone missing…presumed dead…the character of the inspector would surely be called into question.  I also believe that there would almost certainly be political fall-out for anyone in a senior management position who allowed someone as, er, unsavoury, as this, er, inspector, to have operated without proper supervision for as long as he obviously has,” she replied, wanting tae die, hivving clocked The Braided Bunch aw visibly stiffen in their seats.  “I mean, the newspapers and broadcasters would have a field day.”

  “Proper supervision…hmm…and who, in your opinion, within the current management team here in Central do you believe would be held responsible, Miss Metcalfe?”

  “Er, I would rather not comment on that, sir,” she replied nervously, gulping, as she avoided looking at the uniforms, ignoring the increase in heavy breathing aroond the table as she looked across at her boss.

“It’s your opinion I’m seeking, Miss Metcalfe…speculatively speaking, of course,” he purred, as her boss gied her a wee affirmative nod that it wis okay tae answer.

  “Well, sir…er, more than likely, most of the people sitting around this table, particularly those who believe, rightly or wrongly, that the allegations contained in the inspector’s notebook have been investigated thoroughly.  I would also be most concerned regarding the whereabouts of Mr ‘Wee Eck’ Thomas, not forgetting the unsolved murder of Mr Thomas Simpson, plus the disappearance of his brother Toby and two others on the thirty first of December, nineteen seventy one.  From what I’ve heard, no-one has convinced me, so far, that there isn’t a fire burning behind the smoke-screen that has been flagged up around the table this morning,” she murmured, feeling hersel wilting under the threatening stare ae Chief Superintendent Mackerel.

  “For me, as a procurator fiscal, this has conspiracy written all over it and has the potential to blow up in everyone’s faces…including our political masters,” she continued, in whit she hoped wid be taken as a subtle warning by the wee man fae Edinburgh at the far end ae the table and wishing that she’d taken a sickie that morning insteid ae letting her nose get the better ae her and turning up fur the meeting in Central like a wee rookie, twenty minutes early.

  Silence.

  “And this young solicitor, Graham Portoy…the one you obviously have a history with, Miss Metcalfe?  What would your opinion be of him?”

  Silence.

  “Professionally speaking, of course?” he added, causing her tae blush.

  “Oh, er, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, Mr Small,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks burn.  

  She couldnae help hersel and glanced across at Peggy McAvoy.  Peggy clearly understood.  She wis looking across, clearly sorry fur Glenda and gied her a wee nod ae encouragement tae keep gaun and no tae let hersel get flustered or side-tracked by the bloody sexist tone ae the question.

  “Oh, I see,” he came oot wae.  “According to that fine investigative newspaper, The Sunday Echo two Sundays ago, despite you both being long term adversaries, there was, what would you call it…a personal dimension to the professional relationship?”

  Aw the eyes ae The Braided Bunch turned tae stare at her accusingly, clearly basking in her squirming.

  “If my memory serves me right, I believe I did have a meal with Mr Portoy once, the result of a drunken Christmas office party that the city’s legal fraternity’s Crown and Defence have once a year,” she replied.  “It was a disaster that I would rather not go into, if you don’t mind,” she stammered, still tasting the humiliation ae being put up oan stirrups by some spotty wee first year trainee doctor called Rory fae Helensburgh.

  The dirty wee basturt hid tried tae get intae her knickers five minutes efter asking her tae put them back oan at the end ae her internal VD swab, by trying tae impress her wae tales ae his daddy’s boat, moored up somewhere oan the Clyde.

  “But, you would rate Mr Portoy as being an exceptionally clever brief, would you not?”

  “As a defence lawyer, I think he’s the best in the city and has been for a number of years, but as a person, I think he’s one of the most despicable and unashamedly self-promoting individuals that I’ve come across in a long time. I would question the lengths he would go to, in order to obtain a verdict favourable to him or one of his clients,” she replied tersely.

  “So, you wouldn’t be shocked or surprised to learn that Stuart McKenzie, QC, with the help of your good man, Graham Portoy, has successfully persuaded our learned friends, The Lord Advocate and other esteemed law lords, to allow McKenzie and Portoy to submit new evidence for consideration that could allow them to progress to a full appeal hearing for wrongful conviction to the High Court in Edinburgh at some time in the near future?”

  “I would certainly be shocked and alarmed, but I wouldn’t be surprised, sir,” she replied, stunned.

  At that last bombshell, maist ae The Braided Bunch in the room jist aboot fell aff ae their egos oan tae the flair, as she surreptitiously acknowledged the smile fae Peggy, by gieing her a wee nod.

  “And how, in your opinion, can we ensure that this er, new evidence, that Stuart McKenzie was referring to with The Lord Advocate this morning in Edinburgh, is not presented before our esteemed law lords, Miss Metcalfe?” he continued.

  “I suspect they’ll be pinning everything on gaining access to the contents of the pocket service notebook and, in particular, demonising the personal character of Inspector McPhee to undermine The Crown’s case.  The notebook states quite clearly that Halfwit…Mr Murray…informed Inspector McPhee, that Taylor wasn’t in the bank that day, even though he does counter-claim that the youth was responsible for the shooting of Mr Shaun Murphy, another well-known Glasgow gangster, who has subsequently been reported by his wife as a missing person.”

  “Presumed dead,” The Assistant Chief Constable added. 

  “Whether Taylor was responsible for murdering Mr Murphy is irrelevant…at this stage.  That would entail another investigation and trial.  Taylor has been convicted of robbing a bank and attempting to murder two serving police officers by discharging a firearm to their severe injury.  The Defence would challenge…probably successfully…having the part of the notebook where it implicates their client in the disappearance of Mr Murphy excluded in the evidence submitted by The Crown against wrongful conviction of the bank robbery.  Without definite proof that Mr Murphy was indeed dead, then any link to Taylor would probably be ruled inadmissible at that stage of the proceedings,” The Edinburgh Brief stated.

  “Bit, he’s a bloody well-known thug, so he is,” Daddy snorted, speaking fur the first time. 

  “Knowing Graham Portoy, I don’t think the Defence will lose any sleep over their client’s character being blackened, Superintendent…as has already been acknowledged, everyone knows he’s a thug.  However, when you put his character alongside that of a serving police inspector, and our one in particular?  The Crown, or Glasgow Sheriff Court in this case, has taken over the responsibility and ownership of the notebook until such times as Sheriff Burns rules on who gets access to it.  The Defence, meantime, can only speculate as to its true contents.  My advice would be to challenge their requests for access at every step of the way, using whatever means we have at our disposal, to stop them gaining that access, until after Mr McKenzie and Mr Portoy are forced to submit their evidence to the Law Lords in Edinburgh,” she advised.

  “And how do you propose that we do that, Miss Metcalfe?” Alan Small asked her gently.

  “Well, for a start, it would be setting a legal precedent if Sheriff Burns agreed to their demand for access in the first place, even though he’s well-known for his independent point of view and interpretation of the law,” she replied bitterly, still feeling the wounds ae many battles lost wae him sitting oan the bench. “I mean, who ever heard of that happening in the past? However, in the unlikely event he did rule in their favour, we would immediately appeal.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, as you know, sir, it used to take anywhere from two to three years for a judicial review to consider new evidence, but I believe a precedent was set just recently with The Crown versus Robert Connor, the youth sentenced to life for the murder of a fourteen-year-old Stirlingshire schoolgirl.  The solicitors for the defence successfully argued to have that period shortened to between nine and twelve months due to the nature of the new evidence being submitted under the Temporary Provisions of Terrorism Act 1973.  I believe we could possibly string out and exhaust the legal argument against Messrs McKenzie and Portoy gaining access, whilst at the same time, support the acceleration of a decision by the appeal lords to allow Taylor’s legal team to submit their new evidence…minus the contents of the pocket notebook, of course,” she continued, looking at everywan roond the table.  “It seems to me that without knowing for sure what has been recorded in the inspector’s notebook, they don’t actually have anything.”