‘There’s only me on the desk, sir,’ said the duty officer.
‘The bloody door’s locked. Bring him up,’ he ordered again, testily, grinding out the words.
‘Sir.’ The duty officer decided to stop chancing his arm.
‘Mr Beaton,’ said the Detective Superintendent, as the visitor was shown in, immaculate in cream trousers, a pink shirt and a lightly checked sports jacket, ‘I’m Brian Mackie. DCI Rose told me about your encounter in the Nature Reserve yesterday.
‘It was very helpful to us. Let’s hope this meeting will be even more so.’
He showed him through to Martin’s private office, where a folder containing the seven photographs lay on the briefing table.
‘Have a seat, please,’ said the detective, ‘and, when you’re ready, open the folder and look at the photographs inside, one by one.’
Beaton sat down, glanced at the slim green cardboard covering, then looked up at him. ‘I’d rather expected to be looking at some sort of book with hundreds of photographs in it. This suggests to me that you have a firm suspect, and that his face is in here.’
‘I can’t comment on that,’ said the Superintendent, impassively. ‘Just look, please, and tell me if the man you saw is there.’
The witness nodded, opened the folder, and looked down intently at the first photograph. He gazed at it for over a minute, then turned it over and concentrated on the second. The third likeness was that of Norman King. Watching him, Mackie imagined that he saw a slight tensing of the neck muscles as he turned over the second picture and looked at the shot. If there had been it was gone in an instant, for Beaton treated it in exactly the same way as the others, and as the four which followed, staring down at each one.
When he was finished, he looked up at Mackie once more. ‘Might I look at them all together,’ he asked, ‘spread out on the table?’
‘Of course.’ The policeman picked up the folders and spread the seven photographs on the surface, at random rather than in the order in which Beaton had looked at them first.
The man stood up and walked along the line of faces, left to right, back again, left to right once more. At last he stopped, and stood looking down once more, holding his chin loosely with the fingers of his right hand. He stared at the table for another full minute, until he looked round at Mackie and nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m as certain as I can be, in the circumstances, and considering the distance there was between us. That’s the man who was with Lord Barnfather.’
He reached down and touched the fifth photograph in the line, tapping his fingertips on the face of Norman King.
52
‘So what’s the set-up with King’s girl-friend?’ Skinner asked.
‘Maclean Farms Limited turned out to be her family business, Boss,’ said Mario McGuire, looking at the DCC across the conference table in Martin’s office. ‘She and her mother own it jointly. The father’s dead, and the place is run by a manager.
‘When we saw her there, we decided not to go in, in case she told King and he worked out what we were up to.
‘So instead, we pulled off the road and went round the side to have a look. There was another car there, a wee MGF sports car. We checked the number and it turned out to be his.’
‘That’s good,’ said Skinner. ‘I’d have been narked if you’d tipped our hand.’
Martin, in the chair at the head of the table, leaned forward. ‘How are we going to confirm that she is holding cyanide?’ he asked.
‘I’ve arranged for an Environmental Health Officer from the Council to pay a routine visit to the farm first thing this morning, sir.’ McGuire glanced at his watch. ‘He’s probably done it by now.’
The DCC nodded his approval, then turned to Rose and Neville. Both women sported healthy sun-tans. ‘So, ladies. How was the weekend on the beach?’
‘Productive, sir,’ the DCI answered, ‘as you’ve probably heard.’
‘Yes . . . you’re both looking well on it, too,’ he added, with a grin. ‘Brian said that your man Beaton was meticulous in his identification, although he qualified it to an extent. How do you think he’ll be in the witness box?’
‘I don’t think that David will be flustered at all, Boss. As Brian said, he’s a careful sort of person. Now if it had been his partner, Donovan the skinny-dipper . . .’
‘Eh?’ Neil McIlhenney burst out.
‘Ah,’ said Rose, ‘Mario didn’t mention him?’
‘He was the highlight of my weekend,’ Karen Neville volunteered, then added, ‘. . . almost.’
‘Stick to the subject please, folks,’ Martin called from the head of the table.
‘Yes; sorry, sir,’ the DCI acknowledged. ‘Fortunately Donovan isn’t involved in our case, or I think we could have trouble with him in the box. David, on the other hand, will be fine. I think he’d even stand up to old Christabel, if it came to that.’
Skinner broke in. ‘All he has to say on oath is what he said to Brian. When we add that to my party friend Philip’s positive identification of King in the Reserve on the afternoon in question, we’ve got enough for the jury.’
He looked round the table. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, what do we have on Mr Norman King, QC?’ He raised his left hand and began to check-list items on his fingers as he spoke. ‘One; a threat to his inheritance: a strong motive to kill both of these old men. Two; a known and undisguised hatred of his father. Three; proximity to the scene of the first murder. Four; a positive identification at the scene of the second. Five; subject to confirmation, access to the poison used in the Archergait murder.’
The DCC gazed at Martin. ‘So, Chief Superintendent, what do you think?’
‘I think, sir, that as soon as we receive confirmation from Mario’s Environmental Health Officer that cyanide is kept on premises to which Norman King is a known visitor, we have sufficient reason to ask Lord Archibald’s permission to interview the Home Advocate Depute as the principal suspect in these murder investigations.’
‘My thoughts exactly, Andy.’ He glanced at his watch, which was showing 10:50 a.m.
‘I think you and I had better make ourselves available at around four o’clock. King’s prosecuting in a trial in Edinburgh today. I think Archie might prefer us to wait until the Court rises, rather than arrest him in the middle of proceedings.’
53
Having found a parking space in Market Street, Andy Martin walked up the Mound, and round the great statue of David Hume . . . the Jolly Green Giant, as it had become known as soon as it had been erected . . . before crossing Parliament Square.
Aware that he was running late, he stopped outside the entrance to the Supreme Courts, on the spot where he had arranged to meet Alex, and checked his watch. It showed 12:40 p.m., ten minutes after their date. Kwame Ankrah was with him. On a whim, he had invited the African to join them, to give him a taste of the Supreme Court atmosphere.
Curious, Andy entered the building with his companion and made his way along to the courtroom where his fiancée’s case was being heard. There was no one in the corridor outside. He peered through the glass panel in the door and saw that the Court was still sitting, with the grim-faced Lord Coalville on the Bench. Out of curiosity he slipped inside and into the public gallery.
Alex was seated in the front row, next to Adrian Jones and his wife. From her body language the detective could tell at once that things had gone to very much worse. He glanced along the row and, even from behind, recognised the man who had appeared in the doorway of Gordon’s Trattoria. Bernard Grimley was grinning at Jones, triumph etched on his face.
Lord Coalville paused in his address, gathering his papers together. Martin focused his attention on him.
‘To sum up,’ said the red-robed judge, with a baleful glance at Jim McAlpine, ‘I find the counter-arguments of the defenders entirely unconvincing and find for the pursuer in the full amount of his claim.’ He nodded to his left, towards McAlpine, Elizabeth Day and Mitch Laidlaw. ‘Costs
are awarded against your clients.’
He stood, and the Court rose with him, some more slowly than others. As the door behind the Bench closed on Lord Coalville, the policeman glanced at the senior counsel for the defence and saw a glare of pure hatred.
The silence held for a second or two, then a babble of conversation broke out in the courtroom. Advocates, solicitors and clients stood and mingled, the triumphant hugs and handshakes on the right contrasting with the gloom on the left.
As Andy stepped out of the public benches and moved towards her, Alex turned. Before she noticed him, he saw the anger and frustration written on her face, and realised, to his surprise, that she was not far from tears. ‘I know the feeling, love,’ he whispered as he took her hand.
‘Yes,’ said McAlpine, overhearing. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Alex.Your preparation work was immaculate. What you have to keep in mind is that when a case like this gets this far, someone is going to be disappointed.’ His face hardened again. ‘Mind you, I could still choke the life out of that bastard Coalville.’
‘Will you appeal it?’ Andy asked.
‘I’ll have to consult our clients on that,’ said Mitch Laidlaw, from behind him, ‘but I very much doubt it. The Appeal Court might reduce the amount of the award, but that would probably be offset by the extra costs. My firm has a pretty strong credit balance with the insurers in this type of action. I’m pretty sure they’ll write this one off.’
Martin turned. Adrian Jones was standing beside Laidlaw, grim-faced, his eyes as hard as steel. ‘That’s all very well, Mitchell,’ he hissed, ‘but what about me? What about my career? Are you all simply going to walk away from me?’ The policeman could almost feel the strength of his anger.
‘Look, Adrian,’ Alex’s boss retorted, quietly but firmly. ‘I am very sorry about the personal implications for you and your firm, but I must remind you that you are not my client. Nor has your liability been an issue. That was admitted almost two years ago. What we’ve been quantifying here has been the cost of a cock-up.
‘If you’re worried about your career, maybe you should get out of commercial law. You never know, your old employers might take you back. The same risks don’t apply in that field.’
Jones glared at him. ‘No thank you very much. I think I’ll follow another course of action. Maybe I’ll sue you for negligence.’
For a second, Martin thought that he was going to have to step between the two solicitors, but the intervention, when it came, was from another quarter.
‘I’ve been waiting for a couple of years to say this, Mr Jones,’ boomed Bernard Grimley, in rough Glaswegian tones. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’ve transformed my life.
‘I want you to know that when I’m sitting on the Costa del Sol, there won’t be a day goes by when I don’t raise a sundowner and say out loud, “Thank you, Adrian, for being such a fucking awful lawyer.” I’ll send you my address, when I get set up. Drop in any time you like.’
‘I’d be a little careful, Mr Grimley,’ said Laidlaw. ‘The question of an appeal isn’t quite decided yet.’
‘That doesn’t worry me, pal. This place is a fucking club, and you know it.’ Grimley ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. ‘I’ll see you down the road if I have to.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
Jim McAlpine, QC, looked at his instructing solicitor. ‘Unpleasant man, Mitch, wouldn’t you say? Unfortunately, he’s right. I can’t see Coalville’s finding being overturned at appeal. These things hinge very much on the judge’s view of the witnesses. That old bastard decided at an early stage that he wasn’t going to like ours.
‘I do wish you’d let me withdraw. Elizabeth, here, could have led perfectly well.’ His junior looked up at him with a smile, but, as usual, said nothing.
‘To hell with it all,’ Laidlaw burst out. ‘Let’s get on with our lives.’ He nodded curtly at Adrian Jones. ‘Goodbye, and good luck. I’m sorry it didn’t work out better. For what it’s worth, if I’d been the judge, I’d only have given him one and a half million.’
He turned his back on Jones and looked at Martin. ‘Andy, when it became clear this was going to wind up, I called my office and told them to lay on a buffet lunch for the team. Would you and your colleague care to join us?’
The detective glanced at his watch once again. ‘Thanks, but I’m afraid I’m stuck for time now,’ he said. ‘Kwame might like it though.’ He introduced the African. ‘This is Mr Ankrah, a senior policeman from Ghana. He’s with us on a fact-finding visit.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ boomed Laidlaw, sincerely, offering a handshake. ‘Yes, please do come with us. I’d be very interested to learn about your country. My firm has expansion plans, you know.’ He glanced back at Martin. ‘What’s your problem, Andy?’
‘I’m meeting Alex’s dad at the Crown Office at two o’clock.’
‘Serious business, eh?’
‘Isn’t it always?’ Martin replied. He squeezed Alex’s hand. ‘You take Kwame off to your wake, love. I’ll grab a sandwich in the café under St Giles.’
‘Okay,’ she nodded. ‘When will you be in this evening?’
‘I have no idea. This could turn out to be a very long day.’
54
The door of the Lord Advocate’s office opened slowly. ‘You wanted to see me, Archie?’ said the Home Advocate Depute as he slipped into the room.
‘Hello, Norman,’ said Lord Archibald. ‘Your case is over, I hear.’
‘That’s right,’ said the dark-haired advocate. ‘The jury was out for less than half an hour. Guilty, of course,’ he added with a smile.
‘That’s good. Actually, it isn’t me who wants to speak to you.’
King seemed to notice the other two men in the room for the first time, as they rose from their seats at the Lord Advocate’s conference table.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Bob Skinner. ‘Have you met our Head of CID, DCS Martin?’
‘No, I don’t think I have.’ He extended his hand, and the detective shook it, looking at him, curiously. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask you, about things that have come up in the course of our investigation into your father’s murder.’
‘Fine, Mr Skinner. I’ll do anything I can to help.’
The DCC nodded. ‘That’s good. Let’s begin then.’
‘What, here? Now?’ King glanced round at Lord Archibald.
‘That’s all right, Norman. I have the time, and this is as good a place as any.’
The man’s eyes narrowed very slightly as he sat but he said nothing.
‘I’ll begin, Mr King, by asking if you can tell us anything about your father’s will?’
The advocate frowned at Skinner. ‘Not really. There was a will which left his property to be divided between my brother and me.’
‘Is it still in force?’
King hesitated. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he began, ‘I’m not entirely sure. There was some talk . . . I heard it from Archie, actually. My father and I never discussed these things . . . that he might have been planning some sort of memorial bequest to the Faculty of Advocates.’
‘Do you know much about that?’
‘It was a joint affair, as I understand it . . . with old Barnfather, ironically. I know they had got as far as drawing up a joint minute of agreement, but I’m not certain whether the thing had been executed.’
‘Have you taken any steps to find out?’ Skinner asked, his voice deliberately friendly.
‘I’ve asked my solicitors to write to Hannah Johnson, Dad’s lawyer, at CAJ. So far, there’s been no reply.’
‘You have a clear interest though.’
‘Naturally. My old man was worth a packet.’
‘If the bequest hasn’t been executed, what will you do?’
King frowned. ‘I’ll consult my brother, I suppose. We might decide to give some cash to the Faculty; fifty thousand, maybe.’
‘But not all
of it?’
‘God no! We’re talking serious money here.’
‘Mmm.’ Skinner gazed at the table thoughtfully for a few moments. ‘Can I turn to the day of your father’s death,’ he went on. ‘You were in Court in Glasgow, I think.’
The Home Advocate Depute nodded. ‘That was the idea. But we had to adjourn for the day, first thing in the morning, so I came back through to Edinburgh.’
‘Ahh,’ said the DCC casually, ‘straight back to the Crown Office?’
‘Not quite. I called in at Parliament House to check my box, and spent some time working in the library.’
‘Was your father a man with many enemies, Mr King?’
‘He was a judge, officer.’ The man’s tone was sharp. ‘They tend to make a few.’
Only Martin saw the muscle clench at the base of Skinner’s jaw. He knew how dangerous it was to attempt to patronise his friend.
‘How were your own relations with him?’
King stared at him. ‘Mine? He was my father, man.’
‘Once upon a time, I arrested a man who disembowelled his father.’ The DCC glanced at the Lord Advocate. ‘As a matter of fact, Archie was an AD at the time. He led for the Crown at the trial. So I’ll ask you again. How close were you to Lord Archergait?’
‘I respected him very much.’
‘But you hated his guts nonetheless, isn’t that right, as he hated yours?’
Slowly, the man nodded. ‘Look,’ he asked, in a hesitant voice. ‘Where is this taking us?’
‘This is an informal conversation, sir. You must appreciate that in an investigation as complicated as this we have to examine every possibility.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘What were you doing in Aberlady Nature Reserve eight days ago, sir?’
King swung round to stare at Andy Martin. ‘What the . . .’ He broke off and looked at the Lord Advocate. ‘Archie, what is this?’
‘Let’s see what it is, Norman, shall we,’ said Lord Archibald. ‘Please answer.’
‘I was walking my girl-friend’s dog, if you must know.’
08 - Murmuring the Judges Page 24