‘And the same to you,’ said the DCC. ‘Mr Richard Kilmarnock, please.’
‘I’ll page him for you, sir.’
Skinner had been waiting for almost ten minutes before the advocate answered the summons, but he managed to keep his irritation hidden, when finally he did appear, unsmiling and wearing an expression which suggested that he found the interruption tiresome.
Kilmarnock stood just under six feet. He was approaching fifty, but still slim and handsome, with wavy greying hair which gave him a debonair look. Like the detective, he was a member of Edinburgh’s New Club, and they had seen each other there. However, apart from their single High Court confrontation, they had spoken only rarely.
‘I can give you ten minutes, Mr Skinner, that’s all,’ he said brusquely.
The policeman noticed the attendant wince as he heard the remark, and drop his eyes to a note on his desk which had become suddenly very important. ‘You’ll give me all the time I require, sir,’ he replied in an even tone. ‘Now, where can we speak in private?’
Skinner’s glare forbade anything other than a muttered, ‘This way.’ The Silk led him down two flights of exceptionally narrow stairs, and then turned into a corridor off which were several small consultation rooms, with tall glass panels set into their walls. The one into which he ushered the policeman was brighter than the others, and octagonal in shape.
‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ said Kilmarnock. ‘Now, if you please, what is this about?’
‘HM Advocate versus Beatrice Lewis or Gates.’
The advocate blinked. ‘The Gates case? But that’s history . . .’
‘Then I’m a historian, because I want to know about it. You acted for the defence, I believe, and your brother took the case up thereafter.’
‘Correct on both counts. The case of Beattie Gates was a notorious miscarriage of justice, which was never properly corrected.’
‘As I remember, there was nothing wrong with the conviction itself. I’ve had a word with my colleagues in Tayside, and with the officer who led the investigation. He’s retired now, but he remembers it clearly. His view is that there was no reasonable doubt raised during the trial that Mrs Gates killed her husband. Obviously the jury agreed with that, because their verdict was unanimous.’
‘Ah,’ said Kilmarnock, raising an admonitory finger, ‘but the subsequent medical evidence . . .’
‘Which your team failed to uncover and introduce at the trial, I’m told.’
‘Be that as it may. The subsequent evidence did establish very serious doubt. The trouble we had was that the Court of Criminal Appeal decided that it was not allowed to consider evidence that had not been put to the jury.’
Skinner frowned. ‘There’s no doubt that the Court was right about that, is there? That’s certainly the Lord President’s view.’
‘It may well have been correct,’ the advocate conceded. ‘That’s why my brother Arnold took up the case through the media.’
‘Yet your brother attacked the Court of Appeal, didn’t he? To a point at which Lord Orlach considered charging him with contempt, and had to be dissuaded by the Lord Advocate of the day, and, I’m told, by Christabel Dawson.’
Kilmarnock spluttered. ‘That old witch!’
‘She kept your brother out of jail, though. She told me so this afternoon.’
‘A contempt charge would have been ridiculous, and provocative with an election coming up.’
Skinner smiled. ‘You’re certainly right about the latter. Orlach and Miss Dawson were well-known Tory supporters; ultimately that’s why he backed off, and why your brother was able to carry on with the publication of his book.’
He paused for a moment. ‘To be absolutely frank, Mr Kilmarnock, since Mrs Gates is dead, I’m not too bothered about her guilt or innocence . . . although for what it’s worth, the evidence regarding the security of their property sounded significant to me. Most bookies I know protect their homes like Fort Knox.
‘On the basis that this is between professionals, and therefore confidential, my concern is that there might be someone out there who does believe that she was wronged, and who is doing something about it.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Kilmarnock asked.
‘Who were the Appeal judges?’
The Silk furrowed his brow for a few moments, then a light of understanding seemed to go on in his eyes.
‘Oh!’ he said.
‘Exactly,’ said Skinner. ‘Because of that, I need to know the names of everyone to whom your brother spoke in researching his book, particularly those who were supporters of Mrs Gates.’
‘I understand.’
‘The couple had no children, I’m told.’
‘None. Neither had a previous marriage either.’
‘What about nephews?’
‘Beattie had one nephew as I recall. But I can’t remember his name. You won’t find it in Arnold’s book, either. He asked to be kept out of it.’
‘Where will I find it, quickly, without going through a laborious search at Register House?’
Kilmarnock hesitated, then murmured, ‘Oh I don’t suppose he’ll mind.’ He looked up at Skinner. ‘While Arnold’s away, I’m holding all of his files on the case. Photographs, the lot. We kept all the scene-of-crime stuff; we also had studies of Beattie taken by a medical photographer, to illustrate the extent of her muscle wastage. That was among the material that the Court of Appeal wouldn’t look at . . . or couldn’t,’ he added grudgingly.
‘I’ll give you those, if you guarantee to return them intact when you’re done with them.’
‘Of course,’ the policeman agreed. ‘When can I have them?’
The advocate glanced at his watch. ‘Drive me home now, and I’ll hand them over.’ He threw Skinner a self-satisfied, smug glance. ‘One is an Officer of the Court after all. One has an obligation to help you chaps.’
72
‘Bloody hell, Boss, what’s all that?’ Neil McIlhenney burst out, as he stepped into Skinner’s office and saw the piles of paper on his desk.
‘These are the records in the case of Mrs Beattie Gates, the one that links our three dead judges together. Richard Kilmarnock handed them over. They belong to his brother, the journalist.’
‘D’you want me to go through them, sir?’
Skinner smiled at his assistant’s willingness. ‘No, Neil. I want you to do the same as I intend: go home and spend some time with your wife and kids. Once you’ve told me what you’ve come in to tell me, that is.
‘Sit down, man, sit down.’ He ushered him to one of the leather seats, where Andy Martin sat waiting. ‘I thought that it would be a good idea if the three of us had a round-up of everything that’s happened today. I’ve just briefed the DCS on the exhumation and on the post-mortem on old Orlach, also on your interviews with the Newton and Collins wives.
‘What else have do you have to report?’
The big sergeant slumped wearily into a chair. ‘I’ve been back up to the TA Club as you ordered, Boss. I spoke to the manager about the Paras gang.
‘It seems that Collins and Saunders were the first to become members. They joined at the same time, a few years back. Mr Herr’s recollection was that it was when they came out of the army and joined the Terriers. Clark and Newton came along after them, in the same way.’
‘Together?’
‘No. Individually, one after the other, about six months apart.’
‘And what about Bennett and MacDonnell?’
McIlhenney shifted in his chair. ‘Aye, now they were a bit different. They were both associate members. They joined at the same time, proposed and seconded by Curly Collins and Rocky Saunders.’
‘When was that?’ Skinner asked.
‘Turn of last year, sir, early December.’
The DCC leaned forward, eyes narrowing. ‘Introduced at the same time, you say. And had they known each other beforehand?’
‘This is when it gets good, Boss. When I asked him whether th
ey were old pals, Barry Herr said that he distinctly remembered Rocky Saunders introducing the two of them to each other on the first night they came to the club. “That’s when the Paras became a sextet”, he said to me.
‘He remembered a lot about that night, did Barry. Apparently Hamburger was there too. The seven of them went off into a back room and drank there, on their own. Arlene Regan waited on them. At the end of the night, they all left together, except for Hamburger.’
‘Oh?’
‘Aye,’ said McIlhenney, with a knowing grin. ‘He hung around, and left with Arlene . . . arm in arm. Herr said he’d forgotten that when he spoke to Stevie. He remembered something else too. When everyone else was gone he had a drink himself; he was just finishing clearing up, an hour and a half or two hours later, when Arlene’s boyfriend phoned, asking if she was still there.
‘They only lived ten minutes away, Boss.’
Skinner smiled, nodding approval. ‘What do you think of that, Andy?’ he asked.
‘The picture’s forming, isn’t it,’ said the Head of CID. ‘Our four ex-regulars come together first, then Bennett and McDonnell are brought in. When they all meet, it’s with Hamburger in attendance. It sounds almost like a conference. I wish to hell we’d a tape of the discussion in that back room, but I’ll bet that’s when they began to plan the robberies.’
Skinner nodded. ‘Aye, and as a bonus, our man Hamburger winds up shagging the barmaid, and finds out in the process that her boy-friend works in a jeweller’s. See pillow talk, lads, and what can come of it! In this case, Nick Williams tells Arlene about the Russian diamond buyer, and she lets it slip to her bit on the side.
‘Andy, you could just about write your report to the Fiscal now.’
‘Except for one thing. We haven’t a fucking clue who Hamburger is.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance that could be his real name could it, sir?’ McIlhenney asked, tentatively.
Martin shook his head. ‘We’ve checked that impossibility. Believe it or not, there is one man called Hamburger in the UK. He lives in Staffordshire, he’s in his late sixties and he’s a parish priest.’
‘Ah,’ said the sergeant. ‘So he’s unlikely to be planning armed robberies in Edinburgh, or shaggin’ a bar stewardess.’ He paused, and rolled his eyes. ‘Mind you . . .’
Skinner let out a short sharp burst of laughter. ‘We’ll pull him in, if you like, Neil, and stick him in a line-up for Herr to look at.’ He turned to Martin.
‘Andy, do you have anything else, or can we all go home?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the Head of CID, with a gleam in his green eyes. ‘I have something else. We’ve had a result out at West Linton. Neville and Steele tore Saunders’ cottage apart. They found nothing there, but when they started on his van, a wee white Citroën job, they found, hidden behind the body panels in the luggage compartment, over a hundred grand in cash and a single-barrelled, short-stock, pump-action shotgun, loaded with heavy gauge, the same ammo that killed Harry Riach and Annie Brown.
‘I’ve sent it to Ballistics for testing against the ejected cartridges that were found at the scene in Galashiels.’
‘Well done your team!’ said Skinner enthusiastically.
‘When I get a positive match, I’m planning to issue another press statement through Royston, if the Fiscal’s happy.’
‘You do that. ’The DCC leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. ‘I can see all this coming together now. I’d guess that all the targets were identified before the first robbery and all the team was in place. When Bennett dropped his credit card and got lifted, the rest of the operation was put on hold, to review the planning, and to make sure that he wouldn’t talk.
‘With O’Donnell on the payroll, the leader could keep a close eye on him while he was in the nick. Once he was happy that he was secure, the rest of the operation got underway.’
‘Who’s the Boss?’ asked Martin, quietly.
‘Hamburger. I’m sure of it. He was at the first meeting, and he’s the only one who’s protected his identity.’
‘Who killed the Bennetts?’
‘Hamburger, when McDonnell told him he thought Big Red was going to talk. Hannah obviously knew who he was, because she had to go.’
‘Who killed Saunders and Collins?’
‘It has to be Hamburger, doesn’t it? He’s wiping them out. With Newton and Clark gone, he thinks he’s safe. He’s got enough cash to keep him in luxury for the rest of his days, and he’s probably got all the diamonds as well. He may have vanished too, for all we know.’
The Head of CID sighed. ‘If that’s the case, will we ever identify him?’
‘The Devil alone knows,’ said Skinner, ‘. . . but I’m in touch with him.’
His companions stared at him as he stood. ‘Out of here, you two,’ he shouted, suddenly. ‘It’s gone six o’clock. Off you go to Olive and Alex. I’m going home too.’ He glanced at the pile on his desk. ‘I think I’ll only take half that lot with me. If I took it all, Sarah would kill me, for sure.’
73
‘Where have you been?’ asked Alex. ‘Did you stop off for a beer with my old man?’
‘Your old man went home knackered, honey. He was out all last night.’
‘Oh?’ she said. ‘Doing what?’
‘An exhumation, followed by a post-mortem on the body.’
She winced, then shuddered. ‘How horrible.’
Andy nodded. ‘Rather him than me. I can think of better things to do in the dark.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Where was it? Who was it?’
‘Question one: I decided not to mention it before the event. Two: it was in Aberlady churchyard. Three: it was an old judge, Lord Orlach.’
Her eyes became even bigger and more round than usual. ‘Another judge? What did the autopsy show? Was it murder?’
‘Joe Hutchison says that it was. Someone broke into his house and smothered him. Now we’re trying to work out whether it was connected to the other two deaths, and if so, how. Bob’s turned up a possible answer already.
‘He’s taken some paperwork home with him. Mind you, it’s touch and go whether he stays awake to read it.’
‘Exciting,’ said Alex. She smiled at her fiancé. ‘And how was your day, my love? Considering today’s press, I’d have thought you’d be well chuffed with yourself.’
‘I don’t have any right to be,’ he answered, with a frown. ‘We’re putting all the pieces together on the armed robberies, true, but it isn’t good old-fashioned police work that’s got us there. It’s good old-fashioned luck.’
‘This morning’s papers were giving you all the credit. Don’t knock it.’
‘I won’t . . . not in public anyway . . . for the sake of the team. But I can see the truth, and so, sweetheart, can you. We don’t have anyone locked up for this. Of the gang, we have three bodies in the mortuary, and the other three have escaped, for now, at least.’ He shook his head. ‘Then there’s the other guy.’
‘What other guy?’
‘The brains behind it all, the planner. Hamburger, the others called him. Our thinking is that he killed Bennett, Saunders and Collins and sent the other three into hiding. The only trouble is . . .’ He sounded more exasperated than she had ever heard him. ‘. . . we haven’t a fu . . . We haven’t a clue who he is.
‘With everyone taken care of, one way or another, I’d say he’ll do a runner too. Wouldn’t you?’
She looked at him, smiling no more. ‘I suppose I would.’ She put her arms around his waist, and hugged him. ‘At least the city’s a safe place again. So cheer up.’
He forced a grin. ‘Aye, okay. So how was your day?’
‘Routine for once,’ she said. ‘The insurers confirmed that they’re not appealing the Grimley award.’
‘So that case is history, is it?’
‘Apart from what the Law Society do to Jones, but that won’t be much. Next year’s professional indemnity premium for his firm, tho
ugh: that’s another matter.’
She reached up and kissed him. ‘Now, even though we’ve still to eat, can we discuss something other than work, please?’
‘Okay,’ he agreed, running his hands down her back and cupping them round her firm bottom. ‘Such as?’
‘You and me for a start. Remember earlier on this year, before other things got in the way, we were talking about getting married.’
He smiled. ‘Remember? You think I’d forget? Do you want to set a date? Is that it?’
As she looked up at him, he saw her expression become a little uncertain. All of a sudden, she dropped her gaze.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I do. But there’s something we have to sort out first.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as babies, Andy, babies.’
He chuckled at her awkwardness. ‘You’re not having one, are you?’
‘Don’t be silly. That’s just it. I don’t want to, not for a long time. I’ve been thinking about my career. You know I’ve always wanted to go to the Bar? Well, Mr Laidlaw’s been talking to me about that. He says I could stay with the firm, once my training period’s over and I have my practising certificate, and go for Rights of Audience in the Supreme Courts as a solicitor advocate.’
‘Do you want to?’
Her mouth twisted in a ‘Don’t know’ gesture. ‘It’s an attractive proposition. I could have the best of both worlds; specialist practice and, eventually, a partnership in the top firm in the country.’ She paused. ‘But it would mean a full-time commitment for quite a few years, to establish myself with the client base, and to gain Court experience.
‘It would mean not being able to start a family for a long time; until I’m around thirty, probably.’
‘If that’s what you want, love.’ Andy kept his expression steady, but his eyes gave him away.
‘But it’s not what you want, is it?’
He unwound himself from her and walked over to the living-room window, staring out into the dull, damp evening. ‘Alex,’ he said, without looking at her, ‘I’m fifteen years older than you.’
08 - Murmuring the Judges Page 30