Never Proven

by Bill Daly

  ’The downside of that, of course, is that the general public considers that not proven means the accused has got off on a technicality and that can incite vigilantes to take the law into their own hands.’

  ‘Off the record, what was your gut feeling in Murdoch’s case?’

  Ramsay took a pull on his cigarette as he reflected. ‘As far as I was concerned, Murdoch was guilty as charged. However, the prosecution case wasn’t at all well handled and Murdoch’s lawyer was as sharp as a tack. He never missed a trick. The boy, Tommy Carter, wasn’t present in court – he gave his evidence via a video link. Under cross-examination, Murdoch’s lawyer managed to pick holes in Tommy’s story and he homed in on inconsistencies in the boy’s version of events with regard to dates and times. I thought the inconsistencies were probably due to the lad’s nervousness, but Murdoch’s lawyer didn’t do anything that could be construed as exploiting Tommy’s anxiety – and he didn’t apply any undue pressure on him. But what he did manage to achieve was create doubt in the jury’s mind with regard to what had actually happened, the result of which was that the only verdicts they could realistically consider were not guilty or not proven. I directed them towards the latter.’

  ‘How did Tommy’s family react when the verdict was announced?’

  ‘They were not at all happy. That’s putting it mildly. In fact, they were spitting blood. There had been several instances of comments being shouted out from the public gallery while evidence was being presented. On more than one occasion I had to threaten to clear the court if the interruptions didn’t cease. When the chairman of the jury delivered the not proven verdict, there was a lot of vitriol being bandied about.’

  ‘Who was being vociferous?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’ Ramsay gazed at his whisky as he swilled the contents round and round in the glass. ‘Keeping the prosecution and the defence counsel in line, as well as having to instruct the jury, is a full-time job. You don’t have time to pay attention to who’s making a nuisance of themselves in the public gallery.’

  ‘Would it be worth my while pulling the transcript of the trial?’ Charlie asked. ‘Will there be anything in there that would identify who was causing trouble?’

  Ramsay got to his feet and crossed to the cocktail cabinet to top up his drink. ‘You’ll get the official record of what happened from the transcript. However, if you want to know who was causing a stooshie, you could do a lot worse than have a word with Mark Houston.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Mark’s a court stenographer. He was on duty throughout Murdoch’s trial. I worked with him for more than ten years. As well as being one of the best in the business as far as recording accuracy’s concerned, Mark always made notes about everything that was going on in court during a trial, including anything that was happening in the public galleries. If you want the lowdown on who was stirring things up, I suggest you have a word with him. He has a photographic memory – and he wouldn’t necessarily have included all his observations in the official record. Would you like me to give him a call and set something up?’

  ‘That would be helpful, James.’

  Ramsay picked up his address book from the coffee table and flicked through the pages until he found the number he was looking for. When he dialled, the phone was answered on the second ring.

  Having explained the situation, Ramsay arranged for Charlie to meet Mark Houston at six-fifteen at Houston’s tennis club in Hyndland Road.

  ‘Thanks for arranging that for me, James,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Glad to be of assistance,’ Ramsay said, folding his cigarette into the ashtray before getting to his feet and taking Charlie’s hand in a firm grip. ‘If you ever get bored with life in the knacker’s yard and fancy a hammering at bowls, give me a bell.’

  Charlie reversed into a tight parking place near the top of Hughenden Drive, round the corner from the Western Racquet club. As he walked down the steps towards the clubhouse he checked his watch. It was just after six o’clock. All the tennis courts on both sides of the clubhouse building were in use. Stopping in front of a wooden bench set against the wall, he peered at the faded memorial plaque on the back of the seat. He could just about make out that it was inscribed with the words: “From Stan”.

  It’s a pity that Stan didn’t leave enough dosh for a lick of paint, Charlie thought to himself as he dusted off a few loose flakes before sitting down. It was a warm evening and Charlie was starting to nod off to the rhythmic sound of tennis balls being patted back and forth across the net when Mark Houston emerged from the clubhouse.

  ‘Inspector Anderson?’ he asked enquiringly as he approached Charlie.

  Charlie judged him to be in his late thirties; tall and thick-set, his slicked-back, brown hair still damp from the shower.

  ‘It’s good of you to see me at such short notice, Mr Houston,’ Charlie said, getting to his feet and proffering his hand. ‘How did your game go?’

  ‘It was close, but I lost.’ Houston shrugged. ‘Would you like to come inside?’ he suggested. ‘The coffee isn’t bad.’

  ‘That sounds like a very good idea. I could do with something to keep me awake – I nearly dropped off while I was waiting for you.’

  ‘How do you take it?’ Houston asked.

  ‘Black with two sugars.’

  Having ordered the coffees at the counter, Houston carried the cups across to the table by the window where Charlie had installed himself. They were the only customers.

  ‘James Ramsay tells me that you’re a stenographer in the High Court,’ Charlie said as Houston sat down on the seat facing him.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How long have you been doing that?’

  ‘Ever since I graduated, which means it’s more than sixteen years now. But I won’t be doing it for very much longer,’ he added.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s a dead-end job, Inspector. The word is that the courts are planning to do away with stenographers in the not too distant future and replace us with recording equipment.’ Houston let out an indignant snort. ‘It’s one of the most ridiculous ideas I’ve ever heard. It’s driven by cost-cutting, of course, like so many other things these days. Competent stenographers do a lot more than document the actual court proceedings. As well as identifying who has said what, which is not a straightforward task, let me tell you, especially when things get heated and several people are talking at the same time, they also record when a witness answers a question with a nod or a shake of the head, or when someone is pointed out in court. How is electronic equipment going to handle that?’

  ‘That seems like a fair question.’

  ‘And if you look beyond that,’ Houston added, ‘filming in court is probably going to be permitted before too long, which will completely wipe out the stenographer’s role, so I reckon it makes sense for me to jump ship before I get pushed. Sorry!’ Houston broke off with an embarrassed smile. ‘I didn’t mean to get onto my hobby horse.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘James said you wanted to talk to me about the John Murdoch trial. What can I help you with?’

  ‘I’m looking for any information you can give me about what happened in court throughout the proceedings. Do you remember much about the case?’

  ‘I am blessed – or some people would say, cursed – with an excellent memory. I can recall everything that happened in great detail.’

  ‘I’m told the jury returned a verdict of not proven.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Did you agree with that verdict?’

  ‘What a strange question.’ Houston paused while he stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘It’s not for me to agree, or disagree, with a jury’s verdict.’

  ‘I realise that – but you must have had an opinion.’

  ‘I’ve sat through a lot of trials in the High Court, Inspector. Human nature dictates that you always form an opinion.’

  ‘And what was your opinion in John
Murdoch’s case?’

  Houston shrugged. ‘I empathised with the young boy, Tommy Carter. He wasn’t in court – he gave his evidence over a video link. He came across as a truthful lad, but he was muddled and confused with regard to dates and times. Murdoch had been his guidance teacher and Tommy appeared to have built a bond of trust with him. Tommy told the court that he had confided in Murdoch that he was worried about his sexuality. Murdoch had apparently been very sympathetic – taking time out to explain to Tommy that not all boys fancied girls – and that his feelings for other boys were perfectly natural.

  ‘Tommy told the court that he had bumped into Murdoch in Kelvingrove Park on a Friday afternoon – the eighth of July – and that Murdoch had invited him back to his flat. When they got there, Tommy said Murdoch had given him a glass of Irn Bru. After he’d drunk it he said he started to feel woozy and the room started to spin. He said that Murdoch had sat down on the settee beside him and put his hand on his knee. He claimed that Murdoch had told him that the only way he’d ever know for certain whether or not he was homosexual would be to have sex with a man. Tommy said that Murdoch had helped him to his feet and led him through to his bedroom, where intercourse took place.

  ‘Murdoch’s version of events was that, on the day before the school broke up for the summer holidays, Tommy had stayed behind when the other pupils had left the classroom. When they were on their own, Tommy had blurted out that he was in love with him and wanted to have sex with him. Murdoch stated that, when he categorically refused, Tommy reacted badly. He said Tommy became agitated and abusive before running out of the room. He claimed that Tommy had made up the story about bumping into him in the park and being accosted in his flat out of spite.’

  ‘Which version of events rang true?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I never had any real doubt that Tommy was telling the truth,’ Houston said. ‘However, under cross-examination, Tommy claimed that this had happened on the afternoon of Friday the eighth of July. Murdoch’s defence lawyer pressed Tommy to confirm that he was absolutely sure about the date, giving him ample opportunity to reconsider. Tommy was adamant about it – but it transpired that Murdoch had a watertight alibi for that date and time. Tommy became flustered – then he changed his story and said it had happened the following day, Saturday, the ninth of July. In his closing address, Murdoch’s lawyer delivered an impassioned speech – asking the jury to consider which scenario was more likely. That Tommy had got the date wrong – or that or he had fabricated the story because his advances to his teacher had been spurned. I was convinced that the kid was telling the truth, but there was no way Murdoch could’ve been convicted on the evidence as presented. I imagine the options the jury would have been considering would have been not guilty or not proven. However, in his summing up, Judge Ramsay directed them towards the latter.’

  ‘James Ramsay told me that there were several instances of disturbances taking place in the public gallery during the proceedings,’ Charlie said.

  ‘There was a lot of shouting and swearing going on.’

  ‘Will that be documented in the official transcript?’

  ‘It will be noted that there were disturbances in the public gallery, but the transcript won’t give the names of those involved, because no one was formally identified during the trial.’

  ‘Do you know who was causing the trouble?’

  ‘Several members of Tommy’s family. As far as I could make out, the main instigator was Tommy’s uncle, though his father wasn’t far behind. Throughout the hearing the uncle was continually shouting out abuse, mostly directed at Murdoch’s defence counsel, accusing him of distorting the facts and deliberately misinterpreting Tommy’s account of what had happened. Tommy’s mother, Alice Carter, and her new man, Mitch Weir, were also in court. Mrs C. kept her distance from the Carter brothers – as far as I could see they didn’t exchange a single word throughout the two days of the hearing – but she wasn’t holding back when it came to letting Murdoch know what she thought of him – alternating between calling him a filthy pervert and screaming that hanging was too good for him.

  ‘On more than one occasion I thought Judge Ramsay would have to clear the court. When the verdict was delivered by the chairman of the jury, both the Carter brothers – as well as Mrs C. and Mitch Weir – went ballistic. They were all shouting the odds – yelling and screaming that Murdoch was a paedophile and a liar and threatening him with retribution.’

  ‘Did they specify what kind of retribution they had in mind?’

  ‘If I leave out the expletives, the gist of what they were saying was that, if the court wasn’t prepared to deal with Murdoch, they would take matters into their own hands. It was all very highly-charged and emotional.’

  ‘Did you know that Murdoch had changed his name after the trial?’

  ‘I didn’t know that, but I’m not in the least surprised. The Carter family didn’t leave me with the impression that they were about to let the matter drop after the verdict was announced.’

  ‘Murdoch changed his name to Preston.’ Charlie paused. ‘And John Preston was murdered last night.’

  The coffee spoon froze in Houston’s fingers. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m sorry to spring it on you like that,’ Charlie said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m okay. It came as a bit of a shock, that’s all. Do you think his death could have been related to what happened in court?’

  ‘Yesterday was a year to the day from when Tommy Carter threw himself in front of a train.’

  ‘Of course it was. Do you think a member of the Carter family was responsible for killing him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. But it’s a fair bet that whoever committed the murder had some connection with Tommy Carter.’

  Houston took a sip of his coffee. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Not for now, but I might want to talk to you again later. Could I have your address and phone number?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Taking out his notebook, Charlie opened it at a blank page and handed it across, along with his pen. Houston jotted down the information.

  When they’d finished their coffees, Charlie walked with Houston as far as his car. As Houston was driving off, Charlie took out his phone and clicked onto Tony O’Sullivan’s mobile number.

  ‘Where are you?’ Charlie asked when O’Sullivan took the call.

  ‘I’m in Pitt Street, sir.’

  ‘I’m on my way there. Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes. And if Renton’s in the building,’ Charlie added, ‘tell him to be there as well.’

  O’Sullivan and Renton were waiting for Charlie in his office when he got back. Having updated them on his discussions with James Ramsay and Mark Houston, Charlie swung his feet up onto his desk.

  ‘Where do we go from here, sir?’ O’Sullivan asked.

  ‘When the press get wind of the fact that Preston and Murdoch are one and the same person,’ Charlie said, ‘and that he was murdered on the anniversary of Tommy Carter’s suicide – they’re going to have a field day. At the time of the trial the red tops were all up in arms about the not proven verdict, so we can expect the full horror story now: “The Revenge of the Carters” – “Divine Retribution” – “Justice Is Done” – you name it.’

  ‘Should we release the information that John Murdoch and John Preston are the same person?’ Renton asked.

  ‘Absolutely!’ Charlie said. ‘And the sooner we can do that, the better. Get a press release to that effect out as soon as you can. Give them chapter and verse. There’s no way we can keep the lid on the fact that the person who was murdered last night was John Murdoch and I want that information to be seen to be coming from us, rather than wait for it to be dug up by some tabloid hack, otherwise we’ll be accused of trying to orchestrate a cover-up. When you’ve organised that, Colin, arrange for someone from forensics to go with you to Preston’s flat tomorrow morning. Here’s the address,’ Charlie added, handing across the
slip of paper George Slater had given him. ‘You’ll be able to pick up a set of keys for his flat from the mortuary. Tell forensics to give the place a thorough going over to see if they can come up with anything useful.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Tony,’ Charlie said, turning to O’Sullivan, ‘we need to trawl through everything we have regarding Murdoch’s trial – the transcript of the court proceedings, the witness statements, any background information, the whole shooting match. Arrange for copies of all the relevant documentation to be sent across here. We also need to check out what we have on file regarding Tommy Carter’s father and his uncle.’

  ‘The Social Work department would be a good place to start,’ O’Sullivan suggested. ‘It’s a fair bet they’ll have had dealings with the family over the years.’

  ‘Good point,’ Charlie said. ‘Get on to them first thing in the morning and find out what they’ve got. We’ll meet here at nine o’clock tomorrow and take it from there.’

  As O’Sullivan and Renton were filing out of his office, Charlie picked up his phone and called home.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said when Kay answered. ‘I’ll be home in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘Did you get something to eat at lunchtime?’ Kay asked.

  ‘I grabbed a sandwich,’ Charlie lied.

  ‘Sue and I had lasagne. There’s a lot left over. Would you like me to re-heat it for you?’

  ‘That would be great.’

  It was after eight o’clock by the time Charlie turned the key in his front door.

  ‘It’s just me!’ he called out as he crossed the threshold, pausing in the hall to inhale the inviting smell of lasagne drifting out from the kitchen.