‘The old man didn’t tell his son himself, did he?’ asked Martin.
‘Not according to Clarissa Maclean, King’s lady advocate friend,’ said McIlhenney. ‘She said they hadn’t spoken in a year.’
‘How close a friend is she?’
‘Intimate, according to Maxwell. King was divorced a year or so back. His wife took him to the cleaners in the settlement too.’
‘Aye,’ McGuire broke in. ‘There’s another piece of motive. He’s skint, and he hears that his old man’s going to do him out of his inheritance. I’ve seen cases go to trial with less evidence than we’ve got here already.’
‘So have I, Mario,’ said Skinner, with feeling, ‘but not with an Advocate fucking Depute in the dock. We’ll need to eliminate every shadow of a doubt in this investigation. I want to be able to prove that he was in possession of cyanide, and I want a positive identification of him as the man who took old Barnfather across the sands to his death.
‘The existence of the joint minute of agreement is the clincher. It meant that if King wanted to preserve his claim to the family money, he had to get rid not only of his father, but of Barnfather as well, since he had the power to complete the trust arrangements even after Archergait had been taken out.
‘If Hannah Johnson’s right and he did know about it and what it meant, then it looks as if only Lord Archibald could have told him.’
He shook his head and snorted. ‘We’re looking at a situation in which the Lord Advocate himself is the crucial witness in the trial of one of his own deputies. Christ, Andy, and you wonder why I wish Jimmy was here!’
‘What will it mean for Lord Archibald, Boss?’ asked McIlhenney.
‘Resignation, probably before the trial, possibly as soon as King is charged. It’s a real bastard, Neil, I tell you.
‘Archie Nelson is a good friend of mine, and it looks as if I’m going to be the man who brings him down. Not a happy prospect.’
He looked round at Martin.
‘Have there been any other happenings to brighten up this lovely day?’ he asked.
‘No more robberies, thankfully,’ the Head of CID responded. ‘I had a call from John McGrigor this afternoon though. Someone found a body in a wood near West Linton, tied up and shot in the head.
‘The early indications are that it’s a domestic. Apparently the victim was shagging someone else’s wife.’
‘Indeed,’ said Skinner. ‘I’d leave John to get on with it, if I were you. It’ll do him good to have a nice ordinary murder to investigate. It might even stop him promising to catch Harry Riach’s killer, even if the rest of us can’t. Because knowing him, he might even do it, and I’d worry about what he’d do if he succeeded!’
44
She lay in bed, propped on an elbow and looking at him as, still towelling himself off, he emerged from the en suite bathroom, back into their bedroom. She was as familiar with his body as with her own, with every feature, and with every one of the scars he had collected in some of his rougher moments. As he turned to toss the towel into the basket of items destined for the washing machine, she saw the most recent, bluer than the rest, less conspicuous than the jagged rip at the back of his right thigh, but even more deadly at the time.
‘Bob?’ she murmured.
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Promise me something, yeah?’
‘Try me?’
‘This weekend. Promise me you’ll spend it all with me and the kids.’
‘If it’s in my power, I promise.’
‘It is in your power. You’re in charge, for God’s sake.’
‘Yes, but the way things are just now...’
‘Andy is boss man of the Criminal Investigation branch, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but . . .’ He grinned at her and gave up.
‘Okay, I promise that come hell or high water, I will spend the whole weekend with you, Mark and Jazz . . . always provided that you don’t go off to cut up a body somewhere.’
She beamed back at him in satisfaction. ‘I can promise that, okay. Joe Hutchison’s going away for the weekend.’
‘That’s good. Are you doing anything professional today?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I forgot to tell you last night, before we got side-tracked. The Prof.’s giving me a lot of work just now. I’m assisting again this morning.’
He nodded. ‘That’ll be McGrigor’s stiff, I expect. A breach of the Seventh Commandment; still punishable by death in West Linton, apparently.’ The casual aside was made without a thought. He glanced at her quickly, but she smiled back.
‘Wow! Ain’t we lucky.’
He stepped across and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Yes, my love,’ he said, ‘we surely are.’
His mouth still tasted of toothpaste as she kissed him. ‘And we’ll never forget it, will we?’
‘No chance.’ For a moment he almost slipped back into bed. ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered, standing up and opening a drawer. ‘Got to go!’
He began to dress. ‘You’re covered for a baby-sitter today, yes?’
‘Of course. And tomorrow night, for the party.’
‘Oh Christ, yes. We’d better get ours organised too. Pick a date . . . first Saturday after Jimmy gets back will do . . . and ask the Mallard to do the catering. Give them an approximate number for now and we’ll sort out the guest list over the weekend.’
She slid out of bed, and into her robe. She was never lovelier, he thought, than first thing in the morning, tousled, musky, still with the haze of sleep lingering upon her. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll fit that into my day.’ She hugged him as he adjusted the knot of his silk tie.
‘When are you due at the Crown Office?’
‘Archie said he’d see me at eight-thirty.’
‘Poor guy. I hope he has a good breakfast, because I don’t think he’ll feel like lunch.’
‘Not a word to Joe about that, remember,’ he warned her. ‘Don’t even mention that I’m going to the Crown Office.’
‘As if I would. Wherever it is, darling, our home’s still as sacred as the confessional.’
They ate their cereal together in the conservatory, scanning through the newly delivered morning papers and enjoying the view, still a novelty for them, of the morning sun as it bathed the Forth estuary, until it was time for Bob to go.
He had always preferred to leave Gullane slightly early to beat the worst of the traffic, although it had grown in density over the years to the point at which a journey which once had been completed comfortably in thirty-five minutes now took fifteen minutes more. Nevertheless he reached Chambers Street with five minutes to spare for his meeting with the Lord Advocate.
The receptionist was not yet on duty as he entered the Crown Office, but the night security attendant was expecting him. ‘Just go through, sir,’ he said. ‘The Advocate’s waiting for you.’
‘Good morning, Bob,’ said the plump, jovial Lord Archibald, as the policeman entered his office. ‘I could barely wait to get in here today, to find out what’s behind your urgent request for a meeting. Sorry about having to make it so early, but I’m off to Lord Archergait’s funeral this morning.’
Skinner smiled. ‘I thought it was important that I keep you in touch personally with the latest developments in the Archergait and Barnfather investigations.’
‘That’s good of you, Bob, I appreciate the courtesy.’
‘Actually, Archie, something came up yesterday. I hoped you could help me with it.’
The Lord Advocate looked puzzled. ‘If I can, I will. Go on.’
‘Thanks. I understand that recently a document was drawn up, on the instructions of the two gentlemen, to pave the way for a bequest they intended to make to the Faculty of Advocates. I understand also that you were the witness to their signatures.’
‘That’s right. We signed it in Hannah Johnson’s office, down in Castle Terrace.’
Skinner paused. ‘In that case, I have to ask you; since then, have you mentioned the existence of
this document to anyone else?’
Lord Archibald leaned back in his chair, frowning. ‘No, I don’t think I have.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ The DCC held the law officer in his gaze.
‘Yes,’ he began, scratching his head. He paused. ‘No, hold on; I did discuss it with Norman.’
‘In what context, exactly?’
‘I just happened to mention that I had done a piece of business for his father. Norman said, “What piece of business was that, then?” and I told him. I assume that he knew about it.’
‘Did you mention simply the existence of the minute of agreement or its content?’
‘Its content.’ The Lord Advocate gazed at his friend, thoughtfully. ‘It’s a funny old world, Bob,’ he said. ‘Not so long ago, I was cross-examining you in this room. Now it seems that it’s the other way around.’
Skinner smiled briefly, but ignored the comment. ‘Did you mention specifically the powers of executry and attorney contained in the minute?’
‘Well yes, I suppose I did.’
The policeman looked out of the window for a moment. ‘Shit,’ he whispered.
‘Archie, I’m sorry to have to tell you but in both murders there’s a pretty strong chain of circumstance pointing towards a suspect.’
‘Go on,’ said Lord Archibald. He seemed to sag into his chair. ‘Tell me . . . as if you need to.’
‘Norman King.’
In an instant, the Lord Advocate’s face seemed to turn as white as his hair. ‘Are you sure?’
‘We need two more links to complete a chain that I’d take before a jury, but the evidence is there. We know that King and the old boy hated each other’s guts. We know that inheritance was a source of concern to Norman. We understand that he was tight for cash after his divorce. We know that he would have had the opportunity to spike the water jug with cyanide.
‘Now, thanks to you, I’m afraid, we know for sure that he was aware of the judge’s plan to leave everything to the Faculty, and of the content of the joint minute. That gives him the motive to kill Barnfather too, to prevent the trust being executed even after his father’s death.’
‘What about the brother? Could it have been him?’
‘He’s been eliminated as a suspect in both cases.’
‘But how could Norman have hoped to get away with it?’ asked Lord Archibald, plaintively.
‘Why should he not? We’d never have known that Archergait had been murdered if Lord Murray hadn’t ordered a PM. As for Barnfather, given that he was homosexual, that might easily have been investigated as a one-off gay-bashing that went wrong.’
‘You mentioned two more links. What more do you need to charge him?’
‘I need to show that he could have had access to cyanide, and I need to place him in the Nature Reserve last Sunday.’
Scotland’s senior Law Officer stared across his desk at the policeman, his small eyes almost piercing him for several long seconds. ‘Then go for it,’ he whispered, at last, ‘with all you’ve got.’
‘Don’t worry, My Lord, we will.’
Archibald sighed. ‘Fucking hell,’ he said, still quietly but vehemently nonetheless. ‘Imagine the indictment: “Her Majesty’s Advocate versus Her Majesty’s Advocate Depute.” What a bloody mess!
‘If you get what you’re looking for, of course, I’ll be a Crown witness.’ He rubbed the back of his right hand across his mouth in an anxious gesture. ‘I’ll have to go, Bob. Resign.’
‘I hope sincerely that you’ll do no such thing, Archie.’
‘Oh but Bob, I must. I’ve just appointed the man as Home AD, for goodness’ sake. I’ll call the Prime Minister this morning.’
‘Absolutely not!’ said Skinner, his right index finger stabbing the air for added emphasis. ‘That could prejudice our investigation. It could tip King off that we’re after him. You must not resign before he is charged. You must not breathe a word of this to anyone. Does your wife know King’s ex, or his girl-friend?’
‘She knows Cheryl King.’
‘Then don’t even tell Lady Archibald about this. It wouldn’t be fair.
‘Archie, this isn’t your fault. I hope you won’t resign, but whatever you decide, I have to ask you to behave normally towards King until this matter is resolved.
‘I hate this as much as you, but if it is him, I’m going to have him.’
45
‘I can’t emphasise enough, Andy, how delicate this is. I’ve already had to restrain the Lord Advocate from chucking it on the spot. But if there’s the faintest hint that Norman King is in the frame for his old man’s murder, the balloon goes up for us all.
‘Imagine the public reaction if it becomes known that we let a man continue to prosecute in the High Court while he was under investigation himself.’
Martin nodded in agreement. ‘Couldn’t the Advocate take him off Court work for a while?’ he asked.
‘That’s his job. He’d smell a rat right away.’
‘Well, why not interview him now and let Lord Archibald suspend him on that basis?’
‘Come on,’ said Skinner. ‘You know the answer to that one.’
‘Aye okay,’ the Head of CID admitted. ‘If we did that and it made the press, there’d be no end of nutters coming forward to identify him at the scene of Barnfather’s murder.’
‘Not only that, suppose he is innocent? It could damage his career, and give him a comeback against us.
‘I want this sorted out as quick as possible. Get Maggie and Neville out in the Reserve first thing tomorrow, and keep them there till they get a result. But don’t tell them about the King development. Better they don’t know whose face might fit. Put people in the car park too. A lot of families go out there every weekend.
‘Meanwhile have McGuire and big Neil check out the cyanide angle. If we can place him in proximity to the stuff, we’re one step nearer.’
Martin nodded. ‘How long have we got on this? Has the Lord Advocate given us any sort of a deadline?’
‘No, but I have. I reckon if we’re no further forward by Tuesday, you and I are going to have to interview King formally.’ He pushed himself out of Proud Jimmy’s well-worn chair.
‘You still haven’t settled into that, have you?’ Martin commented.
‘No, nor will I ever,’ said Skinner shortly. ‘Now, what’s the score on the robberies?’
‘No score, so far, Boss. I suppose that the good news is that we haven’t had any more this week.’
‘I was thinking about that,’ said Skinner. ‘The banks are operating at maximum security levels, we’re sending armed teams in support of big payroll deliveries, and every jeweller in the territory has installed press-button entry systems.
‘My hunch is that they may have run their course, for now at any rate. The clever bastard behind these things is bound to have done a risk analysis. I suspect he’s decided to suspend operations for a while.
‘With all the cold trails we have, that’s going to make it all the more difficult for us to catch him. What are we doing, currently?’
Martin sighed, wearily. ‘Interviewing and re-interviewing potential witnesses: neighbours of Hannah Bennett, the residents in the block of flats from which her brother was shot, people who were in the banks at the time of the robberies.’
‘How about Rarity? Did you get any more out of him?’
‘Aye, a sob story. He’s been sacked.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ said the DCC, his voice heavy with irony. ‘After a loss like that someone was bound to carry the can. I’m sorry for the poor wee bugger, but he did bring it on himself.’ He paused.
‘What about Officer McDonnell? Any word of him?’
‘Not a cheep. Nor of Nick Williams either. We’ve looked into their lives so closely that I could almost tell you the sort of aftershave they use, but I can’t find even a fragment of a connection between them.’
‘And the girl-friend?’ Skinner asked.
‘Arlene Regan?
She hasn’t been one of our priorities.’
‘Mmm. It might be worth telling Pringle to take a closer look at her. Let’s see what sort of fragrance she uses.’
Martin smiled. ‘I’ll do that. I’ll suggest that he lets Stevie Steele do some digging. I’m quite impressed by him.’
‘Aye, me too.
‘Speaking of bright young men, how’s Sammy Pye doing with those videos?’
‘The poor bugger’s square-eyed by now,’ the DCS replied. ‘But so far he’s come up with nothing in the way of a link. I let the Ghanaian stay with him for a while, until yesterday, when I sent him out to sit in with John McGrigor on the West Linton shooting.’
‘Any arrest for that yet?’
‘Not so far. They pulled in Martin Sturrock, the husband of the victim’s paramour. At first he denied ever having heard of the bloke . . . his name was Ryan Saunders, incidentally . . . but John soon got him to admit that he knew him, and that he’d heard the stories about him and his wife.’
‘What does she say? Did she confirm that she and Saunders were having it off?’
Martin laughed. ‘Oh yes. Straight away. She says her husband did it, no question. According to John, he threatened to do it as well. “I’ll blow his fucking brains out!” she quoted him as saying. And that was before the big fellow had told her that Saunders had been shot dead.’
‘What does he do, this Sturrock?’
‘He’s a small farmer. According to his wife, he has a rifle. If that’s true . . . for he denies it . . . it’s unlicensed, and well hidden. John turned his place over but couldn’t find it. I think he’s going to charge him anyway.’
‘Okay, if the Fiscal’s happy. What about Saunders? What did he do?’
‘Apart from doing Patricia Sturrock, on a regular basis? He did fuck all. He was a time-served plumber, but he’s been on the dole for a couple of years.’
Skinner’s right eyebrow rose for a second, then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘What about Kwame Ankrah? Is that him finished with us, today being Friday?’
‘No, Boss, it’s not. The Scottish Office has fixed it for him to stay for another month. He’s well chuffed, and so am I. He’s dead keen and very bright.’
08 - Murmuring the Judges Page 21
