by Ken MacLeod
At that moment, she meant it; she meant it as firmly as she’d ever meant any promise in her life.
‘Do you understand what you have just been told, Mrs Morrison?’
‘Yes, I understand. Don’t take the boy! He has nothing to do with this. Just take him to the house down the hill, or Mairi’s shop, she’s his grandmother.’
‘Well, Mrs Morrison, that’s—’
Another voice and accent interrupted. ‘That’s not for us to decide, Constable.’
Anything Hope might have said next was drowned out by the sound of a helicopter, approaching and then landing behind her. She felt its downdraught through her clothes, whipping her hair. As the rotors’ throb slowed to a steady whump, earmuffs were placed on her, and she couldn’t hear anything. Two men in flying suits hurried past, carrying between them some heavy apparatus and a coil of cable, towards the gully. Her elbows were grabbed; she was hauled to her feet and propelled towards the helicopter. It was a big yellow Sea King. Her shins banged on the steps. Inside, she was pushed into a bucket seat, facing the rear of the cabin, her arms around the seat back, and was strapped in using the fitted safety belts. Her ankles were zip-tied to the seat’s supports.
The two officers who’d grabbed her then moved towards the front of the cabin. She turned her head around just in time to see Hugh likewise bundled on board. He had a hood over his head and face, with earmuffs on top of it. He was pushed out of her sight. Then the door was closed.
‘Where’s Nick?’ Hope yelled, struggling against the straps. Her voice sounded strange. ‘Where’s our son?’
The Leosach constable came around and stood in front of her. He gestured with his finger across his lips, and mouthed, ‘Shut up!’
‘Where’s our son?’ Hope shouted again.
From an inside pocket the policeman took a paper sachet and ripped it open, then slapped an adhesive tape, like a sticking-plaster without a pad, across Hope’s lips. Then he went away.
She tried to open her mouth but the tape hurt too much when it pulled on the skin. The engine’s vibration changed, the noise became loud even through the ear protection, and the floor lurched and tipped. Acceleration and inertia swayed her, this way and that. After a minute or two the aircraft levelled off into forward flight. Hope slumped in the seat, her mind lurching as uncontrollably as her body had during the take-off. One moment she would be frantic at the thought of Nick alone among the strange people who had taken her from him; the next she would reassure herself with images of him being taken to Mairi’s place by a kindly policewoman. Then she would think of him falling into the care system, taken away, fostered – no! They couldn’t do that!
But she had just been arrested under the child-protection laws… which meant they could do that… and that thought would segue into relief that at least she hadn’t been arrested under the terrorism laws, which she’d half expected. Under the child-protection laws she could fight, she could get legal support, she wouldn’t just disappear into the global archipelago of interrogation cells and black sites and ghost prisons, about which the authorities were reticent but rumour was eloquent.
But Hugh had been hooded, and that wasn’t something they did for child-protection arrests, except for abusers, and it couldn’t be that, so maybe he was being arrested under the terrorism laws…
At this point she realised that she was inflicting on herself the kind of undermining and disorientation that the arrest and interrogation process was designed to induce, and to which she would no doubt be subjected in the coming hours and maybe days, and that she might as well leave it to the professionals, who at least knew when to stop, or so they claimed, though maybe…
Stop.
She stopped, and turned her head to the side, not so far as to be uncomfortable, but far enough to let her see the patch of sunlight on the floor. She concentrated on that, and on imagining the land below.
The helicopter landed. The two policemen reappeared in front of her, and released Hope from the seat straps and leg restraints. She stood up, and stuck her chin forward. The policeman who’d put the tape across her mouth shook his head. He and his colleague took her by the upper arms and escorted her to the doorway, and then one of them went in front to guard and guide her down the steps on to a runway. A police car was waiting just beyond the rotors’ circuit.
She had a moment to look around and see the sea and green machair, a control tower, a jump jet and two naval helicopters parked in the middle distance, before she was rushed to the police car. She ended up sitting in the back, hands still cuffed behind her, between the Leosach constable who’d arrested her and a policewoman already in the car. The policewoman fixed the seat belt across her. As she was doing this, Hope saw, through the car’s open doorway, Hugh, still hooded, being frogmarched across the tarmac in the direction of one of the airfield’s buildings.
The driver looked in the rear-view, got nods from the two officers in the back, and drove off the airstrip and on to a perimeter road, then out through the main gate. Hope saw a sign just outside the gate, and her diagonal glimpse left her with the impression ‘RAF Stornoway’. The drive was short – across open moorland, then through the streets of Stornoway – and ended outside a small and quite ordinary police station.
The policewoman leaned over and ripped the tape from across Hope’s mouth. She expected it to sting, but it didn’t, and she guessed it was some new material designed expressly for the purpose. She was allowed to get out, very awkwardly, in her own time, and then escorted into the station. It was a poky place, smelling of vomit and disinfectant. At a counter at the end of the reception room, Hope’s handcuffs were taken off, her pockets emptied and the contents bagged, along with her jacket, watch, boots and belt, the rings from her fingers, and her own rucksack and Nick’s. Seeing Nick’s rucksack made her cry for a moment, but she sniffed and wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her wrist and signed for everything.
She was then taken to a cell whose walls, floor, ceiling and the seating along one side were all tiled white, and left there. She looked around for the camera. There it was, in a corner of the ceiling. She settled herself in the opposite corner, on the cell’s built-in bench, leaning against the two walls, and watched the camera right back.
After an hour or so of this, the cell door opened, and the policewoman who’d been in the car escorted Hope down a short corridor to an interview room. It had a table and three chairs. A young man with a suit, a beard and a pad was waiting inside. As the policewoman closed the door behind her, he shook hands with Hope and introduced himself.
‘Hamish McKinnon,’ he said. ‘From McKinnon and Warski, solicitors, Stornoway. I’ve been appointed by the sheriff as your legal representative. You’re of course entitled to choose your own lawyer. Do you wish to do so?’
Hope shook her head.
‘So you’re happy to have me represent you?’
‘Yes,’ said Hope.
He motioned her to the seat at the back of the table, and sat down at the side. The policewoman sat down opposite Hope, and turned on some very visible and clunky recording devices. She introduced herself as Police Sergeant Dolina Macdonald, gave the date and time for the recording, and got down to business.
‘Are you Hope Morrison?’
Hope glanced at the lawyer.
‘You have a right to remain silent,’ he said, ‘but I don’t advise it. If there are any questions I think you shouldn’t answer, I’ll tell you at once.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Is that in answer to my question?’ said Macdonald.
‘Yes,’ said Hope.
‘Are you married to Hugh Morrison, of 13 Victoria Road, Finsbury Park, London?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are you the mother of Nicholas Morrison, of the same address?’
‘Yes,’ said Hope. ‘And I want to know where he is now.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’
‘I can’t
,’ said the policewoman, ‘because I don’t know. And if I did know, I would not be allowed to tell you at this stage of the inquiry. I assure you he is in safe hands.’
‘I’m sure he is. I’m sure he’s also very distressed.’
‘Every effort will be made to comfort and reassure him. As I said, I’m certain he is in safe hands, and between ourselves I’m certain he’s more than safe.’
‘I hope for your sake he is.’
‘Really, he is,’ said Macdonald. ‘Now, Hope, let me explain the situation to you. You have been arrested on suspicion, but you have not yet been charged. Your rights have been explained to you, so you are being interviewed under caution. Do you have any complaints about your treatment up to this point?’
‘Yes, I have,’ said Hope. ‘I was roughly handled, and restrained unnecessarily and uncomfortably, despite the fact that I had made no resistance. I was gagged, merely for asking after my son.’
Macdonald looked impatient. ‘These are very minor complaints.’
‘I’ll take them up later,’ McKinnon said.
‘Very well,’ said Hope. ‘I’m making them for the record. Particularly given that I’m, uh, four months pregnant.’
‘I’m sure the recordings from the arresting officers’ lapel cameras will show that you were treated properly.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ said Hope. ‘I have a different recollection, and I’ll say so.’
‘That is your right,’ said the policewoman. ‘Now, do you know why you’ve been arrested?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Hope. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘So why did you flee from the police?’
‘Flee?’ said Hope. ‘We were walking in the hills. We saw the police behind us, and the drone above us, but didn’t run from them. They didn’t pursue us, or call out or challenge us in any way. For all we knew, they were on a search-and-rescue exercise.’
‘Mrs Morrison,’ Macdonald said, with affected weariness, ‘you were found hiding in a disused culvert.’
‘We weren’t hiding,’ said Hope. ‘We were exploring. We entered the culvert – well, we entered the gully that it led off from – in full view of the police and I guess of the drone.’
‘Exploring,’ said Macdonald. ‘Exploring. Your husband walked off a job he had just started, without giving explanation or asking permission, and drove at speed to meet you. You had also just walked off a job, in a comfortable office, taking your child to the house in pouring rain. You met your husband and immediately set off up the hill, leaving behind or switching off any devices on your persons that might have been used to track you. Can you explain any of this?’
‘You don’t have to explain anything now,’ McKinnon interjected.
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Hope. ‘I can explain. My child was bored and fractious. I was unable to concentrate on my work, and he was annoying his grandmother, too, in the shop. When my husband called to ask how I was getting on – it was the first wet day we’d had here, the first day the boy was pretty much stuck indoors – I’m afraid I was so fed up that I begged him to skive off. He had the idea of teaching Nick orienteering, which is why he switched off his phone – to demonstrate to the child that we can navigate without GPS.’
‘Mrs Morrison, your husband was carrying an illegal firearm.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Hope.
‘The weapon was clearly shown on the drone’s imaging equipment. Your husband was also seen and recorded apparently discarding the weapon in the tunnel, in the course of some altercation with you.’
Hope shrugged. ‘I’d like to see the evidence for that.’
‘Oh, you will, Hope, you will. Do you deny that it happened?’
Hope said nothing.
‘You needn’t say anything at this stage,’ said the lawyer. He turned to Sergeant Macdonald. ‘You said “apparently discarding”. Why “apparently”?’
‘You’re in an interview room, not a courtroom,’ Macdonald told him.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ said McKinnon. ‘Nevertheless, my client and I are entitled to know what evidence you have against her.’
‘Not at this stage in the proceedings you aren’t!’
‘I’m only raising the point,’ said McKinnon, ‘because your choice of words suggests to me that you have no physical evidence of this firearm.’
Macdonald glared at him, then looked away. McKinnon sat back, looking smug, and tapped a note on his pad.
‘Mrs Morrison,’ Macdonald went on, ‘you most certainly fled from the police while you were in the culvert. You, your husband and child ran away down the culvert when they called on you to come out. You were warned that they were armed. You do know that running away after a warning from armed police can have very serious consequences? Even fatal consequences?’
‘Yes, I’m well aware of that,’ said Hope. ‘And you must be aware that amplified sound in such a confined space can be very distorted, as well as alarming. It certainly alarmed our child, who took off as fast as his legs could carry him. Naturally we ran after him, if you could call that running.’
‘According to the police video evidence, Mrs Morrison, your husband was in front, then the boy, and you brought up the rear.’
Hope shrugged. ‘Maybe so. It was dark, lots of shadows, very confusing. My husband may even have had the impression that Nick was ahead of him.’
‘I find that very unlikely. You ran from the police. That’s not the reaction of innocent people.’
McKinnon leaned forward again. ‘Perhaps, Sergeant, it’s the reaction of innocent people who think that they are being threatened and pursued by whoever the police were searching for?’
‘You’re not here to suggest lines of argument to your client, Mr McKinnon.’
‘When we entered the culvert,’ Hope said, gratefully grabbing the lifeline, ‘the police were hundreds of metres away, and not obviously pursuing us. Then the drone buzzed the gully, and we heard shouts and loud noises behind us. It was a moment of panic. I can’t even say what I thought I was running from.’
‘I bet you can’t,’ said Macdonald. ‘But not because you didn’t know you were fleeing from the police.’
‘Fleeing where?’ Hope asked. ‘We were in a dead end.’
‘Oh,’ said Macdonald, ‘and how did you know that? Before you reached it, I mean.’
‘Oh, I can explain that,’ said Hope. ‘My husband grew up in that very village, in the house just down the hill, as you know. He found the culvert when he was… in his early teens, I think, with some pals. No doubt they can verify that; they shouldn’t be hard to trace. Anyway, Hugh remembered it as quite an adventure, and thought it would be exciting for Nick to see it too.’
Macdonald was about to respond, with irritation judging by the look on her face, when McKinnon raised a finger.
‘One moment,’ he said. ‘I notice that you asked my client if she knew why she had been arrested. She said she didn’t. And you haven’t yet told her. Nor have you alleged any breaches of the Children and Young Persons Protection Act.’
‘Yes I have,’ said Dolina Macdonald. ‘The child was, with the full knowledge and consent of your client, in the presence and in fact jointly in the care of a person carrying an illegal firearm.’
‘For which, it seems, there’s no physical evidence, and no evidence at all other than some no doubt ambiguous images on a drone camera.’
‘I’ve seen these images,’ said Macdonald, ‘and I assure you, Hamish, there’s nothing ambiguous about them. The drone carries a military-grade sub-millimetre radar-imaging device, widely used in all conflict theatres. In a combat zone, an image like that would be more than enough to justify calling down a drone strike.’
‘We’re not in a combat zone, Dolina, for which we must be thankful.’
‘Legally we are,’ Macdonald pointed out. ‘Near enough.’
‘I’m familiar with the emergency provisions for the North Atlantic defence perimeter, thank you very
much, Dolina. But even if that image on its own could convince a jury, and not some military kangaroo court, which I doubt, it’s no evidence at all about my client’s full knowledge and consent, which is what you have to establish.’
‘We can establish that, right enough,’ said Macdonald. ‘The Metropolitan Police were this morning issued a search warrant for the Morrisons’ flat, and a seizure order for the interior cameras. A police semantic AI is trawling the sounds and images as we speak. We have every reason to think that this will within an hour or two provide incontrovertible evidence on the point of your client’s knowledge and consent.’
‘Excuse me!’ cried McKinnon, almost jumping up. ‘Their flat in London was searched? On what possible basis? And what evidence – seeing you admit you don’t have any from the search – sent the Stornoway police supposedly chasing after this family in the first place?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Mr McKinnon.’
‘If you can’t even give me prima facie evidence to justify the arrest…’
‘I already have, Mr McKinnon. The image of the gun, and the recording of the altercation in the tunnel.’
‘If indeed there was an altercation between my client and Mr Morrison about this alleged weapon,’ said McKinnon, ‘that would tend to suggest that she did not know or approve of his carrying it. Would it not also suggest, that she was shocked and surprised to see it? Or perhaps to see something which – in the dark and confusion and panic she has described – she might have mistaken for a weapon?’
‘Such as what?’ asked Macdonald.
McKinnon spread his hands. ‘Any number of things. A torch, perhaps awkwardly held? A tool of his trade – you said he had walked off a job in a hurry. I saw from my first glance at the preliminary documents’ – he looked down and poked at his pad – ‘that Mr Morrison is a carpenter. A carpenter’s square, or a power tool with a pistol grip, could easily have been in his pocket, forgotten. What if he realised at the last moment what all the shouting was about, and removed that tool from his pocket?’
