by WHS McIntyre
I helped him connect my car to the tow truck and we drove back to his yard, Tina sitting between us, high up in the cab and enjoying every minute of it.
By sheer coincidence, or more likely not, a certain green BMW was waiting for us, sitting front and centre on the Tarmac forecourt. Jake slapped its off-side wing. ‘Three grand and she’s yours.’
I needed a car for work. I could ask Joanna to take the train now that she was working in Falkirk, but that would mean me driving her pride and joy Mercedes SL. The thing was a flying machine. I’d have no licence by the end of the month. Jake sensed my hesitation. ‘I’ll throw in a set of car mats. Nearly new. Well, nearly, nearly new.’
‘Okay,’ I said, taking a grip of Jake’s oil-stained hand. ‘Two and a half, it is.’
Jake squeezed. ‘It’s three, and I’ll take your motor for scrap too.’
We left Tina outside while I went into Jake’s HQ to fill out some paperwork. Jake’s previous guard dog, whose life’s ambition it had always been to tear off one of my legs and gnaw on the juicy end, had gone. The replacement was little more than a puppy, of equally ambiguous parentage, but seemingly a lot less homicidal. It took a shine to Tina from the word go, wriggling about on its back, tongue lolling wildly while she rubbed its stomach.
‘That daft wee dug’s way too friendly with folk,’ Jake said. ‘I’ll need to knock that out of it.’
‘What happened to the old one?’
‘It got a big lump on its neck and I had to put it down.’ I noted he didn’t say he’d had it put down. No, I fancied Jake would have saved on veterinary fees and self-prescribed the application of a length of scaffolding pole to the skull. ‘Done all right though. Lasted me ten years. Good animal. This new one’s too soft. I’m going to need to learn it a few lessons.’
I didn’t like to think how you transformed a friendly, child-loving puppy into an irritable, human-hating, hellhound. Knowing Jake, I assumed it involved a regime short on rations and long on beatings. Judging by the way this wee dog was happily bouncing about trying to lick Tina’s face, it was a slow learner.
Deal done, no money was exchanged for the car. Jake knew I knew what happened to people who bumped him. That was what made me think back to Freddy’s visit and his sharp exit from my office at the mention of Jake’s imminent arrival.
‘Why were you at my office yesterday?’ I asked, once the logbook was signed over to me.
‘Oh, aye,’ he said. ‘I nearly forgot. I was coming to see you about this.’ He pulled open a drawer and took out a summary complaint made out to his foreman-slash-credit-controller-slash-resident-bone-breaker, Deek Pudney. Big Deek collected criminal charges like Jake’s late-payers collected compound fractures. ‘Take care of that, will you?’
I turned the page and read the libel, a straightforward enough charge of assault. The chances of any witnesses turning up for the trial weren’t good. The chance of any witnesses who did turn up, speaking up, even worse. I told Jake I’d take care of it and enter a plea of not guilty at the first calling. Deek didn’t need to appear. We walked down the steps together.
‘What was Ellen Fletcher seeing you about?’ he asked.
Telling Jake that it was a confidential solicitor/client discussion and, therefore, none of his business, wouldn’t have stopped him wanting to know. Even though I’d washed my hands of Ellen’s life insurance scam, I did feel sorry for her and thought I’d try and use Jake’s query to her advantage. ‘She came to see me about Freddy.’
‘You still think I killed him?’
‘I know you didn’t.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Because he’s alive.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Before you start, I don’t know where he is. You asked me why Ellen came to see me. She came because she’s scared.’
‘Scared of what?’
‘Scared of you.’
‘Ellen’s scared of me?’
‘Scared for Freddy. She thinks you’ll do him harm.’
‘Well, she’s right. I will.’ Jake hunkered down beside his mutt to unhook the chain that was a lot sturdier than the wooden railing to which it was attached. He gave the end to Tina. ‘Take it for a walk while I talk to your dad.’
‘What’s its name?’ Tina asked.
Jake didn’t have an answer for that.
‘It’s not a pet. It’s a guard dog,’ I told her. ‘It’s here to keep all the bad men away.’
‘Aye,’ Jake said, ‘you know, like a bouncer outside a nightclub,’ as though, after her warm milk and bedtime story, my five-year-old daughter liked to climb out of the window and go clubbing.
Still, it was a good enough answer for Tina. ‘Come on, Bouncer,’ she yelled, and the three of us set off down an avenue of crushed vehicles, Jake’s trainee guard dog leading the way, tugging my daughter after it.
‘Freddy Fletcher owes me a lot of money,’ Jake said, as though I was unaware of the situation.
‘I know. That’s why he’s been living abroad. Ellen wants you to cut him a break. He’ll only be here for a few months at most and then he’ll be gone for good. Call it a truce.’
Jake said nothing, and we continued tramping our way along a path of orange shale punctuated by potholes filled either with muddy water or a shovelful of grey hard core. When we’d reached the end of the path it opened out into a large, irregular area of waste ground enclosed by a dishevelled perimeter of gorse bushes. ‘Clumps of scrub grass and thistles fought through the hard ground, and tangles of weeds wrapped themselves around scattered piles of discarded metal objects that were corroded beyond recognition. Jake whistled through his teeth and the dog bounded towards us, dragging Tina along. He released the chain from around its neck, picked up an old wooden chair leg that had teeth marks along its length and threw it. The dog scampered off. ‘You give it a try,’ he said. Tina didn’t have to be asked twice and charged off after the animal.
‘Call Freddy’s visit compassionate leave,’ I said, still trying to think of ways to sell Jake the novel idea of not killing the man who’d conned him.
‘Why do you care so much about what happens to Freddy?’
‘It’s not just him . . . It’s Ellen.’
‘What about her?’
It was easily forty-five minutes since I’d left home for ice cream. I hadn’t brought my mobile phone and Joanna and my dad would be wondering where we’d got to. Meanwhile Tina was running around shards of rusty metal, chasing after a scrapyard mutt. I’d be lucky to get her home without stopping off at A&E for a tetanus jab.
‘Ellen’s not well,’ I said.
‘How do you mean? What’s Ellen not being well got to do with Freddy?’
There was what I could only describe as a note of concern in Jake’s voice. It took me by surprise, as did his firm grip on a left bicep that hadn’t fully recovered from the curls it had been forced to endure during my recent trip to the gym.
‘She’s got cancer, Jake. Is it too much to ask that she gets to spend her last few weeks with Freddy without you—’
‘Weeks!’
‘Three months, she says.’
‘Ellen’s dying?’ Jake looked at me bewildered, uncomprehending. Were those tears welling up in his eyes? The grip on my arm loosened as his face paled. He lowered his head and stared at the ground. ‘She can’t be dying.’ It was an emotional side of Jake I’d never witnessed before. I thought about maybe giving him a comforting pat on the back, and had decided against it when he looked up at me, face contorted, less in grief than in anger. He grabbed hold of the front of my shirt. ‘I lent her fifty grand. How am I going to get it back?’
27
‘Dad’s car has been pissing oil for days and so he had to buy a new one,’ was how Tina explained our delayed return. The ice cream probably helped, but Joanna was surprisingly fine about me lashing out three thousand on a car when we were busy saving to live somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t already occupied by my dad. I was pleased about that
and yet at the same time worried that it suggested she had given up on our plans to build a cottage.
I left her and my dad discussing Tina’s growing vocabulary while I whisked the girl off for a bedtime story. By the time I was back in the living room, the old man was already asleep in his armchair, an empty whisky tumbler held loosely in his right hand.
It was a lovely evening so Joanna and I went for a walk that took us down past the proposed site of our new home. The air was still and warm, the only sounds breaking the silence the distant rumble of trains on the Edinburgh to Glasgow line and the cooing of wood pigeons.
Two lawyers out for a stroll: it was difficult not to talk about work. Inevitably the subject of Antonia Brechin came up.
‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered,’ I said. ‘There are plenty of other victims of the criminal justice system requiring your sympathy. Antonia has only got herself to blame for the mess she’s in.’
Joanna didn’t reply at first, but I knew she was going to. ‘Except . . .’
‘Except what?’
‘Except the mess she’s in now didn’t have to be quite so messy. Did it?’
‘How was I to know the Crown would upgrade the charge?’
Joanna took my hand in hers. ‘You weren’t, but you did know that she told you to plead guilty when the charge was only for simple possession. I’m more worried about you than I am about her. What if she makes a complaint of defective legal representation?’
I didn’t say anything. The thought had crossed my mind more than once since Andy had raised the subject.
‘The way I see it, you’ve got two choices,’ Joanna said. ‘One, you withdraw from acting . . .’
‘From which it could be inferred I’d done something wrong.’
‘That’s because you have done something wrong,’ she reminded me. ‘Two . . . You persuade the PF to drop the charge to possession again, and this time do what your client tells you and plead guilty.’
‘That’s not going to happen. Hugh Ogilvie will never override a decision of Crown Office. How about option three, where I take the case to trial and secure a famous victory?’
Joanna tilted her head and gave me a look. ‘Need I rehearse the evidence?’
‘Okay, run number two past me again. Why would the Crown agree to reduce a charge they’ve already increased?’
‘Easy. You get Antonia to give them the name of her supplier.’
‘You want me to turn her into some kind of supergrass?’
‘I’m a prosecutor. I know what prosecutors want. We would rather catch big fish than plankton.’
‘So you think the Crown would do Antonia a favour if she squealed on whoever gave her the drugs?’
‘It would be another rung up the drugs ladder. The higher the Crown climbs in drugs cases, the better they like the view.’
‘It’ll be hard for Antonia to climb with no kneecaps.’
‘Her supplier won’t necessarily have been a gangster.’
‘This is illegal drugs we’re talking about, Jo. There’s always a gangster.’
‘At the very top, yes. Not necessarily near the bottom.’
‘You really think that would work?’
‘If Andy’s client can save her own skin by testifying against Antonia, I don’t see why she can’t do something similar.’
I mulled that over as we walked along, until Joanna pointed out the area of ground where our dream house would have stood had we the money.
‘Talking of money,’ I said. ‘Guess who didn’t win the lottery?’
‘You already told me: Ellen Fletcher.’
‘No, I told you she didn’t win half a million. Now I’m telling you she didn’t win anything.’
‘Not even fifty thousand? Why did she tell you she had, then?’
That was a very good question. ‘All I know is that she borrowed fifty K from Jake Turpie and that she’s using it to see herself through her last few months and go out in style.’
‘That was nice of Jake . . .’ Joanna, who had been pacing out the dimensions of our living room on the grass, stopped. ‘Wait a minute. Nice of Jake Turpie? What am I saying? Does Jake know Ellen is terminally ill?’
‘He does now.’
‘You didn’t tell him?’
‘How was I supposed to know she’d borrowed money from him? She told me she’d won the lottery.’
‘How’s she going to pay him back?’
‘This would make a good spot for a bedroom, right here,’ was my less than seamless segue to take us off topic. ‘We could have a big window with a view across the fields all the way down to the Forth. You can just about see Blackness Castle.’ I hunkered down and patted the ground. ‘You know the grass is quite dry.’ I looked around. ‘And it’s very secluded here.’
Joanna helped me to an upright position with the aid of my left ear lobe. ‘Robbie, if you’ve landed that woman in trouble with Jake Turpie, you’re going to have to warn her.’
‘Okay, okay, I will.’ I removed Joanna’s hand from my ear, put my arm around her and led her on a few metres. ‘Where will we put the garden? I’ve heard it’s not a good idea to have one that’s too big for your wife to look after.’
Joanna pulled away. ‘We’re not going to be living here, remember? And stop trying to change the subject. If Ellen has conned Jake out of money, then someone is going to end up paying. You know that.’
‘I know, I know. I’ll warn her about Jake and about my mistake.’
‘About your big mouth, you mean.’
‘I’ve done what she asked me to do. I brought her husband back. If she’s got herself into money trouble with Jake then that’s her problem.’
‘And you don’t care what happens to her?’
‘Look, I’ve said I’ll tell her, okay? After that my involvement with Ellen will be over.’
‘It’s not all that will be over for Ellen.’
‘That’s no longer my business and it’s definitely none of yours.’
‘Listen to yourself, Robbie. She’s your client.’
‘So is Jake Turpie.’
‘Which is why you know what he’s like.’ Joanna was correct of course. We both knew exactly what Jake was capable of. Ellen might have a short life expectancy, but Jake could make what was left even shorter and a lot more painful. ‘If you’ve landed Ellen in trouble by breaching her confidence, then you owe it to her to get her out of it.’
‘And, any ideas how I do that?’
‘No, it’s none of my business. Remember?’ She put her arm through mine. ‘But you’d better make it yours or whatever happens to that woman will be on your conscience.’
28
Under his Firm’s disciplinary procedures, Ted Hawke, managing partner of Fraser Forrest & Hawke, had no option other than to suspend Scotland’s Legal Trainee of the Year from work, pending the outcome of court proceedings. The Crown had accelerated matters by early service of an indictment and the trial was set to take place in four weeks’ time with a First Diet fixed for Tuesday the following week. At the First Diet Antonia would be asked to plead guilty or not guilty to the new, more serious charge of possessing cocaine with the intent to supply.
The speed of the prosecution was surprising in some ways. In other ways it wasn’t. With such a shooty-in of a case, why wait? Two young women found in possession of cocaine, all the Crown required to lead was evidence of the drugs found in the search and an expert to say there was too much for personal use. Freya Linkwood testifying against her flatmates was merely the icing on an already well-decorated Prosecution cake. The trial wouldn’t last more than a day or two.
Whatever the timescales involved, unable to work at the moment, Antonia Brechin was a woman with time on her hands. She insisted on spending some of that time with me, a lot of it on Thursday afternoon.
I had just returned to the office, fresh from a post-court sortie with a bacon roll at Sandy’s café, when Antonia’s presence, and that of her parents, was brought to my attention by
Grace-Mary who intercepted me in the corridor outside reception.
‘Why are you so late? The Brechins are here in force. When they called this morning I told them you’d be back by half-one, two o’clock at the latest.’
I knew I’d have to confront Antonia Brechin’s family eventually to set out a line of defence. I just hadn’t expected the meeting would be so soon.
‘Why didn’t you tell them I was busy?’ I hissed.
‘Because you’re not.’
‘Then you could have warned me and I’d have made myself busy.’
‘I sent you a text about half-eleven when they called to make the appointment. You never replied.’
I vaguely remembered a faint buzzing coming from my jacket pocket sometime during my cross-examination of a ridiculously young police officer. ‘All right, listen, stall them for another fifteen minutes and then show—’
‘Fifteen minutes? They’ve already been here nearly half an hour. I’ll give you two minutes and then I’m bringing them through, ready or not. Now, what will I say to them about you being late?’
There was no point arguing. Grace-Mary was right. The Brechins would be upset enough without being asked to sit any longer in my closet of a waiting room. ‘Tell them I was held up in an important consultation.’
Grace-Mary tugged a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘Okay, just let me wipe some of that important consultation brown sauce from the corner of your mouth.’
I intercepted her hand, took the tissue and returned to my room. This was not going to be pleasant.
‘So what’s the plan of attack or, should I say, defence?’ Antonia’s father, Quentin, was not at all what I’d imagined. This was the son of Sheriff Albert Brechin? He was a tall, gangly man with lots of hair and teeth and a set of large friendly features that put me more in mind of Jake Turpie’s reluctant guard dog than his father’s bulldog appearance. I’d half expected him to come marching in demanding to know what I was playing at and screaming threats of reporting me to the Law Society for ignoring his daughter’s direct instructions, but from his cheerful demeanour and opening remarks, you could have been mistaken for thinking we had gathered to organise a trip to the seaside.
