Silver City Scandal

by Gerald Hammond

  She ran down at last. ‘How did you get on?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You didn’t say anything rude?’ Keith had been known, when deeply immersed in his evidence, to lapse into broad Scots or, worse, into vulgar vernacular.

  ‘I watched my tongue,’ he said. ‘You could have taken me for a professor from St Andrews. All the same, I dropped a bomb on them,’ he added with relish.

  ‘How?’ Molly demanded. ‘What did you do? I thought you only had to speak to the shop’s records about a gun we’d sold.’

  ‘That’s right. But they showed me the gun and they showed me the accused who was supposed to have bought it. The gun had been altered, and no way would it have fitted him. And I told them how similar guns can sometimes turn up with the same numbers.’

  ‘But, Keith, when those two Lugers showed up, you said that it was as rare as a new star in the east.’

  ‘I told them that it would be unusual but possible. They can make what they like of it.’

  ‘Wasn’t it the same gun, then?’

  ‘Probably. How would I know? It may have been through a dozen pairs of hands and been altered to fit every one of them. I wouldn’t have rocked the boat at all if some young quine from the Fiscal’s office hadn’t got uppity about my fee and expenses. And now, I suppose, they’ll refuse to pay them and Wallace will have kittens.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I’d been there, but it didn’t sound as if it was going to be interesting. So what happened after that?’ Molly asked.

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. They’d finished with me, the room was cold, my feet were wet, the public benches looked about as comfortable as kirk pews and I was late for meeting you. So I left a note for the defence solicitor, just in case they want to call me for their own side, and buggered off.’

  Molly heaved a sigh for Keith’s unnatural lack of curiosity. ‘Do you think they will call you?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. The prosecution were hindered because the judge wouldn’t let them cross-examine their own witness. But if I turn up for the defence, they can make me qualify most of what I said until there’s hardly anything left. American style gun-fitting and a gun that shot low and so on.’

  ‘So we still go home tomorrow?’

  ‘Probably. But if this snow keeps up I don’t know that we’ll fancy the drive. Now, let’s go up, bath and get changed ready for dinner.’

  ‘Don’t rush me,’ Molly said. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’

  *

  Keith was still soaking away his stiffness in a hot bath when he heard the room telephone buzz apologetically. Molly, who was already half-dressed, took the call.

  ‘Reception says that there are two men wanting to see you,’ she said through the open door.

  ‘Say that we’ll be down in a whilie. We’ll meet them in the lounge.’

  Molly relayed the message, listened for a few moments and then hung up. ‘They’ll be waiting in the lounge bar,’ she said. ‘Would they be the defence lawyers, or somebody angry from the Fiscal’s office?’

  ‘The defence,’ Keith said. ‘The Fiscal may want to have words with me, but he wouldn’t suggest meeting me in the bar.’

  ‘Can I come along too?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’ve nothing to say that you won’t be able to read in tomorrow’s papers.’

  *

  The Calders made their entry into the lounge bar some three-quarters of an hour later. Keith was no more than clean and tidy, but Molly dazzled. She had made an effort. She was old-fashioned enough to consider lawyers, along with doctors and ministers, to be a cut above the rest, two steps below the aristocracy but only one below God.

  Keith had no difficulty in recognising the defence solicitor who had been at Counsel’s table in the courtroom – an untidy man with thinning, red hair and a face which seemed to have been assembled clumsily from perfectly good components.

  ‘Good of you to meet us, Mr Calder,’ the solicitor said. ‘I’m Jeremy Prather. And you almost met Mr Donald a little earlier in the day.’

  For the first time, and with a sense of disbelief, Keith realised that the other man was the defendant whom he had last seen looking small but lost between two policemen in the dock. He managed to find words to introduce Molly.

  Prather beamed at her and straightened his grubby tie. ‘Drinks first,’ he said, ‘and explanations to follow.’

  The solicitor’s pint glass was almost empty and he treated himself to a refill. Keith took a large malt whisky, Molly a gin and tonic. Hugh Donald accepted another small sherry. Prather led them to a corner table where some potted plants would screen them from the occasional curious glances which Donald was attracting from the other drinkers, and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Your evidence,’ he said, ‘was supposed to be the drawstring which pulled the prosecution’s case together. Renfield, the Advocate-Depute, dried up. Our advocate, John Jenkins, wanted to go to the jury without putting on any case at all. I thought that he was taking a hell of a risk but, as he whispered to me, putting Hugh in the box would have given Renfield a chance to make him look a liar about the gun, among other things, on cross-examination. And if we called you as our witness, he could have torn you apart.’ (Keith winked at Molly.) ‘So up he got and pointed out that it was for the prosecution to prove their case. Since they had manifestly failed to do so, he said, he did not feel called upon to present a defence.

  ‘Renfield tried to repair the damage in his closing speech and probably made bad worse. Lord Aberford, who never has any sympathy for an advocate who cocks up his case, summed up, mostly in our favour, and directed the jury, all in fewer words than I’d have believed possible. I hear that he has a new mistress back in Edinburgh, so maybe he was in a hurry to get home.

  ‘The jury were only out for about five minutes before they came back with a unanimous verdict.’

  ‘Not guilty?’ Molly suggested.

  ‘There’s the rub,’ Hugh Donald said glumly. ‘Not proven. Which isn’t quite the same thing.’

  ‘Not by a hell of a long chalk,’ Prather said.

  A waiter arrived, bringing menus, and asked whether they intended to dine in the hotel.

  ‘My instructions are quite clear,’ Prather said. ‘I’m to invite you to dine with us. You’re included, of course, Mrs Calder. This is both a celebration and a conference.’

  ‘Does Mr Donald issue even his dinner invitations through his solicitor?’ Molly asked curiously.

  ‘The invitation is not Mr Donald’s. It comes from his boss, Jonas Horseburgh, the managing director of Shennilco.’ From Prather’s tone, Keith guessed that if the solicitor had been wearing a hat he would have removed it before mentioning the name.

  ‘Very kind of Mr Horseburgh,’ Keith said. He caught Molly’s eye. She nodded happily.

  They ordered, without regard to the prices in the right-hand column. Prather ordered wine. The waiter promised to call them as soon as their table was ready.

  ‘More drinks?’ Prather said. His glass and Keith’s were empty, but Molly and Hugh Donald had hardly begun on theirs.

  ‘My turn,’ Keith said.

  ‘Certainly not. When the Old Man says “Pay for everything”, I wouldn’t dare to disobey.’

  ‘Leave me out, this time,’ Hugh Donald said. ‘My head’s unaccustomed to high living.’

  Prather went up to the bar, lighting his third cigarette of the evening and dropping ash down his already disreputable suit. He seemed to be on friendly terms with the barmaid.

  ‘So you’re with Shennilco,’ Molly said. ‘That’s an oil company, isn’t it?’

  ‘One of the biggest in the exploration field,’ Hugh Donald said.

  ‘Is Mr Prather with Shennilco too?’

  Mr Donald shook his head. He looked mildly offended at the suggestion that his company might have on its staff anyone as scruffy as the solicitor. ‘He’s in practice in the city. A one-man-band. He turned up a fraud against the company in the course of his other busin
ess, took it to the Old Man and handled his end of it very discreetly. Since then, we’ve used him from time to time. Not on major legal matters, unless you’d call my problems that. The Old Man likes to use him as a sort of agent in the field. And I must admit that he usually gets results. Not this time, though.’

  ‘At least you’re out,’ Molly said. ‘And here.’

  ‘Thanks mostly to your husband. You were quite right about the gun,’ he said to Keith. He looked up as Prather returned carrying a tray with four fresh glasses. ‘I did say that I’d sit this one out,’ he added mildly.

  ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want to,’ Prather said. ‘But there’s a company car coming for us, so you can get stoned if you like. God knows I would, after three months in the pokey.’

  ‘It’s all been too quick,’ Hugh Donald said. ‘I don’t feel ready yet to put another layer of unreality on top of what I’ve already got.’

  ‘You were saying about the gun,’ Keith reminded him.

  ‘I did have it shortened to fit me better. But I had a recoil-pad fitted at the same time. So when the police asked me whether the gun they showed me was mine, I said at first that it was. But then it struck me that it looked . . . different.’

  ‘Longer?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Perhaps. If they’d put it into my hands, I’d have known. But what I most remember is a feeling that the figuring of the walnut stock looked different – I couldn’t have said in what way – and that the gun looked tattier and more second-hand than I remembered,’ Donald said. ‘I expect you know how it is with something you’ve used for years without really seeing it any more. It just looked unfamiliar. So I changed my mind and told the police that it wasn’t my gun after all, in spite of the number. Which didn’t do my credibility any good,’ he added.

  Keith looked at Prather. ‘Couldn’t the gunsmith who altered the gun have been called?’ he asked.

  Prather shook his head. ‘Before I got to him, there was a fire in his shop. By the time his stock of cartridges and powders had gone up, there wasn’t much left of the shop, let alone the records. He thought that he remembered doing the job for Hugh, but it was more than four years ago and he’d never have stood up to cross-examination.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s a bit too much coincidence,’ Molly said. ‘Especially when you remember that something else funny was going on.’

  ‘I thought so too,’ Prather said. ‘So I asked Hugh how many people knew that that gunsmith had worked on his gun.’

  ‘And I told him,’ Donald said, ‘that almost everybody knew it. We do a lot of entertaining in the oil industry and Shennilco runs a shoot on Deeside. One of my jobs is to entertain any business contact who fancies a day’s shooting, so whenever anybody needed work done on his gun I’d recommend this chap and show them my stock as an example of his work.’ His expressive features suggested that he was a natural smiler. In court he had looked nervous. Meeting the Calders, he had looked tired. But, suddenly, he looked appalled. ‘Don’t tell me that I brought disaster down on him!’

  ‘It was always a possibility,’ Prather said. ‘It didn’t lead anywhere. The fire officer couldn’t rule out arson, but suspected an electrical fault.’

  ‘You never told me any of this. You just said that he couldn’t back me up.’

  ‘No point adding to your worries,’ Prather said. ‘Here’s the waiter. Shall we take these up with us?’

  In the dining room, inelegantly art nouveau compared to the mahoganied opulence of the lounge and bars, Prather had arranged, again, for a table with some privacy. They talked on as the courses came and went and the wine disappeared, halting only when a waiter was at the table and the subject was confidential.

  Over the onion soup, Prather managed to find a gap in Molly’s gentle prattle. ‘You’d better explain the problem,’ he told Hugh Donald.

  ‘The problem’s this,’ Donald said. ‘I’m a senior executive with Shennilco. Supplies manager to be precise. Which means that I have to make personal contact with a great many people, all well up the ladder. And, what’s more, it means that I have to be trusted.

  ‘I was accused of a crime, and a particularly nasty one in the public mind – shooting a relatively harmless woman because she was a nuisance to me. I hope I don’t have to say more than that I didn’t do it. The evidence was circumstantial—’

  ‘Most evidence is circumstantial,’ Prather put in.

  ‘—but it looked bad until you, Mr Calder, came along and made a hole in the middle of it. Rightly or wrongly, my Counsel decided to go to the jury without putting on a defence.’

  ‘You didn’t have one,’ said Prather.

  ‘Let me tell it, all right?’ Hugh Donald asked irritably. He flushed, conspicuously against his prison pallor. ‘Sorry. Put it down to the strain. And so, the jury bring in a verdict of not proven. Which really means, “We think you did it, but they haven’t proved it, so don’t do it again.”

  ‘Well, that’s no good to me, or to Shennilco. I can’t do my job while I’m tainted by having what is almost a conviction and admonition hanging over me. My depute’s been carrying on for me, but for the last few months the work has been routine. Now there are some big deals in the offing which can’t wait much longer, and he just doesn’t have the weight for them. I have to get back on the job immediately if not sooner, and without a stain on my character. But my lawyers tell me that there are no legal steps to be taken.’

  ‘My dear lad,’ Prather said unhappily, ‘even if you could get the case re-opened, which you couldn’t, the verdict might just as easily be changed the wrong way as the right one.’

  ‘My only escape,’ Donald said, ‘is for the real culprit to be found and convicted. That’s all,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘More to the point,’ Prather said, ‘that’s what the Old Man wants. And what the Old Man wants, he’s inclined to get. The police won’t want to touch it with the proverbial barge pole and I’ve already shot my bolt, quite apart from having a modicum of work of my own to be getting on with.

  ‘So I’m to ask you whether you’d undertake an investigation for us.’

  Keith had seen the proposal coming and was not enthusiastic. Aberdeen in mid-winter had never been among his favourite haunts, and since the arrival of oil had brought with it soaring prices, an influx of many nations and traffic congestion, he liked it less. ‘Why me?’ he asked plaintively.

  ‘I know it may seem unusual. . . .’

  ‘It’s not all that unusual,’ Keith said. ‘Until the thirties, when the first police laboratories were set up, all scientific work was handled by independent experts. In England, Robert Churchill and Major Burrard shared all ballistic and firearms work. Nowadays, of course, the police labs do all the work for the prosecution, but the defence can only turn to freelances like me. But why not somebody who knows the local scene?’

  ‘Nobody leaps to mind,’ Prather said. ‘But, more to the point, you’ve had a good press recently for beating the police to the punch and coming up with real answers.’

  ‘Mostly because of local knowledge. Those cases have been nearer home.’

  Hugh Donald pushed his plate away, still half full. ‘This afternoon wasn’t local knowledge,’ he said.

  ‘This afternoon was pure bloody mischief,’ Keith said.

  ‘But it will bring more publicity,’ Prather pointed out. ‘Local publicity. And that’s exactly what we need. The first thing is to show Hugh up as obviously wronged. The Old Man wants the Shennilco PR Department to get maximum mileage out of Hugh’s determination to clear his name and Shennilco’s confidence that he can do it.’

  The idea of working in a glare of publicity horrified Keith although he could understand the need. ‘I simply don’t have the local knowledge—’

  ‘I can obtain it,’ Prather said.

  ‘—office facilities—’

  ‘Share mine.’

  ‘—and I’d need a full-time dogsbody to sift and file and phone—’

  ‘There�
�s my cousin Sheila,’ Molly said suddenly. ‘She was a personal secretary until the firm moved away last month. And she speaks Spanish, if you wanted somebody to phone Spain and find out about the numbers. I think you should take it on, Keith. Wallace won’t mind looking after the firm again as long as you’re bringing in your fees.’

  ‘As to that,’ Prather said, ‘you can regard money as the least of the problems. Shennilco is right behind this, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the oil industry it’s that the throughput of money is so colossal that a million or two can get lost as petty cash. So there’d be no difficulty, for instance, in offering a reward for information. And I think that they could afford to spring us another bottle.’ He emptied the survivor into his own glass and made signals to the wine waiter.

  ‘And you could get Ronnie to come and help,’ Molly said.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Keith said. Molly’s brother, a professional stalker, had his uses; but it was Keith’s private opinion that, apart from his skill as a tracker, Ronnie’s most useful function would be for shoring up a wall.

  He toyed with his glass while he thought about it. Keith had, on occasions, worked for clients with almost unlimited resources and had found the experience rewarding. But another objection was looming. ‘You want publicity,’ he said. ‘But, if Mr Donald is innocent, somebody else is guilty. You’re going to tell him that I’m coming after him. And I’ve had my family threatened before now, when I was getting too close on somebody’s tail. Molly, if I take this on you’ll have to take Deborah with you and go to your Auntie Annie in Dunoon.’ This was a private code for Keith’s sister in Aberfeldy.

  ‘All right,’ Molly said.

  ‘You’d better phone Wal. He can put Deborah on the train in the morning. You take the car and meet her at Dundee.’