Sauce For the Pigeon

by Gerald Hammond

  *

  Keith never got to the High Court on the Wednesday. Still feeling as limp as a wet tissue and with his mind coated with treacle, he persuaded Molly to chauffeur him to Turnhouse Airport. Deborah, from being a silent child, had suddenly arrived at the stage of asking incessant and usually unanswerable questions, and had perforce come with them for lack of any friend willing to put up with her for the day. Her parents were distracted by a constant inquisition, mostly on the subject of aircraft (about which they were both totally ignorant) while they tracked Watty Dunbar’s progress or lack of it by telephone. Departure from Paris, although always said to be imminent, was delayed, and when the plane at last took off and crossed the Channel it was only to experience further trouble and to make an emergency landing at Bournemouth. Keith tried to phone but the passengers, not having cleared customs, were confined to the plane.

  By this time, British Airways staff had become helpfully involved and used every means to obtain, if not accelerated progress, at least an accurate forecast of progress to be expected. When it became clear that Watty could not now reach Heathrow in time to catch the last shuttle, the Calders left, comforted with promises that Watty would be put on the first shuttle of the morning, by force if necessary.

  Tired and dispirited, they arrived home to find Mr Enterkin waiting on the doorstep. The skid marks under his Rover told their own story. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.

  Keith was in an advanced state of neurosis and ready to bite, but Molly took command. ‘We have been waiting at Turnhouse for a passenger who didn’t arrive,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t our fault, so don’t go on at my husband, not if you want him to be any use to you tomorrow. Keith, go and sit in the study while I get a meal together. Mr Enterkin, would you please bring Deborah inside for me and then go and tell Keith all about the day. And,’ she added, ‘if Deborah asks that last question again, for God’s sake don’t tell her.’

  Mr Enterkin, who adored Deborah, did as he was asked, which gave Keith time to wash, calm down, put a match to the logs and pour drinks.

  When the two men were at ease in front of the soothing hypnosis of the flames, Mr Enterkin said more reasonably, ‘Mr Dunbar didn’t come, then?’

  ‘He’s in the country,’ Keith said, ‘and promised for the first shuttle in the morning. I should be with you for the opening of court, or by mid-morning at the latest. Will that do?’

  ‘I suppose it’ll have to. But we’re running it very fine. I don’t know for how long Garrard can spin out his last cross-examination. And he can’t put on much defence until you’re there.’

  ‘He can call Andrew Dumphy first,’ Keith said. ‘He’s on the list. He can say that no shots were heard that morning.’

  ‘That takes care of about ten minutes,’ the solicitor said gloomily.

  ‘Tell Garrard to ask whether it isn’t true that Dumphy’s brother-in-law, Bob Jack of Haizert Farm, was there that morning and had quarrelled bitterly with Muir.’

  Mr Enterkin’s voice went up to a squeak. ‘That’d be thrown straight out on objection. Irrelevant. Special defence and no notice given.’

  ‘That should be good for an hour of argument if I’m not there in time,’ Keith said. ‘But don’t panic yet. I’ll be there. What’s the news from court?’

  Mr Enterkin finished his sherry and then took several deep breaths. ‘Sherry seems rather tame, fraught as I am,’ he said. ‘Do you think I could have a stiff gin and tonic?’

  ‘Surely,’ Keith said. He struggled to his feet. His strength was returning but his knees were still like rubber.

  Mr Enterkin accepted a mammoth gin and tonic and took a long pull. ‘Aah!’ he said with feeling.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Not to say better. Less worse, perhaps. God, what a day! You were enquiring as to the status quo. Which, I may say, is even worse than I expected.’

  ‘The technician was still giving evidence,’ Keith prompted.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. And first thing in the morning he sprang his bombshell. Or whatever one does with bombshells.’

  ‘Drop them,’ Keith said.

  ‘What? Oh, I see what you mean. Probably. Anyway, he testified that he had examined the myriad little electronic bits and pieces scattered around the Land Rover and found that they largely corresponded with the components in one of the accused’s prototype radio-telephones as found in the workshop and which he produced in evidence. He stated that, with the addition of one small and very sensitive microswitch, this could be made to trigger a bomb by radio – a concept which he proceeded to demonstrate in a manner which put the fear of God into most of those present and filled the court with smoke.

  ‘That was all very well as far as it went, and need have been no more damaging than if he had demonstrated that you and I have the necessary equipment for an act of rapine. But he then went on to testify that among the components collected by the police was a microswitch of just the type needed and which was not a part of any of the prototype radio-telephones. The accused passed me several notes suggesting questions to be put in cross-examination. These I duly passed to Garrard, who asked the questions without shaking the witness at all.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Keith said.

  ‘That was not the end of it. A manufacturer’s representative followed and testified that, although that particular microswitch is now on sale in numerous computer shops, it had only just been introduced to the market in November; and Jake Paterson’s electronic emporium was one of the first customers for it. When Garrard leaned on him, which he did in cross-examination, the man admitted that as at, say, two days before the explosion that switch could probably have been bought at ten other outlets in Scotland.’

  ‘But the damage was done?’

  ‘It was indeed. I fear that the jury were left with an impression which may be difficult to eradicate. We only hope that you can help to offset it. Could I have another of these? It has brought new life to an ageing husk.’

  ‘Of course.’ Keith found that getting to his feet was easier this time, but his mind was still not back in gear. He topped up his own glass and mixed a fresh gin and tonic of a calibre which could only be described as lethal, while he tried and failed to think of a few words of comfort. ‘What else?’ he asked.

  ‘An electrician with plans and photographs showing a cable leading from a socket in Paterson’s kitchenette, out through a ventilator, down the wall, across a roof and in at the window of his workshop where it was connected to a heater within a few feet of the transmitter. He estimated that it would take less than a minute to transfer the connection from one to the other.

  ‘Then your partner was called to prove the sale of gunpowder etcetera to the accused, which he did without giving any other change.

  ‘Finally, Mrs Muir. She had hardly taken the stand when the day ran out. Presumably she will speak to the last time she saw her husband, and will also complete the prosecution’s case by swearing that Paterson left her abed in his flat to visit the kitchenette and provide her with a refreshing cup of tea. Thus, of course, placing him beside the end of the cable which he could have attached to his transmitter before she arrived.’

  ‘It’s solid, isn’t it?’ Keith said dismally. ‘Nothing damning on its own, but add the pieces together . . . What do you think?’

  ‘They may well convict,’ Mr Enterkin said. ‘They certainly will if we don’t make a showing. Mrs Muir is the last prosecution witness. So unless you can give us some meaty material for cross-examination purposes, you’d better be there in good time. Dumphy won’t be good for more than half an hour, and we’d be inviting trouble if we called Paterson before we had your evidence.’

  ‘Did anybody look through the barrels of Muir’s gun, to see whether they were clean or dirty?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Not as far as I know. The matter certainly was not raised in evidence.’

  ‘That could be important,’ Keith said. ‘I’ve only just thought about it. Suggest to counsel that he ha
nds me the gun and asks me whether it looks like the one which I saw in Muir’s hands. That’ll give me a chance to examine it. To come back to Mrs Muir, I can’t think of any questions we haven’t already discussed. Get Garrard to pin her down on when her husband came home and what they last said to each other.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Enterkin impatiently. ‘You hold the egg this way, Granny.’

  ‘And exactly when they said it. You know,’ Keith said, ‘I keep getting surer and surer that I’ve met that woman before.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Mr Enterkin said. The gin was getting to him. ‘I can’t imagine anyone forgetting a woman like that.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. And it’s not the kind of question you can ask a lady. “Excuse me, hen, but didn’t we make love in the back of my van, some time during the early seventies?”’

  Mr Enterkin shuddered.

  ‘If it’s the same woman,’ Keith said, ‘I’ll tell you one thing about her. She had a hell of a temper. She took a kick at my dog and I turfed her out of the van. And there’s something else. Something important.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t remember. But it’s to do with something you’ve told me. You’ve misled me somewhere. Go over all that you’ve said to me about her and we’ll see if we can’t pinpoint it.’

  Mr Enterkin stayed to supper but, in Molly’s presence, discussion of Mrs Muir was inhibited.

  Chapter Twelve

  As promised, Watty Dunbar arrived at Turnhouse on the first shuttle. Unfortunately, due to a lightning strike of firemen, the first shuttle left London after the court had resumed its sitting and when it arrived the time for the midday adjournment was uncomfortably close and Keith was sure that he could detect emanations of panic coming all the way from Mr Enterkin in Edinburgh. After great effort and considerable expense, Keith had managed to reach Watty on the phone at Heathrow at the very moment that the latter’s plane was called. Keith remained at the phone, trying to get a soothing message to Mr Enterkin through the office of the Clerk of Justiciary.

  At long last Watty Dunbar’s compact frame and dark-tanned face came through the doors. They shook hands. Watty was ready for a chat, but Keith’s impatience was at fever pitch. He manoeuvred them through the baggage hall at a brisk trot and whisked Watty and his bags out to the car where Molly was patiently fending off questions from Deborah.

  The two men sat together in the back. ‘You look pooped,’ Watty said.

  ‘He’s exhausted,’ Molly said over her shoulder. ‘He’s just had flu and he shouldn’t be out of his bed yet.’

  ‘I’ll rest when all this is over. Can’t waste time now. And we’ll catch up with the news later.’ Keith yawned. There were still cobwebs over his mind. ‘Tell me everything that happened that morning, in as much detail as you remember. With necessary omissions,’ he added, pointing at the back of Deborah’s head.

  The head switched round immediately. ‘Daddy, what’s a necessary omissium?’

  ‘Ask me later, Toots. This is important.’

  ‘Sure.’ During his work among oilmen, Watty’s speech had become Americanized. ‘I had to be in Edinburgh by noon, about my contract, but I’d missed getting out the day before and I heard sport was good so I wasn’t going to miss again. I was out there at dawn. Matter of fact, I misjudged the time and got there too early and dawn was breaking as I set my decoys. There was a flight-line developed not far away but the bug – um – beggars didn’t want to know about decoys. Well, the decoys were flat on the ground and not moving, and when the sun came up they looked shiny. I wasted a few shots trying for high birds, to get one for the flapper, and when I got one I found that no way could I drive in the flapper’s peg. But as the sun got higher they began to come over and I collected a few. Then, later, I had company until it was time to leave for Edinburgh. That’s about it.’

  ‘Let’s start again from the beginning,’ Keith said. ‘You were in the corner of the wood, where the three rowans are and a blackthorn behind them?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘There’s a barn on the other side of the wood, half-full of straw. That’s where you met your company?’

  ‘Where else, in that weather?’

  ‘What time did your company arrive?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking much about the time just then. I waited until I heard a whistle from the other side of the wood. Best guess, about nine or a little earlier.’

  Deborah screwed herself round again. ‘How many pigeon did you get?’ she asked.

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Daddy, how many’s eleven?’

  ‘All your fingers and one more.’

  Deborah looked down at her hands. ‘That’s a lot,’ she said respectfully.

  Molly’s mind was elsewhere. ‘I bet your hands were cold,’ she said.

  ‘I was told so.’

  ‘You keep your mind on your driving,’ Keith told his wife’s back. ‘You’re not supposed to be listening. Watty, you get a good view from where you were. Did you see smoke to the north of you, about half-way to Dumphy’s farm?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘Your company must have been impatient and got there before nine, then. Did you hear any shots from up that way?’

  ‘Not a sound,’ Watty said. ‘And the wind was coming from that direction.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Keith hesitated and then moved on. ‘You could see vehicles moving on the road?’ he asked. With a sense of shock he saw that they were at Corstorphine already. And he was running out of questions without having learned anything new.

  ‘I wasn’t paying much attention to the road,’ Watty said. ‘Traffic was going by, if you can call about three vehicles an hour traffic, but – what the hell? – who watches the cars when the birds are coming over?’

  ‘Did you see any Land Rovers?’ Keith asked desperately. ‘Turn off after the zoo,’ he told Molly, ‘and go in where the railway line used to be.’

  ‘I think there were one or two Land Rovers,’ Watty said, ‘but, again, not to notice. The only vehicle I saw to remember was a car, the ugliest bloody red I’ve seen in years, and I only saw that because I looked down at my decoys to see if a bird had dropped in among them, the way they sometimes do, and the white plume of exhaust caught my eye.’

  Keith nodded. Mrs Muir would have been on her way to her tryst with Jake Paterson. As Mr Enterkin had implied, Eros must have been in the air above Newton Lauder that morning, among the pigeons.

  ‘Like that?’ Deborah asked. She pointed to a passing car, its exhaust steaming in the cold air.

  ‘Just like that,’ Watty said politely.

  ‘Daddy, why do some cars make white smoke?’

  ‘Not just now, Tootles,’ Keith said absently. ‘Watty, what time did the red car go by?’

  ‘Early. I was hardly set up and hidden.’

  ‘So the weeping widow was . . .’ Keith stopped dead. There was a long pause. ‘Bloody hell!’ Keith said.

  ‘Keith!’ Molly said warningly. ‘You won’t need to talk like that when you get into the witness box.’

  ‘I can speak “pan loaf” when the need’s there.’

  ‘Daddy, where is hell?’

  ‘Not . . . just . . . now . . . Half-portion.’ An enormous grin spread over Keith’s face. His mind, suddenly, was sharp as a needle. It was all there if he could but sort it out. He scrabbled in his brief-case for paper, pencil and photographs. ‘Ask your mother,’ he said. ‘She knows about that sort of thing. Me, I only know about heaven. Drive gently, Molly, while I’m writing. Gently but like the wind.’

  *

  Molly crossed the lights on amber from the Lawn Market into the High Street and pulled up opposite the bulk of St Giles’ Cathedral. ‘This child and I are going home,’ she said. ‘The beds aren’t even made yet. Good luck. Do your best for Jake.’

  ‘Right. We’ll get home with Ralph or somebody. Leave your case in the car, Watty. Get yourself some lunch and then come to Court Three, you
may be needed. Be good, you two.’ Keith kissed the backs of his ladies’ necks and climbed stiffly out of the car. His mind might be strong but his legs were still weak.

  Behind the cathedral, Mr Enterkin was haunting Parliament Square, hopping from foot to foot.

  ‘If you’re in need of a pee,’ Keith said, ‘you’d better go before court resumes, you won’t have time later. But before you rush off, get me in to see Jake.’

  ‘Keith, where have you been?’ Mr Enterkin grabbed Keith’s wrist in case he should vanish again. ‘We thought you’d had an accident. The prosecution’s case is finished. Garrard spun out his cross-examination of Mrs Muir for as long as he could, but by the time he was getting around to asking things like her sign of the zodiac Lord Bickenholme called a halt. Garrard didn’t want to call the farmer, because once he started that examination his minutes would be numbered. So he filled in the remaining hour before lunch with an interminable argument that there was no case to answer and a promise that we would prove our client’s innocence. It was a brilliant performance. He never actually said anything, but it would have taken a clear and unclouded mind to observe the fact. But now we’ve got to make a real showing. He’ll want to put you on first but frankly, Keith, if you can’t come up with something more than you have already, your friend gets a free ride to Barlinnie.’

  ‘Can I get a word in edgeways now?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Who’s stopping you?’

  ‘I think I’ve got all we need,’ Keith said, ‘if Garrard can get the evidence admitted.’ He produced two pages of paper. His writing bounced but was readable. ‘This is a list of things collected by the police. Any that aren’t already in evidence I want brought in. The other’s a list of questions for Garrard to ask me. Now, get me in to see Jake before court reconvenes.’

  Mr Enterkin was studying the lists. His protuberant eyes were almost popping out. ‘I don’t understand all the questions,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to. You’ll understand the answers all right.’