Dark Angels (6 page)

Kailash’s French manicured fingers stroked her flawless complexion, as she searched for the proper insult.

I tried to help.

‘A student. I look like a student. I’m always being told that.’

‘No,’ she said, wagging her index finger back and forth, as if no student ever looked that bad. She gave up on the put-down, there was clearly nothing awful enough to describe me–and continued the lecture.

‘Brodie, you are unique. How many people have escaped from their upbringing? Truly escaped? You are educated, which is rare where you come from. You
are respected–to an extent, but it is still an achievement. And Brodie,’ I could have sworn her voice softened, but I could have been misled by the fact that I was starting to wonder just how she had managed to Google me while in St Leonard’s, ‘you are beautiful, no matter how much you try to deny it.’ I’ve read that if you can speak at the rate of a human heart, you can sell anything. Kailash had that gift and I needed to fight her mesmerism.

Her voice returned to normal. ‘We must work on your image.’

I struggled past the image of me striding into court à la Julia Roberts, styled by Stella McCartney, with a Nobel Prize in one hand and an Oscar in the other. It was hard to decide which fantasy was best, so I went for reality instead.

‘No, Kailash. Right now, we work on your defence.’

Worryingly, I was beginning to notice that Kailash was doing everything she could to avoid talking about what had actually happened. We hadn’t yet had the conversation I have with most clients, where I spend my time trying to get them to shut up. She already knew I didn’t want to hear that she had murdered Lord Arbuthnot, but this was deeper than that. No one pleads guilty to a charge of murder. It is simply not worth it, because there is only one sentence: life. If she told me she was guilty, it would make my job impossible, but she was being even quieter about it all than it usually required.

‘The three defences to murder that apply to you are…’

Kailash stood impassively in the corner smoking an
imported cigarette. I prayed she was listening to me. This was all a damn sight more important than taking me for a makeover.

‘Alibi. That means it wasn’t you. You were somewhere else when the murder happened. It helps if you have a credible witness to back you up.’

Fleetingly, I wondered if she knew any credible witnesses. To be openly associated with Kailash Coutts was social, and professional, suicide. A cold, slow, shiver ran down my back, like an ice cube meandering down my spine. I was in that category now.

‘Then, there’s self defence,’ I continued. ‘But, you are only allowed to use reasonable force, and in your case it might be tricky, given that it is the Lord President who’s dead.’

Kailash raised an eyebrow quizzically, as if I did not know my own profession. Regrettably, she might be right.

‘Lastly, and it’s difficult, is the defence of accident. That means you were there. You were the cause of death. But it was a mishap.’

Kailash said nothing. The clock on the cell walls showed 10.30a.m., as a disembodied voice called me over the tannoy.

‘Brodie McLennan to court six.’

A young police officer rattled the bars of the cell.

‘You’re here,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘Sheriff Strathclyde is on the bench. He’s waiting for you.’

Standing straight to catch his breath, he blocked my exit. I pushed past him, running at full pelt out of the cells, my black gown flying as he called after me.

‘By the way…he’s been on the bench since ten.’

With barely a nod to Kailash, I ran and ran. I didn’t stop until I reached the entrance of the court. My adversary for this morning, Baggy Sutherland, lurched against the doorframe. He had a droopy hangdog look that comes from a lifetime of disappointments. Gifted in court, when he was sober, he could bring a tear to any juror’s eye. His black court gown was in fact green with age. On occasions when I had forgotten mine, his was the only one left hanging in the agents’ room. Wearing Baggy’s gown was like putting on the mantle of Elijah.

‘You’re in trouble.’ Baggy stopped me, and started pulling at my gown. I had no time for pleasantries, I pushed forwards, but he wouldn’t let me go.

‘It’s on inside out,’ he offered by way of an explanation for the mauling which was taking place. Rather deftly, for a man with tremors in his hands, he removed my gown, and turned it right side out.

‘The mood that old bastard’s in, he’d do you with contempt for wearing it that way.’

Baggy was serious. Sheriff Strathclyde had a severe problem with me–even before I acted for his wife in their divorce action. He could find me in contempt of court for anything, even my clothes. I would win it on appeal, but he still had the power. I was anxious to do nothing to offend him.

I could almost hear his breath as I walked in. Sheriff Strathclyde is small, very angry, and with a body shape that favours a toad. I intended to walk straight in and proceed with business. He, of course had other plans.
He wanted me to suffer. His ball-like face, which looked as if it had been chewed by a large dog trying to remodel its own arse, signalled red for danger.

All heads, but one, had swivelled to watch my entrance. Kailash looked intently at the bench. She had taken the direct route from the cells, and had arrived much faster than I could.

‘How kind of you to find the time to join us today, Ms McLennan.’ Sheriff Strathclyde’s voice was chilly, deep, and rich, the product of a very expensive education.

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t find you in contempt of court,’ he spat at me. ‘Right now.’

‘Well, how about the fact that you have absolutely no right to?’ I countered. ‘I was consulting with a client on a very serious charge.’

It took about a second for me to realise this wasn’t quite the approach I should have gone for.

‘No right, no right!’ Purple in the face, Strathclyde looked as if he were about to explode.

‘No right!’ he continued. ‘It’s my court! I can do as I please! Anything! I can do anything!’

Raising himself up to his full height, he leaned over the bench. For a moment, I thought that he would topple onto me. I was squaring up to him. This day was getting worse with every passing minute and he was a bully. Anyway, surely he wouldn’t respect obsequiousness?

‘Find me in contempt,’ I challenged him, ‘and I will appeal you straightaway.’

No judge likes to have his or her decisions appealed. I had my pen poised noting down every word he said.

Strathclyde was well acquainted with the appeal procedure. He knew that judicial words spoken in anger did not go down well over the road in Parliament House.

Disdainfully, he flicked his manicured hand in my direction. Feeling more relief than I would ever admit, I took my seat in the well of the court, opposite the Procurator Fiscal.

This case, in technical lawyer speak, had all the makings of being a Right Royal Bastard.

The Fiscal and I had been at university together. Frank Pearson was a mature student when we were both studying together, but the age gap made no difference to our friendship. I always had time for him and I liked the way he never made assumptions about me or my competitive streak.

The sheriff clerk looked disparagingly at me as she called the case. I was grateful that indictments are called in chambers, which meant that no member of the press or public was allowed. As things stood, the people who were allowed to be there were causing me enough trouble without any help from outsiders.

‘Are you Kailash Bernadette Coutts?’ The clerk’s voice rang out around the courtroom.

The surprise caught in my throat. Bernadette? But then I recalled her Irish mother and realised it could have been worse; she might have had my first name.

The clerk’s voice went on as I waited impatiently for my turn.

‘How do you plead?’

That was it. My cue. My curtain call. I leaped to my feet.

‘Brodie McLennan. I appear on behalf of Ms Coutts, who makes no plea or declaration at this stage.’

On indictment charges, you do not plead guilty or not guilty, you do not declare your position, you do not give anything away. I expected to be out of that oaf’s court as quickly as possible, because I couldn’t ask for bail on a murder charge, and I was determined to leave no clue behind me. Kailash would be remanded in prison until the trial, and I would have a chance to reconsider my position at that point. I could already see myself this evening, languishing in a bubble bath, working out whether I should go on with this case, working out how to get out of it. My reverie was soon broken.

‘Ms McLennan, approach the bench.’

Frank Pearson was already there, and deep in discussion with Sheriff Strathclyde.

‘The Fiscal has moved that we carry out the judicial examination now in view of the media interest in this case.’

Frank raised his eyebrows in apology to me. This clearly wasn’t his decision–the word had come from much higher up. I felt as if I had been ambushed and took little comfort from the fact that Frank probably felt the same way.

I didn’t have many cards to play.

‘I haven’t had time to discuss this with my client.’

Kailash’s performance at the judicial examination was crucial to the outcome of the case, and I didn’t
want her to be thrown in there before I had a chance to discuss matters with her.

Sheriff Strathclyde was quick to put the boot in.

‘I hope you’re not suggesting, Ms McLennan, that you would be coaching your client?’

As it is illegal in Scotland to prepare witnesses, I hastily denied it. Under the circumstances, I had no objection that would be upheld. Swiftly, I moved towards the dock. Unlike me, Kailash seemed unperturbed. She was eyeballing Sheriff Strathclyde and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

‘Kailash? I can’t stop this judicial examination.’

Her face did not even register my presence. Trancelike she continued to stare at Strathclyde. I assumed that her stares were to unsettle him, and I assumed that she was trying to unsettle him because he was–or had been–a client of hers. That was all I needed. Maybe she thought she could bribe him or embarrass him into calling off the case. If so, she must have conveniently forgotten just who she was accused of killing. I was losing patience.

‘Kailash!’ I called as loudly as I dared. ‘Listen to me. The Fiscal is about to ask you questions. However, you are entitled to refuse to answer them.’

My heart was beating, a mixture of adrenalin and anger. She wasn’t listening to me and was bound to throw away any slight chance she may have. I had to press on–professional ethics meant that even clients who wouldn’t deign to give me a moment of their attention still had to be advised.

‘You don’t have to answer any questions, and my
normal advice would be to say nothing as that is the safest option, but–and it is a big “but”–if you have a good defence, and don’t state it, the Crown can comment on your failure to the jury. Kailash, I don’t know whether you have a good defence or not. This is your call. It really depends on how brave you are.’ I finished my whispered comments to Kailash feeling more of a need to shout explicit advice rather than leave so much to her judgment. She was much calmer than me.

Again, no reaction. Her lack of emotion was worrying me. How was she going to act and react when she got up there? Was she going to take the psychopath route? The wounded tart with a heart? Or continue her mad staring at Strathclyde? It mattered to me. It mattered a lot. When a trial lawyer gets started, the victim and the accused are lost. It is merely a fight, a game with the prosecution. And it’s a game I like to win.

‘Kailash, this matters. This will all be tape recorded and go before a jury.’

She surprised me by clutching my arm and nipping it.

‘Did you say this will be tape recorded?’ I nodded my head, resentfully rubbing at the place on my arm where her nails had dug in.

‘Is there any way the tape can be interfered with?’ ‘No, of course not. It’s kept and authorised by the Fiscal.’

‘And do you trust him? Do you trust that process?’

‘Kailash, what’s going on? Of course I do. I know Frank Pearson. He’s a good man. But I also know the
process. They’re the ones who want this to happen. They’re not going to scupper their own procedures. It’s nothing to be scared of.’

‘Scared?’ she almost spluttered. ‘Why do you think I would be scared?’

‘Well, if you’re thinking from the other side and actually believe you, or someone you know, could get in and wreck the tape if you don’t come out of it too well, you can forget that right now. No chance,’ I warned her.

She chewed her lips as she was thinking. I have the same bad habit–it saves my nails, but the inside of my mouth resembles a slasher movie.

‘Don’t stand in front of me when I am being asked questions. I want to see him,’ she informed me in an emotionless voice.

‘Kailash, it won’t work. I don’t know how you know him–although it doesn’t take much imagination to guess–but that won’t cut any ice here. It doesn’t matter if he likes to dress up as a schoolgirl or get his arse smeared with peanut butter while a whippet licks it off, you’ve been accused of murder. That’s all that counts.’

‘You’ve got quite a vivid imagination there, Brodie,’ she responded. ‘I could use you.’

‘Don’t bother flattering me. It’s standard practice for lawyers to act as a buffer between clients and the bench.’

That was true, but I was also put out at being sidelined. I wasn’t a bit player in this. I was a star attraction and I liked it that way. Nonetheless, I continued.

‘I can’t stop you if you are specifically instructing me that way, Kailash, but remember that you still retain
the right to consult with me before you answer any questions. I can’t interrupt in the proceedings so it has to come from you.’

Kailash had already moved on. She hadn’t even heard the last comments. She was, however, the only one ignoring me. Sheriff Strathclyde had his beady little eyes focused right in my direction.

‘If you are quite finished, Ms McLennan, perhaps we may have a moment of your time to begin.’