Eye of the Raven (16 page)

‘
What did you say to that?’

‘
I said it was all some awful mistake. There must have been some mix-up in the lab but no one would listen, not even Charlotte. I’ll never forget the look on her face when . . .’

‘
About that swab?’ said Steven, wanting the conversation to end.

‘
There’s no point,’ said Little.

Steven looked at him. ‘Scared of what I’ll come up with?’ he asked. ‘Think you might have to face up to your guilt after all?’

Little didn’t reply. Instead he opened his mouth and allowed Steven to rub the cotton-tipped swab around the inside of his right cheek.

‘
Tell me one thing,’ said Steven as he carefully placed the swab inside a sterile tube, making sure that the tip did not touch anything else. ‘How did you get the scratch you had on your arm when you were arrested?’

‘
Our cat, Romeo, did it.’

Ronald Lee’s murder made it into all the papers next morning. The story was generally presented as a highland tragedy, a mindless killing followed by the death of the victim’s wife, suggesting a devoted couple who clearly couldn’t live without each other. Two of the nationals however did note that Lee had been the forensic pathologist involved in the murder investigation of Julie Summers. One of them also recalled that he had taken early retirement in the aftermath of the case.

‘
Lothian and Borders Police have been on to the Home Office again,’ said John Macmillan when Steven called Sci-Med. ‘Suffice to say they’re hopping mad about your latest exploit.’

‘
And what would that be?’ asked Steven.

‘
They say you’ve visited David Little in prison and taken a sample from him for DNA analysis. They’re complaining that you’re giving everyone the impression that there was something wrong with the original one.’

‘
Well, that certainly got around fast,’ said Steven. ‘That’s actually why I’m calling. I do want the DNA fingerprinting done again if only for my own peace of mind. I’d also like it to be done locally rather than send the samples to London so I need a name, someone independent of the police and forensic services up here.’

‘
You don’t really think that Little could be innocent, do you?’ said Macmillan.

‘
I don’t know what to think right now,’ said Steven.

‘
But the DNA evidence against him was . . .’

‘
Overwhelming, yes, I know,’ interrupted Steven. ‘But all the same, I just know there’s something badly wrong with the Summers case. I keep looking for reassurance but so far I haven’t found any. There are just too many question marks.’

‘
All right,’ sighed Macmillan. ‘We’ll make arrangements for the sequencing and get back to you. Anything else?’

‘
I’d like to know the current whereabouts of a man named John Merton who was on the staff of the forensic lab at the time of the murder. He left when Ronald Lee was put out to grass and worked in the medical school for a while but then he moved on.’

‘
We’ll do our best,’ said Macmillan.

Next Steven called McDougal the current head of forensics in Edinburgh to ask if he had any objection to giving him access to the semen samples recovered from Julie Summers.

‘
I personally don’t have any objection,’ said McDougal although he sounded puzzled. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘
I hope not,’ said Steven.

‘
I dare say you won’t be alone in these sentiments,’ said McDougal. ‘I read about the deaths of Ronald Lee and his wife in the papers this morning. I even had a journalist phoning me to ask if I had anything to say on the matter.’

‘
Did you?’ asked Steven.

‘
Only that I never knew the man.’

‘
One more thing: when I come by to pick up the samples, could I have another word with Carol Bain?’ Steven wanted to ask her about John Merton.

‘
I’ll tell her to expect you,’ said McDougal.

Steven said that he would be over some time in the afternoon and then called Peter McClintock at Fettes Police Headquarters to ask if he’d meet him at lunchtime in the pub they’d used before in Inverleith Row.

‘
Being seen with you is not exactly a good career move right now,’ said McClintock. ‘Your prison visit has been the talk of the steamie all morning.’

‘
The what?’

‘
I forgot you were English,’ replied McClintock. ‘In the days when men were men and women were grateful, the steamie was a communal washhouse for cleaning clothes. It was where Scots housewives used to meet and exchange gossip.’

‘
Right. About that drink?’

‘
One o’clock. I’ll be the one wearing a blonde wig and swearing I don’t know anyone called Dunbar.’

Steven saw that he had about an hour to kill so he sat down and tried to get his thoughts in order. Telling Sci-Med that he had a bad feeling about the case wasn’t going to be enough to sustain continued investigation for much longer. He would need something more concrete to offer Macmillan next time they spoke. There had been a distinct edginess in Macmillan’s voice when they’d spoken earlier and suspected that he was being subjected to Home Office pressure.

The duty officer at Sci-Med phoned as he was driving across town to meet McClintock. He told him that Sci-Med had arranged for a molecular biologist at the University of Edinburgh – a woman who had already signed the official secrets act for other aspects of her work – to carry out the semen and buccal swab analysis he’d asked for. Steven asked the man to send the relevant information to him as a text message. He was in heavy traffic and couldn’t stop to note down details.

‘
I think Mr Macmillan would like a word with you before you hang up,’ said the man.

Steven had to tuck the phone between head and hunched shoulder as he used both hands to turn the car into a side street to start looking for a parking place. His action attracted a disgusted look and shake of the head from a woman pedestrian who was waiting to cross the road. He gave her a half smile by way of apology.

‘
When do you plan taking the samples over?’ asked Macmillan.

‘
This afternoon,’ replied Steven, wondering why Macmillan had asked.

‘
If these new lab tests should suggest that David Little was not the killer of Julie Summers . . .’ began Macmillan hesitantly, ‘then of course the case must be reopened and to hell with any fall-out . . .’

‘
But?’ prompted Steven.

‘
If the tests should confirm that the semen was in fact David Little’s . . .’

‘
You’d like me to stop upsetting people and come back to London?’ said Steven.

‘
Do you have a problem with that?’ asked Macmillan.

‘
I suppose not,’ conceded Steven. He understood the difficulty of Macmillan’s position and recognised that there were limits to how long he could go on rocking the boat.

‘
Good,’ said Macmillan. ‘As long as we understand each other. Keep in touch.’

McClintock was already in the pub in Inverleith Row when Steven arrived. Steven saw that he had got himself a beer and was eating a sandwich so he did the same and joined him in the corner.

‘
So, do I get an invite to the opening?’ asked McClintock between bites of a cheese sandwich.

‘
Of what?’ Steven asked.

‘
The Steven Dunbar Forensic Lab Service,’ replied McClintock.

‘
Highly amusing,’ said Steven.

‘
But you are going to do the DNA fingerprinting again?’

Steven confirmed it.

‘
Look,’ said McClintock, leaning across the table, ‘I know Ronnie Lee was a tosser but Christ, you’re surely not suggesting that the whole lab was crooked and made the whole lot up?’

‘
If I didn’t have doubts I wouldn’t be asking for the tests,’ said Steven.

McClintock stopped eating and looked at Steven in astonishment. ‘Christ, you are,’ he whispered. ‘You really believe that Little was stitched up.’

‘
I didn’t say that,’ countered Steven. ‘But there’s something wrong.’

‘
You
think
there’s something wrong,’ corrected McClintock. ‘And on the basis of that you’re prepared to throw shit 360 degrees.’

‘
It’s not a question of throwing shit but I am telling you, there’s definitely something wrong,’ insisted Steven. ‘I’ve tried bloody hard to find evidence to show that I’m imagining it but frankly, it’s been like looking for snow in July. The samples are missing; the lab reports are missing and when I ask the pathologist about it he takes an assisted walk off a cliff. The only thing left to me to check is the DNA evidence myself.’

‘
Have you asked McDougal to do it?’ asked McClintock.

‘
No.’

‘
You don’t trust anyone round here, do you?’

‘
Trust is like faith. I try hard not to rely on either,’ said Steven.

‘
What did you want to see me about?’ asked McClintock.

‘
I wanted to tell you personally why I was doing this. I suppose I hoped you’d understand.’

‘
And you’d get the inside gen on how the local plods were taking it’ said McClintock.

‘
No,’ said Steven. ‘I know how they’re taking it. They’ve been on to the Home Office.’

‘
Good,’ said McClintock. ‘Then you’ll know not to park on any double yellow lines in this city. You’ll go down for life.’

Steven smiled wanly and said, ‘You told me that the Fiscal’s office was wary of relying on evidence that came from Ronnie Lee’s lab. They presented as little as possible?’

McClintock nodded. ‘Like I said, they lost a number of cases when everything seemed to be cut and dried. Just when they felt sure their man was going down, defence counsel would pop up and question some aspect of the forensic evidence. Suddenly, it didn’t stand up any more. Case dismissed and egg on face all round.’

‘
Can you get me details of these cases?’ asked Steven.

‘
Are you thinking of having them reopened too?’ asked McClintock.

‘
You never know,’ said Steven calmly.

‘
Bugger me, you’ve got balls Dunbar: I have to give you that. If I was making enemies at the rate you are I’d be spending most of my time in the bog, I’m telling you.’

‘
But you will get the details for me?’ asked Steven.

‘
I’ll see what I can do.’

‘
Another beer?’

‘
Maybe coffee.’

When he got back to the car, Steven checked his phone for the Sci-Med text message he’d asked for. He called the number he’d been given at Edinburgh University and asked to speak to Dr Susan Givens.

‘
Speaking.’

‘
My name’s Dunbar. I understand the Sci-Med Inspectorate has been in touch?’ said Steven.

‘
Indeed they have, Doctor. I take it you have the samples?’

‘
I’m just about to pick them up from the police lab. Will it be all right if I bring them over this afternoon?’

‘
I have a meeting at two, so any time after three? Say three thirty?’

‘
Three thirty, it is then’ said Steven. ‘And you are in the Institute of Cell and Molecular Biology, room 923?’

‘
That’s right. It’s the tower building on your left as you enter through gate 4 in Mayfield Road.’

Steven drove across town to the forensics lab and was shown immediately into McDougal’s office where he sensed that McDougal seemed a deal less friendly than last time.

‘
All ready for you,’ said McDougal with a weak attempt at a smile as he pushed a polystyrene container sealed up with yellow tape across his desk. ‘There are two samples of semen and the wash obtained from the buccal swab of David Little taken at the time. They’re all in crushed ice. I take it you’ve already made arrangements for the analysis?’

Steven confirmed that he had without saying more.

‘
I can’t say I wish you luck because I’ve no official idea of what you’re setting out to do. I’d be lying of course, if I pretended that I couldn’t work it out for myself. Let’s say, I wish you a result, which shows that you’re wasting your time.’

‘
Fair enough,’ smiled Steven.

‘
There’s one thing I think you should know,’ said McDougal.

‘
What?’ asked Steven.

‘
I was asked yesterday to carry out a discreet analysis on these self-same samples.’

‘
By whom?’

‘
People with an impressive amount of scrambled egg on their hats,’ replied McDougal.

‘
And?’

‘
I declined.’

‘
Can you do that?’

‘
I’ll find out over the next few days,’ said McDougal with a nervous smile.

‘
Why did you refuse?’

‘
I don’t want anything to do with what went on in this lab in Ronald Lee’s time. I’m not going to be tainted by association. I’m gambling that they won’t want me fuelling the fires of publicity by resigning on a matter of principle.’

‘
Seems a safe enough call,’ said Steven. ‘Let’s hope for everyone’s sake that the scrambled egg stays on their hats and doesn’t slip down on to their faces when the results come back.’