Murmuring the Judges

71

He had thought about buying a new suit before his meeting with Richard Kilmarnock, QC, but decided instead that he would go in uniform, to emphasise that his visit was official.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Skinner,’ said the Faculty attendant, seated at Thornton’s Box, the name by which, for no clear reason, the reception desk at the entrance to the Advocates Library had become known.

‘And the same to you,’ said the DCC. ‘Mr Richard Kilmarnock, please.’

‘I’ll page him for you, sir.’

Skinner had been waiting for almost ten minutes before the advocate answered the summons, but he managed to keep his irritation hidden, when finally he did appear, unsmiling and wearing an expression which suggested that he found the interruption tiresome.

Kilmarnock stood just under six feet. He was approaching fifty, but still slim and handsome, with wavy greying hair which gave him a debonair look. Like the detective, he was a member of Edinburgh’s New Club, and they had seen each other there. However, apart from their single High Court confrontation, they had spoken only rarely.

‘I can give you ten minutes, Mr Skinner, that’s all,’ he said brusquely.

The policeman noticed the attendant wince as he heard the remark, and drop his eyes to a note on his desk which had become suddenly very important. ‘You’ll give me all the time I require, sir,’ he replied in an even tone. ‘Now, where can we speak in private?’

Skinner’s glare forbade anything other than a muttered, ‘This way.’ The Silk led him down two flights of exceptionally narrow stairs, and then turned into a corridor off which were several small consultation rooms, with tall glass panels set into their walls. The one into which he ushered the policeman was brighter than the others, and octagonal in shape.

‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ said Kilmarnock. ‘Now, if you please, what is this about?’

‘HM Advocate versus Beatrice Lewis or Gates.’

The advocate blinked. ‘The Gates case? But that’s history. .’

‘Then I’m a historian, because I want to know about it. You acted for the defence, I believe, and your brother took the case up thereafter.’

‘Correct on both counts. The case of Beattie Gates was a notorious miscarriage of justice, which was never properly corrected.’

‘As I remember, there was nothing wrong with the conviction itself. I’ve had a word with my colleagues in Tayside, and with the officer who led the investigation. He’s retired now, but he remembers it clearly. His view is that there was no reasonable doubt raised during the trial that Mrs Gates killed her husband. Obviously the jury agreed with that, because their verdict was unanimous.’

‘Ah,’ said Kilmarnock, raising an admonitory finger, ‘but the subsequent medical evidence. .’

‘Which your team failed to uncover and introduce at the trial, I’m told.’

‘Be that as it may. The subsequent evidence did establish very serious doubt. The trouble we had was that the Court of Criminal Appeal decided that it was not allowed to consider evidence that had not been put to the jury.’

Skinner frowned. ‘There’s no doubt that the Court was right about that, is there? That’s certainly the Lord President’s view.’

‘It may well have been correct,’ the advocate conceded. ‘That’s why my brother Arnold took up the case through the media.’

‘Yet your brother attacked the Court of Appeal, didn’t he? To a point at which Lord Orlach considered charging him with contempt, and had to be dissuaded by the Lord Advocate of the day, and, I’m told, by Christabel Dawson.’

Kilmarnock spluttered. ‘That old witch!’

‘She kept your brother out of jail, though. She told me so this afternoon.’

‘A contempt charge would have been ridiculous, and provocative with an election coming up.’

Skinner smiled. ‘You’re certainly right about the latter. Orlach and Miss Dawson were well-known Tory supporters; ultimately that’s why he backed off, and why your brother was able to carry on with the publication of his book.’

He paused for a moment. ‘To be absolutely frank, Mr Kilmarnock, since Mrs Gates is dead, I’m not too bothered about her guilt or innocence. . although for what it’s worth, the evidence regarding the security of their property sounded significant to me. Most bookies I know protect their homes like Fort Knox.

‘On the basis that this is between professionals, and therefore confidential, my concern is that there might be someone out there who does believe that she was wronged, and who is doing something about it.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Kilmarnock asked.

‘Who were the Appeal judges?’

The Silk furrowed his brow for a few moments, then a light of understanding seemed to go on in his eyes.

‘Oh!’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ said Skinner. ‘Because of that, I need to know the names of everyone to whom your brother spoke in researching his book, particularly those who were supporters of Mrs Gates.’

‘I understand.’

‘The couple had no children, I’m told.’

‘None. Neither had a previous marriage either.’

‘What about nephews?’

‘Beattie had one nephew as I recall. But I can’t remember his name. You won’t find it in Arnold’s book, either. He asked to be kept out of it.’

‘Where will I find it, quickly, without going through a laborious search at Register House?’

Kilmarnock hesitated, then murmured, ‘Oh I don’t suppose he’ll mind.’ He looked up at Skinner. ‘While Arnold’s away, I’m holding all of his files on the case. Photographs, the lot. We kept all the scene-of-crime stuff; we also had studies of Beattie taken by a medical photographer, to illustrate the extent of her muscle wastage. That was among the material that the Court of Appeal wouldn’t look at. . or couldn’t,’ he added grudgingly.

‘I’ll give you those, if you guarantee to return them intact when you’re done with them.’

‘Of course,’ the policeman agreed. ‘When can I have them?’

The advocate glanced at his watch. ‘Drive me home now, and I’ll hand them over.’ He threw Skinner a self-satisfied, smug glance. ‘One is an Officer of the Court after all. One has an obligation to help you chaps.’