Aftershock

Forty-three

‘Realistically,’ Neil McIlhenney asked, ‘what do we have?’

‘We’ve got him for everything he’s already been charged with,’ said Stallings, leaning back in her chair with her feet on her desk. ‘He’s admitted to all of it in his signed statement.’

‘Which can be withdrawn at any time.’

‘He can try, sir, but the sugar-cube necklet does him. He took it off the girl’s body and gave it to his ex-wife. I’ll grant you that I’d have been happier if the lab had found gunshot residue on his clothes, but even without that, and without the weapon, the evidence against him is so strong that I want to do him for murder. Think about it. We don’t even need to prove that he shot her: a jury might find that by moving the body he made himself an accessory.’

‘Maybe in England, Becky,’ the superintendent chuckled, ‘but on this side of the border we have a third possible verdict, “not proven”. In this case, your jury might well decide to hide behind that.’

‘What’s the difference between that and “not guilty”?’

‘For the accused, there is none in practical terms. He’s acquitted of the charge, once and for all. For the jury? I’ve never been on one, so I can’t say for sure, but most people reckon that it gives them the chance of saying to the guy in the dock, “We reckon you’re guilty, but we needed more proof.” I can’t give you any better explanation than that, but it’s been around for a long time, and it was a cop-out in capital cases when at least eight out of the fifteen couldn’t bring themselves to send someone to be hanged.’

‘Fifteen?’

McIlhenney nodded. ‘We have a fifteen-person jury, and eight- seven is an acceptable verdict. If you want to press on with a murder charge, do that, but ultimately it’s a Crown Office decision and they’ll have all these things in mind. However, as you say, we have him by the short and curlies on a charge of perverting the course of justice. In theory, he could get life for that; he won’t but if I was in his shoes I’d plead guilty in the hope that my counsel would offer enough in mitigation to talk the judge out of an exemplary sentence.’

‘He’ll go to jail, though?’

Seated beside her, Jack McGurk snorted. ‘Too bloody right he will. This is a murder inquiry, and he’s a police officer: if he gets less than five years, he’ll be lucky.’

‘And if he’s guilty of that murder, he’ll be even luckier. He and his solicitor had time to concoct that story between them.’

‘You’ve met too many bent lawyers in London, Becky,’ said the sergeant. ‘Frankie Bristles may be a police witness’s worst nightmare, but she’s an officer of the Court and one of the highest legal-aid earners in Scotland. I might not like her very much, but I don’t have any doubts about her integrity. If Weekes made up that story, then he did it himself.’

‘If?’ Stallings exclaimed. ‘Jack, are you saying you think he was telling the truth?’

The superintendent intervened: ‘No, I think he’s saying we can’t disprove it categorically. If Weekes is charged with murder, that’s what he’ll come out with in the witness box. Unless we can find the gun and put it in his hand, through a witness or through forensics, then at least eight of those fifteen people I mentioned earlier will see that hole in our case, and he’ll get off through the bastard verdict, as “not proven” was described by none other than Sir Walter Scott.’

‘Who’s he? A famous Scots lawyer?’

McIlhenney looked at her, shook his head sadly, and continued: ‘On Monday, our first reaction was that we were looking at a copycat. The defence will suggest that we still are, and who knows? They might be right.’ He frowned. ‘You can forget the accessory idea, by the way. You’d need to establish a link with someone else to make that stick. In this one, he either did it or he didn’t.’

‘So what do you want me to do, sir?’ Stallings asked.

‘I want you to make a choice,’ McIlhenney replied. ‘You can go downstairs and lay the murder on him right now, or you can go and see the procurator fiscal and ask for his opinion. As I said, at the end of the day it’s the Crown Office that does the prosecuting, not us.’

‘That would be the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t it?’ the inspector mused.

‘Pragmatic.’

‘Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go up to Chambers Street this afternoon.’

‘No,’ said the superintendent, quickly. ‘Leave it until tomorrow morning. Gregor Broughton’s due back then; he’s got the soundest hands in that place. I wouldn’t trust anything to that new assistant of his. Be in his office as soon as he’s hung up his jacket, and tell him where we’ve got to. Before Weekes goes into court for his first formal hearing, Gregor can decide whether to proceed with the murder charge, and whether to oppose the bail application that Ms Birtles will undoubtedly make.’