Aftershock

Ninety-five

In full uniform, Deputy Chief Constable Andy Martin sat in the well of the High Court in Dundee with a growing sense of horror as an usher in the corridor outside called out, for the third time, the name of the chief prosecution witness.

The jury, eleven men and four women, had been empanelled the day before, and had heard opening speeches by counsel for the Crown and for the defence. They sat in two rows, some displaying signs of impatience, one or two showing signs of bewilderment. The judge, Lady Broughton, sat sternly above them, dressed in the wig and red robe, trimmed with white fur, that was the traditional uniform of the Scottish Supreme Court bench. The prisoner, Cameron ‘Grandpa’ McCullough, sat in the dock, stone-eyed and impassive, flanked by two huge constables as he watched the majesty of justice implode.

Martin knew what was going to happen. He knew that when police officers had called at the Aberdeen home of Carmela Dickson, John McCreath’s widow, to collect her and her sister for their big day, they had found the house empty. The shouting in the corridor was a charade.

Ten minutes after he had been sent to summon Mrs Dickson, the usher reappeared and whispered in the ear of Herman Butters, the Advocate Depute, who sat at a table, facing the judge, his wig pushed forward until it almost covered his eyes. He nodded and the official withdrew. Slowly, reluctantly, counsel rose to his feet. ‘My lady,’ he began, ‘I regret to inform you that the principal witness for the Crown has failed to appear.’

‘The whole of Dundee must know that by now,’ said Lady Broughton. ‘Are you telling me that, for the second time in as many weeks, you are unable to proceed?’

‘Regrettably, I am. The Crown offers no evidence against the prisoner.’ He resumed his seat.

The judge glared at the dock. ‘Please stand,’ she snapped, not trying to hide her anger as the accused stood up. ‘Mr McCullough,’ she told him, ‘you lead a charmed life. Fate, or someone playing the part, seems to have intervened on your behalf. The case against you is deserted simpliciter. The jury is discharged. Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for this inexcusable waste of your time.’ In the public gallery a few cheers broke out. She silenced them with a glare, then looked back towards the Crown table. ‘Mr Butters, there remains the matter of the charge on which the prisoner was remanded last week. Do you have a motion to present?’

‘Yes, my lady, I do. I regret to advise you that we are no longer able to proceed with that charge either. The indictment is withdrawn.’

Lady Broughton’s eyes were like ice as they swept back to the dock. ‘In that case, Mr McCullough, you also are discharged and are free to leave. But before you do, let me make two things clear to you. I do not believe in luck when it comes to criminal matters, and I have a long memory. Good morning.’

The room rose as she did. She turned to leave the bench; as she did she caught Martin’s eye, and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He read her intention: as the court emptied, he followed her through the side door into her chambers.

By the time he entered, she had divested herself of her robe and wig, revealing long legs in a dark trouser suit, and was standing before a wall mirror rearranging her short auburn hair. ‘Lady Broughton,’ he began.

There was no preamble. ‘I hope you’re as angry as I am,’ she said. ‘When I see a man like that walking out into the sunshine, I. . Oh, dammit, Andy, you know what I mean.’

‘I know, Phil. Trust me on that. My chief constable would have been here to face the music himself, but he’s taken personal charge of the investigation into the disappearance of McCullough’s white powder from a secure store. God, is he on the warpath! He’s suspended half a dozen people, three officers and three civilians, pending the outcome.’

‘Any progress?’

‘One of our civilian clerks went on holiday on Friday: a Polish guy. He told colleagues that he was going on a package to Ibiza from Edinburgh. He didn’t. His bidey-in swears she doesn’t know where he is. Whether she’s lying or not, we don’t expect him back at work any time soon. Our opposite numbers in Krakow. . that’s his home town. . are looking for him over there.’

‘Do you think you’ll find him?’

‘I can’t say. By now he could be deep under a house, or an industrial unit: Grandpa’s a very thorough man, and there’s plenty of new building going on in the region.’

‘The man. . your Polish clerk. . must have had help, surely. That’s a lot of drugs to walk out of the door.’

‘Like I said, we’ve got half a dozen people under investigation, but it’s possible he did it alone. The packages were replaced by look-alikes, full of talc and flour; it could have been done over a period, probably was.’

‘How was it discovered?’

‘The stuff was reweighed: routine, to guard against people nicking small quantities of coke as party treats. There was a discrepancy, so we took a closer look.’

‘Too bad. Maybe if nobody had checked. .’ the judge chuckled ironically ‘. . but forget I said that. Anyway, the defence would have been bound to ask for another look. Do you think McCullough’s counsel knew those witnesses weren’t going to turn up?’

Martin frowned. ‘Are you asking me if I think Sally Mathewson’s bent? For if she did, that’s what it would amount to. If she had knowledge of that, then as an officer of the court she’d have been obliged to declare it. Grandpa would know that; he wouldn’t have taken the risk.’

‘What about the witnesses? That really is bad, Andy.’

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘And I accept the blame on behalf of the police service, even if it was the Aberdeen force that lost them, and not my people. They were regarded as being at risk, and they should have been kept under observation all the time. Graham Morton’s pursuing that as well: he’s going to ask the Inspector of Constabulary to investigate.’

‘The chief up in Aberdeen won’t like that.’

‘Tough. He’ll have to go along with the request.’

‘Do you think they’re dead?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Grandpa. They could be under the same house as the Pole. . or he could just have paid them all to go away for a while.’

‘Whatever he’s done, I hope you can nail him for it. . not that I’ll have anything to do with future proceedings. I went too far with my closing remarks; they won’t let him appear before me again. I’d be a walking ground for appeal.’ She sighed. ‘What the hell? I’m out of it all for a while from the end of this week. The Court of Session’s on vacation and so are Gregor and I: we’re off for three weeks.’

‘Mario McGuire and Neil McIlhenney won’t like that: they’ve just made an arrest in the Weekes murder inquiry, and the Dean case is still open. They don’t have a lot of confidence in your husband’s deputy.’

Lady Broughton smiled. ‘Nor in the Crown Agent, from what Gregor tells me. Well, they’re just going to have to get by. We will be on the golf course in Spain.’

‘Are you renting?’

‘No, we have a house, in a complex called Torremirona; it’s near Figueras.’

‘Enjoy yourselves, then. I know that part of the world.’ He laughed. ‘I’m sure the Glimmer Twins will be thinking of you.’