The Loch

Chapter 7

I woke up screaming, limbs quivering, my boxer shorts and T-shirt drenched in sweat. For a terrifying moment, I wasn't sure where I was, and then the empty hotel room yawned back at me, the television still displaying BBC2 from the night before.

You're okay… you're okay… you're okay …

I kicked off the blankets, stripped off my soggy undergarments, and climbed into a hot shower.

A furious banging on the outside door forced me to abandon the shower prematurely. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I left the bathroom, dripping wet. "For Chrissakes, hold on—"

It was the manager, accompanied by hotel security. "Everythin' a'right here, sir?"

"Uh, fine. Is something wrong?"

The security man pushed his way in. "Some o' the guests reported hearin' an awfy scream. Said it sounded like someone wis bein' stabbed."

"Stabbed? Oh, uh, sorry, that must've been the television, you know, one of those American shows. Woke me up as well."

The manager seemed relieved.

Security continued searching for a body.

"Morning." Max entered, dressed in a gray pin-striped suit and matching tie, his spiked hair slicked back, the mascara gone. "There a problem?"

"They heard someone screaming. It was just the television."

"Course it was. Don't say another word."

"Nothin' here," the security man announced. "But if it happens again, I'll write ye up for disturbin' the peace." He shot me a look, then pushed his way out the door, followed by the manager.

"Wanker. He's not even a real bobby." Max pushed me towards the bedroom. "Get dressed, little brar, the High Court awaits."

The High Court of Justiciary is the supreme criminal court in Scotland. Because the only purpose-built High Courts are in Edinburgh and Glasgow, all murder trials taking place outside these cities are held in Sheriff Court buildings. Inverness Castle accommodated the High Court in Inverness, providing its own unique medieval setting to the proceedings.

There were two prosecutors: Mitchell Obrecht, a tall, stocky man with light brown hair that formed an imposing "V" shape on his forehead, and his assistant, a short-haired blonde in a navy business suit named Jennifer Shaw.

Angus was dressed in an old brown wool suit, seated in the dock, an area behind the prosecutors. Max was at another table, facing the judge's bench. Fifteen jurors were seated in the jury box, three police constables at their posts, one by my father. The rest of us — reporters, family, friends, and the nosey — were packed into rows of wooden benches at the rear of the courtroom.

Johnny C.'s widow, Theresa Cialino, an athletic-looking beauty with long, wavy auburn hair, sat three benches ahead of me, an angel tattoo exposed on her left shoulder blade. By the way her dark brown eyes kept focusing on Angus, I felt certain they'd been lovers.

At 9:03, the Clerk of the Court signaled us to rise.

"The High Court of Justiciary is now in session, Lord Neil Hannam presiding."

The judge, a short, fit-looking man with olive-tan skin and dark, slicked-back hair, took his place behind his bench, nodding to his clerk to continue.

"Case number C93-04, Angus William Wallace versus Her Majesty's Advocate in the case of murder in the first degree. The accused has entered a plea of not guilty."

"Lord Advocate, your opening remarks."

Mitchell Obrecht stood and faced the jury. "On February 15 of this year, the accused, Mr. Angus William Wallace of Drumnadrochit, met with the deceased, Mr. John Cialino Jr., of Cialino Ventures, London, on the grounds of the soon-to-be-opened Nessie's Retreat and Entertainment Center. Her Majesty's Advocate shall show that Mr. Wallace had owned some of the acreage along Loch Ness and had sold it to Mr. Cialino's real estate firm for development some eighteen months prior.

"At approximately four-thirty that evening, no less than a dozen people witnessed Mr. Wallace and Mr. Cialino engaged in a heated argument, which ended when Mr. Wallace struck Mr. Cialino directly in the face with his fist, sending him caroming seven meters into the unforgiving six-degree Celsius waters of the Loch. If Mr. Cialino was not dead when he struck the water, then he drowned minutes later. The waters surrounding Urquhart Castle are in excess of two hundred meters, and it is doubtful we'll ever find the body.

"Her Majesty's Advocate intends to prove that Mr. Wallace is not only guilty of Mr. Cialino's murder, but that the act was premeditated, murder in the first degree."

Murmurs filled the courthouse as the prosecutor returned to his seat. I watched the faces of the jury, and from what I could tell, they were buying what Obrecht was selling.

Now it was Max's turn.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my client, Angus Wallace, admits he was arguing with his friend and one-time business partner, Mr. John Cialino Jr., on that tragic 15 day of February last. He confesses that yes, he did strike his friend, much as one might strike a mate in a pub over a pint of ale. But Mr. Wallace did not kill John Cialino, neither by accident nor intention, for Mr. Cialino was quite alive after he hit the water. We intend to prove that Mr. Cialino's death was, in fact, caused by his own negligence, and not by the hand of his friend, Mr. Angus Wallace."

The judge made a few notes, then turned to his Court Macer. "You may call the first Crown witness."

"The High Court calls Mr. Paul Garrison of Las Vegas, Nevada to the stand."

A middle-aged American with light brown hair, graying at the temples, entered the witness box and was sworn in.

Jennifer Shaw questioned him from her seat. "Please state your full name and occupation for the record."

"Paul Garrison. I work for a large, high-end resort casino located in Las Vegas, Nevada."

"What brought you to Scotland last February, Mr. Garrison?"

"Vacation mostly. Nice of you to fly me back like this."

"Were you at Urquhart's Castle on the evening of February 15?"

"Uh, yes… yes, I was."

"And what did you see?"

"Well, it was winter, so it grew dark pretty fast. Looking over from the ruins, I saw that big silver-bearded guy—"

"Let the record show Mr. Garrison has identified the accused."

"Right, that's him. Anyway, I saw that guy with the silver beard punch the other little guy—"

"Mr. Cialino?"

"Right, Mr. Cialino, right in the face. Anyway, this Cialino guy stumbled, then took a nosedive right into the Loch."

"No further questions."

The judge turned to Max. "Mr. Rael, your witness."

Max looked up from his notes. "Mr. Garrison, from your vantage, were you able to see Mr. Cialino as he fell?"

"Yes."

"Did you actually see him hit the water?"

"I saw the splash, but the drop's too steep."

"So you never actually saw him in the water?"

"No. Like I said, the angle was wrong, me being close to the castle tower. With that drop, you'd have to be right near the edge to see straight down into the water."

"So then, you had no way of knowing if Mr. Cialino was still alive after he fell into Loch Ness?"

"Yeah, I mean no, there's no way I could see him."

"Thank you, Mr. Garrison. No further questions."

And that's the way it continued for the entire first day. The prosecution would present its eyewitnesses, and Max would establish that none of them actually saw John Cialino in the water after Angus had hit him.

At 4:22 that afternoon, the prosecution rested. Max would present his defense on Monday.

Reporters hustled to transmit their stories.

The best was yet to come.