Dark Angels. Grace Monroe
you. You were somewhere else when the murder happened. It helps if you have a credible witness to back you up.’
Fleetingly, I wondered if she knew any credible witnesses. To be openly associated with Kailash Coutts was social, and professional, suicide. A cold, slow, shiver ran down my back, like an ice cube meandering down my spine. I was in that category now.
‘Then, there’s self defence,’ I continued. ‘But, you are only allowed to use reasonable force, and in your case it might be tricky, given that it is the Lord President who’s dead.’
Kailash raised an eyebrow quizzically, as if I did not know my own profession. Regrettably, she might be right.
‘Lastly, and it’s difficult, is the defence of accident. That means you were there. You were the cause of death. But it was a mishap.’
Kailash said nothing. The clock on the cell walls showed 10.30a.m., as a disembodied voice called me over the tannoy.
‘Brodie McLennan to court six.’
A young police officer rattled the bars of the cell.
‘You’re here,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘Sheriff Strathclyde is on the bench. He’s waiting for you.’
Standing straight to catch his breath, he blocked my exit. I pushed past him, running at full pelt out of the cells, my black gown flying as he called after me.
‘By the way…he’s been on the bench since ten.’
With barely a nod to Kailash, I ran and ran. I didn’t stop until I reached the entrance of the court. My adversary for this morning, Baggy Sutherland, lurched against the doorframe. He had a droopy hangdog look that comes from a lifetime of disappointments. Gifted in court, when he was sober, he could bring a tear to any juror’s eye. His black court gown was in fact green with age. On occasions when I had forgotten mine, his was the only one left hanging in the agents’ room. Wearing Baggy’s gown was like putting on the mantle of Elijah.
‘You’re in trouble.’ Baggy stopped me, and started pulling at my gown. I had no time for pleasantries, I pushed forwards, but he wouldn’t let me go.
‘It’s on inside out,’ he offered by way of an explanation for the mauling which was taking place. Rather deftly, for a man with tremors in his hands, he removed my gown, and turned it right side out.
‘The mood that old bastard’s in, he’d do you with contempt for wearing it that way.’
Baggy was serious. Sheriff Strathclyde had a severe problem with me–even before I acted for his wife in their divorce action. He could find me in contempt of court for anything, even my clothes. I would win it on appeal, but he still had the power. I was anxious to do nothing to offend him.
I could almost hear his breath as I walked in. Sheriff Strathclyde is small, very angry, and with a body shape that favours a toad. I intended to walk straight in and proceed with business. He, of course had other plans. He wanted me to suffer. His ball-like face, which looked as if it had been chewed by a large dog trying to remodel its own arse, signalled red for danger.
All heads, but one, had swivelled to watch my entrance. Kailash looked intently at the bench. She had taken the direct route from the cells, and had arrived much faster than I could.
‘How kind of you to find the time to join us today, Ms McLennan.’ Sheriff Strathclyde’s voice was chilly, deep, and rich, the product of a very expensive education.
‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t find you in contempt of court,’ he spat at me. ‘Right now.’
‘Well, how about the fact that you have absolutely no right to?’ I countered. ‘I was consulting with a client on a very serious charge.’
It took about a second for me to realise this wasn’t quite the approach I should have gone for.
‘No right, no right!’ Purple in the face, Strathclyde looked as if he were about to explode.
‘No right!’ he continued. ‘It’s my court! I can do as I please! Anything! I can do anything!’
Raising himself up to his full height, he leaned over the bench. For a moment, I thought that he would topple onto me. I was squaring up to him. This day was getting worse with every passing minute and he was a bully. Anyway, surely he wouldn’t respect obsequiousness?
‘Find me in contempt,’ I challenged him, ‘and I will appeal you straightaway.’
No judge likes to have his or her decisions appealed. I had my pen poised noting down every word he said.
Strathclyde was well acquainted with the appeal procedure. He knew that judicial words spoken in anger did not go down well over the road in Parliament House.
Disdainfully, he flicked his manicured hand in my direction. Feeling more relief than I would ever admit, I took my seat in the well of the court, opposite the Procurator Fiscal.
This case, in technical lawyer speak, had all the makings of being a Right Royal Bastard.
The Fiscal and I had been at university together. Frank Pearson was a mature student when we were both studying together, but the age gap made no difference to our friendship. I always had time for him and I liked the way he never made assumptions about me or my competitive streak.
The sheriff clerk looked disparagingly at me as she called the case. I was grateful that indictments are called in chambers, which meant that no member of the press or public was allowed. As things stood, the people who were allowed to be there were causing me enough trouble without any help from outsiders.
‘Are you Kailash Bernadette Coutts?’ The clerk’s voice rang out around the courtroom.
The surprise caught in my throat. Bernadette? But then I recalled her Irish mother and realised it could have been worse; she might have had my first name.
The clerk’s voice went on as I waited impatiently for my turn.
‘How do you plead?’
That was it. My cue. My curtain call. I leaped to my feet.
‘Brodie McLennan. I appear on behalf of Ms Coutts, who makes no plea or declaration at this stage.’
On indictment charges, you do not plead guilty or not guilty, you do not declare your position, you do not give anything away. I expected to be out of that oaf’s court as quickly as possible, because I couldn’t ask for bail on a murder charge, and I was determined to leave no clue behind me. Kailash would be remanded in prison until the trial, and I would have a chance to reconsider my position at that point. I could already see myself this evening, languishing in a bubble bath, working out whether I should go on with this case, working out how to get out of it. My reverie was soon broken.
‘Ms McLennan, approach the bench.’
Frank Pearson was already there, and deep in discussion with Sheriff Strathclyde.
‘The Fiscal has moved that we carry out the judicial examination now in view of the media interest in this case.’
Frank raised his eyebrows in apology to me. This clearly wasn’t his decision–the word had come from much higher up. I felt as if I had been ambushed and took little comfort from the fact that Frank probably felt the same way.
I didn’t have many cards to play.
‘I haven’t had time to discuss this with my client.’
Kailash’s performance at the judicial examination was crucial to the outcome of the case, and I didn’t want her to be thrown in there before I had a chance to discuss matters with her.
Sheriff Strathclyde was quick to put the boot in.
‘I hope you’re not suggesting,