Dark Angels

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.

SEVEN (#ulink_644465a8-4372-5b17-98a8-bf5baf722124)

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, Ms McLennan, that you would be coaching your client?’

As it is illegal in Scotland to prepare witnesses, I hastily denied it. Under the circumstances, I had no objection that would be upheld. Swiftly, I moved towards the dock. Unlike me, Kailash seemed unperturbed. She was eyeballing Sheriff Strathclyde and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

‘Kailash? I can’t stop this judicial examination.’

Her face did not even register my presence. Trancelike she continued to stare at Strathclyde. I assumed that her stares were to unsettle him, and I assumed that she was trying to unsettle him because he was–or had been–a client of hers. That was all I needed. Maybe she thought she could bribe him or embarrass him into calling off the case. If so, she must have conveniently forgotten just who she was accused of killing. I was losing patience.

‘Kailash!’ I called as loudly as I dared. ‘Listen to me. The Fiscal is about to ask you questions. However, you are entitled to refuse to answer them.’

My heart was beating, a mixture of adrenalin and anger. She wasn’t listening to me and was bound to throw away any slight chance she may have. I had to press on–professional ethics meant that even clients who wouldn’t deign to give me a moment of their attention still had to be advised.

‘You don’t have to answer any questions, and my normal advice would be to say nothing as that is the safest option, but–and it is a big “but”–if you have a good defence, and don’t state it, the Crown can comment on your failure to the jury. Kailash, I don’t know whether you have a good defence or not. This is your call. It really depends on how brave you are.’ I finished my whispered comments to Kailash feeling more of a need to shout explicit advice rather than leave so much to her judgment. She was much calmer than me.

Again, no reaction. Her lack of emotion was worrying me. How was she going to act and react when she got up there? Was she going to take the psychopath route? The wounded tart with a heart? Or continue her mad staring at Strathclyde? It mattered to me. It mattered a lot. When a trial lawyer gets started, the victim and the accused are lost. It is merely a fight, a game with the prosecution. And it’s a game I like to win.

‘Kailash, this matters. This will all be tape recorded and go before a jury.’

She surprised me by clutching my arm and nipping it.

‘Did you say this will be tape recorded?’ I nodded my head, resentfully rubbing at the place on my arm where her nails had dug in.

‘Is there any way the tape can be interfered with?’ ‘No, of course not. It’s kept and authorised by the Fiscal.’

‘And do you trust him? Do you trust that process?’

‘Kailash, what’s going on? Of course I do. I know Frank Pearson. He’s a good man. But I also know the process. They’re the ones who want this to happen. They’re not going to scupper their own procedures. It’s nothing to be scared of.’

‘Scared?’ she almost spluttered. ‘Why do you think I would be scared?’

‘Well, if you’re thinking from the other side and actually believe you, or someone you know, could get in and wreck the tape if you don’t come out of it too well, you can forget that right now. No chance,’ I warned her.

She chewed her lips as she was thinking. I have the same bad habit–it saves my nails, but the inside of my mouth resembles a slasher movie.

‘Don’t stand in front of me when I am being asked questions. I want to see him,’ she informed me in an emotionless voice.

‘Kailash, it won’t work. I don’t know how you know him–although it doesn’t take much imagination to guess–but that won’t cut any ice here. It doesn’t matter if he likes to dress up as a schoolgirl or get his arse smeared with peanut butter while a whippet licks it off, you’ve been accused of murder. That’s all that counts.’

‘You’ve got quite a vivid imagination there, Brodie,’ she responded. ‘I could use you.’

‘Don’t bother flattering me. It’s standard practice for lawyers to act as a buffer between clients and the bench.’

That was true, but I was also put out at being sidelined. I wasn’t a bit player in this. I was a star attraction and I liked it that way. Nonetheless, I continued.

‘I can’t stop you if you are specifically instructing me that way, Kailash, but remember that you still retain the right to consult with me before you answer any questions. I can’t interrupt in the proceedings so it has to come from you.’

Kailash had already moved on. She hadn’t even heard the last comments. She was, however, the only one ignoring me. Sheriff Strathclyde had his beady little eyes focused right in my direction.

‘If you are quite finished, Ms McLennan, perhaps we may have a moment of your time to begin.’

He was looking anxiously at his watch. It wasn’t any concern for procedures or the fact that he was a dedicated workaholic–rather he was keen not to have a late lunch. Rumour had it that it was generally liquid anyway, and I had certainly seen him carried from the bench on more than one occasion.

Sheriff Strathclyde was sweating profusely. Was it Kailash’s gaze, or the effects of last night’s whisky? The sheriff clerk, switched the tape on, and it began. I didn’t listen to her give her basic details, I was just praying my client would speak up.

Ordinarily, the less an accused says the better, but this case was unique. We had to come up with a good story–and stand firm.

‘At 11.30p.m. I was walking home.’

Kailash’s clear voice cut through the silence of the court; the only other sound was the whirr of the tape recorder.