investigation is underway already.’ Andy Martin fell silent and looked around the room.
‘Any questions?’ Alan Royston invited, then pointed, as always, to John Hunter.
‘When did you first become aware of the cause of Lord Archergait’s death?’
‘Late on Saturday, John.’
‘And you’ve ruled out the possibility of suicide there too?’
The DCS shook his head. ‘No, we haven’t, but we haven’t ruled out murder either. In fact we think that’s more likely. We found no trace of cyanide on Lord Archergait’s clothing or at his home. Nor is there any record of his having acquired the poison prior to his death.
‘Since the beginning of this week, a small team of officers have been making very discreet inquiries at Parliament House. That investigation is still proceeding.’
‘Whose idea was it to keep the facts from the media?’ interposed Julian Finney, sounding and looking weary.
‘It was a police decision, but it was taken in consultation with the Lord President and the Lord Advocate. We hoped that it might give us an advantage.’
‘When would you have told us, then?’ There was an aggressive edge to the Scottish Television reporter’s question.
Martin was as tired as everyone else in the room, but his back straightened as he looked him in the eye. ‘In the absence of an arrest before then, we had planned to make a statement this afternoon.’
‘Some might say that if you had gone public immediately, Lord Barnfather’s life might have been saved.’
‘If they did they’d be wrong. I understand that the Lord President advised every judge, in confidence, on Sunday of the circumstances.’
‘I take it that you do believe that the two deaths are connected?’ asked Alastair Hutt, the Scottish correspondent of BBC News.
‘We have to. There’s no proof that they are, but common sense tells you that they must be.’
‘Will the other judges be given close police protection?’
‘It’s been offered already. At a minimum, those who decline will be kept under observation.’
‘More coverage from this morning’s press conference will be shown in our next bulletin,’ said the Breakfast News Glasgow presenter. ‘And now, today’s Scottish weather.’
Skinner pressed the TV remote, switching off the kitchen set. ‘I reckon it’ll be top of the bill on the national news as well,’ he said to Sarah and Alex, seated with him around the breakfast table. ‘What a story. Two judges knocked off their perch.
‘It makes life twice as bad for us, though,’ he added, gloomily. ‘We’re in trouble as it is with these robberies. We’re working hard just to stand still on that investigation. The last thing we needed was some nutter trying to work his way through the Supreme Court Bench.
‘Never mind the old one about being as good as your last game. We’re as good as today’s arrest, and it’s been a while since we gave the press anything positive to write about.
‘If nothing breaks on the robberies, we’re going to have to come up with a lead on Archergait and Barnfather, and damn quick.’
Alex finished her cereal, and stood up to put the plate and spoon in the dishwasher. ‘If hunting judges is our new national sport, it’s too bad your murderer didn’t start with Lord Coalville. The way our case is heading, he’d have done us a favour.’
‘Alex!’ Sarah gasped, as she came back to the table to finish her coffee.
‘I know. Bite my tongue, bite my tongue, that was an awful thing to say. But if you’d sat in that Court for days on end and seen him nodding towards the pursuer’s case and savaging ours at every opportunity! Do you know that Jack McAlpine even offered to withdraw! He thinks Coalville has a down on him.’
Bob chuckled. ‘Coalville has a down on everyone, darlin’. Jack must know that. Very much between you and me, David Murray told me on Sunday that he’s trying to persuade him to retire in September next year, ahead of time. He wants to create a vacancy for Lord Archibald on the Bench.’
‘Can’t he appoint him in Archergait’s place?’
‘Bruce Anderson, the Secretary of State, won’t allow it. He wants Archie to do another year as Lord Advocate, to give the Solicitor General time to prepare for the job.’
‘The Lord President didn’t tell you who’s getting the old boy’s red jacket, did he? Only I thought that it might be McAlpine, and that that might have been the real reason he offered to pull out of our case.’
Skinner smiled at his daughter’s shrewdness. ‘No comment,’ he muttered.
‘I rest my case.’ She stood up, and picked up her hold-all from the floor. ‘I must be going. I have to pick up my briefcase from the flat.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks for coming out last night. Would you like to look in on Mark and tell him to wake up and get ready for school?’
‘Sure. ‘Bye.’
She watched the door as it closed. ‘She’s loving her legal career, isn’t she.’
Bob nodded. ‘Yup, and doing very well at it. Mitch Laidlaw keeps singing her praises. He told me he wants her to stay after she finishes her training period.’
‘D’you think she will?’
‘For a while maybe, but as far as I know she still has her heart set on the Bar. It’s a good set-up for women lawyers. Being self-employed they can take time out more easily if they want to have a family.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Sarah warned him. ‘The idea of being even a step-grandmother makes my blood run cold.’
She picked up her coffee and looked at him. ‘Do you think you will get a break on the judge investigation?’
He rolled his eyes, in a ‘Who Knows?’ gesture. ‘We’ll do our damnedest. The first thing to do is to establish a potential motive. We’ll start by cross-checking Archergait’s judgements with Barnfather’s, and see if we can find common ground. Something may jump out at us from that.’
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.’ She grinned. ‘So how did the delegating go yesterday?’
‘It went as far as I could take it. I’m trapped today, though. My afternoon’s full of stuff that I can’t get out of.’
‘Ah well,’ Sarah sighed, sympathetically. ‘You’ll just have to find something to brighten up your morning.’
35
Campbell Rarity could feel a line of cold sweat as it ran down the length of his backbone. He was all too aware that his deodorant was not up to the extra duty which his nervous state was imposing on it.
Fortunately, the shop was empty, save for one male customer at a small table, who was examining a suite of amethyst jewellery set out before him by a sales assistant. Rarity glanced up at the clock. It showed three minutes to ten.
He almost jumped out of his skin when the buzzer sounded to tell him that someone was pressing at the door. He was shaking as he leaned across to see who was there.
A middle-aged lady, wearing a light summer dress, looked through the glass expectantly. Rarity shook his head. She stared back at him, puzzled, then pushed the door again. The manager shook his head again, more vigorously this time, and mouthed the words, ‘Sorry, we’re closed.’ Apparently undaunted, the woman rapped her knuckles against the glass, once, twice, three times, until with a furious, baffled expression, she turned and walked away.
Oblivious to the exchange, the customer who had managed to gain admission put down the bracelet which he had been studying and picked up the matching ring.
Rarity pressed himself against his counter trying to ignore the pounding in his chest. He watched the clock as it crept up to ten a.m., then on: one minute past, two, three. When the buzzer sounded again a chill of panic swept through him, so cold that for an instant his teeth chattered.
To master it, he took a deep breath, before looking at the glass panel once more, and before pressing the entry button.
