‘ You might well need him on your side if you’re thinking of tangling with Verdi and his pals. They’re none too cuddly,’ said McClintock.
‘ Thanks for the warning,’ said Steven. ‘Do you know why he was asked to resign his partnership?’
‘ No, it was all kept very hush hush at the time, probably because these legal bastards didn’t want to shit on their own doorstep. Seymour and Nicholson is a long established firm in the city. They took on Verdi when he was young and ambitious with the idea that he should build up the criminal work for the firm. The principals are a couple of silver-haired patricians of the old school, part of the Mafia that didn’t originate in Sicily, pillars of the Edinburgh establishment who could teach Bill Gates a thing or two about networking. Verdi was a shit-kicker from the schemes who got through law school because his old lady scrubbed floors and wanted something better for her little boy.
Verdi succeeded beyond their greediest dreams because he knew where his clients were coming from. He understood them, knew how their minds worked and what motivated them. The nearest Seymour and Nicholson had ever been to violence was clapping along to the Redetsky march at a New Year’s Day concert. Verdi became the name the villains of this fair city called out whenever we came to call and he became a bit of a thorn in our side — if not a pain in our arse. He kept getting the bastards off.
‘ He was good then?’
‘ Depends on your point of view,’ replied McClintock. ‘Verdi knew damned well that his clients were as guilty as sin. Can you call defending these bastards “professionalism”? Doing your job when you know bloody well that they will go straight back on the street and do the same damned things all over again?’
‘ Know what you mean,’ agreed Steven.
Well, one thing’s for sure, Seymour and Nicholson, managed to accommodate any qualms they might have had when faced with the tide of money that Verdi was bringing in. They made him a full partner.’
‘ But something went wrong?’ Steven persisted.
‘ We did have our suspicions about Verdi when prosecution witnesses changed their mind about giving evidence on occasions but nothing was ever proved.’
‘ You thought he might be intimidating them?’
‘ Not personally and, like I say, we never managed to pin anything on him.’
‘ Maybe the mere hint of anything like that would have been enough to have Seymour and Nicholson drop him? Reputations and all that.’
‘ Maybe,’ agreed McClintock. ‘But it must have been something pretty bad to have a couple of lawyers say goodbye to a golden goose.’
‘ You do know that Verdi defended David Little?’ asked Steven.
‘ I do. Are you going to tell me this means something?’
‘ No, at the moment I’m just wondering how a man like that took the Little case,’ said Steven.
‘ What do you mean?’
‘ From what you’ve told me, Verdi was into defending big name criminals, presumably for big fees to match. Little had a mortgage and a car loan. There wasn’t even any PR in it for him. Little was public enemy number one at the time. Defending him wasn’t exactly going to be a shop window for his talents.’
‘ Good point,’ said McClintock. ‘It’s something I hadn’t thought about. I’ve no idea.’
‘ Maybe I’ll ask him,’ said Steven, noting McClintock’s reminder of how sure the case had been against Little.
‘ Remember what I said about tangling with the fun people of the “leisure industry”,’ said McClintock.
‘ I will and thanks for all your help.’
‘ Don’t know what you mean,’ said McClintock.
Steven poured himself another gin and sank back down into his chair. ‘Shit,’ he murmured as he reflected on another twist in the case. A question mark hung over Ronald Lee; a question mark hung over his lab and now a question mark hung over Little’s lawyer. He closed his eyes and wondered what to do next. It would be Friday before he got the DNA result from Susan Givens so maybe he would pay a visit to the offices of Seymour and Nicholson.
He looked up the phone book for their address and found it was in Edinburgh’s ‘new town’. This was an area of Georgian squares, streets and crescents built to the north of the castle and much favoured by the city’s professional classes. ‘Where else?’ he murmured. He wrote down the number in Abercromby Place and was about to close the book when he had second thoughts.
He looked up Cuddles Executive Saunas and found three listings. One was in Rose Street, a narrow lane running parallel to Princes Street on its north side, another was in Salamander Street, down by Leith Docks and the remaining one was situated in a side street close to the city’s Haymarket railway station. Steven noted down these addresses too. This was just in case he got round to asking Paul Verdi why such a hotshot lawyer had made such a lousy job of defending David Little.
Steven was just about to get ready for bed when the phone rang and an unfamiliar voice asked, ‘Dr Dunbar?’
‘ Yes, who is this?’
‘ My name is John Merton; I understand from Tom Kelly that you were looking for me earlier today? How can I help you?’
‘ Good of you to get back to me so quickly, Mr Merton. I wonder if we could meet up. I’d like to ask you some questions about your time in the forensics lab in Edinburgh.’
‘ Good Lord, that was a long time ago,’ said Merton. ‘Another life, you might say. That’s going to be a bit difficult, I’m afraid. I’m in France at the moment and then I plan on going on to Germany. I’m not due back until the end of next month. Is there anything I can help you with over the phone?’
‘ No reason why not,’ said Steven. ‘Perhaps you’d like me to call you back?’
‘ No problem,’ said Merton, sounding amused. ‘I think the business can stand it.’
‘ I hear it’s going well,’ said Steven.
‘ Certainly beats working for the university,’ said Merton. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘ I’m looking into events surrounding the Julie Summers murder back in 1993 and the part the lab played in the trial of David Little. Do you remember the case?’
‘ I’m not liable to forget it,’ replied Merton. ‘It was a very high profile affair at the time; in all the papers. Come to think of it, I might still be in the lab if it hadn’t been for that case. I left in the aftermath. What do you want to know?’
‘ I understand there was a problem with the samples collected at the scene of the crime.’
‘ There certainly was. Old Ronnie chucked them out, poor old bugger. His career went with them.’
‘ I’ve talked to everyone on the team at the time, Dr Lee, Carol Bain, Sister Egan…’
‘ Who was that last one?’
‘ Sister Egan at the Western General… Sorry, Samantha Styles that was,’ said Steven. ‘She got married.’
‘ Oh, Sam,’ exclaimed Merton. ‘Nice lass, didn’t realise she’d become a nurse, good for her.’
‘ I understand from Carol and Samantha that you… looked out for Dr Lee in the lab.’
‘ Someone had to,’ chuckled Merton. ‘I kept hoping the powers that be would recognise he had a drink problem and arrange help for him but no, they preferred to bury their heads in the sand and pretend nothing was wrong.’
‘ Until the Summers scene-of-crime samples were lost,’ said Steven.
‘ That was more or less the last straw,’ agreed Merton. ‘Not that it made much difference in the end. The DNA evidence was watertight.’
‘ What other evidence was there?’ asked Steven.
‘ Let me think… Julie scratched Little’s arm. We got a perfect DNA match for the material taken from under her fingernails.’
‘ You did?’
‘ Most certainly.’
‘ And a report was prepared to that effect.’
‘ I did it myself,’ said Merton.
‘ It’s just that all the reports have gone missing…’
Merton let out a long sigh. ‘Ye gods, you know, hearing this is bringing it all back to me, just how awful that
