He and Diane lived in a house in the heart of the west end of Glasgow, just off Great Western Road. A rambling sandstone structure sitting on an acre of manicured lawns enclosed by Edwardian copper-coloured railings. A house stately and reserved, reeking of money. Old money. Inherited, so rumour had it. On her side. A wealthy heiress. No children. He drove every day to the court building, four miles from his house, in a Jag 4x4. He was sixty-eight – quite young for a judge in his position. He was fit and athletic. Remarkably so. Ran ultra-marathons. President of a local boxing club. Regular squash player. On the Board of Trustees for several well-known charities. A paragon of virtue. A man of the community. At least on the outside.
At any given time, there could be ten cases being heard at the High Court in Glasgow. Lord Reith was presiding over an armed robbery – three men tooled up with shotguns had barged into a high-end jewellery shop in the city centre. A brazen attack in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. They had escaped with diamonds worth over two million. And left a security guard with his head blown off. They were captured within a month. The trial had lasted five weeks. The prosecution was summing up. Another couple of days and it would be over.
Black arrived at the court building. He needed to blend in. For Black, this was simple. He hadn’t worn a suit for weeks. He bought one specially for the occasion. Dark pinstripe, white shirt, dark tie. Smart and boring. He still had his court gown, a relic from another age, collecting dust in a wardrobe. Another relic was a red leather briefcase, in which he’d placed a newspaper. When he entered the building at 9.30 on a warm August morning, gown bundled under one arm, clasping his briefcase, he was invisible.
Just another lawyer.
He made his way through the security entrance. A court official patted him down in a cursory manner. Black placed keys, wallet, coins, into a plastic tray. And three pens. They were barely noticed, for which Black was grateful. One he had specially adapted, for use in extreme situations. Usually as a last resort – a small but effective skill acquired long ago, from men paranoid about self-preservation.
He emerged into the main court foyer. He put on his court gown. The transition was complete. He was similar to fifty other individuals milling about, murmuring to clients, sipping coffee from polystyrene cups, studying files, huddled together swapping stories, reminiscing, debating points of law.
He bought himself a strong coffee from a cafeteria, and sat at a table.
After serving in the army for over twenty years, and fighting with the 22nd regiment of the Special Air Service in some of the most inhospitable places in the world, he always imagined that if he returned to civilian life, he would prefer being a criminal court lawyer. He tried it briefly. And hated it. The cut and thrust of the courtroom was a game of lies and tricks. The aim was to hide the truth in a web of accusation, confusion, deceit. Cheap victories. It was shallow. It meant nothing. He had killed men in the arena of war. With bullets, knives, with his bare hands. He had seen guts spill, blood flow. He’d listened to their death screams as they begged and pleaded for help. It was truth. It was real. No bullshit. The lawyers who paraded up and down the court, bullying and badgering, coaxing and manipulating, wouldn’t have lasted a minute in a battle zone. Black saw through them, and saw the process for the game it was. And he didn’t want any of it.
He sipped his coffee, and waited.
Reith was at Court No. 3. A woman’s voice spoke through a crackly intercom. Court was convening in fifteen minutes.
The place started to thin out. Black left his seat and meandered through a maze of corridors, looking at ease in his surroundings. He smiled at court officers, who smiled back. Security was non-existent. He made his way to the rear of Court No. 3, past witness rooms, toilets, staff doors, and then past the most important door of them all, the lettering plain and unequivocal – Lord Reith’s Chambers.
Black returned to the foyer, bought another coffee and got out his newspaper. It would be a long day.
But worth it.
5
The court finished just after 4pm.
Lord Reith left the courtroom by way of a private exit, directly into a rear corridor. He made his way to his offices. Black followed ten paces behind. Dressed in court gown, carrying a briefcase, he did not arouse suspicion. Reith, wearing judicial dark red robes and long court wig, stopped at a door, produced a key, unlocked it. He entered his chambers.
Black loomed in behind him, putting one foot forward.
“What the hell…!”
“Five minutes of your time, Lord Reith,” said Black. “Please.” He pushed him inside. Reith recoiled, his face a fleeting image of surprise, transforming to outrage.
“What is this?”
Black pulled the key from the door, closed it, locked it from the inside, turned to face him.
They were about the same height. Reith was slimmer. A runner’s build. Long, angular face; narrow forehead; sharp, pale-blue eyes. A chin tapering to a point. His court wig had tilted over to one side. Black was easily forty-five pounds heavier. With no excess fat.
“Your wife passes on her regards.”
Reith raised himself up, face reddening, lip curled in anger. “This is a disgrace! You have no right to be here. I’m calling the police. Get out of my way!”
“Sit down, Reith. Otherwise I’ll break your fucking neck.”
Reith opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. Black gave him a
