Skinner's ghosts
Quintin Jardine
1
The woman walked, at a steady unhurried pace, down the middle of the village road.
She was wearing the wig and gown of one of Her Majesty's Counsel, a formal, enveloping uniform which served to emphasise, rather than mask, her advanced years. She was smal, and birdlike in her features, with a few grey whiskers sprouting among her wrinkles; clearly, she was very old.
Yet for all that, she walked straight-backed and steadily in front of the hearse, and its burden, as she led it down the main street, down the short distance from the great grey castellated house toAberlady's churchyard, and to the grave which awaited. As she approached, in the doorway of the church a lone piper played a lament.
'Who is she?' asked Pamela Masters.
Beside her, at the wheel of the white BMW as they sat at the head of the queue of waiting traffic, Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner smiled.
'Don't you know, Sergeant?' He paused. 'But then I don't suppose you would. It's been a long time since even I've seen her in action.
'She is Christabel Innes Dawson, QC; in her heyday, the only woman Silk in Scotland, and one of the very finest too.'
'And who's…'
'Who's in the chest? That is Lord Orlach, Senator of the Col ege of Justice, and Lord Justice Clerk for what seemed like about a hundred years. Old Orlach was the last of the Supreme Court judges not to be subject to compulsory retirement. He finally did step down though, last year.'
'And Christabel's his widow?'
Skinner drew in his breath, and shook his head. 'Christ no! Orlach's wife died donkeys years ago, but he and she never married. He had his town house in Heriot Row, and latterly his country seat out here, while she had her establishment in India Street, with the brass plate on the door saying 'Miss Dawson, Advocate'. They had a relationship though, that lasted fifty years, until the old boy died last week.
'When he was plain John Stevenson K. C…'
'KC?' Pamela interrupted.
'Aye, King's Counsel; it was that far back… and she was a junior, admitted to the Faculty of Advocates almost over the dead body of the Dean of the time; he took her on to assist him in a capital murder trial. Their affair began back then.'
He glanced across at the pretty, dark-haired woman in the passenger seat. 'It was never admitted, or discussed, though.' He smiled, at a memory. 'They really did think they were being discreet, too. There's a story about Orlach, that once, in the New Club, an Outer House judge asked him how Christabel was… as innocently as that. Orlach froze him with a look, and afterwards, every time one of that judge's decisions came before him on appeal, the old boy would reverse it.'
'Why didn't they marry?' she asked him.
Skinner laughed again, softly. 'Well at first, Mrs Stevenson wouldn't have approved. Then, by the time of her death, Orlach was on the Bench. It was never said of course, but the feeling was that if they had got hitched, Christabel would have had to leave the Bar.
The rules were such that you could never have been sure that she wouldn't have wound up pleading a case before her husband, and that wouldn't have done at al.'
He smiled at the black-gowned figure as she drew nearer, then suddenly and spontaneously stepped out of the car and stood beside it. As she turned to lead the hearse into the churchyard, Christabel Innes Dawson, QC, glanced sideways and gave him the briefest nod of recognition.
'Of course,' he said as he folded himself back into the driver's seat, 'the fact that they didn't marry meant that she could and did appear before him without restraint.' He laughed again, out loud this time. 'I remember she cross-examined me once in a criminal trial, with Orlach as presiding judge. Andy Martin too. He was raw at the time and she knew it. At the end she was screaming at him like a banshee, and old Orlach let her get on with it.'
'Did she try it on with you too?' Pamela asked.
'No, fortunately. She had a degree of respect for DI rank and above, but detective constables and sergeants… she chewed 'em up and spat out the bits.'
He looked at her mischievously. 'She still appears, you know. A few times a year she'll take on the defence in a High Court trial.
More often than not she gets an acquittal. Maybe we can fix it for you to be a police witness in one of them.'
She snorted, and flounced her dark hair. 'No thank you!'
As the hearse passed through the churchyard gates, the uniformed police officer who had stopped the traffic turned to Skinner, saluted and waved him on. The DCC nodded an acknowledgement and slipped the car into gear.
He glanced to his left as he passed the church, as the old lady moved to join the congregation inside.
'All these years maintaining their discreet front,' he murmured,
'yet when the time comes she leads him to the grave. There's a nobility about that, though, Pam, is there not?'
She looked at him, as the BMW snaked though the chicane exit from Aberlady, heading for Gul ane 'Maybe there is. What I can see though is a situation that's a bit close to home. I'm as big a secret as old Christabel there… or so you think.'
'What d'you mean… so I think? I haven't told anyone, not even Andy. So who would know?'
'Ruth McConnell, your secretary, for a start. D'you think she hasn't guessed? DCI Rose for another. God, her eyebrows went up when you made me your Exec six months ago!'
Skinner shrugged his shoulders. 'But I replaced you with Neil Mcllhenney after two months.'
'Sure, and DCS Martin was delighted to have me added to his personal staff, wasn't he?' she said ironically.
He raised his eyebrows. 'He never said a word to me. I told him that we had agreed you'd be better working for him and he accepted that at face value.'
She twisted in her seat to look at him. 'Okay, so tell me why, when she called into the office two days ago to see Mr Martin, your daughter… his fiancee… froze me like a block of ice with a single look. Not, I suggest, because she thinks I fancy Andy.'
Skinner frowned at her. 'You don't think Ruth's been talking, do you?' He sounded genuinely shocked.
'Of course not,' she said at once. 'DCS Martin's figured it out, and told Alex. He'd do that, wouldn't he?'
Her companion sighed. 'Well they live together, so I guess so.
Those two have no secrets from each other. But, hold on. Even if Andy and Alex have guessed, they wouldn't let on to anyone else.'
'Mmm,' said Pamela, demurely. 'But are you as confident of Sergeant Boyd, from the Haddington nick, who stopped the traffic back there in Aberlady, and recognised both you and me: in casual clothes heading towards Gul ane, where you have a cottage… and on a Friday afternoon to boot? Even a plonker like him will have put two and two together from that. Jesus, he's probably been on the radio to HQ already.'
He nodded. 'Touche. You've got me there.' He fell silent as he swung the car round a long left-handed bend, and drove them past the smal stone cairn, marking the entrance to Luffness Golf Club, settling deep into brooding thought, until long after he had closed the door of the cottage behind them.
Finally, as they sat on wooden chairs in the secluded garden, enjoying the warm summer sun, he turned to her.
