Blood Lines Part 10

With the thinking time I'd created for myself, I wondered how bad my punishment could be and felt quite cheered as I pulled into Parliament Square, the Fat Boy announcing my arrival with a roar. I circled the statue of King Charles the Second astride his horse and then parked. I could almost hear the sniffs of dis approval but I felt bullish.

'Miss MacGregor!'

The man's voice rang out round Parliament Hall as I made my way inside. Parliament House is no longer the residence of the Scottish Parliament, although it did sit there until the Union of 1707, when those members bribed to do so signed away Scottish independence. They had some scruples, and the treaty of Union was not signed in this hallowed hall but in a pub cellar in the High Street. Not much has changed, and most advocates still do an inordinate amount of business in the pubs up and down the Royal Mile. Why had Lord MacGregor insisted on meeting me here?

'Miss MacGregor!'

The voice was insistent. He, along with everyone else a.s.sociated with this place, knew I was still calling myself McLennan. Footsteps came steadily nearer at a speed belying his age.

'Miss MacGregor!'

Childish, I know, but I was refusing to turn and answer to that name, pretending to be consumed by the intricate details in the vast black mantelpiece. The grate was empty in deference to the time of year, but, in spite of the fact that it was summer, it was a Scottish summer, and consequently chilly at times.

He finally caught up with me.

Prather tapped me on the shoulder, continuing the icy mood. He was a law unto himself, and within this Parliament House he was used to being obeyed. Prather's status was difficult to define. The closest that I could come to it was to say that he was rather like Jeeves a lackey who's infinitely smarter than his employers and with little done to conceal the fact. Nothing happened in Parliament House, home of the Scottish High Courts and Faculty of Advocates, without Prather's consent or knowledge.

He ran a tight ship by virtue of an excellently trained staff of underlings, the average age being seventy-five. He was, as usual, immaculately dressed in livery with silver b.u.t.tons, his white hair slicked down. Intelligence shone out of his small brown eyes as he c.o.c.ked his head to the side before he began speaking to me.

'Miss MacGregor your grandfather has asked me to direct you to the lower corridor where he is waiting for you.'

It reinforced my grandad's clout in the Scottish court that Prather deigned to deliver this message in person.

I walked along the corridor, my biker boots sounding heavy on the worn flagstones. Idly I looked at the boxes of counsel papers. When an advocate is called to the Bar, they are given a box and instructions from solicitors are placed in it. The box starts outside Court Nine, then, as advocates die, your box moves up. It's a slow process.

'You took your time.'

'Good to see you too, Grandad.'

'If I didn't know better, Brodie, I'd say you were avoiding me.'

'Now, why on earth would I do that? Anyway, I saw you on Sunday.'

'I'm not stupid, Brodie. I know that since then well, shall we say, a few things have happened to you. Come here, I want you to see something.'

My grandad stood in front of a large blackened oil-painting. He placed his hand in the small of my back and pulled me into him. I felt tiny beside him for he was surprisingly tall for his age. Reluctantly, I acknowledged that was because his posture was so good. Mary McLennan had shouted at me for almost half my life to put my shoulders back and stop slumping, especially when I morphed into a sullen, dull-eyed teenager. Which was exactly what I felt like now.

Lord MacGregor's gnarled arthritic finger pointed at the picture. I shook my head in ignorance.

'Am I supposed to recognise this?'

'The Hale Fifteen.'

Shrugging my shoulders sullenly, I indicated without whining that he had lost me.

'The Hale Fifteen is, as you can see, an ancient picture it represents the beginning of the Scottish legal system. The history of the position of the judge was that he was to take the place of the King in the administration of justice. But Stewart Kings believed they were appointed by G.o.d naturally, James IV thought that one man alone could not take his place so he decreed that all fifteen would have to sit together.'

'I must be slow, but I don't see what this has to do with me or my life.'

'Look at the painting closely see the anomaly.'

His finger poked at the ancient depiction. I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was going to pull him up for vandalism.

'Fifteen men in judicial robes,' I said. 'Fourteen of them wearing the Templar Cross.'

'So, you are awake? The fifteenth man is dressed in black, and not the traditional red and white. He is a judge the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of the Lord Advocate.'

I felt him swell with pride he did not share my aversion to secret societies. Thankfully he did not tackle me on that subject.

'And I am the b.a.s.t.a.r.d child of the Lord President,' I helped him out.

Pointing at the painting again, my grandad restarted the story. 'The black b.a.s.t.a.r.d was his own man, and he forged his own path. There's nothing to stop you eventually following him.'

'Eventually?'

I knew what he meant but for some m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic reason I needed him to say it.

'I can't help you get a seat on the bench just now, Brodie even a position as a temporary sheriff is out of the question.'

'I know that. You don't have to take it badly, Grandad. I'm not sure I want to be a judge at the moment.'

'I'm not entirely senile, Brodie. Your feelings on this matter have been adequately communicated to me. That wasn't the news I was trying to break to you.'

A pain gripped my gut like a knife being twisted. It was prophetic.

'Prather contacted me last night. He didn't want you to suffer unduly when the news was announced.'

I felt stupid and weak. Prather's unasked-for kindness was about to be my undoing, I thought. I fought back the tears even before I heard the news.

'As we speak, my dear, Bridget Nicholson is being offered a position as a Senator of the College of Justice. Of course, it will take some time before the position is officially announced, but there is no question about it you will be bowing before Lady Nicholson.'

Words failed me.

I turned to run.

He grabbed my shoulder. It hurt. He pulled me up in front of his face and hissed.

'If you ignore everything else I say, Brodie, obey this make a friend of your enemy.'

Pulling myself free, I ran. My heart told me he was right but my stomach felt sick at the thought of sucking up to Lady Nicholson, even if there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Chapter Fourteen.

I am one of the ninety-five per cent of dieters who sabotage themselves by comfort eating.

And right now, I didn't give a d.a.m.n. My only worry was how fast I could stuff the hot and salty chips into my mouth.

'That's unnatural. You shouldn't be able to get a whole bag of them in at one time, Brodie.'

I smacked the hand trying to grab a piece of my white pudding.

'There's no need to turn nasty.' Moses Tierney, leader of the Dark Angels, shook his hand dramatically.

'What are you listening to?'

He didn't wait for an answer, rather he pulled one of my earphones out and shared them with me. Moses was caterwauling along as he listened in.

'Johnny Cash has never sounded so bad, Moses. Who told you that you could sing?'

'Everyone. Everyone does. They all say I'm the dog's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.' He looked genuinely surprised.

'Makes sense. Who in their right mind would tell you what you didn't want to hear?'

'Too true, Brodie, my girl I mean, who really needs some whinging b.a.s.t.a.r.ds around who keep disagreeing with you; present company excepted. I pay you too well to just get lip service.'

Moses and I have a disturbingly close relationship. He has watched over my safety for more years than even I know. Our lives are linked, whether I want it or not, through Kailash. He was another survivor of the s.a.d.i.s.tic paedophile ring headed up by my father and the experience shaped him into a unique character. Moses was the undisputed leader of band of renegade teenagers for years, and he took pride in the fact that they were like Teflon, non-stick.

'Shift your a.r.s.e up.'

My Harley was on its stand and I was leaning against it outside the Rag Doll pub. Moses placed his rather more slender hips against the seat. It was intimate but not uncomfortable or remotely s.e.xual.

'He's watching us,' he commented.

'Who?'

'Don't give me that. You know. Glasgow Joe is in his office pretending to do his accounts but he can't take his eyes off that surveillance camera.'

'How do you know?'

'You should know better than to ask me questions like that, Brodie on this occasion I'll answer it. I always approach the Rag Doll via the backyard, not being a big fan of CCTV in general. I only came round the front 'cause I wondered what he was watching so intently. I should have known. Nothing grabs Joe's attention like you. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Don't be impudent, young man.'

Moses mockingly moved to defend himself from an imaginary blow.

'Seriously, the guy is hard. Wouldn't like to be the one that gets between you and him.'

'If you're saying he's tough, he must be.'

'Joe's nothing like me, Brodie. That man is your original freedom fighter. He's got ethics.' Moses spat the word out as if it was dirty it was all front; he had his boundaries just like Joe.

'Stop being so dramatic, Moses.'

Moses was the original drama queen, which made him difficult to handle at times still, given his past I thought he deserved a bit of leeway.

'You can say what you want, Brodie, but you can't argue with facts. He was recruited for the IRA through a boys' football club. He was in Gaddafi's training camps. You know better than me that he ran to America to escape prosecution.'

'You're right, I do know all this. Are you writing his CV?'

Moses tapped Awesome with his walking cane.

'He went underground in LA and joined the Blue Angels they don't wear the h.e.l.ls Angels' colours they're their own men.'

'You don't know everything, Moses.'

'I know. He won't tell me some stuff ...'

Moses' wolf eyes stared at me eagerly, prodding me for information, but there was no way I was telling him the truth. Unfortunately, Moses is not sensitive to other people's feelings. What he'd said was all true but Moses had no idea how catastrophic all of Joe's choices had felt in my world.

'You were out there for a bit, weren't you?' He kept digging. Maybe if I gave him a few snippets, he'd shut up.

'I went out to join Joe in Las Vegas at the end of my fifth year at school. I had all the qualifications for university but I had made up my mind I wasn't going to be a student.'

'Your ma must have been pleased.'

There was no use denying it, Mary McLennan was furious. Of course, she blamed Joe, but when I left Turnhouse Airport I wasn't even sure I could find him. For ten days I searched Las Vegas, asking every scruffy, dangerous-looking biker I could find.

'I didn't know where he was I had cards printed up with my photo and name on it and gave them to everyone I met in case they saw him and could pa.s.s one on.'

'Were you scared?'

'I was seventeen, Moses. I thought I was invincible. When Joe eventually got in touch, we spent our first night fighting.'

'That must have been bad.'

'I smashed G.o.d knows how many beer bottles at him for being ungrateful. I'd travelled round the world for him and all he could do was criticise me for putting myself in danger.'

'You might no longer be seventeen, Brodie, but age hasn't knocked any sense of self-preservation into you.'

I gave him a sharp kick on the ankles.

'Why'd you leave Joe in Vegas?'

'My mother was dying.'

'Mary?'

I wanted to slap him of course Mary. I knew that he adored Kailash, but it offended me to think that Mary would get usurped for her. I kept quiet and also didn't say that whilst I was at home grieving, Joe had gotten a quickie divorce from the State of Nevada.

I screwed up my chip paper and walked over to the bin.

'I think we've kept him waiting long enough,' I said. But as the doors of the Rag Doll swung open, I began to regret my words.