Blood Lines Part 5

Whenever I get anxious my bowels turn to water, and this, annoyingly, was one of those times. There was no way I could keep his Lordship waiting, so I breathed deeply and clenched my stomach muscles as the sweat formed on my brow. This was one situation where my nerves always made an appearance too much was beyond my control.

The doorway to the sheriff's inner sanctum looked innocuous enough: an expensive, plain light-oak door. Gingerly I knocked on it, trying to wet my lips with my parched tongue.

'Enter.'

Sheriff Harrison wore his twilled silk gown but his wig lay on a pile of law reports. If this was his attempt at informality, he was failing. In spite of my best efforts head up, shoulders back he must have known I was afraid.

'I suppose you've heard? I've missed my tee-off time at Muirfield.'

'I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you.'

'Well, of course you are your slip-up has led to you standing before me now, and even I recognise that's not a nice experience.'

'Yes, M'lord.'

At this point there was no limit to the grovelling I thought I would have to do, or indeed, that I was prepared to do.

'Actually, I'm quite intrigued to meet you, Miss McLennan. Your father was my devil master and we were in the same stable before he was elevated to the bench. Of course your actual existence was news to me I don't know how your father managed to keep it secret for so long.'

I bit my tongue and said nothing. I was uncomfortable talking to anyone about my father hardly surprising given not only the recent discovery of the fact but also what I had found out about his predilections.

'I suppose everyone has told you that your resemblance to him is remarkable?'

I was shocked. Most people did not even mention my father, and within my circle of friends and family no one would upset me with the knowledge that I looked like him. I had to stand there and take it, so I smiled blandly and nodded. At least he was viewing my absence as the oversight of a lawyer with the proper blood in her veins and not as contempt of court.

'I've spoken to your grandfather, of course marvellous man and he has a.s.sured me that he's taking you under his wing, putting you back on the straight and narrow and so forth. You will be showing some spark of intelligence if you listen to him.'

I nodded dutifully, all the while thinking he looked like Owl out of Winnie the Pooh, filled with his own importance. I was so lost in this imagery that he had to repeat his question twice. Me part of the establishment? It was surreal to even consider it fleetingly.

'So what is it you want for your client?'

'I respectfully submit ...'

'Yes, yes, of course you do. Just tell me exactly what is your desired outcome.'

'Well, I'd like her probation to be continued and for her to be placed in a rehabilitation unit.'

'My, my, Christmas has come early to Edinburgh. I suppose the taxpayers will be funding this little jaunt of hers?'

What could I say? We both knew it was a pointless, expensive exercise, but that little white stone made me think maybe this time Tanya could do it. I knew that this would have to be dealt with in open court so I nodded and was about to leave when he extended his hand towards me. His fingers gripped my wrist, and, grasping my right hand, he interlaced his thumb with mine. I was thrown off guard, unsure what to do, so I fumbled, pressing his knuckles. He stared through me and smiled. I left the chambers unsure of what, if anything, had occurred. It then struck me that the whole interview between us had taken place without the presence of the sheriff clerk. There were, unusually, absolutely no witnesses to what had transpired.

The courtroom was remarkably empty. The sheriff clerk sat in the well of the court and the macer had gone to bring the sheriff onto the bench. Tanya sat in the dock, looking more optimistic than she had any right to. Of course, Bridget Nicholson sat centre stage, having bagged her ringside seat early to watch my downfall.

The owl came onto the bench, and nodded to the public benches. Without ceremony, the sheriff clerk called Tanya Hayder.

Tanya's record was horrendous. No one would admit to being her if they were not, but formal identification was necessary.

I joined in the play.

'My name is Brodie McLennan. I represent Tanya Hayder.'

The sheriff clerk handed the papers up to the judge, who began to speak immediately.

'I took the opportunity this morning to read over this case thoroughly. Given the details of the last social enquiry report on Miss Hayder, I have decided to take the unusual step of deferring sentence in this matter until the end of the probationary period. In addition, I want the recommendations that were not followed in the last report carried out, namely a place must be found for Miss Hayder at Castle Fearns rehabilitation centre.'

He handed the papers back to the sheriff clerk.

'You're a gentleman, sir, a gentleman.'

I turned to quieten Tanya before she got done for contempt of court or a bad rendition of some d.i.c.kensian dialogue. She wouldn't shut up, though, turning her pleasure to me.

'That was some result, Brodie. What did you have to do to pull that rabbit out of the hat?'

Sheriff Harrison heard every word from his position on the bench. I blushed and tried to push Tanya into the arms of the police, so that I could get out of there. Bridget Nicholson's face looked as if I had slapped it, before worry clouded her eyes. I'm sure she was picturing her seat on the bench being pulled from under her. She skulked out of Courtroom Three whilst I sat quietly in the aftermath. Sheriff Harrison had left the bench and the clerk busied himself tidying away the papers. The Fiscal wanted to talk. But all I could think, as I looked at his face, was that I missed Frank Pearson. Frank had been a great ally in the Fiscal's office but it wasn't for selfish reasons that I missed him. He had asked for a transfer to Inverness because he couldn't hold his head up after spurious photographs of him during auto-erotic asphyxiation were circulated round the Bar common room. A Fiscal can only find so many latex thongs in his files before he realises his credibility has gone.

The corridors were quiet. I checked my phone for messages. Ten texts from Lavender, every one of them telling me she had been right about something or other. I deleted the ones from Joe, as I had seen him since he had sent them, and cautiously opened the one from Jack.

meet u in the drs after court What harm could it do?

The Doctors was a famous pub near the court and even nearer to the old hospital, hence the name. I pushed the door open. Jack was standing at the bar getting a round in; his wallet was open and he waved his hand expansively towards a motley crew of journalists who occupied an alcove.

'Stranger!' he said as he caught sight of me. 'You were the last person I expected to see here.'

'Cut the dramatics, Jack, you invited me.'

'I know, but I didn't think you would come. Hang on a minute you want something, don't you?'

He stopped and allowed his eyes to rake over me.

'Enjoying the view?'

'Brodie, we both know that I do, and I'm not going to hide it.'

'Except when Joe's there?'

'Well, that's a given. What do you want to drink?'

I hesitated; Kailash's voice ringing in my ears.

'Diet c.o.ke.'

'Are you sure?'

'I'm driving.'

I banged my battered black bike helmet down onto the bar.

'Fair enough. I'll be back in a minute they turn nasty if you're slow with their drink,' he said, tipping his head towards his fellow waiting hacks.

I watched him walk away. He'd been working out and definitely was a different man to this time last year.

'You were checking me out,' he stated on his return.

'I was not. I was wondering who was with you.'

'You were checking out my a.r.s.e. I could feel your eyes, Brodie. My b.u.m felt quite hot with your l.u.s.t.'

I knew he was joking, but I still felt mortified.

'In your dreams.'

'Yep. What do you want my wise counsel on?'

I reached out and took his right hand, grasping his wrist with my fingers, intertwining our thumbs. He stepped back as if I had bitten him. I couldn't tell if it was the frisson of excitement that ran down both our bodies, or if it was the significance of the gesture. More worryingly, I didn't know which one I wanted it to be.

'Mahabone,' said Jack.

'I wouldn't have come to see you if I had a clue what that meant.'

'Okay, it's part of a Masonic ritual. It's the Master Mason's word. It developed in Scotland in the mid-sixteenth century and involves the shake of the Master Mason. It's also known as the "lion's paw"; whoever shook your hand like that is pretty high up. He was extending the hand of continuing brotherly love a bit different to the sort I'd like to extend to you. Did this guy do you a favour?'

I nodded.

'I thought so. A big one?'

I nodded again.

'Well, I hope it was worth it, because it might be called in.'

'How many judges are in the Masons, Jack?'

'Who knows how many judges, police officers, tax inspectors or anything are in the Masons? They try to keep their secrets.'

I had a nasty taste in my mouth. Sure I'd got a great result for Tanya, but at what cost? I was disgusted with myself, using my blood line to oil the wheels of justice, even if I had bought myself some time.

'Jack! Jack! You haven't finished your story!'

Some blonde floozy in the corner was jumping up and down trying to get his attention.

'Your bimbo's wanting you, Jack and by the glazed look in her eyes, you've invested quite a bit in her.'

'Are you going?'

He stroked my arm, urging me to stay.

'How did you guess?'

'You're a big girl now, Brodie. You'll wake up one day and no one will be there.'

'I can always join the Masons,' I shouted at his back.

He turned for a moment and looked at me.

'I thought you already had.'

Chapter Nine.

I walked in and realised that I'd kill for a cup of tea.

It hit me hard that I had no one to make it for me.

I slammed the front door shut in disappointment. The noise ricocheted off the old walls, and drew my attention to the damp patch on the ceiling. I meant to get a man in to see to that. I'm sure Tanya would say that I needed a man for a lot of things, as long as I didn't put my trust in them.

Black tea didn't hit the spot I wanted it to. Cup in hand, wandering through the hallway to the drawing room, I was uncomfortably aware of the dust lying on the thick Georgian skirting boards. Even the smell of the house was unlived-in. I wondered for a moment if I needed a housemate. The company would be welcome and the money would help keep this old pile of stones habitable. I just didn't need one anything like the last. Fishy had more than put me off flatmates for a while.

The doorbell rang.

I placed my empty mug down amongst the other dirty dishes on the coffee table. The bell continued to ring. Whoever wanted to see me was impatient. Was it Joe or Jack? Either would be welcome. But the face I saw when I opened the door wasn't one I'd hoped for.

'Are you Brodie McLennan?'

'Christ, Duncan, you know I am what game are you playing today?'

'Brodie McLennan I am arresting you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure Act.'

'Is this a joke, Duncan? What are you talking about? On what grounds could you possibly arrest me?'

I tried not to raise my voice because I didn't want the neighbours to hear. This wasn't the kind of area where the polis came calling.

He ignored me and went through the routine.

'You are not obliged to say anything. If you do say anything, it may be taken down and used against you in a court of law.'

'Can't you at least come in and say your piece?' I fought the tears.

'Get your shoes, Brodie.' He'd given up looking at me when he spoke.

'Duncan can't you be reasonable?'

'I'll come in while you get your shoes.'

Detective Inspector Duncan Bancho stood silent and stony-faced whilst I put my bike boots back on.