LITMIR.BIZ

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upheld. Swiftly, I moved towards the dock. Unlike me, Kailash seemed unperturbed. She was eyeballing Sheriff Strathclyde and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

      ‘Kailash? I can’t stop this judicial examination.’

      Her face did not even register my presence. Trancelike she continued to stare at Strathclyde. I assumed that her stares were to unsettle him, and I assumed that she was trying to unsettle him because he was–or had been–a client of hers. That was all I needed. Maybe she thought she could bribe him or embarrass him into calling off the case. If so, she must have conveniently forgotten just who she was accused of killing. I was losing patience.

      ‘Kailash!’ I called as loudly as I dared. ‘Listen to me. The Fiscal is about to ask you questions. However, you are entitled to refuse to answer them.’

      My heart was beating, a mixture of adrenalin and anger. She wasn’t listening to me and was bound to throw away any slight chance she may have. I had to press on–professional ethics meant that even clients who wouldn’t deign to give me a moment of their attention still had to be advised.

      ‘You don’t have to answer any questions, and my normal advice would be to say nothing as that is the safest option, but–and it is a big “but”–if you have a good defence, and don’t state it, the Crown can comment on your failure to the jury. Kailash, I don’t know whether you have a good defence or not. This is your call. It really depends on how brave you are.’ I finished my whispered comments to Kailash feeling more of a need to shout explicit advice rather than leave so much to her judgment. She was much calmer than me.

      Again, no reaction. Her lack of emotion was worrying me. How was she going to act and react when she got up there? Was she going to take the psychopath route? The wounded tart with a heart? Or continue her mad staring at Strathclyde? It mattered to me. It mattered a lot. When a trial lawyer gets started, the victim and the accused are lost. It is merely a fight, a game with the prosecution. And it’s a game I like to win.

      ‘Kailash, this matters. This will all be tape recorded and go before a jury.’

      She surprised me by clutching my arm and nipping it.

      ‘Did you say this will be tape recorded?’ I nodded my head, resentfully rubbing at the place on my arm where her nails had dug in.

      ‘Is there any way the tape can be interfered with?’ ‘No, of course not. It’s kept and authorised by the Fiscal.’

      ‘And do you trust him? Do you trust that process?’

      ‘Kailash, what’s going on? Of course I do. I know Frank Pearson. He’s a good man. But I also know the process. They’re the ones who want this to happen. They’re not going to scupper their own procedures. It’s nothing to be scared of.’

      ‘Scared?’ she almost spluttered. ‘Why do you think I would be scared?’

      ‘Well, if you’re thinking from the other side and actually believe you, or someone you know, could get in and wreck the tape if you don’t come out of it too well, you can forget that right now. No chance,’ I warned her.

      She chewed her lips as she was thinking. I have the same bad habit–it saves my nails, but the inside of my mouth resembles a slasher movie.

      ‘Don’t stand in front of me when I am being asked questions. I want to see him,’ she informed me in an emotionless voice.

      ‘Kailash, it won’t work. I don’t know how you know him–although it doesn’t take much imagination to guess–but that won’t cut any ice here. It doesn’t matter if he likes to dress up as a schoolgirl or get his arse smeared with peanut butter while a whippet licks it off, you’ve been accused of murder. That’s all that counts.’

      ‘You’ve got quite a vivid imagination there, Brodie,’ she responded. ‘I could use you.’

      ‘Don’t bother flattering me. It’s standard practice for lawyers to act as a buffer between clients and the bench.’

      That was true, but I was also put out at being sidelined. I wasn’t a bit player in this. I was a star attraction and I liked it that way. Nonetheless, I continued.

      ‘I can’t stop you if you are specifically instructing me that way, Kailash, but remember that you still retain the right to consult with me before you answer any questions. I can’t interrupt in the proceedings so it has to come from you.’

      Kailash had already moved on. She hadn’t even heard the last comments. She was, however, the only one ignoring me. Sheriff Strathclyde had his beady little eyes focused right in my direction.

      ‘If you are quite finished, Ms McLennan, perhaps we may have a moment of your time to begin.’

      He was looking anxiously at his watch. It wasn’t any concern for procedures or the fact that he was a dedicated workaholic–rather he was keen not to have a late lunch. Rumour had it that it was generally liquid anyway, and I had certainly seen him carried from the bench on more than one occasion.

      Sheriff Strathclyde was sweating profusely. Was it Kailash’s gaze, or the effects of last night’s whisky? The sheriff clerk, switched the tape on, and it began. I didn’t listen to her give her basic details, I was just praying my client would speak up.

      Ordinarily, the less an accused says the better, but this case was unique. We had to come up with a good story–and stand firm.

      ‘At 11.30p.m. I was walking home.’

      Kailash’s clear voice cut through the silence of the court; the only other sound was the whirr of the tape recorder.

      ‘Alone,’ she added on reflection.

      We held our breaths as we waited to hear how Lord Arbuthnot of Broxden had died.

      ‘At present, I do not think it is necessary to state whose company I had enjoyed earlier in the evening. Latterly, I was at the Balmoral Hotel.’

      Sheriff Strathclyde continued to shift uncomfortably under her stare. I was annoyed. It sounded as if she was hiding something. Also, there was absolutely no emotion or contrition in her voice. It would not go down well with a jury. Public speaking is the number one fear amongst people–dying is second. That means most would rather be the corpse than give a eulogy at a funeral. But Kailash sounded calm, as if she were reading a bedtime story to a child.

      ‘I had a couple of glasses of champagne. I decided to go home before I had finished. I brought the champagne flute out with me.’

      Her voice was controlled, as if this was perfectly normal behaviour.

      ‘I crossed the road and was sipping champagne as I examined the large statue of the bronze horseman. This sculpture fascinates me. It is anatomically correct in every detail, except one–its tongue is missing. The artist committed suicide, when he realised this…’

      She was rambling. Kailash Coutts still stared at Sheriff Strathclyde, as if they were having a private conversation at a dinner party.

      ‘Strange,’ she continued, ‘I always thought it was our tongues that got us into trouble.’

      Lifting her head even higher, she gestured towards him.

      ‘Don’t you agree, M’Lord?’

      Without waiting for the reply, that would never come, she continued.

      ‘In the wall of Register House is a seismograph. It is behind glass, and it measures earthquakes.’

      Pausing as if speaking to imbeciles, she added: ‘On the Richter scale.

      ‘It is extraordinary how earthquakes can hit Edinburgh, M’Lord.’

      To his credit, Sheriff Strathclyde only flinched a little bit before Kailash continued with her story. I was pretty sure she was enjoying herself as much as anyone could in this situation, but everyone’s patience would run out soon if she didn’t start coming up with the goods.

      ‘I first saw them in the glass

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