Blood Lines (7 page)

I’d taken it from her all those years ago and still had it in my purse. Foolishly, I believed that as long as it was safe, we both had a chance.

‘We don’t have long, Tanya, you know the form.’

‘Enough that I know you’re in bigger shit than me. Where were you when they called my name out?’

‘A victim of my own success, Tanya.’

‘Get me out of here, Brodie – I can’t do another stretch. Please, Brodie, I promise you this time I’ll straighten myself out, just get me into rehab.’

‘Tanya, I told you last time that I got you the deal of the century – probation with your record? And what did you do with that great chance? You shagged a police officer – how many times have I told you not to have any drugs on you when you’re on the game?’

Drugs were an illness with her; she was more to be pitied than punished. I knew that with Tanya I overstepped the mark, but someone had to care. The Fiscal claimed to understand when she was a Crown witness at the age of twelve, but where was the therapy or stable home when she needed it? Now, her background reports sounded like tired old tosh trotted out by lawyers and social workers, although it didn’t make it any less true.

‘I did not. I always double-check with the hotels to make sure they’re not the vice squad. This gadge had a suite so I thought I was safe – vice are too tight to take a suite. Anyway, when I got there it was a police officer, they had ordered a few working girls to entertain some business colleagues so I thought it was okay. I’ve got some scruples, I didn’t go with the pig, I went with the pal. Nice black guy. I could tell he was using because his top lip was covered in sweat. He paid me in smack – it was good stuff and I was hoping he would ask for me again but I never got the chance. That pig booked me for drugs. I tried to tell them I got them from their pal but they wouldn’t believe me. Said his pal was a fisherman from Pakistan, but that was a lie ’cause I used to work the boats in Peterhead and all the men there have rough hands and he didn’t. Really rough hands. They get them from mending the nets.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ I cut her off as quickly as I could. There was always a story with Tanya. ‘You were caught with drugs. There is not going to be a trial. You’ll be sentenced for your original offence today and for the breach of probation. It’s not your first offence so they don’t need social enquiry reports – you’re off to prison this afternoon, Tanya, for a long time.’

As I said them, I thought my last words were unnecessarily hard. They were true, of course, but there was no need to kick her when she was down. Apparently, Tanya thought so too.

‘Who were you with, when you should have been representing me?’ she asked angrily.

‘You wouldn’t know him.’

‘You’d be surprised who I know. Must be somebody important to make you abandon me.’ She liked to twist the knife. Most addicts are experts at emotional blackmail.

‘I bet it was one of those Dark Angels – you seem to be Moses Tierney’s personal tart these days.’

I ignored her insults, but she went on.

‘Get me probation and I’ll give you information that will help your client. I don’t need to know who he is just now to know that I’ve got a link to practically everybody in this city – and information on most of them.’

‘There’s no way I can get you probation today, Tanya, but I will try.’

I ignored the line she was throwing me about the Alchemist. I would have put up a good spraff for her anyway, regardless of the personal cost.

Chapter Eight

 ‘Are you still hanging around here? You’re like a bad smell in a toilet.’

‘Has anyone ever told you – you don’t do yourself any favours, Brodie?’

I was still really annoyed with Bridget Nicholson and I suspected that the only reason she was still here was to witness my humiliation when I asked for probation for Tanya. She swept past me into Sheriff Harrison’s court.

As a rule, after lunch, the Sheriff Court is almost deserted as the swathe of human detritus has completed its tasks in the morning and only a few ongoing trials remain. A courthouse is a horrible place to be. It shows you the very worst that humanity has to offer. Greed. Malice. Violence. Debauchery. Old lawyers’ tales tell of a young man in the seventeenth century about to sit his Bar exams who had a vision that he was at the mouth of hell. It sounds pretty likely to me that he got to live his vision when he became a lawyer.

‘Sheriff Harrison will see you in chambers now,’ said Andy, the macer, interrupting my thoughts.

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 assured 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 Dickensian 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 Coke.’

‘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 arse. I could feel your eyes, Brodie. My bum felt quite hot with your lust.’

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.