Murder in Court Three (9 page)

‘I feel sorry for her, actually.'

‘Do you reckon some high-up misogynist has handed her a poisoned chalice?'

‘That would be the polis we know and love.'

Along the bar of The Verdict from a group of gossipy male advocates, Baggo finished his salami toastie, drained his glass and slipped out, he hoped unrecognised. Unfortunately he could not disagree with most of what he had overheard. He checked his phone and found a text message from di Falco asking him to call.

‘I've pulled over on the hard shoulder,' di Falco told him when he answered. ‘Cuthbert was as forthcoming as a clam at first, “I've already given a statement,” and so on, but when I mentioned the letters he took me somewhere quiet and was all fake smiles and chumminess. He hadn't reported the letters to the Glasgow police, said he was going to after finishing his lunch. I don't think he took them at all seriously. Anyway he handed them to me. The envelopes are white and cheap. Cuthbert's name and address are individually typed in capitals on adhesive labels. All have a Glasgow postmark, the most recent being Saturday, with first-class stamps.

‘The messages are all typed in capitals on single sheets of ordinary A4, neatly folded. The first one says: DEATH COMES TO US ALL IN GOD'S TIME. YOURS COULD BE SOON. The second says: WIN YOUR CASE AND DEATH WILL BEAT YOU. The third reads: NO MERCY FOR MERCY MURDERERS OR THEIR LAWYERS.'

‘Not at all nice, but I've seen worse on Twitter,' Baggo said. ‘Might someone have killed Knox mistaking him for Cuthbert? How similar were they?'

‘Both quite tall and dark, but Cuthbert's much pudgier, if you know what I mean. You'd be unlikely to mistake one for the other, though you might in poor light. Of course they weren't wearing wigs on Friday night.'

‘What did he have to say about the murder?'

‘Well, like a lot of people he knew about Knox's affair with Mrs T. He'd spotted them together in Perth a few weeks ago, so he may have been one of the first to be aware of it. He said that on Friday Knox was clearly impatient for dinner to end and as soon as it did he made a bee-line for Mrs T and they had a short but serious-looking conversation. A bit later Mrs Knox came up to Cuthbert and asked if he had seen her husband. He said he prevaricated and she twigged what was going on. “He's off with that whore, isn't he?” she asked him. He replied that he didn't know what she was talking about. She said something about bloody men sticking together then stood behind the people watching the archery, looking furious. When it was over she made for the door. Cuthbert thought she might have been going home but she was back, much calmer, for the first dance, which she did with the Cuthberts. It's apparently one you do in threes. She spent most of the rest of the evening in the library and was still angry when the Cuthberts took her home.'

‘Did he say anything about the Knox marriage?'

‘He said it wasn't great but they both seemed to find reasons for staying together. He said Mrs Knox was a cool customer and that if she had wanted rid of her husband she would almost certainly have favoured divorce over homicide.'

‘Did he expand on that?'

‘No. Oh, incidentally, Knox had been due to play something called a dinner match at Muirfield on the Saturday and one of his opponents had said he was just the sort of chap to get himself killed rather than lose.'

‘And Cuthbert told you that?'

‘Yes. He was there. He didn't let the murder stand in the way of his golf. I think it was his way of saying he didn't like Knox himself.'

‘Where are you at the moment?'

‘On the motorway, nearly out of Glasgow.'

‘Why don't you go back to the court and have a look round? Keep an eye on the spectators. If there is anything in Mrs Cuthbert's theory, we'll look pretty stupid if we've ignored it.'

‘What do I look for?'

‘Goodness knows, but you'll recognise it when you see it.'

* * *

The old High Court building in Glasgow is a classical, confident structure fronted by a Doric portico in the Greek style. As more court time was needed to try serious crime, an extension was built at the back. This clean, modern edifice now dwarfs the original but the courtrooms with most atmosphere are the North and South Courts in the old building. Di Falco felt this as soon as he took his seat in the public gallery of the North Court and looked round. He admired the solid wooden furniture, stained dark brown and dignified. It was easy to imagine previous generations of judges presiding from the imposing bench, passing death sentences on men in the dock now occupied by a person whose only crime had been to help ease a loved one out of a miserable existence. It was a topsy-turvy world.

Unusually, there were three judges crowded on a bench meant for one. This was obviously the important hearing to decide if assisting suicide was a crime in Scotland. The prosecutor was on his feet, giving the court a detailed account of how suicide had been regarded through the ages, and not just in Scotland. On the other side of the large semi-circular table, Cuthbert sat, his head back as if in thought, leaning forward to take the occasional note. The jury box was empty. The jurors would return to court once the issue had been decided. The accused, Nugent, sat still in the dock, small and white-haired with bowed shoulders, a picture of defeat and misery. But di Falco's mother would not be sympathetic. The Nugents were Catholics and the case had caused ructions in the church and in the di Falco family. Billy loved his mother but he had little time for the doctrines of the church she held so dear. To him, the dock of the High Court should be reserved for bad people and Harry Nugent was not bad.

A few journalists occupied the front seats. Behind them sat a number of spectators. Some appeared to be middle-class intellectuals, men and women who were concentrating on proceedings, one or two taking notes. They were scattered round the public benches. In front of di Falco and to his right, a group of about a dozen sat together. They were dressed mainly in black, most were male and all appeared to be under forty. There was an aggressive intensity to their body language, but not all of them concentrated on what was being said. Some stared ahead blankly and one young man's lips moved as he read a book on his lap, di Falco guessed the Bible. There was a blue plaster of the type used in commercial kitchens on his left index finger.

Di Falco tried to follow the argument but his attention wandered and he kept an eye on the group. If there was a zealot threatening Cuthbert he or she might well be among these people.

The afternoon passed slowly. By the time the judge chairing the court asked the prosecutor if it would be a convenient time to adjourn, di Falco had decided to follow the group. As luck would have it, he had dressed in dark clothes so he would fit in.

His gut feeling that these might be fanatics was supported when the police overseeing the public gallery told them to wait until the court had been cleared. When di Falco said he was with them, the constable raised his eyebrows then moved on. The members of the group turned, their stares suspicious and unwelcoming.

After leaving time for the other spectators to get clear of the courthouse, the policeman allowed them to leave through the doorway that took them out to the street. Di Falco brought up the rear. It was a fine, sunlit afternoon and even the city air smelled good. As he breathed in, one of the group, a man in his thirties with a face scrubbed till it shone and not a hair out of place, approached. He wore a dog collar. A cheesy smile showed off sparkling teeth but did not hide cold eyes.

‘Father Neil,' he said, extending his hand.

‘Billy,' di Falco said, shaking it warmly.

‘Did I hear you tell the policeman you were with us?' There was a hint of Southern Irish lilt in his voice.

‘Yes. I think suicide is a very great sin.'

‘Well spoken, Billy. We too believe that our lives are in God's hands and it is a grave sin to shorten it. If Nugent gets away with what he has done, many will feel encouraged to do the same.'

‘The sin of Ahitophel and Saul,' di Falco responded, briefly thankful for the intensity of his religious education.

Father Neil's lips smiled and this time his eyes did too. ‘Each morning we demonstrate outside the courthouse. Our blessed Marjorie takes away our placards and stores them for us so that we can go into court, where we listen and pray for wisdom and righteousness. When the lawyers finish we have been in the habit of going somewhere to pray and reflect on the day. Would you join us?'

‘I'd be happy to.'

They walked up towards Glasgow Cross then turned right into the Gallowgate. On the way, Father Neil gently but insistently probed into di Falco's life. He gave his true surname and said he worked as a waiter at the Old Course Hotel in St Andrews. A devout Catholic, he felt so strongly about assisted suicide that he needed to go to the court on his day off and pray for the correct decision. He knew he was making it up as he went along and cursed himself for not preparing a better story. He would have to contact a girl he knew at the hotel to back him up if they checked.

At length they arrived at a church hall to which Neil had the key. The atmosphere inside was chilly and damp. They climbed a stone stairway with a shaky bannister then trooped into a small, drab room on the first floor that needed cleaning and dusting. Half a dozen placards condemning suicide had been put in one corner. Wooden chairs, some obviously unstable, were arranged in a semi-circle. Father Neil stood in the centre and the rest sat down. The last to claim a chair, di Falco lowered himself gingerly onto the only one left. It was rickety with a cracked seat but it held.

‘We should welcome Billy to our group,' Father Neil began, his voice strong and melodic. ‘He has come all the way from St Andrews to pray with us for the correct decision.' The others muttered hellos and two managed to smile at di Falco, who grinned back and said ‘thank you'.

‘Yesterday I mentioned undeserved suffering, and that goes to the heart of what this case is about. Nugent did not want his wife, whom he loved very much, to suffer. She was a good woman and did not deserve to die a painful and difficult death. The answer to that lies in the nature of life itself. Our lives are not our own to shorten as we choose. God has put us on earth for His purpose and for the length of time that He decrees. A player who decides to leave the pitch when he is tired is no use to his team. It is not up to him to decide when his match ends. From start to finish, our whole lives belong to God. It is as simple as that.
Vita Dei
.
Vita Dei. Vita Dei.
And we remember the words of Saint Faustina, “If the angels were capable of envy they would envy us for two things: one is the receiving of Holy Communion, and the other is suffering.” Suffering is part and parcel of being a Christian. God gave Mrs Nugent the opportunity to share in Christ's burden of suffering and her husband took that from her.'

His acolytes had doubtless heard all this or stuff very like it before but that did not diminish the enthusiasm with which they lapped it up. Di Falco took his cue and nodded forcefully. A lengthy prayer followed and the service was ended by another repetition of ‘
Vita Dei
'.

Tea and biscuits were available in a larger, adjoining room. As di Falco sipped the industrial strength brew from a chipped mug he sought out the man with the finger plaster.

‘You're in catering too?' he asked, glancing at the finger.

‘Yes. But I serve the Lord in other ways. Where do you work?' The accent was Glaswegian, the tone serious.

‘The Old Course Hotel in St Andrews. What about you?'

‘Here and there. Where the Lord leads me.'

Di Falco nodded then glanced again at the finger. ‘That looks nasty. A burn?'

The man flexed his hand. Di Falco observed that his knuckles were red and calloused, a fighter's knuckles. ‘I forgot to put white gloves on before serving hot plates at one of these big dinners.'

‘Interesting people there?'

‘Interesting to themselves, no doubt, but sinners, most of them.'

‘And they do not know the danger of Godlessness.'

‘One was taken during the night. A lawyer. Murdered. The papers are full of it. An adulterer.' He spat out the last word.

‘I've read about it. Did you see him before he was killed?'

‘Yes. He was at the same table as that evil man, Cuthbert. Looked like him, too.' The young man might have been twenty-five. He had a sharp, bony face and protruding eyes. His mouth twitched when he spoke.

Di Falco hoped his interest didn't show. ‘Do you live in Edinburgh?' he asked as casually as he could.

‘No' likely. I stay in Glasgow. They run minibuses to these big dinners.'

‘By the way, I'm Billy.' Di Falco stuck his hand out.

The answering handshake was peremptory as if the acolyte was thinking of other things. ‘Johnny.' His right shoulder twitched up. ‘Don't you get angry at the sinners you have to serve?' The aggression in his voice was almost palpable.

Di Falco nodded. ‘But Jesus washed sinners' feet. I just have to give them food and wine.'

‘Father Neil tells me that. But I see evil winning everywhere. I want to fight back. That's why I joined
Vita Dei
.'

‘I see why.'

‘We have to …'

‘Now Johnny, Billy doesn't want to be troubled with too much on his first time with us.' Father Neil took di Falco's arm and led him aside. ‘I'll have to be going myself and I'd be happy to walk with you to the train station, or did you come by bus?'

‘Train,' he said, thinking quickly.

‘Excellent.' Putting down his mug, the priest turned to his followers. ‘Thank you all for your presence today. I hope to see as many of you as possible tomorrow. Our visible stand against the devil's work is pleasing to Our Lord. Bless you all, and particularly dear Marjorie for the most welcome tea and biscuits.
Vita Dei!
' He aimed a smile at a hefty, untidy woman with a shock of curly red hair. Di Falco had not seen her at court and guessed she must be the caretaker.