Chapter 9
Back into court. Matthew’s torpor has lifted.
There’s going to be evidence now, actual witnesses.
The case is going to unfold, its mysteries revealed layer by layer.
He makes a point of not checking whether the blonde woman has made it back into court, though there’s a flicker of movement in the general direction of where she was sitting which gives him an unexpected sense of reassurance.
‘Advocate Depute,’ the judge says.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ the advocate says. ‘I would like to call my first witness. Callum Montrose, please.’
A man walks into court behind the macer. When he’s in the witness box, the judge stands and asks him to raise his right hand.
‘Repeat after me, I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’
He’s young, ginger hair and pale skin, and he looks very nervous. Matthew can barely make out what he’s saying.
The judge sits back down and addresses the witness. ‘Mr Alexander is going to ask you some questions now, and then Miss Brodie and Miss Goodly may ask you some questions on behalf of the co-accuseds. Please will you do your best to speak up so that we can all hear you in the court.’
The witness nods, a red flush creeping up into his cheeks. Mr Alexander moves over to a lectern from which both the jury and the witness can see his face.
‘Tell the court your name, please.’
‘It’s Callum Montrose.’
‘And you live at an address near Inverleith Park, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you in Inverleith Park on first May of last year?’
‘Yes.’
‘What can you tell the court about that day?’
The witness is now so flushed his face is almost as red as his hair. Only a couple of white blotches remain, high on his cheekbones.
‘I was out for a run in the morning—’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Montrose, but I’m going to have to ask you to speak up,’ the judge interrupts.
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ The witness takes a deep breath.
‘I was out for a run in the morning. Early. I always go around six thirty a.m., especially as it gets lighter. Anyway, I was out, running round the park, down the side by the allotments. That’s when I saw her.
’ He stops speaking and there’s a long pause. Matthew holds his breath.
‘Saw who?’
The witness swallows. Matthew can see the movement in his throat, an involuntary spasm.
‘The girl. The dead girl.’ A pause. ‘I was running down the side by the allotments as I said, parallel to East Fettes Avenue. It was just before the path joins the big path that cuts through the middle. She was huddled down on the ground, underneath a hedge. Even from a distance it didn’t look right . . .’ His voice trails off.
‘What didn’t look right about her?’
The man squints his eyes, focusing on something only he can see.
‘Something about her position? Maybe a stiffness to her, something like that. It was a funny place to be lying down, too. You wouldn’t be sleeping there.
Or sunbathing. She was half under the hedge, half on the path, like she’d fallen over. ’
‘What did you do when you saw her lying there?’
‘I didn’t want to go over,’ Callum says, a slight reluctance creeping into his voice. ‘I wanted to turn round and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. It was the birds, I think. They were freaking me out.’
‘What about the birds?’
‘There were about ten crows stood around her. Maybe more than that. They weren’t moving, just standing there, looking at her. It seriously freaked the shit— sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. It’s just . . .’
‘Keep going,’ the advocate depute says.
‘As I started walking towards her, there was this cawing from the trees as well. I looked up, and the branches were full of crows. Dozens of them . . .’ Callum’s eyes are wide open now, tension lines tight around them. ‘I still dream about it sometimes.’
Matthew’s leaning forward on to the desk in front of him, his hands clenched into fists. He’s barely drawn a breath since the witness started talking. He knows the park – of course he does, he lives five minutes’ walk from it. He knows the park, the path beside the allotments the man is describing.
He’s remembering something. The stumbling words of the witness have dredged it up from his memory, excavated it from the layers of work stress and life under which it was buried.
He’d walked along the main path that day, glancing up to the left past the place where the forensics tent was up, police tape flapping between the trees.
He looked it up on the internet at the time, though there weren’t many details.
A week or so later, he saw on Reporting Scotland that it was a schoolgirl from the boarding school next to the park, but no further details.
Once he’d told Daisy to avoid going there on her own after dark, he’d put it out of his head.
‘The crows kept cawing. They were kicking up a real fuss. I didn’t want to go anywhere near them.
Near her. But I couldn’t leave her on her own like that.
Even from a distance, she looked really young.
Small.’ He takes another deep breath. ‘So I went over to her. As I approached, the crows all flew up. For a moment I actually thought they were going to attack me. It was like that film, you know. The Birds.’
Matthew tries to catch his breath but it’s stuck in his throat, the air coming through in juddering sighs. The scene is only too clear in his head. The witness’s face is pale now, his hands clenched in front of him, as if he needs to be clinging on to something.
‘I got to her, lying on her side, her head looking back. Like she’d been running away from someone and she’d dropped like a stone. But that wasn’t the worst of it.’ He stops.
‘What was the worst of it?’ the advocate depute prompts.
‘Her face. That was the worst. It had an expression on it I’ll never forget.’ Another pause, another audible swallow. ‘It was set in a scream. Like she’d been scared to death.’
The rest of the evidence passes fast. He’d called 999.
Other joggers had joined him, a dog walker.
They’d stood as the sky lightened, waiting in a form of vigil until the paramedics arrived and then the police.
He hadn’t touched her – he hadn’t needed to.
It was obvious that she was dead. Once he’d given his details to the police officer he’d left.
Couldn’t run home fast enough. He’s never been back since.
The first defence advocate takes her place at the lectern.
Miss Brodie is almost as tall as the advocate depute, thin and autocratic in bearing with short grey curly hair that blends into the wig.
Matthew’s distracted by this for a moment, admiring the way it looks intrinsic to her, rather than the rather sloppy appearance of the prosecution junior, a young man with lank brown hair that reaches past his collar, on whose head the wig perches like an after-thought.
‘When you first saw the body lying on the ground, did you see anyone else in the vicinity?’
The witness shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘You said that the area was surrounded by birds. Until you approached, did they appear to be undisturbed by any other life around them?’
‘Yes, they were undisturbed. I was the one who disturbed them.’
‘Thank you very much. I have no further questions.’
Miss Goodly stands up. ‘I have no questions for this witness,’ she says, and sits back down again.
The judge thanks the witness and tells him he’s free to go. Matthew watches the man’s shoulders drop down as he leaves the courtroom, clearly relaxing now that his part in the trial is over.
Matthew doesn’t feel relaxed though. His shoulders are up round his ears. He’s staring in front of him, but he’s not seeing the courtroom, not even the woman with the notebook. He’s seeing the white tent, the hushed police officers walking in and out of it.
The host of black crows on the ground beside it, their caws harsh in the morning air.