Chapter 10
Some days, Angus Macpherson wishes he were still in uniform.
This is one of them. Nothing’s fitting him quite right, his suit itchy, his shirt collar too tight round the front of his neck.
He never usually thinks twice about how he presents – what you see is what you get with Angus.
But today, he wishes he were kitted out in the regalia of the state.
It would lend him the don’t fuck with me attitude that he’s struggling to find.
It’s a relief to be called into court, escape from the stuffy witness room, the tension that’s beating off the other witnesses waiting their turn.
Once he’s in the witness box, the judge stands and asks him to raise his right hand, say the oath.
Angus speaks clearly, puts both hands on the desk in front of him and leans forward, one eyebrow raised as he waits for the first question.
‘Please will you give the court your full name and position?’
‘Detective Angus Macpherson. I’m a scene of crimes officer.’
‘Did you receive a call-out on first May last year, 2018, to attend a scene in Inverleith Park?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Can you tell the court about it?’
Angus Macpherson can certainly tell the court about it.
It’s clear as day in his memory. It haunts his dreams. He won’t say that to the court, though.
He needs to be dispassionate here, unemotional, matter-of-fact in everything that he says.
It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. He’s given evidence hundreds of times in his career.
There’s a timelessness to it, this part of the job; different accused, different judge every time, but it feels as if he’s never left the witness box.
It could be any trial he’s done, the legs in the freezer, the head in the bag from the bottom of the harbour at Leith.
So many dismemberments, drug deaths, beatings: the blood and horror merge into one in his brain sometimes, as if all that exists is one long scream, the dreadful noise he used to hear whenever he did the death knock.
Friends question him as to why he’s ended up in the bowels of it, scraping the bottom of whisky barrels for clumps of bloodstained hair and brain matter (the body in the distillery is still one that he’s asked to talk about more than any other, the public’s fascination with the embalming qualities of an aged single malt seemingly endless).
The dead can’t speak – he’ll find their words for them.
This death, this body. The things that he saw .
. . there was something uncanny about the scene that he’s never seen before, for all the blood and guts he’s witnessed.
There was a silent scream there on her face.
And that’s what has stayed, imprinted on him.
The sight of it sometimes wakes him in the night with a jolt, his heart pounding .
. . Few jobs have ever given him nightmares like this, the birds that peck at his eyes every night, Christian’s face floating dead behind them as a disembodied voice urges them on.
‘Detective, please tell the court what you saw when you arrived at Inverleith Park that day.’
The advocate depute’s voice pulls Angus out of his reverie.
He shouldn’t need to be asked twice, and he and Mr Alexander have a sticky relationship at the best of times.
They’ve butted heads before. But even with the delay he’s already caused, he takes a moment to ground himself back in the courtroom, looking around him as he does.
It’s that woman judge, one of the new ones – he’s heard she gets the job done.
Some of the dead girl’s relatives are sitting at the back of the court but Angus tries not to make eye contact with them – he’s only met them once, anyway, introduced to various cousins and aunts and uncles at the funeral which he attended as officer in the case.
Her parents aren’t there – they’ll be waiting outside to give evidence.
It’s a relief not to see her mum; it upsets him, seeing the state she gets into.
She always ends up in tears. He doesn’t want to tear up himself – he’d never hear the end of that, weeping like a child in front of the whole room.
To galvanise himself he glares over at where the accused girls are sitting in the dock, Eliza first, all fair hair and pretty and butter wouldn’t melt.
Then Isobel. As his eyes slide along to where she’s sitting, the air starts to shimmer.
His heart speeds up and he loses focus, bright spots dancing in front of him.
A cold breath across his face. He rubs his eyes, looks away – this case has got under his skin far too much.
Finally, he looks at the jury. No forcefield there. His heart rate lowers again. A mixed bag – as usual – but they’re all staring at him intently, waiting for him to tell them what this is about. He takes in a deep breath. Time to begin.
‘If you permit it, my lady, I’m going to refer to my notebook.’ It’s in his hand already, and he holds it up towards the judge. She nods.
‘I was called to attend Inverleith Park early on the morning of first May last year, as a body had been discovered by a passer-by. I proceeded to the path down the side of the allotments, where I found a small group of passers-by surrounding the body of a girl who was lying on the ground. Two paramedics were also in attendance, and I established immediately from them that life was extinct.’
He’s gabbling, his nerves on edge. There’s a tremor running through him, a sense that his teeth are about to start chattering as if with cold, his grasp on his notebook so tight that the tips of his fingers are starting to turn white.
He takes in a deep breath to calm himself, slow down – the judge is writing down everything he’s saying and he can see she’s struggling to keep up.
‘I cleared the area of passers-by and started my examination of the site. It was the body of a girl, mid to late teens was my estimate. She was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a navy-blue hoodie, though this was pulled up for the paramedics to administer emergency care. She was lying on her side, and there were no obvious signs of injury.’
‘Can you tell us if there was any immediate explanation as to how she might have died?’
‘No, I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary about her.
’ But as he says the words, he knows this isn’t the full truth.
Another cold breath across his face, the hairs on his scalp prickling.
Angus isn’t in the stuffy courtroom any more; he’s back in Inverleith Park, the late spring air still chill in the early dawn.
He’s looking down at the dead girl, his heart tight, his hands clenched.
Those damn birds standing all around him, silent as the grave; a cortege of crows.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Mr Alexander asks, as if he can sense that Angus is withholding something.
Angus swallows. ‘There was one thing. It was her face. The expression on it. She looked terrified. Her eyes were stretched wide and her mouth open. I’ll never forget the look of it.’
Entirely involuntarily, Angus pulls his lips back over his teeth, opens his jaw to full stretch. It’s only the surprise on Mr Alexander’s face that pulls him back from following it up with the scream that’s been building up inside.
Ever since that time.