"You're really not much of a fucking lawyer, are you," said the DCC.
"Superintendent Rose and Inspector Steele of my staff are, even as I stand here, working overtime putting together a report for the Crown Office. Tomorrow morning they will present it to the Lord Advocate, in person. It's touch and go, but you're a betting man, Mr. Candela.
Knowing how the LA feels about bent lawyers, would you lay a tenner against him taking you before a jury?"
"He'd never get a conviction."
"No?"
"Not one that would stand up at appeal."
"Does that matter? As soon as they get a warrant for your arrest, Maggie Rose and Steven Steele will pick you up, either here or in Edinburgh. I'd like it if they were able to huckle you out of your office, actually. That would be nice."
"I'd still be acquitted though."
"You'll be ruined too."
"Don't you believe it."
The policeman let out an explosive, brutal laugh. "You don't get it, do you, Candela? This is personal. Whether you killed him or not, you took Michael away from somewhere he was happy, and you forced him back into his past, to do your will. You used him one last time, and then you just threw him away. Listen, I'm under no illusions. My brother was little short of a beast as a young man; he was a drunken, sadistic thug. But somewhere along the line, with help from the good Brother Aidan, he found the good within him, and he lived a contented, if unfulfilled life.
"Then you came along and took him away from it. And you did worse; you treated him like a dog, before and after he was dead."
Skinner's eyes were chilling as he looked at the lawyer. Finally, fear showed on Candela's face. "Suppose you do walk away from your so-called perfect crime, you're still going to account for it in public and for the rest of a life which I hope, if you have any sense, will be very short.
"You're going to be a pariah, Candela, a social outcast. If necessary, our report to the fiscal will be, regrettably, leaked to the media. You think no one will use it? Ultimately, we might not have enough for a criminal conviction, but a civil jury would be pretty certain to find against you, should you choose to sue for defamation… especially as you couldn't offer any defence, since you're guilty as fucking sin." He picked up the envelope. "If you don't believe me, ask my daughter, like I did; she's a bloody sight better lawyer than you ever have been, or ever will be."
"But leaking that report would end your own career," the man whispered.
"Don't be stupid. It would never be traced back to me. Don't you have any idea of what I can do?"
He started for the door. "Think about it, Candela. There's about a twenty per cent chance you're going to prison. But there's a one hundred per cent certainty you'll be disgraced. Plus, you'll have me on your back for the rest of your life."
He glanced around the distinguished room. "This place must have a library. And, gun control or not, you've probably got a pearl-handled revolver lying about somewhere.
"Ask yourself this," said Bob Skinner, as he left. "What's expected of a real gentleman in your situation?"
Sixty-Four
He glanced around his drawing room. "Did you ever fancy oak panelling in here?" he asked.
"Certainly not!" Sarah replied. "Much too old-fashioned. What brought that on?"
"Ah, nothing," said Bob. "You're right; that sort of stuff belongs to another era."
"I should think so." She turned back to the Scotsman, and to the front page story. "Will this man Candela be convicted?"
"There's a chance. He's remanded on bail, so we have as long as we like, within reason, to complete a case. We've got a search warrant for his place in Perthshire and his flat in Edinburgh. We might just find some supporting evidence; even if it's only wire that matches the material used on the Academy fire-bomb, it could turn a possibility into a probability.
"I'm still hoping for another outcome, though."
"A guilty plea, do you mean?"
"Yeah, something like that." He pressed the button of the television remote, and turned on A Question of Sport.
"Do you know yet when Michael's funeral will be?" she asked.
"I'll hear from the undertaker tomorrow, but I think it'll be next Tuesday. He'll be cremated in Gourock; Brother Aidan will take the service. That'll suit all his friends through there. Afterwards, his ashes will be interred beside my mother and father, in the cemetery in Mother well."
"That's good. Appropriate. Will you go?"
"Of course. And you, if you want."
"That's good too. Of course I'll come." She paused. "Speaking of funerals," she continued. "I had a call from Babs today, the bitch that she is. She said that Ron's mother's arrived in Buffalo, and that she's planning to hold his service on Saturday week, once the DA's office has released his body."
He looked at her, frowned, and shook his head. "Don't even think about it," he said.