‘Not on his own, Arthur,’ Mackie told him, in a slow, even voice. ‘Not on his own. You and the doc had better go and take a look.’
Sarah nodded and stepped closer to the wreck. ‘From the side, ma’am,’ Dorward suggested. ‘Let’s go through those spars as close to the body as we can. That way we won’t be getting in our own light.’
She did as he suggested, with the inspector following behind, and a video-camera operator from his unit bringing up the rear, staying as close as she could to the action.
The old man’s body was pressed on its right side, against the rib-like uprights on the far side of the hulk. The arms were bent behind it, and a wide strip of heavy black adhesive tape, partly detached by the water, hung from the right cheek. The face bulged, not only, she saw, through immersion, but also because of the white handkerchief which had been stuffed in the mouth, and, of which, a corner protruded.
Experienced as she was, her stomach heaved involuntarily as she looked at the head. The eyes were gone, and great strips of flesh, including the right ear, had been torn away from the face and scalp. ‘Would fish do that?’ she asked herself, without realising that she was speaking out loud.
‘I doubt it, ma’am,’ Dorward answered her. ‘The water’s only a few feet deep here, even at high tide. It’s the birds that have been at him.’ He leaned over the body. ‘Look here though,’ he said.
She did as she was told. Below the sleeves of the sodden tweed jacket, and the check shirt, a set of plastic handcuffs were cutting into grey swollen wrists, tethering the man to the upright behind him. His ankles, in green woollen socks beneath his plus-twos, were bound together with more of the black tape, which now hung loose. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered.
‘Is he dead, then, doctor?’ Skinner had walked down the westward side of the wreck, and was standing outside the cage which it formed. He spoke with an irreverent irony, and she knew at once that it was not out of any lack of respect, but that it was his policeman’s way of breaking the grip in which the horror of the sight was holding her.
‘The poor old man,’ she said, with an unexpected tear in the corner of an eye. ‘Someone forced him in here, tied him up and left him to drown. Although it’s possible he’d have died of fright before the tide covered him. Time will tell about that.
‘Who did you say he was?’
‘Lord Barnfather. A retired Court of Session judge.’
‘Was he reported missing?’
‘Not to us,’ Brian Mackie answered. ‘He was a bachelor, and lived alone in a flat in Ainslie Place. So there was no one to report him missing, other than his neighbours. A twitcher found the body late this afternoon. He trained his field glasses on the sub because there were birds flocking around it.’
‘What’s a twitcher?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘Slang for bird-watcher.’
‘Ah.’ Her professional composure recovered, she looked down at the savaged remains once more. ‘For what it’s worth without a full autopsy,’ she pronounced, ‘I’d say from the state of the body that he’s been here for two days. That would make it Sunday.’
‘Why wasn’t the body found sooner?’ asked Dorward.
‘It’s mid-week,’ the DCC replied, ‘and the schools are back. In term-time, the Reserve is fairly quiet during the week. Anyway, not too many people walk out to the subs. It’s a long way off the beach, and folk are afraid of the quicksand.’
The inspector looked at him with sudden alarm. ‘What, sir, are there quicksands out here?’
Amused by his reaction, Skinner smiled. ‘No, but they think there are.’
He looked down at Sarah again. ‘There’s nothing more for you to do here?’ She shook her head. ‘All right. Arthur, call in your lads and take all the footage and still-shots you need, quick as you can, so we can get the poor old chap out of here and into the mortuary wagon, away from these awful fucking birds.
‘I never did like seagulls much.’
Dorward nodded his agreement. ‘Me neither. Noisy, nasty creatures, they are.’ He stepped backwards out of the wreck, keeping his shadow out of the way of the camerawoman.
‘We should give the scene the once-over as well, sir. You never know, whoever brought the old chap out here might have left us a bit of cloth, snagged on some of this metalwork.’
‘See what you can find, then, Arthur: but unless it’s got his name on it, it won’t do much good. I reckon there have been five high tides since then.’
34
‘A post-mortem examination will be carried out this morning. However, you may take it that a murder investigation is underway already.’ Andy Martin fell silent and looked around the room.
‘Any questions?’ Alan Royston invited, then pointed, as always, to John Hunter.
‘When did you first become aware of the cause of Lord Archergait’s death?’
‘Late on Saturday, John.’
‘And you’ve ruled out the possibility of suicide there too?’
The DCS shook his head. ‘No, we haven’t, but we haven’t ruled out murder either. In fact we think that’s more likely. We found no trace of cyanide on Lord Archergait’s clothing or at his home. Nor is there any record of his having acquired the poison prior to his death.
‘Since the beginning of this week, a small team of officers have been making very discreet inquiries at Parliament House. That investigation is still proceeding.’
‘Whose idea was it to keep the facts from the media?’ interposed Julian Finney, sounding and looking weary.
‘It was a police decision, but it was taken in consultation with the Lord President and the Lord Advocate. We hoped that it might give us an advantage.’
‘When would you have told us, then?’ There was an aggressive edge to the Scottish Television reporter’s question.
Martin was as tired as everyone else in the room, but his back straightened as he looked him in the eye. ‘In the absence of an arrest before then, we had planned to make a statement this afternoon.’
‘Some might say that if you had gone public immediately, Lord Barnfather’s life might have been saved.’
‘If they did they’d be wrong. I understand that the Lord President advised every judge, in confidence, on Sunday of the circumstances.’
‘I take it that you do believe that the two deaths are connected?’ asked Alastair Hutt, the Scottish correspondent of BBC News.
‘We have to. There’s no proof that they are, but common sense tells you that they must be.’
‘Will the other judges be given close police protection?’
‘It’s been offered already. At a minimum, those who decline will be kept under observation.’
‘More coverage from this morning’s press conference will be shown in our next bulletin,’ said the Breakfast News Glasgow presenter. ‘And now, today’s Scottish weather.’
Skinner pressed the TV remote, switching off the kitchen set. ‘I reckon it’ll be top of the bill on the national news as well,’ he said to Sarah and Alex, seated with him around the breakfast table. ‘What a story. Two judges knocked off their perch.
‘It makes life twice as bad for us, though,’ he added, gloomily. ‘We’re in trouble as it is with these robberies. We’re working hard just to stand still on that investigation. The last thing we needed was some nutter trying to work his way through the Supreme Court Bench.
‘Never mind the old one about being as good as your last game. We’re as good as today’s arrest, and it’s been a while since we gave the press anything positive to write about.
‘If nothing breaks on the robberies, we’re going to have to come up with a lead on Archergait and Barnfather, and damn quick.’
Alex finished her cereal, and stood up to put the plate and spoon in the dishwasher. ‘If hunting judges is our new national sport, it’s too bad your murderer didn’t start with Lord Coalville. The way our case is heading, he’d have done us a favour.’
‘Alex!’ Sarah gasped, as she came back to the table to finish her coffee.