Special Branch officers also maintain a discreet surveillance over terrorist suspects, potential agitators, crackpot revolutionaries and general troublemakers. Their criminal investigative functions extend to offences against the State, or involving the security of the Nation.
In these and in some other circumstances, they will link with that genuinely secret apparatus of State known euphemistically as the Security Service. However on a routine basis, Special Branch officers report to their Chief Constable and Head of CID.
Special Branch activities in the Edinburgh area were under the command of Chief Inspector Alec Smith, a man of renowned judgement and unflappability. Martin was well aware that if he succeeded the veteran he would become the youngest officer ever to hold that private post.
He voiced this thought to Skinner. ‘Do you think I’m ready for it?’
‘Of course I bloody do, or I wouldn’t be offering it to you. Look, Andy, you’ve got it in you to be Chief Constable of this or of some other force. On the way to that you’re going to succeed me as Head of CID some day.
‘You take this number, Andy. You’re ready for it, it’s bloody interesting and it’ll do you the world of good in career terms.’
‘I’ll miss working with you, Bob.’ The decision is made, thought Skinner.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll still be working with me. What you, even you, don’t know, is the amount of contact I have with Alec Smith. He reports to me and so will you.’
‘Doesn’t he report to the Chief, too?’
‘In theory yes, in practice not too much. There are some things that the gaffer doesn’t need to know about, unless and until they’re likely to go critical. For instance, if he knew all there was to know about some of the characters on the Police Committee, he’d never be able to look them in the eye.’
With that, Skinner looked Martin squarely in the eye. ‘Right, Andy, so the answer’s yes, is it?’
‘Of course it is, boss, and thank you very much. When do the snoopers start on me?’
‘They started-on you two days ago, as soon as the Chief had approved the appointment. It seems that your bank manager has done as he was told and kept his mouth shut. As of tomorrow you start a hand-over with Alec Smith. The Royal Visit that’s coming up should give you a good start.’
15
The Japanese man was there as Rachel Jameson rose to begin her cross-examination.
As usual, the tight wig sat awkwardly on her head. She bowed to the Bench, pulled her gown further up her shoulders and walked towards the woman. The witness was stout, with dyed red hair. She was wearing an imitation fur jacket over a tight sweater and skirt. She had teetered into the witness box on pink high-heeled shoes. Rachel thought that she had never seen an alleged rape victim dressed less appropriately. But she knew that the vivid red scar running down the left side of the woman’s face was likely to command all of the jury’s attention.
‘Miss X, you are twenty-four; is that correct?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’ There was a new, aggressive edge to the witness’s tone. She sounds stronger today, thought Rachel. Must have popped an extra Valium.
‘Were you a virgin before the alleged attack?’
Miss X reddened. ‘Naw. Were you when you were twenty-four?’
It was Rachel’s turn to flush. Christ, she thought, that’ll have done her no good with the jury.
Severity stirred in the kindly Lord Orlach. ‘The witness will answer questions, not ask them. Madam, you must accept that counsel is entitled to examine whether your sexual history has a bearing on this trial. Hers most certainly does not.’
‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Rachel turned back to face Miss X. ‘When did you have your first sexual experience?’
‘Ye mean the full thing?’ Rachel nodded. ‘When ah was thirteen, with a boy at the school.’
‘And since that time, how many lovers have you had?’
‘God knows! Naw, wait a minute. Ah’ve had…’ she thought for several econds ‘… eight steady boyfriends, and maybe twenty or so one-offs. Ah cannae remember.’
‘So you like sex?’
‘No’ that much, tae tell you the truth, but the fellas expect it.’
‘Have you ever taken money for it?’
‘No way!’ The woman shouted her answer.
Rachel rebuked herself mentally.
‘Right, let’s accept that. Do you ever make the running, make the first sexual advances?’
‘In Barlanark, are you kiddin’?’ One or two spectators laughed. Lord Orlach threw the witness a frown.
‘So you didn’t give Mr McCann the come-on?’
‘That pig! No way.’
‘You knew him by sight, did you not?’
Miss X nodded.
‘Isn’t it the case that you once told him you fancied him?’
‘Never. I knew him by sight, but I knew about him an’ all, that he was dangerous.’
Rachel’s tone hardened as she moved quickly on to wipe that last remark from the memory of the jury. ‘Did you not invite him into your mother’s home while she was out?’
‘No ah did not. Ah telt that other fella, ah went across tae the Paki’s for a video, and when ah got back he was in the hoose!’
‘Miss X, we have heard your account of the alleged sexual attack. I won’t ask you to repeat it. However you did give a remarkably detailed description of the part of my client’s anatomy on which this case hinges. Do you always notice things like that?’
Miss X looked at her grimly, and said without humour: ‘Only when they’re forced on me.’
And so it went on, Rachel pressing, hammering away at the witness, weakening her resolve, going over and over the account of the attack. Finally she turned to the wounding.
‘Miss X, I put it to you that your injuries were self-inflicted.’
‘No.’ The woman was quieter now, her voice smaller.
‘Is it not the case that McCann made fun of your sexual offerings?’
‘No, that’s no’ true.’
‘… and that when he did, you attempted to stab him with a kitchen knife…’ She picked up the weapon, and held it up for the jury to see. ‘This knife, which, it has been admitted, belonged to your household?’
Miss X shook her head. Rachel’s voice was firm, but she did not shout.
‘Is it not the case that McCann disarmed you, that your face was cut in the struggle, and that he threw the knife away as he panicked and ran from your house?’
The woman was shaking. All of her abrasive chemical confidence was gone. ‘No, it’s no’ true. He raped me, then he cut me, now he’s trying to lie his way out.’
‘Miss X, there is a liar in this courtroom. I suggest that your whole demeanour indicates that you have concocted a story out of a desire to revenge yourself on my client for your own failure to satisfy him sexually.’
Rachel sat down. McCann’s alternative version of the attack was the only card in her hand. But she knew that she could not counter medical evidence still to come of bruising on the woman’s throat and of vaginal damage. All that she could do was try to win a concession that this could have been the result of normal, if rough, intercourse. Still, the woman’s initial cockiness under cross-examination might just have given the jury — which Rachel had ensured had men in an eleven-to-four majority — the inclination to look for a reasonable doubt acquittal. She had no intention of putting McCann in the witness-box. It was up to the Crown to prove its case. To allow the jury to see the arrogant, psychopathic accused crossing swords with the Advocate Depute could only help it do so.
On the 5.30 p.m. train from Queen Street to Edinburgh Waverley, and during her evening bath, she went over the day in her mind. The rest of the Crown case had been clear cut. Her major success had been in winning a concession from one or two expert medical witnesses that the sexual injuries were indicative of violent activity by one or both partners, but were not, of themselves, conclusive proof of rape.
‘Tomorrow’s the day, McCann,’ she thought aloud, draining the last of her gin-and-tonic as the bath foam dispersed, ‘and you’re in with a chance, you bastard. A slim one, but a chance.’