Festival of Murder by Ross Macfarlane KC, Chapter 3: Knock, knock

Gordy nodded towards a figure emerging from the crowd. Wood looked round and walking towards them, he saw a beautifully turned-out lady in her 50s, expensively dressed, a smart leather satchel over her shoulder.

Wood smiled: ‘Dr Livingstone, I presume.’ Pathologist, Katharine Livingstone (MBChB MRCPath) gave her usual muted response, but Wood could see from her eyes that she was pleased to see him again. She nodded: ‘Wallace Wood QC…’ Wood bowed back: ‘“KC” now - since the death of our dear queen.’

Livingstone smiled: ‘Of course. Apologies. What brings you here, Wally. Please tell me that you’re coming out of retirement. Please. These new prosecutors are...’ she shut her eyes tight ‘…let’s just say that they leave something to be desired.’

‘Och, Katharine - you were a ‘newbie’ yourself once…’

Ouch! Wallace Wood and Katharine Livingstone had a long, shared history of sparring in court. In Katharine Livingstone’s first court appearance as a medical expert - must have been over 25 years ago now - Wood (then a Defence lawyer) carefully and methodically pulled apart this new expert’s evidence piece-by-agonising piece. The ruddy-faced expert left the stand close to tears, her evidence in tatters. Later the same morning of that trial, Wood spotted Livingstone in the precincts of the court and attempted some tentative small talk, but the medic was having none of it and gave him short shrift.

It was only a few years (and a number of fraught court cases) later, when they found themselves in the same company at a staff retiral do across the road in Deacon Brodie’s Tavern that Livingstone gave Wood a guarded smile and spoke across the table: ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For making me a better expert witness.’

Wood tried not to smile: ‘You weren’t that bad at the start…’

The medic gave a sardonic raise of the eyebrow: ‘I was worse than that. Tell you a secret. Do you know I cried all the way home that first day…’

‘Sorry to hear that…’

‘But I got home and I sat down and I wrote down every question that you asked me and how they were asked. And I vowed that I would never fall into those traps again.’

Wood sat back in his chair: ‘And here we are – all ‘pals at the palace’.’ He sipped his Guinness: ‘Can I tell you a secret?’

‘Shoot.’

‘When I’m prosecuting a case - and you’re on my side - you are my favourite expert witness…’

Was Livingstone blushing? Hard to see in that pub lighting. ‘Thank you.’

‘And when you’re against me in a case - you’re a bloody nightmare.’

Katharine Livingstone raised her tumbler of Gin and Diet Lemonade: ‘Ahhh - then my work is done.’

After that, the Advocate and the medic became convivial work colleagues. Encountering each other a few times a year. Mostly on the same side, sometimes - on opposite sides - sparring with a kind of violent energy. But always that undertow of affection and respect. Wood used to ask himself, was there maybe something else there? Something more than professional respect? Something a bit more…amorous? Hard to say. Katharine Livingstone was always a very contained person. Rumours had it that she lived with another woman. A lover? A sister? Her mum? Wood sighed. What went on behind Katharine Livingstone’s door was nobody’s business but hers. He remembered the old joke:

‘Knock knock.’

‘Who’s there?’

‘Nunya;

‘Nunya who?’

‘Nunya goddam business…’

Gordy interrupted Wood’s thoughts and the conversation: ‘Katharine - is that old lady one of yours? The one who came out of the window at The Tron?’

The medic nodded: ‘Had her on the slab.’

Wood narrowed his eyes: ‘And?’

‘Let’s just say that she didn’t die of old age.’

‘Anything…odd?’

Livingstone tilted her head back slightly, thinking, then: ‘Still waiting for some of the labs to come back. Haven’t done a deep dive yet. But, on the face of it, the usual broken bones of someone who had fallen from that height.’ She thought again. ‘The only odd thing was that she waited for a gap in the crowd below before she jumped.’

Wood frowned: ‘Coincidence? The timing?’

‘Or a sheer fluke. If she did wait for a gap in the crowd below, then that would take away the element of spontaneous compulsion that one would tend to find in this type of event.’

PC Gordy Hamilton stood back: ‘I’d better get on with my work.’ As he was walking away, he was heard to mutter: ‘“Spontaneous Compulsion” - were they not a prog rock band in the 1970s…’

Katharine Livingstone looked down at her shoes: ‘Any more questions, Advocate Depute?’

‘I didn’t mean to cross-examine you…’

She looked up: ‘You can’t help it. It’s your nature. You always want to get to the bottom of things.’ She smiled: ‘In any event, a report will be sent to the procurator fiscal for marking. In the meantime, you should maybe speak to the investigating detective.’

‘Do you know who that is?’

Katharine lowered her head. Was that a shy grin? ‘That would be your best friend, DI Bobby McKee…’

Wood couldn’t help but stand back. The ‘best friend’ part of the statement was clearly ironic.

Some people treat the Rule of Law as Gospel; some as Guidance. Detective Inspector Bobby McKee treated the Rule of Law as Minor Inconvenience.

On the plus side, DI Bobby McKee had an excellent clear-up rate. On the minus side McKee was at least as dodgy as some of his dodgy suspects. Some stinks never wash off. It was said of McKee that when he was still a bobby in uniform, that he would round up some of the local ne’er-do-wells, lock them in a little interview room (‘the hot box’) and then present them with a book containing the latest minor crimes - vandalism, opportunistic theft from open cars etc. - and he would tell his victims that if they admitted to one or two of the crimes, then McKee would set them free on a Police Undertaking pending trial. Or would they prefer a period of remand in the police cells over the weekend? Of course, having admitted to a number of crimes they did not commit, then forgetting to attend the relevant court hearing, a warrant would be granted for their arrest. Another victory for McKee - ‘I told you that lad was a bad ‘un…’

Wood closed his eyes: ‘Then we’re no nearer an answer here….’

Livingstone stifled a smile: ‘But we’re certain that somebody will be arrested…’

Wood had to smile in recognition: ‘…whether they had anything to do with it or not.’

*****

Festival of Murder continues on Monday in ‘An Unwelcome Figure’