A barely audible 'guilty' marks the pinnacle of the Peter Murrell drama that has dogged the SNP
In the High Court in Edinburgh, a quiet guilty plea marked the pinnacle of a saga that has dogged the SNP for years
Shortly after 8am on Monday morning, Peter Murrell strode along the Lawnmarket to the High Court in Edinburgh.
Head up, eyes front, studiously avoiding so much as a glance at the waiting media, the former chief executive of the SNP looked nothing but a man resigned to his fate.
Notably, he brought with him an overnight bag - an indication he was not in anticipation of returning home.
As backdrop, the hazy morning sunlight smudged the edges of St Giles Cathedral’s familiar bristled tower.
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Murrell had walked the Lawnmarket many times before - to pay his respects to the Queen’s coffin lying in state. To meet King Charles. For the Kirking of the Parliament.
Any number of high profile events fitting his status as the husband of the First Minister, as a pivotal figure in one of the most successful periods of the SNP’s history.
This day he had come from a Starbucks on the Royal Mile where he was spotted buying coffee, taking his last sup.
Two hours or so later he was in the dock of Court 3, handcuffed to a security guard. With Judge Lord Young installed on the bench, the prosecutor rose to his feet to begin a long list of deletions and amendments to the indictment.
The charges span 12 years and total an embezzlement of more than £400,000 from the SNP. Some of the items he purchased with this stolen money stray into the bizarre: a “men’s slouch pouch onesie” or Chinese takeaway curry sauce paste.
He bought two watches totalling £9,350 and a £2.50 tube of Neutrogena hand cream, presumably to moisturise the palms of the wrists that wear them.
Murrell was still in the dock as the list was read to the court, no movement of his blue suit or greyed head. Then, Murrell’s lawyer’s turn.
“Guilty,” came the plea, so quietly it was barely picked up by the public gallery.
After three years of questions, investigations, headlines and intrigue, the denouement was a damp squib - a whispered “Guilty? Did he say guilty?” along the press corps.
He did plead guilty and was asked to stand. Lord Young did not mince his words.
"As the chief executive officer of [the SNP] throughout that period your actions constitute a gross breach of trust,” he said.
Murrell did not nod, or shake his head. He waited, then was taken down. And that was that.
For now. Next week he will return to the High Court for a narrative of his crimes to be read into the record.
Criminal justice social work reports will be prepared to assist Lord Young in setting Murrell’s tariff.
Prior offending - if any - will be considered, as will his mental state and risk of reoffending. Also his support network.
The banks of cameras outside the High Court were an unusual moment in the spotlight for Murrell.
Always a slightly elusive and inscrutable public figure, he has been largely absent from public gaze for the past four years.
In fact, he has barely been seen - if at all - since the SNP conference in Aberdeen in 2022.
Insiders say this is echoed behind the scenes. From the start of Operation Branchform, Murrell is said to have stopped socialising and largely cut himself off.
He would visit his mother and little else.
While it may seem to many simply incredible that Nicola Sturgeon, his spouse, was not aware of his actions, those close to the couple insist her ignorance is no surprise.
The narrative they sell is of a husband and wife comfortable and familiar with one another but unusually separate.
Picture the domestic scene and Ms Sturgeon is at one end of the marital home in her library and Murrell at the other with a model train set he enjoyed as a pastime.
They would pass wordless evenings - or even days - in their own worlds. If you believe it.
At Edinburgh’s Fettes police station, not long after the court proceedings concluded, Assistant Chief Constable Stuart Houston, who had oversight of Operation Branchform, told the media Murrell had been at great pains to cover up his wrongdoing.
First Minister John Swinney looked genuinely shaken at a press call in the early afternoon. Mr Swinney should have been in Glasgow at a football academy to launch a Summer of Sport initiative.
Instead, he faced questions from journalists. The main question is - how could those at the top of the party not have known?
In with the media was former SNP MP Joanna Cherry, a long-time adversary of Ms Sturgeon and an intense critic of the party.
In her resignation letter as she stood down from the party’s National Executive Committee (NEC) in 2021, submitted to Kirsten Oswald, Ms Cherry questioned financial oversight.
“When Douglas Chapman resigned as Treasurer at the weekend John Swinney stated on television that the NEC has responsibility for scrutinising the party’s finances,” she wrote.
“He is of course correct but, as I and others have repeatedly pointed out, the NEC is not able to do so because it is not provided with the requisite information.”
Mr Swinney says checks and balances are now robustly in place. He is adamant the party, he and its other members, are wronged victims of Peter Murrell.
For many, that will be weak gruel and not enough to assuage their concerns. It remains to be seen whether the scent of this scandal will ever truly dissipate.
For the Sturgeon/Murrell partnership, what a crushing end. She, a charismatic, savvy operator. He, a strategic backroom dynamo. They, a power couple with a shared passion for independence.
Whether a love match or a marriage of convenience, only two people will ever truly know.
Ms Sturgeon is now positioning herself for a new life with international horizons. Murrell’s horizon has narrowed to the confines of a cell.
Next month we will find out for how long. Mr Swinney, presumably, would put the entire episode away for good.