Out of Bounds (18 page)

It’s that positive attitude that colours everything Caroline Abbott has achieved. So which mountain will she climb next? Film or TV production? Creating a band like New Kids on the Block to storm the charts?

Caroline laughed. ‘I like what I do. I want to carry on doing it, but setting myself new challenges along the way. The only other thing I want from life is to see my boys grow up happy and healthy.’

Karen closed the window. Caroline Abbott hadn’t managed either of those ambitions. A stark reminder, if anyone needed it, to seize the day. As she clicked on another link, Semple’s devil arrived at her side in a small flurry of excitement. ‘Sheriff Abercrombie’s ready for you now.’

Karen followed her back to the courtroom where they’d appeared at the beginning of the week. The sheriff was already seated, reading a sheaf of papers on the desk in front of her, pencil in hand, making the occasional note. She flicked a
glance at Karen over the top of her reading glasses but carried on with what she was doing. Karen crossed to where Colin Semple was mirroring the sheriff – studying legal papers and scribbling in the margins – and sat down beside him. Five long minutes passed then, with a deep sigh, Sheriff Abercrombie laid her pencil down and frowned at Karen.

‘The confidentiality of this court has been breached,’ she said, her voice dark and solemn. ‘I appreciate police officers have little understanding of the way we do things in the family courts, but I had thought I had made myself abundantly clear on the necessity of protecting the right to privacy of the individuals at the heart of this case.’ She gave Karen an interrogative look. ‘Was I in some way unclear?’

Karen shook her head. ‘No, my lady. There was no room for misunderstanding in what you said.’

‘So why was I confronted by these stories in the media this morning? Stories that not only breach the confidentiality surrounding these proceedings themselves but also put in serious jeopardy the anonymity of Ross Garvie himself.’

‘I don’t know. I can assure you—’

‘I don’t think you can assure me of anything,’ the sheriff said sharply, her expression a mixture of disappointment and disdain.

‘This didn’t come from me or my team,’ Karen said, standing her ground.

‘I find that hard to believe. The family have no interest in communicating with the media. The officials of this court and the lawyers associated with this case know better than to violate the rules of the court. Only the police have anything to gain from leaking this information to the press. It makes a mockery of the court system and puts you and your colleagues in a good light. You are the only group of people who have access to this information with anything to gain from leaking it.’

There
were many things that got under Karen’s skin, but unfairness was high up the list. ‘My lady, we have nothing to gain. What I want is for the court to give us access to Ross Garvie’s original birth certificate. The last thing I’m going to countenance is—’ She wanted to say, ‘pissing off the court’ but she caught herself. ‘—angering the court. I did not do this, and I’d stake my reputation on it not being one of my team.’

Sheriff Abercrombie glared at her with pursed lips. ‘This court has the power to take action when it has been contemned. It is within our remit to fine you or send you to jail for contempt.’

Karen refused to allow herself to be intimidated. She didn’t really believe the sheriff had a leg to stand on and it was a risk she was willing to take. ‘There is no evidence that I have committed contempt. And no harm has been done. Ross Garvie has not been named.’

The sheriff gave a ‘harrumph’ of scorn. ‘The names of the youths who died at his hands were published at the weekend before anyone knew he would be a key player in your historic case investigation. Anyone who wanted to find out Ross Garvie’s identity would have to do nothing more demanding than walk into the local pub and listen.’

She had a point, Karen thought. Time to get on the front foot. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘But it is what it is. The court’s anger is entirely reasonable. But I did not betray the confidentiality of this court. I’ll commit to that under oath, if that’s what you want. But I won’t accept responsibility for this and I won’t apologise to the court for something I didn’t do.’

‘You are walking very close to the edge, DCI Pirie. I see little evidence of respect for the court in your attitude. I will be watching you very carefully and if I see any indication that you have acted inappropriately, you will feel the full weight
of this court’s authority.’ She picked up her pencil and began writing again.

Fuck this, Karen thought. ‘My lady?’

The sheriff looked up, ice in her stare. ‘Are you still here, DCI Pirie? Do you have no criminals to uncover?’

‘I wondered if you might be able to give me any sense of when you might have a decision for us in the Ross Garvie case?’ Karen thought she heard Semple groan softly next to her.

‘Mr Semple will be informed in due course,’ the sheriff said through clenched teeth. ‘Now vacate my courtroom, all of you. We have important business to conduct here.’

Outside the courtroom, Semple wiped his shining brow. ‘Do you always go around dicing with death, Chief Inspector?’

‘Pompous besom,’ Karen muttered. ‘She was totally dancing in the dark.’

‘If you say so. Let’s hope nothing else happens to piss her off before she makes her decision. Otherwise your case will be dead in the water.’

24

S
emple’s
words were still ringing in Karen’s ears a couple of hours later. She trotted down the steps of the narrow close that led from Cockburn Street towards Waverley then turned into the Thai restaurant, smarting yet at her treatment at the hands of the sheriff. How could there be justice when the system treated people so unfairly?

Even though Karen was early, Giorsal was already seated, waving to her across the room. She stood up as Karen approached and the two women hugged, awkwardly air kissing. The world they’d grown up in had never gone in for that kind of intimacy but that world had changed and slowly they were adjusting.

Karen shrugged off her jacket and draped it over her chair, wondering how easy it would be to slip back into the easy camaraderie that had characterised their teenage relationship. A waiter materialised beside them. Giorsal raised her eyebrows in a question. ‘After the day I’ve had, definitely,’ Karen said. ‘Bring on the Singha and keep them coming.’

Giorsal gave her a thumbs up. ‘Same for me. We’ve come a long way from sneaking Carlsberg Specials at the rugby
hop.’ Karen grinned. The old complicity was still there.

Giorsal shot Karen a considering look. ‘I’m guessing the case you asked my advice about is the one all over the papers this morning?’

Karen pulled a face. ‘You’d be right.’

‘Which would explain why you’ve not had the best of days, would be my next guess.’

‘Also right. Some bastard leaked big time and I’ve been getting somebody else’s kicking all day. First my boss then the sheriff. I can tell them till I’m blue in the face that the leak isn’t down to the HCU, but I might as well save my breath. They’ve got no other obvious candidate to bollock, so I’m today’s bollockee of choice.’

Giorsal’s expression showed wry sympathy. ‘Nice word, bollockee. But did you get a result? Is the sheriff going to give you access?’

For a fleeting moment, Karen wondered if she should trust Giorsal. After all, they were a long way from teenage confidences. But she immediately scolded herself. For one thing, Giorsal hadn’t known nearly enough detail to be the leak. For another, she wouldn’t have the job she had if there had ever been any question mark over her discretion. Sometimes, Karen hated that she’d become so suspicious of the world and its motives. ‘She’s still not decided. It’s incredibly frustrating. I mean, Gus, how long does it take to make your mind up about something so clear?’

‘I suppose she’s got to look at precedents. A lot of human rights law is that, “on the one hand, this, on the other hand, that” kind of stuff. It’s a balancing act between two contesting rights.’

‘All the same … We were wondering if she’s hanging fire to see whether this lad dies. Because if he does, the ball’s on the slates as far as his human rights are concerned, and we get the access we need.’

Giorsal
winced. ‘You don’t want to find yourself wishing somebody would die just so you can solve a twenty-year-old case.’

‘No. And besides, if that’s what’s actually going on, I don’t think she’s going to get off the hook any time soon. I’ve been speaking to the hospital every day and there’s basically no significant change in his condition. There’s no reason to suppose he’s going to die.’

‘You asked, didn’t you?’

Karen remembered that cheeky smile. Back in their schooldays, it had usually accompanied Giorsal saying something everybody was thinking but nobody dared say out loud. Not much had changed, it seemed. ‘I did. The consultant sounded black affronted. As if nobody was allowed to check out on his watch.’

At that point the waiter arrived with their beers and hovered by their table offering suggestions from the menu. Karen opted for her usual Tom Yum soup followed by Pad Kraprao Haggis Kai Hor. The first time Phil had ordered a dish that incorporated haggis with vegetables, spices and holy basil, all wrapped in an omelette, Karen had accused him of confusion rather than fusion. And then she’d tasted it. Now, whenever she had an excuse to come here, she never deviated from it. And not for sentimental reasons. When it came to food, Karen had no place for sentiment.

The waiter departed and Karen drained half her beer in one long swallow. ‘Ah, that’s better. Enough of my problems. How are things with you? How are you settling in, back in Fife?’

Giorsal was a good raconteur and her tales of resettling in her old stamping grounds were entertainment enough to get them through their starters and second beers then on to their main courses. She got to the end of an anecdote about an encounter with an old classmate, then turned serious. ‘How
are you coping? I imagine work is a double-edged sword? It keeps your mind occupied, but at the same time it’s a constant reminder of Phil and what you’ve lost.’

Nail on the proverbial. ‘It saves me from myself. And I talk to him in my head. I have whole conversations about what I should do next on a case. His mind worked differently from mine, and I try to figure out what he’d have suggested when I’m struggling with the best way forward. It’s not that I’m trying to kid myself he’s still around somewhere.’ She put down her fork and shook her head. ‘It’s really not that.’

‘You’re too pragmatic for that.’

‘I am. But what I don’t want to let go of, what I absolutely don’t want to forget is what I learned from Phil, what I gained from having him in my life. I was better when I was with him. I was a better person, I was a better polis. So I need to hold on to how he was and what being with him was like.’ Her face twisted in pain. ‘But sometimes, Gus, getting through the days is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ She screwed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘Mostly, I feel like I’ll never be happy again.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Giorsal leaned across the table and covered Karen’s hand with hers. ‘I’m not going to say anything stupid like, “you’ll find love again,” because, even if you did, even if you met somebody tomorrow, it still wouldn’t change the way you feel about losing Phil like that. I have to say, though, I know that feeling of permanent misery. Towards the end of my marriage, I thought I’d never be happy again unless I got rid of Victor for good.’

Glad to change the subject, Karen grinned. ‘But you did, and since it’s brought you back home, I’m going to be totally selfish and say I think that’s a good thing. How is it, being single again?’

Giorsal chuckled. ‘A hell of a lot different from how it was before. I didn’t have two kids like an anchor round my ankle
back then. It changes your perspective. Every guy you meet, you’re sizing him up through your daughters’ eyes. Believe me, there’s nobody more judgemental than your kids. And where do you meet available guys anyway?’

‘Don’t ask me. I only ever meet cops and lawyers and villains, and you’d be hard pressed to decide the worst bargain out of that lot. What about online dating?’

Giorsal winced and pretended to shed a tear. ‘Tried that. I swear to God, they should be turning their talent for fiction to writing novels. I’ve decided I’m going to sit back and wait for something completely improbable to happen like out of a Tom Hanks film.’

‘That’s what I felt about me and Phil getting together.’

‘Improbable or Tom Hanks?’

‘Both.’

‘So, I’m happy to have my bed to myself. I haven’t slept so well for years.’

Karen worked her way through a mouthful of haggis and vegetables. ‘I wish I could say the same. I’m really struggling with sleep. Which reminds me. You might know the answer to this.’

Giorsal looked over the rim of her glass at Karen. ‘What am I? Google Buddy? I thought you loved me for myself, not my boundless store of knowledge.’

Karen laughed. ‘Get over yourself, Gus. I’m bloody delighted you’re back within reach. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to exploit the hell out of you. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? Listen, this is really interesting.’ She gave a succinct resumé of her encounters with the Syrian men. ‘These are serious professional guys and it’s clearly doing their heads in to be stuck doing nothing all day.’

‘The rules are clear.’ Giorsal’s voice was filled with regret. ‘They’re not allowed to work while their claims are being adjudicated and processed.’

‘I
realise that. But does it also cover volunteering?’

‘It’s a grey area. They can be volunteers, but they can’t do voluntary work.’

Karen froze, a forkful of food halfway to her open mouth. She lowered her fork, baffled. ‘You’re going to have to explain that bit of doublethink to me, Gus. I’m just a simple polis.’

‘OK. A volunteer is somebody who gives their time to a charity. What they do wouldn’t qualify as a job eligible for minimum wage. Voluntary workers do something that would be entitled to minimum wage if they hadn’t waived their right to it as a donation to the charity. As distinctions go, it’s about as easy to unpick as one of those mad Escher drawings. But that’s how it’s defined. Why, what were you thinking?’