Festival of Murder by Ross Macfarlane KC, Chapter 15: Shaggy Walrus Village People Moustache

Wallace Wood - ex-prosecutor extraordinaire - turned round to Doc, his other drouthy crony, looking for support. None came. Doc shook his head: ‘Sometimes, Wood KC, you just have to own your failures. And this looks like such an occasion. But we learn something from every failure. So - let us raise our glasses – and toast - to instructive failure.’

Thus it was that Wallace Wood KC, Professor (Emeritus) John Douglas Douglas and Dr Charles Holliday raised their three pint glasses (in various stages of consumption) and chimed together: ‘Instructive Failure’.

JD smiled and wiped his mouth: ‘If I had to raise a glass every time I had a failure, then I’d be an alcoholic.’

Doc laughed: ‘Douglas - you are an alcoholic.’

‘I resent that! Did I ever tell you, I gave up drinking once. It was 1957. Problem was, I started drinking again at 20.05. Believe me - the worst eight minutes of my life.’

Doc turned to Wood: ‘So the café footage proved it wasn’t the son. What about the other footage - from that shop across the street – was that of any help?’

Wood shook his head: ‘Problem is - the crowds in that street. Obscuring the entrance. A whole tidal wave of tourism this time of year.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a small computer memory stick. ‘It’s on here. I think I’ll have to freeze frame it every twenty seconds to get the briefest of glimpse of that old lady’s doorway.’

Doc laughed: ‘So that’s you back on the horse, then.’

Wood frowned and shook an uncomprehending head.

JD chimed in: ‘He means that’s you back to work, like the old days. Remember - when you were prosecuting cases - you used to come in here. You had been working so hard on the case, you looked like a wet dish-rag.’

Doc raised his finger: ‘And don’t forget your mantra: ‘The Six “Ps”!’

A pause for a moment, then simultaneously, Doc and DJ chanted: ‘Prior Preparation Prevents Piss-Poor Performance’.

Doc laughed: ‘Oh - how many times did we hear you say that - especially after you had been up all night preparing a case?’

Wood raised his eyebrows: ‘I refuse to make any apology here. “The Six Ps.” are essential to any decent practitioner in any field.’ He raised his pint glass: ‘If this be a hill, then I am prepared to die upon it and, gentlemen, you can bring flowers to my grave.’ He downed the remainder of the Guinness.

JD shook his head. ‘I don’t like The Six Ps. They offend me. Grammatically.’

Doc smiled: ‘Do tell, Professor Douglas.’

‘Prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance.’

‘Yes?’

‘There is an unnecessary repetition in the phrase ‘prior preparation’. Think it through. The word ‘preparation’ means - at core - something that has already been done beforehand. The word ‘prior’ is redundant.’

Silence.

JD looked around: ‘Bloody hell - is no-one going to fight with me here? I was looking forward to a round of philological fisticuffs…’

Doc nodded: ‘I think, on this occasion, Professor, you are possibly correct.’

Wally Wood picked up the Cumberland Bar menu: ‘Well, you know what they say…’

‘What?’

‘Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.’

He studied the menu: ‘And what exactly are ‘Haggis Bon-Bons’?’

*****

The Royal Edinburgh Hospital

‘And how are you sleeping?’

‘Better, I think.’

Wallace Wood sat uncomfortably in his chair while the therapist jotted down his notes.

‘And why do you think that is?’

Wood thought for a moment. ‘Must be this case.’

It had started when he was a lawyer in Crown Office. Compulsory checks on all prosecutors. A career of dealing with the most disturbing forms of human conduct led to the introduction of regular psychological testing for the prosecution teams. Wood was sceptical, but the Lord Advocate himself had called Wood into the office and had made it clear that Wood - as one of the Senior Advocates Depute - would be attending at least a few of the sessions - if only pour encourager les autres.

In the event, the counselling had proved valuable to Wood, not just for dealing with the daily horrors of the job - the photographs of bodies, the grubby examples of greed, the short-sighted (commonly imbecilic) plans of the wrongdoers - but the counselling had re-awoken the deeper demons that had pursued Wood since childhood. What had happened to his mother.

The counsellor - Pat McGrain - was the consummate professional. Mid-50s, slightly balding, shaggy walrus Village People moustache, respectful, nodding, smiling the friendly smile when necessary, adopting the head-masterly frown when appropriate. Sometimes Wood thought that - in another life- they might be friends, but that wouldn’t be appropriate here.

The therapist nodded: ‘Ahhh – the case of “The Lady in Red”’.

‘That would be the one.’

The counsellor leaned in: ‘And why do you think that the Lady in Red case is helping you sleep better?’

Wood leaned in, as if mimicking the questioner: ‘What do you think?’

‘This is your session, not mine…’

Wood leaned back: ‘You know why.’

The therapist leaned further forward: ‘I want to hear you say it…’

Seven seconds. Then:

‘The last time I ever saw my mother, she was wearing her bright red coat. Mum was wearing that when they found her…’

‘Uh huh. Go on…’

*****

Festival of Murder continues tomorrow in: Every Day is a Gift