Ken McClure - Eye of the raven

‘ I want to check his DNA profile.’

Cummings stared at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears then he said, ‘That’s all we need, a rumour starting that Little is innocent. You do know what you’re doing?’ he asked.

Steven remained impassive.

Cummings made a steeple with his hands and covered his mouth and nose for a few moments before seeming to conclude that any argument would be pointless. He simple asked, ‘What do you need?’

‘ Just a cotton swab and a sterile tube.’

Harelip was detailed to take Steven first to the sickbay to pick up supplies and then to David Little’s cell.

‘ I thought we’d said our good byes,’ said Little who was sitting reading a copy of the science magazine, Nature.

‘ I’d like to take a buccal smear from you,’ said Steven.

‘ What for?’

‘ DNA fingerprinting.’

‘ Is this some kind of sick joke?’

‘ I want to compare it with samples taken at the crime scene of Julie Summers’ murder. A second opinion if you like. Something your lawyer should have done.’

‘ He believed I was guilty from the outset. That was obvious.’

‘ So what was your defence?’ asked Steven.

‘ My lawyer said he was willing to enter a plea of insanity but that there was no point in arguing about technicalities: the evidence against me was so overwhelming.’

‘ Who was your lawyer?’

‘ Paul Verdi of Seymour, Nicholson and Verdi.’

‘ What did you say to that?’

‘ I said it was all some awful mistake. There must have been some mix-up in the lab but no one would listen, not even Charlotte. I’ll never forget the look on her face when…’

‘ About that swab?’ said Steven, wanting the conversation to end.

‘ There’s no point,’ said Little.

Steven looked at him. ‘Scared of what I’ll come up with?’ he asked. ‘Think you might have to face up to your guilt after all?’

Little didn’t reply. Instead he opened his mouth and allowed Steven to rub the cotton-tipped swab around the inside of his right cheek.

‘ Tell me one thing,’ said Steven as he carefully placed the swab inside a sterile tube, making sure that the tip did not touch anything else. ‘How did you get the scratch you had on your arm when you were arrested?’

‘ Our cat, Romeo, did it.’

Ronald Lee’s murder made it into all the papers next morning. The story was generally presented as a highland tragedy, a mindless killing followed by the death of the victim’s wife, suggesting a devoted couple who clearly couldn’t live without each other. Two of the nationals however did note that Lee had been the forensic pathologist involved in the murder investigation of Julie Summers. One of them also recalled that he had taken early retirement in the aftermath of the case.

‘ Lothian and Borders Police have been on to the Home Office again,’ said John Macmillan when Steven called Sci-Med. ‘Suffice to say they’re hopping mad about your latest exploit.’

‘ And what would that be?’ asked Steven.

‘ They say you’ve visited David Little in prison and taken a sample from him for DNA analysis. They’re complaining that you’re giving everyone the impression that there was something wrong with the original one.’

‘ Well, that certainly got around fast,’ said Steven. ‘That’s actually why I’m calling. I do want the DNA fingerprinting done again if only for my own peace of mind. I’d also like it to be done locally rather than send the samples to London so I need a name, someone independent of the police and forensic services up here.’

‘ You don’t really think that Little could be innocent, do you?’ said Macmillan.

‘ I don’t know what to think right now,’ said Steven.

‘ But the DNA evidence against him was…’

‘ Overwhelming, yes, I know,’ interrupted Steven. ‘But all the same, I just know there’s something badly wrong with the Summers case. I keep looking for reassurance but so far I haven’t found any. There are just too many question marks.’

‘ All right,’ sighed Macmillan. ‘We’ll make arrangements for the sequencing and get back to you. Anything else?’

‘ I’d like to know the current whereabouts of a man named John Merton who was on the staff of the forensic lab at the time of the murder. He left when Ronald Lee was put out to grass and worked in the medical school for a while but then he moved on.’

‘ We’ll do our best,’ said Macmillan.

Next Steven called McDougal the current head of forensics in Edinburgh to ask if he had any objection to giving him access to the semen samples recovered from Julie Summers.

‘ I personally don’t have any objection,’ said McDougal although he sounded puzzled. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘ I hope not,’ said Steven.

‘ I dare say you won’t be alone in these sentiments,’ said McDougal. ‘I read about the deaths of Ronald Lee and his wife in the papers this morning. I even had a journalist phoning me to ask if I had anything to say on the matter.’

‘ Did you?’ asked Steven.

‘ Only that I never knew the man.’

‘ One more thing: when I come by to pick up the samples, could I have another word with Carol Bain?’ Steven wanted to ask her about John Merton.

‘ I’ll tell her to expect you,’ said McDougal.

Steven said that he would be over some time in the afternoon and then called Peter McClintock at Fettes Police Headquarters to ask if he’d meet him at lunchtime in the pub they’d used before in Inverleith Row.

‘ Being seen with you is not exactly a good career move right now,’ said McClintock. ‘Your prison visit has been the talk of the steamie all morning.’

‘ The what?’

‘ I forgot you were English,’ replied McClintock. ‘In the days when men were men and women were grateful, the steamie was a communal washhouse for cleaning clothes. It was where Scots housewives used to meet and exchange gossip.’

‘ Right. About that drink?’

‘ One o’clock. I’ll be the one wearing a blonde wig and swearing I don’t know anyone called Dunbar.’

Steven saw that he had about an hour to kill so he sat down and tried to get his thoughts in order. Telling Sci-Med that he had a bad feeling about the case wasn’t going to be enough to sustain continued investigation for much longer. He would need something more concrete to offer Macmillan next time they spoke. There had been a distinct edginess in Macmillan’s voice when they’d spoken earlier and suspected that he was being subjected to Home Office pressure.

The duty officer at Sci-Med phoned as he was driving across town to meet McClintock. He told him that Sci-Med had arranged for a molecular biologist at the University of Edinburgh — a woman who had already signed the official secrets act for other aspects of her work — to carry out the semen and buccal swab analysis he’d asked for. Steven asked the man to send the relevant information to him as a text message. He was in heavy traffic and couldn’t stop to note down details.

‘ I think Mr Macmillan would like a word with you before you hang up,’ said the man.

Steven had to tuck the phone between head and hunched shoulder as he used both hands to turn the car into a side street to start looking for a parking place. His action attracted a disgusted look and shake of the head from a woman pedestrian who was waiting to cross the road. He gave her a half smile by way of apology.

‘ When do you plan taking the samples over?’ asked Macmillan.

‘ This afternoon,’ replied Steven, wondering why Macmillan had asked.

‘ If these new lab tests should suggest that David Little was not the killer of Julie Summers…’ began Macmillan hesitantly, ‘then of course the case must be reopened and to hell with any fall-out.. ’