Ken McClure - Eye of the raven

Steven half expected it to be the police when his phone went off but it was Susan Givens at the university.

‘ I’ve got your results,’ she said. ‘Want to come over?’

Steven resisted the urge to ask her what she’d found over the phone and said that he’d be there in half an hour. His next caller was John Macmillan.

‘ How in God’s name did this happen?’ Macmillan demanded by way of greeting.

‘ I take it you’ve seen the Scottish papers then,’ said Steven.

‘ The fax machine has been spewing out little else for the last hour. How did they get on to it?’

‘ A prison officer at Barlinnie,’ said Steven.

‘ Damn him.’

‘ I’m just about to go over and get the results of the tests,’ said Steven. ‘That at least should put an end to conjecture.’

‘ If they confirm Little as the killer, Lothian and Borders Police are going to add humble pie to your diet for some time to come. Call me when you know.’

As he drove over to the science campus at the university Steven found himself uncertain of what he was hoping for. He was in what the papers liked to call a no-win situation. If Susan Givens confirmed the earlier DNA fingerprint findings, then Hector Combe’s claims were nonsense — as common sense decreed they must be — this would signal an end to the affair and he would have achieved nothing but the re-opening of old wounds. If, on the other hand, she found discrepancies which pointed to a miscarriage of justice, it would be too late to rescue David Little: he was already on death row and there was no way back.

‘ Good morning,’ said Susan Givens. She slid a copy of The Herald newspaper across her desk towards him. ‘I see that your concerns have been made public.’

Steven glanced at the heading, ‘Ill fated Summers Case to be Re-opened?’ and nodded. ‘I could have done without that,’ he said.

‘ I’ll bet,’ said Susan, getting up and moving over to another desk where she switched on a light box of the type used by doctors to view X-rays. Instead of being on the wall this one lay flat on the desk. She placed two photographic negatives side by side on the surface.

‘ The DNA profile on the left is the one I obtained from the David Little buccal smear that you took at the prison the other day; the one on the right is from one of the semen samples stored by the forensics lab.’

‘ They’re the same,’ murmured Steven, seeing immediately that the band patterns were identical.

‘ They are,’ agreed Susan. ‘Your man is guilty.’

Steven felt a sensation of extreme tiredness sweep over him. He hadn’t realised that he’d been so tense and now he felt positively deflated. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Thanks for that.’

Susan put another photograph on the light box and said, ‘This is the DNA fingerprint of the original buccal smear taken from Little at the time of the murder. As you can see, it matches the others. It was taken from him all right. There was no mix-up.’

‘ Game, set and match,’ said Steven. ‘I’m grateful to you, Doctor.’

‘ There is one odd thing,’ said Susan, rearranging the photographs and handing Steven a hand lens. ‘If you look closely you’ll see a phenomenon we call ghosting.’

Steven bent down to examine the photos and asked, ‘Do you mean these faint extra bands?’

‘ That’s right. They weren’t present on the prints that the prosecution submitted in evidence.’

‘ So you were right about them cleaning up the pictures? said Steven.

Susan shrugged. ‘Some might argue that the extra bands have something to do with long time storage of the samples.’

‘ But you don’t think so?’

‘ I’d still bet on a clean up,’ said Susan.

Steven, remembering their earlier conversation about what kind of alteration was acceptable, asked the question.

‘ A toughie,’ smiled Susan. ‘Usually ghosting occurs as the result of small amounts of material leaking away from the inoculation wells and causing faint bands at the side of the main track — a simple mechanical fault, if you like — but these are different. The extra bands aren’t ghosts of the originals because they occur at different positions and they also occur in the same track as the major bands.’

‘ What do you think that means?’ asked Steven.

‘ Possibly breakdown products because the samples are old.’

‘ But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have been present on the original gels so there would have been no need to clean them up?’ suggested Steven.

‘ Good point,’ conceded Susan. ‘The truth is I simply don’t know.’

‘ Would an expert viewing these gel photographs at the time have noticed that they had been cleaned up?’ he asked.

Susan said, ‘Almost certainly. The technology wasn’t good in these days. Gels were usually a bit messy so a very clean one would immediately have aroused suspicion.’

‘ If it had ever been shown to an expert,’ murmured Steven, thinking about Verdi’s failure to question the prosecution evidence.

‘ I take it it never was?’ said Susan.

Steven shook his head and said, ‘Do you think the presence of these ghost bands would have been grounds for questioning the evidence?’

‘ No,’ said Susan firmly. ‘I daresay some lawyers might have tried it but the bottom-line as far as science is concerned remains that the semen came from David Little. There’s no doubt about that.’

‘ As long as that’s clear,’ said Steven; he took another look at the gel photographs lying on the light box and murmured, ‘Truth lies at the bottom of a well.’

‘ Who said that?’ asked Susan, smiling at the pun.

‘ It’s a Greek proverb,’ said Steven.

‘ Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,’ said Susan.

‘ I fear the Greeks…’

‘ Even when they bring gifts,’ completed Susan. ‘Virgil. A Roman sentiment.’

Steven smiled and said, ‘Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.’

‘ You’re welcome. I’m sure the university will charge the Home Office handsomely for it.’

‘ Don’t you get paid personally?’

‘ That’s not the way the university does things,’ smiled Susan.

‘ Then maybe I could buy you dinner?’

‘ That would be very nice,’ said Susan, sounding at first surprised and then pleased. ‘Thank you.’

‘ I’ll be away this weekend — I’m going down to Dumfries to see my daughter — but I’ll be back on Monday. How about Monday night?’

‘ Fine,’ said Susan.

Steven left, saying that he would call her at the university on Monday to finalise arrangements. He was already looking forward to spending the evening with her. He suspected she knew a lot about a lot and he enjoyed the company of bright women.

Steven wondered which of the three he should tell first, Macmillan, McClintock or David Little. He decided on Little because it seemed only right although he knew that Little was a man almost beyond caring. Forty-five minutes later he was standing in an assistant governor’s office at Barlinnie, hearing him say, ‘I think we know who talked to the papers but we can’t prove it.’

Steven nodded. He didn’t much care because the damage had been done. He was not interested in apportioning blame after the event. ‘The tests confirmed Little as being Julie’s murderer. I’d like to tell him personally,’ said Steven.

‘ Well, thank Christ for that. Claiming wrongful conviction seems to be a national sport these days. Little’s been moved. He’s not well. I’ll get someone to take you down.’

Steven had to wait for a few minutes before being escorted to see Little by the same prison officer who’d accompanied him on the last occasion, the man with the harelip. Steven would have put money on him being the source of the leak but he didn’t give any outward sign of this. He did wonder however, if the same man was under suspicion by the prison and this was why he’d been detailed to accompany him again. This time the authorities might be counting on him leaking the new result to the papers.