Dark Angels by Grace Monroe Page B

star attraction and I liked it that way. Nonetheless, I continued.
    ‘I can’t stop you if you are specifically instructing me that way, Kailash, but remember that you still retainthe right to consult with me before you answer any questions. I can’t interrupt in the proceedings so it has to come from you.’
    Kailash had already moved on. She hadn’t even heard the last comments. She was, however, the only one ignoring me. Sheriff Strathclyde had his beady little eyes focused right in my direction.
    ‘If you are quite finished, Ms McLennan, perhaps we may have a moment of your time to begin.’
    He was looking anxiously at his watch. It wasn’t any concern for procedures or the fact that he was a dedicated workaholic–rather he was keen not to have a late lunch. Rumour had it that it was generally liquid anyway, and I had certainly seen him carried from the bench on more than one occasion.
    Sheriff Strathclyde was sweating profusely. Was it Kailash’s gaze, or the effects of last night’s whisky? The sheriff clerk, switched the tape on, and it began. I didn’t listen to her give her basic details, I was just praying my client would speak up.
    Ordinarily, the less an accused says the better, but this case was unique. We had to come up with a good story–and stand firm.
    ‘At 11.30p.m. I was walking home.’
    Kailash’s clear voice cut through the silence of the court; the only other sound was the whirr of the tape recorder.
    ‘Alone,’ she added on reflection.
    We held our breaths as we waited to hear how Lord Arbuthnot of Broxden had died.
    ‘At present, I do not think it is necessary to statewhose company I had enjoyed earlier in the evening. Latterly, I was at the Balmoral Hotel.’
    Sheriff Strathclyde continued to shift uncomfortably under her stare. I was annoyed. It sounded as if she was hiding something. Also, there was absolutely no emotion or contrition in her voice. It would not go down well with a jury. Public speaking is the number one fear amongst people–dying is second. That means most would rather be the corpse than give a eulogy at a funeral. But Kailash sounded calm, as if she were reading a bedtime story to a child.
    ‘I had a couple of glasses of champagne. I decided to go home before I had finished. I brought the champagne flute out with me.’
    Her voice was controlled, as if this was perfectly normal behaviour.
    ‘I crossed the road and was sipping champagne as I examined the large statue of the bronze horseman. This sculpture fascinates me. It is anatomically correct in every detail, except one–its tongue is missing. The artist committed suicide, when he realised this…’
    She was rambling. Kailash Coutts still stared at Sheriff Strathclyde, as if they were having a private conversation at a dinner party.
    ‘Strange,’ she continued, ‘I always thought it was our tongues that got us into trouble.’
    Lifting her head even higher, she gestured towards him.
    ‘Don’t you agree, M’Lord?’
    Without waiting for the reply, that would never come, she continued.
    ‘In the wall of Register House is a seismograph. It is behind glass, and it measures earthquakes.’
    Pausing as if speaking to imbeciles, she added: ‘On the Richter scale.
    ‘It is extraordinary how earthquakes can hit Edinburgh, M’Lord.’
    To his credit, Sheriff Strathclyde only flinched a little bit before Kailash continued with her story. I was pretty sure she was enjoying herself as much as anyone could in this situation, but everyone’s patience would run out soon if she didn’t start coming up with the goods.
    ‘I first saw them in the glass of the shops,’ she went on. ‘Teenagers of both sexes–a gang of about ten.’
    For the first time, her voice cracked with emotion. I had an unsettling feeling that she was putting it on, a consummate actress. Why should that surprise me, given her profession?
    ‘Next, I heard a strange drumming sound.’ Her voice was becoming higher, her own fingers and nails