Capital Offence

Prologue and Chapter 1

CAPITAL OFFENCE

by Robert S Scott

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Letter to ‘The Scotsman’ newspaper, 5 days before the first Scottish Parliamentary elections for 300 years:

Death Penalty

Sir,

With there being such little difference between the main parties now anyway, the death penalty would certainly win my vote for any of them, and I suspect that this would also be the case for a large proportion of the British public. Whether the death penalty is or is not a deterrent is not the issue. Forget rehabilitation and short-term “life” sentences. The simple fact is that anyone who would stoop to such an act as premeditated murder, in doing so relinquishes any right to exist in a formal society.

I do not necessarily wish convicted murderers to suffer in execution. I simply wish them to be eliminated from society.

Let us end this nonsense now.

Which party will be the first to recognise that the British people have had enough. They are ready to support the first party which has the courage to bring some common sense back into the judicial process.

Name withheld

BARNTON, EDINBURGH

 

Chapter 1

14th August 1984

A Triumph Bonneville, screaming like Joe Cocker - internal combustion spitting gravel. Tam White thirty years after the Boston Dexters. A roar that makes Springsteen sound like a wee laddie.

Orange red sparks - fountaining showers of them - a wild pyrotechnic eruption lighting the bike’s progress up the Gala road through the Scottish borders towards Edinburgh. From a distance it’s a third rate special effect - Fireball XL5 with the wires showing. But get to road level and it’s the business. Bullitt - with smoke and gravel and the rank sweet smell of burning paint. And try following into the tail of that comet, as it veers left and right across the highway - try to muscle through the hurtling shower of molten metal as it ricochets off your visor...

“Well I’m standing at the crossroads – Light is up ahead

One way I’m saved Lord – Other ways I’m dead.”

Three motor bikes and a Lambretta in loose formation, one of them towing an object as wide as a car. And following behind the procession on his police bike is Sergeant Alec Cumming. He isn’t about to get too close. And when Jamie Maclean dares to snatch a glance behind his own roaring machine, there’s nothing to be seen but fireworks.

“They got me cused for murder – I never raised my hand

But the devil knows other ways – That a fool can kill a man…”

Because behind his 650cc Bonneville is a Transit van bonnet tied like a sledge. And on it, two crates of bottled Tennant’s lager working up the best explosive head ever known (so to speak) as they ride the highway lit by the incandescent firework display of ‘72 Ford steel on tarmac.

“Walking down the hard road – Done wore the soles off of my shoes

You can run your whole life long – Old Father Time comes after you.”

Jamie Maclean and his mates, his brother, his new girlfriend. A woman who brings on an adrenalin jolt that would start a heartbeat in a week old corpse.

“I done everything – That a poor boy can do

But still the devil – He comes after you.

Yes time and a dark cell – They comes after you.”