Counsel for the Departed

ONE

Mhairi MacKay sat alone on her cream sofa, reading a book and bathing in the luxurious silence offered by her flat. There was a slight rumble of traffic noise that managed to breach the double-glazed defences, but she did not mind. Another hectic day of work was over. The evening was her own. Her telephone was defiantly unplugged. Her mobile phone was reassuringly switched off. None of her friends or relatives had suggested they would visit. She merely had the beautiful simplicity of solitude for company that night and she was relishing every blissful second. 

Her days were spent ensnared amongst the tangled barbed wire that is the Scottish criminal justice system. She was an advocate with the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service. Case after case passed before her in one endless deluge of criminality. Crimes that ranged from minor indiscretions such as fly-tipping or benefit fraud to the harrowing seriousness of brutal murders and vicious rapes. Yet no matter the details of the crime, a carefully prepared prosecution was Mhairi's responsibility. 

She often felt wearied by the entire process. Not that she was unable to cope with the workload. She was more than capable. There just seemed to be an endless flow of cases to process. No end in sight. Scotland seemed stricken by a plague of lawlessness. Everyday she saw the consequences of crime: the property destruction, the perpetrators, remorseful or not, and of course the suffering of victims. She occasionally wondered if a society afflicted by such an endemic outbreak of endless criminality was worth saving. But she was too busy to give such matters too much thought. 

She was thirty-eight years of age. She had recently celebrated fifteen years with the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service. So much time had passed since she first nervously walked amongst those reverential sandstone buildings like so many distinguished men of Scot's Law had before. She was a mere fledgling trainee solicitor back then, anxiously walking floors and corridors with an uncertain gait. Yet fifteen years had fattened her with reassuring experience. She now possessed unflinching confidence, arguing the finer points of criminal law with even the most seasoned of solicitors and occasionally judges. She had become an exemplary prosecutor, even if some lawyers were reluctant to make such an admission in her presence. 

She was slim, dark-haired and a mere five foot three and a half - the half particularly emphasised. Yet despite her petite stature she had a fierce voice perfectly sculpted for arguing and a stubbornness that any woman would be proud to behold and any man would dread to face. 

Her current case was one relating to drug trafficking. The defendant Stevie Buchanan was charged with intent to supply a class A drug, which was found in his home in substantial quantities after a police raid following an anonymous tip off. Buchanan had no previous convictions, but he admitted to being a regular user and had even claimed the large amount was for his, and his friends, own use. Mhairi scoffed at such an audacious claim. The trial would be short, she thought, and there was only one inevitable verdict those fifteen members of the jury could agree upon - guilty. 

The trial had originally been scheduled for the High Court the previous week. However, there had been an enforced delay when Lord Echline had tragically died only a few days beforehand from a heart attack despite leading a healthy lifestyle. This added to previous delays caused by illness to the accused and a bureaucratic muddle, which had brought the 110-day limit ominously closer. If trial were not commenced before then, Buchanan would be freed. Mhairi had sought an extension given the unusual sequence of delays. She was yet to hear back since no judge had yet been appointed in place of Lord Echline. Which all meant a further delay. 

Nonetheless, the delay had provided Mhairi with some time to relax. She struggled to remember the last time she had no case running around her head. Her head seemed to buzz all day with such concerns. Even at home she found herself drifting into the consideration of fine details once firmly settled on, but through time and slowly emerging doubt had began to sprout with vague anxieties. The same was true when she met with friends and family - her mind often seemed elsewhere. Thus an evening alone was a glorious respite from the relentless press of criminal prosecutions.