Watt is embarrassed and assures Lord Cameron, ‘Most certainly not.’
‘You do not recall discussion of the Merchants’ Guild?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’
‘I have no recollection of that aspect of our conversement at all. No.’
Manuel takes a gentle breath and asks, ‘Six and a half months before we met in Whitehall’s did you take Scout O’Neil to the police?’
Right over Manuel’s shoulder Watt can see Dandy sitting forward, lips tight. Manuel half smiles innocently. Watt clutches the rail. There is no point in denying it. It has already been raised in court. Scout talked about this. Watt has already been asked about it on the stand.
‘I did.’
‘And–’ Manuel flicks through his notes–‘that would be on or around the 26th of May 1957?’
‘Would it?’ This isn’t about their night together. Lord Cameron should be stopping this line of questioning. ‘Hmm, I don’t know… dates and so on.’
Manuel nods slowly, smiles quickly. ‘I believe you met Mr O’Neil at the Gordon Club that night, did you not?’
Dickov sits forward too now.
‘And I took him to the police,’ says Watt, getting them out of the Gordon Club as fast as possible, ‘to tell them that he had sold you the gun used in the Burnside Affair.’
‘You met him in the Gordon Club, though?’
Lord Cameron interjects, ‘These questions are not within the parameters laid out in my original direction, Mr Manuel.’
But they are. Four people in the court know they are. Manuel looks at William Watt and raises his eyebrows. He huffs a little laugh–hah–and looks down at his papers again.
Watt saw a picture of Mrs Manuel in the newspaper this morning. She is just a little woman. Ordinary.
‘When you met Scout O’Neil that time, did you give him money to tell the police this story?’
‘Certainly not.’ Manuel is trying to discredit Scout, which is fine by Watt, he is happier with this line.
‘Did you give him money?’
‘No. That is a lie.’
‘Yes, you did,’ says Manuel confidently. ‘You gave him money. When you dropped him home after, you gave him money.’
This doesn’t matter really, this isn’t the big lie, so Watt explains to Cameron: ‘The man was in rags. His clothes were in tatters. I only gave him a pound to get a drink.’
Manuel lets that sink in and says, as an aside, ‘After you met him at the Gordon Club… what did the police do with Mr O’Neil’s information?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing. They did nothing at all. They wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘Why?’
Watt drops his chin to his chest. He doesn’t need to answer. Everyone knows. The press benches know. Everyone in the city knows. Watt isn’t credible.
Manuel says suddenly, ‘Do you recall describing to me the manner in which you killed your wife?’
Watt is winded. He struggles to draw breath and when he does his voice is faint. ‘I never did anything of the kind.’
Manuel looks disappointed at the answer.
‘Do you remember telling me that it was never your intention to kill your daughter?’
‘I did not say that.’
‘Do you remember telling me that after you had shot your little girl, Vivienne, it would have taken very little effort to turn the gun on yourself?’
‘No, I don’t, because I never said it.’
Manuel nods, as if this is just as he suspected. He turns a page in the notes, denoting a change of pace. ‘Mr Watt, in the course of the night, after we left your brother’s house, do you remember offering to give me the biggest boost I had ever had if I pulled up my socks and played the game your way?’
‘That, also, is a lie.’
‘You don’t remember saying that?’
‘I didn’t say it.’
‘You must have been very keen to clear your name?’
‘Yes.’
‘I expect you would have been desperate, Mr Watt?’
‘I was very keen to clear my name.’
‘Do you remember a conversation whereby you put to me this scheme: I was to find someone to take the blame for these crimes, a “joe” I think you called it, with the intention of clearing your name?’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Did you not tell me that your only mistake was taking the Renfrew Ferry to get to your house that night and being seen?’
‘I did not cross on the Renfrew Ferry. I can prove that now.’
Watt means that the ferryman did badly in court but it isn’t clear and he sees Manuel’s neck twitch. Peter thinks something new has come up. Something that discredits the whole story of Watt killing his family.
‘You have already appeared here before the court, Mr Watt, and you alleged that I described certain articles of furniture in the interior of your house to you?’
‘You knew every stick of furniture in the place. It was uncanny.’
Manuel smirks at his hand. ‘When you last gave evidence you made a statement on oath that I told you there was no safe in your house. Yet is it feasible that if I killed your wife, and was indeed in your house, that I would make detailed notes about the furniture and furnishings, but fail to note that there was a safe in the kitchen?’
Watt shrugs. It wasn’t a question.
Manuel thinks he is being clever. ‘Does it not in fact prove that I was never in your house, Mr Watt?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Watt is right. ‘Not noticing a safe doesn’t mean you haven’t been in someone’s house.’
Manuel looks thrown by that. He doesn’t really understand the art of adversarial legal questioning. He’s watched it often enough and knows it looks like a fight without shouting or hitting, but it is infinitely more complex. It isn’t just point scoring. Manuel is getting it wrong. He’s angry about that and his voice changes. ‘Mr Watt, you killed your family, didn’t you?’
‘No–’ Watt is comfortable–‘I did not. I did not kill my family.’
‘Well,’ says Manuel, a nasty edge to his voice, ‘did you ask someone else to kill your family?’
Dickov and Dandy sit forward in tandem and William Watt thinks of Mrs Manuel’s picture in the papers. He’s not surprised at Manuel doing this to his mother but he’s sad, for her.
‘No–’ Watt’s voice falters–‘I did not.’
‘Did you pay someone to kill your family for you?’
Watt looks at Peter, trying to read him. ‘No,’ he says heavily, ‘I did not.’
‘That’s what you’re saying, is it?’
Watt nods softly at him. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’
Manuel holds his eye and takes a deep breath. Watt thinks he is going to shout. He’s going to betray his mother. He’s going to get her raped and killed. Watt braces himself. ‘That will be all, Mr Watt. You can get down.’
Manuel and Watt look at each other. He hasn’t. He won’t. This is the last time they will ever meet. For a moment they’re back in the car outside Manuel’s house in Birkenshaw, giggling on a dark winter morning. Watt feels the warmth of a cup of tea against his cold fingertips. Manuel feels his gorge rise as if he’s going to be sick. Watt sees Brigit Manuel fleetingly rise from the deep shadow of the Manuels’ living room and drop back again, swallowed by the dark.
Dickov and McKay sit back in their chairs.