WE sit at the end of a big table, the atmosphere tense, expectant. He
is on my left, the folder in front of him. Perhaps it is 3in thick in
its cheap cover of buff card. If I stretched out my hand I could touch
it, or him.
A cup of coffee cools beside me.
''Why was the post-mortem in Inverness, not Aberdeen?''
There is nothing sinister to that, I am told; if it is not invariable
practice to have the post mortem in the district of incident -- even
when the actual death occurred many miles away -- it is generally
common.
''What's the precise point of the wound on the head?'' I ask. ''You
see, McRae's death certificate just says 'Gunshot wound on head', which
is obvious and unhelpful . . .''
I expect a verbal reply -- some part of the skull named -- but instead
the folder is being thumbed open. A little book of photographs now
manipulated. Something is shoved in front of me. A finger stabs.
I swallow. It is the head, the dead head in profile of Willie McRae,
bare in the flash-photo. The hair is lank, the eyes closed. He is very
white. His lips are parted. On his right temple -- pointed out by the
kindly finger -- is a scorched black hole, round and small.
Contact, I am told; of course, a contact wound cannot preclude
homicide, but it strongly favours suicide. The file is quoted.
''Presence of much powder debris in the wound is typical of contact . .
.''
I know what I am looking for; I have been studying gunshot wounds for
weeks. In a handgun suicide, with a shot to the head, there are three
classic sites of ''election''. The mouth, like Adolf Hitler. The dead
centre of the forehead (the site so typically symmetrical that any
deviation should arouse great suspicion). And the right temple --
whether the person was right-handed or not, writes Professor C K
Simpson.
I study the photograph. A contact wound on the skull, I think, should
be ''stellate'' -- a torn, ragged star of a wound, because the skin is
torn by a blowback of gases from the shot. This wound is rather too
round. But if it is not a contact wound, then how is there ''much powder
debris'' in the bullet-track? I see no sign of powderburn. Though the
dead man's head appears grubby -- especially his ear, which looks sooty,
and the hair above it -- there is no blistering to the skin, no singeing
of hair. While I must check my books later -- and the round hole does
look overneat -- I agree that this appears to be a contact wound.
McRae died, then, of a gunshot wound from a side-arm whose muzzle was
pressed against his right temple?
''Where was the wound found?'' At Forresterhill -- the Aberdeen Royal
Infirmary. Something is murmured about a nurse clearing clotted blood.
That would explain the difficulty other investigators have had, of
finding the clever doctor; this was a collective effort -- suspicious
nurse, X-rays, consultation and agreement.
''How many bullets were found in his head?'' Only one. I glimpse two
photographs: some red, jellied mass (the clot?) and a squashed, mangled
little bullet on bluish cloth, with a rule for scale.
''But why not at Inverness?'' Think about it. You bring this chap in
-- he's deeply unconscious. His breathing begins to deteriorate. It's a
serious head injury and you don't waste time. You get the man to
Aberdeen as quickly as possible. (Aberdeen, of course, is the standard
destination for all major head injuries in the north-east of Scotland.)
''How long did McRae survive the shooting?'' The folder is being
leafed through. He died at least 24 hours after wound was inflicted. The
next question is very important.
''Was there any evidence of nitrates, gunpowder residue, metals or
whatever on McRae's right hand?'' I know, in all probability, McRae was
washed and washed again before he died. Nevertheless, some evidence of
such material could well have remained on his hand -- if he had fired
the gun. Nails would have been scraped, skin swabbed, sleeve examined,
tested. Even if he had been washed, powder particles could have been
imbedded in his skin; his clothing would not have been washed. And if
such were found, and linked to the gun, then you would have real
evidence of suicide.
It was not checked, I am told. For the first time I sense
embarrassment. Incredulous, I ask again. But it is true. Dr Henry
Richmond, forensic pathologist, investigating a gunshot victim, did not
check the hands or clothing of his cadaver, did not look for what,
self-evidently, would be positive evidence for suicide and against
homicide.
''Were there any injuries on McRae's body consistent with car
accident?'' This question is to establish whether McRae was indeed in
the car when it crashed. (Many forget, examining the history, that the
crash and shooting may be two entirely separate incidents). Again, pages
fly. The assertion cannot be made . . . no . . . yes . . . some minor
bruises.
Big help, I think, but do not say. If McRae was in the car when it
crashed, wearing a seat-belt -- and it was a big Volvo, the car of
choice to crash in -- then merely sustaining minor bruising is quite
believable. But, equally, he could have been bruised -- almost certainly
was -- when David Coutts and company jerked and dragged his comatose
body from the wreck. It is highly probable that McRae was in the car
when it crashed; there are no injuries to confirm it. (In hindsight,
when it is too late, I wish I had asked about specific seatbelt bruising
on the shoulder.)
''What was the degree of alcohol, or other unusual substances, found
in McRae's body or in his bloodstream on arrival at Raigmore Hospital?''
The answer comes at once -- and again, with evident unease. No blood
was taken until after the PM -- the post mortem. My astonishment plainly
discomfits. But the answer is confirmed. And, at the post mortem, no
alcohol was found in McRae's bloodstream -- or anything else.
So I am expected to believe that, at Raigmore, care personnel
presented with a comatose man, his head bloody and injured, whose
breathing was increasingly laboured, failed to take an elementary
clinical step -- to check his bloodstream for alcohol or drugs that
could be depressing his vital functions; a check which, even with 1985
technology, could have been done in minutes. Assuming, of course, that I
am being told the truth. And the post mortem reading is negative.
In other words -- while bearing in mind that the post mortem was
conducted perhaps 48 hours after the shooting, ample time for even a
very drunk man to process alcohol -- and if the gunshot wound affected
the process at all, it would slow it -- there is no real evidence, no
evidence at all, that McRae was drunk when he was driving, when the car
crashed, or when the bullet smashed into his brain.
The next question is distasteful, but important. ''Was there any
evidence of regular alcohol abuse found in McRae's body?'' Thumb, thumb,
flick. Yes . . . there was enlargement. Organs were enlarged. ''The
liver?'' Yes -- hushed tones. (Some minutes later, more boldly, it is
revived, made specific. Multi-lobular enlargement . . .)
So he drank too much. I do not, however, forget the distinction --
sometimes fine, but critical -- between a heavy drinker and a hopeless
alcoholic. And there is still no evidence that McRae was drunk on the
night he ploughed off the road and was shot.
I remember Busby and Dinsmore. ''Was McRae under MI5 or Strathclyde
Special Branch surveillance?'' Strathclyde Special Branch positively
asserted he was not. As for the cars described by Busby and Dinsmore --
that was their mischief, it is alleged. These cars had shadowed Busby
and Dinsmore. And they were Special Branch vehicles. So, in a neat move,
the aspiring terrorists noted their details and later asserted that the
vehicles had trailed McRae. But (big smile) in April 1985 neither car
was a Special Branch car.
I scribble this down.
A good question now. ''What was the handgun? Scott and McLeay say it's
a Smith & Wesson .45, which I find rather incredible . . . I'd have
thought a gun of that calibre would've blown McRae's head off . . .''
Flip, shove. I am looking at another photograph. A silvery revolver,
lying on a bed of moorgrass. A pearl handle. Another photo. This time it
is further from the camera, lying on the ground, looking discoloured --
mud? rust? Neither photo shows anything for scale -- not even a box of
matches.
It is, I learn, a .22 Smith & Wesson, 7-chambered, top hinge, external
hammer, pearl-handled revolver. I am told, jocularly, it is a lady's
gun. ''What was the ammunition?'' Short cartridges. ''How many shots had
been fired?'' Two. ''Was there any trace of the other bullet?'' None.
And yes, it was the gun that killed McRae. Speculation: a test shot
fired in the air, then a shot to the head -- indicative of suicide. No
trace of second spent bullet. An empty cartridge box was found in car.
(I should have asked if all the chambers in the gun were loaded, apart
from the two fired cartridges. It seems reasonable to assume they were.)
''How old was the gun?'' Not known. It could be assumed it was fairly
elderly. Scott & McLeay date it to ''1948, if not earlier'' -- but then,
they got the calibre wrong. ''Did McRae own it?'' Ronnie Welsh had
stated that he did, that he had seen the gun in McRae's office. A safe
is mentioned. ''Did he habitually carry it with him?'' Yes, according to
friends. (They are not named.)
''Did he hold a firearms certificate?'' No. And he was a solicitor,
says the voice, in a play of shock-horror. That McRae could have been
debarred from practice for carrying an unlicensed gun hangs in the air.
But there is another side to that: there is no proof, apart from the
testimony of Ronnie Welsh at the time, that McRae ever had this gun.
Welsh has vanished. The ''friends'' are not named. There is no
documentary evidence. (A few minutes later I am told different: the gun
was usually in McRae's office. Said who? Welsh.)
Back to the gun in a minute, but first, ''What was the car?'' A Volvo
244 -- and more photographs, pushed over, flipped through. I stand up
for a better look. I peer closely. I scribble some more.
It is a maroon Volvo, and its site is bizarre in the long shots from
the road -- roughly parallel to it, clearly pointing back to Invergarry,
and as it were parked -- I can think of no better word -- along the line
of a burn. The famous burn is an exaggeration.
It is so narrow it is barely a drain. The Volvo appears to straddle
it, leaning to the offside -- the angle rather less than 45 degrees;
perhaps 30%. But the onside wheels may actually be in the burn; it is
hard to tell. You could believe that the car had been driven along the
line of the drain and drawn to a halt. The effect is almost comic.
I am allowed to look at the photos with some leisure, though we are
pushed for time. I note the number -- FGB 214X. It is plain, looking at
the view from the lay-by, that you could not readily have seen a man in
the driver's seat -- unless you clambered down for close inspection. The
car is damaged enough -- buckled, dented. A photo now close-up, of the
driver's side. The door is a little open and jammed into the ground. It
is hard to see how they pulled McRae out. The onside headlamp is hanging
off. ''Is the driver's window wound down or smashed?''
Smashed, I am told. The damage is listed: bumper, light, rear
windscreen, driver's window broken or shattered. Roof buckled. All doors
buckled. No -- when I ask -- there was no broken glass on the road.
Nevertheless -- though it is a Volvo -- it does not strike me as a car
that left the road at great speed. I eye the terrain in the photos. It
is boggy, grassy, lumpen; but I see no obvious rocks. There is a peaked
knoll behind the car, looking from the lay-by; Loch Loyne is just
visible beyond. I think I would know the site if I saw it.
I asked for a grid reference, I am reminded. File checked: it is
rattled forth. Sheet 34, 21 95 80 66. This I note. It doesn't sound like
an Ordnance Survey grid number to me, but it may make sense to somebody.
''How far was the car from the road?'' Again, papers are checked.
Eighty-seven feet from carriageway. Feet? Feet. So much for ''one
hundred yards'' -- the standard description.
Now to the gun. ''When was it found, and where?'' On April 7, from the
burn directly below where the driver's door had been. But -- again, the
note of abashment -- the car was no longer there. The Northern
Constabulary, I am told wearily, did not exactly cover themselves in
glory.
Most accounts claim the gun was found on Monday 8th. The car was
removed about midday on the 7th. Had I been sharper, I would have asked
if the gun was on hand for Dr Richmond's autopsy -- and if not, why not.
But I am being drowned in priceless material.
The siting of gun in relation to car is the crux of the case. I press
the point. But -- adamant that gun was found, under car, in pool, in the
burn. The car was over this pool and over a small waterfall. I am shown
a photograph. I am not quite sure why, because the picture is profoundly
unhelpful. The gun is not in the photograph. The car is not in the
photograph.
There is no damage apparent to the ground, nothing to show that car or
gun had ever been there.
For the first time, I wonder if I am being told a lie. But I say
nothing. ''Were there fingerprints on the gun?'' There were no
fingerprints. ''No fingerprints?'' Fact: no fingerprints were found on
the gun. ''That doesn't make sense.'' No: it does not.
If I am being told lies, such astonishing admissions rather convince
you of someone's veracity. For, if the gun had no fingerprints, we have
to believe that McRae shot himself and then calmly wiped the gun clean
-- absurd. Or that he shot himself wearing a glove, or using a cloth,
having cleaned the gun first -- almost as absurd. But no-one has ever
mentioned a glove. (Did Dr Slesser check his pulse at the wrist?) Or --
maybe someone shot McRae with the gun, perhaps wearing a glove, and
wiped the revolver clean afterwards.
None of this makes sense.
''So, if McRae shot himself -- as we're expected to believe -- how did
the gun get there?'' Well, he would have shot himself in the right
temple with his right hand, elbow leaning on the door -- perhaps out of
the window. And with the recoil, the gun would have jumped out and
fallen into the pool. Yes, his arm should have been hanging out when
found. Perhaps it was. There was so much interference with the scene . .
.
Alternatively, he shot himself and the gun fell to his lap -- or to
his feet -- and, when Coutts and the rest of them were hauling him out,
it was dragged out with him and fell, unnoticed, into the burn. You see,
nobody was looking for a gun then . . . nobody knew he'd been shot . . .
The trouble is, looking at the photographs, there wasn't the space
between car and ground for gun to slither into burn. The car was leaning
on the driver's side. The door was tugged open only a few inches before
wedged firmly in turf. And it was a bright, silvery gun. I must say I am
not convinced. It might have dropped, so; but to reach the burn it must
have been kicked, or (deliberately?) shifted. Could it have fallen from
the car when it was being towed off on Sunday afternoon?
David Coutts claims to have seen photos of the scene with an X -- some
distance from the car -- marking the spot where the gun was found. I
mention this. I am told that the photos present may not be complete.
David Coutts also claimed, of course, to have seen right under the car
and spotted no gun. Is this true? First, picking up a cap -- even beside
a car on a street -- I don't think you would naturally stoop so low as
to view the ground right under the vehicle. Second, I don't see how --
seeing the photos -- that Coutts could have seen space or daylight
beneath the Volvo 244.
Was the gun ever in the car at all?
An explanation is now being given about the famous pile of papers.
What things there were were found uphill of the car -- towards the road.
They would simply have fallen out, as the Volvo rolled and tumbled --
and it certainly rolled, judging by the buckled roof. Plenty windows
busted. Stuff could have fallen from the parcel shelf, or the passenger
seat of the car -- where many a driver keeps personal things to hand.
This is the line I am being given.
What about the famous missing effects? McRae's briefcase. McRae's
cigarettes. The famous #100 note, the first McRae had ever received, and
which he kept by him as a talisman?
A list appears, of all McRae's belongings, as found on him, in the
car, or strewn about the moor, and duly collected by the Northern
Constabulary. I stand up and look at it. It mentions no fewer than two
briefcases -- one small, brown leather; one black attache case, rather
larger. And a cream-and-tan shopping bag.
I scan the list quickly. It includes a bewildering assembly of
identifying papers -- chequebooks, two American Express cards, cheque
guarantee card, library cards, debating union membership cards,
certificate of driving competency, SNP membership card, bank
certificates with a Chinese name -- I count, quickly, 20 such items in
all. I note the whisky -- one half-consumed half-bottle of Famous
Grouse. (This, Michael Strathern has told me, was not McRae's usual
brand.)
I note the clothing McRae wore. I do not recall seeing spare clothing
for a weekend on the list, nor toilet articles; but, of course, he may
have had plenty put by in his Dornie cottage. The voice remarks that
these do not look like the usual things for a weekend.
There is no mention of cigarettes. Most accounts of the mystery
suggest -- or imply -- that these items were missing when McRae was
found. In fact, it was McRae's sister-in-law -- according to Strathern
-- who missed them when all his effects were returned, at length, by the
authorities; and she was referring to, as far as Strathern knows, the
cigarettes and the #100 note, not the briefcases. ''It's possible that
the fags were simply pilfered. And the banknote . . .''
That would come as no surprise, says the voice. It does happen, the
stealing of non-traceable items. (But -- whatever McRae usually did --
no-one can confirm that he had the #100, nor vast quantities of Gold
Flake, with him that night.) Was there any internal probe after this
case? He does not know.
Who started the tale of the missing briefcase? (The contents of
briefcases found are listed: apart from ''various documents, papers'',
there is nothing to support the notion of secret files or a budding
book). I look at the list carefully. There is money. McRae had, with
him, ''14 x #10'' in banknotes, and ''9 x #1'' -- #149 in total. All
found intact. It doesn't fit in with someone looting the scene
afterwards, I am told -- unless the thief (murderer?) was highly
incompetent.
I have put all my questions but one. ''Was McRae a homosexual?'' There
was gossip to that effect, is the hushed reply. (I think that there is
gossip to that effect about all aging bachelors. There is no proof that
McRae was homosexual by nature, or practised homosexual vice, and the
smear should be buried until some proof or witness surfaces.)
The questions are over. Now the hypotheses. Homicide is gently
ridiculed. If someone was in the car with McRae, that person would have
crashed with him. He would then have had to get out of the car (though
the passenger door was buckled -- jammed?), get round to McRae's side,
shoot him -- in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere -- and
then, somehow, leave the scene, having wiped the gun clean of
fingerprints. It is at least six miles from the site to the nearest
habitation.
A sniper on the hill, waiting for McRae? In the dark? Shooting at a
moving car with a .22 pop gun, and every chance of shooting at the wrong
car? He'd have died of frostbite -- a cackle. The casual thief -- who
panicked, then shot McRae with his own gun? How did he get there? How
did he get away? How did he miss all that cash?
Another driver coming along? But how would he have seen the car down
there?
The official picture is painted.
* * *
McRAE had a drinking problem. He had two drunk-driving convictions,
faced charges for a third. He was prone to depression, and was terrified
of going to prison. He had spoken of this fear to his brother, Dr Fergus
McRae, and to Ronnie Welsh. Dr Fergus, I am told, had to watch out for
Willie quite frequently -- he was prone to instability, to trouble. On
the night of Friday, April 5, 1985, both men were very concerned about
Willie McRae. Welsh rang repeatedly ''up the track'' trying to get McRae
and car stopped.
McRae was on his way to ''Camusty'' to take his own life, rather than
face shame and prison. He did not carry the usual things for a weekend;
rather, he loaded himself -- deliberately -- with identifying papers,
assorted personal memorabilia. No doubt he was drinking as he drove. On
your charitable view, perhaps he was tired and dozy. He'd been shaken by
a fire the night before.
After Invergarry, he was further wearied -- perhaps goaded -- when he
had to stop and deal with a puncture. Assume -- be kind -- he wasn't
drunk; take your suggestion, that, descending the A87 towards the
junction, he nodded off at the wheel . . .
Crash, rolling, bumping, shaking -- in the pitch night; the confusion,
and the terror. The car has stopped. He must get out! He must get away
-- perhaps he is drunk, and knows it; perhaps he fears what the police
will make of the gun if they catch an uncertificated sidearm on him. He
tries to get out, but he cannot; he is trapped in his car, trapped on
the moor in the night.
No good waiting for ''Camusty . . .''
He finds and loads the gun, fires a test-shot into the dark.
Willie McRae shoots himself . . .
The gun falls.
Subsequent bungling, makes effective investigation impossible; family
grief renders a Fatal Accident Inquiry inhuman . . .
There is a long silence.
I ask, again, to see the photograph of McRae's head. It is readily
produced. It does look like a contact wound. That could be soot about
his ear, from the firing of the little gun close by, or perhaps from the
fire in his bathroom.
He looks utterly alone.
I leave.
* * *
LET us assume that everything you have just read is true. And continue
on the assumption with which I left this meeting -- the assumption,
indeed, with which I began this investigation -- that, hard as it was to
accept, Willie McRae did indeed take his own life.
True, I was doubtful about the wound. Why was it round rather than
stellate? But I check my books. And, according to Professor A K Mant
(Taylor's Principles and Practice of Forensic Medicine, 1965, 1984) it
fits. ''If the gases are not of sufficient volume, ie 0.22 calibre
rifle, or the propellant has deteriorated, there may not be sufficient
pressure to cause this type of close-contact wound and the wound will
remain circular although in other respects it follows the criteria for a
close contact wound.''
That little, old ladies' revolver: it makes perfect sense. Dr Henry
Richmond was right. But a contact wound is not proof of suicide.
Furthermore, according to Professor J K Mason (Forensic Medicine for
Lawyers, 1978, 1983), ''The examining doctor should always confer with
the police officer in charge as to the presence of spent cartridges; the
firing of more than one shot is uncommon in suicide.''
Still, ignore those two points. How credible is the explanation
advanced for suicide in this case? A doctor confirms that
''multi-lobular enlargement'' of the liver is almost certain proof of
''alcohol liver disease'' -- consistent with long-term heavy drinking.
As a psychiatrist, he finds the suicide hypothesis ''not incredible''.
Knowing Raigmore, he is ''suprised'' the blood alcohol was not checked,
but reminds me it is a decade ago and these things have been tightened
up.
And there is no proof at all that McCrae was homosexual. Nor that he
was drunk the night he crashed. Suddenly I remember a Scottish peer,
repeatedly convicted of drunk driving -- five times but never jailed.
My doubts are growing.
Yes, the explanation for the ''pile of papers'' is believable. But
what about the discovery of the gun? I visualise those photos of the
stranded Volvo. I am certain that the onside wheels were on the bank --
not in the burn. And -- because the car was leaning to that side -- I
don't think there was physical space for the gun even to have slidden
beneath the car.
I recall pictures of the gun. Photo of pool where it was allegedly
found -- but no sign of gun, car, or marks of either. Another photo now
recalled -- a bad, blurry one -- a hand holding gun (bagged over a patch
of burn. But was it the same patch? And, even if it was, what does that
prove? Nothing.
Was McRae really trapped in the car? Witnesses say his seatbelt was
off. The driver's window was smashed. And the car was upright . . .
Surely he wasn't so fat that he couldn't crawl out . . .
I suddenly realise how many things are assumed. Nothing missing from
the car -- if authorities could be sure they were first on the scene.
Not the usual things for a weekend . . . if McRae was, indeed, planning
to spend the weekend at ''Camusty''. But what if he had simply dashed up
to fetch something? What, in fact, if he had been on his way back? Yes,
the car could simply have been turned lengthwise in course of the crash.
But its position also fitted -- better? -- McRae driving south . . .
I examine my notes -- and spot a bizarre inconsistency. ''He died at
least 36 hours after wound was inflicted.'' What?! But McRae died at
3.30am on Sunday morning . . . which, if this is to be believed, means
he was shot no later than 3.30pm on Friday afternoon.
McRae was a tough, formidable lawyer. Being rational, would he really
have been frightened by legal proceedings? He'd have known never to
assume the worst possible scenario. He could have said he'd lost the
firearm certificate . . . confiscated weapon from unstable client . . .
admitted to drink problem, but covered himself in contrition, booked in
for drying out, obtained glowing reports of his progress from doctors .
. . if he had been rational. What evidence is there really that he was
not rational -- depressed, unstable?
Precious little . . .
Ronnie Welsh said he owned the gun. Ronnie Welsh said McRae was
depressed. Ronnie Welsh said he had spoken of prison, of suicide. Ronnie
Welsh was to hand when McRae's ventilated corpse was unplugged . . .
Welsh, Welsh, Welsh . . . who has completely disappeared; who, despite
all Herald inquiries, does not seem to have been seen by a living soul
for seven years.
It all hinges on where that gun was found. And I think now in terms
not of logic, but of impressions -- the feel I had, for an hour, of
another human being. Pictures and papers pressed upon me. Incredible
admissions. Happy confirmation of repeated blunders. But, on this
essential point, adamant -- and not a shred of proof presented.
I felt it even then -- I was not being told the truth. Logically,
three possibilities: source knew they were not telling the truth
(lying); source did not know they were not telling the truth (in
circumstances of meeting, improbable); source afraid they were not
telling the truth (so deliberately had not checked).
Suddenly, I can no longer take anything I was told -- perhaps even saw
-- on trust. Immediately, I despatch two faxes -- one to confirm
accurate notes of two assertions from source. The reply is relayed --
positive. The second fax is to The Herald. I want certain things checked
by a trained, hardheaded reporter.
For there is no real evidence of suicide -- only circumstantial
evidence. Ignore a hypothesis that conveniently fits the facts -- one of
which, in any event, I am now certain was a lie. There is no proof.
And there ethics come in. As a Gael, I find suicide repellent -- ''the
ghost of the suicide walks, cursed . . .'' As a Christian, I regard
suicide as wicked. If I am ever found shot, dying, in my car, I would
want it to be a nice clean murder. And I am not going to accuse a dead,
defenceless bachelor of such a heinous act without overwhelming
evidence, which I have not been given.
I wait . . .
The first breakthrough: the grid reference number is checked. It is
nonsensical. Sheet 34 is a standard Ordnance Survey Landranger map. For
such, an eight-digit number -- 21 95 80 66 -- is meaningless. So we
check . . . and, according to this, Willie McRae was found about a mile
southwest of Spean Bridge, 20 miles perhaps from Loch Loyne, well off
the A87, and in the middle of woods! It takes us a day to sort it out.
If we remove the first and last digits, we get 19 58 06.
Then, we make a little adjustment. We twiddle the last three digits.
And that gives us 19 50 68. Which -- as we already know -- is the grid
reference for the official memorial cairn to Willie McRae, by the banks
of Loch Loyne.
Whoever recorded this mangled number was incompetent. And my informant
is now confirmed as incompetent, dishonest or both.
There is only one way to finally verify the site. I leave Edinburgh
immediately. Four hours later, I have walked into my photographs -- in
the teeth of sluicing sleet and rain. The memorial cairn -- if not a
precise mark -- is, in the immortal words of the fellow who removed
McRae's car, as ''near as dammit''. I find the burn, the pool, the
waterfall. I verify this as the site I viewed in the photographs. I
attest that it is much nearer the road than widely reported in the past.
Inspecting the ground, the positioning of the car can be accepted
whatever the original direction of travel. And -- carefully -- I inspect
the tiny, gurgling, frothing burn, the little pool with the waterfall.
The rain, which has been coursing throughout my drive, deigns to stop.
I clamber up to the road and leave.
* * *
THE second breakthrough: we find the copper, the policeman first on
the scene. And -- we can scarcely believe it -- the same officer who,
the following day, found the revolver in the burn. Kenny Crawford still
only in his thirties, has spoken entirely freely to The Herald. There is
every reason to believe he is telling the truth. He can have nothing to
gain, nothing to prove, by his insistent testimony that he found the gun
''some yards downstream''.
Crawford has also insisted that, nevertheless, he believes ''it was
knocked from a ledge in the car'' when McRae's body was recovered; and
that, having fallen into the burn, the current must have swept the Smith
& Wesson downstream.
I might acidly remark that it says little for Scottish journalism that
this vital witness, whom my colleague readily found within 48 hours, has
been unknown and untraced for 10 years.
Now here is a very important point. In a court of law, Crawford's
speculations -- sincere as they appear to be -- would be entirely
inadmissible. He could only attest to what he had personally witnessed.
And what he witnessed -- what he surely reported at the time, what was
surely conveyed to the authorities, what must be in the secret Crown
Office records -- is one fact alone: that the gun was found several
yards from the final position of Mr McRae's car. And from that point the
authorities were surely engaged on a murder inquiry.
For suicide cannot be sustained on the fact of a gun several yards
from McRae's car, a gun with no fingerprints whatever.
Mason's Forensic Medicine for Lawyers, 1984 edition, describes the
Scots law which surely applied at the time of McRae's death. ''Should
the Fiscal decide, or should he accept the advice of a police surgeon,
that a post-mortem dissection is required, he will seek the authority of
the Sheriff . . . The dissection is carried out by two doctors whenever
the circumstances give grounds for suspicion or suggest the possibility
that criminal proceedings may follow; it is only necessary for one
pathologist to give evidence in Court.''
Assume that McRae's autopsy was conducted after the discovery of the
gun -- entirely possible. Assume that gun, history and description of
scene were available to Thomas Aitchison, procurator-fiscal, and Dr
Henry Richmond, Inverness pathologist. And then two things become clear
as daylight. First: there must have been a second doctor attending the
dissection. Who was he? And what was his expertise?
Second: take back any aspersions on Dr Richmond. For -- if he was able
to dissect McRae after receiving an accurate history -- he would
properly have felt no need at all to swab the right hand. Not to have
done so -- simply on the excuse the hand had been repeatedly washed --
could, I am told, amount to great incompetence. But, on this scenario,
it makes perfect sense. Richmond would have been certain he was dealing
with a homicide -- that McRae's hand never fired the gun.
And who else for 10 years, off the record, has been softly,
persuasively, subtly belittled by a high and anonymous tongue.
An instance -- McRae was alive when found; therefore -- assuming, as
it appears, that PC Crawford was so advised when he reached the scene
that Saturday morning -- then the officer's behaviour is entirely
defensible. His duty, at that point, was not to rope off the scene and
preserve perfect forensic order. He felt properly obliged to assist in
getting a seriously injured man to hospital as quick as possible.
I am suddenly very angry.
Still so many unanswered questions! You'd like to know about the car
-- were the lights switched on? Was it in gear? What caused the
puncture? Why was the spare wheel on the back seat and not in the
Volvo's capacious boot? How is everyone so sure that McRae never reached
Dornie, that he was not in fact returning? How do you explain the
discrepancy between Richmond's assertion on ante-mortem injury timing
and the known history of McRae's last days?
Why did the Nationalists abandon this case, repudiate this man? Why
did his own family not push for an inquiry? What worse could have been
said, or found, about McRae that has not hitherto surfaced? How could
they let him lie these 10 years in a suicide's grave?
The evidence is overwhelming. Now deal with Crawford's hopeful
speculation -- which would not be sought in a court of law. I do not,
having seen the site and examined the evidence, believe that gun could
have been shifted as he thinks. I was there on a wet, wet day -- the
hills awash, the rivers full with snowmelt and rain. But this is a tiny
burn. And the pool, though very small, is scooped, hollow, the bottom
rimmed with rock. The ''waterfall'' at most is 2ft (and by my
recollection less). I am certain it is the pool I saw in the gunless,
carless, photograph.
I do not believe that a small, heavy, pointy gun would have been
shifted by that little drain -- not even by the force of water I
observed on Friday. And water is all there would be. The hills above the
road are treeless, the burns are sluiced bare; this is, very nearly, the
wettest part of Scotland. There would be no branches, no flotsam to drag
and pull a revolver.
The car, almost certainly, was removed uphill. So it could not have
dragged an unseen gun downhill. And, from the photos I saw and well
recall, I simply do not believe a bright silver revolver could have
fallen, unseen, from McRae's hands, clothing or feet as he was hauled
from the car -- under full view, it appears, of five people. And if it
had, it would not have fallen into the burn.
A revolver yards away, with no fingerprints.
A reconstruction could be done with another revolver in that burn, but
I am, beyond reasonable doubt, quite certain.
Willie McRae was murdered.
* * *
I AM near the end of my story now. I have left many a question for
later investigation. But I believe I have here established a compelling
argument -- having begun this search convinced (reluctantly) of suicide
-- that Willie McRae died not by his own hand, but that of another.
I have concerned myself entirely with facts of body, scene, history.
Others may speculate on theories of conspiracy. Colleagues have made out
a plausible case that McRae was murdered for nuclear secrets. With all
respect to a fine reporter, I am highly sceptical. There is no proof he
had such material that night, nor is an assassin named. I am not
satisfied with off-the-record allegations. Nor does a shot from an
elderly silly little gun, taking perhaps 24-hours to kill its target,
support the idea of a coldblooded and professional hit.
My hunch -- and the evidence of the wound -- is that Willie McRae was
killed by someone he knew and trusted, someone of whom he had no reason
to be afraid.
That there has been a conspiracy of another sort -- to cover up
incompetence, to mislead the public, to defame a dead man -- is,
however, apparent.
I now call for two things.
First, the revival of a police investigation into the murder of
William McRae. I can suggest an excellent place to start -- the
long-lost Ronnie Welsh. Welsh may well be dead. But his role in McRae's
death -- and in establishing the evidence on which authorities proceeded
-- demands, at least, that he be located, if only to be eliminated from
inquiries. My own tentative investigations suggest a plausible motive.
Second: a full Public Inquiry is now essential. I demand it, and so
should every rational Scot. The Lord Advocate has power to order the
procurator-fiscal to hold an inquiry ''expedient in the public
interest'' into a death ''sudden, suspicious or unexplained, or has
occurred in circumstances such as to give rise to serious public
concern.'' I submit that this is now manifestly apparent.
The facts support only two hypotheses: unbelievable incompetence at
the highest levels in Highland investigating authorities, or a
calculated and cynical cover-up of, at least, such incompetence. For the
sake of all individuals and offices involved, so that our rule of law in
Scotland retains the public confidence, an inquiry is vital.
I appeal to McRae's family to reconsider their position on this. I ask
you all, each of you reading this essay, to press -- whatever your
station -- for a Public Inquiry into the death of Willie McRae.
* * *
I STAND and gaze to the snowdraped Cuillin Hills. I think of other
hills, three days ago, and of a lonely road, and a simple cairn.
Put a stone on that cairn when you pass by. I did, before I left. I
left rapidly. It is not a spot where you care to linger.
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