Edward Kane, Advocate in The Hanged Man. Chapter 5: Thieves, Embezzlers & Resurrectionists

Some people used to say that the Calton Jail was too grand for its own good. It was not unusual, that when visitors came into Edinburgh for the first time, and looked up at the skyline, the silhouette of the prison would be mistaken for Edinburgh castle. Given the grandeur and majesty of the building, an easy mistake.

However, on any given day, a stroll in the courtyard of Scotland’s biggest prison would lead to a chance encounter with any number of thieves, embezzlers, resurrectionists (the polite term for grave-robbers) and those awaiting trial.

Today, it was Edward Kane’s professional responsibility to meet with a man who – legally – existed in a twilight state between Life and Death. Dr Jack Balloch. A man convicted of murdering his own father. A man sentenced to hang until dead. A man who was pronounced dead at the scene – then woke up in the cart on the way to the dissection rooms.

Kane and his instructing solicitor, Philip Phipps, a precise, nervy individual, were standing in the middle of what can only be described as an impatient mob at the front entrance of the jail. Phipps shook his pocket watch and held it to his ear to confirm that it was still working. ‘That must be a good twenty-five minutes we’re waiting, Mr Kane. The effrontery! Making a solicitor and an Advocate – an Advocate – wait with….’ He waved his hand before him to show the quality (or lack thereof) of the company that they were being made to keep. Beside them, two wizened, bearded ex-sailors, scarves tied tight around their bulging necks, tattoos on their bare arms – all anchors and stars and swallows – turned around and began to stare at the unlikely and well-dressed pair of lawyers waiting in the throng. Phipps noted them, blanched, looked up at the sky and gave a nervous little cough. He attempted to change the subject: ‘…to wait with…with…the sky looking so much like rain.’ The sailors looked up. The day was overcast and the grassy area outside the great prison doors was muddy and slushy – the result of a fortnight of intense rain.

Just then, the front door of Calton Jail creaked open and a tall, gaunt warder emerged, a large metal circle of keys in one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other. He looked down, squinted at the paper, looked up and bellowed: ‘Phipps and Kane’. The surly solicitor lost no time in pushing through the motley throng, waving his briefcase above his head to encourage the crowd to part before him. Head down, Edward Kane followed in his wake. They got to the front. Phipps looked up the guard: ‘I have my identification papers here in my briefcase, should you require…’ The warder was dismissive and barked: ‘Haud yer wheesht and get in the door.’ Phipps held his wheesht and climbed through the prison gate.

Door safely slammed shut against the restive crowd outside, the warder walked off and Kane and Phipps stood waiting for someone to escort them to the cell of the client, Dr Jack Balloch. The solicitor gave Kane a knowing nod: ‘A gentleman like yourself will not be familiar with the Calton, Mr Kane.’

The young Advocate smiled: ‘On the contrary, Mr Phipps. It was here that I would consult with one Patrick Macnair’

The solicitor gave a puzzled look. Kane solved the puzzle: ‘The gentlemen of the press referred to Macnair as “The Parlour Maid Murderer”. The little solicitor raised his eyebrows and nodded, narrowing his eyes as if he was storing that information for later in case it would come in useful.

Their conversation was interrupted by the voice of another warder calling over: ‘Phipps and Kane.’

The solicitor waved his hand and the warder jerked his head to indicate that they should follow. Phipps and the young Advocate made their way across the waste-ground of the prison.

Had the prison yard been a dartboard, a large crowd of prisoners had gathered around the bullseye. The warder swung his stick freely as he battered the inmates out of the way to make a path for the visitors. He shouted behind him to the guests while he walked: ‘It’s a madhouse here today. They’re setting up the platform.’

Phipps called back: ‘The platform?’

‘Aye – the platform for the hanging. That’s the reason for all those ne’er-do-wells at the front gate. They say they’re the family. Family? Ha! Thieves and cut-throats if you ask me.’

Kane – in the slipstreams of the solicitor and warder – jostled his way through the throng and craned his neck to see what was at the centre. Above the heads, he saw a group of workmen working on a large wooden pole. The beginnings of a scaffold. His thoughts were interrupted by the jailer calling: ‘Right-oh – here we are.’ They entered a dim corridor. ‘How long will you be needing?’ The solicitor Phipps shrugged and turned to Kane. Kane reached into his waistcoat pocket to find his time-piece – but, of course, the Hunter had been taken by Mr Horse to the pawnbrokers to provide temporary financial relief. ‘Um…I have read the papers. The facts are not in dispute. If you could come back in, say…thirty minutes?’ The warder nodded, fumbled with the ring of keys for a moment, then turned one in the lock. The door creaked open. ‘Aye – thirty minutes. I’ll away and deal with that riff-raff at the gate.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.

Despite the obvious creaking of the door and the arrival of the two gentlemen from the outside, there was no welcome by the prisoner. The room was dim and shabby. A bed against the wall, a ragged, brown coarse blanket rumfled on top. A table and chair in the corner under the barred window. Sitting at the table, his back to the visitors, Kane could make out the figure of a tall man. At first blush, he appeared to be playing Patience with a deck of cards. He did not turn around, but barked: ‘You’re late.’

It was at that point that Kane smiled to himself. He had a sudden memory of his father, a clergyman, and one of his father’s favourite witticisms. He would say (with a chuckle): ‘Some people are of the opinion that the existence of doctors proves the existence of God. After all, if there were no God, then who do the doctors strut around pretending to be?’

Solicitor, Phipps was nervous: ‘My apologies, Dr Balloch, there was a delay in gaining entrance. A large crowd at the front gate. Apparently, today, there is to be…to be…’

‘A hanging. Yes, so they say.’

A little chuckle. His back still to his visitors. ‘You know, I have only ever been to one hanging. It was my own.’