This happened in 1977, or maybe it was 1978 – well, anyway, the mid-to-late-seventies-or-so, when I was working in the library at Chambers Street, which was then still a part of Heriot-Watt University (it’s now the Sheriff Court).
One Friday afternoon I was walking down the main corridor outside the library towards the toilets when a man stopped me. He explained that he was a detective and was looking for volunteers to take part in an identity parade the following day, Saturday. The suspect in the case in question had a beard and spectacles, so he’d come to the university to try to find suitable looking volunteers, and had noticd my beard and spectacles. He explained that for taking part you got a couple of quid. I thought this sounded quite interesting, so on the Saturday morning I pitched up at the Police Force Headquarters in Fettes Avenue.
There was a bit of milling around with various people arriving, and eventually I and a couple of other volunteers were shown into a room, to wait. As I entered the room I looked at the sign on the door and saw ‘Murder Squad’. Prior to that, I hadn’t known what the whole thing was about, but seeing ‘Murder Squad’ in writing was suddenly very sobering. Strewth…what had I got involved in?
Eventually, we were shown into the place where the identity parade was to take place. There were various solicitors in attendance, and two policeman came in accompanying a third man – the suspect. He was a bit younger than me, but he had a beard and spectacles.
All the volunteers were asked to line up with our backs against a wall. There weren’t enough volunteers, so a detective with a beard also joined us, was given a pair of spectacles, and stood beside me, on my right. The suspect was asked to choose a place in the line-up.
He walked up and down, then turned and spoke to his solicitor. The solicitor said, “Ask all of them take off any belts and ties” which we did. Then the suspect came and stood to my left.
A door was opened and a middle-aged man in a tweed jacket entered the room followed by a policeman, who said to him, words to the effect of, “Do you see before you the person you saw on the evening of the xth of August, walking down Shandwick Place, holding what you took to be a firearm…etc…take your time, and if and when you are satisfied that you have identified the person would you please point him out by placing your right hand on his shoulder…”
The middle-aged man walked along the line, looking us all up and down – there were about eight of us in the parade – until he got to the end, then he turned round, walked back up the line, stopped, and placed his hand on my shoulder.
I was stunned! It was like someone had hit me in the face.
My heart suddenly started pounding. Boom de, boom de, BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE.
What was happening? What had I got involved in? Had I been in Shandwick Place that day? I had no idea. The witness thought I was a murderer!
BOOM DE, BOOM DE.
What had I done? Had I shot someone and couldn’t remember anything about it? Was this some kind of set-up I’d walked straight into? Would I be sent to prison? How could I get out of this place?
BOOM DE, BOOM DE.
The witness was shown out of the room.
BOOM DE, BOOM DE, my heartbeat continued. I looked around and half expected to be handcuffed. Then the detective to my right turned to me, saw how worried I looked, and said, “Don’t worry. It happens all the time. You’re only in trouble if they all finger you.” Then he smirked.
Don’t worry! You haven’t just been identified as a gunman! I have no idea where I was on the xth of August.
Then an oldish woman was shown into the room followed by another policeman who went through a similar procedure, “Do you see before you…etc”
The woman walked up the line, briefly stopped in front of me…
BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE.
Strewth, I thought, she’ll hear my heart pounding.
Then she continued up the line, turned round and walked back, hesitated as she got to me…
BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE.
and then reached out and put her hand on the shoulder of the detective volunteer to my right.
BOOM DE, BOOM DE, BOOM DE, boom de, boom de.
What kind of idiot witnesses were these? Anyway, I suddenly felt a great deal better. They wouldn’t be able to put me in the slammer without also arresting the detective.
There were a number of other witnesses, and apart from one of them, they all put their hand on the shoulder of the suspect. As was gradually revealed, the identity parade was to do with someone who’d shot the owner of a gun shop. The killer was later identified as being in the Scottish Liberation Army.
When it was all over, and after I’d been paid my two quid, I left the police headquarters and walked up the road towards Stockbridge. At Comley Bank Road something made me turn round, and there, across the other side of the road waiting at a bus stop, was the man in the tweed jacket who had put his hand on my shoulder, looking straight at me. His jaw had dropped. As far as he was concerned, the police had just let a gunman walk free.
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