18

Constance sat outside the Starbucks on Paternoster Square sipping a latte, the sun warming her back.

‘Ah. You’ve found a table already. Well done. More coffee?’

Constance marvelled at how Judith Burton swept past her and into the café, without waiting for her response, accidentally pushed to the front of the queue, apologised profusely in convincing style and was then served first anyway. She was back with her coffee almost by return.

‘Well, what was so urgent you had to see me today?’ Judith enquired, sitting down and unbuttoning her jacket, her red silk shirt peeping through to accentuate the pallor of her skin.

‘This isn’t your usual haunt,’ Constance remarked, deliberately avoiding the direct question.

‘No? Well, that shows that you’re not up to date, Connie. But that’s my fault I suppose. I’ve been a bit cloak-and-dagger recently.’ She leaned in close and whispered. ‘I’m on a mediators’ course; don’t tell anyone.’

Constance covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Mediator. You?’

‘Well it’s not so surprising, is it? Many lawyers do it.’ Judith appeared mildly hurt.

‘Yes, they do but they’re not all you. You spend your time scaring people half to death with ferocious cross-examination. Isn’t mediation all about reconciliation?’

‘I’m telling you, I’m a natural. Jeremy, the course leader, has already praised my “ability to combine persuasiveness with subtlety” or some such nonsense.’

‘Are you sure he doesn’t fancy you?’

Judith ignored the jibe and continued to sip at her coffee.

‘Anyway, it’s just a hobby, to stop me from being bored. Greg suggested it, actually. I think it was because I offered to iron one of his shirts. He knew then something drastic had to be done. You haven’t sent me anything in a while so you can hardly complain.’

Constance noticed, but decided to file away, Judith’s reference to Greg. She had heard a rumour that Judith was seeing Dr Gregory Winter, their expert witness from their first case together but, during their sporadic conversations over the past year, Judith had not confirmed this to her. Perhaps this was her preferred way of telling Constance she and Greg were an item.

‘That’s not true. You’re too fussy,’ she replied. ‘But I have something for you now, and you’re going to be very interested.’

‘OK. Spill the beans. Not another fifteen-year-old boy?’

‘No. Did you see the story at the weekend about the woman who fell out of the eleventh floor of St Mark’s Hospital?’

Judith’s eyes widened.

‘Yes. But that’s Hampstead. More upmarket than your regular stamping ground?’

‘Dawson is spending six months over there. Helping out. He called me when he needed someone.’

‘And what’s our involvement?’

Constance grinned. Judith already wanted a piece of the action.

‘I’m representing the hospital cleaner, Ahmad Qabbani. They’re holding him pending further enquiries, but I think they’ll be charging him later today.’

‘Hmm. What did he do to court all this interest, Mr Qabbani? Other than the obvious.’

‘He was on duty around the time of death.’

‘But presumably so were a thousand other hospital employees.’

‘Yes. Although he was near her room and he’d been in there, to clean.’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s DNA linking him to the deceased, and he had some of her expensive jewellery at his house.’

‘Hmm. Not great but not insurmountable. Background?’

Constance was used to Judith’s quick-fire questions and replied without drawing breath, although she reflected on how clients requiring a swift but amicable resolution of their dispute through mediation might feel differently when faced with Judith’s lashing tongue.

‘The family are refugees from Syria. Him, his wife and daughter.’

‘The deceased?’

‘Barbara Hennessy. English woman, early seventies, two children, used to be an artist, bit flighty, went in to have her bunions treated, privately, stayed in for a few days and then, as you know, fell, or was pushed, out of the window.’

‘Yes, I didn’t quite understand the description of where she fell from?’

‘They can’t be certain but there’s this staff room at the end of the corridor and it has a sort of balcony above a fire escape. They go outside and get a breath of fresh air.’

‘You mean have a cigarette – or perhaps I should say “vape” these days.’

‘That too, yes.’

‘And it’s not locked?’

‘No. Has to remain open because of fire regulations.’

‘So the deceased walked down the corridor, into this staff room, opened the door to the balcony and fell over or was pushed to the ground below. Or jumped. Hmm. What injuries did she sustain?’

‘Well her skull was completely shattered. It’s woodland out the back and her head hit a tree-stump. But there were not many other injuries, I don’t think. I haven’t seen the final pathology report, just some provisional conclusions.’

‘And no one saw or heard anything?’

‘No. Or they’re not saying.’

Judith sat back and folded her arms, then unfolded them and stood up. She marched to the centre of the square, oblivious to the fact that she was obscuring a screen which had been erected for passers-by to watch international athletics with their lunch. After some pacing backwards and forwards, she returned and sat down.

‘What’s our client, Ahmad, say about all this?’

‘Well, if I believe him, and I think I do, he’s as confused as we are. He says he did his job and went home.’

‘You mentioned jewellery? At his house?’

‘The police found it upstairs.’

‘Could they have planted it?’

‘I suppose so. But, well, I was there when they did the search. Seemed genuine to me.’

Judith raised her eyebrows high but kept silent. Constance’s devotion to duty knew no bounds.

‘I’ve suggested to Ahmad that he admit the theft at least.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He was really angry, said he wasn’t a thief.’

‘So how did he explain the rings being in his house?’

‘He said he didn’t know how they got there.’

‘Hmm. We’ll need to work on that one. Any other suspects?’

‘The children, a son and daughter. Dawson hasn’t given much else away yet but I’ll work on him. The newspapers say her ex-husband was wealthy, could be an inheritance issue.’

‘Could be. OK. Send me everything you’ve got straight away, but we should probably start at the “scene of the crime”. I finish this ghastly course tomorrow and I’m dying for something really meaty to get my teeth into. And to stop having to be nice to people. Agh! If I smile any more times my face will remain stuck with that vile expression for ever more. Now I remember why I abandoned commercial law and turned to a life of crime. Ha!’ Judith laughed at her own joke. Then she took a swig of coffee and grimaced.

‘God I hate decaf. It’s like drinking mud.’