Jayne looked up at the building that housed Chase Walker, the law firm that had engaged her to spy on the cheating spouse. She was wearing jeans and pumps, her green army-style jacket showing its age with frayed cuffs and collar. She almost laughed at the contrast. There were men and women buzzing around the entrance to the office in pressed suits and shiny shoes. Her job gave her freedom but didn’t do a lot for her self-esteem.
She’d stopped by her flat to get a change of clothes after her bath at Dan’s, her skin smelling of his foam bath and the freshness of his towels. She had to finish the job for this client before she could start properly on Dan’s.
The building was grit-blasted stone, cleaned up once the mills had stopped belching smoke over the town, the firm’s name displayed on a large sign. It stood opposite a small park enclosed by black railings. This was what passed for Highford’s professional quarter, populated by dental surgeries and accountancy firms, with the law firms alongside, but not many did criminal law. They didn’t want thieves and drugs dealers, or worse, sharing the reception with company directors and farmers.
She went inside and into the reception area, bright from the sun streaming in through large windows, the ceilings high and the internal walls replaced by glass partitions, every part of the layout designed to look minimalist and modern. She could see right through to the Mercedes and BMWs in the car park at the rear. She guessed that the parking spaces by the building were reserved for the people whose cars made the firm look good, the high-earning partners and solicitors. All the junior lawyers and support staff were probably forced to pay for parking further off in some urine-soaked piece of concrete in the town centre.
The receptionist looked up as Jayne got closer. Her bright smile was fixed in place but had none of the deference she might have shown had Jayne walked in wearing a business suit.
‘I’m here to see Anna Ellis,’ she said. ‘I’m Jayne Brett.’
‘Take a seat please,’ she said, before she whispered into a phone, and then, ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’
Jayne sat back and stared out of the window until the loud click of heels on the stairs announced Anna’s arrival. She strode across the reception area with that mix of grace and arrogance that was present in many of the lawyers Jayne met.
Jayne stood. ‘I don’t know how happy your client will be, but I got some pictures of him leaving an apartment block, and a quick kiss from the woman waving him off.’
‘Let me look,’ Anna said, snapping her fingers as she held out her hand.
Jayne handed over the envelope. As Anna flicked through the pictures, Jayne pulled a folded piece of paper from her inside jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got my invoice too.’
‘Hand it to her.’ Anna waved a hand towards the receptionist and set off up the stairs again. She hadn’t said thank you.
Jayne rolled her eyes, but the receptionist wasn’t prepared to show any solidarity. She snatched the invoice and said, ‘Thank you,’ before going back to whatever had occupied her before Jayne had walked into the office.
Jayne bit back an acerbic comment. They were her customers, after all.
In the legal world, Dan’s office was a long way from Chase Walker. At times, it seemed even further from her own world, but at least Dan’s cases generated something interesting, rather than grubbing around in the debris of a broken marriage.
She checked her watch. Just before ten. Now, it was time for some real work.
As Dan emerged onto the court corridor, the usher approached him. ‘Mr Grant, the judge wants to see you.’
‘Open court?’
‘Chambers.’
Dan took a deep breath. He guessed what this was about.
The Honourable Mr Justice Standage was a High Court judge drafted in from London because of a local shortage. He’d called Dan the week before, to check that he was ready. Dan had assured him that he was. The judge had done the same with the prosecution, but it wasn’t routine, and seemed to be just part of the judge’s picky ways.
With those preliminaries out of the way, there could be only one other question: why was Dan defending his client alone, without a team?
Dan followed the usher into the courtroom. There was no one else there. Just three rows of wooden desks with rigid wooden benches, in front of a raised dock protected by glass. Behind that were seats for the general public, so that the defendant sat like a specimen in a glass tank. The walls were lined with paintings of past judges, and the sunlight was blocked out by long green curtains.
It was like entering a church; it seemed appropriate to whisper.
Dan pointed to the space behind the judge’s bench. ‘Is it just me in there?’
‘The prosecutor as well.’
The usher went up the few steps to the space behind the judge’s bench and Dan followed her. She pushed one of the wooden panels that lined the wall, which was in fact a door. They walked through and immediately the reverence of the courtroom was replaced by the absolute hush of the judges’ corridor. The corridor was lined with thick carpets that deadened all noise. The doors on this corridor led to small, plush judges’ chambers.
The usher knocked on the first door and waited until she heard a deep rumble: ‘Come in.’ She opened the door and went inside. Dan followed.
The room was dim, the sunlight straining to get through frosted windows, there as a security measure. There was a bookcase along one wall and a large desk in the middle of the room, with a burgundy leather inlay.
The prosecutor, Francesca McIntyre, was sitting in a chair opposite a man pale and creased by too much time spent indoors. Judge Standage.
Dan hadn’t come across him before, although his demeanour hinted that he regarded his trip up north as slumming it. He was wearing his court robes, red and black silk, although his horsehair wig was on the desk. He looked like a man who moved slowly but Dan had been caught out by that before. He’d once taken a trip to the Court of Appeal and watched in astonishment as three old judges had almost dozed off as the barristers spoke, but then ripped into them with questions that showed that they knew every fact in the case. The judgment had already been made, but they had enjoyed toying with the junior counsel like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill.
Francesca looked up and smiled politely, but there was a slight twinkle to her eye that told Dan that she had been exchanging pleasantries with the judge before he arrived, and regarded herself as one-nil up.
Francesca was shrewd and confident and knew how to play the game. Always honest, like all good prosecutors are, because the bad ones get found out early on in their careers, she knew how to make the small plays. She was diminutive and understated in appearance, her hair pulled back into a black clasp, not too much make-up, but once in court she was bold and aggressive. Alongside her, Dan looked like exactly what he was: younger and less experienced.
The judge pointed at a chair. ‘Sit down, Mr Grant.’
Dan nodded and gave a small bow before sitting down. He crossed one leg over the other and placed his bag next to his chair as he waited for the grilling. Always wait for the judge to speak.
The judge looked up. ‘You’re doing this alone, I understand.’
‘I am, My Lord.’ Dan’s voice contained no apology and he ticked a mental box. A High Court judge is always ‘My Lord’, not ‘Your Honour’. That was reserved for the everyday judges.
‘First murder trial without Queen’s Counsel?’
‘It is.’
‘Should it be?’
‘It’s how my client wants it.’
‘I thought it was for you to assess if you have the required competence, not your client.’
‘It is, and I have assessed. If my client wanted Queen’s Counsel, I would have sought one. He didn’t, and I know the case. I was there at the beginning and I’m competent enough to be there at the end.’
The judge put his fingers together. ‘Your client stayed silent in his interview.’
‘He did.’
‘On your advice?’
‘I’m not at liberty to disclose my advice. I’m sure Your Lordship understands that.’
‘Don’t play games, Mr Grant.’
‘I understand, but I’m not prepared to disclose whatever my client has said to me in the presence of the prosecutor.’
‘I’m trying to manage the case, not tease out evidence.’
‘Teased or not, if it is evidence, I’ll disclose it when the time comes to disclose it.’
There was a glimmer of a smile, but Dan knew that there was no warmth in it. ‘Does your client agree with your assessment of your own competence?’
‘He does.’
‘Mr Grant, for your sake, I hope you’re right, because if I see a man out of his depth, I cannot guarantee that I will throw out a lifebelt.’
Dan didn’t respond, but he knew the judge would test his ability during the trial, and that he had better stand up to scrutiny.
The judge turned to the prosecutor. ‘Are we ready to go, Ms McIntyre?’
‘The prosecution is ready.’
‘Mr Grant?’
He nodded. ‘I’m ready to start.’
‘Good. I don’t want any delays or tricks. This is a simple case.’
‘I agree, My Lord,’ Dan said. ‘There is only circumstantial evidence tying my client to the murder.’
‘Save your cutting asides for the jury, Mr Grant. We don’t argue the case in here.’ He waved his hand to indicate that the meeting was finished.
As they both walked along the corridor back to the courtroom, Francesca said, ‘Why do you do it, Dan?’
‘Do what?’
‘Look for a fight in everything.’
‘The judge, you mean?’ He smiled. ‘I get it from my father, I suppose.’
‘Do you know the real skill of being a prosecutor?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Spotting the cases we can win and the ones we can’t, and only fighting the winners. It’s not how you fight, but which fight you choose. You’d do well to remember that.’ And with that, she set off ahead, down the steps and into the well of the court.
The courtroom was no longer empty. There were people in the public gallery, reporters and members of Lizzie Barnsley’s family.
Just then someone else came in and made his way to the furthest corner of the courtroom. It was the man who’d been watching Dan outside. His baseball cap was in his hand, his hair matted and unkempt. As he sat down, he stared straight at Dan, his jaw clenched.
Dan switched his gaze to the front, his mind working fast.
He pulled out his phone, already set to silent so as not to disturb the court, and sent Jayne a message, his fingers working quickly. As he did, there was a knock on the door and everyone rose to their feet as the judge made his theatrical entrance, shuffling towards his chair.
He was able to put his phone away before the judge looked around the courtroom, delaying the moment when everyone could join him in taking a seat.
Dan hoped she got the message. Jayne had enquiries of her own to make, but if there was someone in court who could present a danger, he wanted to know what the danger was, and why.