The afternoon passed with no real surprises from the witnesses for the prosecution. Just before four thirty, the judge rose from his seat and gave his final bow of the day, aped by the lawyers, the tension in the courtroom released as he shuffled through the small door and into the corridor behind. The jurors were released for the night, all sent home with a warning not to look at any news about the case or discuss it with anyone. Some would comply, acknowledging the solemnity of their oath, whereas others were bound to spend the evening messaging friends.
Peter Box was taken to the cells below the court, waiting for his transfer into a secure van, then on to the prison just further along the ring road.
As they gathered their papers and put away their laptops, Dan looked over to Francesca and rolled his eyes. ‘It’s going to be a long week.’
‘For you, perhaps. For me?’ She smiled. ‘It seems pretty straightforward. See you in the morning, Mr Grant.’
She paused on her way out to exchange pleasantries with another prosecutor who was coming into the courtroom. It was Zoe Slater. Dan had come up against her many times and their scores were pretty even. She appeared in the Crown Court occasionally, but Zoe spent more time in the office, doing all the background work on cases, other lawyers doing the trial work. It had been Zoe’s name on all the correspondence related to the case.
Zoe carried on into the well of the courtroom. ‘Hi, Dan, how’s your first solo murder case going?’
‘I might as well cut my teeth on a no-hoper. No one will be surprised if he’s convicted. What are you doing here?’
‘Just checking my case has got off the ground.’
‘Francesca is doing a good job.’
‘She always does. You could make it easier for yourself, though, and get him to plead guilty.’
‘How do you know I haven’t tried?’
‘What’s his defence?’
‘I’m making you prove it. I’m still allowed to do that.’
‘Is he going to give evidence?’
‘Perhaps. We’ll decide that when the time comes.’
Zoe chuckled. ‘He’s going to need to come up with something good.’ Before Dan could say anything, she held up her hand. ‘I know all about the burden of proof, that any doubt goes in your favour, but do you really think a jury will let him walk out if they think there’s a good chance that he’s done it? No matter what direction they get from the judge, they’re human beings who will be scared about freeing a murderer.’ She folded her arms and leaned back against the desk. ‘Can I tell you about my experience though?’
‘Please do.’
‘I’ve been a prosecutor for fifteen years, and you know me well enough to realise that I don’t back away from tough decisions. And do you know what the toughest decisions of all are?’
‘I’m intrigued.’ Dan didn’t hide his sarcasm.
‘Those cases where I think the suspect has done it, but I can’t see that piece of evidence that will put him away. I have to look police officers in the eye and tell them that all their work has been in vain because, in my opinion, and that’s all it is, an opinion, we can’t prove it. And I watch someone who has committed a heinous act walk free, ready to do it again. It’s much easier to just go along with the police and rubber stamp a charge, get them before the court and let the jury decide, but that isn’t how I do it.’
‘What’s your point, apart from fluffing yourself up?’
‘That this isn’t one of those cases. I have never prosecuted anyone I believed was innocent. That’s a luxury you don’t have, Dan, because you know most of your acquittals involve people who’ve done it but squirm through a gap in the evidence.’
‘Usually because you didn’t collect the evidence you needed. There’s no guilt trip coming my way, and now you’re getting twitchy, because this case hasn’t got any stronger since you started it, and yet here you are, waiting for the speech on the court steps.’
‘That doesn’t mean I think he didn’t do it,’ she said, irritation in her voice. ‘When I look at this case, at your client, I’ve no qualms about seeing him locked up for life. None at all.’
Dan shrugged. ‘All you’ve got is his blood on a shoe. If there’s an explanation for that, he walks free, and you know it.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Isn’t it? If the DNA evidence doesn’t get used, you’ve no case.’
‘And why shouldn’t it?’
‘The lab you used, Meladox, is dodgy. Two people went to prison for doctoring test results, prosecuted by your office. How will that look?’
‘That wasn’t about DNA and you know it. That was about alcohol and drug levels in blood.’
‘A dirty lab is a dirty lab. Once the jury hears that, they might start questioning what they hear.’
Zoe pushed herself away from the desk. ‘I hope you can sleep well, because you know you’re blowing smoke, nothing more.’ She smiled without warmth. ‘Have fun, Dan.’
‘Has he ever been suspected of murder before?’
Zoe stopped. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Like I said. You’ve got access to all the secret stuff. Has Peter Box ever been suspected of anything before?’
‘Tell me which case and I’ll look into it.’
It was Dan’s turn for the cold smile. ‘Do you know what the hardest part of this job is? Doing it mostly alone. You have a whole police squad looking into your leads. For now, I’ll keep what I know to myself.’
Zoe turned to go, much quicker than before, the urgency in her stride telling him that her day wasn’t over yet.
Dan sighed, weariness taking him over after a tiring day. Trials were like that, having to keep the mind focused every single minute of the day, always looking out for that wrong word, that slip-up he might be able to use in the case. So far, however, the prosecution case had gone well. All he had was a gut feeling that something was amiss, and he hadn’t worked out how to make the jurors feel it too.
In most trials, there was a tipping point. It could be an unexpected comment from a witness, or a flaky witness who turned out to be strong and confident. Or it could go the other way, when the high point of the prosecution case turned out to be vague and inconsistent. The sands shifted and the jury shifted with them.
In Peter Box’s case, Dan didn’t know what the tipping point would be. The prosecution had already hit its high point with the revelation that Peter’s blood was on Lizzie’s shoe. That point would be repeated throughout the trial. But strong cases can only get weaker. That was Dan’s main hope.
The court usher picked up some loose papers from the desk, screwing them into a ball. ‘You’ve got a tough one this week, Mr Grant.’
‘If they get this far, they’re never easy.’
‘You’ll try your hardest, and that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Dan picked up his bag and went back out into the court corridor. It was deserted, theatre over for the day, only his own footsteps for company.
The exit was one way, the street visible outside, with the robing room the other. He didn’t want the lawyerly bonhomie. He took off his tabs and gown and put them in his bag, before unfastening the first button of his shirt. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he headed for the exit.
The day had turned fresher, the warmth in the spring air disappearing after its false start at lunchtime. Dan checked up and down the street, looking for the tall man, but the street was quiet. There were late-afternoon shoppers and office workers making their way home, but no one loitering.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. It was blinking a blue light. A message. It was from Jayne.
Progress. Jayne would find out what he needed to know. He was used to threats, which came with the territory of dealing with crimes. It was the unknown he didn’t like.
He rummaged in his pocket for his car keys and headed for the car park.