The dead files were stored in the cellar. Pat kept the murder files separate from the others, because those cases never went away. The stigma, the long sentences, and the risk of another incarceration even after an early release, meant that clients always wanted to appeal murder convictions. Those files had a special place.
The cellar was cold and dusty and smelled of damp cardboard. Boxes and files were lined up on shelves, waiting for the date when they could be destroyed. The murder files were crated in one corner. Sean Martin’s was easy to find, the biggest of them all, the case having gone through two appeals before the retrial was ordered.
There were five crates in all, but it was the first two Dan was most interested in. These contained the witness statements, correspondence and interview notes. He didn’t need to see the photographic exhibits or the court documents and trial notes.
He carried them up two flights of stairs, staggering into his office out of breath, his arms aching. Jayne was waiting for him on the sofa, her jacket over the back.
He dumped the crates on the floor. ‘This lot will keep us busy.’
Jayne lifted the lid on the first one as Dan wiped the sweat from his brow. She picked up a file marked STATEMENTS. ‘Shall we start with these?’
‘You read those and I’ll do the letters and notes.’
‘And what are we looking for?’
‘It’s hard to know. Just read and see what jumps out. Look for any link to Peter Box.’
Jayne started to leaf through her papers on the sofa. Dan went to his desk and began to filter the correspondence file.
Pat’s records were meticulous, a hangover from the days when payment was based upon time-recording, when every six-minute unit, every letter and phone call, could be billed. Nowadays solicitors’ fees in criminal work were calculated by base rates and page counts. Doing more work didn’t earn more money, but old habits were hard to lose.
‘It’s so sad,’ Jayne said. ‘Rosie was just a child. If he killed her, why?’
‘We’ll never know but you’ve read the rumours, that she was going to spill some family secret.’
Dan flicked through the file notes from whenever Pat met Sean, but of course it was all sanitised. Pat had to write it up as if Sean were telling the truth, couched in terms that were persuasive. The notes would never be seen by a jury, but every lawyer wrote them as if they had an innocent man for a client – there wouldn’t be a shred of paper that said otherwise.
‘Why was he there?’
Dan looked up. ‘Huh?’
‘At the canal. What was he doing there, I mean really? I’m reading all these statements and they’re all about why Rosie was there, that she’d gone to see a friend and got the bus back. The canal towpath was a shortcut, but no one knew Sean was going to be there. They couldn’t get the phone messages back, and Rosie’s mother made a statement that said that Sean had been out for most of the day. He did that often, apparently, but she didn’t know where he went or where he’d been that day. How did he end up there, to cradle Rosie as she died?’
‘The story he gave was that he’d gone to meet her from her bus and told her to take the towpath as a shortcut so that he wouldn’t have to go through the one-way system to take her home. He said that he must have missed the killer by seconds.’
‘Do you buy that, really? Because if he was just going out to collect Rosie, why didn’t Karen know that? It means he was somewhere else first, so did Rosie contact him, or did he contact her? If he was out, why was it so much hassle to meet her at the bus stop?’
‘He never came up with good answers. He said he’d gone for a drive, and then a walk, and texted her on the off-chance.’
‘Pretty damn convenient.’
‘Especially as it couldn’t be proved either way. He said he’d deleted the text. And her phone was missing.’
‘Why did he delete it?’
‘He said that he did routinely, because his phone didn’t have much memory and he thought it would slow it down if there were too many texts on it.’
‘But what about phone records?’
‘There was a text, but it was around the time that she was found. The police thought her phone might have gone into the water, but they didn’t find it when they sent the divers in. The theory proposed at trial by the prosecution was that it was a fake text he’d sent to make it look like he was in contact with her, but he was caught holding her. How could he be killing her and texting her at the same time?’ He smiled. ‘Whatever questions we can think of now were thought of back then, by people who’d worked on the case for a long time. Including me.’
Dan carried on turning the pages, hoping to see Peter Box’s name come up. His eyes were starting to glaze when something made him go back a page.
‘It’s here,’ he said, jabbing the paper with his finger. ‘A short file note,’ and he read it out.
Attendance note. 24 May. Someone called Peter Box came into the office. He said that Rosie’s murder was all down to him. I asked him what he meant but he wouldn’t elaborate. Instead, he contradicted himself, saying that I should make sure that Sean Martin stayed in prison, but then said again that it was ‘all down to me’. Box was hard to get details from. He became near frantic with panic at one point. He left the office before I could ask him anything further.
Action: discuss with client. Consider informing police, to put it on record.
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘What it sounds like,’ Dan said. ‘Pat was telling the truth, that Peter Box claimed responsibility for Rosie’s murder.’ He continued to turn the pages. ‘Here we are, the note from Pat’s prison visit. It sounds like it was Peter Box’s confession that made Pat visit. Here listen,’ Dan said, and read it out.
Attendance note. 28 May. Visited Sean Martin in prison. Discussed the development with Peter Box. Client instructed me not to bother pursuing it, said that Peter just sounded like some local weirdo. Whoever killed Rosie was ruthless and cold and wouldn’t visit me to make a confession like that.
Advised client that we should inform the police, just so that it’s on record that someone else was claiming responsibility. Client disagrees. States that it will look like we are trying to engineer another suspect by picking on some local oddball and getting him to make a false confession. Further, he knows what it’s like to be falsely accused. His conscience won’t allow someone else to suffer his fate.
On reflection, I agree. If Peter Box’s confession, such as it is, turns out to have no substance, and can easily be negated, and the enquiry was initiated by us, it will make us look as if we are fabricating red herrings.
Action: ignore Peter Box. Client in agreement.
Dan put the file down. ‘It’s hard to see Pat’s words like this because they make him come alive, and right now we don’t know where he is. And how far does it take us anyway? We can’t prove that Sean Martin was the real killer. All it does is prove what Pat told me, which makes Peter a serial killer, if the jury believe what he said. Knowing what Pat thought doesn’t mean much. I’m caught between wanting to defend my client and wanting to prove that we all got it wrong with Sean Martin.’
‘This is partly my fault.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I brought Bill Maude into this and it’s made it harder for you. I could have just left his house, but instead I called you and showed you what he had. Go back to doing what you were doing.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ He rubbed his eyes. He was weary.
‘Come here,’ she said.
He closed the file and went over to her. He sat on the sofa, close enough to smell the wine on her breath from before.
She took his hands. ‘I know it’s easy for me to say, but don’t get too hung up on this. Let the police look for any connections to Pat’s disappearance. Just do your job in court and let the jury decide.’
‘I know, you’re right.’
She pumped his hands. ‘I mean it. You’re trying to do too much.’
His eyes met Jayne’s, and there was something in them that he needed. In that moment, he felt lost, the pressure of the trial and Pat’s disappearance all swirling together. Normally, he could cope, but he felt like he was buckling under it all, no obvious way forward. For a moment, Jayne seemed distant, his mind filled with the sound of his own heartbeat, sweat on his brow like warm prickles.
His fingers tightened around hers. His earlier restraint began to slip away. He needed her closeness, a connection, his emotions sweeping over him.
She hesitated.
His breath came faster.
Her eyelids flickered before she closed them.
Her lips were soft as he kissed her. Gentle, uncertain at first, but then her urgency mixed with his and the kiss became firmer.
His hands went to her back and he pulled her against him. The air was filled with the rustle of their clothes. He started to lose himself in her.
Images of her came back to him, of Jayne in the police station, vulnerable and scared, and of her in a prison bib, awaiting her trial.
They slid down on the sofa so that she was lying on top of him.
‘Can anyone see in here from across the road?’ She gasped as she spoke, her cheeks pink, her eyes showing her need.
‘I don’t think so.’
She kissed him again and ran her hand down his body, pulling his shirt out of his waistband before moving lower and her palm enveloped his hardness.
More images came into his head. The trial. Her relief at the acquittal. His client.
He pulled away. ‘Stop, stop.’
Jayne looked up, breathless. ‘What is it?’
‘We can’t do this.’
‘We’re doing it.’
‘No, no.’
Jayne rolled off him. ‘What the hell?’
‘It’s not right, we both know that.’
Tears jumped into her eyes, but they were tears of anger. ‘What games are you playing? Seriously, what the fuck?’
‘Jayne, no, calm down.’
She stood up and shouted, ‘I really don’t believe you,’ her voice choked. ‘What is this? Just keeping me dangling in case you get the urge one night? Is this how you get your kicks? I’m not some fucking ego-boost.’
‘Jayne, it’s not like that. I want to, but…’
‘Forget it. Never again.’
‘Jayne.’
‘I’ve had enough. I hope you enjoyed your feel,’ and she stomped out of the door, throwing it back against the wall.
Dan put his head in his hands as he listened to her running down the stairs. The front door slammed.
He didn’t go after her. Instead, he let the office fall silent as he was left alone with his thoughts. The office was filled with memories of Pat, from his colourful swagger that Dan remembered from his early days as a trainee, to the old man Pat had become in recent months, much older than his years would have warranted.
He closed his eyes. How could it all go so wrong? He thought of the box of papers. He wished he’d never seen them. Wished he’d ignored Pat and stuck to what he was doing. Pat might not have gone missing. Jayne might not have run from his office. There was a chance it wouldn’t feel like his whole life was unravelling.