Over the weeks that proceeded Mark and Hugo’s conversation Mark had spent long hours preparing the case, ensuring every single small detail had been accounted for. If it was true what Hugo told him about Downing Street paying specific attention to the case, he couldn’t afford to jeopardise it.
It was nearing the end of the day when Mark was addressing the judge and jury in a fantastic speech about points of law and the evidence against Al Azidi. The legal counsel behind him was watching in awe as Mark presented his points one after another in quick fire, leaving the judge to agree and congratulate him on his points. Mark took a deep breath and addressed the judge once more.
‘Nothing further, Your Honour,’ he smiled, turning to the jury.
‘I am satisfied, Mr King. Court will be adjourned for the remainder of the day,’ the judge announced.
As everyone filed out of the courtroom, Mark was greeted by his team. They all seemed excited and congratulated him on how wonderfully he was doing and agreed to all meet up back at the office.
Mark, carrying his case and papers, skipped down the steps of the ancient courts and hadn’t noticed the large crowd which had gathered outside. It was no surprise that Ian Hawking had to be at the centre of it all, flanked by a large crowd of reporters, TV camera crew and journalists. He thrust a dictaphone once again under Mark’s nose, attempting to accost Mark and get information out of him.
‘Naturally,’ thought Mark to himself, ‘Hawking is focussing on the negatives, such as will this case end his career if he doesn’t win, is it true Downing Street specifically requested him, a reckless and rebellious legal representative, and generally being nasty.’
Hawking’s dingy brown suede suit jacket and messy hair made Mark’s skin crawl and he wondered how he dared go out dressed like that. He wished this snake of a man would just go away and never come back, perhaps into hiding. Mark often wondered, although not seriously, if he could offer a deal to any hitmen he prosecuted over the years, that if they assassinated Ian Hawking, he would represent them for free during a retrial. Mark never had any intention to do this, but it was fun thinking about it. Mark groaned as Hawking came at him again and immediately switched to the usual façade.
‘Ahh a “News of The World’ reporter!’ he remarked to Hawking, pushing his dictaphone out of his hand and then his hand up in front of the newspaper camera.
Hawking was insulted beyond belief. All the other reporters and journalists fell about laughing at this quick wit of Mark’s. Mark laughed and confidently approached the masses of press in front of him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press,’ he announced as the entire crowd fell silent.
Mark hated the press, and made no secret of it. He found them invasive and hated the way they influenced the public in cases. He always worried the judges and juries would bow down to public pressure when it came to deciding a verdict. He was known for his loathing of all things media and the media, although Mark believed the press didn’t like him, couldn’t fault his brilliant legal mind or his ability to win them over, case after case. Mark was also renowned for NEVER giving any interviews, TV or newspaper and NEVER giving the press anything to tarnish his reputation. He valued his career far too much for that and he knew it could have detrimental effect on ANY case he was working on. He courted them when it suited his needs, mostly of course to ridicule Hawking whenever he got the chance, but perhaps it wasn’t the press who Mark believed didn’t like him, and perhaps it was just Ian Hawking.
Mark smiled as he watched the crowd fall silent. He opened his mouth as if to make a huge speech and each reporter was poised to record, verbatim, every single word he said.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press,’ he repeated as the noise died down, ‘I request to be favourably excused. I have a home to go to.’
And with that, Mark walked off without another word. The media were dumbfounded and there were groans and insults and words of disappointment that the mighty Mark King, had left got the better of them all. As he walked away, Mark smiled to himself, feeling very satisfied with his achievement against the press. He muttered, but not loud enough for them to hear, ‘Vultures.’
By the time Mark had arrived home from work, Marie was watching TV. Mark checked the clock in his Audi convertible and groaned when he saw the time, it was about nine PM. The children were asleep upstairs as he walked into the hallway and Marie was sat watching the news where, earlier that day, Mark had been accosted by Ian Hawking. Hawking has been made to look like a fool in front of the entire country. Marie got up to meet Mark in the hallway and waved the cigarette packet at him she found earlier that morning. With a disapproving look on her face, she chastised Mark for being late and for cancelling their holiday and wanted answers.
‘First you cancel the holiday we have spent months planning, and where the hell have you been today? You promised to be in at six thirty! It’s now just after nine!’
Mark kissed her forehead and held her in a hug she began not to want, but then relinquished and hugged him tight. She was still mad at him though. He put his hands up in defence and explained, trying his best to placate her.
‘I ran into the press,’ he explained and Marie rolled her eyes and beckoned him into the living room.
‘I saw,’ she revealed. ‘You really shouldn’t tease them like that,’ she complained, pointing at the TV screen, which was paused, showing the moment Mark walked away from the press. Mark studied the screen carefully and scrutinised the angry and disappointed faces of the press. He also noted the glare of Ian Hawking and smiled as he remembered how he made Hawking feel like that.
‘That idiot should learn to leave me alone. Perhaps this will teach him,’ he scoffed, rising from the sofa to go to the kitchen to pour himself a coffee from the Tassimo machine. Marie followed him, trying to make him see the error of his ways.
‘That poor man is just trying to do his job and, perhaps it may show you in a better light if you just, give him what he’s after.’ Mark was angry at this comment and glared at Marie before his glare turned into a smile.
Hawking was renowned for a strange obsession with the King family. He seemed, in Mark’s eyes, to be always out to ‘get’ him and try to force him to say something which could affect his career, or misquote him in a report which nearly always ended up rebounding on Hawking and making him look stupid. For years, it seemed, the man just would not give up trying to make Mark look bad, but Mark couldn’t understand why. He used to wind Hawking up most of the time and perhaps that was the issue, but only when he was provoked. Mark sighed.
‘Perhaps you are right my love,’ he conceded.
‘Oh PERHAPS?’ she exclaimed at his cheek and sarcasm.
Mark grinned.
‘Well the silly idiot needs to learn to leave me alone. Don’t you remember the Johnson case? He sat outside our house for WEEKS and the children were in a terrible state, trying his best to get a scoop from me about the trial, hoping I’d fail. Well, I DIDN’T!’
‘I don’t need reminding of that. Felt like a prisoner in my own home,’ she replied, remembering how bad Ian Hawking had made her feel, pursuing Mark whenever he they were out and about, even with the children and virtually being camped out on her lawn for duration of the case in the vain hope that Mark would spill the beans about the progress of the case, as if he had a secret he wasn’t telling anyone.
But she agreed, and she didn’t like Hawking any more than Mark did. But she worried Mark would make an enemy of himself in the eyes of the media if he didn’t act more approachable. Mark remembered that Hawking had been sacked from that newspaper for that.
Disappointed and angry about the holiday, Marie backed his decision to take on the case.
‘It was still cruel for you to act that way to that reporter,’ she advised, ‘but for some reason, there is something familiar about him. I just can’t put my finger on it.’
Mark laughed. ‘What, you mean familiar as in taking up residence in our garden. What did you do, invite him in for tea and biscuits!’
Marie gave him a playful slap and then put her arms around him. He held her tight and sighed. He left his wife to go upstairs to kiss his children goodnight. Marie’s fingers lingered in Marks as he made his way upstairs.
‘You ARE a GOOD father, Mark King,’ she called out after him. He turned and smiled at her. Mark pushed open the door of the children’s bedrooms and found them both sound asleep. He kissed them both on the forehead. Before he left the room, he turned and promised in a whisper, ‘Life will change soon. Things won’t always be like this. We will spend so much time together soon I promise. One day we will move to New York to be with Granny in her big house. One day, when I’ve started my own practice I will be able to stay home all day and play with you because I’ll be able to have holidays when I like.’
Marie looked on quietly from the end of the corridor after following him upstairs. She hugged him from behind and he hugged her back, pulling her arms around him.
‘Oh, before I forget, there was a strange car parked outside today.’
‘Oh yeah? What kind of strange?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, concerned by Mark’s questioning. ‘I hadn’t seen it round here before. Looked expensive, a Range Rover I think?’
‘A Range Rover eh. Bet it was a Vogue too.’ Marie was amazed at how Mark did that. He seemed to instinctively know, from just a few details, what she was thinking.
‘It was black, with smoked windows. Looked brand new.’ Mark thought this was curious.
‘Is today the first time you’ve seen it?’
‘No, it’s been there nearly every day these past few weeks.’
Mark thought for a while, trying to think of anyone, maybe he knew. He shrugged.
‘Probably a reporter waiting to “get a scoop” on me before the others because of the Azidi trial,’ he joked.
Marie smiled and shrugged it off in front of him as he closed his study door. She waited for a moment thoughtfully and worried, ‘The press didn’t know the morning you were given the case until you knew at Chambers,’ she said aloud. Mark didn’t hear and called to her to ask her what she said.
‘Nothing darling, just me thinking out loud,’ Marie replied so as not to worry him before making her way back to the kitchen.
Mark turned on his desk lamp in his study and poured himself a small Glenfiddich Scotch. Sitting at his table in his favourite black reclining office chair, he glanced at the file on his desk. It was the Al Azidi file containing statements, photographs and mug shots along with intelligence files relating to Al Azidi and photographs of evidence. His concentration was broken by the sound of his study phone and he answered it, confused who would call at this time of night. A low muffled voice at the other end of the phone spoke in short and sharp sentences.
‘Mr King. I trust I have got your attention?’
‘Who is this?’ Mark asked, his eyes narrowing.
‘Drop the case or there will be “repercussions”.’
‘Hello? How dare you tell me …’
The dead line tone ringing in Mark’s ear before he had time to speak revealed the caller had hung up. He didn’t recognise the voice and chuckled to himself. He was to expect this in his line of work, but was concerned that someone had gotten hold of his study phone number. He shrugged and sipped his Glenfiddich, feeling the warmth of Scotch ease his harsh throat.