Judith could hear the spectators long before she saw them. Not just their voices, raised in anticipation, high-pitched with enthusiasm and curiosity, but the sounds of their feet on the stairs, the patter of their expectancy, radiating out to engulf her two floors above.
She dived into the nearest ladies’ toilet and checked her appearance in the mirror before adjusting her horsehair wig with a grimace. She knew of the school of thought that the more discoloured her ancient head covering appeared, the greater sense of authority it imbued. But she genuinely couldn’t remember when she last had it cleaned and that really couldn’t be a good thing.
Even though this was only a short hearing, most likely a couple of hours, Judith’s pulse was racing. People assumed it got easier, that she took it in her stride, that she could just pick up the papers on her way to court and deliver a perfect performance. And while there were benefits to being older – not least that judges tended to take what you said more seriously than when you were new, and that you developed a sense for what they were really after when they posed an impenetrable or rambling question – she did find, these days, that her memory was not as good as in the past. Names, dates, places, she needed to have them written down, just as a reminder, as a failsafe.
She peered closer into the mirror and traced her crow’s feet, with her index finger. She had a pair of reading glasses at home, recommended after her last eye test, and had discovered, when she caught sight of her reflection while wearing them, that the frames covered up all the lines around her eyes and the bridge of her nose. That had softened the blow a little, but there was no way she was wearing them in public; not yet.
Judith pictured Debbie’s face beside her own, etched with insecurity and fear; fear of being convicted, not for the crime of which she was accused, but for choosing to be Debbie.
She thought about plastic surgery patients, not the frivolous kind, but the ones who have their faces reconstructed after accidents or burns. Did they recognise themselves in the mirror or were they constantly shocked at the change in their appearance? Was that what it was like for Debbie? How was it when she had first walked down the street as Debbie and spied herself reflected in shop windows and car wing mirrors and men’s sunglasses? Did she see a stranger or did she see the person she had always wanted to be, inside her head?
Judith had heard that the first ‘face transplant’ patient had required extensive counselling to help the process along. What help had Debbie had with her transition? She hadn’t only taken on a new face – she had a new gender, a new life, a new persona. And Rosie had not been supportive. Had that left her frustrated, bitter, angry, violent?
Judith applied a light coat of neutral lipstick. Today was not the day to make a big splash with crimson or plum. Today she needed to be focused and composed and to make her points with quiet determination and little controversy. She didn’t want to find her words splashed across tomorrow’s papers.
* * *
Jeremy Laidlaw, Counsel for the prosecution, was already in court when Judith arrived and he was standing over the judge’s seat, fiddling with some papers and surveying the courtroom from the heady heights of the judge’s elevated platform.
‘Wishful thinking,’ Judith muttered to herself, as she shook hands with Leo Nimble, appearing today on behalf of the press. Judge Nolan entered at precisely 2pm, dishevelled and red in the face, frowning as she took her seat. At fifty-two years old, she was young for a judge; some said she had been promoted too soon, a beneficiary of the push to have more women in the judiciary, but Judith had found her to be bright and fair in the past, if a bit prickly.
‘Now what is all this about, precisely?’ the judge asked, turning first to Judith, her eyes scanning the large crowd crammed into the tiny, airless room, many of them leaning against the back wall, due to lack of sufficient seating.
Judith resisted the strong temptation to respond that if Judge Nolan had read the papers in advance she would know ‘precisely’ what applications Judith was proposing. Instead, she took a moment to gather her thoughts and watch Jeremy Laidlaw exchanging a wink and a nod with Leo Nimble. When he didn’t volunteer any response, she rose to her feet.
‘Your honour, I appear for the defence,’ she began. ‘I have a series of short applications, some of which are supported by Mr Laidlaw, who appears for the prosecution. They are each designed to ensure that next month’s trial runs smoothly, without external interference, either real or perceived. Mr Nimble is here today, jointly instructed on behalf of a number of our national newspapers and I think it is fair to say that he opposes each of my requests, with varying degrees of ferocity.’
‘Thank you, Ms Burton. I will be the judge of who is doing what and how they are doing it. Is everyone here part of one or more of the legal teams?’
‘Your honour, no. There are members of the press present.’
‘Well that’s not acceptable, is it Mr Nimble? I suggest you ask them to leave – politely of course. Then, when we have just the lawyers present, I shall be happy to begin.’
There was a rumble of disapproval in the court room as the observers, despite their discomfort, voiced their objection in low undertones. The ones who had arrived early and secured the few available seats were particularly vociferous. Judge Nolan stared blankly at Leo Nimble and waited.
‘But your honour, this is an open hearing and the press are my clients.’ Mr Nimble rose onto his toes, and Judith stifled a giggle.
‘Not any more it isn’t,’ she said.
‘How will I take instructions if my clients are outside?’
Judge Nolan leaned forward and raised her eyebrows, until they were straining to take off from her face. The journalists were silent now, awaiting their fate, a couple of them with pens poised over pocket books. Judge Nolan stared at them with withering ferocity. ‘God will provide, Mr Nimble,’ she said. ‘God will provide.’
* * *
In the hiatus, while members of the press shuffled out, some complaining bitterly under their breath, Judith took a moment to reassess her tactics. She had been planning to begin with a slow introduction, recounting a little of the background, leading the judge painstakingly through the facts, so that Judge Nolan would be one step ahead, when Judith reached the meat of her applications. But she sensed Judge Nolan’s considerable impatience, not just from the commands barked out so far, but also from the way she was flicking through her papers and scrolling, at speed, through her computer screen, the ball on her mouse revolving like a cleanly-struck billiard ball.
And she noted Jeremy Laidlaw’s familiar glances exchanged with Leo Nimble as he preened himself next to her. He may well not be as ‘on side’ as she had hoped. Progressing slowly might allow either of her adversaries the opportunity to take the floor, before she had really warmed up. Once things were quiet again, she decided to dive right in.
‘Today’s applications all relate to the same core issue. My client cannot possibly hope to have a fair hearing if steps are not taken to control media coverage and its potential impact,’ she began.
‘Your honour, there are adequate rules in place already to limit the press. These applications are spurious and a complete waste of the court’s time.’ Mr Nimble was already on his feet. Judith ignored him and ploughed on.
‘Your honour, if it is of assistance, I can take you to the very many newspaper articles spawned by this case over the past two weeks, many of which have overstepped the line of responsible journalism into speculation, hyperbole and even voyeurism. As is evident from the number of people who were filling this room a moment ago, there is no doubt as to the level of interest in this trial. I am not seeking today to impugn the integrity of particular journalists or newspapers, but I worry how difficult it will be, in reality, for the press to keep quiet in the face of such a clamouring for information.’
‘But the cameras are going to be in here, Ms Burton,’ Judge Nolan replied, ‘recording our every move. Haven’t you lost your applications even before you begin?’
Judith stifled her impatience. The judge was going to need some educating after all.
‘Your honour, there will be cameras in here, yes, but there are still steps which could easily and should properly be taken, important steps, in my submission, to ensure that the dignity of the trial process is maintained, as was envisaged, no doubt, by those who made the decision to film these venerable proceedings in the first place. I can take you through each of my points fairly swiftly.’
Judge Nolan checked her watch and then sat forward. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I’m on the edge of my seat.’
‘Thank you. The first points concern the jury. Of course, the court has always been a public place, but there is a world of difference between sitting in a courtroom where perhaps twenty people might see your face and absolutely no one is able to take photographs, and what the cameras could potentially deliver.
‘As you know the cameras are to be linked up to a TV station, Court TV, providing a live daily feed. My first application, therefore, concerns a prudent, and I say necessary, element of privacy for the jury. My request is that the cameras be positioned so that they do not film the jury at any time and…’
Judith stopped. Judge Nolan had held up her hand.
‘Yes. I have the point,’ she said. ‘What’s next?’ Judith was uncertain whether Judge Nolan was totally in agreement or bored with her argument, but decided that to disobey her was probably the least best option.
‘Still on the jury, this time, on how they conduct themselves,’ Judith continued, noticing, out of the corner of her eye, that Jeremy Laidlaw was smirking, as she bore the brunt of Judge Nolan’s abrasiveness. ‘I also request that the jurors be forbidden from searching for media coverage, not…’
‘Your honour, this is tedious.’ Laidlaw spoke through his nose, as he allowed his fingers to rest on his bottom lip. ‘We already have well-established rules for jurors.’
‘Not in the usual terms. I was saying, before I was interrupted, that this time we require something more drastic and with some kind of teeth. Recent research confirmed that most jurors were unaware that they were forbidden from accessing reports about their case, and that even those who appreciated the prohibition, frequently searched online for information, driven by natural curiosity. Coupled with separate figures suggesting that the average person in the UK checks the internet, usually via a handheld device, fourteen times a day, and given the intense public interest in this case, it will be impossible to rely on jurors’ good intentions alone.’
‘So, what are you suggesting?’
‘That jurors hand in all mobile devices registered to them – phones, iPads, laptops – and they sign a paper acknowledging that they will be in contempt of court if found to have accessed the internet before the end of the case.’
‘Mr Laidlaw. What do you say about that?’
‘It’s totally unnecessary and unworkable and I see no basis for departing from the norm. Some of the jurors, no doubt, have important information on their phones, including the contact details of their families.’
‘Give them a day’s notice. Tell them to write the numbers on a piece of paper. Allow them to use a court phone to make any calls they need, for the duration of the trial. We all managed to stay alive before we had mobile phones. And they won’t have any appointments apart from this one.’
‘Your honour, if it gets out that that is what you ordered in your courtroom, we will never get anyone to sit on a jury. Taking away phones from the jury for, what, two weeks or more. It’s a huge restriction of their civil liberties. You wouldn’t want to be the one to set such a dangerous precedent.’
‘It’s very good of you to think of me, Mr Laidlaw, when you should, instead, be thinking of your overriding duty to our justice system. Mr Nimble?’
‘It goes without saying that the jury are capable adults and, if they are to be trusted to sit on a jury in a murder case, then they must be trusted to abide by its rules, without threats or unreasonable restrictions. And I am not sure what Ms Burton is worried they might see, in any event. Contrary to her opening pejorative comments, which I did not interrupt out of courtesy alone, my clients are all responsible newspaper reporters. They know the limits of what they are allowed to report in ongoing proceedings.’
‘Anything else for me to consider, Ms Burton?’
‘I accept that there is a balance to be struck here, as in many cases which combine elements of privacy, freedom of expression and the need to protect due process of law. In my respectful submission, there is little hardship suffered by jurors in being parted from their electronic devices for a short period; in fact, some doctors and mental health campaigners would laud the separation.’
‘We can’t treat the jury like naughty children,’ Jeremy Laidlaw chipped in. ‘And I can envisage a plethora of claims from jurors after the event; lost devices, hard drives wiped, important events missed. We’ll spend more time dealing with their complaints and compensation requests than on the case itself.’
‘When I said anything else, I meant to move to your next point please,’ Judge Nolan said. ‘I have your arguments, all of you, on the mobile devices.’
Judith took another breath.
‘There will be images of the deceased, Rosie Harper, at the scene, which will be shown in the courtroom. Out of respect for the victim and her family, they should not be reproduced in the press or via the TV channel.’
‘This strikes at the heart of the new arrangement,’ Leo Nimble complained. ‘If the public are to be educated, they need to see what the jury sees, warts and all. If there is any concern about the content being upsetting, they know this is a murder trial and, frankly, it will be no less distressing than an episode of CSI.’
‘Thank you, all. Ms Burton, your first application is successful. I am happy to make arrangements not to film the jury, so long as it can be managed appropriately and does not cause any technical problems. I can’t see the point in exposing them to any more notoriety or pressure than is necessary. And, clearly, no images of the deceased, from the crime scene, should be published or reproduced in any shape or form by your clients, Mr Nimble.’
‘I’m grateful…’
‘But I am not willing to confiscate the jury’s mobile devices for so many reasons, including a lack of resources on the Court’s part to keep them safe for the duration. I doubt my clerk, or anyone else’s for that matter, is going to be willing to do anything other than provide the usual locker facility.’
Judge Nolan poured herself some water and looked out at the legal teams gathered before her. ‘Anything else?’
‘The defendant’s children may give evidence. I’d like them to be screened from the public. It’s a common enough measure…’
‘I know when screening is used, thank you, Ms Burton. How old are they?’
‘Laura is 21 and Ben is 16.’
‘Are there any reasons, other than their age, why you are making this request?’
Judith snatched a glance over her shoulder at Constance.
‘Well, just the obvious ones. This is likely to be an extremely traumatic process for them…’
‘Your honour, the children’s identities are well known. There were never attempts by either of their parents to keep them out of the public eye and, since the murder, many images of them have been reproduced in the press.’
‘I’m not sure that’s your best point, Mr Laidlaw.’
‘Your honour,’ now Leo Nimble tried. ‘The children are key witnesses. If the public can’t see the key witnesses give their evidence, then what’s the point of this scheme; where’s the transparency? I know my colleague, Mr Laidlaw, will treat them with courtesy, so there is no reason for them to do anything other than give their evidence in the usual way.’
Judge Nolan thought for a moment. ‘I agree. Ms Burton, you can rest assured I won’t allow any aggressive questioning, but they can’t be screened. Mr Laidlaw. Anything from you?’
Jeremy Laidlaw rocked backwards and forwards, like a jumping bean, before he found his equilibrium.
‘Yes, your honour, just one application from me.’
‘Let’s keep it brief and to the point, shall we?’
‘The prosecution wants to bring evidence from an expert in the process of transitioning.’
‘Transitioning?’
‘Yes. The defendant is a transgender woman, who recently underwent gender reassignment surgery. We want to bring in an expert to explain to your honour and the court how that treatment may have affected her.’
‘Is Debbie Mallard legally a woman now?’
‘Yes, but the expert would address medical issues that are not well understood, which it is appropriate for the jury to hear and evaluate.’
‘Is the expert Debbie Mallard’s own doctor?’
‘No, your honour. But Dr Alves is an expert in the field, who has worked with many transgender individuals.’
‘This all sounds incredibly remote and, well, totally irrelevant, quite apart from being inadmissible. Ms Burton?’
‘Your honour, I’m with you completely.’
‘Thank you. No, Mr Laidlaw, no “expert” on transitioning. Anything else?’
Laidlaw conferred with his solicitor before shaking his head. His face was flushed and Judith had caught a few words of remonstration exchanged between the two. She glanced at Constance.
‘No? Then I have a request for you, Mr Nimble.’
Leo Nimble stood up, less sprightly this time around than before.
‘Despite your protestations that your clients are up to speed on the intricacies of what they can and cannot report, I have read some of their work myself over the last few days and I expect you to deliver a refresher course. As you were so keen to communicate with your clients and, as we are on target to finish early, I suggest you take the rest of the morning to do just that. And I don’t expect to see you or any of your clients back before this court for the duration. That’s all. Thank you so much. See you back here six weeks today.’
* * *
‘What do you think?’
Constance and Judith were seated in a taxi on their way back to Constance’s office. It was a rare luxury, but the quickest way to escape from the crowd which had enveloped them as they left the court. They had intended to drive only a couple of blocks and de-camp onto the underground, but then it had started to rain and they had stayed put.
‘Of who?’
‘Jeremy Laidlaw, for a start.’
‘I thought he was slippery.’
‘Did you? That’s interesting. He can be very smooth; I thought he was relatively well-behaved today. But then, asking for an expert in transitioning. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life! At least Bridget gave him short shrift.’
‘He winked at me.’
‘Ah. That’s why you disliked him. I thought it wasn’t like you to be so uncharitable. How do you mean winked?’
‘When you were speaking, he sort of leaned back, puffed out his chest and stared me out. Then his eye kind of squeezed closed very quickly.’
‘Sounds like he winked at you. You could do worse than Jeremy Laidlaw. Comes from a wealthy family.’
‘Oh stop.’
‘And he is very clever, although they say he’s a bit lazy. And he doesn’t get on well with his solicitor; quite an unnecessary public display of disagreement, I thought. But he knew just which buttons to push today, telling the judge that it would lead to a proliferation of claims from disgruntled jurors if they had to give up their devices. That’s what nailed it. She didn’t care about limiting their freedom.’
‘He was also giving these little sideways looks to the other barrister, all sort of “boys together”.’
‘You were observing him quite closely, then. He and Leo are at the same chambers, so they will have wanted to help each other out. You know – you scratch my back. He wasn’t always quite so smug though. Clearly, being crowned king of the hotties has gone to his head.’
‘Hotties?’
‘Yes, I know. It’s hardly my choice of words, just in case you were wondering. He topped a league, voted the most attractive male barrister, some years back. He’s had a swagger ever since.’
‘Yuck.’
‘And rumours are that he spent a year in Hollywood before bar school and only came back here when his father threatened to stop his allowance. The TV stuff will be a gift for him.’
‘And Nimble?’
‘A bit parochial but he did his job. No, after today I’m more worried about our delectable lady judge.’
‘She was a bit fierce, wasn’t she? Why did they choose her, do you think?’
‘She has enough experience. And she was prepared to do it. I heard a number of judges are taking a sabbatical to coincide with the pilot and only coming back once the dust has settled. She must be attracted by the prospect of her name in lights. It’s a shame about the screening for Ben and Laura. I couldn’t say anything…about Ben’s issues – not without permission. And if I had, I worried whether Leo would keep them to himself.’
‘Agreed.’
‘At least she wanted to keep the press in check.’
‘Yes, and it was good about the jury, so at least the public doesn’t get to identify them.’
‘Hm. If we’d lost that one, I would have been very concerned for the future of British justice.’