‘I am grateful to Your Lordship for hearing this bail application . . .’ William Oliver glanced at the man seated in a high-backed leather chair. The judge looked splendid in his red robe and black sash, which was tight around his chest on account of a long-standing weight problem; sweating profusely from the heat in the courtroom, he took off his wig and wiped his brow. Oliver cleared his throat before continuing: ‘M’lord, as you are aware, my client, Josephine Soulsby, has been incarcerated at Low Newton Remand Centre on a very serious indictment of murdering her ex-husband Alan Stephens, pending a hearing at this Crown Court.’
‘Yes, Mr Oliver. I am familiar with the case.’
Daniels was sitting on the police bench, willing the two men to get on with it. She’d already lost time – twenty-four hours, to be precise – because no judge was available to hear a bail application yesterday. But, all things considered, she counted herself lucky that she’d found a court – any court – sitting at this time of the year. Fortunately for her, a big case due to finish before the holidays had run on and the sitting judge had insisted that those involved proceed with closing arguments without further delay.
Who said the wheels of justice were slow to turn?
She looked across the courtroom to the dock, where Jo was on her feet, eyes front, flanked by two prison officers. She looked pale and gaunt, a fresh bruise beneath her left eye. Directly opposite her, a young female stenographer sat with her hands paused over keys in readiness to resume typing. The woman looked sideways as the courtroom door opened. Four barristers entered, acknowledged the judge with a nod and quickly took their seats, glaring at Oliver because he’d somehow managed to nip in and gain His Lordship’s attention during the short adjournment of another important case.
Finally, Oliver decided to get a move on. ‘M’lord, new evidence has come to light of which the police had no prior knowledge. This leads them to believe that the death of Stephens was the work of a serial offender and not my client. If Your Lordship so wishes, Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels is in the courtroom and will verify this under oath.’
The judge smiled at Daniels, considering.
She got to her feet, identified who she was and indicated her willingness to give evidence should he wish to hear it. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Jo’s gaze shifting in her direction. The judge took his time deciding whether or not to call her to the witness box, then he made a downward movement of his hand: a ‘sit’ command, like a handler signalling to a dog.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Oliver.’
Daniels sat.
The judge put down his pen, his stern voice booming out over the heads of those assembled in Court 8. ‘As I recall, however, there is the small matter of a partial fingerprint found at the scene. Of itself, such a discovery does not prove guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. But it was presented as “irrefutable evidence” before the magistrates’ court, was it not?’
Daniels had been expecting him to pick up on that point. She looked across at Jo, who still had no explanation to offer the court as to how it got there. Daniels’ stomach was in knots. Bail wasn’t a foregone conclusion, even with the corroboration of the statement she had recently obtained from Monica Stephens.
‘It was indeed, Your Lordship,’ Oliver said confidently, ‘but I urge you to release Ms Soulsby while further enquiries are undertaken. The Crown Prosecution Service do not intend to oppose this bail application. They are, shall we say, keen to avoid any further miscarriage of justice.’
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ the Judge said. ‘Do you have anything further to add?’
‘Only that my client is a professional woman of previous good character, willing to surrender her passport and submit to any bail conditions you may feel obliged to impose. She poses no obvious risk to herself and others. A pity the same cannot be said for the man who charged her in the first place.’
‘Detective Superintendent Bright is not often wrong, Mr Oliver,’ the judge warned.
‘Yes, well, might I respectfully suggest that on this occasion he was, shall we say, wide of the mark. His overzealousness resulted in Ms Soulsby losing her liberty unnecessarily – a traumatic event, I’m sure Your Lordship will agree, for both herself and her family. I have it on good authority – from Assistant Chief Constable Martin, no less – that an urgent enquiry into this matter is now underway.’
Oh God!
On the press bench, a junior reporter Daniels knew was scribbling furiously. He worked for a local newspaper, the Journal. She wondered if he’d agree to leave Bright’s name out of his article if she gave him something else in return. Suggesting that the buck should stop with Martin might do the trick. After all, the more senior the officer, the more papers it would sell. It wouldn’t be the first time a journalist had mixed up two names – an easy mistake to make in the heat of the moment, she thought. Especially if she promised to make it worth his while. She made a mental note to have a word on the way out.
‘Quite so, Mr Oliver,’ the judge said. Looking over his steel-rimmed spectacles, he addressed the barrister acting for the Crown. ‘Anything to add, Mr Cartright?’
Cartright got to his feet. ‘No, M’lord.’
‘Very well. Bail is granted on three conditions . . .’
Oliver’s chest rose. He let out a sigh of relief, so loud it was audible at the front of the courtroom. Waiting counsel turned round and smiled insincerely at him, keen to get back to their case.
As the judge continued to read out the conditions, Daniels smiled to herself and scribbled down the result.
Jo Soulsby was free.
He remained seated as the judge left the court and prison officers escorted Soulsby below to the cells. Daniels had an expression on her face he didn’t quite understand. Given her spectacular mistake, he’d have thought she’d have been crapping herself now.
So how come she was smiling?
With no progress on Dotty’s whereabouts, he’d been filling his time by watching, waiting, getting better acquainted with the DCI. Following her here had been a stroke of genius. He’d slipped into the public gallery behind all the other sad bastards with nothing better to do than stick their noses into other people’s business. During the delay while the female usher cleared the court of all interested parties from the bail hearing, the woman to his left stopped making notes and went back to her crossword, the one to his right got stuck into a crime novel. It tickled him. He wanted to lean across and tell her she was sat next to the real deal, just to see the look on her face.
Daniels left her seat and came within a few feet of him as she crossed the room. Inhaling her perfume as she walked by, he could’ve reached out and touched her, they were so close. The thought of touching her was enough to give him a hard on.
She was having a quiet word with a young guy on the press bench now. They were so obviously in cahoots: definitely a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours type deal going down.
The police made him sick sometimes. He was the one that was newsworthy, not Soulsby, not Bright – and certainly not Daniels. She was fucking hopeless, when he came to think about it. He hoped she’d be a better screw than she was a detective.
The reporter was nodding, a wry smile on his face as he reached into his top pocket, pulled out a business card and gave it to her. She did likewise, then walked away.
Well, he had cards too. Only his said goodbye and not hello.
He chuckled.
‘All rise!’ the usher said loudly.
The door at the back of the court opened and the judge re-entered.
The woman on his left hastily substituted her puzzle with a notebook; the one on the right shut her novel; a John Grisham bestseller, he noticed. The front cover depicted a man in silhouette, backlit by a street lamp, a shadow on the wall behind him, the title emblazoned across the bottom of the cover in white lettering: The Partner.
And then it hit him like a brick.
Was this why Daniels looked so relieved?
Jesus, it was!
Fuck – they were partners.
This was so bizarre you couldn’t make it up. First he offs a guy that turns out to be his psych’s ex – another controlling female who thought she could push him around. Then, in a cruel twist of fate, she goes down for it, leaving him free to carry on as before. When her name got splashed over all the newspapers and he realized she was once married to Stephens, he just about pissed himself laughing. Which fuckwit said there’s no such thing as a coincidence?
And now it turns out that the woman who should be hunting him down is shagging the bitch! What would ACC Martin and Superintendent Not-so-Bright make of that?