Negotiating a deal for witness protection is no simple feat.
While it is possible for an informer to receive total or partial immunity from prosecution under the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005, sentence discounts ordinarily come at the discretion of the judge, and that is only after they have pleaded guilty and evidence has been given. True to the Hollywood trope, these so-called ‘vulnerable witnesses’ can be granted new homes and identities but, with a typical individual’s protection costing up to half a million in taxpayers’ money, the circumstances must be near to exceptional.
Omar Pickett’s problems in qualifying for witness protection were manifest. His circumstances did not appear to be exceptional. He also hadn’t been charged with an offence and, most importantly, he was to be giving evidence for the defence, not the prosecution. The situation seemed impossible, but I’d somehow gone and given away my word, and the following morning found me already robed and intercepting Ted Bowen and Claire Morton inside the entrance of Snaresbrook before my own trial continued.
‘Ted, Claire.’ I nodded as politely as I could manage while stepping out to block their progress. ‘Could I have a quick word with you both?’
‘About what?’ Bowen asked, coming to an irritable halt. His breath smelled of an Embassy Number 1 and his eyes rolled onto Zara, who was standing behind my right shoulder. ‘I’m hoping to begin cross-examining her drug dealer this morning, and I personally like a large cup of coffee to ensure I’m fully awake when I stick the boot in a young man’s backside.’
‘Really? Well, when you’ve finished your sadistic and apparently sexual shoeing of Miss Barnes’s innocent client, she has a defence witness to call.’
‘Fine by me,’ he snorted. ‘If they come up with the same sort of bull as we’re likely to hear from Israel, then they’ll get a good toeing as well.’
‘Gross,’ Zara muttered, then cleared her throat and spoke up. ‘I only wanted to inform you that this particular witness is afraid to give evidence, and I’ll therefore be making an application for special measures.’
‘What special measures?’
‘Screens, to shield him from the dock while he gives evidence.’
‘What sort of a defence witness needs hiding from the person he’s defending?’
‘This one,’ Zara said. ‘It’s Omar Pickett.’
Bowen’s eyes widened. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? You’re not seriously hoping to call a witness who has already been subject to not one but two PII rulings by two different judges!’
‘I’m entirely serious,’ Zara replied coolly; she rummaged through her canvas bag and produced a document. ‘For you, I have this fresh Section 8 application requesting that Judge Bromley revisit disclosure in light of these new developments.’
Bowen snatched the paper from her hand. ‘Where is Pickett now?’
‘He’s in hiding. Associates of these drug dealers want him out of the picture.’
‘I’m hardly surprised.’
Zara glowered. ‘We’re talking about an eighteen-year-old’s life here.’
Bowen almost yawned. ‘Yes, yes, and just last Friday you were talking about another young man’s life, but he will be here today, alive and well, I’m sure. I fear that you take the hollow threats of these hooligans far too seriously, Miss Barnes.’
‘All right,’ I said, taking her by the arm. ‘Don’t forget to deal with her application, Ted,’ and I led Zara away in the general direction of the public canteen.
‘Well,’ she seethed, ‘I don’t see how that does Andre any favours whatsoever.’
‘It may do yet. It may do yet …’ I checked the time. ‘Fifty minutes until court commences. I want to catch Meadows before she’s locked inside the dock.’
‘I’ll join you,’ Zara said, ‘if you wouldn’t mind coming down to see Andre with me afterwards. I don’t … I don’t quite know what the hell I’m supposed to say to him.’
‘Of course.’
We found Charli outside the canteen, wandering aimlessly from one side of the corridor to the other like a yo-yo. Whether it was because of our frosty encounter with the prosecutors, or the result of an emotional hangover after the evening I’d had pandering to Omar Pickett, this morning I wasn’t in the mood for wasting time or mincing words. ‘Charli, where’s Deacon?’
‘D-Deacon?’ She was holding a cup of tea; I could hear the liquid sloshing around.
‘We’ve tiptoed around the subject for long enough,’ I said. ‘Another man in this very courthouse could be sent down through pride or fear or something as stupid as both put together, and Deacon is tied into it somehow. I may not know why, not yet, but I trust my instincts and your boyfriend’s name is the one that keeps on cropping up. He talked you into bringing that tobacco into prison. You weren’t just meeting up for stolen kisses by the prison lockers. You were handing him contraband, the same drugs he once supplied through his so-called record label.’
‘No!’ On tiptoes, she raised an inch higher. ‘You’re supposed to be my defence, Mr Rook!’
‘I am, and that’s the problem. I believe you’re a good woman, Charli, and I don’t want to see you go down on somebody else’s orders. I don’t want to see your children end up in social services because an inmate pulled the wool over your eyes!’ This outburst came as a surprise, even to me, but it felt right. It felt like the truth.
‘But I’ve told you so many times, I didn’t smuggle any –’
‘Where is he now? Where is Deacon?’
Her heels returned to the floor, quickly followed by her eyes. ‘I haven’t seen him. Is that what you want to hear? Ever since the … the weekend. The dog. He got this idea into his head that … It’s crazy …’
‘What idea?’
She shook her head. ‘He thinks the dog was poisoned on purpose. Something to do with this trial. He said something about a threat, a note he’d been sent, but he wasn’t making any sense.’
‘And you didn’t think it necessary to tell me this?’
‘What was I going to say? That another man has walked out on me? On us? He hasn’t answered any of my messages. He’s gone, Mr Rook. Are you happy now?’ Without another word she marched off towards our courtroom, the place I’d be standing to defend her within the hour.
‘That was short,’ Zara said, ‘not quite sweet.’
‘No. Not quite.’
‘I don’t buy it. Not one bit. I’ll bet he’s sitting on her sofa watching Jeremy Kyle with a round of toast as we speak. A note? What, like some anonymous letter? Who’s she trying to fool?’
‘Yes,’ I muttered. ‘Quite.’
‘Right, next.’ She swallowed a heavy, rattling breath. ‘Time to see Andre.’
But the next person we encountered was not Andre Israel; it was Lydia, who we found at the entrance to the cells, the usual stack of papers under her arm.
She was smiling. ‘Elliot! Zara.’
‘Can we talk?’ I asked quietly.
She looked at her watch. ‘Maybe later, I’ve got clients here to see.’
‘We’ve spoken to Omar Pickett.’
This caught her attention. ‘You’re joking. The mystery informant? When?’
‘Yesterday evening. He got in touch with us.’
‘The two of you?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why on earth would Omar Pickett have come to you?’
‘He’d heard about Andre’s defence,’ Zara replied quickly. ‘He felt guilty, I guess, and wanted to know if he could help him out.’
‘Oh.’ A beat. ‘And you didn’t think to drop me a message?’
‘It has all been rather touch and go,’ I said.
‘Where is he now?’
‘I don’t know.’ The lie came out so smoothly that for a moment I forgot I really did. ‘I’ve told him that he needs to see you so that you can take a witness statement from him.’
Her frown suggested that Lydia didn’t buy it. ‘So how am I supposed to contact him to take a witness statement if we don’t know where he is?’
Zara answered before I could. ‘He’s staying in a homeless centre, but he’s agreed to come back to us in time for further details. He didn’t say where.’
A moment passed between us; I could’ve sworn the solicitor looked hurt.
‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘Well, you’ll be in touch as soon as he shows up, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I told her. ‘You’ll be the first person I call.’
She began to walk away, heels clacking on the ground. She paused and looked back. ‘You remember what I said, don’t you, Elliot? About us all being in this together?’
I nodded. ‘The first person I call.’
She was gone.
Zara slapped a hand on my back, as playful as it was uneasy. ‘You’re a real hit with the ladies this morning, aren’t you, champ?’
‘I always am.’
She started to follow Lydia’s route to the cells. I caught her by the shoulder.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘As his counsel it is ultimately your decision, but I would advise you not to tell Israel about Pickett’s appearance. Not yet.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘You just told his solicitor.’
‘Do you remember what I told you last week about my own time in prison? The dangers of hope?’
She thought about it. ‘That the idea of being convicted was terrifying, but hope for acquittal was even worse?’
‘Exactly. Giving him such hope before we know that we can rely on Pickett, well, I’m just not sure it would be the kindest thing to do.’
‘I think he deserves to know.’
‘As I said, it’s your call, but your client is in a uniquely desperate position. His hope is not my only concern.’
She sighed, tapping her feet. ‘OK. I guess I’ll play it by ear.’
He was facing the wall of his cell when we entered; the door was snapped shut and the silence came down around us. I was the first to break it. ‘How are you doing, Mr Israel?’ It was a pointless question, but somebody had to ask.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to answer.
‘Omar Pickett has shown up!’ Zara blurted. She’d taken one look at her weary, broken client and crumbled.
I winced, briefly clenching my eyes, and when I opened them again Andre was facing her. ‘What?’
‘Pickett,’ she repeated. ‘We’re hoping that we can convince him to submit evidence about the night of the raid. He could testify that you were never there with drugs in the first place.’
‘Why would he do that? He don’t owe me shit.’
‘Because he’s running scared,’ Zara said. ‘You know what these people are like, Andre. What they’ll do to him.’
Andre shrugged. ‘The way I hear it, he tried to play the game from both sides and got played. Serves him right. Omar’s let me sit inside for months now. Fuck his scared little bitch-arse.’
‘There’s more to your case,’ I said. ‘It’s more intricate than we first imagined, but it ties into a case of my own. Pickett can bust it all wide open. The whole story. Cutthroats, the lot. I just need your help with a couple of questions.’
‘You said you’d get me bail.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
He glanced to Zara, sulking. ‘Fine. What do you want this time?’
‘What can you tell us about Deacon Walker?’ I asked.
His expression brightened a little. ‘D? He’s a sick producer, that’s what. Helped me out big time with my tracks.’
‘That’s not his only business though, is it?’ Zara said. ‘He deals drugs.’
‘So? He’s given a lot of kids work that way.’
‘Do you consider that a noble thing to do?’ I asked.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Man coming down here, talking about nobility and shit. Where I come from, in ends, kids are more concerned with filling their bellies than filling their big fat egos, old man. What the fuck would you know about that?’
‘More than you think,’ Zara bit. ‘I was brought up on an estate, just like you were, Andre. I’m standing here today because I worked my arse off to better myself.’
‘Whereas I grew up in a slum without hot running water,’ I added, surprising myself. ‘By your age, I’d already been down the mines. You’re not the only kid who’s had it hard.’
Andre was quiet. He eyed us both, narrow and suspicious. Then, when he’d apparently decided that we weren’t lying, he leaned back until his head was on the wall. ‘Deacon’s done some bad shit, all right, but he really has done a lot of good. It’s just, like, perspective. He treats his kids well. Some of them, these trappers, they don’t. They keep the young ones in line with beatings and rape and all kinds of nasty shit. D spoils his kids.’
‘I’ll bet he does,’ Zara said. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Andre, but in a court of law they call that grooming.’
‘What about a man called Roy Macey?’ I asked. ‘Ever heard of him?’
Andre nearly smirked. ‘Jesus, how old are you, man? My grandad used to tell me stories about that guy. He must be like, what? Eighty?’
‘Thereabouts,’ I said. ‘You haven’t heard anybody mention him lately? That surname?’
‘No. But if half of what my grandad said about that man was true, then shit – it isn’t the kind of surname people would be stupid enough to shout about.’
‘You think he’s still dangerous?’ Zara asked.
‘Everybody is dangerous. If you don’t realise that soon, then you’re both going to end up in the ground.’