When it all fell apart, it fell apart fast.
I was back in Snaresbrook on Friday morning, with little more information than the scant facts that had kept me up for most of the night. Charli wasn’t brought up to the courthouse. She was still in police custody being interviewed not just about the murder of Deacon Walker, but also the killing of the thirteen inmates at Wormwood Scrubs.
Fourteen murders.
That would put her neatly into the list of Britain’s most prolific serial killers, up there between Dennis Nilsen on fifteen and Peter Sutcliffe on thirteen. If it was the all-female chart, then she’d beat Rose West’s twelve to go straight in at number one.
Zara’s juror was still unwell, so she wasn’t around either; I drank coffee alone in the public canteen before walking into the courtroom at 10.30.
The only obvious way to proceed, as I saw it, would be with an application from the prosecution to discharge our jury and abort the trial. Not for the first, second or even third time this week, things didn’t follow my expectations. While the jury waited outside, Garrick greeted Lady Allen with an excited, almost gossipy smile. ‘Good morning, My Lady. I presume you are aware of yesterday’s events concerning the defendant, who will not be attending this morning as she remains in police custody being interviewed.’
‘For fourteen murders.’ The judge nodded. ‘That will take some time.’
‘Though perhaps not as long as you might expect. She has been advised by her solicitor to answer “no comment” to all questions asked. I am told that interviewing will conclude by tomorrow at the latest.’
‘I see. The jury are here this morning. The defendant does not need to be present for them to be discharged. I can only assume that that is your application.’
‘It is not, My Lady.’
She blinked. ‘It isn’t?’
I turned to face him. ‘It isn’t?’
‘No. My application is for this trial to be adjourned until Monday, at which time it will continue as planned. Most of the evidence has been agreed and the issue as to whether or not the defendant is guilty of smuggling drugs into HMP Wormwood Scrubs would undoubtedly have an important bearing on the future murder trial.’
‘Monday,’ I quietly echoed, aghast.
‘Mr Rook,’ Lady Allen said, ‘what do you say about this proposal?’
I clambered to my feet. ‘I say it is preposterous, My Lady. My client will not be in a fit state of mind to give evidence on Monday! She’s just been arrested for fourteen murders!’
‘Noted,’ she replied. ‘But is there any legal reason that this trial cannot continue?’
‘How about in the interests of justice? It would not be just for my client’s trial to continue as if nothing has happened.’
‘On the contrary,’ Garrick said. ‘If Miss Meadows is convicted of the drug-smuggling charge, then all the prosecution would have to do in the murder trial is seek an admission of that conviction, subject to a successful bad character application.’
‘So that’s the plan, is it?’ I spat. ‘Get the woman convicted of drug offences then use that conviction to bolster the murder charges?’
Garrick shrugged. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that …’ I snarled, fists clenching; thirty years earlier I would’ve told him in the car park.
‘No, you won’t, Mr Rook,’ Allen intervened. ‘You will tell me what is wrong with it, and you’ll do so calmly. Unless you can cite me a precedent that such a course of action would be wrong in law, then I’m afraid I must side with Mr Garrick.’
‘My Lady,’ I groaned, ‘a fair trial is a right of law. Given the publicity likely to result from my client’s arrest and almost inevitable charge to the biggest mass-murder case in modern history, how could she possibly expect to have a fair trial?’
‘That’s a simple matter to resolve. I can impose far-reaching press restrictions that would ensure no reporting on the matter until further notice. The trial will continue as scheduled on the coming Monday morning.’
By eleven o’clock I was walking back out of Snaresbrook as dazed as a heavyweight champion floored. There was no precedent concerning Garrick’s course of action because no defendant had ever been arrested for serial murder in the middle of a trial. I couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of a state Charli was going to be in by the time they dragged her into the dock to condemn her for a paltry handful of drugs only days after her partner had been found dead and her entire world had come crashing down around her.
I took the Tube back to Chancery Lane, and before I’d even made it down to Took’s Court I saw two uniformed officers walking back to their parked patrol car, flicking over the pages of their notebooks and muttering between themselves. I braced myself for more bad news as I rounded the corner to chambers.
Percy was standing outside the front door alongside Rupert Stubbs, our head of chambers. They were talking between themselves, Percy shaking his head, Rupert looking particularly grave in a white shirt and black braces, his grey hair slightly ruffled with stress, fingers interlocked behind his lower back.
Percy sighed. ‘What’s going on in this city, Mr Stubbs? The man’s almost seventy, for God’s sake.’
‘I cannot say,’ I heard Rupert reply in his soft, aged voice. ‘Though I fear we encounter so much crime in our business, we often forget how it feels to have somebody we care about on the receiving end.’
‘What’s happened?’ I said, approaching more briskly now.
Rupert turned to face me with mild surprise. ‘Ernest Richards, our caretaker. Last night he was mugged upon leaving the building.’
‘Ernie?’ I swallowed. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Not especially. The assailants beat him up rather badly. They broke his right wrist and two of his fingers.’
‘Fucking animals!’ I spat. ‘He’s an elderly man, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Language, Elliot,’ Rupert replied, his voice hardening. ‘I prefer to think of our generation as experienced. However, you are not wrong. Animals indeed. We shall be taking donations from all barristers, and there will be a card I’d like every one of you to sign. Ernie has been with us for a long time, longer than most, and I want him to know that we are all wishing him a swift recovery.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You don’t even have to ask.’
‘We’ll have to get a temporary cleaner in,’ said Percy. ‘In fact, I believe we had a rep from an agency here enquiring about contracts just the other day. So it isn’t all bad. Perhaps we can have them in before the start of next week to pick up the slack.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘well, I’m sure Ernie’s family will be so bloody relieved.’
‘Your current case …’ Rupert said, diffusing the tension. ‘I hear it has taken quite a twist.’
‘You heard right.’
‘What happened in court?’ Percy interjected, characteristically blind to the offence he’d caused only a moment ago. ‘Jury discharged, I assume.’
I laughed bitterly. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ I explained what had occurred at Snaresbrook.
Percy whistled. ‘Christ, that’s quite the move. I wonder if Harlan Garrick would ever consider joining us …’
At that, I left the two of them standing outside and stomped up to my room, which is where I found Zara waiting.
She took one look at my face and swallowed. ‘Please tell me your trial’s been adjourned until the middle of next century …’
‘Try Monday,’ I said, collapsing into my chair and flinging my hat across the room.
‘That’s insane!’
‘I thought so at first, but I’m starting to think that it might not be such a bad thing after all.’
‘How do you work that out?’
I picked up the Rubik’s cube from where Omar Pickett had left it completed and rolled it between my hands. ‘It isn’t ideal, but it does mean that I get two bites of the cherry. If I win, the drug-smuggling case that puts an end to thirteen of the fourteen murder charges. If I lose, I’ve still got another chance at winning the mass-murder trial in front of a jury.’
‘That’s a pretty good way of looking at it, all things considered.’
‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Any word on your sick juror?’
‘Nothing yet. Hopefully I’ll be back in court on Monday.’
‘I see. What’s happening with Pickett?’
She shrugged. ‘I was going to arrange for him to meet me here so that Roth could take a statement, but she’s tied up at the station with Meadows and I can’t get through. I’ll drop Omar a message and let him know we might have to wait until the start of next week …’ She turned to her iPad on the bureau and opened Facebook. She leaned closer to the screen, blocking my view. ‘No fucking way.’
‘What is it?’ I rolled the Rubik’s cube onto the desk.
‘Someone is posting a video of Omar on Facebook! The idiot is rapping!’
‘So? There must be hundreds of those videos floating around on social media.’
‘Yes, but this video is a live stream from outside the hostel! It’s from his account, but somebody else is obviously filming!’
‘For Christ’s sake. We’d better get over there before anybody else sees it.’
We rushed it, and I could feel tension radiating from Zara’s shoulder onto mine. Halfway up Kemble Street, I saw a collection of people standing outside the hostel’s double doors. Closer still, I heard Omar. He’d stopped rapping and was laughing now, apparently in his element with seven or eight of his fellow residents. One, I realised with a pinch of horror, was still filming Omar on what must have been his phone.
Omar, who had his back to our arrival, nodded to the girl with his phone. ‘All right, let’s try another, yeah?’
Instead of replying, she gestured towards us. Omar turned round and blanched. He took a long drag on the cigarette he’d been holding. His audience were surveying us warily.
‘Hey, guys,’ he said to them, ‘give me a minute, yeah? Meet you in the common room.’
As soon as they were gone, Zara had her finger aimed directly into Omar’s face; any closer and she might’ve claimed an eye. ‘Are you for real?’ she began. ‘We got you into this place so you could keep your head down! Not only are you out here smoking on the street, that girl was filming you!’
‘Whoa, chill out!’ he cried, the surprise on his features close to terror.
‘I will not chill out! You were streaming it to Facebook! How stupid are you?’
‘All right, I’ll take it down.’ He turned to me. ‘Jesus, what’s the matter with her? She on the rag or something?’
‘You need to watch your tone,’ I said, ‘and you need to be more cautious. She’s right – the Cutthroats are going to see that video.’
‘And? There are thousands of these red-brick buildings in this city. I made sure there was nothing in the shot that’d give the place away. These guys all think I’m Fred.’
‘It’s a risk you can’t afford to take.’
He leaned back against the wall, sulking, then flicked his cigarette into the gutter. ‘What do you want, anyway?’
While Zara was still fuming, I explained as best I could. ‘One of the jurors in Israel’s case has fallen ill.’
‘How?’ he asked, eyes widening. ‘What are the, like, symptoms?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ I frowned. ‘Why’d you ask?’
He shrugged, glancing away. ‘I dunno. Just wondered.’
‘We still need a witness statement from you,’ Zara said bluntly, not quite managing to find her cool. ‘The solicitor is busy with another case today, so it’ll have to be early next week. If court is back in session on Monday, will you be able to take a taxi up to Snaresbrook?’
‘If you leave me a bit of cash, maybe. I’d rather you just sorted one of them armoured cars or something to come and collect me.’
‘We’re all out of armoured cars,’ Zara glared. ‘They’re hard to come by at this time of the month.’
‘You’ll be safe once you’re in the building,’ I said. ‘There’s no safer place in the whole country.’
‘Do they know I’m going to be there? E10.’
‘They might do,’ I said.
‘In that case I’ll probably never make it to the building.’