Tuesday’s alarm seemed crueller than usual, but that was mostly because it woke me up off the floor of the kitchenette, where I was still sitting with my back against the refrigerator and the cricket bat in one hand. Upon waking, I cried out and swung the bat through the air. It was going to be another long day.
By nine o’clock I was already dressed in my wig and robes, smoking outside the courthouse and waiting for Lydia to arrive. The first person I recognised stomping across the grounds was not the solicitor, however, but Zara, dressed in her oversized hoody and jeans. As she approached, I caught her looking me up and down with an almost horrified expression.
‘You look like shit,’ was how she greeted me.
‘Thank you. What are you doing here?’
‘Did you really think I’d miss your big day?’
‘I wish I could.’
Lydia arrived, heels clacking along the turning circle, weighed down by her shoulder bag and the customary pile of papers under one arm.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘We need to convince Charli to give evidence,’ I replied.
‘And if she won’t?’
‘Then I want her to sign an endorsement to the brief confirming that I’ve advised against that course, but she has chosen to ignore my advice. I’d need that signature witnessed by you, her solicitor.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Zara said. ‘Why do you need her to provide evidence so badly? Isn’t that just going to give Garrick an opportunity to rip her apart in cross-examination?’
‘Yes, but our current sticking points are the no comment interview, and the mystery of the damn dog. So far, we haven’t had anybody confirm that there was ever a dog there to begin with, which completely wrecks my theory of Deacon Walker cuckooing the property.’
‘But you saw the dog,’ Zara said. ‘We both did. Can’t you just say that?’
‘As a barrister, I can’t give evidence. It’d have to be her brother, or maybe the neighbour. If we could get one of those two to make a statement, then we could serve that on the prosecution and we’d at least have proof of the dog’s existence, but I’d much rather have Charli just do that this morning.’
‘Makes sense,’ Zara said. ‘Why is the no comment interview such a problem this time? Barber never answered a single question in his case last year. I assumed it was the standard.’
‘The solicitor’s advice can’t be generic,’ I explained. ‘There has to be an understandable reason to advise a no comment interview if we’re to negate any adverse inference from the jury.’
‘OK.’ Zara turned to Lydia. ‘What was the reason in this case?’
‘When I saw Charli just before the interview started, she was in a state of shock,’ Lydia said. ‘I asked the custody sergeant if she could see a doctor to assess her mental fitness for the interview and he declined my request. He told me she’d be interviewed regardless, so I said fine, but I’ll advise her to go no comment all the way.’
‘Was this conversation recorded on the custody record?’ I asked.
Lydia thought about it and then shook her head apologetically. ‘I don’t think so. You know how it is down at the station. Everything happens so bloody fast.’
‘So,’ Zara said, ‘the only proof the defendant has of the reason she didn’t give evidence at the time can only come from you, right?’
‘I am not giving evidence,’ Lydia said, holding up a hand. This wasn’t surprising: it’s not unheard of for solicitors to give evidence, but it is quite unusual, and they generally don’t like it.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Then we need to go and speak to Charli as soon as possible.’
‘Count me out,’ Zara said. ‘This is my day off. I’ll see you from the gallery.’
‘In court on your day off?’ I noted. ‘You sound more like me every day, Rookie.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, dismay clouding her face. ‘Don’t say that!’
Lydia and I went to see if Charli had arrived yet. Luckily, she had. More often than not, the private security firms that have taken over prisoner transport arrive late to court, particularly those coming into London from women’s remand prisons. Charli was being held in the closest one to Snaresbrook, which was a two-hour drive away, and they would’ve had to have set off early to beat the city traffic. I held my thumb against the intercom’s buzzer at the cells and, after about thirty seconds, a lady finally asked if she could help.
‘Solicitor and counsel to see Charli Meadows,’ I answered, and we were let into the airlock system, with the door behind us locking before another opened ahead.
Charli’s expression was blank when we walked into the room. Her response to my request was very simple.
‘I’m not giving evidence today.’
‘Charli,’ Lydia said patiently, ‘if you don’t give evidence then there’ll be no explanation or denial. You’ll almost certainly be convicted.’
‘I don’t care,’ Charli responded quietly, gazing off into nothing. ‘I just want it over.’
‘It wouldn’t take very long,’ I tried softly. ‘All I’d ask you was whether or not you knew the drugs were in the car, to confirm that you had a dog, and that you replied “no comment” following Lydia’s advice after she feared for your mental fitness at the time.’
‘And what about the prosecutor?’ Charli asked. ‘Will he be so quick?’
I sighed. ‘No. ‘I don’t imagine that he will be.’
‘Why can’t you do it, Lydia? You can explain the interview and you met Biggie.’
‘I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to give evidence,’ Lydia grumbled, then rolled her eyes to me, clearly hoping that I’d press Charli a little further. ‘What do you think, Elliot?’
‘Oh, I think you’d be all right.’ I smiled. ‘We’d only deal with those two issues and you’d be out of the box in ten minutes, I all but guarantee it.’
Lydia’s eyes widened and then narrowed, as she fumed. ‘Fine,’ she said impatiently, ‘but the court might have to wait for me. I have another client in Court 8 for a PCMH at ten thirty. He’s coming here from Pentonville and I’m not going to rush him.’
‘The court will be happy to wait, I’m sure.’
‘Fantastic,’ Lydia snapped. ‘Thank you very much, Elliot.’
With that, the conference was over. As she had another client to see, Lydia remained down in the cell area, while I went off to the public canteen to see Zara.
‘She’s going to do it,’ I said.
‘Who? Meadows?’
‘Lydia.’
‘Ouch.’ Zara sipped at her cup of tea, fighting a sly grin. ‘How’d that go?’
‘I need another smoke. That’s how that went.’
‘Ever the charmer.’
Back outside on the steps, I checked the time.
‘How long?’ Zara asked.
‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘You ready?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I was staring out across the grounds, smoking slowly, delaying the inevitable. The last of the morning’s cars were filing through the great gates on the opposite side of the lawn. Most of the vehicles crawled up the driveway in the direction of the courthouse, merged onto the massive turning circle in front of us, and then broke off for the parking area behind the building. Others used the turning circle to drop off all manner of lawmakers and lawbreakers at the bottom of the steps. ‘Something that still puzzles me,’ I said, ‘is why Deacon was killed.’
Zara shrugged. ‘Maybe he was falling for Meadows. ‘Maybe he didn’t want her to be sent down for the frame-up, assuming she was framed. Maybe he was skimming off the top, like those blokes in Margate.’
‘Maybe,’ I agreed around my cigarette. ‘Perhaps he was never supposed to give an Argentino to the woman already charged with smuggling drugs. Maybe he fucked up in a way we’ll never understand as long as we … Zara? What’s wrong?’
Zara was staring ahead as if she’d seen a ghost walking across the expansive grounds. I followed her gaze, confused, and what I saw brought the same impossible, spectral dread crawling across my flesh.
There, coming to a stop in the centre of the turning circle, was a pristine white Audi RS8, registration DM1.
The cigarette I’d been smoking dropped from my mouth.
The passenger door opened and out stepped Delroy Meadows. He leaned down, gave a grateful thumbs up through the window, and then the car was on its way, passing a parked black Volvo estate that looked oddly familiar.
‘I knew it!’ Zara wheezed.
‘Delroy Meadows,’ I said. ‘All this time. Delroy fucking Meadows.’
It took him another thirty seconds to walk the distance towards us, after which he smiled; there was worry in his eyes. ‘Morning, Rook. I hope today is going to –’
‘That car,’ I said. ‘I thought that car belonged to Deacon Walker.’
‘What?’ He glanced over one shoulder to the car now disappearing back out of the gates. ‘The Audi? You must be joking. As if Deacon could’ve afforded that.’
‘I saw him driving it,’ I said. ‘He used to drive to your sister’s in it!’
Delroy frowned. ‘That car? Why the hell would Deacon Walker be driving around in that? Sorry, but you’ve got your wires crossed there, mate.’
‘Whose is it?’ Zara asked, apparently trying and failing not to sound too frantic. ‘Who just dropped you off?’
‘Danny,’ Delroy said warily. ‘I did a couple of hours at the garage, so Danny said he’d drop me off.’
‘Danny?’ I choked.
‘Yeah, you know? Danny! The Pinball Wizard …’
‘Your mechanic?’
‘Right. Why? What’s up?’
I pointed a shaking finger towards the gate, even though the car was long gone. ‘That car … That car was –’
‘It was a beautiful ride,’ Zara interjected with a strained smile. ‘I have two questions of my own. How much do you pay your mechanics? And, do you need a new one?’
This relaxed Delroy into a smile, and he buried his hands into his pockets. ‘I couldn’t afford to pay anybody that much, that’s for sure. Not with all these court fees. No, that was a gift from his old man, I think. Spoiled little brat.’
‘His father.’ I swallowed, catching Zara’s eye. ‘I’ll bet that number plate cost him a few quid. The two of you share the same initials.’
‘Yeah, only mine isn’t quite as exotic as his.’
‘No?’ Zara giggled unnervingly. ‘Why, what’s his surname?’
‘Mandamás.’
‘Mandamás …’ I repeated in disbelief.
‘I know, don’t get me started. Some name for a ginger, eh?’ He stood awkwardly for a moment, and then checked his watch. ‘We start in a couple of minutes, don’t we? Don’t you reckon we should be, like, getting inside?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’ll be inside as soon as I’ve finished this.’
I held up my empty hand, fingers clenched around nothing, my cigarette still smouldering by my feet. Delroy glanced down at it, and then to me with an expression that suggested I might have lost the plot, then he left us standing outside.
‘Mandamus!’ Zara gasped, almost keeling over. ‘It’s a legal term, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. The judicial command given to an inferior court, or when ordering somebody to perform a duty. In Latin, it literally means we command. But he didn’t say Mandamus. He said Mandamás, which is Spanish.’
‘As in, Costa del Crime Spanish?’
‘Yes.’
‘You spent a lot of time in Spain, right? Do you know what it means?’
‘Yes.’ I swallowed. I took a long, shaky breath. ‘Mandamás translates as Top Dog.’
‘Holy shit!’ Zara was now bouncing in her boots. ‘We need to tell Linford!’
‘We do,’ I agreed. ‘But he’s inside, and court commences in four minutes.’
‘So, what the hell are we going to do?’
I marched for the doors. ‘We’re going to win.’