Marked for Death

by Tony Kent

  ‘Why would I have heard anything?’ Michael asked.

  ‘You knew him. I thought maybe . . .’

  ‘Really, Jenny? You don’t mean, “Has your reporter fiancée told you anything off the record?” now, do you?’

  ‘No, Michael.’ Once again the whisper was gone. Draper appeared horrified at the suggestion. Except she wasn’t. Michael could tell. ‘Honestly, I didn’t even register the connection.’

  ‘Well then that’s for the best, isn’t it. Because we wouldn’t want something like that to be an issue between us as we move forward, would we?’

  There was a clear message in Michael’s tone. A message he ensured that Draper could not miss.

  In almost two years Michael had kept Sarah’s every confidence. To do otherwise was a slippery slope. Especially in Michael’s world. Barristers were great when it came to client privilege. Watertight with information relating to their own cases. But gossip? It was air to them. Taken in with one breath. Spilled out with the next.

  It was not a risk Michael would ever take with Sarah’s reputation.

  Draper did not respond, but her surprise and embarrassment at Michael’s reaction were clear.

  Michael had made his point, but he did not want it to cause friction between them. And so he leaned forward across the table and spoke again.

  ‘But whatever was done to the old bastard, I’d be surprised if he didn’t deserve every bit of it.’

  Draper looked up. Her eyes met Michael’s, whose broad smile cut through the tension in an instant. Satisfied that no lasting damage had been done, Michael got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll get us another couple of coffees before the van arrives.’ He pointed at Draper’s empty plate. ‘Now have you eaten enough or are you wanting another muffin?’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Michael and Draper exited the elevator on the basement level. There was already a queue for the cells. It passed the antique wooden door that led from the elevator bank to the custody suite’s security gate.

  At least thirty barristers were there, waiting for one of the eight secure client conference rooms. All needed to speak to their clients before their hearing began. Less than half would do so. It was another perfect example of an imperfect system.

  Michael looked at his watch. 9.35 a.m. Less than five minutes since the tannoy announcing that the prison vans had arrived and already the line was unmanageable.

  Draper joined the back of the queue. Michael did not. Instead put his mobile phone to his ear.

  ‘Don’t bother doing that,’ he said before turning his attention to the call. ‘Andrew, it’s Michael. We’ve just seen the queue. Please tell me you’re already in it?’

  The response was the one he wanted.

  ‘Perfect. See you in a second.’ He disconnected and turned back to Draper. ‘Andrew’s at the front. Come on.’

  Draper did as instructed and followed as Michael walked alongside the waiting barristers.

  As they reached the closed wooden door Michael offered an explanation to the barrister closest to it.

  ‘My solicitor’s through there, Matt,’ he said.

  Michael knew the man. Draper only recognised him. Matthew Cole QC. Older than Michael by perhaps ten years and as high-flying as they came. Cole was Darren O’Driscoll’s lead barrister, which for now made him an ally. That would last until Simon Kash gave Michael permission to attack Cole’s client. If he ever did.

  ‘You always were a jammy bastard, Devlin.’ Cole’s accent was broad Liverpudlian. Unusual for a London-based barrister and all the more effective for its rarity. He pushed the door ajar for Michael and Draper to pass. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Michael stepped through the wooden door, into a small, crowded waiting area outside of the main cell gate. He turned back to ensure Draper was still behind him, and then remembered his manners. ‘By the way, Matt. Have you met my junior?’

  ‘I’ve not had the pleasure.’ Cole stepped back to let Draper pass, putting his hand out in greeting as she did so. ‘But I’ve heard all about you. Nice to meet you, Miss Draper.’

  ‘Jenny, please,’ Draper replied as she took Cole’s hand and shook it. She deployed the same coy smile she had used when first meeting Michael. ‘It’s a privilege to be working with you, Mr Cole.’

  Honed to perfection, Michael thought.

  ‘It’s Matt,’ Cole replied. He smiled and looked back towards Michael. He did not release Draper’s hand. ‘And as for working with me? Is that what’s happening, Mike?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see on that one.’

  Michael’s smile was genuine. As was Cole’s. The two barristers knew that their cases might conflict, but they nonetheless liked and respected one another. Professional adversaries could remain civil. In fact they could sometimes be good friends. It was something that many defendants would never understand.

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Cole replied. His smile did not waver. A genuine smile, suggesting he was pleased to have Michael on the case. It made Michael wonder why.

  Is he happy because he’ll now get a decent fight? Michael thought. Or because he isn’t up against a proper QC?

  There was no way for Michael to know the answer. Like he had said to Cole, he would just have to wait and see.

  Pushing the thought from his mind, Michael glanced around the waiting area. The queue of lawyers snaked through it. From the wooden door all the way to the secure entrance to the cells. An entrance that sat open, with Andrew Ross standing beside it.

  ‘Hurry up, you two,’ Ross called out.

  Michael realised that the opening was waiting for him and Draper. Both sped up and manoeuvred around the queue, bringing them through the heavy oak door just in time. A moment later it was closed and locked behind them.

  Beyond the main entrance was a narrow white corridor. Five legal teams – each one some three lawyers strong – were crammed in. Waiting for the second security gate to be opened. This required a second set of keys held by a second security officer. It was a simple, perhaps obvious precaution; no single set of keys could open every door between the custody suite and the outside world.

  They waited for three minutes. At least according to Michael’s watch. To his body it felt much longer, the effect of being pressed up against a wall on one side and a person on the other. The sound of metal on metal announced the welcome arrival of the second key-holder moments before the metal bars of the second entrance swung aside.

  Once inside the cell area Michael was searched, his laptop and phone stowed and finally he was allowed to pass the barred metal gate into a passageway that led to the interview rooms.

  He did not wait for Draper or Ross while they endured the same security process. Instead he strode along the corridor towards their assigned interview room.

  Draper entered moments later and took the seat next to him, facing the door. Ross was seconds behind and he sat opposite them, leaving just one seat next to him at the already cramped table.

  ‘How do we all feel?’ Ross asked. It was not an enquiry after health. Ross’s only interest was Simon Kash.

  ‘We’ve got a lot to work with,’ Draper replied. ‘Michael has some excellent theories.’

  ‘They’re only excellent if Simon lets us pursue them.’ Michael was as realistic as ever. ‘If he doesn’t take our gloves off then those theories are worthless.’

  ‘Understood.’ Ross nodded as he spoke. ‘Then I guess we’ll just have to convince him.’

  Michael opened his mouth to respond, then stopped himself at the sound of approaching footsteps in the passageway outside.

  The sight of Kash gave Michael the same gut reaction he had experienced days before.

  There’s just no way this kid could have done what they’re saying.

  Kash was wearing what Michael was sure was his first suit. Cheap and at least a chest size too large. Perhaps two.

  Next to Kash was a member of the cell staff, to whom he was handcuffed. The guard lifted both his ar
m and Kash’s as he removed the cuffs. The man’s gym-built bicep was visible as he did so. The size contrasted with Kash’s small head and torso, highlighting the physical insignificance of Michael’s client.

  ‘Take a seat, please, Simon.’ Michael spoke once the guard had left the room. ‘But close the door first, would you?’

  Kash did as he was asked, then climbed over the secured chairs and settled opposite Michael.

  All three lawyers watched as he did so. Observing the awkward movements. He had the lack of body awareness that Michael would more expect in an adolescent.

  ‘How are you, Simon?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I’m OK.’

  Kash did not look up as he spoke. His voice was quiet. Almost inaudible.

  ‘It’s a big day today,’ Michael continued. ‘You know what’s going to happen, right?’

  ‘My trial.’

  ‘Well not your whole trial, Simon.’ Draper cut in. ‘It’s the start of your trial. Today we’ll select a jury and then the prosecution will make an opening speech. Which means they’ll explain to the jury what they say happened. But there won’t be any evidence. Not today.’

  Kash had already had this explanation from Ross. Michael knew that. But he allowed Draper to continue, giving him the opportunity to observe Kash’s reaction to her.

  How he responds to Draper’s going to be the key, he thought to himself. The route to making Kash do what we need.

  The reaction Michael saw told him everything. Kash had practically folded in upon himself as Draper spoke. The boy was painfully shy. No doubt sexually inexperienced. And so Draper’s daily attention might just have the effect that Michael hoped for.

  ‘Have you given any more thought to Darren O’Driscoll?’ Michael asked.

  Kash shook his head. Repeatedly. Almost violently. His left hand touched a darkened area of skin on his temple. A subconscious tell.

  ‘Did O’Driscoll do that, Simon?’ Michael had spotted what Draper and Ross had not. ‘The bruise you’ve hidden under your hair. Was it him?’

  Draper and Ross looked more closely. Kash’s lank brown hair was a little more than medium in length. Its style was out of date, parted in the centre like a cool kid from the early 1990s. The left-hand side of the ‘curtained’ style had hidden the bruise, but it was less effective now that Michael had pointed it out.

  ‘Why did O’Driscoll hit you, Simon?’

  Michael’s earlier question had been unanswered and he was taking Kash’s silence as a ‘yes’.

  Once again there was no answer.

  ‘Did you tell him what we discussed when we first met, Simon? That you had to protect yourself, not him? Is that why he hit you?’

  There were no answers to any of the questions, and Kash looked weaker with each one. Looked more terrified.

  Michael knew that he could only push his questions so far. He had to be careful not to break the boy.

  ‘Simon, you need to listen to me now.’ He tempered his voice, speaking as softly as he could. ‘You can’t let fear of Darren O’Driscoll get you convicted of something you haven’t done. You can’t be so afraid that you don’t let me defend you. We can make arrangements that protect you from him. You just have to tell me that you need protecting.’

  Kash looked up and met Michael’s eye. The first time he had ever done so.

  ‘No one can protect me from them.’

  ‘From them?’ Michael grasped the first lifeline Kash had thrown. ‘Who’s “them”, Simon? It’s not just O’Driscoll?’

  ‘I’m not saying any more, sir.’ Kash’s voice was quiet again. It was steeped in fear. ‘I just want to get through this.’

  ‘You need to want more than that, Simon. You need to want to be acquitted. To be found not guilty. You can’t serve a life sentence just because you’re afraid.’

  ‘I can, sir.’ A tear threatened to escape Kash’s eye as he spoke. ‘Because at least a life sentence means I’m alive.’

  Michael began to answer, only to stop.

  What the hell do I say to that?

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Michael had no response. Not a real one. Not a truthful one. Michael had grown up in a world alien to Ross and Draper. But a world that Kash might understand. And so Michael knew that there was truth in Kash’s words. There were consequences to what Michael wanted Kash to do. A price to pay for putting the blame where it truly belonged.

  Those consequences could be exactly what Kash feared. For Michael to tell him otherwise would have been a lie.

  ‘We can make sure that they can’t get to you, Simon. I swear.’

  Draper told the lie that Michael would not.

  Maybe she thinks that’s true, Michael thought. Or maybe she doesn’t give a shit about Kash’s safety.

  Draper continued.

  ‘If you let us take on O’Driscoll we can make sure he’s kept away from you. But you need to let us do what’s best for you. You have to let Michael prove that O’Driscoll is guilty of this murder, but that he didn’t do it with you.’

  Kash shook his head again. The movement released the tear that had been building in his eye. That tear and some more. Kash looked down once again.

  ‘Darren had nothing to do with it.’ His voice was weak. Unconvincing.

  Michael recognised the answer for what it was. A mantra. Drilled into Kash by bigger, stronger men.

  ‘I’d like to go back to my cell now, please.’

  ‘Simon, you really need to listen—’

  This time is was Ross who spoke. The beginning of a plea to Kash’s good sense. Michael reached out, gripped Ross’s forearm and stopped him from saying more with a shake of the head.

  ‘Maybe that’s best, Simon,’ Michael said. His instinct was that further pressure at this stage could backfire. ‘Maybe you should go back to your cell, and we’ll head back upstairs. We can all speak later.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Once again Kash spoke without looking up. As soon as the words were out he got to his feet, manoeuvred himself awkwardly from his seat and walked to the doorway. Where he stopped.

  Kash stood almost a foot below the six-foot-six doorframe, with almost as much space between his sloping narrow shoulders and the frame’s sides. The contrast made look as small as Michael had ever seen him, but nothing could have prepared him for what Kash did next.

  Simon Kash turned and looked back directly at Michael and spoke just two more words before leaving.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Joelle Levy was back behind the same desk in the MIT New Scotland Yard communal working space. Levy’s office was on the same floor, and it was both quieter and more comfortable. But it was also away from her team people, and so away from the case.

  Ridiculous as she found the idea of police officers hot-desking, Levy preferred to be here. In the beating heart of the Major Investigation Team.

  Two of the three tables from yesterday were gone. The files that had sat upon them were back in the archives; the evidence of Phillip Longman’s life in the law once again gathering dust.

  Only one table remained. A table that now carried just five files.

  ‘The sift was a hell of a lot more productive this time,’ Levy observed as Detective Constable Sally Ryan placed a sixth file onto the small stack. ‘How many more to come, Sally?’

  ‘This is it, ma’am,’ Ryan replied.

  Levy allowed herself a relieved smile. Adam Blunt’s death had made all the difference. Cross-referencing cases where Longman had been the judge and Adam Blunt the solicitor had narrowed the field enormously. It also erased the search terms that had bothered both Levy and Hale so much.

  ‘Is there overlap with any of the cases identified yesterday?’ she asked. ‘On any of the three tables?’

  ‘There are two.’ The more focused search had required far fewer man-hours, which had allowed Sally Ryan to take on the case analysis alone. ‘One from table one. And one that met all of the criteria a
nd made it to table three.’

  ‘OK, then let’s begin with a quick look at the four that don’t overlap,’ Levy instructed. ‘We’ll make sure they don’t deserve further scrutiny before we move onto the prime suspects. Tell me about them.’

  ‘None of them are criminal cases, ma’am. And none of them involve anyone with any criminal convictions, or even any suggestion of violence.’

  ‘Then what are they?’

  ‘Three High Court disputes, all property related. Blunt’s firm had a fairly busy property department. The fourth was an application for a press injunction on a minor sex story.’

  ‘OK, so no violence. What about bad blood? Did Blunt or Longman do anything controversial in any of those cases?’

  ‘No, ma’am. In fact, all four of them ended in favour of Blunt’s clients, so none of them had anything to complain about at all. Turns out he was a fairly able civil lawyer.’

  Levy smiled. Ryan really was efficient.

  ‘Then I think we can safely rule them out,’ Levy concluded. ‘At least for now. We still need the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed, though, so have all four spoken to.’

  ‘It’s already happening, ma’am.’

  Levy smiled again.

  A whole team of Sally Ryans and our clean-up rate would be a hundred per cent.

  ‘OK. Move on to the possibles, then. Remind me of the first one.’

  ‘The Arthur Hart case, ma’am,’ Ryan replied. ‘The domestic murder where the husband just seemed to snap.’

  ‘I remember.’ Levy replayed the briefing in her mind. She recalled every detail. ‘The facts of that one still don’t ring true to me, but we can have someone pay him a visit today.’

  Levy’s eyes shifted to the second of the two files. She could already tell that it was Ryan’s pick.

  ‘And our friend from table three?’

  ‘That’s the interesting one, ma’am.’ There was a hint of excitement now in Ryan’s voice. ‘He’s a real nasty piece of work.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘He’s called Wisdom Penfold, ma’am.’