by Peter James
‘Maybe, but I can’t risk Laura’s life. If anything happened to her, I – I just—’ Her voice cracked.
‘Can I give you a hug?’
Meg nodded. Alison put an arm around her. ‘We’re not going to let anything happen to her, OK?’ She kissed her on the cheek.
Meg smiled then shook her head. ‘I don’t think there is anything you can do, Ali, I have to sort this out myself. I have to get the jury to deliver that “not guilty” verdict. Somehow.’
‘What, and let this guy go free?’
‘I don’t have a choice, Alison, I have to.’
‘Against all the damning evidence you’ve just told me? On the face of it, anyway, it sounds like these people are going to have to find something on the judge if you’re to have a hope in hell.’
Meg nodded, despondently. ‘That’s how it’s looking – after today, anyway.’
The pair stood in silence, watching the jet-skier whine back again, then turn in a wide arc, heeling over.
‘I know someone,’ Alison said, quietly. ‘Someone I’ve become friendly with through my Open University course. She’s married to a very high-up cop.’
Meg shook her head, alarmed. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone, please, for Laura’s sake and your own safety.’
‘Screw that, I’m not having these bastards get away with treating you like this.’
Meg touched her arm. ‘Ali, please. I’ve told you this in confidence, you mustn’t tell anyone. You mustn’t. Please. Promise me?’
Alison was quiet for a short while then she said, ‘Have you thought about it rationally, Meg – thought it through? OK, so they are blackmailing you to coerce the jury with threats to Laura. But let’s say it does end up with a “guilty” verdict – then it’s game over for them. What would be the point in them then going and killing Laura? It’s not going to change the verdict. Maybe it’s all just bluster?’
‘I’ve thought that through a thousand times, Ali. Maybe you’re right, but what if not?’
Alison shook her head. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Not now, not in this day and age.’
‘It’s real,’ Meg replied, bleakly. ‘I don’t even know who I can trust on the jury and who I can’t.’
‘I’ve an idea,’ Alison said. ‘What about an anonymous phone call or note to the judge, telling him that two members of the jury have been nobbled, required to coerce the rest into a “not guilty” verdict? He would have to take that seriously.’
‘If he believed it.’
‘Could he afford not to?’
Meg’s mind went back to the phone call she’d had last night.
You do have a friend on the jury.
Friend, or someone else like me who you are threatening?
We are helping them just like we are helping you.
And she realized why he’d given her those details about the other juror, whoever it was. Both of them needed him. They weren’t going to be stupid enough to give the game away.
Her blackmailer would know, without any doubt, that any informant would have to be one of them.
She shook her head and explained her reasons.
‘I understand,’ Alison said. ‘God, what a predicament. You are truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. But there has to be a way through this. There always is.’
‘Really? I’m all ears.’
Alison smiled. ‘Could you throw a sickie? Feign appendicitis or something and get taken off the jury? Have something happen that’s obviously not your doing?’
‘Like falling off my bike and ending up in hospital?’
Alison shrugged. ‘Well, maybe not so dramatic. And you don’t have a bike, do you?’
Meg smiled. ‘No, that’s a bit of a problem right there!’
Alison suddenly looked very serious. ‘There’s a whole other aspect to this I hope you’re aware of.’
‘Which is?’
‘What you are doing must be completely illegal. Influencing – coercing – your fellow jurors. Do you know what would happen if you were found out?’
Meg nodded. ‘I do.’
She was well aware that she was about to break the law, but until now she’d been pushing that knowledge aside. Confronted with it starkly, out in the open, by her best friend, the true enormity suddenly rose up, engulfing her in a cloud of fear. ‘I do know, Ali. But I don’t have any choice. What’s that quote?’
Alison frowned. ‘Quote?’
Meg nodded. ‘Something like, If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I’d have the courage to betray my country.’
67
Thursday 16 May
It was growing dark when Meg finally made her way home, a little unsteadily, from the beach. The bottle and three-quarters of wine they’d drunk between them was making her feel a lot more optimistic. As Ali said, there has to be a way through this. Her parting words, as they hugged on the seafront, were, ‘Courage is knowing what not to fear.’
Someone in her street was having a barbecue and the smell made her even hungrier. She heard music and laughter coming from behind the house where the smoke was rising as she passed it and felt a pang of envy – and sadness. Nick loved doing barbecues with Will, their man-thing. Burgers, veggie burgers, steaks, lamb cutlets, chicken wings, corn on the cob, baked potatoes, king prawns and, on occasion, when he was feeling extravagant, lobsters.
She rarely ate meat any more, but what wouldn’t she give for a big seared burger slavered in mustard and ketchup, with fried onions and a gherkin squashed inside a soft bap?
Ali’s words were ringing in her head as she fumbled with the key, dropped it and bent down to pick it up. But as she entered the house, her focus switched back to food; she was starving and trying to think what she had to make a quick supper. There was a stash of microwavable dishes in the freezer, as well as a couple of vegetarian pies she’d bought on a whim recently, during an extravagant excursion to Waitrose.
In her rush to get indoors, she tripped over the front step and almost fell, face-first, into the hall. She went inside, closing the door behind her and securing the chain, and hurried through into the kitchen. Daphne was sitting on top of the tall fridge.
‘What are you doing up there, you daft thing?’ she said.
The cat was often up there, or sitting on top of the antique Welsh dresser, seemingly enjoying the commanding views it gave her.
Meg glanced at the phones, checking there were no messages, emails or a WhatsApp from Laura, then pulled open the freezer section of the fridge and rummaged through the contents of the drawers. She spotted to her delight a packet of No Bull veggie burgers from Iceland. Perfect! She’d have her own faux barbecue: the burgers, a microwaved baked potato and beans.
She removed the packet and was reading the instructions when the burner phone rang.
‘Hello?’ she answered and an instant later, to her dread, heard the familiar male voice.
‘So, you had a nice time on the beach tonight with your friend, Alison, Meg. But very indiscreet of you – not to mention disobedient – to tell her so much,’ he chided. ‘Don’t you remember the warning I gave you? About what would happen to any friend you told?’
How the hell did he know where she had been this evening?
‘I didn’t tell her a thing about – you know.’
‘Really, Meg? Do you think I rode into town in the back of a truck? Come on, get real! I know what you were talking about.’
‘We were just chatting about stuff. I didn’t say anything about – you know.’
‘Really? How about this, let me read it out to you. This is what your friend said, pretty much: What about an anonymous phone call or note to the judge, telling him that two members of the jury have been nobbled, required to coerce the rest into a “not guilty” verdict? He would have to take that seriously.’
Meg felt a rush of cold blood in her stomach. ‘You – you couldn’t – that’s bullshit.’
‘But you know it isn’t, don
’t you, Meg? I mean, your No Bull burger might be bullshit, but not what Alison said.’
A prickle of fear crawled down her back. She looked up. Around. He was watching her. Inside her own home.
Courage is knowing what not to fear.
‘Fuck you!’ she said and killed the call.
She stood, shaking in terror, her eyes darting everywhere. Where the hell was the camera? In one of the downlighters? Heating vents? The phone rang again. She let it ring, once, twice, three times. Then answered.
‘I really don’t advise hanging up on me, Meg, there could be consequences. Let me tell you how your conversation on the beach with Alison – or rather Ali – started: So, Megs, what is it, what’s going on? And you said: This may sound crazy, but I’m scared to tell you. I am correct, am I not?’ he said.
How? Meg was wondering frantically. How did he know?
‘You are curious, aren’t you, Meg? You took precautions, paddling into the surf, very clever – I wonder where you got that idea from. You were absolutely right to do that, because running water of any kind masks conversation. But you overlooked something.’
‘Oh, really?’ The alcohol was giving her the courage to be angry. To be reckless.
‘Technology may be fine for many purposes, but sometimes a more old-fashioned technique of surveillance works better. You checked everyone on the beach, looking for binoculars and directional mics, didn’t you?’
She said nothing.
‘Let me tell you something. You live in an historic city. Brighton and Hove have beautiful buildings, but so many have shops on the ground floor and they distract us. We forget to look up, at the beautiful architecture above them. Have you ever been to Chichester, Meg?’
‘Chichester? What does that have to do with anything?’
‘It’s a beautiful cathedral city, Meg. Chichester has one of the prettiest high streets in England, but only if you look up. If you only look at eye level, you will just see the same shops as every other high street in the country. But raise your eyes and you see such lovely architecture. It’s the same with Brighton and Hove. If you had just looked up at the apartment building above Marrocco’s restaurant on King’s Esplanade, you might have spotted a glint of glass. A telescope, Meg, through which a profoundly deaf gentleman was watching you and your friend, Ali. This gentleman is able to lip-read and picked up large chunks and the gist of your conversation. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Meg.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Tut, tut, there is no need for bad language.’ He sounded genuinely hurt. ‘I’m doing all I can to protect Laura and you are not making my job easy. You do understand that I have to report everything back to my boss, don’t you?’
The icy edge to his voice cut through her soul like a knife.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meekly. ‘I – OK – I shouldn’t have done what I did.’
‘No, you shouldn’t. I have already tried to warn you about consequences. Is that not fair to say?’
‘Yes.’ Still meek.
‘Are you going to give me your assurances this won’t happen again?’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘How would you feel about your friend Ali meeting with a fatal accident?’
‘Please, leave her alone. Please. This is nothing to do with her, she’s just a kind friend concerned about me. I won’t say another word to her. I’ll do whatever you want from now on. I really will.’
‘Yes.’ Menace returned to his voice. ‘Yes, you will, Meg. You’ve got someone else involved now, well done. Now you have put another life at risk. You’d better get back to her and warn her not to say a word to anyone. Take this as a lesson. There is nothing you can do that we can’t see or hear. Don’t leave our phone at home again. Wherever you are. However clever you might think you are, however much drinking wine might give you false courage, all you are doing is putting Laura into very real danger. Do I need to remind you that she is not safe and never will be until this trial is over and you have delivered? You are going to deliver, aren’t you?’
‘I – I’m – doing – doing my best,’ she stammered.
‘Oh no, Meg. You and I – we both know how badly this trial is going for the defendant, don’t we? You are going to have to do more than just your best. Much more. You don’t get any prize for coming second, unless of course you consider Laura being unloaded from a plane in a coffin to be a prize.’
68
Friday 17 May
Shit. Meg sat in the jury box on top of an almost sleepless night of worrying about everything, on top of a large hangover. She’d swallowed paracetamols and drunk copious quantities of water during the night and again just now in the jury room. Her mind was all over the place, thinking back to the phone call last night, the threats, the knowledge that she really was being watched and listened to 24/7.
You do have a friend on the jury.
Who? This morning, as before in the jury room, opinions had been expressed. Hugo Pink, despite all they had heard yesterday, was adamant that Terence Gready was an innocent man, fitted up by the police because he was a solicitor who had made a career out of defending criminals. The former Detective Superintendent, Mike Roberts, seemed to be supporting him on that point.
One of them? She drifted fleetingly at the thought. Then she winced again as her headache cut like a cheese wire through her brain. Somehow, she was going to have to hold it together today, suffer in silence and keep focused, clocking anything she might see as a weakness in the prosecution’s unfolding evidence. But she felt utterly exhausted from lack of sleep. Yesterday she had found herself nodding off many times – she was going to have to try even harder today to stay alert.
Alison’s words came back. Courage is knowing what not to fear. She liked those words. But. A massive but. How could she know what not to fear? Was her mystery caller exaggerating about Laura? He knew where her daughter was, the photographs showed that. Then there was the zip-wire accident. He had definitely been involved in that. And what he had told her last night, relaying back to her parts of her conversation with Alison. Or Ali as he had correctly identified. Just what lengths would they go to to protect Gready? Where would this end? What price for their lives?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the prosecuting barrister standing. ‘I would now like to call my next witness, Emily Denyer, from the Sussex Police Financial Investigation Unit.’
A woman in her early thirties, with sharply styled dark hair, dressed in a smart black-and-white herringbone-patterned suit and white blouse, holding a laptop and folder of documents, took the stand, gave her name and was sworn in. Meg watched her closely. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about her worried Meg. Was it her confidence?
‘Ms Denyer, you are employed in a civilian capacity by Sussex Police, in the role of Financial Investigator – is that correct?’ Cork asked.
‘It is sir, yes,’ she said. Her voice sounded firm and assured.
‘Would I be correct in saying that since the defendant’s arrest on Saturday December 1st of last year, you have been leading the financial investigation into Terence Gready’s background?’
Denyer agreed.
‘And is it your opinion that the defendant is a so-called county lines mastermind?’ Cork asked her.
‘It is, yes.’
‘And you are going to tell us the evidence you have for this?’
‘I am.’
Cork removed his glasses once more and appeared to study them before continuing. ‘Ms Denyer, before we go into your detailed investigations into these drug dealings, I believe you have also been running a wholly separate investigation into the ownership of a classic car dealership in Sussex, LH Classics. Is that correct?’
‘That is correct.’
Cork accepted a document handed up to him by his junior, Williams, and put his glasses on to look at it, briefly, before continuing. ‘Ms Denyer, this document, an Excel spreadsheet which I’m holding, was prepared by you and your
Financial Investigation Unit team?’
‘It was.’
He turned to the jury. ‘You will find this in Tab Q in your documentation.’ He paused to give them time to locate it, before turning back to the Financial Investigator.
‘The shareholdings and directors of LH Classics seem to me to be quite complicated?’ he said.
Denyer replied, ‘If I have understood the chain correctly, the shares are 100 per cent owned by a Seychelles-registered company with nominee directors, which is in turn 100 per cent owned by a Panamanian-registered company, also with nominee directors, and which is in turn wholly owned by a Liechtenstein company, also with nominee directors.’
Cork smiled. ‘That’s pretty convoluted, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Extremely,’ she replied.
He nodded, thoughtfully. ‘If I may take a step sideways for a moment, Ms Denyer. How long have you been a Financial Investigator for Sussex Police?’
‘Coming up to eleven years.’
‘Eleven years. So, it would be fair to say you are experienced in these matters, wouldn’t it?’
She smiled. ‘You could say that.’
‘And in all your experience, what would be the likely reasons for a company based in Sussex – and ostensibly trading in Sussex – to have a convoluted ownership via a sequence of overseas shell companies?’
Brown jumped up. ‘Your Honour, the witness is being asked to speculate.’
Jupp nodded. ‘I agree.’ He turned to Cork. ‘Please rephrase that question.’
‘I apologize, Your Honour,’ Cork said. ‘Ms Denyer, to your knowledge, are many Sussex businesses owned through chains of offshore shell companies with nominee directors?’
‘Not many, in my experience.’
‘But some?’
‘Yes, very definitely.’
‘Ms Denyer, are there any advantages or disadvantages to having an arrangement of shell companies and nominee directors? Perhaps you could explain both?’
‘Well, the disadvantages would be the cost and complexity of setting these up. The advantages could be in very substantial tax savings. Or in a number of other ways,’ she added.