Harriet felt a surge of anger and anticipation at the possibility that Joanna might be in London, and she took a moment before responding. “Where did you get your information?”
“It was just a street kid. He’s… probably not even reliable,” Ethan replied.
“It’s still worthwhile to investigate. Who can we send?” Harriet asked, looking around the table for suggestions. She could see that they were skeptical; they had had pursued other such rumors to no avail.
“I’ll go,” Zoe finally said.
Harriet looked at her and nodded, replying, “Good. Work with Ethan to figure out a plan.”
Zoe was the member of her inner circle who she had known for the shortest amount of time. Ethan had been one of her bodyguards for over a decade; Thomas was both her husband and bodyguard; and the two others – Rhys and Marta – had been part of the organization since its founding. Shortly after Daniel’s death, when Joanna went underground and seemed to take about twenty percent of the organization’s membership with her, Zoe turned up.
At first Harriet didn’t trust her – she didn’t trust anyone – and then it came out that she had been the supplier that Joanna had used for Charlie’s pickups. Upon learning that, Harriet trusted Zoe even less, suspecting that she might be a plant of Joanna’s. Over the years, though, she proved herself to be loyal and Harriet realized her mistrust had been unfounded. Within the last year, Harriet had accepted her into her inner circle.
“That’s all I have for today,” Harriet told them. “Thank you all for coming.”
Everyone except Thomas said goodnight and headed for the door.
“Do you think Zoe is up for the task?” he asked once they were alone.
“I think she’ll do just fine,” Harriet replied.
“Let’s hope so,” Thomas said.
“Have a little faith, Thomas,” Harriet said.
“Try to be realistic, Harriet,” he replied with an edge to his voice.
They were headed for the door, and Harriet stopped in her tracks. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
“Don’t worry, I never do,” Thomas said, leaving.
#
With the meeting still running through her mind, Harriet watched out the window as the buildings came into focus with the slowing of the train. A pre-recorded voice announced over the loudspeakers that the train was approaching the Birmingham Moor Street station.
Naomi was waiting for her in the sweltering heat as she stepped off the train and onto the platform, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder. Naomi rushed over and kissed her. “I was so happy to hear from you,” Naomi said. She took Harriet’s bag from her and looked her over, saying, “You look amazing.”
Harriet had learned long ago to choose clothes that would communicate the message she wanted to send. Tonight, she had worn a fairly typical outfit of hers – a burgundy blouse that dipped into a low V, a pencil skirt, stockings, and heels. She wanted Naomi to notice her body and the way her clothes clung to her curves, but she also wanted to communicate power and sophistication. She needed to keep Naomi in a place where she wouldn’t feel like she could disagree with her and change her mind about Charlotte. She had sacrificed too much for things to go pear shaped at the last minute. Charlotte had sacrificed too much.
Harriet acknowledged Naomi’s compliment, saying, “Thank you. And thanks for meeting me at the station. That was sweet of you.”
Naomi blushed in response, her cheeks turning a deeper pink that they already were from the weather, and they headed to her flat, the clicking of Harriet’s heels on the pavement echoed by the much softer sound of Naomi’s loafers. Harriet followed her upstairs and inside her flat, which was spotlessly clean and tidy. The disarray of Naomi’s flat on that first night she had been over had yet to make even a whisper of a reappearance. Harriet knew that Naomi was making an effort to impress her. On Naomi’s small dining room table was a bottle, displayed so Harriet would see it when she entered the room.
“What’s this?” Harriet asked.
“It’s for you,” she said. Naomi walked over and handed it to Harriet, looking for her approval. “I wasn’t sure what kind you like, but I’ve noticed that scotch is your drink. On the rocks, right?”
“Yes,” Harriet said, then remembered to smile. “You’re very thoughtful.”
“I just thought you might like it. And this way, we don’t even have to go to The Fox – unless you wanted to.” She looked slightly uncomfortable, tentative, as though she were too concerned with pleasing Harriet and also afraid of overstepping.
“Fetch us a couple of glasses?” Harriet suggested.
“Sure, of course,” she said, returning a moment later with two etched-glass tumblers with a few cubes of ice in each. Harriet wondered if Naomi even liked scotch.
Harriet poured them each a drink and they sat on Naomi’s sofa. She had noticed before that Naomi had strategically placed a quilt over the back of the sofa to cover a worn patch. Harriet made sure not to disturb the quilt.
“How was work this week?” Naomi asked. As Naomi sipped the scotch, Harriet noticed that she appeared to be stifling a grimace. No, she didn’t think Naomi liked scotch.
“Everything went really well, actually,” Harriet replied.
She knew that she needed to fill some time with easy conversation – safe topics – before she broached the topic of Charlotte’s hearing, so she made herself talk for a while about the transportation committee meeting. She described in detail who had been in attendance, what objections had been raised about the rail expansion, and eventually how her side had won out. Everything she told Naomi was a matter of public record, but she tried to tell the story with even flourish that Naomi might even believe she thought it was an interesting story to share.
Harriet was on her second glass of scotch – Naomi declined a refill – when she noticed Naomi was settling into the sofa, her body language indicating that she looking for more than conversation. No, Harriet thought, not until I’ve said what I need to say.
“Oh, I had a visit this week from Charlotte Parker’s solicitor,” Harriet said as if she had just remembered.
“You did?” Naomi asked, looking caught off-guard.
Harriet nodded and said, “About Parker’s hearing. She asked if I would be willing to make a statement – you know, about Charlie’s contribution to the EBC way back when, since it never came out at trial.” Harriet knew to tread carefully, and she noted how Naomi looked increasingly apprehensive. “I told her I would, but if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Naomi blinked a few times in rapid succession and looked away. “No, of course. You should do what you think is best. I suppose I just never imagined you’d come to my place of work. It’s just… throwing me a bit.”
Harriet reached out and touched Naomi’s hand. “I can still tell the solicitor I’ve changed my mind. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Naomi looked momentarily torn. “But you said yourself that you think Parker should be released.”
“I did say so, and I believe it,” Harriet replied, holding her gaze.
“Then you should make a statement. You should be at the hearing.”
Harriet kissed the tip of her nose and said, “All right. You’re always so level-headed.” Harriet finished her drink and set the glass down on the end table.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Thomas refrained from commenting as Harriet left the house early, dressed in her sleeveless sapphire-colored sheath dress that fell conservatively to just above her knees. Its square neckline accentuated her collarbone but was modest enough for the hearing. She had also chosen to wear a simple pearl necklace, muted bronze heels, and a cream-colored scarf draped around her shoulders. She carried her leather satchel that she usually took with her to work and which contained her basic necessities.
Harriet had told Erin that she would meet her at the prison – she knew it wouldn’t look right to Naomi if they arrived together. Even with her MP identific
ation, she still needed to go through security, where they examined the contents of her satchel and made sure she wasn’t hiding any weapons in her cleavage. She tried not to let it faze her, and tried very hard not to think about the degradation that Charlotte must have suffered over the years.
After security, Harriet found herself ushered into a hallway where Naomi and Erin were standing at a stranger’s distance from one another and talking. She recognized Erin’s outfit as the same one she wore when she first came to see her. She next noticed Naomi, whom she hadn’t seen dressed for work before. Naomi looked nicely put together in a pair of fitted black trousers, white blouse, and taupe blazer.
Harriet held her hand out to Erin and with a tone of practiced propriety said, “Ms. Reese, it’s nice to see you again.”
Erin shook her hand wordlessly at first before finally saying, “And you as well, Ms. Spencer.”
Harriet gave Naomi a small smile and offered her hand. “Good morning, Ms. James.”
Naomi also returned her handshake. She seemed both surprised and relieved.
“I was just telling Ms. Reese that Parker will be down shortly so they can meet in private before the hearing,” Naomi said. “We also have a separate room for witnesses where you’ll need to wait until the panel is ready to begin the hearing.”
A part of Harriet wanted to take off in the other direction. An even more irrational part of her wanted to hit Naomi over the head with her satchel, steal her keys, and try to make an escape with Charlotte. These thoughts ran through her mind as she realized she hadn’t acknowledged Naomi’s comment. Both Naomi and Erin were waiting for her response, and she could see the wary look of concern in Erin’s eyes.
“Yes,” Harriet said finally. “Yes, of course.” Keep it together, she told herself.
Harriet was shown to a small room with a table, a few chairs, and a tray of light refreshments. She realized she should have asked how long she might be waiting. After about twenty minutes, according to the clock on the wall, a guard came to the room.
“The panel is almost ready to begin,” he told her. “Please come with me.”
As Harriet followed the guard, she wished she had had the sense to drink that morning. A bit of scotch would have offered a barrier between her and the rest of the world. She willed herself to be calm, to look composed, to act poised. She needed to hide her nerves.
Harriet kept her eyes focused straight ahead as she entered the room where the hearing would take place. It was smaller than she expected it to be, and it contained a long table capable of seating nine or ten people. Two pitchers of water had been set out on the table along with an assortment of mismatched glasses assembled on a tray.
The three-person panel and the Crown’s representative rose when Harriet entered, and each of them introduced themselves to her and shook her hand. The chair of the panel was a judge, a shorter man by the name of Mr. Conroy. Another panelist, Dr. Frank, was a psychologist. The third panelist, Mr. Soller, didn’t mention his occupation. The Crown’s representative was a statuesque woman, Ms. Finley, who appeared to be in her early- or mid-sixties.
Mr. Conroy asked Harriet to take a seat, adding, “It’s not every day that we have a Member of Parliament as a witness.”
Harriet tried her best to smile graciously, replying, “Well, I’ve never been a witness before.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Conroy replied. “Well, we’ll begin just as soon as our other participants arrive. This isn’t meant to be a formal event.”
Harriet nodded and settled into her seat on one of the long sides of the table, leaving a couple of seats between the panel and her. Her back was to the door, which generally she disliked but on this occasion she preferred it. She didn’t think she could handle the anticipation; she knew her eyes would be glued to the door.
Harriet heard footsteps and again the panel and Ms. Finley rose, and so she also stood.
“Your Honor,” Harriet heard Erin say, entering and addressing Mr. Conroy. Harriet slowly turned toward the door, her breath catching as she saw Charlotte walking into the room just ahead of Naomi, who closed the door behind herself.
Harriet felt a rush of blood to her head, a pounding in her ears, and for a moment it felt like the room was spinning. She placed her hand on the table to steady herself as she watched Charlotte, who looked everywhere except at her. Harriet had watched her in photographs over the years but she was wholly unequipped to see her in person again, to see her move and breathe mere feet away. Charlotte’s olive-colored blouse and gray pants were somber and subdued but fit her well, and Harriet could see that she had maintained her athletic figure over the years.
Mr. Conroy asked for everyone to be seated, and so they sat. Charlotte took a chair on the other side of the table and several seats down from Harriet, and Harriet wished more than anything that she could go to her and embrace her. She continued to watch Charlotte, to observe her almost expressionless face that, when studied closely, revealed her tension.
Harriet half-listened as Mr. Conroy directed his opening remarks at Charlotte, explaining the purpose of the hearing and the order in which they would proceed. “I believe you know everyone who is present, Dr. Parker.”
Charlotte looked steadily at Mr. Conroy as she said, “Yes, Your Honor. And please, you may call me Charlotte.” Her voice, although perfectly calm, felt like an icicle to Harriet’s heart. Harriet had missed her voice with its mezzo-soprano tone and half-British, half-American accent.
“Very well, Charlotte, then,” Mr. Conroy began again, looking more pleased than before, “As I was saying, I believe you know everyone who is here. You met my fellow panelists and Ms. Finley earlier this morning. You know Ms. James, the governor here at, uh, Drake Hall. And I believe you’ll remember Ms. Spencer.”
It seemed to Harriet as though he lingered in his pronunciation of her name, and it felt like everyone in the room was watching Charlotte and her for their responses. Harriet looked at Charlotte, unable to make her eyes focus on anything but her face – her lips and her own eyes that finally looked back, penetrating deep into Harriet’s skull. Harriet wondered, could Charlotte see the guilt, the aching, the longing, and the pain?
If Charlotte knew Harriet’s thoughts, she didn’t reveal that to the room. Charlotte simply said, “Yes, good morning.” And then she looked away.
Mr. Conroy spoke again, asking Charlotte, “First things first… Will you give evidence this morning?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Charlotte replied.
“Good, good,” Mr. Conroy mumbled. “At this time, the panel asks Ms. Finley to state the Crown’s view on what the outcome of this case should be.”
Ms. Finley took out her digital reader and read aloud a prepared statement that acknowledged that Charlotte had been a model prisoner during her twelve years of incarceration, but cautioned the panel against releasing a potentially violent prisoner into the public. The Crown was advocating for Charlotte to remain at Drake Hall and to be reevaluated in another year.
Next it was Erin’s turn to state what decision she was asking the panel to reach. She was asking for Charlotte to be released on license, but when she started saying why – that she suspected Charlotte’s conviction was unjustly harsh to compensate for having never found the real criminals, those who had attempted to assassinate the Prime Minister – Mr. Conroy interrupted.
“That’s fine, Ms. Reese. There will be time for testimony later.”
Mr. Conroy asked Naomi whether she was in support of the Crown’s recommendation or that of the prisoner’s representative. Naomi looked as though she might falter but she finally replied, “I support the recommendation to release Parker – I mean, Charlotte – on license.”
Mr. Conroy then asked Ms. Finley why she had produced no witnesses for the Crown. Ms. Finley looked offended, saying she strongly believed that Charlie’s file spoke for itself, that it would be unprecedented to release a prisoner convicted of such a serious offense at this early point in her sentence.
Mr. Conroy grunted in disapproval and asked Erin to call her witnesses.
Erin replied, “Your Honor, I have submitted a statement from Mr. Burke, the surgeon here at Drake Hall, who reiterates his support of Charlie and notes her professionalism and service in the prison’s infirmary.”
“We’ve received and read Mr. Burke’s statement, as well as the statement from Charlie’s personal officer, but they’re not witnesses here today,” Mr. Conroy said.
Harriet could see that Erin was getting flustered. Finally, as was customary, she asked Charlotte to give evidence.
Charlotte seemed deceivingly calm as she spoke in measured tones. “I’ve never been a political person. But I trusted and involved myself with the wrong people, which I have gravely regretted for the past twelve years. That chapter in my life is closed and I am ready to move on. Indeed, I have moved on. If given the opportunity to make a contribution to society, I would return to working as a biochemist. I have maintained my qualifications and I am confident I could find employment in a lab or at a university. My desire is to return to being a tax-paying citizen rather than a financial drain on society.”
“Do you deny being a member of a terrorist group?” Ms. Finley asked.
The corner of Charlotte’s mouth tugged into a slight frown as she replied, “It’s true that I attended meetings of a group that wanted governmental reform, and which was popularly characterized as a terrorist group, but I never participated in any plots to overthrow the government, violently or otherwise.”
Dr. Frank, the psychologist member of the panel, spoke next. “I’ve read your psychological reports. You suffered from depression during the first several years of your incarceration.”
There was a pause before Charlotte replied, “Yes, that’s correct.”
“To what extent do you believe your depression stemmed from your decision not to contest your charges?” Dr. Frank asked.
“That’s a complicated question to try to answer,” Charlie said, her brow furrowing.
“Do you feel that you were wrongfully imprisoned?” Dr. Frank leaned forward as she asked this question, closely watching Charlotte.
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