Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3)
Page 26
‘Very hipster. Turn right,’ Kieran said.
They ducked under an archway before The Cittie of York and trudged along a hidden path. The sounds of legal London fell away as they passed by a guard hut. Kieran nodded at the guard, who gave a cheerful wave and said, ‘Evening, Kieran. You in for a beer?’
‘That I am, Kev. You stuck working?’
‘Only ’til six,’ said the guard.
‘Well, come find us then if you fancy a half.’
They walked past the guard, and into a tree-lined courtyard in the middle of an office block. Kieran led Morton into a building on the left.
‘Didn’t expect this, did you?’ Kieran grinned.
‘If you’re taking me off to be murdered, can we have that beer first?’
‘Hah. Up these stairs.’
They walked upstairs, and through a couple of doors – and emerged into a private bar.
‘Two pints of Pride, please,’ Kieran said to the barman, and moved to sit down at a table.
It was a small bar, almost empty, with views over the courtyard they’d walked through to the south and another to the north. The barman brought over their beers.
‘Cheers,’ Kieran said, raising his glass to Morton’s with a chink.
‘You happy with how the trial is going?’
‘Happy... no. But I don’t think Hollis’ wordy speech did her many favours. The jury has had a long week. Nobody wants to listen to a mini-lecture on a Friday afternoon, especially when it’s this nice out.’
Morton put his drink down. ‘Do you think that could influence how they decide a case?’
‘Absolutely. It shouldn’t but jurors are human, and they’ve got lives to get back to. The big guy on today’s jury–’
‘In the suit? Pinstripe shirt?’
‘That’s him. He’s been checking his phone every time court recesses. I’d bet ten to one that he’s trying to seal a business deal. On the other hand, the skinny kid with freckles looks like he’s delighted to be out of work for this. Jurors bring their own problems into a jury room. If they want to go home, they’ll reach a verdict more quickly, even if that verdict isn’t necessarily right.’
‘Then why did Hollis take the afternoon session?’ Morton asked. ‘If a tired jury is a bad jury to pitch to, then surely she should have waited until Monday.’
Kieran shook his head. ‘That would have been suicide. If she’d let them leave, they would have had the entire weekend to mull over my closing speech without the context of her defence. It would have won me the case. It’s one of the many reasons we shouldn’t use juries.’
‘What’s the alternative to using a jury?’
‘Trial by judge alone. Let qualified judges adjudicate on the law and the facts instead of just the law. Then again, even the Judiciary are human. They have other places to be, other things to think about. I’ve seen drunk judges. I’ve seen judges who’ve become jaded after presiding over trial after trial until they think every defendant is guilty. I guess we just live in an imperfect world.’
‘Speaking of imperfect, who leaked the missing witness to the press? Paddy Malone’s refusal to testify has been splashed all over the headlines.’
Kieran held up his hands. ‘Damned if I know. Paddy could be the leak, or that sneak Morgan-Bryant might have talked to them.’
‘But wouldn’t that hurt the defence case?’
‘Sort of. Having two defendants complicates things. Paddy was going to put Gabriella alone in the house, which shows that she had the opportunity to kill. Without Paddy, my case against Gabby is significantly weakened.’
‘Which makes it more likely Brianna did it.’
‘Exactly. They’re running a cut-throat defence,’ Kieran said. ‘If Gabriella didn’t do it, Brianna looks guilty. It’s in Morgan-Bryant’s interest for the reason that Paddy didn’t testify to become public. It makes it look like Gabby is hiding something, and supports Morgan-Bryant’s finger-pointing.’
Morton drained his pint. ‘I’m so glad I only have to catch ’em. You might have the nicer office, but I don’t envy you the job. I’d best get going. I’ll see you Monday.’
Chapter 71: Unanimity
The jury was recalled at 9:55 on Monday morning, and immediately sent out to deliberate.
They stayed out through lunch, a good sign according to Kieran, and returned to Court One at 13:45.
They shuffled back in.
‘Madame Forewoman, have you reached a unanimous verdict?’
Beebie stood, clasped her hands together and said: ‘We have not, My Lord.’
‘I need not remind you that each of you have taken an oath to return a verdict which is true to the evidence. You have been out for four hours. Each of you takes into the jury room your own experience with which to discuss the case and reach a verdict. Do you feel that further discussion might enable you to reach a unanimous verdict?’
The forewoman shook her head. ‘No, My Lord.’
Brianna grinned. She thought she was off the hook.
Judge Heenan looked at his watch. They were well over the cut-off period to put the case to a majority verdict.
‘Then I shall ask you to return to the jury room only a little longer, and deliberate further. I am willing to accept a majority verdict. If ten or more of you concur then I shall accept the verdict of the ten.’
The forewoman looked much happier. ‘Thank you, your honour.’
The jury trooped out single file to deliberate further.
Chapter 72: Deliberations
Mitch twiddled his thumbs as he sat in his usual chair at the end of the table. For three weeks it had been his, the closest door to the exit. Not that we’ll be getting out of here any time soon.
‘We just don’t have enough evidence,’ Beebie declared again. No one in the jury room was in any doubt as to her position. The woman next to her, whose real name Mitch could never remember, nodded sagely in agreement.
‘There’s loads of evidence,’ the youngest juror, a student called Amelia Glenn, said. ‘They were both in the house when she died – and no one else was.’
‘But how do we know that? We know Brianna was there. She admitted it. But Gabriella didn’t testify.’
Mitch raised a hand. ‘She didn’t testify for a reason. If she was innocent, she’d say so. Aleksander Barchester puts her in the house when he left. So did Kallum Fielder. If she had left, then she’d have said so, right?’
‘Not if she didn’t want to be cross-examined,’ Amelia said.
‘Why would an innocent woman fear cross-examination?’ Mitch asked. ‘Life in prison must be much scarier.’
‘No,’ Beebie said firmly. ‘She did not have to testify. I don’t blame her. Those lawyers would have twisted anything that she said. There is reasonable doubt. She should go free.’
‘She’s hiding something, Beebie, and you know it. Why didn’t that Patrick testify? The prosecution clearly expected him to.’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘Didn’t you spot the ring on her finger? I know it wasn’t much of a diamond, but one of you must have noticed it.’
‘She’s married. So?’
‘So she’s married to him. It’s the only reason that he wouldn’t be able to testify. You must have seen cop shows on the television.’
‘No.’ Beebie folded her arms across her chest. ‘She’d never marry him.’
‘Not even to get away with murder?’
A small hand went up at the back of the room. ‘Excuse me?’
Beebie turned. ‘What is it?’
‘She did marry him. I saw it on the front page of a newspaper.’
‘You looked up the news? Judge Heenan told us not to.’
‘No... Someone left a copy in the jury room. I found it on the table this morning. I put it in the bin. Over there, look.’
Beebie stood, and walked across the room. Sure enough, a copy of the newspaper was in the bin. ‘We should tell the judge.’ She walked towards the door, a
s if to call back the bailiff.
‘Wait!’ Mitch said.
‘What?’
‘She didn’t read it. Did anyone?’
Each of the twelve shook their head.
‘Then let’s get on with deliberations. If we didn’t read it, we didn’t do anything wrong. We’ve been here for weeks. It must be costing the taxpayer millions of pounds. You don’t want all that to go to waste, do you? Can’t we just ignore it?’ Mitch implored.
Beebie sat back down. ‘They don’t look like newlyweds,’ she grumbled.
‘I think we’ve deliberated enough. We all want to go home,’ Mitch said. ‘Unless someone wants to discuss something specific again, I propose a vote. With your permission, of course, Madame Forewoman.’
Beebie nodded. She picked up a notepad from the centre of the room, and tore the first sheet into twelve. On each piece of paper she wrote the names of Brianna and Ellis. ‘Tick for guilty. Cross for not guilty. One next to each name. Everyone understand?’
The papers were passed around, and each wrote down their verdict in secret. The papers were folded, and passed up to Mitch, as he had proposed the vote. He counted them all, then nodded.
‘Miss Beebie, would you like to confirm the count?’
Beebie took the papers, and double-checked the tally.
‘Do we have a verdict?’ Mitch asked.
Beebie nodded.
‘Bailiff!’
Chapter 73: The Jury Returns
They marched back in, chatting freely among themselves with a jovial, almost party-like atmosphere. They were finally going home. The bailiff summoned the judge from his chambers, and paged counsel to return.
When everyone was back in the courtroom, the judge asked the jury again: ‘Madame Forewoman, have you been able to reach a majority verdict?’
‘We have, Your Honour.’
‘On the charges against Miss Brianna Jackson, how do you find?’
‘Guilty.’
Brianna collapsed in her seat, the grin wiped from her grace. She glared stonily at Gabriella.
‘And on the charges against Miss Gabriella Curzon, how do you find?’
‘Guilty.’
Gabriella wailed, and collapsed against her lawyer.
‘How many of you are in favour?’
‘Ten.’
‘And against?’
‘Two.’
Judge Heenan nodded appreciatively. ‘I would like to thank you for your service. You are dismissed.’
Morton looked over to Kieran, who gave him a thumbs up. But Morton didn’t share the prosecutor’s glee. Gabriella’s tears seemed to be real. Morton exhaled deeply. To him it seemed that two women had been convicted for a murder that only one of them had committed.
A killer had been caught. But had justice been done?
A Note from the Authors
Thank you for reading Ten Guilty Men. We appreciate how valuable your time is, and we’re delighted you chose to spend it finishing our novel. If you have a spare moment, we’d really appreciate it if you could leave a review on the site where you purchased this book. Honest reviews help other readers find books they will enjoy, and let authors know what their readers want.
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DCI Morton returns in The Patient Killer, available now at all good bookstores.
Keep reading for a sample chapter...
The Patient Killer
Isaac Ebstein’s patients died more often than most doctors’.
Thirteen hours a day, six days a week, Ebstein could be found in the operating room with his scalpel in his right hand. Specialising in trauma surgery had been a blessing and a curse. He was never short of work – or bodies.
Most of the time, Ebstein and his team knew who would die before they cut them open. Unexpected deaths were something of a rarity. Even the bleeders, fresh from knife fights and car crashes, usually made it off the operating table and into intensive care. That was just the way Ebstein liked it. His patients died, but he rarely saw them go.
The third of November was different. His patient had been rushed in, organs ruptured and haemorrhaging blood faster than they could replace it. She had been as good as dead the moment she’d been pulled from the wreckage of her car.
It should have been simple: patch her up and send her off to the intensive care unit to die.
Scar tissue had put paid to that. The woman had undergone previous surgeries, and her insides were thick with sinewy scar tissue, which meant Ebstein couldn’t suture the arteries in time. Ebstein pronounced at three oh two p.m., and in a heartbeat the whirlwind of an active operating theatre, alive with the sounds of activity bordering on mania, fell into an awkward silence. Ebstein exhaled deeply, grimaced, and nodded his thanks to the assembled staff.
It wasn’t anybody’s fault, other than the guy who’d smashed his car into the victim’s.
Her widower didn’t see it that way. Ebstein found him pacing up and down in the corridor outside the friends and family waiting room. A row of chairs sat unused underneath the window.
Ebstein approached him cautiously. ‘Mr Taaft?’
The bigger man turned to reveal bloodshot eyes. His jaw was set in a grimace. ‘How is she?’ he demanded.
Ebstein hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Taaft. I’m afraid she didn’t make it.’
Taaft’s eyes widened. He stared at Ebstein for a moment, then gave out a guttural roar that reverberated down the corridor. Ebstein took a step backwards, shying away from Taaft.
He was too slow. Taaft snatched up one of the chairs from beneath the window, spun around with it, and slammed the chair into Ebstein’s side, knocking the surgeon to the floor.
Ebstein looked up at his assailant, afraid to speak lest he get hit again. He raised a hand to his head to find his hair wet and matted with blood.
‘Please! Don’t!’ Ebstein begged.
Taaft swung again, and Ebstein’s world exploded in front of him.
***
The room swam in and out of focus when Ebstein awoke. His first thought was to wonder if he’d been out drinking. His head felt like he had been.
Then a hand snapped into view.
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ a disembodied voice asked.
After a pause Ebstein realised he was being addressed by the hospital’s chief neurologist, Dr Hargreaves. With an effort Ebstein forced his eyes to focus and then mumbled: ‘Two. And no need to swear.’
Hargreaves grinned. ‘Thought we’d lost you for a minute, there.’
‘What happened?’
‘Big fella took a swing at you with a chair. You crumpled like a pansy. He’s calmed down now, and wants to apologise. He’s convinced you’re going to sue him.’
Ebstein rubbed at his temples, then tried to stand. His legs felt like jelly, but they held steady as he wrenched himself upright.
Hargreaves leapt forward, offering up his arm to support Ebstein. ‘Woah! Slow down there, tiger. You’ve got a concussion. You’re going nowhere. Besides, I’ve got some news for you.’
‘Good news?’ Ebstein asked.
Hargreaves nodded. ‘We found you a match.’
Ebstein perked up. ‘How good?’
‘Six points,’ Hargreaves said. ‘No donor-specific antibodies. Negative for flow crossmatch.’
‘You found a six-point match among the staff? That’s incredible.’ Ebstein found himself smiling for the first time that day.
‘We did. But...’ Hargreaves trailed off.
‘But what?’
‘You’re not going to like who it is.’
‘Who?’ Ebstein demanded.
Hargreaves told him. Ebstein’s smile disappeared.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
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Chapter 1: Edgecombe Lodge
Chapter 2: The Old Coach House
Chapter 3: Too Much Information
Chapter 4: Date with Death
Chapter 5: Next of Kin
Chapter 6: The Boyfriend
Chapter 7: Parole
Chapter 8: HMP Pentonville
Chapter 9: The Culloden Estate
Chapter 10: Missing Something
Chapter 11: Walworth Veterinary Clinic and Pet Hospital
Chapter 12: Wake Up Britain!
Chapter 13: Sources
Chapter 14: Pied-à-Terre
Chapter 15: Finders, Keepers
Chapter 16: #RichmondStreaker
Chapter 17: Computer Down!
Chapter 18: Late To Bed, Early to Rise
Chapter 19: Homeward Bound
Chapter 20: Peek-A-Boo
Chapter 21: Hook-A-Duck
Chapter 22: Money, Money, Money
Chapter 23: The Thief
Chapter 24: The Wedding
Chapter 25: The Father
Chapter 26: Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way
Chapter 27: The Cavalry
Chapter 28: Walkies
Chapter 29: Jailhouse Snitch
Chapter 30: Secrets
Chapter 31: Authenticity
Chapter 32: The Findy-Windy Thing
Chapter 33: Making a Splash
Chapter 34: The President of the United States of America
Chapter 35: Thicker Than Water
Chapter 36: Got Your Back
Chapter 37: Bad Blood
Chapter 38: Front and Centre
Chapter 39: If at First
Chapter 40: Legal Extortion
Chapter 41: Video
Chapter 42: Then I Got High
Chapter 43: Sleeping Beauty
Chapter 44: Three Down, Two to Go?
Chapter 45: The Dungeon
Chapter 46: Rehab
Chapter 47: Connections
Chapter 48: The Queen Did It
Chapter 49: Lost
Chapter 50: In the Wind
Chapter 51: Against Time
Chapter 52: Burning
Chapter 53: Ayala in Charge
Chapter 54: Crisis
Chapter 55: Means
Chapter 56: Means, Motive and Opportunity