by Olly Jarvis
Chapter 28
‘Thanks for coming, Gary,’ said Jack, finding a seat at the table in the conference room.
Gary Dixon shifted uneasily in his chair and carried on playing with his phone.
‘How’s the bail situation working out?’
Gary looked up at Lara, signaling that she should reply.
‘It’s going OK,’ she said. ‘You’ve always got on well with Jammer, haven’t you, Gary?’
Gary murmured, ‘Yeah.’
Jack could already see that getting this kid to say anything was going to take time he didn’t have – trust wasn’t built in one con. He’d have to try a different approach. ‘So I’m assuming it’s a guilty plea and back to jail?’
‘Eh?’ Gary replied, sitting up in a more confrontational stance.
‘I’ve got to have a defence to run a trial – you haven’t given us one yet.’
Gary’s expression remained in its default state – mistrust. ‘I weren’t there.’
‘OK,’ Jack replied. ‘Trouble is, your DNA was on Mr Ross’ clothes, and your blood was on the fence where someone saw the burglar running away. How do you explain that?’
‘That’s your job,’ Gary replied, jutting out his chin.
‘Jack’s good,’ said Lara, ‘but not that good.’
Jack leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Look mate, I want to help, for you, for Lara and Jammer, but you’ve got to give me something.’
For the first time, Gary made eye contact. Jack could see the desperation in his eyes.
‘Can’t you get me off on a technicality?’
‘I wish,’ said Jack. ‘’Fraid that only happens on American TV shows.’
The client had no other suggestions.
‘Look, Gary,’ said Jack after a prolonged silence. ‘If you did this, then we need to be pleading guilty ASAP so that we get some credit. Not the full third we’d have got earlier, but more than the ten percent if it’s done at trial.’
Gary appeared to be mulling it over.
Jack followed up with: ‘I’m guessing there were mitigating circumstances – you didn’t think anyone was home?’
Lacking social skills, Gary fiddled with his phone again.
‘Gary?’ Lara asked. ‘Do you understand what Mr Kowalski is saying to you?’
‘Like I said, I wasn’t there. I got an alibi, innit. My brother.’
‘What, Jermaine?’ asked Lara, appalled.
‘Yeah, he’s coming in to make a statement.’
‘Gary, that’s suicide. He’s got so many previous, the jury will never believe him, or you.’
Gary shrugged. ‘That’s my defence.’
‘So where were you exactly at the time of the burglary?’ asked Jack.
‘At Jermaine’s flat.’
‘Anyone else see you there?’
‘No.’
‘How does Jermaine know you didn’t go out?’
‘We were watching telly.’
‘What were you watching?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘OK, it’s your funeral,’ Jack replied. ‘We have to act on your instructions, but Lara’s right – your defence is crap. You need to do some serious thinking between now and the trial.’
‘Which is next Thursday,’ added Lara. ‘So call me if you have a change of heart and I’ll arrange another con.’
Gary nodded – recognition, at least, that his lawyers were trying to do their best.
Lara showed Gary out of chambers, reiterating their advice, then went back into the conference room. Jack was typing up his notes. ‘I thought you said you were worried about this one? He’s totally screwed.’
‘I know,’ Lara replied. ‘It’s just that I dealt with Gary a few times when I was a trainee. I know when he’s hiding something.’
‘Yeah – what he did.’
‘No, it’s more than that. He’s always coughed in the past – when he got caught.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, but I can’t see a scenario where he could be innocent, because he was definitely there.’
Lara checked her phone: ‘Shit, got to go. Meeting Ken at Strangeways for a con with Smart.
‘Good luck with that.’
‘We’ll need it,’ she replied. ‘About Gary, please, try and think of something, and above all, make sure you get that rape done in three days.’
Jack didn’t reply as he followed her out of chambers. He wasn’t confident he could deliver on either request. Maybe things would seem less daunting if only he could get some sleep.
Lara half-turned and waved from the bottom of the steps, already focusing on her next appointment.
Jack watched her walk up Quay Street. He imagined them together, as a couple, waking up in his flat each morning. Someone to share things with. With her at his side, he could face anything, even the guilt about Natasha.
Chapter 29
Lauren Riley’s mother tapped tentatively on the bedroom door. ‘Can I come in, love?’ She hovered outside, waiting for a response. ‘Lauren?’
‘Dunno why you ask, you’ll come in anyway.’
Sharon pushed the door open and poked her head through the gap. ‘Made you a sandwich, love. Cheese and tomato, your favourite.’
Lauren remained motionless, sat on the single bed, knees under her chin, her bloodshot eyes staring straight ahead.
Sharon left the plate on the bedside table and went over to open the dirty grey curtains, revealing the graffitied concrete jungle outside. The light hit Lauren’s puffed up face.
‘Come on love, you need to eat something, you’re all skin and bone.’
Lauren was somewhere else.
‘You need all your strength for the trial. You know what them barristers are like.’
‘I ain’t going,’ Lauren replied, without emotion.
‘What d’you mean, you ain’t going?’
‘You heard.’
‘You’re just gonna let him walk away?’
Still staring ahead, Lauren shrugged.
‘Lauren.’ Sharon leaned over the bed, raising her voice: ‘He raped you.’
‘Like you care.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing, forget it. Just leave me alone.’
‘No, if you’ve got summat to say, then say it.’
‘All right then.’ Suddenly full of energy, Lauren leapt up and stood facing her mother from the other side of the bed. Pointing an accusing finger: ‘You don’t give a shit about what’s best for me, you just hate men.’
‘What ya on about?’
‘It’s not my fault some bastard knocked you up at seventeen and fucked off.’
‘This is about ya dad again?’
‘What dad?’
‘Please, love, I—’
Lauren’s thoughts had already moved on: ‘I hate this life, this shithole on this ’orrible estate.’ She flopped onto the bed, curled up and began to sob. ‘Why is it so wrong to want more?’
‘Lauren, darlin’.’ Sharon perched on the edge of the mattress and, remembering her as a child, gently stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘Shush, it’s gonna be all right, love.’
Lauren was calmer now, her face pressed into a pillow, listening to the sound of boys shouting outside and a tin can being kicked against a wall.
‘Why don’t you put some makeup on and go out? Have a good time, instead o’ hidin’ up here day after day?’
‘All them cameras and reporters at court, mum.’
‘Yeah, but they can’t say who you are, love.’
‘Even if he gets off?’
‘Yes, they said that’s the law, but anyway, he won’t.’
‘What if the judge thinks I lied?’
‘Stop it, Lauren, you ain’t thinkin’ straight.’ Sharon sat up, placed a hand on Lauren’s shoulder and said firmly: ‘You ain’t done owt wrong, and you got nowt to be ashamed of.’
A whisper: ‘’Aven’t I?’
‘What you sayin’? What’s this
all about?’
No reply.
Sharon tugged at Lauren’s shoulder. ‘Love, what is it? Tell me?’
A long silence. ‘Nothing, I just wanna sleep. I’ll come down in a bit, yeah.’
‘Ok, love,’ Sharon replied. ‘See you in a bit.’ She got up to go downstairs, but stopped at the door and gazed at her little girl.
She had an uneasy feeling.
Chapter 30
Category A visits at Strangeways required numerous security checks, waiting for prison officers at various locked doors, a final walk through a courtyard and then – if the prisoner decided to attend – a conference behind a glass screen. Difficult to arrange and time-consuming, this was the price to be paid for the honour of defending Manchester’s most dangerous criminals.
Lara had to skip to keep up with Dobkin as they walked from the visitors’ centre up to security. He went to check his watch, then remembered he’d put it in the locker. ‘Got to be back in the office for half three, so we need to make this quick.’
‘Why are we even seeing him if you’ve got two shrinks that say he’s unfit? It’s not like he can give instructions.’
‘Best practice, Lara. They all get the same service with Dobkin, whatever the disability.’
‘Very PC, Ken. So what did they actually say?’
‘What didn’t they say?’ Dobkin put his forefinger on the machine to have his print read, then took his shoes off and chucked them into a plastic tray. Lara did the same. Once they were through the metal detector and patted down, Ken continued: ‘Personality disorder, OCD, schizophrenia: in other words, mad as a box of frogs.’
‘Jesus, how do you come back from that?’
The electric doors opened. They walked into the glass box and waited for them to close so that the outer doors could open. ‘You don’t,’ said Ken. ‘You die in hospital.’
‘Did you get a barrister?’
‘Yup, Bill McDonald, an old junior from London. Done loads of fitness jobs.’
‘Thought you’d get a silk for this?’
‘We tried – application refused. Now he’s nuts it’s just a rubber-stamping exercise, I s’pose.’
‘Legal aid cuts more like.’
‘You said it.’
After another fingerprint check and a long escorted walk up and down stairwells and across the inner courtyard, they made it to Cat A visits.
‘Legal for Smart?’ asked a prison officer above the sound of keys jangling on his belt.
‘Yes.’
‘In there,’ he said, pointing to one of the glass-fronted booths.
They went in, sat down and looked through the screen to the empty seat on the other side. ‘Typical,’ moaned Dobkin. ‘We’ll be waiting here for an hour before they get him off the wing. You need to write off the whole afternoon nowadays.’
Lara flicked through her notes on the Dixon con while Dobkin went on: ‘How the hell do they expect legal aid firms to stay in business when it takes this long to see a punter?’
Lara agreed at the appropriate moments, but her mind was on Jack. How good it had been to spend time with him again. She’d missed him more than she’d realized. Why someone so intense and neurotic should make her feel so comfortable, she had no idea, but the thought of him made her smile.
‘They spent forty minutes looking up Mike Hanrahan’s arse last week,’ said Dobkin. ‘Said they had intelligence he was bringing in wizz.’
‘What?’ replied Lara, giving him her full attention. ‘Did they find anything?’
‘Course not, he’s a senior bloody partner.’
‘I heard about Rod Laker from Brindlers getting arrested ’coz he forgot to leave his phone in the locker.’
‘I know, he was…’ The gossip stopped as a prison officer opened the door on the other side. Timothy Smart, in a pair of tatty jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, was handcuffed to his wrist. Clearly relieved to terminate his close proximity to the man, he unlocked the cuffs and left the prisoner standing in the booth.
The defendant couldn’t have looked less like an accountant: scruffy, hair grown out, unshaven and uncertain in his gait. Pupils dilated, he focused on the solicitors as if trying to remember their place in his world.
‘Hello Mr Smart, it’s me, Ken Dobkin, your lawyer. You remember Lara, don’t you?’
Smart looked blankly at Lara, then lowered himself unsteadily into the chair and arms crossed, began to move his upper body slightly forwards, then backwards in a rocking motion.
Lara wondered if there had been an incident on the wing to explain him being so heavily doped up. ‘Hi Tim, how’ve you been coping?’
Smart opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. He did it again, this time with his face almost touching the glass. The scene made Lara think of a goldfish in a bowl, blowing bubbles.
‘All the experts are agreed,’ Dobkin explained, ‘that you are unfit to plead. You are not well enough to give your lawyers instructions, and so you wouldn’t be able to play a meaningful part in the trial.’
No reaction from Smart, only swaying, backwards and forwards.
‘So there will be a trial to see if you did the act, but not whether you meant to do it. We will be appointed by the Court to act on your behalf, and you’ll have a barrister from London called Bill McDonald. You will be at the trial, but you won’t have to do or say anything.’ Dobkin gave Smart time to digest the information. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
If the news was reaching Smart, it didn’t appear to have any effect.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Smart,’ Dobkin added. ‘If you can’t tell us what happened, we can’t put forward a defence – that’s not your fault. You’re not well.’
Still rocking and staring into space, Smart said nothing.
After a respectable wait, Dobkin said: ‘Well, that’s it then, see you at trial.’
They packed away their papers and got up to leave, the one-way dialogue making them self-conscious.
Then, as if to himself: ‘Why do you not understand what I am saying?’
At last, Smart had spoken.
Once they’d got over the surprise, the solicitors sat back down. Lara made a note as Dobkin asked: ‘What do you mean, what you are saying?’
No eye contact, back in his own world, Smart did not say another word.
They waited a few minutes but still nothing.
Chapter 31
It was Friday morning – the last working day before the trial of The Crown versus Nowak. Tired, nervous and with his mind flitting between cases, Jack made the journey from his flat in the Northern Quarter across the city to chambers. The second and final con with Nowak, supposedly for discussing final strategies, was more likely to be a wringing of hands about how little ammunition they had to fire at Lauren Riley. Jack had been up all night, going over her witness statement again and again. Something didn’t add up, but unfortunately he had no idea what that was: just a feeling, a barrister’s instinct that a fact was out of place. Maybe he was imagining it.
Deep in thought, Jack walked straight into a man selling the Big Issue. Apologizing profusely, he bought a copy, then dropped it in a bin on Deansgate.
Why would Nowak risk a lifestyle that others could only dream of? Why would he rape someone? There were plenty of women who would go with him willingly. These were his best points, Jack told himself.
By the time Jack arrived in chambers, the others had already been shown into a conference room. ‘Nowak?’ asked Jack.
‘On his way,’ replied Statham. ‘I wanted a few minutes to discuss matters. No point unsettling the client.’
Jack knew what that meant – things weren’t looking good. ‘What have you got?’
‘Firstly, the footage, not great quality, so the enhancement hasn’t done much.’
‘Was there an exchange?’
‘Impossible to tell. The expert is doing a report, which will say: can’t rule it out.’
Jack slumped into a chair. ‘That doesn’t help.’
‘Do we know who he is?’
‘The guy on the footage?’ Statham shook his head. ‘No, but Brian thinks he might.’
‘Really?’ said Jack, turning to the agent.
‘I don’t know him, I just think I’ve seen him before.’ He scratched his balding head. ‘Maybe at the ground, I dunno, I’m sure he works in football.’
‘This is our best lead,’ said Jack, ‘so one of you had better get him identified, and quickly.’
They agreed, with a solemnity that showed an appreciation of the difficult task Jack faced.
‘What about the previous sexual history argument?’ Jack asked.
‘Two statements, both from ex-partners, saying she loves sex and—’
Jack cut him off: ‘We won’t get that in.’
‘Hang on, and she likes bondage, uses handcuffs, likes being whipped.’
‘Instigated by who?’
‘Always by Riley.’
Jack mulled it over. ‘It’s weak, not sure the judge’ll allow it.’
‘He’d better, it’s all we’ve got.’
This was the first time Jack had seen Statham without an air of supreme confidence. It only added to the pressure.
‘All we’ve got?’ questioned Boswell. ‘What you talking about? Anyone can see what she’s about.’
Jack ignored him. ‘How did you find these witnesses?’
‘With a bit of digging,’ was Statham’s cryptic reply.
‘Don’t bullshit me,’ snapped Jack. ‘It will come out when they give evidence, so I want the heads up.’
Cautiously, Statham revealed: ‘One was from our enquiry agent, asking around the estate.’
‘Is there any independent evidence confirming the relationship?’
With even more reluctance: ‘No.’
‘Or that they even know each other?’
‘No.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ exclaimed Jack. Then, as an afterthought: ‘Did any money change hands?’
Statham shook his head, then contradicted himself. ‘I don’t know.’
Jack ran his hands through his hair. ‘And the other one?’
Statham could hardly bring himself to say it. ‘Twitter.’