Pinpoint

by Sheila Mary Taylor

  Smiling to herself, she carried on towards Bridge Street. She wouldn’t need the coffee now. Simon had always said how a simple smile could banish negative thoughts. Even though he had been dead for almost six years she had never forgotten her husband’s golden advice, though lately she had noticed it hadn’t always worked. More often it was this weird ability of hers to debate the problem with herself, as though she were talking to an alter ego.

  Geoff Atherton was suddenly beside her. Falling into step with her he took her arm, always the perfect gentleman. ‘Well, what was that tirade all about?’

  ‘Well, let’s face it,’ Julia said. ‘You’ve got to blame someone when the bottom suddenly falls out of your universe. A pretty natural reaction if you’ve just been condemned to spend the rest of your life in prison.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘As threats go, I’ve had worse.’

  ‘Typical Julia,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Stoic. Stubborn. And so magnanimous.' He stopped and turned to her, shielding her from the wind. 'But why you? Why not me? Or the police. It’s not usual for them to threaten their solicitors.’

  ‘You know, I think you’re right. Though I have suffered my fair share of being expected to shoulder responsibility for the sins of my clients. The thing is, I think he trusted me. More than they usually do. He has no one else to blame,’ she said, more to herself than to Geoff. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. It was important to carry on looking normal. ‘He doesn’t mean it, you know. He was just letting off steam.’

  Geoff raised his eyebrows. ‘You really believe that?’

  ‘Who cares? He’ll be inside for at least thirty years. And I won’t be sending him Christmas cards in the interim.’

  ‘I’m not convinced by your casual flippancy, Julia, and I wouldn’t blame you if you felt bloody offended, even if it wouldn’t do you any good.’ She didn’t answer. ‘You’re pale,' he said. 'You look as though you could do with a drink.’

  She forced another smile. The idea was tempting. Counsel’s chambers were next door to the Lloyd Grant offices and it wasn't unusual to meet at the end of the day for a chat and a drink at the San Georgio. Or at the Mark Addy where they'd watch the River Irwell oozing past the big plate glass windows of the old river-bus station. She glanced at her watch. ‘Bit early for a drink, isn't it?’

  ‘It’s Friday, Julia. The Smith trial’s over. Okay, just a coffee?’

  She was about to say yes when she saw Paul, a crowd of reporters pressing around him. Geoff followed her gaze.

  ‘Friend of yours?’

  In his tone she noted the censure. In his eyes she saw the doubt. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  The legal world was small. People talked. And when they didn’t know the full story they embellished. Geoff will have heard rumours, but she wasn’t prepared to discuss her ambiguous relationship with DS Paul Moxon.

  She looked across at the tall, well-set figure. He was on call this weekend, he had told her, so wouldn’t be dropping in to see her and her daughter Nicky as he usually did on Friday evenings. Their strange, tantalising relationship had been evolving at a geologically slow pace for some time, and she had no idea where it might lead, if anywhere. And even less idea what other people might think about it. Not that she even advertised its existence.

  Moxon had his back to her, engrossed, together with Prosecuting Counsel, in animated conversation with members of the press. They were laughing and patting each other on the back.

  ‘Well, at least they’re pleased with the verdict,’ Geoff said.

  This made Julia acutely conscious of the professional chasm between Paul and herself. Today the yardsticks by which they measured success in the courtroom seemed more divergent than ever. Sam Smith was one of Paul’s particular bêtes noires. Right now he would be jubilant. He would feel like rubbing her nose in it, not to spite her but because of what he was, a copper first, and the rest of him a distant second. No, she didn’t want to see him so soon after the Smith verdict. She turned back to Geoff.

  He gestured towards the San Georgio, eyebrows raised.

  It would mean a post-mortem on the Smith case and Julia wasn’t sure she could handle that. ‘Thanks, Geoff. I’d really love to. But there’re a million things to do at the office and I must get home to Nicky early. It’s her nanny’s night off.’

  As she walked away a frightening image flashed across her vision. It had begun while she was watching Smith in the dock. She had tried holding on to it but just as it was doing now, it slithered away and refused to return. Something she had done. Something she had fled from into her amnesia. Something too horrific to contemplate.

  - 3 -

  Relieved to find no clients waiting to see her, Julia peeped into her personal assistant’s office. There’d be a plethora of phone messages and she was hardly through the door when Linda started.

  ‘Joey Gallagher’s pissed off ’cause you haven’t returned his calls. Call him back before five or he’s going to sack you. Mrs Carruthers says why isn’t Jimmy out on bail yet? Wants you to ring back and explain. Hindley Remand Centre cancelled Monday’s slot to see Dave Harkin ’cause he’s been moved to Hull Prison. The Listing Office said the judge insists the Jeffreys case is not taken out of the list.’

  ‘What d’you mean not taken out? The prosecution’s got no objection.’

  ‘Well, that’s what they said. Oh, and the fruitcake’s been on again. Wants to know if you’ve got his damages yet off the police and if you have he’ll call in later to pick up the cheque.’

  Julia shook her head. ‘I wish I could help him. The poor old bugger may be delusional but it’s about time he did his deluding somewhere else. If he comes in here again tell him to go away and bloody well call the police if he doesn’t.’

  Linda smiled and carried on with the messages. ‘The Listing Office again. Want to know if it’s okay to take the Jameson case out of the list.’

  ‘Thanks, Linda. You’re a star. Luckily they’ll all wait until Monday.’ She scooped up the bundle of messages and files Linda would have sorted into order of urgency, and fled down the passage to her own office at the front of the building. She regretted her display of impatience but had been unable to stop herself. She needed to be on her own.

  With a lingering glance at the photo of Nicky, long blonde hair neatly combed, one tooth missing, and at the beautiful portrait of Simon - eyes looking straight at hers, the last before the plane crash, she sank into the chair behind her desk. She made a few phone calls, then began ploughing through outstanding mail, working like a robot, giving instructions into her dictaphone for Linda to deal with later. At this frenzied rate she would be home well in time for Wendy to keep her hair appointment, and for her to take Nicky and Duke for their favourite walk in The Carrs.

  She was gathering the files she needed to work on at the weekend when Ben appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I heard the verdict,’ he said. ‘Want to talk?

  Not now, she thought. She didn’t need this. But on the other hand, if she didn’t, he would hound her. She looked pointedly at her watch. ‘Okay. But I can only spare five minutes.’ She gave him a swift smile. Keep looking normal, she reminded herself.

  - 4 -

  Julia watched Ben pour the coffee.

  He handed her a mug. 'News travels fast, especially when it’s bad. What's all this about him threatening you? Before you ask, it was on Piccadilly Radio a few minutes ago.'

  She told him in as few words as possible about Smith’s outburst from the dock.

  ‘I’m surprised they didn’t handcuff him sooner,’ he said.

  She closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. Now take it easy, she told herself. Be careful not to defend him too much. ‘In fairness, there was no perceived need. He was as gentle as a lamb. Throughout remand his behaviour's been impeccable.’ From Ben's expression, even that was overdoing it. 'Anyway, handcuffs are out of fashion in the dock these days,’ she added quickly. ‘Needless physical restraint might have conveyed t
o the jury that he was a risk. And therefore criminally guilty. I never had a moment’s trouble with him.'

  ‘Not a bit like Fred Kodjo, eh, Julia? I don’t know how you handle him.’

  She was not fooled by the honey tones. He was trying to humour her. Why, she wondered. ‘Fred’s no more difficult than any other client,’ she said.

  ‘He’s maximum security for God’s sake. They don’t even move him without sixteen prison officers, police cars, armed police officers, motorbike outriders.’

  ‘When I visit Fred, he behaves perfectly.’

  Ben nodded. 'Yeah. You could probably tame a lion if it came to the push.’ He gave her one of those incongruous smiles she had lately become wary of. ‘Do you think Smith will appeal?’ he asked.

  What’s up with Ben today, she wondered, not oblivious to the sudden change of tack. ‘Told me this morning there’d be no need.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, after his performance in the dock, he’s just got himself another lawyer.’ She looked out the window, then back again at Ben. ‘Strange what he said, though. I asked him why, but . . .’

  A puzzled look spread across Ben's face. Julia followed his gaze and realised with a start that she had been stirring her coffee throughout their conversation even though she never took sugar. Avoiding his eyes, she put the spoon on the tray and carried on calmly. ‘It was really odd how certain he appeared to be that we’d already won his case for him.'

  ‘I think he’s far cleverer than your average criminal,’ Ben said. He paused, but Julia wasn’t taking the bait. ‘You’ve probably got to know him better than any other law abiding citizen.’

  ‘Yes,' she answered. And her thoughts drifted away, wondering if Smith had felt the same possibility as she had. And if so he would be wondering who she was too, so why had he never said anything.

  'Strange, isn’t it,' she said, 'how you build up a kind of . . . friendship with your client. Well, you know what I mean,’ she hastened to add. ‘I’ve never quite understood how it happens.’

  Careful, Julia, she told herself. Ben knows you too well. But you wouldn’t like him to know you might be the twin sister of a cold blooded murderer, now would you?

  ‘Not really, Julia. Most of us get on well with our clients. Some better than others, but if we didn’t try to get on with them we’d end up with none.’

  ‘Yes. But sometimes you can do both. You can dislike them. Despise them. Abhor their behaviour. Hate them for what they’ve done. Or for what you think they’ve done. At the same time you can actually feel . . . sorry for them, and begin to think you understand exactly why they’ve done what they’ve done. But as far as Smith is concerned, he’s just a billing exercise now.’ She was not about to reveal to Ben what was going on beneath the surface.

  What was there to tell him, anyway? Nothing was definite. And if even the slightest hint of a connection with Smith leaked out, the media would have a field day with the headlines: SOLICITOR JULIA GRANT TWIN SISTER OF BRUTAL MURDERER SHE DEFENDED. What would that do to her career, and more importantly to Nicky?

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Ben said. ‘Forget it, Julia. It’s over now. When you know they’re guilty and you’ve given them an adequate defence ─ in his case more than adequate ─ you just walk away. You’ve done your duty. And that’s it.’

  It’s okay for you, she thought. In any other case Ben would be right, but she doubted that getting Smith out of her system was going to be that easy. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she managed to say, trying to maintain an air of confidence. ‘but, you know, I thought we might just have had a chance.’

  She was not oblivious to the incongruity of it all. She liked to win. Her reputation depended on a fair percentage of success but in this instance, professionally, it was a relief to have lost. She had never defended anyone in whose guilt she so firmly believed. But because of who he might be, and because of her deep empathy with the appalling events that had moulded and twisted him, she had craved for him to be innocent.

  Ben narrowed his eyes. ‘In the end it’s all about winning, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s about getting the fairest deal for your client ─ Jesus, Ben, you know that.’ Julia bit her lip until she was sure it must be bleeding. ‘But when you do win,’ she said, giving him her most relaxed smile, ‘it sure gives you a boost.’

  ‘Yes, but let’s be honest, with this one you never had a chance.’

  ‘I don’t really know where you’re going with all this, Ben. We did have a chance. Some of the evidence was all over the place. There were cops hell-bent on nailing him who lied through their teeth and were like naughty kids who’d been caught with their hands in the sweetie jar when they were cross-examined. There were major cock-ups with continuity on the forensics. Oh, and I nearly forgot, my client told me he hadn’t done it. So what was I to do, walk all over him and get him to plead? I don’t think so, Ben. And anyway, you know as well as I do, every case of murder’s a gamble. So much depends on the prejudices of the jury.’ She bit her lip again. She was protesting too much.

  Ben frowned and shook his head in a way that Julia recognised. It was an almost theatrical look that often presaged one of her partner’s insightful perceptions.

  She flicked a wisp of hair from her eyes.

  'What's up, Ben?' she asked with studied nonchalance.

  'You're normally so predictable, Julia, but ─ I don't know how to put this ─ you've behaved strangely over the Smith case right from the beginning. Take day one. Your face was like chalk when you came back from that first visit . . .' He clasped his hands together until his fingers turned white. 'If . . . if there's anything I can do ─ I mean, you look . . . well ─ I'd like to help.'

  'I'm fine,' she said, relieved that help was the only thing on his mind.

  'Good. I'm glad,’ he said.

  ‘And I have to go. Dog and daughter beckon. Friday and the weekend are upon me.”

  Ben quickly finished his coffee. He took a deep breath and rubbed his chin, drawing his eyes together in another worried frown. Julia pushed her chair back and was about to stand, ready to go, when he spoke.

  ‘You know something? You’d have made a damned good barrister.’

  She smiled. Now who was behaving strangely? He was so transparent. Why all this flattery? ‘No. I’d have hated dealing with all the stuffy formality ─ the bowing and scraping. I’ve always gone for the one-to-one contact. Finding out what makes clients tick. Delving deep into their psyche to find out what really happened. Why they became criminals. Some of them may be the scum of the earth,' she said, twisting Simon's ring round and round her finger, 'but every one of them is still entitled to the very best, the most thorough defence it is humanly possible to ─ ’

  ‘Sure. And if anyone can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, it’s you.’

  Julia acknowledged his sugary praise with yet another smile. But why now? She could do without all this. She was fond of Ben. He had guided her professionally and for this she was grateful. But she often found him gazing at her in a way that made her wary of him, even after all these years working as his partner. Not for the first time she thought that perhaps, as Simon’s best friend, he felt entitled to set himself up as Simon’s successor. In defence she restricted social contact with him to the occasional lunch or a quick drink after work. He was only ever invited to the house when there would be other guests there. No way was she ever going to risk sending him mixed messages.

  ‘I don’t like losing,’ she said, trying to keep the conversation as general as possible, ‘any more than you do. When we win I can tell myself I’ve done a hell of a good job. When we lose I still know I’ve done a hell of a good job. But then I wonder whether I couldn’t have done just that little bit better.’

  ‘Yes. But there’ll be other trials to win.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘Listen, Ben, I’ve really got to get moving. I have to get home. I’ll see you Monday.’

  He stood up. She could see his mind had switched direc
tion. He took several steps towards her, then stopped.

  ‘Julia.’

  She dug for her car keys in the side pocket of her handbag and leapt for the door before he could suggest they go out for a drink. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you want . . . protection?’

  He looked quite pathetic in his attempt to keep her talking, yet she couldn’t help laughing with relief.

  ‘Protection? Thank you, but that’s the last thing I need. Smith will be inside for at least thirty years.’

  - 5 -

  At dead on four-fifty Sam Smith watched the big white sixteen-ton prison van reverse through the electronically operated gates into the secure area at cell level behind the Crown Court on Gartside Street.

  There were three other prisoners going to Strangeways this afternoon. All Cat-A’s, Sam noted with interest. He hated being close to anyone else at the best of times, especially cons. It was just his bad luck to be handcuffed to the one he detested the most. A nonce. Indecently assaulted and knifed to death a seven-year old boy behind the Community Centre in Moss Side ─ the scum. Third child offence. A child for Chrissake. An innocent little child . . .

  Still, it wouldn’t be for long. He would just have to bear it. Soon they’d be in the sweatbox, each locked in a cell on their own for the journey to Strangeways.

  And that wouldn’t be for long either. Not if Frank and Stringer and Joe Sagoe were on the ball. Sometimes it was good to be one of the boys. They owed him one. When the heat was on to name names over the Carstairs robbery they’d all have done a stretch if he hadn’t kept his mouth zipped up. Anyway, they knew there’d be a juicy prize for them this time.

  If everything went according to plan.

  At four fifty-five the prison officer escorted them into the cellular van. The screw, stocky with shaved head and gorilla hands, unhandcuffed them for fuck’s sake, then locked each one into their individual cells. Bless him for being so considerate. Passenger comfort and all that.