Pausing just outside the swing doors of court number five, Julia held her mobile phone away from her ear as she imagined Cartwright’s grey eyes drawing together with customary precaution.
‘Two hundred and fifty thousand, did you say, Julia?’
‘Yes, John. Sorry I can’t explain right now. I’ve a case coming up in court in a few moments and I’ll have to switch off my phone, but I must have the money by Friday at the very latest.’
For a fleeting illusory moment she thought he was going to say yes. A picture flashed into her mind of stuffing a great mound of notes into a bag and staggering out of the bank. What does a quarter of a million pounds look like in bank notes, she wondered. Did she have a big enough bag? How heavy will it be?
Wishful thinking, Julia. John Cartwright does everything according to the book and he hasn’t even asked yet why I need the loan. And if he knew the reason he’d be on to the police even before I ring off.
‘In view of existing loans with Hillside House as security,’ he said in his usual non-committal tone, ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes. I’ll ring you in a couple of days to arrange a meeting.’ And then, in the same light tone, he added, ‘Of course, Julia, I’ll need to know the reason for the loan and how you intend to repay it.’
‘It’s vital that I get this money, John,’ she said quietly. It was important that her bank manager should not sense any panic in her voice. ‘But I’m afraid I simply must go now. Duty calls.’
She turned off her mobile and stuffed it into her handbag. She almost wished he’d said no straight away. Now she would have the agony of waiting as each clock-ticking day took her closer and closer to next Monday’s deadline.
- 37 -
The courtroom was filling up. People all around her talked in hushed tones. Julia sat down on the far right of the bench and took a file from her briefcase. She would only need to be on her feet for a few minutes, since all she’d be asking for was an adjournment for four weeks and bail for her client.
But at ten past ten there was still no magistrate. Right now the Longdale murder trial was opening in court number one at the Crown Court. She’d told Geoff Atherton she’d be a bit late, but this was ridiculous. Besides, she should also be in court number two where the dreaded Buchan case was continuing.
She stared around the banana yellow walls of the courtroom trying to ward off the growing sense of alarm that was threatening to swamp her. I’m a normal, intelligent woman, she told herself, yet I feel so impotent. Most women have mothers and fathers, husbands or boy friends, someone they can ask for advice. I have nobody. I suppose I could go to David and Jessie. In theory my adoptive parents are the only family I have, apart from Nicky. They still love me, in their quiet, undemonstrative way, but I haven’t time to drive to Southport. And if I did, they wouldn’t understand my dilemma. I could phone, but that would be even more difficult.
Jessie . . . the conversation would go, if you have five minutes to spare I’d like you to tell me what you think I should do. Well, you see, there’s this client of mine. He’s as guilty as sin. He thought I would get him off but the jury thought otherwise and now he’s got life imprisonment. Then he jolly well deserves it, dear, Jessie would say . . .
No. It would never work. Talking to Jessie would only upset her. And David would go straight to the police the moment he thought someone was gunning for her or his darling Nicky.
And who else is there? Someone I could really trust . . .
Ben? In theory, yes, but no chance now.
Wendy? Sweet and helpful and knowledgeable about how to deal with young children. Physically super tough but a little vulnerable perhaps. And no guarantee she would not tell Alan.
Paul?
Yes yes yes!
But he’s a policeman.
So what now, she asked herself? As each day dawns those little embers of my memory are continuing to ignite, to skitter around the core of Smith’s bizarre accusation, only to fizzle out before I can grasp them. But despite my ongoing amnesia it is perfectly clear to me that Smith is convinced I will give him a quarter million quid to keep quiet about killing my foster father. I don’t even remember the man’s name. How I wish I could remember. How I wish I knew what I should do.
It’s a bit like being lost in the middle of Paris on that enormous roundabout with about ten roads leading off it and not knowing which one is which. You know exactly where you are. You know what you’re up against. You know that one road will get you out of Paris.
But you have no idea which is the right one.
- 38 -
As Julia walked down the rat infested stairs she regretted not asking Charlie to meet her somewhere else, anywhere rather than Sweet Cherry. But at least this time he was waiting for her when she arrived.
‘There’s a room at the back,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
The small dim room was even more foul smelling than the main room. Charlie kicked the door closed, then shoved a chair against it. On the one rickety ring-marked table were two glass tankards of ripe-smelling beer that mingled with the putrid stench from the mildewed floorboards to produce an aroma like nothing Julia had ever smelled before.
‘Thought you’d like a Red Stripe while we talk business.’
‘Thanks.’ she gave him an anxious smile. ‘Have you got it?’
‘Course I have. Sit down.’ Charlie’s lips tightened across his teeth in a slow smile as he took a small cardboard box out of his anorak pocket and handed it to Julia.
She tensed her muscles to stop her hand from shaking. She took a sip of the lukewarm beer, letting it swirl in her parched mouth before it slid down her throat like warmed-up honey. She opened the box, then reached in her handbag for the gun.
‘You haven’t a clue, have you, Mrs Solicitor?’
She shook her head and handed the gun to Charlie with the brown plastic handle facing him. ‘Never point a gun at anyone,’ she said, forcing a laugh as it slipped into his palm.
Charlie grinned. ‘It’s all right. The safety catch is on. Ready? Okay. Now, hold it like this. To release the magazine, press that button just behind the trigger.’
She did as she was told. Is this really me, she wondered.
‘Good. Now load the magazine. Press that button and yank it out. Now slot the slugs into the end of the magazine and push ’em down. Come on. You do it now.’
She pressed the button and pulled out the oily magazine. One by one she inserted the bullets, sliding her fingers over their cold gleaming noses as they slotted in.
‘Okay. Now flick up the safety catch with your thumb, slide the magazine in at the bottom end of the butt, and ram it home till it clicks.’
‘Is that it, then?’ she whispered when she’d finished.
‘Yeah. Nothing to it. But you’ll have to practice, Julia. You may need to do it quickly. Good. Now let go the slide. There you go. Loaded and cocked.’
‘What? No. I can’t have a cocked gun in my handbag.’ She almost dropped it on the floor as though it was a scorpion about to whip its lethal tail into her finger.
Charlie took the gun from her. ‘Okay,’ he said gently, as if he were speaking to a child. ‘When there’s a cartridge up the spout, do it this way. Hold the hammer back with your left thumb, pull the trigger and let the hammer come slowly back into the uncocked position.’
‘Oops! It jumps.’
Charlie smiled. ‘You learn fast, Mrs Solicitor. Okay. Now, because there’s a bullet in the breech, push up the safety catch. And that’s it, except for firing it.’
She breathed out. It was hard to believe she was going through with this depraved charade when she had no intention of ever using it - well, only if Nicky were in danger. And only into the air as a deterrent.
‘Hold it with both hands,’ Charlie said. ‘Right hand firmly round the butt, left hand overlapping the right.’
‘It feels awkward.’
‘It won’t when the time comes.’ He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. ‘And don’t forget. It kicks
up when you shoot.’
‘Does that mean I must aim lower?’
‘No, don’t aim too low. But don’t shoot at the head. Anything above the head and you’ve missed. Hold it steady. Look down the barrel. Make sure the front sight fills the space of the notch, if you’ve got the time. If not, just point and shoot.’
She looked up at the blackened ceiling then down at the filthy floor. Is this just another bad dream, she wondered. My primary weapon should be to go to the police, or reason with Smith, as I’ve done in the past. Persuade him to give himself up.
A picture of Nicky flashed into her mind. Nicky with her smile so like Simon’s. Nicky with her love for anything and everything that is alive and breathing. My precious daughter.
TUESDAY
- 39 -
Standing sideways in front of the hall mirror at Hillside House, Wendy arched her back and pushed her stomach forward. Although it was prudent at this stage to keep her pregnancy hidden, she was dying to see some outward sign, but there wasn’t the slightest bulge and even her breasts looked much the same, although in the shower this morning they had felt tender to the touch.
She smiled at herself in the mirror. Nicky was at school. Duchess was a curled-up ball of fluff in Duke’s basket. The housework was finished. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, though she hadn’t expected to feel so frightened. Frightened, but at the same time more excited than she’d ever felt in her life.
With trembling fingers she unwrapped the Boots packet and read the instructions. Taking the portable phone from its cradle in the kitchen she went into the bathroom. How incredible that in only three minutes she’d know for certain whether or not she was carrying Alan’s baby.
Staring at the spot where in three minutes the blue line would appear if she were pregnant, she wished Alan were here to share this fantastic moment. She tried not to imagine what he would say if it were positive. He might say nothing, and just never turn up again. That’s the way he was. He hated complications.
He’d be at home now, on his lunch break. Irresistibly her hand was drawn to the phone. She dialled, her smile fading as she remembered how her mother had always blamed her for the break-up of her marriage. ‘Your father was fine till you came along,’ she used to say. ‘He couldn’t stand your bawling. That’s when he started going down the pub and drank himself to death.’
She heard the ringing tone. Should she tell him about the baby first, or the house? A little two-up two-down cottage was all they’d need . . .
‘Alan? Oh, I’m so glad I’ve caught you.'
‘I’m just on my way out. I can’t stop.’
If she could keep him talking the blue line would appear and she could tell him the good news straight away. ‘I won’t keep you a minute, Alan, but you know what we were talking about the other night. Well, I thought if we bought a little house together, I have quite a bit saved.’
‘Wendy. For God’s sake give over. We’re fine as we are. Anyway, some poor sod’s house is flooding and I must go. Will I see you Friday?’
Without another word she pressed the off button. She’d never done that to anyone in her whole life and she couldn’t believe she’d just done it to Alan.
With slow jerky movements and a sinking feeling that seemed to drag her insides down into her legs she picked up the tester.
- 40 -
Julia was thankful it was only a two-minute walk from the Law Courts to the Mark Addy. She loved this walk. Often she would stroll over the bridge towards the Salford bank and gaze down at the River Irwell. She would imagine it flowing past this very spot in the Victorian days, when what was now the pub had been thronging with people waiting for the river bus. But there was no time for day-dreaming today.
With a glance at her watch she hurried through the quaint silver-domed entrance. Running down the steps into the long narrow room with its arched red brick ceiling she hoped he would still be there. The light from the full-length windows overlooking the river dazzled her eyes. It took her a moment or two to spot him.
He was sitting in one of those cubicles separated by wooden partitions topped with coloured glass squares. As soon as he saw her he stood up and ushered her to the seat beside him.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, still out of breath. ‘It’s been one of those days.’
It took another few moments to adjust to the subdued red lighting in the cubicle. Julia wondered why Paul had wanted to see her. His eyes were shuttling from one side of her face to the other as though there was something he was looking for but couldn’t find it.
‘How’s Nicky?’ he said at last.
‘Fine.’
‘Good. The usual?’ She nodded, then watched him stride to the bar.
What is it about him that always makes me feel as though my heart is missing a beat, she asked herself. The smile? The energy?
She turned away and gazed around the pub. Groups of sleek-haired women in expensive black outfits were laughing and chatting to men in well-cut charcoal grey suits. She envied those women. They appeared not to have a care in the world.
Paul put a glass of white wine in front of her. ‘It’s a bit smoky here,’ he said. ‘We could go outside.’
She curled her fingers round the stem of the glass and gripped it tightly. ‘Let’s stay here,’ she said. After her day of exposure in the courts she liked the feeling of mock privacy the cubicle gave her.
‘You look as though you’ve had a lousy day,’ he said.
She slowly shook her head. It would be impossible to discuss with Paul the intricacies of the cases she was dealing with.
He reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
‘I find it very hard to deal with crimes as awful as this, Paul. It makes me want to ─ ’
‘Cry?’
‘Yes.’
He moved towards her. She thought he was about to wrap his arms around her, but he didn’t. ‘Talk about it,’ he said. ‘It’ll help.’
She dug her nails into her palms. ‘I’m representing a man accused of raping his six-year old step-daughter, and it’s . . . ’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know the case. It must be hard for you.’
Her handbag was lying on the seat between them. Something made her touch it. With her fingers she traced the outline of the pistol. She had felt like a criminal rushing back from the court to the office and getting it out of her locked top drawer. She could never take it with her to court but at all other times she made sure she had it with her.
‘And he definitely did it,’ Paul said.
Julia pursed her lips and looked straight ahead.
He dropped his shoulders with a sigh. ‘Sorry. That wasn’t fair. But sometimes you must know.’
‘Yes. Often I think I know. But I’m human. I could be wrong. Sometimes they are telling the truth.’ Julia could still see the accusing fingers of the social workers when she’d done little more than put her arms around the boy next door and it had seemed even Jessie didn’t believe her. ‘But what if your mother or father or brother is arrested for a crime they didn’t commit? Some cranky witness makes it seem like an open-and-shut case. You’d want them represented by a solicitor who approaches the case with an open mind, wouldn’t you? One who doesn’t assume they’re guilty? And who ─ ’
‘Julia, calm down. Yes, you’re quite right. I would,’ he said.
For a few moments he said nothing more. He picked up his glass, took a gulp of his beer, put the glass down then turned to face her. ‘But the Longdale case is quite different, isn’t it? Jane Longdale has admitted her guilt.’
‘Guilt?’ She closed her eyes, then opened them again and this time she looked straight into his eyes. ‘Guilt?’ she repeated. ‘Don’t you mean she has admitted killing her grandfather?’
‘Killing is murder.’
‘Yes. But for years he sexually abused her, for God’s sake. On the day she killed him she was driven to a state where she lost her self-control. Something i
nside her snapped.’
‘Julia, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry. Both these cases have really got to me. I don’t know why.’
‘I wish I could help you to relax,’ he said, in that concerned, caring way he sometimes had of speaking. He lifted her glass and handed it to her.
A Mozart concerto was playing softly in the background. Paul was staring at her now in a way that made her want to forget all the professional differences she was convinced would always be between them.
He was watching her closely. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go outside.’
Without waiting for her approval he picked up their glasses and led the way to a table on the patio overlooking the river.
‘This is better,’ he said. ‘Now we can talk.’
‘Sounds serious,’ she said. For a moment she wondered if he was going to talk about them, their friendship, but then she knew by the way he pursed his lips that he was not.
‘It is, I’m afraid. Very serious. Bob Bennett says you’re still refusing to have anyone in the house or garden. Why?’
She gazed at the river. It was easier than looking at his eyes. ‘I think you know that already. Besides, you have the house opposite crawling with cops.’
‘Julia, please look at me.’ He held her arm. ‘I’m concerned for your safety but I’m equally concerned about capturing Smith.’
A piece of polystyrene foam bobbed over the undulating surface of the river, diffusing the muddy reflections of the concrete buildings on the opposite bank. She watched it disappear beneath the bridge, fascinated by the knowledge that it would reappear on the other side. Why was I foolish enough to think that being with Paul this evening would make Smith disappear from my mind?
She turned to Paul at last. ‘You mean I could be the bait?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Nothing will be obvious.’
He was looking at her with his eyelids half closed, as though he thought there was something she should have been telling him, but wasn’t.
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