‘My money, bitch.’
‘I haven’t got it yet. You’ll get it tomorrow.’
‘Speak up. I can’t hear you. I want it right now. Like we agreed. And to remind you - a hundred grand in tenners. The rest in fifties. None of them fucking twenties. Okay?’
She had to think straight. He’d be in no fit state to retaliate if he were ill. He sounded a bit rough, but there was no way of knowing what this was due to.
Think, Julia.
Okay. There was a time when I had complete control over Sam Smith. When I could manipulate him. When he trusted me. You’re the only person ─ or did he say woman? ─ the only woman I’ve ever met that I can trust. Help me, Julia. Please help me . . .
But things were different now. The pretence was over.
Does he know that he might be Nicholas King? Did he ever know?
Think, Julia. A more effective strategy is for you to show weakness, to show compliance. Convince him that you’re going along with his demands. Convince him that he’s got you exactly where he wants you. That he’s in control.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I haven’t got it yet. There was a technical problem. Completely out of my hands. I’ll have it all tomorrow. Really I will.’
He was breathing heavily but that could be due to anything. Maybe he’d managed to get hold of some antibiotics and was completely cured. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said at last. ‘And that’s my absolutely final word.’
‘Where do I meet you? What time?’ she asked, maintaining her tone of capitulation.
‘I’ll let you know tomorrow, don’t worry.’
‘I have a full diary tomorrow. I’m duty solicitor. Why not tell me now?’
‘So you can tell the cops? Ha. You know, Julia, I understand you far better than you think I do. I know so much about you, you thick bitch. Even things you didn’t tell me. I know everything.’
She held the phone away as another blast of raucous laughter almost deafened her. With little or no retaliation from her now, he was clearly gaining confidence.
‘I even know just what you’re thinking at this very minute.’
‘How could you possibly know, you scum.’
She regretted the derisive word as soon as she’d said it. Let him think he’s in control, for goodness sake. If he panics he might do anything.
‘Oh, Christ, we have so much in common, Julia.’
‘Look, I’m afraid I have to go now. I can’t be late.’
‘You see, Julia, I understand how you think because I’m also a twin.’
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me. You see, all twins have the same problems.’
‘You never told me before that you were a twin.’
Nicholas?
‘Never tell everything all at once,’ Smith said, clearly relishing the sound of Julia’s fear. ‘Always keep the best things for last. Or, shall we say, second-last. You should know that, Mrs clever fucking solicitor.’
‘Sam, I’m very busy. I’ll have the money tomorrow, I promise. Have you ever tried getting a quarter million pounds in cash out of someone else’s trust fund? It hasn’t been easy. Let me know as soon as possible where and when to meet you.’
And with that she slammed down the phone. Wondering where she was getting all this self control, she punched in the number for Melbourne Kennedy and asked for Fred. She closed her eyes tightly until she heard his voice.
‘Hi, Fred. Sorry to bother you so early.’ she said jauntily. ‘But regarding the stocks we asked you to sell, we’d rather like to have everything tied up by tomorrow morning first thing if you don’t mind.’
‘Julia, I am sorry. I meant to ring you. It’s doubtful. A bit of an administrative hiccup, but definitely on Wednesday.’
Wednesday. Oh my God ─
She mumbled thank you then put down the phone.
She looked at her watch. Geoff Atherton would be wondering where she was. She forced herself up, checked that she’d locked the top drawer, gathered up her handbag, briefcase and umbrella, and rushed through the door, cursing the abysmal summer weather.
- 85 -
Dodging the clumps of duffel-coated photographers hanging around the court entrance, Julia pushed open the smoky glass doors, surrendering her handbag and briefcase to the X-ray machine as she floated in a daze through the metal detector.
Number two court was crowded to capacity. With no time to go to the cloakroom she screwed up her raincoat and floppy velvet hat with its shiny new hatpin Wendy had replaced when she saw the old one was missing, and shoved them and her dripping umbrella underneath the bench.
Geoff looked relieved to see her. She smiled back vacantly.
‘All stand,’ the clerk of the court said.
The judge sat down in his maroon leather chair. The dock officers led in Julia’s client, stony-faced, neat and clean in newly pressed grey trousers and a sports coat.
‘Are you Dennis Magg?’ the clerk of the court asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Sit down, please.’
Prosecuting Counsel rose to introduce himself and Atherton as Counsel in the case. As they politely discussed housekeeping issues before the jury was empanelled, Julia glanced at the clock above the door to the jury room. It was ten-fifteen, less than half an hour since Sam Smith had phoned, and she was no nearer a solution. It would be impossible to get hold of a quarter of a million pounds in tens and fifties by tomorrow, when she’d be here in the Crown Court for most of the day, and at eleven-thirty on her feet in the Magistrates’ when her new drugs client was charged. And at five-thirty a client to see in her office . . .
‘Will the defendant please stand.’
The clerk of the court read out the indictment.
‘Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty,’ Dennis Magg said.
She could walk out now. Geoff would understand . . .
The panel of potential jurors filed in. After the clerk of the court read out their names, those chosen walked obediently to their seats.
Julia stroked the tendons in her neck that felt as if they were standing out like thick hemp ropes. Something inside her was telling her the time had come to throw caution to the wind and tell Paul everything. Including where she would be meeting Smith to hand over the money. They would apprehend Smith, put him in custody, and that would be that.
Are you crazy, Julia Grant? The first thing he would do is shoot his mouth off. She would be taken in and questioned. Paul would walk out of her life forever and The Law Society would without a doubt stop her practicing ─
And she didn’t dare think of what would follow.
And what about his accomplices?
Well, he might be bluffing. Joe Sagoe’s dead. There could be others, but it just isn’t feasible that they’d still have allegiance to Smith after what happened to Joe.
Of course it’s damn well feasible. Someone saw me go into Chester House and they are probably still watching me at this very minute.
Geoff caught her eye and frowned. I must be a sight, she thought, with my hair wet and straggly, and if he thinks I look as though I haven’t a clue what’s going on he’ll be dead right.
She glanced at the defendant. But instead of the dark pock-marked face of Dennis Magg all she could see was the lean sharp face of Sam Smith with his slightly protruding eyes, glaring at her and shouting I’ll get you, you fucking bitch. You’ll pay for this . . .
The members of the jury read one at a time from the card in front of them. ‘I swear by Almighty God that I will faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence . . .’
. . . I understand how you think because I’m also a twin . . .
Prosecuting Counsel described the crime, then the judge addressed the jury - the usual fireside chat about what their job was going to be for the duration of the trial: the judge would be in charge of matters of law, the jurors in charge of fact . . .
Julia’s mind continued to r
eel. Completely ignoring the proceedings, she gazed up at the latticed ceiling, only vaguely aware of the prosecutor’s opening speech. She had already agreed it in advance. The lifestyle of the poor pathetic dead girl: looked older than her years, parents divorced, played truant from school, unemployed, stayed out overnight, friends unemployed . . . Prosecuting Counsel rumbled on . . .
Think, Julia. Think back to those interviews with Smith at Strangeways. What did he tell you? There must be something you missed.
Geoff tapped her on the shoulder. He couldn’t find his bundle of post-mortem photos, did she have a spare set? Her papers were arrayed in a set of a dozen or so ring binders in front of her, each minutely indexed along the spine. She reached mechanically for one of them, turned to a divider and produced the photos that Counsel was after, barely aware of what she was doing.
Counsel asked for the first witness. The usher led him in and gave him the bible. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’
The truth. What is the truth? - Will somebody please tell me . . .
The proceedings dragged on. Julia gritted her teeth. How much more of this torture could she endure? She had to know. She had to find out. Nicholas King was the only one who would really know what happened that night.
She turned and beckoned to her Counsel. ‘Geoff, I’m really sorry, I’m going to have to leave. I’ll get the office to send one of our juniors over to cover while I’m away. I’ll be back as soon as I can after my case at the Magistrate’s.’ He looked at his watch, but before he could enquire what the problem was, she turned towards the judge, bowed discreetly and after grabbing her raincoat, hat and umbrella she walked noiselessly towards the exit. She was vaguely aware of her client staring at her as she walked past the dock, but she was beyond seeking his permission or approval. Once outside the courtroom she ran along the concourse, pushed through the swing doors and flew down the stairs, grabbing the handrail as she almost tripped and fell.
She looked around the square. She didn’t know which way to turn or what to do next, but there was no way she could stay in there until eleven-thirty. She had to think. She had to work things out, before she lost her mind.
- 86 -
Ben Lloyd paced the floor of his office. Each time he’d tried phoning Hillside House over the weekend there’d been no reply. Even Julia’s mobile had been switched off. When he had seen her briefly in the morning she’d looked tired and haggard.
He stopped to watch the rain lashing the street. Would it never stop? This was supposed to be summer. He glanced at his watch before starting to pace again. What a fool he had been to behave the way he had the previous Friday night. He’d been even more thoughtless in denying her a sympathetic ear over borrowing funds from the trust. Her desperation for the money had made him suspicious, and lately, whenever he suspected Paul Moxon of having anything to do with her, something inside him would snap.
Forcing himself to sit at his desk he went through evidence he’d collected from a witness, but nothing succeeded in blotting out the vision of her that occupied his mind. He resumed his pacing. The frustration was killing him. He buzzed Linda. ‘When’s Julia due back?’ he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.
‘If her trial runs, I don’t think she’ll be in much before half four.’ Linda said. ‘And a client to see at five-thirty.’
‘Could you ask her to see me first, Linda, before she calls anyone or sees anyone, okay?’
He stood at the window, thinking again about the trust. He had no idea what had made him imagine her appeal had anything to do with Paul Moxon. In his blind jealousy he hadn’t even had the courtesy to listen to her properly. He’d behaved like a prize idiot. Time to try and make up.
- 87 -
Striking out blindly from Crown Square, Julia ran to the Gartside Street car park, got into her car and sat there in the dim light, hands on the wheel, rigid as she tried to think things through. It was the only place she could think of where she’d be completely alone. Sometimes she did her best thinking in the car, but today not even listening to a favourite Mozart concerto helped to clear her mental log jam.
Think, Julia. Think.
Okay, okay, but I’m almost certain he’s never said anything before about being a twin.
She always made copious notes when she took instructions from her clients, and Smith’s case had been no different. It helped her construct a three dimensional plan in her head - what the prosecution witnesses said, what her client’s response was, then she would try to link this matrix with other defence evidence, whenever available. An eye witness, an alibi, a forensic expert.
Every killer has a motive for murder, and Julia had soon found the underlying psychological cause. In Smith’s case, assuming he would admit the killing, he despised his foster mother, Ada, the deserted wife turned alcoholic prostitute, not averse to leaving him at the mercy of her more depraved clients. In the early days of her questioning, she could see that if he transferred his hatred for Ada and his desire for revenge onto his victim . . . Bingo - diminished responsibility could have begun to look like a real possibility. And perhaps there was another causative factor too, she had thought, but quickly she had blocked that out too.
She remembered the day she’d begun to make real headway with him. She could see herself now, entering the big prison gates, smelling the stale cigarette smoke in the lift. Sam Smith’s piercing blue eyes staring at her across the interview table.
‘Now we need to go through this bit again, Sam. Step by step. When you had the scuffle you came at her with the knife. Why?’
‘I had to protect myself. I’d never seen these people before. None of them till I went to that pub. She’d already had a go at me. She was crazy. I took the knife out my pocket and held it up, just to frighten her. I didn’t mean to hurt her.’
‘Was the knife pointing down, or towards her?’
‘I didn’t actually stick it in her. But when we fell over it might have gone in. Just a slight nick. Someone else must have found her after I’d left. Someone with a knife like mine. Someone who hated her. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t. Honest I didn’t.’
‘And the cord around Joanne’s neck? Perhaps you accidentally pulled it just a bit tighter when you’d only meant to frighten her.’
‘I told you, Julia. We’d been fooling around. She was teasing me like. Laughing. You know. Joking. Some girls, they dig that sort of thing. I didn’t tighten the cord round her neck. I just played with it. Like I might have nicked her with the knife by mistake but someone else did all those other things. After I left.’
‘What about the cigarette burns on her pubic area? Did she have those when you were fooling around? Or did you do them?’
‘I don’t remember seeing no cigarette burns.’
‘Oh. So you did see her with no clothes on.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘So you didn’t see the criss-cross cuts on her thighs?’
‘I told you, I didn’t. I saw none of that stuff . . . ’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ Julia said out loud as his image faded. ‘This is getting me nowhere.’ Her hands were still gripping the wheel and she looked around the car park to see if anyone had observed her. Damn. In spite of being able to remember the interviews almost word for word, so far nothing she’d recalled had helped one iota to determine anything that could give her a clue to him being a twin. She was almost sure he’d never even hinted at it.
Anyway, thousands of twins are born every year. It’s nothing very unusual. She looked at her watch. She’d better get over to the Magistrates’ Court quickly for her bail application, and then head back to the Crown Court or Geoff would give her hell.
Half way out of the car she stopped as a babble of noises rattled and clanged in her ears.
She slid back onto the seat as a swarm of images flew around her head - a far clearer sequence than she was used to seeing.
The hairy han
ds, the stubbled chin. The broken lamp. Blood. Calling out the name Nicholas ─ that is new too ─ and his voice urging, Run Julia, run. Like I’ve seen it before but look at this. It’s changing. Wet. Cold. nightgown soaked. No shoes. Feet bleeding. Long grass. Taking off his pyjama jacket and putting it over both our heads. Arms and legs entwined. Faces touching. Beyond us voices getting closer. In a circle. Dogs. Sniffing. Don’t let them take you away, Julia, he says in my ear. And I can see his neck, see the swan. The swan. I must stay with the swan. As long as I can see the swan I’ll be safe . . .
Followed by darkness. Except for one little recollection that pushed its way into this melee of memories . . . “I took the knife out of my pocket,” he’d said. Knife in his pocket . . . Knife in his pocket . . . Oh rubbish, she told herself. Every little boy has a knife in his pocket. Nicholas had always had one in his. And then a sudden flash, in a forward time warp, the word TOUCHSTONE. Roaring in her ears.
Julia snatched a handful of tissues from the box on the floor of the car and held it to her mouth, bending over as convulsion after convulsion shook her body.
- 88 -
When Julia finally burst in through the office door at four-thirty, Linda came to meet her, her smile fading as she saw Julia’s face.
‘Julia? You’re as white as a sheet.’
‘I’m fine. I just haven’t had time to re-do my make-up and I’ve had nothing to eat.’ She took a deep breath, as though she’d been swimming under water and had to come up for air. She was still wondering how she’d managed to conduct her business at the Magistrates’ and then stay looking even half intelligent during the rest of the all-day session at the Crown Court. ‘I’d love a coffee, though,’ she said. ‘Have you got my messages?’
‘Ben wants to see you first. It sounded urgent.’
Julia couldn’t face anyone right now, least of all Ben. ‘Tell him I’m - tell him I’m tied up.’
‘Right. I’ll get your coffee. Oh, by the way, that list you wanted is on your desk.’
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