“Thank you,” Harksaw said.
Troy sat back down in his seat. The greying guard beside him nodded almost imperceptibly in reassurance, and Troy found himself feeling a little more confident. The judge didn’t seem to be too bad, even if he was a leathery old twat, and from the look of his defence lawyer she was eager for a victory, and that meant a victory for him too.
Judge Harksaw cleared his throat again, and turned to look at the jury. Troy had not paid them much attention to begin with, but as Harksaw began to explain the roles that each lawyer would be undertaking, Troy observed them now.
The men wore suits, the women smart blouses, and he couldn’t help but wonder about where they had come from, who they were. These people would judge him and pass a verdict on him, but he didn’t know anything about them. The feeling was unusual, and he didn’t like the way some of them glanced at him as if he might jump off the dock and lunge for them. Others made a conscientious effort to avoid looking at him, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.
The judge was still talking, explaining to the jury the legal requirements they must consider before returning a verdict. Troy barely listened, scrutinising each member of the jury across the courtroom from him.
“I now call upon the Crown to proceed with their case,” Judge Harksaw concluded, and Troy watched as he folded his arms and his eyes fell on Lindhurst, who stood up, smoothing down his suit. It looked cheap, Troy thought. If his defence lawyer was as determined as she looked, she would tear this chubby twat apart in days.
“My Lord,” Lindhurst said, with a nod to Judge Harksaw. He turned to the jury, his back to Troy. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I intend to prove to you over the coming days that Troy Banks, the accused, not only killed Shaniqua Curtis, but that he did so willingly and with intent. You will hear from witnesses, both professional and from friends of the accused, that he stabbed her with the sole intention of killing her. You will also hear that he showed no remorse for her death, that he used it to boost his profile and that he made every effort to evade justice.”
He turned to look at Troy, who met his gaze with a hard look of his own.
“I intend to prove to you all, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the man before you is guilty of Shaniqua Curtis’s murder,” Lindhurst continued, pacing the floor around his desk. He turned to face the jury again. “The man before you, I argue, stole this young woman’s life in a most horrific attack and he did so enthusiastically, with no thought for the victim’s life or that of her family.”
He bowed his head and returned to his desk, without a glance at the dock. Troy gritted his teeth, scrutinising Lindhurst’s face, committing it to memory so that when he was released he would recognise him and teach him a few lessons in respect.
Ms Khan, his defence lawyer, rose to her feet and inclined her head to Judge Harksaw, before looking at the jury. She looked much more professional, Troy thought, and she had an edge to her that Lindhurst couldn’t hope to compete with.
“My Lord, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Khan began, in a clear, confident voice that exuded authority. “Troy Banks did not kill Shaniqua Curtis. I will prove to you that not only is the accused innocent of murder, but that he is the victim of a desperate police investigation that targeted him solely because of an interest in punishing his brothers, who the leading officers believed to be guilty of other crimes. I will show to you that the evidence the Crown brings forward is contradictory at best, and that the witnesses you will hear testify to Mr Banks’s guilt are motivated not by wanting to do the right thing, or to get justice for Shaniqua Curtis, but to cover their own tracks, and to settle grudges that they had against the accused.”
She turned to look at Troy, and he felt compelled already by her argument, and he hoped the jury was listening hard. Some of them looked skeptical, but Troy tried not to focus on them. He saw one woman in the jury nod slowly, as if drinking in this bullshit Khan was feeding them. He hoped more of them were like her. “I do not have the answer to who is responsible for Shaniqua Curtis’ murder. It is something that, because of the leading officer’s flawed enquiry, we may never now know. I am not here to tell you who killed that girl, though,” Khan said sharply, refocusing on the jury. “I am here because an innocent young man is facing the charge of murder whilst the real killer walks free. He is brought here to the dock,” she gestured to Troy, and he glanced at the jury, hoping they were still drinking in her words, “because of rivalry, police ineptitude and a lack of evidence. I will prove to you, over the course of this trial, that an innocent man sits in the dock before you, and that you are the only people with the power to ensure that a grave miscarriage of justice is not done here.”
She returned to her table and sat down, and Troy felt pleased that she was on his team. Lindhurst looked flushed, and the jury looked uncertain now. Troy tried not to smile, but he wanted to, he felt so pleased for himself.
Lindhurst stood up again, shuffling papers on the desk in front of him, and looked at Judge Harksaw.
“The Crown would like to call their first witness to the stand,” he said, and Troy couldn’t bring himself to feel anxious now. He knew that whoever came forward would be torn apart by Khan. “The Lead Investigator on the case, Detective Sergeant Serena Patterson.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed. The memory of her slamming shut the cell door in the police station, locking him up after charging him with three counts of murder, still shook him whenever he thought of it.
The door at the entrance to the courtroom opened and Serena Patterson walked down the aisle between the banks of the public gallery, wearing a black suit. Her hair was tied back and Troy knew she looked the part of a detective. Her shirt was a light purple and she wore no jewellery.
She was led into the witness box on the other side of the judge, and the clerk went to her side and held the bible up to her. As Serena swore her oath, she glanced at Troy and he knew that she despised him as much as he did her.
“I swear by God that my evidence to the court and the jury on this trial shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” she said solemnly, and Troy felt unease as she glanced at him once more before Lindhurst stepped forward to begin his questions.
* * *
Charley hesitated at the doors to the courtroom, unsure whether she really wanted to face Dante again. She had never liked him, even when Bolton had tried to convince her that he was trustworthy, that he was his best friend. She knew that Dante had never liked her either and she was dreading having to look at him again.
“You don’t have to do this you know,” Asher said beside her. He was in his police uniform and his voice was reassuring, but Charley couldn’t feel consoled, not even by him, not today. “Do you want to stay out here?” he asked, concerned.
She felt a clammy hand on her forearm and turned to see her mother looking at her with equal uncertainty. She was a short, round woman and her smart coat was straining to contain her ample stomach.
“Why don’t you get a nice glass of water?” Toni suggested, and Charley shook her head. Her mum sighed. “Well we can’t stand at the doors all day,” she pointed out. Asher shot her a frustrated look, and Toni went quiet.
Charley knew she had to go in and face him. It was only the plea hearing, she reminded herself, and if she couldn’t face this then how could she possibly hope to face the full trial? That would only be if he pled not guilty, she knew.
“He’ll do the right thing,” Asher murmured, only half-convinced.
Charley glimpsed her mother rolling her eyes at the comment, but she took a deep breath and pushed through the doors and into the small courtroom.
Only a handful of people were there, and they were the only members of public as they took their seats near the back of the room. Charley wondered what Dante’s mum thought of all this, but she had no idea. She had never met the woman, never wanted to, and she evidently hadn’t turned up which told her something at least.
“You sur
e about this?” Asher whispered from the seat beside her.
“Stop your flustering,” Toni hissed from Charley’s other side. “Sometimes you’re worse than a woman.”
Asher looked about to protest when the clerk announced the judge and they all stood up. Charley watched the man approach the bench and hoped he was a good man, a sensible man, but she knew he would have no say over what Dante would plead. She could only hope now that Dante did the right thing and confessed.
The doors behind the dock swung open and Dante was led out. He looked much as Charley remembered him, shaved head and irritating swagger. She hated him. He stood in the dock and looked over at her. She held his gaze, as if looking into her eyes might implore him to do the right thing, the decent thing.
As everyone sat and Dante remained standing, Charley could barely breath she was so anxious. Asher clasped her hand in his and gently squeezed it, but she felt no comfort. She wouldn’t, she knew, until Dante had been punished for his crimes.
* * *
Dante looked at the judge and felt powerful, knowing that Charley’s eyes were still on him. He knew she wanted him to plead guilty, to spare her the pain of a trial and reliving Bolton’s final moments, and it gave him a perverse joy that he could inflict such emotions on the girl he had always disliked.
She had stolen Bolton from him. He had been his best mate, and then Charley had come along and Bolton had changed. Then Dante had stolen him from her when he had stuck the knife right into his chest.
“Dante Cortez, on the charge of murder, how do you plead?” the judge asked. His eyes were on him, and Dante knew that Charley was waiting for his response with bated breath. He prolonged the moment for as long as possible, almost tasting her anxiety from across the courtroom. “Mr Cortez, how do you plead?” the judge repeated. The guard beside him gave him a slight nudge.
Dante took a deep breath.
“I plead not guilty,” Dante said.
He heard Charley’s sob, quickly stifled when her hand flew to her mouth. He looked at her, tears in her eyes and head bowed, distressed. Asher was trying to comfort her, murmuring reassurances that Dante couldn’t hear. The judge made a note of his plea and conferred with the court clerk. Charley’s mother glared at him with disgust, her fat little head shaking side to side with barely repressed anger.
“In that case, we will establish a date for trial,” the judge said, looking at Dante again. Dante nodded, barely registering him.
The guard rose and nudged Dante, and he knew his brief trip out of prison was over for now, but it had been worth it to see Charley’s reaction.
Charley looked up at him as he stepped down from the dock. Her eyes were still wet but her mouth was set in a thin angry line. Dante lifted his handcuffed wrists and blew her a kiss, a smile creeping onto his face as he watched Charley’s lip tremble and her face screw-up in disgust.
The guard saw his movement and dragged him through the doors back to the cells to await his transfer back to prison. He hoped Charley would have a restless night, thinking of him. It made him feel better, and he realised he was actually excited by the prospect of his trial, anything to prolong her distress.
* * *
Charley watched the door close behind Dante and the accompanying guard. She felt hopeless and she rose with the others as the judge left the courtroom. She could not bring herself to cry anymore. There would be plenty of time for that when Dante went on trial, and she was sure he would make it as difficult as possible for her. The thought of him sitting in the dock, reliving the moment he had killed Bolton, made her feel sick. She could already picture him now, a twisted smile on his face as he recounted every minute detail of the scene.
Asher helped her to her feet and guided her from the courtroom, Toni close behind them mumbling threats under her breath. Charley knew her mother meant well, but she wasn’t in the mood for her anger and aspersions. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but she also feared the moment she would get home, say goodbye to everyone and be left alone with her son to think over the day’s events.
“He won’t get away with it,” Asher insisted as the doors to the courtroom swung shut behind them, and he led them down the corridor towards the exit. “Nobody in their right mind would believe he’s innocent. Just look at him.”
“He’s a monster,” Toni agreed. “A demon, that’s what he is.”
Charley couldn’t bring herself to say anything.
She knew that Asher was right. Dante couldn’t hope to be found not guilty, when so many police officers had seen him stab Bolton. She knew he would spend the rest of his life in prison, but she feared that he would worm his way out of trouble like he had so many times before. He was manipulative and deceitful, and she couldn’t rest easy until he had been sentenced.
Asher was explaining what would happen next, but Charley barely heard a word he was saying. She was praying that Dante wouldn’t be allowed out of prison ever again, but a part of her feared that he would find a way to get away with it.
* * *
Troy watched Lindhurst smile at Serena Patterson and knew that they were both out to get him. He just had to keep quiet, head bowed, and wait for the satisfying moment that Khan tore the pair of them apart in her cross-examination. It would be hard not to scowl, he knew that much, especially when he was unable to offer an objection himself if Serena came up with some bullshit about him.
“Detective Patterson,” Lindhurst said, still smiling at her. “You were brought up from Cornwall last year to take on a case here in London, is that correct?”
“It is,” Serena agreed.
“Can you tell me which case Superintendent Jenkins wanted you to take on?”
“It was the Shaniqua Curtis murder case,” Serena replied.
“Can you give us a rundown of the briefing that was given to you?”
Serena nodded from the witness box, and Troy narrowed his eyes at her.
“I was briefed that a young woman, Shaniqua Curtis, had been stabbed on the Goldsworth Estate as she walked home from a club,” she answered. “She had received a single stab wound to her abdomen and had bled to death before any medics arrived on the scene.”
“Were there any suspects in the case?” Lindhurst asked.
“Not initially, no,” Serena admitted. “I interviewed the Curtis family and from that it was clear that the victim had no enemies, nobody who would want her dead.”
“Interesting,” Lindhurst nodded. Troy rolled his eyes. “So you presumably began to look down other avenues of enquiry?”
“Yes, in the absence of any initial suspects, I suspected that it was a random act. Not random in the traditional sense, but that she had no previous connection to the person who had stabbed her.”
“A person, for instance, like Troy Banks?” Lindhurst asked.
“Exactly,” Serena agreed.
Troy felt indignant and looked to Khan, hoping she would object, but Khan just made a note on the pad in front of her and kept quiet. She probably knew what she was doing, Troy reasoned, but it was still frustrating to have to keep quiet and listen to it.
“At which point did you come to view the accused as a suspect?” Lindhurst asked, returning to stand behind his desk. He often looked towards the jury, as if to include them in the discussion, and Troy gritted his teeth.
“During my first visits to see the Curtis family, I saw Troy Banks and a friend watching me and I took note of that,” Serena replied, shifting in her seat. Khan made another note. “They showed an unusual interest in the investigation, I believe. I looked through past records to see if I could find out their identities.”
“And you identified one of them as the accused?”
“Yes sir,” Serena agreed. “Troy Banks and his friend, Clint Jackson.” At that, Troy glanced back towards the public gallery, where Aurora was sitting with her mum, no sign of Clint. He stifled a smile. “They had been involved in a minor dispute previously, so they were on record.”
“You pursued this
lead, is that correct?” Lindhurst continued.
“I did. I spoke to his friends and his girlfriend, Brandine Mason, and I became suspicious that more people may have been present at the murder than I had originally anticipated.”
“His girlfriend, his friends, they were all present, correct?”
“Yes, they were all present,” Serena nodded.
“As your investigation went on, did you pursue Troy Banks as a suspect?”
“I thought it highly likely he had been involved, yes,” Serena replied. “I knew that his friends were covering up for him, and his behaviour was highly suspicious.”
“Indeed,” Lindhurst nodded. Troy watched the exchange, trying to keep his face as expressionless as he could in case any of the jury looked at him. “When did you get unequivocal proof that Troy Banks was responsible for killing Miss Curtis?”
“Clint Jackson, the accused’s close friend, came to me at the police station,” Serena said. “He informed me that Troy had killed Shaniqua Curtis, Wright O’Neill and Sasha Morton.”
“Objection,” Khan said, rising to her feet. Judge Harksaw held up a hand to stop Lindhurst and turned to Khan. She looked fierce. “My Lord, my client was cleared of both of those charges due to insufficient evidence.”
“Objection sustained,” Judge Harksaw declared, and Troy felt relief course through him. Harksaw turned on Lindhurst. “I will advise the jury to disregard the last comment, and Detective Patterson, if you would refrain from mentioning charges that have been dismissed.”
Serena nodded, looking a little sour, and Troy felt pleased. Khan sat back down, and Lindhurst resumed his examination, his stride faltering now.
“Clint Jackson made a statement,” Lindhurst concluded, glancing from the judge to Serena. Serena nodded. “Then, I believe from your statement, Brandine Mason, the girlfriend of the accused, made contact with you?”
“Yes, she did,” Serena nodded. “She had heard that Clint Jackson had given a statement, and she wanted to make a deal so that she wouldn’t face charges herself.”
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