Blind Justice

by Nathan Burrows

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked, caught unawares.

  “Well who else would it be?” he replied, a sharp edge to his voice. “You’re the only person who’s got this mobile number.” I paused, trying to think on my feet and not doing particularly well at it. Paul continued. “I would imagine, seeing as your friends Tommy and David have just left, that you now know all about me?” I remained silent. How did he know they’d just left? Did he have a contact at the prison? It wouldn’t take much for one of the guards to let him know when Tommy and David had gone. Probably about a tenner. “You can’t kid a kidder, Gareth. I watched your young friend trawl his way around the areas of my private life I was prepared to let him have access to, and I resisted the temptation to knock on his electronic front door as it were.” I felt a smile creep across my face. This man was no fool.

  “So,” Paul continued. “I imagine that now you know how much money I’ve got, you’re phoning me up to ask me why I’m getting involved.” I started to say something, but he cut me off. “Because I’m quite obviously not in it for the money. How am I doing so far?” I nodded, not realising that he wouldn’t be able to see me. He was angry, no doubt about that. “I could put the phone down now and walk away. Leaving you where you are, for the next fifteen fucking years.” I flinched at him swearing, not because I was shocked by the language, but because hearing him swearing surprised me. I could feel my fingers tightening on the handset of the phone. This phone call wasn’t turning out at all how I’d expected it to. We both remained silent for maybe a full minute. I was racking my brains for something, aware that my time was limited when Paul broke the impasse. “Anything to say, young man?”

  “Er,” I stumbled over the word. “Er, sorry?” To my surprise, Paul started chuckling before it developed into a full-blown laughing fit that left him coughing. When he’d got his composure back again, he carried on.

  “Good lad, good lad. Right then, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “You’re in the lawyer’s room this time,” Mr McLoughlin said as he opened the door for me. I’d been in there several times before with Toby for various depressing discussions. I wasn’t sure how Paul had wangled getting in there when he wasn’t my lawyer just yet.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Warder said so,” Mr McLoughlin replied. “I wouldn’t argue.” He smiled as I walked past him into the room. “They’ll be here a few minutes.” They? I was expecting Paul, but he’d not said anything about bringing anyone with him. I sat on the chair and tried to relax. This room was different to the main visiting area. The chairs were padded. There was no graffiti carved on the table, no cameras in the corner of the room, and no posters on the walls. The only thing that made it different to a normal room in a house was the reinforced glass in the doors, and the fact that the doors were about eight inches thick. I could see shadows moving behind the thickened window, and the door opened. Paul walked in, followed by a young woman. Behind them, I could see two of the larger guards doing what they did best, which was hang around looking big and ugly.

  “Mr Dawson, how are you?” Paul smiled, extending his hand out and shaking mine like we’d not seen each other for years. “Thank you so much for seeing us at such short notice.” Yeah, right, I thought. I found a space in my diary to see you. He turned and gestured to the young woman who’d walked in with him. She had a battered leather briefcase clutched across her chest and looked, in a word, terrified. “This is Laura Flynn, my assistant.” I shook her hand and watched her eyes dart around the room. As we sat down I had to resist the temptation to wipe my hand down the side of my trouser leg. I’ve heard the saying ‘horses sweat, ladies glow’ but the poor woman’s palms were definitely sweating.

  Paul sat down, put his briefcase on the table, and flipped open the lid. He pulled out some paperwork and set the briefcase beside him on the floor.

  “Right,” he said. “This is another copy of the same paperwork I gave you last time we met. The paperwork that signs your case, and the appeal, over to me.” I looked down at the papers which he’d swivelled around for me to read. The top one had my details, and Paul’s, already filled out with the date. The only thing left were three boxes for signatures. One for me, one for Paul, and one for a witness. That explained Laura’s attendance, at least. Paul pulled a fancy looking pen out of his pocket and set it on top of the paper.

  “Well then, Gareth,” Paul said. He glanced at his colleague for a second. “Ignoring your friend Mr French’s little indiscretion, do you have any questions for me before we sign this off?”

  I had a million questions, but none that needed answering right at that moment. I picked up the pen. It was heavier than I was expecting it to be, jet black with a white blob on the end of the cap. When I unscrewed the cap, I realised it was a fountain pen instead of a normal biro. I’d not written with a nib since I was at school, but gave it a go, anyway. I pulled the top sheet of paper toward me and scribbled a rough approximation of my signature in the box next to my name. It would have to do. Paul took the pen from me and signed in his box, a flamboyant signature with plenty of loops and whorls despite his normal sounding name. He pushed the paper to Laura and handed her the pen. I looked at her as she stuck her tongue slightly out of her mouth when she signed, and I tried not to smirk. She looked at me when she’d finished signing, and I could tell from the way she frowned and her tongue disappeared that I’d failed.

  “Could I have the lid back?” Paul asked. I realised that I was holding the cap of the pen in my hand and gave it back to him. “I would say keep the pen, but it was rather expensive, and I don’t think you’d be allowed to hang onto it.” He tucked it back out of sight inside his suit jacket and shuffled the paperwork together before returning it to his briefcase. “There’ll be more paperwork to sign in due course, but it’ll have to wait until Laura’s drafted it.” I glanced across at Laura as Paul mentioned her name. “Now,” he continued. “We'll be here for a while, so why don’t I see if I can rustle up a cup of tea for us all.” Paul got to his feet and opened the door to the room. I was amazed it was open as I’d assumed that the prison officers always locked it. Obviously not. Paul disappeared through the door, leaving it open, and I could hear him talking to Mr McLoughlin.

  I looked at Laura. She was the first woman I’d seen in months, so I guess you could say that this is what made her attractive, but it was more than that. She had fine brown hair, cut in a bob that extended down to her shoulders, and a simple business suit that was so dark it was almost black. The cream blouse underneath her jacket matched her pale face. I looked as her eyes darted from me to the open door, and back again. She didn’t look any less terrified than she had when she’d walked in. If anything, she looked even more scared.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, trying to sound normal, reassuring even. I guessed that this was probably her first time in prison. Or at least this far inside one. She stared back at me, her pale green eyes wide open.

  “Oh God, I'm sorry. I’m so nervous,” she blurted out. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a prison.” Her voice fell away as she looked at me. “Er, with you I mean.”

  “With a convicted murderer, you mean?” To my surprise, she laughed at me, and as she smiled I saw dimples appear in her cheeks.

  “Okay, yes. I’m sitting in a room, in a prison, with a convicted murderer and my boss has buggered off to get a cup of bloody tea.” I laughed as well because when it was put like that it was actually quite funny. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just all unexpected, that’s all. He just said ‘Laura, come with me’. Didn’t tell me where we were going or anything. It wasn’t until we turned into Knox Road I realised we were going to the prison.” I bet someone in the local council was having a right chuckle when he came up with that name for the road that led to the prison.

  “Have you worked for him for long?” I asked her.

  “Two weeks,” she replied. “I only graduated from Law School three weeks ago. Had a week off in the Lake
District with my boyfriend and started with Mr Dewar straight away. He hired me on the recommendation of my tutor. They’ve known each other for years, apparently. Mr Dewar told him he had a big case coming up.”

  I thought about what she’d said for a few minutes. That meant that, unless Paul had another case on the go, he’d hired Laura before he’d even come to see me. He must have been sure I’d sign on the dotted line but then again, why wouldn’t I?

  “What, this case?” I asked her, trying to get it straight in my mind.

  “Yes, your case,” she replied. “That’s all he’s got on at the moment.” We both turned to look at the door as Paul reappeared, followed by Mr McLoughlin who was carrying three cups of tea. As mine was put in front of me, the prison officer mumbled something.

  “Don’t get used to it, Mr Dawson,” I heard him say in a gruff voice, but his half smile was a giveaway.

  “Thank you,” I said as he walked out of the room, and we waited until the door was firmly closed. I didn’t hear it being locked though, which again surprised me.

  “Gareth, I’m now representing you as your lawyer, and the lovely young Laura here will be helping me out.” I took a sip of my tea, grimacing at the lack of sugar. “Happy so far?” Paul asked.

  “Yep,” I replied. “No sugar, but I’ll live with it.” They both smiled at me before Paul carried on.

  “Right then. Let’s get down to it. Now, we’re protected by lawyer-client privilege, so you can say anything at all to us. Even if it’s incriminating, do you understand?” I nodded as he reached back into his bag before pulling out a small digital tape recorder, a normal biro, and a small notebook. Paul put the recorder on the table in front of us and handed the notebook and pen to Laura. She flipped over the cover of the notebook and got ready to take notes as Paul pressed a button on the recorder to start it up.

  “Did you kill Robert Wainwright?” he asked. I almost choked on my tea at the question. Talk about getting right to the point.

  “No, I didn’t,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “But you did clatter him with the baseball bat?”

  “Yes, I did. I admitted that at the trial. I pled guilty to manslaughter, for God’s sake.”

  “I know you did, my dear chap,” Paul said. “But bear with me. So, you admit that you hit him with the baseball bat?”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” I replied. Paul waited until Laura finished writing.

  “How many times did you hit him?”

  “Once.”

  “Put that into a sentence, would you?” Paul asked. I looked at him, uncertain.

  “I hit Robert Wainwright — once — with a baseball bat.” It sounded like I was playing Cluedo. Paul watched Laura write my reply down and then took the pen and notebook from her. He underlined part of her final sentence and turned the notebook around so I could read it. Laura’s handwriting didn’t really match her appearance. The letters were almost block capitals, more like a man’s writing than a woman’s. I read the final line.

  “I hit Robert Wainwright once with a baseball bat.” Paul pointed at the underlined word ‘once’ with the tip of the pen.

  “That, dear boy, is your entire appeal in one word.”

  Another Saturday, another round of visitors. It was three weeks since Paul and Laura had visited, and I’d not heard anything from them since. I’d not seen Andy or Jacob for ages either, so when I found out Jennifer’s family would be visiting it had lifted my spirits for the whole week.

  I walked into the visitors’ room, put my orange bib on, and made my way to the table where Jacob was sitting. There was no sign of Andy. As I approached, Jacob got to his feet, and we nodded at each other. He was looking well, dressed in a tight t-shirt that showed off tanned, muscular arms. My upper arms weren’t in bad shape, but even I wouldn’t show them off like that. If they looked like his though, I might well consider it. He was looking good.

  “Hello, mate,” I said. “How are you doing?” Jacob sat back down, a smile on his face.

  “I’m fine, Gareth,” he replied. “More to the point, how are you? You’re looking thinner. Is that on purpose?” I smiled but didn’t answer his question.

  “Is your Dad not coming today?” I asked. “I thought I saw his name on the list.”

  “He’s just in the toilet,” Jacob replied. “We took longer to get here than I thought it would. I thought I would have to stop off in a lay-by and let him out for a pee at one point.”

  “How’s he getting on?”

  “Not great, Gareth,” Jacob said. “I’m worried about him, to be honest. He’s just got no, I don’t know how to describe it, no life in him anymore.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so kept silent. “He’s just moved house though, so I’m hoping that once he’s settled in, he’ll be happier.”

  “Where’s he moved to?” I asked.

  “Sheringham of all places,” Jacob said with a laugh. I knew the town well, and it was in a lovely part of the country. One of the few happy memories of my childhood I had was going on holiday there. I’m not sure how old I would have been — probably only seven or eight — but I remember looking for crabs when the tide had gone out and getting my legs soaked. My mum had been furious and the smack she gave me hurt a lot more than the nips from the crabs I’d found.

  “Very nice,” I said. “Let me guess, sea view?” Jacob laughed harder as he replied.

  “Oh yes. It’s supposed to be a flat, but it’s bigger than your old place and mine put together. Right on top of the hill, fantastic views out over the sea.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. One of the best things about the North Norfolk coast was the sky. For some reason, there seemed to more of it than anywhere else in the country. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a flat right on the coast. What it would be like to sit with a glass of beer watching the sea, not a care in the world. If I was going to buy a flat in Sheringham, I’d make sure it was one with a sea view. “Does he know many people up that way then? I thought most of his friends are in Norwich?”

  “We’d better change the subject, mate,” Jacob said, nodding over my shoulder. “Dad’s here.” I got to my feet and turned to greet Andy.

  “It’s great to see you, Andy,” I said. Jacob was right. Andy had changed. He looked drawn, almost gaunt. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who had lost weight. “Thanks for coming in, I really do appreciate it.” Andy shook his head as I said this.

  “Gareth, please. I feel bad enough for not coming to visit more often, and you saying that only makes me feel worse.” Andy had visited me more often than anyone else, but he wouldn't know that.

  “Dad’s been moving house,” Jacob said, looking at Andy. “That’s why he’s been so busy.”

  “Oh right, I didn’t know you were moving. Where have you moved to?” I asked. Jacob obviously didn’t want Andy to know we’d already had this conversation, so I played along.

  “I’ve moved into a flat in Sheringham, close to the seafront,” Andy replied with a faint smile. “It’s a nice little place,” Andy sighed. The way Jacob had described it made it sound far from little. “To be honest, there was nothing left in the old house for me, not anymore.” I watched as the smile faded from his face.

  “Plus, it’s on the ground floor,” Jacob said, grinning. “He was having trouble getting up the stairs.” Andy laughed and mimed hitting Jacob round the back of the head.

  “Yeah, course I was. Needed to be closer to the toilet for that four o’clock in the morning pee. I can’t start, and then once I do, I can’t stop.” He laughed as he said this, and for a few seconds the Andy I knew of old was back. It was good to see him laugh, and I silently thanked Jacob for turning the conversation back round. I guessed he’d had a fair bit of practice at doing that.

  The three of us sank into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. It was nothing like the conversations I had with the other prisoners, or even the prison officers, as there
was no nonsense. No hidden agendas, no ulterior motives. It was just three men with something in common that wasn’t the fact we were in prison. It was that we’d all loved Jennifer. And we’d all lost her, but we were careful not to talk about that. After fifteen minutes or so, Jacob put an index finger in the air and reached into the pocket on the back of his jeans.

  “I almost forgot,” he said as he pulled a folded piece of paper out and lay it flat on the table, unfolded. Written across the top of it were the words ‘INFORMATION WANTED’ in large, black letters. Underneath this was a photograph of me. It looked like a still from the camera that had caught me coming out of the alleyway the night Robert died. Underneath my photograph was the text ‘Did you see this man?’ I scanned through the paragraph underneath this, which was an appeal for anyone who might have seen me on the evening that Robert was killed. The paragraph ended with ‘Call Laura on’ and a telephone number.

  “Right, okay,” I said slowly. I was surprised that Tommy or David hadn’t told me about this, but then I'd not talked to either of them for a couple of weeks. “Is there a reward?”

  “Don’t know for certain,” Jacob said. “But one of my mates heard it’s ten grand.” Ouch. Ten thousand pounds was a hefty reward. I wondered if that was ten grand for information leading to a successful appeal, or just for information. It had to be for the former, but even so, every nutter in Norwich would come out of the woodwork to claim that. “Can you get the Eastern Daily Press in here, Gareth?” Jacob asked.

  “Er, yeah we can. We have to order it in though, and pay for it,” I replied.

  “There'll be a piece on the case this week, off the back of this poster. My other half works for the publishers,” Jacob explained. “He’s not sure when it’ll come out, but it’ll be this week at some point.”