by Elle Croft
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all I ask is that you keep these facts in mind as we proceed, and that you remember that this is not, as the media may suggest, a case about adultery, scandal, sex and jealousy. This is about justice. Finding justice for a man whose life was taken from him in a horrific way, a man who was successful, kind and generous. Who used his considerable resources to help those less fortunate than him, and who did not deserve to die. Not like this. Not at the hands of someone like Mrs Reston.
‘You will be bombarded by facts and statements and dates and names. You have the unenviable responsibility of weighing up each piece of information and deciding the innocence or guilt of the woman who has been brought before us today. But as you do that, all I ask is that you do right by the victim. This is, in the end, about justice for Calum.’
And with that, he pivoted with a flourish and returned to his seat, to be patted on the back by a young, enthusiastic-looking man in an almost-identical navy blue suit.
I felt like I might explode.
Adler had warned me that this was going to happen. She gave me her predictions of what the prosecutor was going to bring to the table, and bring it he did. So there was nothing said that wasn’t expected, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing someone was going to tell malicious lies about you to a room full of strangers didn’t do a single thing to dull the reality of it.
This trial was going to be an all-out battle.
Chapter Fifty-one
After the prosecutor’s opening statement he began calling his witnesses to the stand one by one. They were thoroughly interviewed and cross-examined, and sent back out of the courtroom.
First up was Mark. As a witness for the prosecution, I knew he wouldn’t be on my side. But when he refused to look me in the eye, and completely sold me out about contacting him to get into Calum’s apartment the night I got caught, I almost cracked a molar with the force of my clenched jaw. At least I didn’t have to feel guilty for suspecting him. He wasn’t on my side, and he never had been. He didn’t kill Calum – Adler’s investigators had confirmed it – but he’d made the deal with Jason that meant I was captured. And I’d never forgive him for it.
As far as I knew, the prosecution had no idea why I had been at the Bradley Enterprises building that night, or what it was that I had been looking for. But the fact that I’d snuck into my dead lover’s apartment looked bad nonetheless.
As keenly as it had stung, Mark’s betrayal was nothing. The following day, the prosecution called their next witness and suddenly I was staring into the eyes of the man who’d destroyed my life.
I knew it was coming, and I thought I’d been prepared for the fact that he would be called to the stand, but when Vincent sauntered into the courtroom, dressed as usual in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, a roaring sound filled my ears.
The man who had committed the crime I was being tried for could be the one who put me away for it. His testimony, whatever it was, apparently had the potential to place me firmly in the guilty column in the eyes of the jury. And I could do nothing and say nothing to stop him. I just had to sit and take it.
I didn’t move when he looked over at me, his eyes locking with mine, the side of his mouth twitching so minutely I’m certain no one else in the courtroom noticed. But I did.
I imagined myself launching across the courtroom, looping my cuffs around Vincent’s muscular neck and pulling with all of my weight and all of my strength. I imagined the struggle, the chaos as the courtroom erupted.
I think I’d be all right with going to jail for that. Ending Vincent’s smug smile for ever would be worth it.
‘When did you first meet Mrs Reston?’ the prosecutor asked.
‘I guess a little under eighteen months ago now, when she started working at the Bradley Enterprises offices.’
‘And when did you first become aware that Mrs Reston had been involved in the murder of Mr Bradley?’
I froze. No matter how many times I heard it, the lie jarred me to the bone every time.
‘I had my suspicions, but not enough to report her to the police. I was fairly certain that Mrs Reston and Mr Bradley were having an affair, but I didn’t think that she had anything to do with his murder when I first heard about it. Then I saw that CCTV footage and I thought of her straight away. She is the same height and build, but I couldn’t actually see the woman’s face, so I couldn’t prove it. I suspected, but I didn’t want to point the finger at someone who might have had nothing to do with the murder.’
I coughed, loudly and sarcastically, the only way I could defend myself against his hypocrisy, but the judge saw right through it.
‘Order,’ he demanded, rapping his wooden gavel against the bench. ‘Mrs Reston, I won’t tolerate disruptions like that again. Please control yourself.’
I shrank back in my seat, my cheeks burning. As if this process wasn’t mortifying enough already.
‘I see,’ said Marling, as though the interruption hadn’t happened. ‘And how was it that you came to know about the affair between Mrs Reston and Mr Bradley?’
‘I noticed that they spent a lot of time together,’ he said. ‘There was always a valid reason for it, I mean, Bethany was taking behind-the-scenes photos, so I didn’t think anything of it at first. I guess I just noticed that they were, you know, flirting, I suppose.’
I bristled. My privacy wasn’t my own any more, and yet it felt more invasive for this man, of all people, to share details of my time with Calum than the incessant stream of outrageous news headlines, or even prison guards watching me shower.
‘I see. And did you ever observe anything to make you think that all was not well between the couple?’
‘Just once. Not long before Mr Bradley’s death, I was coming to work to start the evening shift—’
‘What time was that, Mr Morris?’
‘About eight forty, I guess. The night shift starts at nine, but I’d get there early to go through paperwork, make coffee, that sort of thing.’
‘And what did you see when you arrived?’
‘Mrs Reston was walking out of the building, out of Bradley Enterprises, and into Kensington Gardens, which was where I was coming from. As she passed me, I noticed that she was crying.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know what she was upset about?’
‘She had just been with Mr Bradley for a meeting, so whatever it was, it had to have been something that happened when they were together. At the time I didn’t know what was wrong, but when the photo was released of them arguing, which was date-stamped with that same day, I put two and two together. Mr Bradley hadn’t been himself that evening, either. And I don’t know anyone who cries like that after an argument with their boss. It seemed … personal.’
It was so rehearsed. I risked a peek at the jury box to see if anyone looked sceptical. Aside from a few of the more interested members, namely two middle-aged ladies who were watching Vincent intently, the rest were looking down at their notepads.
‘Did you notice anything else?’
‘I was still on shift the next morning when Mrs Reston came back to the office for work. This is really just my own perception, but I could definitely sense tension between the two of them. Mr Bradley barely looked at Bethany, and she kept glancing at him, like she was hoping to get his attention. She seemed upset, but when I asked what was wrong, she wouldn’t tell me anything. As I say, that’s just how I read into the way they were acting.’
‘Thank you, Mr Morris.’
The prosecution finished their questioning, having affirmed the idea of a motive in the minds of the jury. The testimony of a security guard, someone who was paid to observe anything unusual, suggesting discontent in a secret relationship … well, I knew that was hard to argue. The photo wasn’t proof, but it certainly backed up their theory.
Adler was up next, and I felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. I’d wanted my lawyer to spell out her en
tire trial plan for me, but she’d refused, much to my chagrin. No matter how much I’d begged, or at times even demanded, Shannon calmly told me that I didn’t need the details. She’d asked me to trust her, and I didn’t really have another choice. So I bit my tongue and greedily took whatever titbits of information I could get from her. I clung to each fact like it was a talisman, as if simply knowing what was going to happen would mean that it would work in my favour. I knew, for example, that Shannon wasn’t going to let me take the stand.
‘But how can I sit through this trial without saying a word to defend myself?’ I complained.
‘That’s my job, Mrs Reston. And there’s no way I’m letting Marling cross-examine you. He’ll break you, and that’ll look far worse to a jury than you just staying silent, believe me.’
I also knew that Adler wasn’t going to try to prove that Vincent killed Calum. It was only after I’d learned this fact that I agreed it was best I didn’t know her strategy. I needed hope, and knowing that Vincent could get away with murder wasn’t exactly providing it. But we had no evidence, as Adler pointed out. Just theories. Her team of private detectives had found nothing, and she’d told me to just forget it.
‘Getting you acquitted is the goal, Mrs Reston,’ she’d said to me during one of her prison visits. ‘Not convicting someone else.’
‘But he can’t get away with it.’
‘I need you to forget about Vincent. If there was any evidence to suggest that he’d killed Calum— Yes, I know you have theories, but that’s not the same as evidence. If there was something solid, believe me, I’d be all over it. But you’re my client and I’m here to make sure you don’t go to jail for something you didn’t do. I’m not going to go after Vincent. If I can discredit him as a witness, I’ll do that, and considering he’s the Crown’s only witness, that would be a win for us. But you have to stop obsessing over Vincent, and let me do my job.’
I wanted her to do more. I wanted her to prove his guilt, to make it clear, beyond any doubt, that it couldn’t possibly have been me. But she was the one person who could get me my life back, and I couldn’t question her years of experience.
‘Mr Morris,’ she began as she approached the stand for cross-examination. ‘How long have you been working for Calum Bradley?’
‘Just over two years.’
‘And have you been addicted to anabolic steroids this whole time?’
An echo of gasps bounced off the walls of the courtroom, including one that escaped my lips. I looked around, swallowing the urge to grin with glee. I was right to trust Adler. She knew what she was doing all along. A drug addict? That would explain so many of my unanswered questions. Addicts did aggressive, unpredictable things all the time.
Relief flooded through me as the courtroom was called to order again.
‘Objection, My Lord!’
‘Overruled. Answer the question please, Mr Morris.’
It was hardly more than a whisper. But there wasn’t a single person in court who didn’t hear Vincent’s pitiful ‘Yes.’
Hope swelled inside my chest for the first time since the trial had started.
‘I see. And despite this addiction, you still felt entitled to a promotion, did you not?’
‘Objection! Leading.’
‘Sustained.’
‘Let me rephrase. Mr Morris, did you ask Mr Bradley for a promotion?’
‘Yes.’
‘On how many different occasions?’
A pause.
‘Three.’
‘And on any of these occasions, was your request for a promotion granted?’
‘No.’
‘Did Mr Bradley say why he wouldn’t promote you?’
‘He, uh … well, he knew about my addiction.’
‘I see. And were you upset that you weren’t promoted?’
The prosecutor objected again, unsurprisingly. But it was too late. Even I could see where this was going. Shannon didn’t have to offer a new suspect in order to imply that there was one. Disgruntled, drug-addled employee? It was almost as obvious as an angry lover.
The objection was upheld and my lawyer had no further questions. As she sat back down and I leaned in to thank her, I spotted Marling standing up and walking towards the witness stand again. I heard a soft groan, and looked up in time to see a flicker of panic crossing Adler’s face. I tried, unsuccessfully, to catch her eye. I felt suddenly nervous, although I had no reason to be. We’d just experienced the biggest triumph of the trial. I should be elated. And yet there was something in the look on Marling’s face, in the shadow I’d seen on Shannon’s, that set me on edge.
‘Just a few more questions for you, Mr Morris,’ he began. ‘Because my esteemed colleague here seemed to imply that you had a motive to commit the crime her client is being charged for, and I’d like the jury to have all of the relevant facts in this case.’
I felt Adler bristling next to me, but she didn’t object, and the prosecutor continued.
‘What were you doing on the night of Mr Bradley’s murder at around ten thirty p.m., Mr Morris? And before you answer I must remind you that you are under oath.’
The blood drained from Vincent’s face, and I held my breath in anticipation. Surely the prosecutor wasn’t going to get a confession from his own witness?
There was a heavy silence in the room, and then Vincent leaned in to the microphone, his voice trembling when he finally spoke.
‘I was in jail.’
Chapter Fifty-two
Murmurs rippled around me and the judge, exasperated, demanded order for what felt like the hundredth time that day. All I could do was stare at Vincent, too stunned to process what he’d just said.
Was he playing another of his games? If he was smart enough to frame me for Calum’s murder then he was certainly clever enough to have created a fake alibi. But jail? Unless this was some incredibly elaborate conspiracy, there was no way of pretending you were imprisoned if you weren’t.
Silence descended on the room once again as we waited for Vincent to reveal the details of his alibi.
‘When you say “jail”, could you be more specific? Where exactly were you?’
‘In a cell in Brixton police station.’
‘And why were you there?’
I watched him carefully, my head swimming. Did Adler know about this? She still refused to look at me, her jaw set, face blank.
‘I was arrested for trying to rob a pharmacy.’
‘So at the time of Mr Bradley’s murder, which I’d like to remind the jury was at around ten thirty, where were you?’
‘In a processing room in the police station.’
‘Thank you, Mr Morris. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to draw to your attention to a series of documents that can be used to verify the statements you’ve just heard today.’
Of all the scenarios I’d imagined, this one had never entered my mind. I watched, frozen in disbelief, as a photo, time-stamped so we knew it was taken at 9:53 p.m., was displayed on the screen at the front of the room. It was a still image from a CCTV camera, showing the robbery, and the man wielding the knife was unmistakably Vincent. The next item of evidence was his charge sheet, which proved that he was arrested at 10:13 p.m. just a few streets away from where the crime happened. His release form was dated the following morning. While I was watching the news and learning what had happened to Calum, he was being bailed out by his sister.
I sat back in my chair, stunned. If this was real, if what he was saying was true, then I knew absolutely nothing about Calum’s death.
I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing. I wanted Vincent to be Calum’s killer. I needed it to be him, because for him not to have been the culprit all along was a truth too devastating to face. I thought back to the picture I’d burned of Vincent, and felt rage simmering deep inside me. If I couldn’t direct it at him, where would it go? And what would keep me fuelled each day? It was the only thing I thought about, from waking up to finally falling
into a fitful sleep. It even stole the limelight in my dreams. Justice for Calum. Misery for Vincent.
It suddenly dawned on me that my accusation, the truth I’d been clinging to like a lifeline, was based on nothing more than a few diluted theories strung together. A hunch that Jason had come up with in a moment of panic. And I’d let myself be convinced. When I was arrested I’d been desperate for it to be Vincent, because I couldn’t bear the thought of going to trial without having someone else to point the finger at. I’d ignored the police when they told me there was no evidence against him. I’d dismissed Adler when she told me to forget about him. All this time, I’d been so deluded.
And so wrong.
Lifting my head, I found myself once again peering into the eyes of the man who I’d adamantly accused of ruining my life. They were the same eyes. Still green, still set under dark brows. But all of a sudden they looked less like those of a snake, and more like a man full of his own regrets, his own demons.
My anger towards him was doused as quickly as it had burst into flame. I felt defeated.
And terrified.
Calum’s killer was still out there.
Chapter Fifty-three
I tried to concentrate as our pivotal witness was called to the stand, but after the previous day’s revelation about Vincent, I could barely sit still. Since learning of his innocence, I felt lost. Untethered. I’d craved closure, but all I had now were more questions. Shannon had arrived, sheepishly, in my cell under the courthouse the previous evening.
‘You knew,’ I spat at her before she could speak. ‘You knew it wasn’t him all this time and you just let me believe it was.’
‘Yes,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I knew. But I told you to forget about him. You just wouldn’t listen.’
‘Well, we need to find out who did it then!’