The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  And they'll lock you up and throw away the key, was what she didn't say.

  'Ok, as I said it's up to you. But my advice is lose the scarf, look like a scared and vulnerable young girl exploited by evil men, and you might just persuade one juror to give you the benefit of the doubt.'

  In an instant, the default surly mask returned. She was as stubborn as she was stupid, this young woman. Maggie had known that much from the start. The only pity was if her plan worked, then her client, almost certainly guilty, would walk free. But that was simply collateral damage. What was important was the victory, the triumph of a case won against the odds.

  Today, that was all that mattered.

  ◆◆◆

  'All rise.'

  Judge Margo Henderson QC was presiding, peering up over her half-rimmed glasses at the public gallery as she walked into court. Aside from the spectacles, she was in many ways the antithesis of the stereotypical high court judge. Not grey-haired, not male, decidedly glamorous, and about the same age as Maggie. Their age was the only thing they had in common, Henderson's career trajectory having been as meteoric as her own had been mediocre. Although possessed of a needle-sharp sense of humour which was deployed frequently to deflate the more pompous of the QCs who stood in front of her, she was no soft touch. Today her mood was serious, the gravity of the crime dictating a sombre tone and the defendant if found guilty could expect a sentence as stiff as the law would allow. Dena Alzahrani had been taken to the dock a few minutes earlier, handcuffed, and then, as throughout the trial, she sat slouched in her chair with a defiant expression on her face. And wearing that bloody headscarf. The judge thanked the Clerk then prepared to explain to the jury how this, the final day, would pan out.

  Maggie might not have regarded herself as much of a barrister, but she thought she knew how to read juries and always kept notes about the reaction of each of the twelve as a trial progressed. And almost to a man or woman, this lot had already made up its mind. Perhaps she had her doubts about the twenty-something crop-haired girl who, quite without evidence, she imagined to be central-casting's go-to left-wing activist. She wasn't going to be swayed by the charms of a smarmy toff like Adam Cameron, but she was the exception, and Maggie doubted if even Miss Crop-Hair could hold out in the jury room when under pressure from eleven fellow citizens pressing for a guilty verdict. No, this was already a done deal. But that didn't matter, not if her plan worked as she expected it to.

  Now the judge was speaking.

  'Members of the jury, I will give both prosecution and defence one final opportunity to present evidence or summon witnesses, although I think we heard yesterday that they had both concluded their respective cases. Then you will hear the summing up from both sides, and I urge you to listen carefully to the points that my learned friends will make before finally deciding on your verdict. It is important you do not allow your decision to be swayed by any judgement you make on the character of the defendant, nor by the undoubtedly serious nature of the crime.'

  Some hope of that, Maggie thought. And in any case, other than Miss Crop-Hair, they had already decided.

  'Instead you must base your verdict only on the strength of the evidence that has been laid before you,' the judge continued. 'I hope that is clear. So firstly Mr Cameron, do you have any final matters you wish to bring before the court?'

  A long silence. Five seconds...ten seconds...fifteen seconds...thirty seconds. Hell, don't tell me he's going to bring it up now. Surely not, not at this late stage?

  'Mr Cameron?'

  Finally. 'No m'lady, the Crown is ready to sum up.' Relief.

  'And you, Mrs Brooks?'

  Maggie did have a matter to bring up, but she was going to hold back that little bombshell until Adam Cameron had done his summing-up. Maximise the humiliation, maximise the theatre. And then boom - light the blue touch-paper and take cover.

  She gave the judge a prim smile. 'Nothing more m'lady, thank you.'

  'Very well Mrs Brooks. Mr Cameron, please proceed.'

  Getting to his feet, he slotted his reading glasses into his waistcoat pocket then strolled over towards the jury, smiling his trademark obsequious smile.

  'Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Well, Judge Henderson has summed up admirably what are your duties today, and I know you will perform them to the very best of your ability. You have sat and listened diligently through the twenty-one days of this long and complex trial, and no doubt many of you will already have made up your mind about the guilt or otherwise of the defendant. My job today is simply to remind you of the case against Dena Alzahrani, which I believe to be overwhelming. I do not think you will need to be reminded of the dreadful crime itself...'

  And then of course, he proceeded to remind them. The cold-blooded murder of eighteen innocent people, ten of them little children under the age of ten years old, their young lives cut short, blown to pieces by an indescribable act of violence by the young woman who now sat in the dock. If the jury hadn't been convinced before, they would be now, but Maggie wasn't in the least concerned. Because it wasn't going to make any difference to the outcome no matter what Cameron said.

  She scanned the jury for signs of a reaction. It would have been nearly five weeks since the terrible details of the crime had been described to them and Cameron would not want to take the risk that its impact had diminished through the simple passage of time, although there was little likelihood of that, given the graphic horror of the attack. No doubt he was now going to spell out the evidence, and in as simple terms as possible. No fancy legal jargon and critically, no more than two or three facts for them to take in. But this case wasn't even as complicated as that. Automatic facial recognition had identified the perpetrator. AFR, the new DNA. That was all they needed to know.

  First however, he was going to remind them of the character of the accused, lest any misguided juror should be harbouring even a morsel of sympathy for her. Perhaps he had sized up Miss Crop-Hair and didn't like what he was seeing.

  'You will remember you saw a video where Alzahrani boasted of carrying out a spectacular, right here in London. For that, we must thank the clever men and women from our cyber warfare teams and of course their CIA counterparts, for their splendid work in breaking into what I believe is known as the Dark Web - and forgive me if my terminology isn't quite correct. In that video, she was very specific about the attack being here in our city, and very specific about the date on which it was to take place. It was of course the eleventh of September last year, the day of the terrible atrocity in Notting Hill. I do not need to remind you, ladies and gentlemen, of the significance of that particular date. Nine-eleven. The most infamous date in our recent history, and chosen quite cynically by the defendant to maximise the publicity that her atrocity would command. An atrocity, ladies and gentlemen, for which she herself was wholly responsible.'

  Very good Adam, Maggie thought, but you've still got to prove that, haven't you? Judge Henderson evidently shared her view.

  'Mr Cameron, that is your case to make, it should not be stated as if it is a fact.'

  'My mistake m'lady, you are quite right,' he said, smiling, 'I apologise.'

  Unperturbed, he continued. 'Now you will remember a chilling phrase from that video...' he took his reading glasses from a waistcoat pocket and read from his notes... 'I will make those infidel children burn in hell. Appalling, horrifying and savage, undoubtedly. But what I would like you to focus on is the fact that the defendant had full knowledge of the act in advance, both its location here in London and the exact nature of the planned attack. I will make those infidel children burn in hell - her intention could not be more clear.'

  He stole a quick glance at his watch. Yes thought Maggie, about three minutes so far. Keep it brief and to the point, that's what you're doing, don't want the jury falling asleep with boredom.

  'But of course the fact of Dena Alzahrani boasting that she would carry out the act does not in itself constitute proof that she actually did it - although
you might well conclude, ladies and gentlemen, that so specific was her threat that you might on the balance of probability find her guilty on that alone.'

  Judge Henderson raised an eyebrow, but on this occasion decided against intervention. Maggie smiled to herself. She had to hand it to him, he was damn good, and now he could go in for the kill. It was just such a shame for him that it was all going to be in vain. So here it was. What he was describing as the concrete evidence.

  'You will remember that we heard from the key witness Mr Wojciech Kowalczyk - I think I have pronounced that correctly...' - drawing a smile from several members of the jury, but not Miss Crop-Hair - '...who saw a hooded figure jumping out of the driver's door of the lorry and then running along Princedale Road towards his parked van. Mr Kowalczyk is a Polish plumber - a very rich man' - more smiles from the jury - 'and as you have heard, was sitting in the driver's seat talking on his phone having just completed a job in a nearby property. He had started his engine and as a result his dash-cam device had began to record. That dash-cam, ladies and gentlemen, caught in full view the escape of the defendant on video, and despite her being hooded and wearing sunglasses in an attempt to prevent identification, the police were able to use automatic facial recognition technology to identify the fleeing figure as Dena Alzahrani.'

  That had been a pretty stupid mistake, not to know that the authorities kept a database of digitised facial images of all visitors from so-called 'countries of interest' and that Jordan was on the list. It was a school-girl error, but then Alzahrani wasn't much more than a school-girl herself. They had picked her up that same afternoon, blithely sitting at the back of her UCL classroom as if it was a quite normal day.

  'Now as we heard from Professor Walker, the Crown's expert witness, there is no doubt at all about the identification of the accused. The new DNA, that's how Professor Walker described this clever technology. A memorable and apt phrase, I think you will agree.'

  Maggie gave a wry smile. This case wasn't going to tax the mental powers of the jury very much, of that she was sure. The new DNA, they would remember that, and DNA evidence was full-proof, wasn't it? Except that Dr Tariq Khan, world-renowned expert at GCHQ, disagreed. Adam Cameron knew that and keeping it to himself was going to be the biggest mistake of his career. But then unexpectedly, a wave of uncertainty swept over her. Because there was absolutely no proof at all that the email she had received was genuine. And even if it was, all it had said was that the prosecution knew about Khan's report. That didn't mean that Cameron himself had seen it. She knew something of how these things worked and it wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that it had gone direct to the Crown Prosecution Service where some public-spirited official had decided it would be better if their famous QC didn't get to know about this little inconvenience. If that was the case, then her carefully-conceived plan was about to go up in smoke.

  Cameron was now standing motionless as if in an act of meditation, his eyes closed, breathing deeply, his hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer. Amateur dramatics it was true, but effective because the jury was giving him its full attention. Lady Justice Henderson was less impressed.

  'Can I take it then that your summing up is complete Mr Cameron?' she said sharply. 'If so, we will have a short break before asking Mrs Brooks to take the floor.'

  'Eh? - ah, no,' he blustered, 'eh - I was just gathering my thoughts.'

  'Well, please gather them up quickly, and continue.'

  'Yes, thank you m'lady.'

  Maggie shot her an admiring smile as Cameron, momentarily deflated, pressed on.

  'Now in a moment I expect you will hear the defence claim that Miss Alzahrani is no more than an immature fantasist who is not capable of planning and carrying out a sophisticated crime such as this. It is true that no evidence was found that showed her to be the bomb-maker, but that is irrelevant to this case. What is unarguable is that she was positively identified leaving the scene, not by a pair of fallible human eyes, but by infallible state-of-the-art automatic facial recognition technology. The new DNA. We may not like how it is creeping into our everyday lives. We may well be uneasy that it threatens our privacy, but today, we see how it can be a fantastic force for good. Ladies and gentlemen, Alzahrani is no fantasist. She is a calculated cold-blooded killer, driven by the pursuance of a distorted strain of Islam, a grotesque agenda that bears no resemblance whatsoever to the true meaning of this peace-loving religion. She was clearly identified on camera leaving the scene of the crime, leaving no doubt whatsoever that she was the perpetrator.'

  Several jurors were now nodding their heads in involuntary agreement, including Miss Crop-Head, outwardly at least giving the impression of a late conversion to the prosecution camp. That was it as far as he was concerned. Job done.

  'I said at the start that our duty, yours and mine, is to see that the victims and their families get justice.' A few more affirming nods from the jury. 'I think you will agree that only a verdict of guilty will deliver that justice... a justice they so richly deserve. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you m'lady.'

  A good performance thought Maggie, but watching as he returned to his seat, she was taken by the complete absence of emotion on his face, not even the slightest smile of satisfaction. He wasn't a modest man by any means, and she was expecting to see the usual self-satisfied expression, rather like the one she had to suffer three months ago when she had lost the Hugo Brooks trial. But today he looked distracted, relieved, furtive even. Rather odd. He knows. She was sure of it now.

  Judge Henderson was now speaking.

  'Thank you Mr Cameron. Mrs Brooks, given that the Crown's summing up was commendably short and to the point, are you ready to present the defence summary without a recess?'

  'Thank you m'lady, but I'm afraid a matter has arisen which I need urgently to bring to your attention.'

  The judge peered at her over her spectacles, an expression of mild irritation on her face. She did not like it when a barrister disrupted the smooth running of one of her trials.

  'Very well Mrs Brooks, let's hear it.'

  'If you would, m'lady, I think this is matter which I need to discuss with you in private.'

  Another sigh of irritation and a glance at her watch.

  'Is this absolutely necessary Mrs Brooks?'

  'Absolutely necessary I'm afraid m'lady. It's a matter of disclosure.'

  Maggie caught sight of Cameron out of the corner of her eye. He sat motionless, the colour visibly draining from his face.

  He knows.

  'Very well. Ten-minute recess.' The judge turned to the Clerk, 'John, can we get some tea in my chambers, thank you. Come with me, both of you.'

  Chapter 4

  'A matter of disclosure you said Mrs Brooks?' Judge Henderson peered over her glasses as she stood up to pour tea from the elaborately-decorated china pot. 'Sugar Mr Cameron?'

  The judges' chamber, a large room not far off half the size of the courtroom itself, was elaborately panelled in oak, carpeted in a luxurious thick patterned Wilton, expensive when new no doubt, but now rather threadbare in patches. Around the room hung portraits of former Lord Chancellors, going back all the way to Sir Thomas More who had held the post more than five hundred years earlier. Maggie and Adam Cameron sat on opposite ends of a large mahogany desk, perched on the edge of their chairs like naughty pupils up in front of the head teacher

  'No thank you m'lady'. As he leant forward to pick up the saucer, his shaking hand causing the cup to rattle loudly. It wasn't just the teacup that was rattled.

  'Well, tell all please Mrs Brooks, tell all.'

  'M'lady, the defence has reason to believe that the Crown has in its possession a technical report from the government's own leading authority on automatic facial recognition that states quite unarguably that the reliance on such technology for the identification of my client is in this case unreliable. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you m'lady the significance...'

  'Mrs Brooks, please forgive me,' in
terrupted the judge, 'but that was quite a sentence, so let me be clear on what you are saying...'

  'Sorry m'lady, put simply, the government's leading expert, a Dr Tariq Khan, is saying that is not possible to be certain that it was Alzahrani in that dashcam video. His report says there is an eighty-six percent chance that she was identified in error.'

  'I thought we were led to believe that this technology was the new DNA and therefore infallible. Am I given to understand that this is not the case?'

  'In this instance m'lady, it does seem that way, yes.'

  Henderson stroked her chin in contemplation and took a sip of her tea. 'And you say this was known to the prosecution when?'

  'We believe that the Crown has had the report in its possession since before the start of the trial m'lady,' Maggie replied. 'A few days before, is my information.'

  And then the bombshell. 'And so I'm concluding that they chose not to disclose it to the defence because they knew it would weaken if not destroy their case.'

  'Quite so Mrs Brooks, quite so. And you had it when?'

  'Just three days ago m'lady.'

  'And how did it come into your possession may I ask?'

  'It was emailed to my chambers by an organisation that claimed sympathy to the Palestinian cause, m'lady.'

  'And you did not think you had a duty to immediately bring this before the court?'

  Maggie had been expecting this one. 'I don't think it was a defence responsibility, no m'lady. It was a leaked document, of uncertain provenance supposedly sent to us by a group about which little is known. My junior has carried out some cursory investigation work in the short time we had available and we believe it may be genuine, but of course we do not know how it came into being. For that you must ask Mr Cameron.'

  Through all this Adam Cameron had sat in silence, staring at his shoes, his discomfort manifest, with the look of a man about to mount the scaffold. And now the executioner was speaking.