‘Fuck off, Hare.’
‘Fuck off? Fuck off!’ Harriet stormed up to her brother and shoved her face up to his, expression menacing. ‘You got on fucking crack. Lost your scholarship. Nearly fucking died. And you gave it all up.’
Reciprocal anger flared across Billy’s face. ‘I got off that shit. And you know it. I worked fucking hard and I got clean.’
‘And then you went back north. Back to the factory and the ‘honest life’ that holds you down so much. Under the boot of us ‘uni types’. You chose that life. I. GOT. YOU. OUT. You went back. That shit’s on you.’
‘Just ‘coz I don’t have a degree doesn’t make me dad.’
‘Tell that to Crystal!’
The anger faded from Billy’s eyes and he looked down at his hands, something like shame flickering across his features. Huffing in exasperation, Harriet went to the kitchen, slammed her dirty mug down on the sink and stormed out. Collecting up her satchel she made for the door.
Billy’s voice stopped her, ‘You ever think maybe the drugs weren’t the problem, Hare? Might’ve just been the symptom?’
Harriet whirled around to face her brother. But Billy’s eyes remained downcast. ‘This,’ he gestured to the apartment, taking in the city beyond, ‘it’s nice. But it’s not for everyone.’ He held his hands out before him, palms up in supplication. ‘Not everyone can live in their head.’ He tapped his temple.
‘You have the brains Billy, that’s a cop out.’
Billy nodded, finally looking up at her. Face solemn. ‘Doesn’t mean its right for me. A life like this. You thrive here, in the inner city. Popping into London and other powerful places, all dressed up in your fancy suits. Trips out to nice restaurants, the theatre.’
‘I work fucking hard, Billy. It’s not a cake walk.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly, ‘I know you do. And I could never do it, Hare. It wasn’t the drugs, or bad friends. It was me. And it killed me that you didn’t see, didn’t understand… me.’
Harriet stared at her brother, mouth open in surprise. She snapped it shut and straightened her back. ‘Wash the dishes,’ she said and walked out the door.
14: Nellie Bell
Fucking Danny Flint. Short and stocky, weathered and greying, tattoo of a skull along his temple, shaved head and all the arrogance of a god damned prince.
Flint leaned back in his metal chair, stretching the chains of his cuffs to their full extent. He grinned appreciatively at Harriet, missing front tooth on open display. She didn’t meet the languid sweep of his eyes as they made their way up and down her body.
She sat up straighter, worked to keep her face neutral. Danny rolled his tongue slowly over his lips. He could at least try not to act like a fucking predator. Harriet felt dirty, disgusted and ready to just give up. Danny Flint didn’t need a lawyer, he needed a deep, deep grave.
‘Mr Flint, this is not your first charge of assault. You have served time,’ she consulted her notes, ‘twice. Once on Detention and Training Order as you were 16 at the time of the crime and once for seven years, in your 40s. A judge would look favourably on a guilty plea, and a show of remorse.’
‘Can’t show remorse for something I never dun.’ His eyes glowed, daring Harriet to challenge him.
‘Mr Flint, it is my job as your lawyer to ensure you are appraised of the whole situation and to advise you of the most appropriate course of action. On the facts, I advise you to plead guilty. It would still mean time in prison, but your cooperation would mean a reduction in sentence. This is your last chance to consider a change of plea.’
Flint’s face morphed into a look of fake surprise and disappointment, ‘Am I to believe,’ he crooned, ‘my own lawyer doesn’t even believe me?’ Suddenly he shot forward, arms slamming down on the table between them, metal ringing off metal, Flint’s body straining to close the distance between them.
To her annoyance, the sudden movement caught her off guard and Harriet gave a quick jerk backward. Flint grinned darkly, face close enough that she could smell his stale breath. The man needed a good dentist.
A guard stepped forward, eyebrows raised at Harriet in question. She gave a small nod. They were done here.
‘Okay, I accept your instructions to plead not guilty Mr Flint notwithstanding my advice and we will enter that plea of not guilty at your arraignment next week.’ She commenced collecting her notes swiftly, ‘If anything else comes to mind regarding the night of January 3, anything at all to give you an alibi, please contact my office.’
Flint smirked, settling back down onto his seat. ‘Already told ya everything missy. I was at the pub, but I never touched that bitch Malley. I don’t do dykes.’
Harriet, face turned towards her satchel, glanced heavenward. Give me strength, she breathed. Malley Tucker was an 18 year old student at Exeter University, studying graphic design. ‘Girls night out gone wrong: Britains drinking problem putting young women at risk,’ the tabloids proclaimed, like somehow she was responsible for her own assault. How dare a woman leave the house and have fun? Bastard papers. On the night of the assault she’d had long blonde hair and a ready smile. Now, courtesy of Danny fucking Flint, she had another two operations remaining to finish the reconstruction of a smashed cheek bone and a lifetime of psychological treatment for trauma to try and claw back some semblance of normalcy in her life. She’d cut off her hair since - shaved it to her scalp. He’d used it to hold her down…
‘Perhaps work on a different way of expressing that before we go to trial, Mr Flint. Miss Tucker is a person, and should be treated as such.’
‘Dyke’s a dyke.’
She wanted to puke.
‘I’ll see you Thursday, Mr Flint,’ she said and strode out, her back crawling from the possessive stare she knew followed her exit.
An involuntary shiver coursed down her spine as Harriet stood in the Exeter Magistrates Court. From the dock, Danny Flint’s sly eyes scanned up and down Harriet’s body like an unwanted caress. Arrogant prick, she thought. Taking a deep breath she returned her attention to gathering her files.
Plea entered: Not Guilty
Utter bullshit, he did it for sure. But it wasn’t Harriet’s job to prove that. Thankfully, in this case at least, the DPP seemed to be on the ball. Two officers arrived to escort Danny to the van that would return him to Langhorn Correctional; no bail for this repeat offender. Harriet strode from the courtroom, suppressing a shudder at the thought of Flint on the streets. His hagged, drawn visage, smoke-stained teeth and macho grin. Those eyes. Harriet took pride in doing a tough job well, but maybe she’d do it just a little less well in this case.
She broke free of the court room and into the frosty February air. The cold slap oddly welcome on her hot skin; flushed from the tension of remaining neutral in the face of Danny’s cold stare.
The bane of all defence lawyers: the obviously guilty. And for Harriet in particular: rapists. Foul scum.
Striding across the carpark, a familiar figure caught her eye as he walked along the far side of the asphalt. DS Robert Fields raised a hand in greeting and closed the space between them. The tension of the courtroom morphed into an odd bubble of anticipation in her gut. She’d enjoyed their banter at the pub a few weeks ago. Time for round two?
Pulling herself up to her full, albeit unimpressive height, Harriet plastered a cocky grin on her face and waited. Robert stopped a few steps from her side and smiled.
‘Court date?’ he asked.
‘Arraignment. Trial date set for March 1st. You?’
‘Just checking in on a DI. You might have seen it in the papers. We nabbed bloody Danny Flint. Wanted to check all went well with the plea. Can you believe the idiot plead not guilty? No jury in the country is going to go for that!’
His eyes shone with frustrated mirth.
Harriet shifted uncomfortably.
Robert’s eyes narrowed, then widened in realisation. ‘Oh shit, he’s yours isn’t he? I didn’t mean…’
Harriet hel
d up a hand, ‘It’s all right. I’m just following my client’s instructions.’
Robert eyed her. ‘You know he’s got priors right? Like a list a mile long…’ He stopped himself, realising what he was saying. Harriet stared at him, incredulous. Of course she knew his history. Geez Robert, think before you open your god damned mouth.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Like I said, I’m following my client’s instructions. Everyone deserves a defence.’ The line rolled off her tongue, oddly flat and meaningless in the light of Danny Flint’s reputation.
She tried to rally, to find a bit of pep and change the subject. But her words had dried up.
Robert scanned her face. ‘Wanna grab a coffee?’ he asked.
Harriet hesitated. It was a bad idea. He was the opposition on the Lane-Huxley case. He was a good 15 years her senior. He was also ridiculously good looking, even in the grey sunshine of Exeter in winter.
She cocked her head and hitched up the corner of her mouth. ‘Think I can find the time,’ she replied, eyebrow arched in invitation.
Robert’s dark eyes glimmered in the sun. ‘Right,’ he stammered, suddenly unsure.
Good, she’d unsettled him. Much better.
‘Come on,’ she said, taking the lead. ‘I know a reasonable place just down the road.’
Seated across from each other in the Corner Cuppa cafe, Robert watched as Harriet wrapped her frozen fingers elegantly around her latte and sipped the milky liquid. His eyes dipped to her lips as she licked a bubble of froth from the corner of her mouth, watched her settling her cup on its saucer. Catching himself, he hoped she didn’t notice. She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and glanced about the room, giving Robert a moment to collect his focus. A small smile on her lips. Yep, she noticed.
‘So,’ he began. ‘Been out dancing at the Red Lion lately?’
Harriet nearly snorted her coffee as the unexpected tack caught her by surprise. She swallowed her sip and eyed Robert over her mug. ‘Need a dance partner?’
‘Me?’ he feigned innocence, ‘Oh no. Asking for a friend.’
‘Come now,’ Harriet crooned, ‘I promise I’d make you look good.’
‘That, I believe,’ he said leaning forward, eyes suddenly serious, intense.
Harriet sat up straighter, ignoring the shift in tone between them. She shuffled on her seat, uncomfortable. ‘So, are you going to tell me then,’ she began, working back towards safer ground. ‘What made you become a cop?’
She expected him to laugh, he could see it in her eyes. Such a cliché question. He must be sick of answering it. But instead Robert turned his gaze inward, reflective. Harriet watched his focus deepen, eyebrows drawing down. She twitched, waiting.
‘Well,’ Robert said, nodding slowly, tone ominous, ‘if I really think about it… it was probably because of my dad.’
He paused. Watched as Harriet leaned forward, drawn subconsciously towards the horror she expected he was about to share. He suppressed the smile hovering behind his lips. ‘He was a cop,’ Robert continued. ‘Grandfather was a cop. Mum and grandma, the wives of cops…’
Harriet tipped back her head and laughed out loud. Robert grinned.
‘I had you going, didn’t I?’
She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. ‘So your kids are gonna be cops too, then?’ she said through her laughter.
‘Tom? After he finishes his career at Arsenal, undoubtedly,’ Robert said.
Harriet pulled a face. ‘Arsenal? Uck, lad can do better than that!’
‘Yeah, yeah. You’re from the north right? I can’t quite pick the accent but I’m gonna guess Liverpool?’
‘You’ll never walk alone!’ Harriet cried, eyes gleaming. ‘Geez, if I had a pound for every time my dad sung that when I was growing up…’
Robert grinned and they shared a quiet moment of amusement.
Draining his cup, Robert leaned back. ‘So what about you? Why the law?’
‘Aside from my life goal to be a thorn in the side of all cops?’ Harriet quipped, lips curved in a seductive smirk, ‘I believe in justice. I’ll play the game of course, but ultimately justice is what I want to find. Give everyone a voice, a chance.’
‘A noble goal. And one we share, whether or not you believe it.’
‘I believe it. I might work the other side of cases to you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see that you try. I’ve seen that first hand.’
She turned away, as if uncomfortable delivering the compliment, looking out the window to the street outside. A stiff wind was whipping through the trees, scattering litter and billowing the skirts of the unwary.
‘Sound like there’s a story there,’ Robert prompted.
Harriet blinked slowly. He watched the indecision work its way across her face. He thought he’d lost her, then, ‘My sister, Nellie was her name, was murdered when she was 16. Found beaten to death in an alleyway.’
Shocked, Robert gaped a moment. And he’d played that stupid joke about his dad… ‘Shit, Harriet. I’m sorry…’
Harriet shook her head, swelling a gulp of coffee. ‘Don’t be,’she said. ‘It was a long time ago. And I think I’ve spent enough time ignoring that she existed. But she did exist. I had an older sister. And she was pretty damn awesome.’
Robert smiled gently. He knew when to stay silent.
Harriet continued, ‘She was five years older than me. So I guess she was kinda my hero, you know? Tall, well for my family anyway. She took after dad, always doing something exciting. She was all I wanted to be back then. Went out one night with her boyfriend, Tyler Marks. Didn’t come home.’
Harriet paused, hands now gripping her latte like a lifeline. ‘They found her the next morning, behind the Shooters night club. We hadn’t even missed her yet.’
‘Was it the boyfriend?’ Robert asked softly. It almost always was in stories like this.
Harriet shrugged. ‘Couldn’t prove it. They were out together. Were seen making out in the alley. He said he left her there to “clean up after,” such a gentleman,’ Harriet snorted. ‘He went back to a mate’s place that night. Said she never came back inside. That he figured she’d gone home.’
‘He didn’t look for her?’
Harriet’s eyebrows shrugged ruefully for her. ‘There was no DNA to connect him to the crime. Well, no blood. Plenty of other DNA, but that fit with his story. So…’
‘So, no case?’
‘Yep. At best he was an inconsiderate arsehole who didn’t check on her. At worst…’
Robert frowned in mutual understanding, nodding to himself. ‘I’ve seen my fair share of cases like that. They don’t ever let you go.’
‘Some do get under your skin, don’t they?’ Harriet said. ‘I never thought they would, after Nellie. Thought she was my one for life, you know?’
He did. What a story. And the irony of it, to end up defending a piece of shit like bloody Danny Flint. Fuck.
‘So why defence?’ he asked, ‘I’d have thought an experience like that would lead to the DPP?’
‘Yeah, well, you can thank my brother Billy for that. He was only 11 when Nellie died. Mum fell apart, dad hit the bottle and left. So for a while there it was really just Billy and me. We got ourselves through it all.
‘Mum and dad reconciled about a year later, but Billy never really felt he had a father after that.’
Robert watched her face, seeing what she didn’t say written clearly over her skin. Not just Billy, he suspected.
‘Bill lost his way a bit when he moved to Exeter for uni, got in with the wrong crowd. Got himself arrested for selling dope. Just 18. Bloody idiot. Did time. Only a few months, but prison is prison. It was just wrong. Prison should be a last resort. People make mistakes, especially young idiots from lower socioeconomic families. It wasn’t right.’
‘Not justice.’
‘Not justice,’ she agreed. ‘I had to pick which one to fight for: justice for Nellie or justice for Billy. Bill’s still here, I guess. Though it
sometimes feels like I chose the wrong sibling.’ She huffed a laugh. Their eyes locked, Robert held her stare. Moments passed.
‘So how’s he doing now? Your brother?’
Harriet blew out a heavy sigh, ‘Having a baby with his girlfriend, but living in my apartment.’
‘Well, there’s good and unexpected there.’
Harriet laughed, light returning to her eyes, ‘Good and unexpected. Yeah, I reckon you’ve got Billy in one there.’ She smiled to herself. Robert could see it, swimming under the surface of the mask. The pain and hurt, the intense and honest love. Billy was a lucky man to have a sister like Harriet.
She looked up, suddenly contemplative, ‘How do you know?’ she asked.
‘Know what?’
‘Who to believe? When you are interviewing suspects, how do you know who to trust?’
Robert paused, giving the question the gravitas it deserved. ‘You look at the facts. Work the timelines. The truth is usually pretty obvious from that.’
Harriet rolled her eyes and groaned, ‘Yes, yes, facts. I know. Facts are ‘king’. But how do you know.’ She emphasised the word, a hand gesturing to her gut. Robert knew exactly what she meant. That bubble that formed, the confidence that gripped you, shook you and wouldn’t let go. Instinct.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged her pointing hand with a flick of his eye, ‘it’s a feeling. Sometimes you just get a sense and you know. But mostly, it’s in their eyes.’
Harriet watched him intensely. ‘Their eyes.’ It wasn’t a question, but he answered it.
‘Yes, you can see it. The truth, the lies. It’s just there.’
She nodded slowly the glow of curiosity fading from her features. ‘I guess you and I just read eyes differently, then,’ she said, voice suddenly tight. Tension stretched the skin of her face over her bones.
The warmth of connection that had been building between them instantly cooled. Her comment evoking the unspoken block that sat between them. The Lane-Huxley case, or as Harriet had suggested when they last spoke, Lane vs Lane-Huxley. Sister’s word against sister. Dangerous ground. Was she really doubting her client’s guilt? Or was this just part of the game?
The Unsound Sister Page 10