The Verdict (31 page)

Christine stopped there, turned to me and nodded. That was the signal.

I handed her what she asked for.

‘My Lord, we have here a DNA sample, which we believe will match that found on Exhibit 3.’

She held up a sealed evidence bag containing the champagne glass I’d swiped from the Violet Room, after my encounter with Breeze. As she’d stormed out before I could get round to asking her to give us a statement, I’d grabbed at the only straw going.

Christine was on very thin ice here. You needed legal consent to take a person’s DNA. Breeze hadn’t given it to me. Christine was gambling that the judge wouldn’t ask as to the legality of the sample, as long as she didn’t request the glass to be entered into evidence. This was really about calling Carnavale’s bluff and planting a warning flag in the judge’s mind.

So far it seemed to be working. Carnavale was glowering at his junior barrister and especially at his clerk. They obviously hadn’t thought to check Suite 18’s previous guests.

‘I would like to ask if my learned friend can confirm that Exhibit 3 was tested for the victim’s DNA as well as the defendant’s. And, if this was done, was the victim’s DNA found on the exhibit?’ Christine said and sat down.

‘Mr Carnavale?’

‘The Crown was not informed of this development until now, My Lord.’

‘What “development”?’ the judge asked.

‘We were unaware that the defence had approached previous guests at the hotel suite, My Lord.’

‘You mean you were unaware that the defence had done its job?’ the judge said.

Redpath smiled. So did I. Christine was po-faced.

Carnavale blinked. He had no comeback.

‘Mr Carnavale, can you confirm to me that Exhibit 3 was tested for the victim’s DNA?’

‘One moment, please, My Lord.’

Carnavale asked his junior for a file, which he looked through as they conferred in sharp whispers. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but I thought of two snakes spitting venom at each other over a hotplate.

‘My Lord, that doesn’t appear to be the case.’

‘You mean to say that you wanted to enter into evidence an item of clothing you weren’t actually certain belonged to the victim?’

‘No, My Lord, that was not my intention. That would imply I was seeking to deceive the court, which I would never do.’

‘I should sincerely hope not, Mr Carnavale,’ the judge said. ‘Yet in your submissions here, you clearly state Exhibit 3 as belonging to the victim. Can you explain to me why DNA testing on this item was selective?’

‘I have no explanation for that, My Lord. I’d have to ask the lab. I personally submitted the Exhibit in good faith, assuming DNA testing had been carried out with the same thoroughness it was on the other items presented into evidence.’

‘You assumed wrong, Mr Carnavale,’ the judge said. ‘How long will it take to get the exhibit retested?’

‘At a guess, between six to eight weeks, My Lord.’

Judge Blumenfeld scribbled a few notes.

‘Are you otherwise ready to go to trial?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

He made more notes.

‘On what grounds did you include Exhibit 3 into evidence?’

‘The item was found in the wastepaper basket of Suite 18. There was a quantity of semen on the item, which DNA tests showed was the defendant’s. It is the Crown’s contention that the defendant masturbated into the victim’s underwear either prior to or after murdering her.’

There was silence in the courtroom. I thought of Melissa, who was possibly hearing about this for the first time.

‘Where was the wastepaper basket located?’

‘In the living room.’

‘And the body was found in the bedroom?’

‘Yes, My Lord. But the victim was murdered in the living room.’

‘And where were the victim’s other clothes?’

‘In the bedroom.’

‘But not her underwear?’

‘No, My Lord.’

‘In other words, Exhibit 3 was found in a separate part of the suite?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were there traces of semen on any of the victim’s other clothes?’

‘No, My Lord.’

‘Why did you assume Exhibit 3 belonged to the victim?’

Carnavale hesitated, looked down at the file on his lectern.

‘It was the only item of female underwear found at the scene. That’s Presumption of Fact, My Lord. Archbold 10.1.’

He was referring to the lawyer’s bible –
Archbold: Criminal Pleading, Evidence and Practice
–
an elephantine tome covering every aspect of criminal law and the cases that shaped it.

‘Did the police, to your knowledge, investigate or speak to previous guests at Suite 18?’

‘No, My Lord.’

‘Please sit down.’

The judge made a few more notes.

‘I will have to rule on this,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a twenty-minute break. Could you please return at 11.45?’

He stood up.

‘All rise!’

We got up and watched him leave.

VJ was led away from the dock.

Carnavale walked out of court, thumbs under the collar of his gown, followed by his team.

‘How do you think it’ll go?’ Redpath asked Christine.

‘Hard to say. The judge won’t want to delay the trial by two months, that’s for sure,’ she said.

Carnavale returned fifteen minutes later with Lisa Perez in tow. He didn’t look at us, just went straight back to his seat. His clerk wasn’t there. Probably been fired.

I sneaked a look up at the gallery. Melissa wasn’t there.

‘All rise!’

Judge Blumenfeld took his seat. VJ was led back into the dock.

‘In the matter of allowing Exhibit 3 into evidence,’ the judge began, looking briefly at Carnavale and then at Christine, before pushing up his glasses and reading out his ruling.

‘It is the prosecution’s duty to prove its case beyond reasonable doubt. This extends to all evidence submitted in support of that case. That evidence must always be credible. And in a case such as this, where serious charges have been brought, there can be no margin of error.

‘The Crown has submitted into evidence an undergarment believed to have been worn by the victim at the time of her murder. This was recovered from a wastepaper basket in the living room of Suite 18 of the Blenheim-Strand hotel, and marked “Exhibit 3”. The Crown confirmed that the item was tested only for DNA of the defendant, not that of the victim.

‘The defence contends that Exhibit 3 does not in fact belong to the victim, but to another party, who was a guest in the same room on the weekend prior to the events of March 17th, 2011. To support its argument, the defence has provided a sworn statement from the guest – named Joe Finder – who rented the room.

‘Mr Finder confirmed that the room was used to host a party, and that he hired a stripper as part of the evening’s entertainment. As part of her routine the stripper threw her underwear – a detachable thong, similar to Exhibit 3 – at her audience.

‘The defence asserts that the owner of Exhibit 3 is not the victim, but likely to be the stripper. The defence contends that Exhibit 3 was found by the accused on or around the early morning of March 17th after the hotel minibar had been moved from its normal place. The defence contends that Exhibit 3 is likely to have been behind or under the minibar before the accused first entered the suite.

‘Having read Mr Finder’s statement and taken into account the prosecution’s confirmation that Exhibit 3 was not tested for the victim’s DNA, I am inclined to conclude that there is a higher probability that the item marked *Exhibit 3” did not belong to the victim.

‘On this occasion, the prosecution has not been able to provide any proof, nor a satisfactory argument that the item was ever worn by the victim. I therefore rule Exhibit 3 inadmissible as evidence in this trial.’

He banged his gavel.

Redpath clenched his fist in triumph. Christine gave me a respectful nod.

Carnavale took the blow with his eyes wide open.

The courtroom was otherwise silent. A little piece of the earth had shattered and no one else had heard it.

‘That’s what’s known as a “technicality”,’ Christine said to VJ, back in the meeting room. ‘It was a significant bit of evidence against you. Now it’s gone.’

VJ was a little perkier than he’d been earlier, but he was still going back to prison. This triumph had been ours alone.

‘We got lucky today,’ Christine continued. ‘Franco was complacent, thought he had it in the bag. That won’t happen with him again, trust me. He’s at his worst after a setback.’

VJ didn’t know the part I’d played. I’d asked Christine to keep that quiet, saying it was best if he saw us as a team instead of individual components. He’d feel more secure that way. But, really, I didn’t want him thinking I was anything more than a powerless underling. That way, if something went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to blame me and our past history.

‘Where does this leave us?’ VJ asked.

‘In a better place than we were a couple of hours ago. The judge ruled the evidence inadmissible. This means it can’t be brought up in trial. The jury will never know that you masturbated into the thong. And that’s a big deal, because if they
had
heard about it, they wouldn’t have forgotten it. That would have set them against you.’

‘Can the prosecution bring it up at all?’

‘He may try, but I’ll object, and the judge will support me,’ she said. ‘Remember, the order of things. The police brought the charges, and the prosecutor is trying you based on their evidence. You didn’t say anything about masturbating in your statements to the police, so he can’t ask you about something you never said. Secondly, the judge has ruled Exhibit 3 inadmissible. Which means that legally, it didn’t happen.’

‘Can’t the prosecutor ask me what I did after I got beaten up in the suite?’

‘Yes, he can. And I will object to the question. The judge will know what Franco’s doing and warn him off. If he persists, he’ll be held in contempt.’

‘So I don’t have to answer?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘The judge may ask you to answer according to what you told the police. In which case you say you lay down and passed out.’

‘Isn’t that perjury?’

‘No. It’s the law. The judge has set the boundaries and you’ll be sticking to them.’

VJ nodded.

The judge had set the trial date for Monday, July 25th. We had three months.

‘What about Nikki Frater, the PA?’ Christine asked. ‘Is she going to cause us any problems?’

‘No. She’s a rock. She’s been with me from the start. She followed me over from my last job.’

‘Probably Franco playing mindgames with us, then.’

We fell quiet for a moment. Outside, in the corridor, we heard the shuffle of feet and the voices of barristers and their clients, the locking and unlocking of cell doors. Just another prison.

‘The Royal Wedding’s on Friday,’ VJ said. ‘You know they’re giving us an extra hour in bed and a choc ice, as a special treat? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually looking forward to it.’

‘I remember when Prince William’s parents got married,’ Redpath said.

‘Me too,’ VJ said, and he glanced at me for a split second.

We’d spent that day together, my family and his – apart from Rodney – round my house, watching the telly. The Jameses didn’t have one.

July 29th, 1981. Charles and Di.

That was the day I had my first ever drink. Yes, my parents had been giving me a nip of what they were having every now and then, but I had my first full, proper glass then. Me and VJ helped ourselves to a can of my dad’s Guinness. VJ hated it on first sip and didn’t want any more. I thought it was pretty good, like sweet black coffee. I polished it off. We were eight years old.

I’d barely had time to sit down at my desk when the phone rang. It was Edwina, summoning me upstairs.

Sid Kopf was putting something back in his filing cabinet when I walked in. On the wall directly above him, the muted flatscreen TV was showing what the Bank Holiday weather had in store for London. Cloudy, with a chance of sun.

I hadn’t quite noticed how big Kopf’s office was. It seemed to stretch the length of the building, as if three rooms had been knocked into one. At the far end, I spied a running machine.

‘Take a seat,’ Kopf said without looking at me.

I went to the same chair I’d sat in before, opposite his desk. For a moment I had my back to him.

I knew he was observing me. I could feel it. I’d developed a sense for being watched when I was at the Lister. The wardens used to monitor us surreptitiously, from a distance, looking out for signs of regression. Their eyes were like tiny, fleet-legged insects, scarpering across my skin before I could catch them. That’s what I felt now. Except this was a bigger insect, and it didn’t need to run.

I gazed at the black-and-white pictures on the wall, noticing how they’d all been taken in the late afternoon, as the sun was starting to set and the shadows were longer and thicker, obscuring at the least a third of every image in darkness. Did he just like the look, or was there some symbolic intent here?

Kopf came and sat down behind his desk. He was in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat.

‘Nicely done today,’ he said.

‘Thanks, but it was all Christine. I just —’

He cut me off with a wave of the palm.

‘Spare me the shopfront modesty. Good days are rare in this racket – and you always pay for them in kind. A day in the sun, a month in the rain. It all evens out.’

He sat back and stared at me for a few seconds. The whites of his eyes matched his hair. Through the door I heard Edwina’s phone ring twice before she answered it.

‘The reason I wanted to see you is that I have some concerns about your methods.’

‘My “methods”?’

‘There’s a fine line between ambition and recklessness, and you’ve got both feet planted on it. Only luck has stopped you going over so far,’ he said. ‘In the few weeks you’ve been on this case, you’ve obtained a DNA sample illegally, trespassed on an active crime scene, and impersonated a police officer – “Detective David Stratten”.’

The shock on my face made him smile.

Fucking Adolf!
 

She’d grassed me up.

And so had Andy Swayne.

I don’t know which I was least surprised and more pissed off about.

‘I set the bar very high here for a reason,’ Kopf said. ‘It’s the only way I know how to get the best out of people. Pressure. Some you squeeze, they fold. Others flourish. The law’s a tough game. Not everyone’s invited, and not anyone can play.’

Was I getting
fired
?

He leaned forward and crossed his forearms on the desk.

‘Janet was right to hire you. She said you were a natural, and you are. You’re bright, sharp, tenacious, persistent, analytical, inquisitive, argumentative – when you need to be. Core qualities in a lawyer.’

His tone was pleasant and conversational, no clouds on the horizon. He could have been asking what my bank holiday plans were, if we were going to watch the Wedding at home or on the street.

‘
But
– and consider this a
very
friendly warning, but a warning nonetheless – a lawyer who breaks the law is no longer a lawyer, Terry. He’s a fraud. An impostor. And an idiot. In short, he’s not the kind of person I want here. Lawyers never get their hands dirty. That’s why we have investigators. Do you understand?’

Still no harshness to his tone.

‘Yes.’

He studied me for a moment, made sure I wasn’t just telling him what he wanted to hear.

‘I understand,’ I said.

I did.

And I didn’t.

I was confused all over the place.

Andy Swayne had not only conned me into going into Suite 18, then told Kopf all about it, but he’d also tried to keep me in line, tell me my place.
Fetch and carry
…
Don’t get above your station.

Then both Janet
and
Christine had implied that I was to get them results by any means necessary.

And now Kopf was calling me out on my methods.

Who was the true master here?

‘In the meantime’ – Kopf opened a drawer and took out a white envelope, which he pushed across the desk at me – ‘that’s for you.’

From the heft and outline of the contents against my fingers, I knew it was cash – a wad of twenties. It must have been a grand, at least.

‘Enjoy your day in the sun, Terry. You’ve earned it.’