Locked In (20 page)

At the station, Jessica had walked in to a rowdy, sarcastic cheer from the half-a-dozen or so people milling around the reception area. She collectively flicked them a V signal but, before she could make her way through to her office, the desk sergeant pointed towards the stairs. ‘He wants to see you.’

She wasn’t sure if it would be a negative trip or not to see DCI Aylesbury. He surely couldn’t be annoyed given the force had finally been painted in a good light? She went up the stairs but, as she made her way past his office’s window, he didn’t appear to be smiling. ‘DS Daniel,’ he said as she knocked and entered. She instantly noticed a copy of that morning’s Herald on his desk. ‘So you
have
been making friends with the Press then?’ he added, referring to their initial conversation in reception when details of the first murder had made the papers.

‘Not really, Sir. I don’t know where he got most of that information.’

‘So you know where he got
some
of it then?’

Jessica said nothing but the half-smile on her DCI’s face indicated he wasn’t expecting an answer. He spoke again. ‘I spoke to Superintendant Davies this morning and he was
particularly
pleased with today’s media coverage. Delighted, I would say. He asked me to pass a message on to you.’

DCI Aylesbury paused, presumably waiting to see if Jessica would bite. She stayed silent, her face neutral and waited for her boss to continue. ‘He wanted me to tell you not to worry about either Peter Hunt or any internal investigation. His exact words were, “Tell Ms Daniel I’ll handle it”.’

Jessica half-smiled. ‘Thank you, Sir’.

‘I should of course remind you of your responsibilities when dealing with victims, witnesses, suspects and their representatives...’

‘I understand, Sir.’

‘Right then. Enjoy your day in court with Mr Hunt today. I’m sure he will be positively delighted to meet you again so soon.’

Manchester itself has two Crown Courts. Jessica had been to the Minshull Street courts in the north of the city a few times in the past as that was generally where the cases from her district were heard. But the most serious crimes and anything referred up from magistrates’ court were heard at Crown Square. Given it involved a police officer as the victim, Harry’s case was always likely to end up at that site.

The building was largely the same as any other court precinct Jessica had been into. It was disorganised with groups of people anxiously checking boards to make sure they were in the right place, while solicitors and ushers raced from various side rooms to the courts, checking on witnesses and defendants. Other sets of people sat on the uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs, checking their watches and fiddling with mobile phones.

If you were in uniform, court officials generally liked having police witnesses in the various public waiting areas. It offered a clear disincentive for any people in the room who might want to cause trouble. Jessica was in her regular suit for one but the prosecutor dealing with Harry’s case came enthusiastically bounding across the reception area as if appearing from nowhere. He shook her hand, reintroduced himself and assured her everything in court was going well. That wasn’t what she had heard, of course...

Harry was nowhere to be seen but, as the prosecutor led her into court one, she saw him sitting at the back in the public gallery. The court itself was a beautiful creation. It had enormous high ceilings with everything exquisitely wood-panelled. The judge’s bench at the front was long and ran the full width of the room, with an enormous seal on the wall behind it. As he would have looked out on to the court, the jurors would sit on his right while the dock, probation seats and Press box was on his left. The whole of the middle of the room was set aside for the lawyers and assorted legal workers, while the public area was right at the back. The witness box was between the jurors and the judge.

Jessica went to sit next to Harry at the rear. He looked fairly scruffy in a suit but had no tie and was unshaven with uncombed hair. As she sat, he offered a “hello” but wouldn’t be drawn into any more conversation than that and didn’t seem too keen to engage. She wondered if he would still be up for that drink later, or if he even remembered agreeing?

The detective watched Peter Hunt swan into court with an air suggesting he believed the case was already won. As ever, he was immaculately turned out. He glanced towards her and Harry but acknowledged neither of them before quickly turning away and taking his seat. Being called as a character witness meant Jessica was last in line for the prosecution. Given Harry had self-destructed on the stand, she was possibly a last chance to turn things around before Hunt had the chance to call his own witness, namely Tom Carpenter. The prosecution knew Hunt would claim Harry had provoked a reaction from the accused by threatening him and that, even though a weapon was involved, that knife was a necessary part of Carpenter’s job as a joiner. They would say he had just forgotten to take it out of his trousers and things had got out of hand with disastrous consequences.

Jessica watched the twelve jurors enter court from a side room and made snap judgements on all of them. She could instantly tell the two people who weren’t too bothered by the case. One of them was fairly young, a man in his early-twenties or so. Earphones were just about visible hanging by his neckline, indicating he had only just had the decency, or been told, to turn the music off. He scuffed his feet and looked at the floor throughout, showing no enthusiasm on his way in. There was a woman too, much older in her fifties, who looked utterly bored as they filed in. Jessica thought she was probably annoyed she had to put her book down or something like that. When the time came to make a decision, Jessica marked the two of them down as going along with whatever the majority would do – especially if it would get them discharged quicker.

The older man at the front, the foreman, was sharply dressed in a suit, although it wasn’t a necessity to do so when you sat on a jury. He was undoubtedly the one who would take the most interest and lead all the discussions in the retiring room. He probably watched a lot of courtroom or police procedural television shows and thought this was his big moment in the sun. He would no doubt be taking copious amounts of notes and sticking rigidly to all the judge’s instructions about not reading about the case in the media or talking about it outside of the court. He certainly wouldn’t have seen her on the front of that morning’s paper.

Jessica would have bet money that, although he hadn’t spoken about the case, he had told anyone who would listen that he was a juror
on
the case, then insisted he couldn’t talk about it. He looked exactly the type who would delight in the fact that he knew things other people didn’t – and revelled in letting them know that. Jessica figured he was a good person to get on side. He would vigorously put his point across after they had retired and be hard to sway away from that.

There were two women, around Jessica’s age sitting on the end of the front row of jurors. It instantly looked as if they had bonded during the course of the case. They spoke quietly together while everyone awaited the judge’s arrival. They were exactly the kind of people who would be key swing votes on a jury; interested enough to listen throughout, forthright enough to not be bullied but open-minded to take on other people’s views.

Jessica had no idea if she were right or not but working as a police officer gave you a pretty good grasp on the type of people you could be dealing with on any given day. She figured the foreman and these two women would be the key people to convince. These two females especially would stick together and argue their points of view. It was often that fair-mindedness that would get others to agree with you.

The judge entered and everyone stood. He was an enormous man, his robes bulging under the strain from his belly. Some people wore their weight well and managed to hide it but the judge definitely did not. His portly, rounded face was red and he looked out-of-breath merely walking into the room. He nodded to acknowledge the court and everyone sat down.

After some legal talk between the two sides, Jessica heard herself being introduced by the prosecutor then her name was called. As she made her way the few feet to the witness box, she felt the jury’s eyes on her. She looked over towards them and, as she would have expected, the foreman was feverishly making notes, despite the fact she hadn’t even taken the oath yet.

As she reached the stand and took a copy of the bible in her hand, she made a special effort to make eye contact with as many of the jurors as she could. The foreman was still writing while headphone boy was looking at his feet. She managed to look at the others and held the eyes of the two female jurors on the front row for a fraction of a second longer.

She confirmed her name, age and rank, then began to answer the initial clarification questions. When you appeared as a witness, your side would want to make sure the judge and jury knew you were a reliable, trustworthy person. That often involved a brief rundown of your entire life story and history. It was dull to pretty much everyone involved and, if Jessica had been asked to confirm her conception date, she would have only been half-surprised.

She saw Tom Carpenter in the dock watching her. The first time she had seen him was after the stabbing when he had been questioned after handing himself in. Jessica wasn’t involved in that but had seen him walking through the station with Hunt. He looked very different then, unshaven with a sneer and contemptuous look for the officers around him. Now he was smartly turned out in a suit, shirt and dark-coloured tie. He was shaven and had shorter hair. Back then he looked exactly the type to carry a knife ready to stab anyone who looked at him the wrong way but now he looked like the height of suburban respectability, someone you could trust and rely on. If you compared him to Harry’s unkempt appearance and demeanour in court, you would struggle to know which one was the accused and which was the supposed veteran police officer.

Jessica answered each question as clearly as she could, directing her answers towards the jury. The prosecutor’s examination was about as extensive as it could be. He asked her how long she had known Harry, what her relationship had been with him when she joined CID and other standard questions to establish the fact that she knew him pretty well. Considering Harry kept to himself, she figured she knew as much as anyone. She confirmed she had never seen him act unprofessionally in the course of duty, nor seen him be aggressive.

After the prosecutor had finished speaking, Peter Hunt stood up for the cross-examination. He looked straight at her, the first time she had noticed him do so. If he were annoyed over what had happened a few days previous he didn’t show it, speaking with an even tone and steady pace.

He confirmed a few of the details she had already spoken about and made a special point to let her reemphasise that she had become perhaps the person Harry was closest to on the force. The lawyer then asked one of the questions she had been expecting and worrying about. ‘Can I ask, if you know the victim so well, how many times you have spoken to Mr Thomas in the last six months or so?’

It sounded odd hearing Harry called “mister”. He was no longer a detective, so it was technically correct but to her ear didn’t sound right. She knew her answer would sound bad but had no intention of lying. ‘Once,’ she admitted, perhaps slightly quieter than some of her other responses. She bowed her head almost subconsciously while she said it. In the way legal professionals seemed to be trained to do, Hunt recoiled in mock surprise. Jessica thought that look of horror or shock must be day one of legal training. Before you open any books or take any exams, you had to be able to show you could look stunned even when being told information you were already fully aware of. If he did ever get booted out of the legal profession, Hunt could at least go for a job as a daytime soap actor.

‘Just the once?’

‘Yes.’ Hunt gave a smaller recoil, then looked directly at the jury to make the argument that she couldn’t know Harry that well if they had only been in contact once in recent times. She had to concede he had a point.

The foreman was frantically adding to his notes as Hunt continued. ‘In your experience Detective Daniel, is Mr Thomas a big drinker?’

‘How would you define “big”?’

‘Let me rephrase it. Have you ever seen Mr Thomas drink while on the job?’

‘Not really.’

‘So yes?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Jessica had seen most officers technically drink while still on duty. She explained to the jury that sometimes it was easier to talk to sources or witnesses in somewhere like a pub, where they themselves felt comfortable. She left out the part that, on occasion, you would have a drink or two with your colleagues a little before you had theoretically finished for the day. It was a fairly common practice and, though Harry didn’t really drink with the other officers, she had certainly seen him talk to people who could give him information in the pub.

Hunt listened to her and nodded slightly, apparently feeling as if his point had been made in any case. Just for good measure, he added: ‘But, even if you were to meet with witnesses and the like in a pub, you wouldn’t have to drink yourself would you?’

‘No,’ Jessica had to admit.

Hunt was on a roll. ‘Have you ever seen Mr Thomas act in a questionable way while on duty?’

It was the type of open question that was difficult to answer. She had often seen Harry give his homeless contact money and food in return for information and what about the sealed brown envelope he had given to the same man whose tip had led directly to an arrest? Was that “questionable behaviour”? Technically it could be seen as bribing a witness. She had seen him make vague statements in interviews, perhaps claiming to know more about a situation than he actually did. It was definitely a tad dishonest but was it “questionable”? ‘No,’ she answered.

‘Never?’

‘No.’

Hunt’s next question threw her. ‘Have you ever acted in a questionable way yourself while on duty?’