Reluctant Consent

by Margaret Barnes

‘Does he live there alone?’

  ‘Most of the time. Sometimes there’s a girlfriend, not often the same one.’ She smiled and Alex felt a strange sense of relief. ‘Then his father comes as well. Can be a bit of a nuisance. Turns up in his chauffeur-driven Rolls. Blocks the street.’

  ‘The other man?’

  ‘Don’t recognise him. Sorry.’

  ‘Thanks anyway.’ Alex turned away as the young woman opened the door of her home.

  Towards the end of the mews there were still a couple of buildings occupied by small businesses. She saw the premises of a print works, but the door was closed and there was no sign of any one working there. Next door the large plate-glass window was etched with the name of an architects’ practice. In the room visible from the street, Alex could see a large computer screen and the hair and eyes of the woman sitting behind it. She went in.

  ‘Can you help me?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’ An elegantly dressed woman stood up and came around the side of the desk. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was looking for the print shop.’ Alex nodded in the direction of the property next door.’

  ‘That’s not been open for a couple of years.’

  ‘Does anybody come to the shop? Collect post?’

  ‘From time to time a van turns up. Somebody uses it for storage.’

  ‘Frequently?’

  ‘Not sure. Not regularly. I’ve seen lights on sometimes. Why do you want to know?’

  Alex produced her warrant card. ‘Police. There’s nothing to worry about. Just making some routine enquires.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Do you want to ask any of the partners about it? They tend to stay late.’

  ‘That’s ok. How long have you worked here?’

  ‘Five years. The print shop was open when I started. We had some stuff printed.’

  Alex produced the two photographs again. The woman recognised Davenport; she’d seen him frequently and assumed he lived in the mews, but she said she had never seen Hales. Alex thanked her and told her she may call back.

  She walked back to her car musing on who and for what the print shop was used. Renting a property in this location wasn’t cheap; why would it be left empty?

  Checking her mobile there was a call for her to go to the station and a text from her mother asking her to have lunch at her home in Richmond. The message said her mother wanted her to meet someone. There was a time when that had meant she had invited some man who she thought would be a suitable husband for her only daughter, but this time Alex knew the man was the one her mother was seeing. She wasn’t ready for that, she wasn’t ready to accept someone else in her mother’s life. She texted her refusal, using pressure of work as an excuse.

  Alex was the last to arrive at the briefing meeting. Chris was already there. He pushed the chair next to him back for her and produced a coffee in a takeaway cup. She took it gratefully.

  DCI Saltburn was looking grim. ‘I’ve had a call from on high – they want a result. Anybody got any ideas on where we go from here?’

  ‘Doesn’t the information we’re getting point to the drugs being supplied from Cotburn Mews?’ someone said.

  There was a murmur of assent in the room. ‘The mews has come up a lot.’

  ‘Every time you ask about the mews, they hesitate.’

  ‘We could stake it out,’ another officer said.

  ‘Alex, you live locally. You know the place?’ DCI Saltburn said.

  ‘A cobbled mews. Most of them are houses now, but there’s an architects’ practice in one of them and next door there’s a print shop. It’s been closed about two years. I did speak to the receptionist at the architects’ and she told me there was some activity there from time to time.’

  ‘So it’s possible that’s where the cocaine is distributed from. It’s got to be worth a try. Let’s start by seeing if we can get into the premises.’

  ‘Search warrant?’ someone said.

  ‘Fine. Let’s do that.’

  ‘What about surveillance on the place?’ Mel Haskins said. ‘It’ll take at least twenty-four hours to get a warrant.’

  A day later a team of detectives and SOCOs forced an entry into the print works. The room behind the garage doors was divided by a counter from what had been the hallway. The forensic team began to take samples from the large table in the centre of the room. Alex walked to the far end of the short corridor towards a closed door on the left. Wearing plastic gloves she opened it. The room was dark, the windows boarded to prevent daylight from entering. Alex fumbled along the wall for a light switch and when she found it, turned it on. This room too was empty save for another table, a couple of old chairs and a tall metal filing cabinet. One of the forensic boys followed her, took one look at the tabletop and said, ‘I think you’ve got the right place.’ He pointed to a thin layer of white powder. Alex opened the filing cabinet with her little finger. Inside was a roll of small plastic bags similar to the one found in Roger Hales’s pocket. She asked the SOCO to bag them.

  ‘Fingerprints?’ she said.

  ‘Not much chance. I’ll dust the filing cabinet but it’s unlikely.’

  The search was soon over. As the team of detectives walked back to their cars a man carrying a large holdall and wearing a pinstriped suit came towards them. He was fumbling in his pocket, no doubt looking for the keys to his home. She thought he was too preoccupied to notice her, but although she didn’t get a good look at his face she was certain it was Oscar Davenport. She dropped back level with Chris. ‘Don’t look round. That guy is from the chambers where Hales works.’

  Chapter 20

  On the first day of the Montgomery trial Cassie arrived at the Old Bailey well ahead of time. She was struggling to sleep, getting up to check her emails, wondering where and who Delaney was and when he would contact her again. In the robing room she pulled out her gown, and shook it to straighten out the creases, fixed the lace collar with the tabs round her neck and went over to the mirror to check her make-up, making sure the dark shadows under her eyes were not too obvious. In the mirror she saw Ayesha Khan come into the room and throw her bags onto the table between them.

  ‘Ayesha, what brings you here?’ Cassie said.

  ‘A plea on a burglary. I’m in front of Judge Baxter – he’s the Common Serjeant, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and can be difficult.’

  ‘Great. The client has no mitigation at all. I’m going to make a fool of myself and I’ll be lucky if I get paid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. Making a fool of yourself – well, no one would do this job if they weren’t prepared to do that. The money will turn up eventually.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I seem to be working for nothing most of the time. My overdraft is increasing day by day, and I’ve still got my student loan to pay off. I was doing better when I was working as a sales assistant.’

  ‘Have you asked Jack about it?’

  ‘Yes, but he shrugs his shoulders and says some people are very bad at putting their claims in.’ Ayesha paused and then said, ‘I find him unapproachable. He brushes me off. Sometimes I think he’s not that interested in the baby barristers, particularly the women. That’s apart from you.’

  Before Cassie could ask her what she meant, she heard her name being called over the public address system, asking her to go to Court 10. She grabbed her files, her copy of Archbold, the criminal lawyers’ bible, and her wig and tucked them under her arm. On the way down the flights of stairs to the first floor, she pondered on Ayesha’s comments. Did Jack really help her more than the others? She didn’t think he did; she had fought hard with him about the type of work she was sent. It was true that recently he had found her more serious cases, more like those the young men were instructed in. Eleanor’s words about not relying on him too much came back to her, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment; she had a trial to conduct.

  Outside Court 10, in the wide marble-floored hallway that ove
rlooked the street from which the courthouse got its name, she found David Montgomery waiting for her. He was standing stiffly, his face rigid, barely acknowledging her; he was wearing the same clothes, the blue tweed jacket and dark shirt he had worn at the first conference with the addition of a navy tie bearing a small gold crest. She was dismayed by his disinterest; normally clients were eager for their barrister to turn up and provide reassurance. James had not arrived yet. Nor did there appear to be a clerk from the solicitors. Normally she would not be too concerned about seeing a client on her own, but Montgomery was so difficult she was reluctant to talk to him without a witness to their conversation.

  She was relieved when her mobile vibrated in her pocket. She motioned to her client to wait by the door to the courtroom while she took the call. Her relief turned to panic when she saw the name Delaney and the message:

  ‘Back at the Bailey. Another vulnerable witness. Take care.’

  She closed her eyes and then pressed the delete button on her phone. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. She had to concentrate on this trial. A moment later James came loping along the hall towards them hugging his papers to his body. Montgomery appeared to relax a little at the sight of James. Another man, she thought.

  As Cassie explained to Montgomery how the jury panel would be selected, instead of looking at her, he began to brush at the beige mac he was holding over his arm.

  ‘I don’t want any black men on the jury,’ he said. He looked up at her, his face set and his eyes fixed.

  ‘We can’t challenge someone just because of their colour. We have to give reasons, such as you know them.’

  The court usher came to the door and said, ‘Miss Hardman, your client needs to surrender.’

  ‘Of course. Shall we all go into court.’ Cassie put her wig on and led the way through the double doors and into the pine-panelled courtroom. Montgomery was directed towards the dock where the security staff took him out of her sight behind the door from which were the stairs down to the cells.

  Cassie dumped her papers on the front row, James behind her. She turned round to speak to him and at that moment Marcus Pike swept into court and dropped his papers onto the opposite end of the bench.

  ‘Good morning, Cassie. Ready to change your plea?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, Marcus. It’s a shame but I don’t think we can oblige. Have you got somewhere else to go?’ Cassie said, lifting her eyebrows.

  Marcus looked round at his junior, Robin Tasker. ‘I told you she was a challenge. You know Robin, don’t you? And your junior. I don’t think we’ve met.’

  ‘No, I’m James Callan.’ James moved towards Marcus as if to shake hands then withdrew. Cassie smiled; James had remembered barristers don’t.

  A knock on the judge’s door prevented any further exchange; all four turned to face the front of the court as Judge Crabtree strode across the upraised platform to his chair decorated with the coat of arms of the City of London engraved in gold on the green leather. He opened the red notebook on the bench in front of him and looked round the room.

  The doors to the gallery were opened and a trickle of men and women took their seats. Cassie saw Mrs Montgomery move forward to the front row closest to the dock. A group of older men dressed in dark overcoats sat together towards the rear. For a moment, Cassie wondered if one of them was the mysterious Malcolm Delaney, but dismissed the thought quickly. She had no time now to dwell on her own problems.

  The jury selection continued without interruption. Nevertheless, Cassie scrutinised each one of them, knowing she would need all her skills to keep her client under control and the jury on her side.

  She turned to glance along the bench at Marcus, who was also scanning the members of the jury. She was glad he was leading for the prosecution; having been his junior in the Barker case she knew something of his strengths and weaknesses as an advocate and, most importantly, she trusted him. He would play it straight with her.

  Once the jury was sworn, Judge Crabtree asked Marcus Pike to open the case to the jury. Marcus had placed his small folding wooden lectern on the bench in front of him. He put his opened notebook on it, and then took a black pen out of his waistcoat pocket which he placed with precision in the remaining space at the top edge. He looked up and turned so that he was standing looking at the jury. He took a few moments, running his eyes along the two rows, smiling at them, trying to establish some rapport with a least one or two of them. Cassie would do the same as the trial progressed, but for now Marcus had centre stage. She leant back in her chair and listened to him outline the prosecution case in his plummy voice. As she had anticipated, he dealt cleverly with the behaviour of the two main prosecution witnesses who, he said, had nothing to be proud of. They had played their own part in the events that led to the death of Albie Young, and, he said, they would have to live with that for the rest of their lives. But even so, whatever they had done, they could be relied on to be truthful. Their evidence would show that David Montgomery had acted out of revenge fuelled by his hatred of black youths, not in self-defence. He had put the case in a nutshell. She would have to combat that view of events.

  After Marcus had finished his opening speech to the jury, he asked for a short adjournment and Judge Crabtree agreed. The jury were escorted outside the courtroom and, once the door had closed on them, Marcus switched on the monitor on the bench beside his lectern. At first the screen didn’t come to life and Marcus turned to Robin and asked him if it had been tested before the trial had begun. Robin said he understood that to be the case. Cassie pressed the controls to see if the monitor she would be using was working or not. It wasn’t.

  ‘It may be that the judge has turned them all off,’ she said. Marcus asked one of the court staff to fetch the court clerk or someone who could check the video link was working. He then began firing questions at Robin about the witnesses. Cassie didn’t want to listen and left, followed by James. The jurors were corralled by the usher close to the doors, so Cassie and James drifted towards the staircase.

  ‘He’s making a bit of a fuss about the video link, isn’t he?’ James said.

  ‘He wants it to work straight away – it shows he’s in control.’ As they reached the flight of stairs and were about to turn to go up, Cassie saw the auburn head of the court reporter, Ruth Pymlott, coming up towards them. She was dressed in a dark suit and her hair was cut to a short bob, which would have made her look very serious if it wasn’t for the freckles across her nose.

  ‘Miss Hardman, I gather you are defending in this shopkeeper case. Leading brief as well.’

  Cassie smiled at the reporter. She admired Ruth, who was a capable woman; she had a first-rate knowledge of the legal system and fought ferociously when journalists were excluded from reporting parts of cases, but she knew it was better not to be too open with her.

  ‘I suppose he’s running self-defence. Quite right too, in my view,’ Ruth said.

  ‘And I assume your newspaper’s as well?’ Cassie said.

  Ruth laughed. ‘Always on the side of the working man.’

  ‘Rather an overworked expression these days.’

  ‘Yes, yes it is. That case you did a few weeks ago, Sadler, wasn’t it? You handled it well.’ Cassie didn’t want to be reminded of the Sadler case at this time but she enjoyed praise from such a knowledgeable source. ‘He was such a good-looking bloke though.’

  Cassie tried to smile. Paul Sadler had been a very attractive man.

  Chapter 21

  Once the video was working, Christopher Young’s evidence was played to the jury. As soon as the video was finished Cassie began her cross examination. She didn’t want Christopher to cry so she tiptoed through her questioning, but just before the luncheon adjournment he blurted out that he had never seen a knife.

  As the jury filed into court an hour later, Cassie looked up at the public gallery. She wanted to believe the man who had emailed her and sent the postcard was one of the group of older men who came to the Bailey as a
hobby, following any case they found interesting, or a barrister they thought was entertaining. Only six people were occupying the seats in the gallery set high above the court where they could observe the judge, the jury and the defendant, but they only had a back view of the witnesses. Of the six, two were women; Delaney was not one of those unless the name was a pseudonym. She didn’t recognise any of the men and there was no indication of any unusual interest in her. Whoever Malcolm Delaney was, she began to doubt he was one of the men currently watching the trial.

  Cassie turned back to her papers and then felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up; James was standing in the row behind her. He motioned behind him. ‘Tim’s found a clerk for us,’ he said. He was pursing his lips, trying not to laugh. Then he moved slightly to his right so she could see behind him.

  Sitting at the bench was a young man wearing a dark grey jacket over a black open-necked shirt. The solicitor’s clerk rose slightly from his seat and nodded at her. ‘Miss Hardman. Tim’s asked me to clerk for him. My name is Zachariah Rose. Most people call me Zac.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you to the client later,’ Cassie said. She swallowed hard and put her head down; she didn’t want Zac to know she was worried about Montgomery’s reaction. Tim had been a bit underhand, selecting a clerk who would give the defence some racial balance. She hoped her client would accept it; she didn’t want a fight with him at this stage. It was something she would have to worry about later; there were a few more questions for Christopher Young.

  ‘Chris, you said this morning “I never saw a knife”. Do you remember saying that?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘You hadn’t seen a knife?’

  ‘No. I don’t think I did.’ Chris spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘So why did you say you hadn’t seen a knife?’ He looked straight at her. Something in his eyes made her think he’d changed over the adjournment and now was more resilient. For a moment she wondered if he had spoken to Jas or Loveday, but then remembered they were not in the building.