Reluctant Consent

by Margaret Barnes

  ‘It’s a large quantity of coke. You’ll have to speak to prosecuting counsel for the full reasons for remanding them in custody.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d help me a bit – advance warning.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘DC Seymour, Alex, isn’t it. Fancy a drink, coffee or lunch afterwards?’

  Alex shook her head. ‘I was warned about you.’

  Stephen laughed and went on his way to the cells.

  The bail application didn’t take long. The two men arrested delivering the cocaine to Cotburn Mews were remanded in custody for trial. They both indicated they would plead not guilty, alleging they did not know the packages contained illegal drugs. From the expression on the judge’s face she didn’t think they had much chance of an acquittal. Nor did Alex, but defendants liked to put off the day of reckoning. It allowed them time to arrange their affairs.

  Outside the courtroom, Stephen Burnett approached. ‘These guys are small fry really. Couriers. Are you anywhere near catching the sharks?’

  ‘No way. They never get out of the water.’

  ‘Can I repeat the offer of a drink some time?’

  ‘Better not.’

  Stephen laughed. ‘Oscar?’

  As he walked away, Alex turned on her mobile phone; there was a text from Felix Delaney.

  ‘Very worried. Dad not been back home since left Coroner’s.’

  Alex hoped Cassie was still safe in one of the courtrooms on the floors above her. She pushed her way through the revolving doors and out into the swarm of reporters and their cameramen. They were pushing each other, jostling to get the best position for their lenses to catch anyone emerging from the front door. She tried to move to her right, towards Newgate Street, but there was such a throng that she had to force her way through. With some difficulty she managed to escape onto the periphery of the tightly packed crowd. She paused for a moment and looked back south along the street. To her right and partly hidden by a television camera on the other side of the crush of journalists she saw Malcolm Delaney. Alex thrust herself back into the morass of pressmen to try and reach Delaney before he saw her. She found herself stepping first one way and then the other, around the photographers and journalists, avoiding cameras and backpacks. Someone stepped on her toes and she felt an elbow in her back. But for every step forward she was pushed back further from Delaney.

  The pack suddenly moved towards the courthouse doors and she heard a plethora of voices all speaking at once. She couldn’t see what was happening but guessed someone from the paedophile trial had emerged onto the street. On her left she saw the helmets of two City of London police officers; it looked like they were trying to control the herd of reporters. Alex pushed harder with her elbows at the men immediately to her right. ‘Watch it,’ one of them said.

  ‘Let me through,’ she said. ‘Police, I want to get through.’

  At the word police a small gap appeared in front of her and she was able to get to within an arm’s reach of Malcolm Delaney. She shouted his name and he looked straight at her. She reached out and took hold of the sleeve of his jacket. She called his name again. He didn’t acknowledge her, pulled free from her grasp and forced his way in the opposite direction to the edge of the crowd and once he was unimpeded he began to run south along the street. Alex tried to follow him as he ran. Then she saw the figure of Cassie Hardman some fifty metres or so in front of Delaney. The gap between the two was narrowing. Then Cassie stopped and turned towards Delaney, no longer moving away. ‘Cassie,’ Alex screamed. She knew she couldn’t reach Delaney before he got to Cassie so she cried out, ‘Cassie, run, Cassie,’ hoping she would hear. ‘Let me through, police, police!’ One of the uniformed officers must have heard her because a path opened up and she began to run towards Cassie.

  Chapter 45

  Outside the main door of the courthouse was a crowd of journalists and photographers. As Cassie and James wriggled through the mêlée to walk south along Old Bailey towards Ludgate Hill, someone from the pack of reporters pushed in between the two of them. The long lens of a camera poked into her face. She looked away but not before the light from the flashgun burst across her eyes almost blinding her. She heard the sound of a commotion behind her but with her eyes half closed against the flare, she couldn’t see the scuffle that had broken out near the entrance to the public gallery.

  ‘You’re Cassie Hardman, aren’t you? What about this girl killing herself because you got her rapist off?’ a voice said into her ear. She turned to look at the man who was accusing her.

  ‘Who are you? I have no comment,’ Cassie said. A microphone was pushed towards her, its fur cover almost touching her nose.

  ‘Do you like humiliating young women?’

  ‘Will you please leave me alone?’

  ‘So you enjoy calling a young girl a liar, do you?’

  Cassie put her head down and quickened her step but they kept pace with her. The cameraman continued to take photographs of her face, while the other man kept repeating his accusations. James tried to push between the men and Cassie first from one side then the other but he was in danger of tripping over each time he made the effort and in the end he gave up and walked alongside Cassie and the two reporters. The line of four wavered along the pavement. A taxi travelling north had to stop as the cameraman forced James onto the road. James asked the driver to take them to the Temple, opened the passenger door and got in, shouting for Cassie to follow him. The cameraman stepped back and stood between her and the open door, and then he reached behind and slammed it shut. James got out at the other side and ran around towards Cassie and put an elbow into the side of the sound recordist.

  The noise of the commotion behind them had risen and it was the sound of shouting that finally made the two pressmen turn back and train the camera on the crowd around the entrance to the court. Once their attention was focused back along the street, Cassie broke into a jog away from the courthouse and the noise. She didn’t get far before she realised James wasn’t with her and then she stopped and looked back. He was standing watching the crowd about three metres from her. Some distance away, close to the entrance to the Bailey she could see a group of people pushing and pulling at each other. There was shouting but she couldn’t make out any of the words. Most of them were men and she noticed the helmet of a City of London police officer fly into the air. Some security staff came to the door and looked out onto the street. The fighting continued and she took a step back towards the crush. Then she saw a man break free from the crowd and come running in her direction. At first she thought it was one of the two newspaper men trying to catch up with her but then she realised this man wasn’t carrying either a camera or a microphone. She didn’t recognise him and assumed he was struggling to get away from whatever fight was going on. She was turning to continue walking towards Ludgate Hill, when she heard a woman’s voice call her name, and again she looked back along the street towards the doors of the Old Bailey but couldn’t see anyone she knew. The fighting appeared to have stopped and the group was now following the man approaching her. James was coming towards her. She turned her attention back to the man who was getting closer and closer. She heard a familiar voice shouting her name in the distance – telling her to run, warning her she was in danger. The man was staring at her and was, she realised, intent on reaching her. When he was about four metres away it came to her. ‘Delaney,’ she whispered.

  For a moment fear rooted her to the spot. He had something in his hands that glinted in the sunlight. She wanted to run away. Don’t turn your back on him. That’s a knife. Don’t let him get too close. The distance between them was narrowing. She lifted the bag containing her robes. It was heavy but she swung it from side to side in front of her. Delaney ran to her right. He was within touching distance. Cassie threw the bag as hard as she could towards Delaney’s chest. The holdall hit him. He stumbled with the impact. James grabbed hold of her, pulled her towards him and put himself between her and Delaney. Almost immediately Delaney was back on his
feet and rushing towards them. He swerved round James, grabbed Cassie’s jacket and pulled her away. He was shaking her and screaming, ‘Bitch, bitch. You killed her.’

  Cassie shoved at him. ‘Let go! Let go!’ He lessened his grip, but as she backed away he grabbed her arm. He caught hold of the sleeve of her jacket and it tore. ‘You’re a killer,’ he shouted, over and over. She turned to face him; he lunged out at her but she moved to one side. He turned again and now the holdall, still on the ground, was between them. Delaney reached for her arm again but she sidestepped him and for a moment they were engaged in some macabre dance. Cassie took a couple of steps back and Delaney tried to follow her, the knife held in one hand. Her eyes were glued to the knife as he pushed it towards her. It was inches away when he was pulled backwards and fell. Cassie looked up and saw Alex holding on to his right arm. Alex pulled him to his feet and said, ‘I’m arresting you under Section 2 of the Protection from Harassment Act 1997.’ She cautioned him but Delaney only grunted.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she said to Cassie.

  ‘I think so …’

  Cassie put one hand to her mouth as if to prevent a scream as she watched him led away by two uniformed police officers. James was holding her round the shoulders. She pointed to the tin containing her wig, which had fallen out of her bag and rolled a few feet into the gutter. James went to pick it up. Without his support she felt unsteady and thought she was about to faint, but Alex grabbed her arm and held her as she swayed. ‘Take a deep breath. I don’t think you’ll want to see a photograph of yourself on the ground in the newspapers tomorrow,’ Alex said.

  James came back carrying her bag as well as his own, and said, ‘Shall I get a taxi?’

  ‘I think you should,’ said Alex. ‘I need to go with my prisoner.’ She pointed in the direction of Snow Hill. ‘I’ll need to get a statement from you, but tomorrow will do.’

  ‘No, I want to get away. I’ll be alright. Yes, sorry, a statement. Tomorrow is fine,’ Cassie said as she took a few tentative steps in the direction of Ludgate Circus.

  Cassie struggled to walk along Fleet Street towards the Temple. She kept her eyes focused ahead of her and didn’t speak. James kept pace with her, carrying her robe bag and his own. He asked twice if she was alright but she didn’t reply and he gave up. She could still feel her heart thumping and the noise of the traffic seemed to explode in her head, but she felt a little stronger with each step she took. Then she saw the sign of El Vino’s. ‘I think I could do with a drink.’

  ‘In here?’ said James.

  ‘Mm. A large glass of Chateauneuf, the best they have.’ They walked to the back of the bar where there was an ill-assorted collection of small tables and chairs. James dropped the two bags by the side of one of the tables as she sank into a chair facing the street. She handed him a twenty-pound note. ‘Two large glasses.’ While she waited she glanced around; she didn’t want anyone she knew to see her. A group of men were leaning against the bar, and sitting at another table were a man and a woman. From their dress, Cassie assumed they were lawyers; the journalists who had loitered there when Fleet Street was the centre of the newspaper industry had long ago been exiled to Canary Wharf. She was relieved she didn’t know any of them; she didn’t want to tell the story of the attack just yet. One of the barman, wiping glasses, was scrutinising her and she ran her hands through her hair. She hoped it wasn’t obvious she was distressed and, she realised, angry. She had won her first leading brief and instead of celebrating her victory she was nursing her worst fears.

  James returned with the two glasses and put them on the table in front of her. She picked up one and examined the dark, almost purplish liquid, then she swirled it round in the glass and sniffed it. ‘One of the most complex wines produced in the world. Did you know that?’ she said.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Cassie tried to raise the glass to her mouth but her hand was shaking so much she spilt a few drops onto her white shirt. She looked at it and, for a moment, even though she knew she had not been hurt, thought they were bloodstains. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop herself from crying, but she failed. Her lips began to quiver and then silently the teardrops ran down her face.

  James took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  ‘He looked such an insignificant little man. She was so beautiful. I can’t imagine him being her father,’ Cassie said.

  She took a deep breath, dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief and then picked up the glass and gulped a mouthful of the wine. She searched through her memory, wanting to concentrate on anything other than the events of the last few minutes. She didn’t want to talk about the Montgomery case or discuss the verdict; instead she told James about her pupil mistress.

  ‘You know my pupil mistress … the day of the High Court case … the one the owner of this wine bar took to exclude women from coming in without a man … they wanted to continue to refuse to serve women on their own and wouldn’t allow them to stand at the counter … she was one of the first women into this bar …’

  ‘They may have lost the case but it doesn’t look as if much has changed.’

  ‘No. It doesn’t.’

  Cassie heard herself laugh; she was safe and had won a great victory in court. She raised her glass. ‘I suppose we should congratulate ourselves on the not guilty verdict. But …’

  ‘This takes the shine off it.’

  They finished their wine and then walked slowly the rest of the way to 3 Burke Court. James pushed open the doors to the clerks’ room and let Cassie enter first. The chatter ceased and Jack sprang up from his chair and rushed towards her. He held her by the top of her arms and said, ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m not hurt … no bruises, nothing. But I was very frightened.’

  ‘She was fantastic,’ James said. ‘Hurled her robe bag at him and winded him. That friend of hers was there with a couple of other coppers and they intervened.’

  ‘He’s been arrested, has he? That’s good,’ said Jack. ‘Ben called, he’ll be at your flat when you get home. Anyway, you got a great result in the Montgomery trial. Of course the attack is all over the Temple and I guess it’ll be in the newspapers tomorrow. Great publicity, can’t do the work any harm.’

  ‘Jack, really,’ Cassie said.

  A telephone rang and Hamish picked up the receiver. Cassie heard him say, ‘Kingston Crown Court tomorrow. Let me see.’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Can you do a bail app in a fraud case tomorrow? It’s a sure not guilty and he wants to introduce counsel straight away. Are you up to it?’

  Jack held his hand out for the telephone. ‘Miss Hardman needs a few days off after the events of this afternoon. You’ll hear about it on the news. Mr Callan, her junior, will do the bail application. I assume there’s a Legal Aid certificate for two counsel.’

  Epilogue

  For the first time in weeks, Cassie spent an untroubled night, safe in her own home and with Ben. They made plans to drive north to Lancaster but first Cassie had to make a statement about the emails and messages Delaney had sent her, as well as the assault. She went to the police station in Notting Hill where she was met by Alex Seymour.

  After she had made her complaint, Cassie said, ‘Thanks for the warning about him. When I saw him coming after me I guessed who it was. That’s what saved me from getting hurt. You’ve saved my life again. Hopefully you won’t get into any trouble this time?’

  ‘No, no trouble. The boss approves even if I took a bit of time away from the drug investigation. He’s asked me to join his team – Serious Crime Squad.’

  ‘I gather Oscar was interviewed. Did you really think he was involved in drug dealing?’

  ‘I hope not. I really hope he isn’t. You’re off for a few days?’

  ‘We’re going to my parents’ in Lancashire. A few days with my mum’s cooking, Dad fussing over me. I’ve a sister as well and her husband … is there something wrong?’

  Alex smiled, o
pened the door and ushered Cassie out. ‘No, not really.’

  Alex went home that night and thought of Cassie heading north to her family. She poured herself a large glass of whisky. After a few sips of her drink, she went into the bathroom and ran a bath, adding some sweet-smelling oil. She retrieved her glass from the table beside the sofa and went into her bedroom, got undressed and pulled on a thick towelling robe. She sat at her dressing table and picked up the photograph of her brother and then put it down again. As she was heading back to the bathroom she heard the revving of a motorbike, the ring of her mobile. She looked at the screen and saw the caller was Oscar.

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