Marked for Death

by Tony Kent

  ‘I apologise.’ Cole interrupted the objection. ‘I will approach the matter in a completely different way. One which Mr Epstein will hopefully find less offensive.’

  Michael noted Cole’s sideways glance at the jury. It left the impression he had intended: a naughty boy who had been caught. And judging by their conspiratorial smiles in response, he had the jury onside.

  Cole turned back to the witness box.

  ‘OK then, Mr Price. You did not visit Terry Colliver in prison. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Price was growing more confident. ‘Check the prison bloody records.’

  ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what we did?’ Cole turned to his junior, Billy Taylor. Taylor handed him a large raft of documents. ‘In fact, I have them here. Madam Usher, would you be so kind?’

  The usher approached Cole for a second time and Cole handed her several sets of papers. She passed them to Price, the judge and finally the jury. In the meantime Cole handed additional sets to Epstein and to Michael.

  Once everyone had their papers, Cole continued.

  ‘This, Mr Price, is the complete print out of visits to Terry Colliver during his imprisonment for these offences in Wormwood Scrubs. Will we find your name on here if we look very carefully?’

  ‘Not once. I never visited him. He’s not my mate.’

  ‘Well the first part’s right, at least.’ Cole seemed unfazed. ‘You’re not on there at all. But let’s look at one of the names that we do see. Jane Gorr. Recognise that name, Mr Price?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you recognise the name, Mr Price?’

  No response. Price just glared at Cole.

  ‘OK, then. Let’s put it another way. Is Jane Gorr the name of your partner, Mr Price?’

  No response.

  ‘Is Jane Gorr the name of the woman with whom you live, Mr Price?’

  No response.

  ‘Is Jane Gorr the name of the mother of your two children, Mr Price?’

  No response.

  Cole held up a bundle of papers.

  ‘In my hand, Mr Price, are several of your housing benefit applications that list Jane Gorr as being your co-habitant, your partner and the mother of your children. I also have a copy of your children’s birth certificates, listing you as father and Jane Gorr as mother. Do you need to see them to answer my question, Mr Price?’

  ‘Yes.’ Price’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible. ‘Jane’s my missus.’

  ‘Is she friends with Terry Colliver?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, she certainly seems to be, doesn’t she, Mr Price. Because if we look at the list of visits to Terry Colliver, Jane Gorr visits him once in January, and then five times between February 18th and February 28th. The last visit being the day before you made your statement. With that in mind, can we assume that Jane Gorr – your partner – was friends with Terry Colliver?’

  ‘I . . . I . . . well, yeah, I . . . I guess we can.’

  ‘You guess we can? Your girlfriend is visiting another man in prison six times in two months and that’s all you can say? You don’t seem very surprised.’

  ‘Comment, Mr Cole.’ Levitt intervened before Epstein could rise.

  ‘I’ll put it another way, My Lord.’ Cole turned back to Price. ‘Are you not surprised to discover that your girlfriend – your common-law wife, if there were such a thing – was visiting another man in prison?’

  ‘Well . . . yeah . . . I . . . erm . . .’

  ‘Oh come on, Mr Price. Put your back into it. If you’re going to tell us a pack of lies at least make some effort.’

  ‘Mr Cole!’

  ‘Sorry, My Lord,’ Cole acknowledged Levitt’s reprimand before turning back to Price. ‘You’re not surprised at all, are you Mr Price?’

  ‘I . . . erm . . .’

  ‘You’re not surprised at all because Jane Gorr was in Wormwood Scrubs on your behalf, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She wasn’t.’

  ‘Visiting your friend.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And the reason she was there five times from the 18th of February onwards is because Terry Colliver received his copy of the evidence in this case on the 16th of February. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘My Lord,’ Epstein protested. ‘I fail to see how this witness can answer a question about when Terry Colliver was served with his case papers.’

  Cole turned to Epstein.

  ‘Because this witness and Terry Colliver used them to get the details they needed to concoct Mr Price’s witness statement.’

  ‘Mr Cole, you know that’s going much too far,’ Levitt warned, raising his voice again. Cole was pushing his luck. ‘This is a cross-examination, not a speech.’

  ‘Again, I apologise My Lord.’ Another subtle glance at the jury. Another positive reaction. ‘But that is what is happening, isn’t it, Mr Price? You were sending your partner to see your friend, in order to get the details you needed for your statement.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Details that were only available once Terry Colliver had received the evidence in the case.’

  ‘You ’eard what I said.’

  ‘And you sent your partner there so your name wouldn’t be on the records. So you could pretend to hardly know your close friend Terry Colliver.’

  Price stared at Cole in silent fury.

  ‘Which is why the last visit was the day before your statement, isn’t it? Because by then you had all the information you’d need. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You lied to the police in your witness statement. And you’ve lied to this jury today. All to get your friend Terry Colliver off of a murder charge.’

  ‘Not true.’ Price was desperately sticking to his story.

  ‘Because there was no conversation with you and either of these defendants, was there?’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘There was no confession.’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘It was, is and always will be a pack of lies. Isn’t that right?’

  Price looked defeated. Exhausted by the hammering succession of questions he had not seen coming.

  Cole looked up towards Levitt as he took his seat.

  ‘I have no further questions, My Lord.’

  Michael rose to his feet.

  ‘And I very much doubt I can top that. So no questions, My Lord.’

  Michael retook his seat and leaned across to Cole.

  ‘Brilliant, Matt. Just excellent.’

  He leaned back and put his mouth close to Jenny Draper’s ear.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you he was bloody good?’

  FIFTY-TWO

  ‘Your call has been diverted to the EE voicemail service. Telephone number—’

  Frustrated, Michael hit ‘disconnect’ without leaving a message. Scrolling up, he tapped Sarah’s name and put the handset to his ear.

  Another voicemail. This time he stayed on the line.

  ‘Sarah, it’s me.’ Michael’s voice was strained. Concerned. ‘I’ve been trying to call Derek but his phone’s been diverting to voicemail all day. I’m about to go into the cells at the Bailey but I want to make sure he’s OK. Can you try calling for me? Thanks, sweetheart. Speak later.’

  Reid had been in Michael’s thoughts on and off throughout the day. Ever since Karl Hirst’s name had occurred to him that morning. A name which, even now, made Michael’s skin crawl.

  There was no chance that Hirst could be responsible for Longman and Blunt’s deaths. Not while he was still a prisoner. Michael knew that. But for some reason he still felt anxious.

  In the few short weeks they had known him, Karl Hirst had played a huge role in their lives. He had almost been a stumbling block to the friendship that had followed, and so his was a name they never discussed. And yet it was a name that Michael would forever connect to his pupil-master, to his own past mistakes, and to the loyalty Reid had shown to Michael all those years ago.
>
  A loyalty that had gone unspoken ever since.

  The memory made Michael think of Derek Reid, sitting alone and mourning Phillip Longman. And it made Michael want to be there for his friend, just as his friend had been there for him all those years ago.

  For now, however, that would have to wait.

  Simon Kash shuffled into the interview room, handcuffed to the same muscular custody officer that had accompanied him from day one. Kash looked as small as ever in comparison, but he also looked engaged. Hope can sometimes be visible in a person. Michael had seen it before, with other clients, but never as clearly as today. It shone from Kash’s eyes.

  It was barely five minutes since Michael’s message to Sarah. The Old Bailey’s custody suite was always quieter in the early afternoon. None of the log-jams that blight the mornings. It allowed the lawyers quicker access, and more time with their clients.

  Michael intended to waste none of it.

  ‘Did you follow what happened in court this afternoon, Simon?’

  ‘I think so, yeah.’ Kash’s tone was hesitant. The voice of a man who hoped he had understood correctly. ‘Mr Cole made it look like Jay had made it up. That he had lied for Colliver to put the blame on us.’

  ‘That’s right, Simon.’ This time Draper spoke. ‘And Mr Cole did it very, very well. The jury were not happy with Price by the end.’

  ‘But Jay stood his ground.’ Kash’s eyes had shifted to Draper. ‘He didn’t admit he was lying, did he?’

  ‘That’s not how it really works, Simon.’ Michael again. ‘This isn’t Perry Mason.’

  Kash’s eyes showed no hint of name recognition. Michael struggled for an alternative. Rumpole? LA Law? Boston Legal? None would mean anything to the boy.

  Michael took an alternative route.

  ‘What I mean, Simon, is that this isn’t TV. It’s not a film. This is real life. And in real life witnesses almost never cave in and admit that they’re lying.’

  ‘Then how do you beat them?’

  ‘You do exactly what Matt Cole just did to Jay Price. You tie them up in knots. You get them to a place where their only choice is to either break and tell the truth, or to look ridiculous by continuing with their lie. They almost always choose to look ridiculous. Just like Price did.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. If they haven’t admitted the lie? How has it been proved if they stick to it?’

  ‘The witness isn’t the one who decides what has and hasn’t been proved, Simon. The jury decides that. So if the witness is deluding themselves and thinking they’ve done well by sticking to their guns, that doesn’t matter. It’s what the jury makes of it that counts.’

  ‘And our jury hated Price,’ Draper added.

  ‘OK. I get that.’ A smile returned to Kash’s face. They were clearly the answers he had hoped for. His eyes moved away from Draper and back to Michael. ‘And does it mean we don’t have to attack Darren now? Now we’re on the same side?’

  ‘We’re not on the same side, Simon.’

  Michael leaned forward as he spoke. As if the closeness could emphasise the importance of his words.

  ‘For that one witness – for Price – yes, we had shared interests. But only for him. Tomorrow we have Terry Colliver, Simon. And to defend you properly I have suggest not only that he murdered the Galloways, but that he did it with Darren. It’s the only way we win this. The only way.’

  Kash sat back into his seat. For once he did not shrink. For once he held Michael’s eye.

  It’s sinking in, Michael thought. He’s finally getting it.

  ‘Do you understand, Simon?’ Draper broke the silence. ‘You see what has to be done?’

  Kash nodded.

  ‘Does that mean you agree? Or just that you understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ Kash clarified. His eyes met Draper’s. ‘I’m not stupid, Jenny. I know I’m not clever like you guys, but I get it. Darren did this. Darren and Terry. Not me. I don’t want to spend my life in prison for them.’

  Michael sat upright in his chair.

  ‘That’s the first time you’ve ever said that, Simon. That O’Driscoll really was behind this.’

  ‘I know, Mr Devlin.’ Kash seemed as strong as Michael had ever seen him. ‘And I know I should have spoken up sooner. But I was scared. I’m still scared. I’m scared of what will happen if I tell the truth. If I let you tell the truth.’

  ‘I understand that, Simon. I know what you’re worried about and I’m not going to lie to you. I can’t promise you protection. No one can. So you have to go into this with your eyes wide open. There might be consequences if you let me do what I need to do. But you need to have the courage to accept that possibility and let me do it anyway. Because that’s all it is. A possibility. But if we don’t do it? If we don’t go after O’Driscoll? Then you go to prison for the rest of your life. Or a hell of a big part of it, anyway. And that’s not a possibility, Simon. That’s guaranteed.’

  Michael watched as tears returned to Kash’s eyes. There were less than there had been in the past; he was holding himself together much better than before. But still the decision was a big one. A lot for Kash’s weak shoulders to carry.

  ‘When do I need to decide?’ Kash’s voice was quiet. Faltering.

  ‘Ideally, I’d like to know now.’ Michael knew how far to push. And when to stop. ‘But tomorrow morning will do. That’s when Colliver gives his evidence. So I can give you the night to make up your mind.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Devlin.’ Kash’s voice was still soft, but there was a resolve there. A firmness.

  ‘You’re welcome, Simon. And I’m sorry to have to press you like this. But it’s your life, son. I can help you, but only if you let me. So let me, Simon. Please.’

  Kash rose to his feet. As he reached his full height Michael was reminded once again of just how small his client was. How slight. A child in need of Michael’s protection.

  ‘I’m going to go now, Mr Devlin. I need to think about all this. But I promise I’ll have your answer tomorrow.’

  ‘You need to, Simon.’ Draper reiterated the point. ‘You really do.’

  Kash did not reply. Instead he just nodded his head, turned his back and left the room.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Michael pulled the phone from his ear and slammed it down with more force than intended. The shelf ahead of him shook with the impact. The mirror above it swayed but the furnishings of the QC’s Robing Room had been built to last and were more than a match for the heavy-handed frustration of Michael Devlin.

  Twenty minutes had passed since Michael had left the cells. Twenty minutes in which he had called Derek Reid three times, and Sarah twice. The calls to Sarah had diverted directly to voicemail, which meant she was either in a meeting or filming a broadcast. Unavailable either way.

  The calls to Reid had connected. A ringtone each time, with voicemail activating only when the call went unanswered.

  I don’t like it, Michael thought. Why’s his phone not just switched off if he wants to be left alone?

  At first Michael had not been concerned. Just uneasy. But now that unease was becoming something more. Knowing that Hirst could not be responsible was not helping. Two lawyers had been murdered while alone in their homes. Just because it wasn’t Hirst or Wisdom Penfold didn’t mean Reid was not on someone’s list.

  Shake it off, Michael instructed himself as he stared at his phone’s touchscreen, irritated at his own concerns. What the hell are the odds? And who the hell is getting to him with a police detail parked outside his door? He’s probably just too hungover – maybe even still too drunk – to answer.

  But for all of the logic of his reasoning, Michael was growing agitated by the lack of contact.

  He shook his head as he placed his silk gown on its hanger. His QC’s outfit was still pristine. Michael saw to that each day. He would carefully hang his QC’s jacket, buttoned, with his robe positioned above it on the same perfectly sized hanger. But not today. Today his robe was thrust
in place. The QC’s jacket forgotten entirely.

  The phone was back in Michael’s hand just moments later. His thumb found the recent calls log. Reid’s name sat at the top of the list. The number seven next to it, indicating how many times Michael had called.

  Michael pressed Reid’s name and waited for the call to connect.

  A ringtone. Just like the previous seven calls. And like those calls it went unanswered. Finally, a robotic female voice cut in.

  ‘Your call has been diverted to the EE voicemail—’

  ‘Fuck.’

  Michael disconnected. Against everything his brain was telling him, Reid’s unavailability was worrying him.

  Why the hell is he not answering? Why the hell is he not checking messages.

  Michael already had an explanation for exactly that: Reid had told Sarah that he would be out of contact for a few days.

  But then why is his phone not switched off?

  It was a small thing, probably meaningless. But with so many missed calls now showing, why had Reid not called him back? If only to make sure everything was OK? Michael gazed at the wall, trying to decide what to do next.

  Levy.

  He did not want to waste her time; God knows she had other pressing concerns. But he could not think of anything else to do and so – with his gut telling him that something was not right – he opened his wallet, found Levy’s card and punched her digits into his phone.

  ‘Joelle Levy.’ The slightly husky voice was distinctive. Levy’s accent was English but it was coloured by a hint of Israeli. Michael had not noticed it before.

  ‘Joelle, it’s Michael Devlin. Look, I’m really sorry to call you but I was hoping you could give me some reassurance about Derek Reid.’

  ‘Michael. Hi.’ Levy sounded surprised by both the call and the request. ‘I, erm, I’m a little confused. What do you mean by reassurance?’

  ‘Just that he’s OK. Your guys haven’t called in anything out of the ordinary, have they?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Michael. What guys?’

  ‘The guys you stationed to keep an eye on him, Joelle. The protection detail.’