by Olly Jarvis
‘I bet you thought you’d killed him, didn’t you, Gary?’
‘No comment.’
‘It must’ve been pretty terrifying for a young lad. Did you panic, son? Is that why you dug a hole in the patio?
Still, Gary Dixon said nothing.
‘Were you going to bury him? Hide the body?’
Dixon had his head in his hands. ‘No comment.’
‘You were disturbed so you had to get off, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘We know you were there, Gary. Your DNA’s all over the scene. But worse than that, forensics found a drop of blood on the back fence. Your blood! We have a witness who saw someone scarper that way, too.’
Dixon glanced at Lara, clearly surprised by just how much evidence they had. ‘No comment.’
‘Why wasn’t I given this in the pre-interview disclosure?’ she demanded.
Baker shot her a look of false sincerity. ‘We told you that there was DNA at the scene, Miss Panassai.’
‘You didn’t tell me about any blood on the fence. I will need to discuss this in private with my client.’
Baker gave Khan a knowing smile before continuing. ‘Of course, Miss Panassai. While you’re at it, would you ask Mr Dixon if he would consent to an identification parade? As I said, we have an eye-witness.’
‘I will,’ she replied politely, for the benefit of the tape.
Baker reached over to the tape recorder. ‘This interview is being terminated at 14:31 hours for the suspect’s solicitors to take further instructions.’ She pressed stop. ‘I’ll take you back to the cell. You can talk there.’
‘Thank you so much, DS Baker,’ Lara replied, failing to hide her sarcasm.
Khan fidgeted, embarrassed by his superior’s bullish attitude to defence lawyers.
Baker couldn’t resist trying to crack the suspect: ‘You’re being very silly, Gary.’
Lara jumped in: ‘Save it for the tape, officer.’
She ignored her: ‘It’s easy for your lawyer to tell you to go no comment. But she won’t have to explain it in court – or do the time.’
Lara exploded: ‘How dare you suggest to my client that I’m giving him the wrong advice. Who the hell do you think you are?’
Realizing she’d overstepped the mark, Baker said: ‘We have a seventy-five year old man in hospital with a very serious head injury, Miss Panassai.’
‘Don’t give me that shit. You speak to my client off-tape again and I will report you to the custody sergeant.’
‘Come on, guv,’ said Khan, tapping Baker gently on the arm.
Nothing more was said on the walk back to the cells.
* * *
The moment the door slammed shut behind them, Lara started: ‘Gary, what the hell’s going on? I can’t do my job because you haven’t told me anything.’
Gary sat down on the concrete bench with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
‘You’ve got to wake up to what’s happening here.’ She had his attention. ‘They’ve got a stack of evidence against you. They think I’ve told you to go no comment! I’m not in a position to advise you until you start talking to me.’
‘I can’t.’ He stared at some fresh graffiti on the whitewashed wall.
‘You can, Gary. What you tell me is privileged. It stays between us.’
He appeared to be thinking about it. Then: ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t.’
Lara was exasperated. ‘Advising you when I have no instructions is impossible.’
Still nothing.
‘All right, Gary,’ she said, resigned to the predicament. ‘What are we going to do about the ID parade?’
The client shrugged.
‘If you refuse to co-operate, it will be a virtual admission that it was you climbing over the fence – and besides, they’d just do it covertly.’
‘Covertly?’
‘Yeah. They’ll just do it without your permission. The witness is shown a video – a sequence of photos of people from a database that match your description. Plus your photo.’
‘I’d better agree to it, then,’ he replied.
‘And what about the rest of the interview, Gary?’
‘I’m going no comment.’
Chapter 18
Marek was short-staffed. Some of his waiters had gone back to Warsaw for the weekend, so Jack agreed to muck in.
Marek was in the kitchen barking orders. As Jack came in Marek thrust two bowls of zuppe into his hands. ‘Table 8, shipko – quickly!’
Jack made his way over to the table. Unable to disguise his failings as a waiter, he plonked them down awkwardly. A few drops spilled out.
The male diner tutted at the service. He seemed familiar to Jack.
Then a female voice: ‘Hello, Jack.’
It was Lara.
Jack didn’t know what to say. He just stared.
‘You know Richard Hornby, don’t you Jack? From Deansgate Chambers.’
He looked every inch the successful lawyer, in a tailor-made three piece, silk tie and gold cuff links.
‘Yes, hello,’ acknowledged Jack, recalling how much he disliked the arrogant barrister. A few years above Jack in call, he’d always treated him with contempt.
Richard looked him up and down, noticing the waiter’s apron and order pad. ‘My, my, how the mighty have fallen.’
Embarrassed, Jack couldn’t think of a witty retort.
Lara came to his rescue. ‘Richard was desperate to come here. He wanted to try the famous Marek’s.’
So it wasn’t her idea.
‘We’re part heard in a blackmail.’
‘Great,’ was all Jack could come up with.
Richard’s mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket and checked the screen. ‘Duty calls, my clerk. Excuse me, Lara.’ He got up and left the table.
An awkward silence.
‘I’m sorry about coming here, Jack. Didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ he replied, trying his best to seem nonchalant.
‘Sit down for a minute,’ she asked.
He obliged and tried to give her a knowing smile, one that conveyed an appreciation of their shared history. Of the case they’d fought together.
She didn’t reciprocate. ‘Jack, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened. You know, with Smart and the bail app.’
Jack shrugged. ‘Shit happens, I guess.’
‘We’re still acting for him. He’s totally nuts. Too high profile for Ken to let that one go.’
They both laughed weakly.
Lara seemed different; distant.
‘Is everything all right, Lara? Between us, I mean?’ He immediately regretted the question. It wasn’t as if there had ever been anything between them. To her, she’d just been his instructing solicitor in a big case.
‘I suppose you’ve heard about Katterman getting off?’
‘Katterman?’ He’d completely forgotten about the trial. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems. ‘No, I hadn’t. How?’
‘Bullshit and charm. One woman’s evidence was all they had, really. It was uncorroborated. She had a history of depression, which the defence twisted into a major psychiatric question mark.’ She paused. ‘I thought I might see you at the trial.’
He felt wretched. ‘Lara. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there.’
She didn’t disagree. ‘Oh well, it’s done now, and you were having your own problems.’
Her words had stung. ‘Lara—’
‘We’re the talk of the town now,’ she said, forcing a chuckle ‘The delusional solicitor and over-sensitive barrister who tried to stitch up a silk.’
Jack shook his head in disbelief. ‘People must know what he’s like?’
Lara shrugged. ‘Don’t you think your break has gone on long enough, Jack?’
Another blow. He wanted to try and explain, but it was too late, Richard was back.
‘Excuse me, waiter! I think you’re
in my seat,’ Richard half joked.
‘Leave him alone, Richard,’ said Lara.
Her defence of him made Jack feel even smaller. He got up, lingered for a moment, trying to think of something to say, then slunk off. In the sanctuary of the kitchen, he leaned against a worktop to try and recover.
‘You OK?’ asked Olec, one of the chefs, as he walked past holding a colander full of red cabbage. ‘Your face same colour this cabbage, my friend!’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. He began to pace up and down the kitchen, cursing, then tore off his apron and threw it onto the floor. For the first time in ages, he knew what to do. He took out his mobile, then momentarily checked himself.
‘Hi, Bob. It’s me. I’ll do it.’
Chapter 19
Bob was keeping an eye out for Jack’s arrival. ‘Morning, Mr Kowalski. Your conference is already here. They’re in the library. We’ve given them a pot of coffee and some chocolate biscuits.’ He winked at Jack. ‘Well, they are paying privately, sir.’
Jack knew he was supposed to have a joke with Bob, but his stomach was in knots. His first time in chambers for weeks, and straight into a conference with some very switched on people.
As ever, Bob knew what he was thinking. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Kowalski, it’s just like riding a bike.’
‘No, you got that wrong, Bob,’ one of the junior clerks piped up. ‘It was Gustaw who was riding the bike!’ The clerks all fell about laughing.
Jack didn’t find it funny.
Simon Huntsman and Sarah Dale were in reception. Huntsman said what they were both thinking: ‘Good to have you back, Jack.’ He’d missed Jack more than anyone.
The reception committee meant a lot to him. ‘So who’s in there?’ he said to Bob, pointing at the library.
‘As you know, the instructing solicitors are Statham’s. Desmond Statham himself is here – as I’m sure you know, he has one of the highest-profile criminal practices in the UK. He defends most of the A-listers. A real shark,’ he added proudly.
‘So we’ve got one shark. Who else?’
‘The client’s agent, Brian Boswell. Fat, like his cigars. Worth knowing. He’s got all the stars on his books.’ Bob tapped the side of his nose knowingly and gave Jack a wink. ‘And then there’s the punter. Only eighteen, the best striker to come out of Poland since Lewandowski. Already scoring goals for the national side. He’s a real celebrity over there.’
‘So you’ve done your research, but are you sure they want me?’ Jack searched his clerk’s face for an answer. ‘They definitely know how junior I am?’
‘Oh yes, Mr Kowalski. Have no fear. Don’t keep ’em waiting, sir, or they’ll finish all the biscuits!’
Jack took a deep breath and walked into the library.
All three men instantly stood up. Even though they already knew Jack’s age, they were still obviously surprised at his youthful appearance.
‘Please sit down, gentlemen,’ said Jack, feeling awkward taking the lead.
The two older men wore golden tans and impeccable suits. Their client, in designer jeans, looked young, fit and scared.
‘I’m Desmond Statham, this is Gustaw’s agent, Brian Boswell, and this is Gustaw Nowak. I’ve learnt to pronounce the v,’ he added, shooting his young client an obsequious smile.
Gustaw’s face oozed anxiety.
Jack liked him already. He had no idea why. ‘Dzień dobry, jak tam?’ said Jack in Polish, trying to put Gustaw at ease.
‘Dobre. I am good, thank you.’
‘I’m afraid that’s the only Polish we are going to speak, Mr Nowak. It wouldn’t be fair on the others.’
‘That’s no problem. I speak good English, Mr Kowalski.’
Statham smiled to acknowledge Jack’s consideration.
‘Look, Mr Nowak,’ said Jack.
‘Please, call me Gustaw.’
‘OK, Gustaw. There’s something I need to get clear right at the start.’ He pointed at Desmond Statham. ‘This man is about the best and most experienced criminal solicitor in England. I am quite sure he’s told you that he knows a hell of a lot of superb barristers, all older and better than me and that you should follow his advice.’
Gustaw’s embarrassment said it all.
‘That was good advice. I am very inexperienced. I’m sure you could even pay for a QC, who would do his or her best to win the case.’
Statham and Boswell exchanged glances.
‘Mr Kowalski, are you Polish?’ asked Gustaw.
‘My parents are Polish, but I was born here. It doesn’t mean anything. You won’t get a better service because I have Polish ancestry.’ Jack laughed to demonstrate the foolishness of this basis for choosing counsel. ‘And it’s not as if we’re going to talk in Polish.’
‘I want you. My parents told me to get Polish barrister. We don’t want someone who will see me as just another immigrant.’
‘Trust me, they won’t. You’re a famous footballer and you’re paying privately.’
Nowak leaned forward. ‘Mr Kowalski, I was, how you say… set up. I don’t know why.’ His tone became more deliberate. ‘I was told you are not part of system, you do things your own way. That is what I want, what I need.’
There was nothing else Jack could say. He’d done his duty.
Statham gave Jack the nod.
‘OK then. Let’s get down to business,’ said Jack, trying to sound positive. ‘I’ve read your police interview, but I want to go over things again. To hear your side of the story in a little more detail.’
‘I understand, Mr Kowalski.’
‘Call it a dry run for when I take you through your examination in chief.’
‘OK.’
‘Incidentally, I’ve seen Lara Riley’s statement, why wasn’t she recorded?’ asked Jack. Seeing the client’s confusion, he added: ‘Normally a video recording is made of her account, which gets played to the jury as her evidence in chief.’
‘Apparently, she wouldn’t go to the police suite,’ explained Statham, ‘so they had to just take a normal statement at her home.’
‘Does it help us?’ asked Boswell.
‘Not really,’ said Jack. ‘It means the prosecution will be able to take her through in chief before I cross-examine, build up her connection with the jury.’
Nowak shook his head.
‘Try not to worry,’ said Statham, ‘I know it’s all starting to feel very real.’
Before Nowak could draw breath, Jack began: ‘So where are you from?’
‘Poznan, in Poland.’
‘Why come to England?’
‘I’m a footballer. I played in Poland. Then I meet Mr Boswell. He brought me to this region for talks, lot of clubs in North England having a look at me for new contract.
‘Any interest?’
‘Loads,’ interrupted Boswell. ‘He’s very ’ot property. You need to understand that United were about to sign him.’
Nowak’s head dropped.
Jack felt a wave of sympathy for the teenager. ‘So how did you come to be at Ambro’s?’
‘I meet some players, when I train with them. They took me.’
‘And who was there with you?
‘Kyle Andrews and Craig Neston.’
Boswell interrupted again: ‘Both good young players at United.’
‘The girls love them. I couldn’t believe it,’ Gustaw added with an endearing innocence. ‘Girls everywhere.’
‘Are the players willing to act as defence witnesses?’ Jack asked.
Statham shook his head. ‘Their agents didn’t want them involved – they didn’t see anything, anyway.’
‘Gustaw, do you remember meeting the complainant, Lauren Riley?’
‘Yes, at Ambro’s. She started talking to me.’
‘Had you been drinking?’
Gustaw looked down. ‘Yes, I was drunk.’
‘OK. And her?’
‘A little, maybe.’
‘So what did you talk about?’
‘Nothing
. Before I even knew her name she wanted to go with me.’
‘And did you agree?’
‘Of course, she was beautiful.’
‘Happens all the time to footballers, Mr Kowalski,’ said Boswell jealously. ‘They come home with ten phone numbers in their pockets. Slappers throwing themselves at them all night long.’
‘She seemed a very nice girl,’ said Gustaw, disassociating himself from his agent’s comment. ‘I never told her I was a footballer.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Jack.
‘I’m sure. She already knew.’
‘So where did you go?’
‘Back to my hotel, The Hilton.’
‘On Deansgate?’
‘Yes. We go to the room, order some drink, champagne. And then…’ He stopped. He was blushing. ‘I’m sorry, this is very embarrassing.’
Desmond Statham came to the rescue: ‘There’s no room for shyness about what happened, Gustaw. We need to know everything. And you’re going to have to say all this again in a courtroom full of people.’
Gustaw took a deep breath. ‘Ok. One minute we were drinking, then she stood up and pulled off her dress. She have no, how you say?’
‘No knickers on?’ Boswell suggested hopefully.
‘Yes, she have no knickers. She standing naked, only wearing white shoes. Pointed shoes.’
‘Stilettos?’
‘Yes.’
Boswell turned to the others for a reaction. He lifted his forearm in a crude mime of male arousal. Statham pushed Boswell’s arm down and gently shook his head.
Jack stayed focused. ‘So what happened then?’
‘She picked up two ties’
‘Ties?’ clarified Jack
‘Yes, for wearing on a shirt. Ties.’
‘Where from?’
‘From back of a chair.’
‘And then?’
‘She went over to the bed and get on knees and hands.’
‘On all fours?’
‘Yes. All fours. She made noises like a cat. I undressed, then she asked me to tie her hands to the bed.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How tightly did you tie them?’
‘It was tight.’ Gustaw sighed. ‘Very tight. She keep shouting – “tighter!” So I pull tighter. She like it.’
