Blind Justice

by Nathan Burrows

  “Can we get it for you?” Andy asked. “Order it on your behalf? I’m guessing your hourly rate isn’t brilliant.”

  “No, I wish that was how it worked,” I laughed. “I’ve got a bit stashed away in my off-shore account, so should be able to stretch to getting the EDP for the week.” I re-read the poster and jabbed at it with a finger. “Where did you get this from then?”

  “There’s one on almost every tree and lamp post in Thorpe St Andrew, mate,” Jacob said. “And the pubs, the shops. There’s even one in the fish and chip shop on Yarmouth Road.”

  “What’s happening with your appeal and these new lawyers then, Gareth?” Andy asked, tearing me away from a brief daydream about a battered sausage and chips from a chippy. It didn’t have to be the one on Yarmouth Road, any chippy would have done. I paused before replying. There wasn’t much to say.

  “Not a lot, to be honest. At least, I didn't think there was, but then I’d not known about these posters.” I’d told Andy about the appeal in a rushed phone call just after I'd signed the paperwork a few weeks ago. “I’ve not heard anything back from Paul Dewar at all.” I saw Jacob frown. “He’s the lawyer chap,” I explained. “It’s his firm that’s now in charge of the appeal.”

  “What firm is it?” Andy asked.

  “The Phoenix something or other,” I replied. “Or that’s the name of the lot that are funding it.” Jacob looked across at Andy, and I considered telling them what David had found out about Paul before deciding against it. “I didn’t know there was a reward out, that’s for certain.”

  We chatted for a while before visiting time ended. Andy told me more about his new flat, which sounded really nice. He promised to bring in some pictures for me to look at the next time he visited, which he said would be soon. When the bell rang to signal the end of visiting time, I was disappointed. I’d really enjoyed talking with them both. As they got to their feet, both Andy and Jacob said they would come and visit again, as soon as they could.

  Once I’d handed in the high-visibility vest, I made my way back to my cell. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I unfolded the piece of paper with the appeal for information and spread it out on the table. I wasn’t that concerned about it being contraband, as it was only a piece of paper, but even so hanging on to it was against the rules.

  I was reading the text on the paper again when my cell door swung open and two of the biggest bastards I’d seen in years lumbered their way into my cell.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I was on my feet in an instant, fists bunched, the piece of paper forgotten. I’d gone from being fairly relaxed to being prepared for a scrap in less than a second. Looking at the two gorillas in my cell, this would not be a scrap I would come out of on top. They were both very, very big lads, and that is no understatement. Well over six feet, the pair of them, broad shouldered, not gym big but just big. They could have been brothers, and as I looked at them a bit more closely, I realised that they probably were. I had no idea where Mac was, but given the size of these two, he wouldn’t have been much help, anyway.

  Neither of them replied to my question, so I repeated it. “I said, who the fuck are you?” They both just looked at me with impassive expressions, and a few seconds later the one nearest the door moved to let a third man walk into my cell. It was getting cosy.

  “Mr Dawson?” the new arrival asked. He was nowhere near the size of the other two, but he carried himself with the air of a man who was used to being in charge. Aged late forties at a guess, his grey hair was cut almost to the skin in a crew cut. He didn’t have the pallor of long term prisoners or any prison tattoos. I was sure that if I’d seen him and his two monkeys wandering around Whitemoor, I would have noticed them. I said nothing but just stared at him. “You are Mr Dawson?” he repeated his question, and I caught a clipped accent. Not an English one.

  “Who wants to know?” I replied, trying to make myself look as menacing as I could. Given the circumstances, it was the only thing I could do. The man just laughed in reply, but I didn’t think it was with any trace of humour.

  “I do, Mr Dawson. You don’t have to be so defensive.” I tried to place his accent. Polish, maybe? “May I sit down?” My visitor gestured toward the only chair in the room and, when I nodded, sat down. The other two rearranged themselves on either side of him and he pointed at my bed. “Please, sit down. I only want to have a, how do you say it, a chat?”

  I sat on the bed, feeling slightly less apprehensive but not by much. The fact that this gentleman had brought two bodyguards along for a ‘chat’ meant that either a lot of people wanted to kill him so he needed the protection, or he wanted to threaten someone. In this case, me. Neither option was very palatable.

  “My name is Mr Demeter, but please, call me Gejza. This is Lasho,” he said, pointing over his left shoulder, “and Yoska.” He pointed at the other gorilla. I looked back and forth between the two of them. They stared back at me, expressionless. “And you are Mr Dawson, yes?”

  “I think you know I am. Sorry, what was your name? Gejza?” I replied, grim-faced.

  “Yes, that’s correct. You almost pronounced it correctly, which is unusual,” he said. “It’s more of an ’s’ sound than a ‘z’.” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised, so I said his name again. With more of an ’s’ sound. “Perfect,” Gejza laughed. “Now, Mr Dawson, we need to have a chat about a friend of yours.”

  “Who?” I replied.

  “Robert Wainwright.”

  “He’s hardly a friend of mine. You know why I’m in here, I take it?”

  “Yes, I do,” Gejza said. “You murdered him.” I thought for a second about correcting him and pointing out that although I’d been convicted of his murder, I didn’t kill him. We looked at each other for a few seconds before he continued. “I used to work for a gentleman called Mr Caran. Now I work for another gentleman who took over Mr Caran’s business interests after a disagreement back in Romania. Your friend,” he put his fingers in the air and mimed air quotes around the word ‘friend’. “Well, Mr Wainwright owed my new employer quite a lot of money.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s got everything to do with you. Where I come from, where we come from, a debt doesn’t die when a person dies.” He narrowed his eyes. “It gets transferred.”

  “Transferred? Where?” I said.

  “To you.”

  “Well, that’s bollocks.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Not in this case. The debt is outstanding, and if you hadn’t killed Mr Wainwright, then it would have been re-paid. Therefore, it’s now your responsibility,” he replied. I still thought it was bollocks, and I told him so.

  “Look, Gejza,” I said, emphasising the ’z’ just to annoy him. “Robert Wainwright has nothing to do with me. Whatever he owes you, or your employer, is none of my business.” Gejza looked up at one of his gorillas, either Lasho or Yoska, I had no idea which one, and then back at me.

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mr Dawson,” Gejza said, almost in a whisper. “That’s not how it works where I come from.” I considered telling him that in this country, at least, what worked where he came from didn’t mean shit, but thought better of it.

  “How much are you talking about?” I asked. When he told me, I let out a low whistle. That was a lot of money.

  “Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Gejza,” I said. “But even if I was liable for that amount of money, which I’m not, there’s no way I could pay it. I don’t have any money.” I sat back on my bed and regarded my visitor. “And my earning potential is a bit limited for a while. So, I think you'll have to forget about that debt. Write it off to experience perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr Dawson,” Gejza said. I saw his gaze shift over my shoulder and rest on something on the wall behind me. The only thing on the wall was a photograph of Jennifer. “If you can’t pay, then we will have to take payment another way.” The threat hung between us for a few seconds, and I stared at the m
an sitting opposite me.

  “That’s a photo of my wife you’re looking at,” I said. He paused for a few seconds before replying.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said, almost whispering. “It would be such a shame if anything happened to her while you were in here.”

  I looked at the man who was threatening my wife. My dead wife. He obviously didn’t know she was dead, and I considered my next step. I could say nothing about what had happened to Jennifer, let him find out for himself. I could tell him, but I couldn’t see how that would help in the slightest. What I really wanted to do was to launch myself off the bed and attack him. I knew it wouldn’t last long and that his two gorillas would be on top of me in seconds, but if I got one good punch in it would be worth a kicking. As if he knew what I was considering, Gejza got to his feet and moved to stand between his bodyguards.

  “Have a think about things, Mr Dawson,” he said. “Work out what the best way ahead is for you.” His eyes flicked back to the picture of Jennifer, and I pushed my hands against the bed, springing to my feet. The second I did that, Gejza took a step back and the two gorillas both stepped forward in a choreographed move that left me looking between their shoulders at the smaller man. “I’ll be in touch,” Gejza said as he turned to walk out of my cell. His bodyguards followed him and as he got to the door, he said something else which I didn’t understand. It wasn’t in English.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement from the gorilla nearest me. By the time I’d realised what was going on, it was too late to do anything to avoid the fist coming towards my face.

  There was a flash of white light, a brief split second of pain, then everything went black.

  I was lying on the bed in my cell, reading a book, when the sound of the cell door opening made me jump. I looked at the door, wondering if my unexpected guests from the previous day had come back to see me, but it wasn’t them. I’d spent most of yesterday afternoon in the prison infirmary with a tampon in each nostril, but apart from a splitting headache and faint bruising underneath each of my eyes, there was no permanent damage, according to the duty doctor at least. A succession of prison officers had interviewed me in the infirmary, but I’d not deviated from the ‘walked into a door’ story. None of them believed it, but, no-one pressed me too hard for the truth. I folded the corner of the page I was reading to mark my place and got to my feet just as Mr McLoughlin walked into my cell.

  “Your legal team is here to see you, Mr Dawson,” he said.

  “Are they? I wasn’t expecting them today.”

  “Well, they’re here,” Mr McLoughlin replied, looking irritated. “Are you coming or not?” He walked out of my cell and I followed him onto the walkway. We walked in silence to the door at the end of the block. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but he didn’t seem in the mood for idle chit-chat. Of all the prison officers, he was the one who I got on the best with. I guess our relationship was about as close to a friendship as it was possible for a convicted murderer and a prison officer to have. He seemed deep in thought as we walked through the corridors to the lawyer’s room. Was he pissed off that I’d not told them who had attacked me in my cell? While we stood waiting for the door to be opened from the control room, I decided to break the silence.

  “Are you okay, Mr McLoughlin?” I asked. His solemn expression changed to one of surprise, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

  “I’m fine,” he said sharply. His face then softened. “But thank you for asking.” We stood in silence for a few seconds. “You’re not though, are you?”

  I sighed. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have.

  “I told your colleagues, Mr McLoughlin. I walked into a—” He cut me off with a sharp laugh.

  “Of course you did. And I’m playing up front for Norwich City this weekend.” He held up a hand at the prison officer who was about to open the door from the control room. “Look, I know you can’t tell me what happened. Or at least, you can’t be seen to tell me what happened. But at the end of the day, you were attacked on my wing when I wasn’t on duty. And that pisses me off.” He paused, looking at me with a hard stare. “But I will find out what happened.” There was another uncomfortable silence before he nodded at the control room window. With a metallic thump, the door to the lawyer’s room swung open and he pointed inside the room. I walked into the room, and the door swung shut behind me. Seconds later, I heard the lock engage.

  Paul and Laura both got to their feet as I entered the room.

  “Gareth, my dear boy,” Paul said. “How are things?” he asked as he shook my hand. “My God, whatever’s happened to your face?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” I replied.

  “That doesn’t look like nothing, Gareth. Are you in trouble?” I could see him examining my swollen nose and black eyes.

  “Not too bad,” I replied. “I didn’t know you were coming.” Paul shot a dark look at Laura, who was staring at my ruined face with her mouth open.

  “Yes, sorry,” she mumbled. I felt bad as I hadn’t wanted to get Laura in trouble. Maybe she had should have organised the visit, but hadn’t?

  “Laura, good to see you.” I extended a hand to Laura, which she looked at for a few seconds before shaking it. I flashed her a quick smile, hoping that she would return it and I would get a glimpse of her dimples.

  “Gareth,” she replied in a muted voice. No smile for me today.

  “I’m just glad my secretary arranged my meetings so that there was a free slot in my diary for you both,” I said, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. I looked at Laura as I said this and saw a brief smile appear on her face. Not broad enough to show her dimples, but it was something.

  We all sat down, and Laura pulled a notepad and manila folder from her briefcase. She was wearing the same business suit I’d seen her in before, but this time with a satin green blouse that threw me completely. I was taken back to a day with Jennifer in the large Marks & Spencer in the middle of Norwich. She was trying to find something to wear for a job interview and had found a green blouse just like the one Laura was wearing. It must’ve been the fifth or sixth blouse that Jennifer had tried on that day, and by that time I was happy to say anything she tried on looked amazing.

  “Gareth?” Paul’s voice snapped me out of my daydream. I realised that I’d been staring at Laura’s blouse, and that she had pulled her jacket across her chest.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking at Laura’s face and realising she was blushing. “I’m so sorry. Jennifer used to have a blouse just like yours, and I was just remembering the time she bought it.” Laura tilted her head, not unlike the way Jennifer used to, and looked at me with a shy smile creeping across her face. I could just see the faintest outline of her dimples through it, but they didn’t last for long. The minute Paul started talking again, her smile disappeared completely and Laura was straight back to being business-like.

  “I’m going to speak to the governor about this. You’ve been attacked.”

  “Paul, please. Don’t do anything,” I pleaded with him. “It’s nothing, honestly. Nothing I can’t deal with.” I looked between him and Laura. “Please don’t.” Paul stared at me for what seemed like ages before taking a deep breath in through his nostrils.

  “Right, if you say so,” he said. I could tell from the look on his face he wasn’t happy at all, but for the time being at least, would let it go. I gave Laura a wan smile but got nothing in response. “So, Gareth,” Paul said, getting back to business. “There are two reasons for us visiting today. I want to bring you up to date on the progress towards your appeal, and then Laura here will walk us through the lead up to the attack on Mr Wainwright.” The preliminaries were over, and Paul was straight down to it. I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the table, mirroring Paul’s body language.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Now then, it’s been two weeks, or is it three, since we last spoke?” Paul said. It had been four weeks and two days, not that I was co
unting the days or anything like that. Paul leant back in his chair as he continued. “Now obviously we missed the first twenty eight day window for an appeal. Or at least, your previous legal team did. I know they looked into it, but decided against lodging one.” I remembered Toby and I arguing about this at the time. He had said lodging an appeal without enough evidence could be prejudicial. I couldn’t see how that could be the case. If I’d understood it correctly, if we’d lodged an appeal anyway the worst thing that could have happened would be that my sentence could have been extended by a few weeks. Believe me, when you’re staring at a life sentence, a few weeks is nothing.

  “Effectively, we need to launch an appeal from scratch,” Paul continued. “And the only way we can do that is with new evidence or new witnesses.” I nodded, the poster now making a lot more sense.

  “Did you have any responses to the poster?” I directed the question at Laura, who looked up and to my surprise, laughed. She looked across at Paul, who was also smiling, before replying.

  “Yes, you could say that,” she said. She was about to say something else when Paul interrupted.

  “I’d like to come back to that in a little while, if I may?” From the look on Laura’s face, this wasn’t a question. Her laughter hadn’t lasted long, which was a shame.

  “Now, where was I? Witnesses and evidence.” Paul said, looking at the ceiling of the room. “We need either new witnesses — or new evidence — to take to the judiciary. They’ll then decide if an appeal is what is called ‘safe’ before it gets sent to the Court of Appeal.” From what I’d read, this was a court in London, not Norwich. “Now, you’ve heard about the posters obviously. I’ve also hired a superb investigator to help us out. Ex-policeman, in fact, which I think will be useful. Still well connected, although he left under, shall we say, a cloud.” I saw Laura suppress a smile as Paul said this. I wondered what their investigator had done. “He’s still bitter about it, which helps us,” Paul concluded, which left me even more curious.