by Tim Heath
In London, Charlie was handed the website printout detailing the news midway through the afternoon. He’d just been reading the latest from the trial, with day two finishing moments before. The jury had been left with the photo of Bill standing in front of the bench, weapon raised. There had been a murmur in the courtroom at the picture, and the jury had left day two with an apparent view of things. Zoe entered the room at that moment, as Charlie read the last few lines of the printout before dropping it onto the table.
“Have you seen this?” he said.
“Yes, I’ve been watching it all live, so to speak.” She’d been on the computer all afternoon. “What do you make of the announcement about the sale of the business?”
“It was going to come, I guess. There has been talk of it for a while. From what I’ve seen, Fernandes was the driving force behind it, and the family had little to do with it. It makes sense to cash it in and seems to be a good time to do so as well.”
“Yes, the widow is going to become very rich.”
“Not as if she needs the money. Where is she?”
“She’s not in the UK,” Zoe said. “After news of her husband's death, she flew away to visit friends. Last we heard is she left them to go to their home in the Caribbean.”
“Probably planning on what to spend the next millions on, no doubt,” Charlie said. “She didn’t go to visit Russia, did she?”
“No. His body got cremated, much to her surprise. Fernandes had set it all out in his will, including the intention to sell the company upon his death. The word is, the marriage wasn’t what it should have been.”
“How so?”
“They spent long periods apart. Most trips to Russia it was just him. She’d once gone with him several years ago, but after that left him to it. He’d often spend long periods away, not always in Russia. Bought the home in the Caribbean without her having seen it. No reports of there being other women, but you don’t have to be a genius to wonder what he got up to in Moscow, especially with the Kremlin crowd. Power corrupts even the best of us.”
“Doesn’t it always?” Charlie said.
“Will it really all be sold before the winter break? You’ve lived there, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, I lived there for some time. It was partly because of Anya. Anyway, things do shut down after New Year. The holiday acts as a focal point to get things done. They’ll be wanting it cleared before then. People are more rushed to finalise everything, more likely to sanction something to get the desk clear before the break. It’ll no doubt be a nice way to start the New Year for someone.”
“What’s the word from the trial?”
“Much the same today. Still the opening statement by the prosecution. They are getting through the evidence slowly enough, making sure they leave the best for the end of the day. Tomorrow will start with the video evidence gathered from the airport. Then it’ll be over to the defence to make their case.”
“So they’ve not thrown in the towel yet. They are still standing by William's innocence?”
“So far, yes. You have always thought Bill is guilty, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Charlie, I have. You’ve still not changed your tune; I take it?”
“Innocent until proven guilty, isn’t it how it goes?”
“For me, the proof has always been the evidence.”
“Well, I’m sure the jury is starting to see it your way after two days already.”
“How was it, Charlie, that you saw it any other way? I mean, we’ve both been through the same situation. We’ve both seen the same evidence.”
“You’re right. Any other person arrested for this, I’m sure I’d see them as guilty. But it’s the one niggle that doesn’t fit for me. Once I met with him, heard what others said about him, I wasn’t so sure.”
“The most desperate killer can make the most adamant liar. I’ve seen people swear to my face who later go on to confess all. It’s just human nature to lie. We have to look at the facts and the evidence and keep the emotion out of it.”
“To some degree, Zoe, yes. But there are always people at the heart of a case, too. Not all of them are guilty.”
“And not all are innocent, either. You could have ten people in a room standing around a cake. The lights go out, and someone eats the cake. They’d all deny to my face that they ate it once I caught them, but someone did. Denial only counts for so much. It’s evidence that you go on. You look for the person whose breath smells of cake, for the crumbs around their chubby face. Evidence, Charlie. It’s the fabric on which our free society is based. Denial only gets you so far.”
“So do you keep emotion out of everything you do, Zoe?” Charlie said.
“Emotions cloud our judgement, that’s all. It’s emotion that is making you see this case differently to how I see it.”
“Sometimes that’s a good thing. Two angles on the subject.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get that. But emotion is over-rated. That’s all.”
“I bet you are fun to be with in bed.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, a little taken aback.
“Oh, get over yourself. It was just a joke.”
“A sexist one at that, I might add.”
“Hardly. All I was saying was how can sex be sex without emotion?”
“That’s hardly the same, Charlie, and you know it. And I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Probably not much to talk about anyway, right?” She didn’t rise to the bait, moving away from him instead, before leaving the office altogether moments later.
“Women,” Charlie said aloud. He was alone.
Anya had returned to other enquires that she’d previously been working on, though she kept a close eye on things unfolding in the courtroom in her city. She’d thought about attending the first day, and could have been granted clearance if she’d wanted, but decided against it. She saw that she’d done her part. Getting a call from her father that afternoon, was surprising, but not at all shocking. She’d not heard from him in over fifteen months, the longest gap yet. Both were busy, but it had not helped when she’d sided with her mother in the divorce and moved back to Russia.
“Hello Anya,” he’d said as if it had only been the other week when they’d spoken. He’d missed New Year and two birthdays, but she let it drop.
“I wondered if I’d hear from you before the trial was out,” is all she said to the man she’d loved very much in her early years, but for whom she now had less time.
“I’ve seen you on the television. You seem to be well.”
“That I am.” She was short, businesslike, professional. “I guess you are calling because of this Hackett trial.”
“Come on, Anya. Can’t a father call his daughter for anything other than to speak to her?”
“Most would, yes. But not you. Who’s pressuring you? The PM? Hackett’s family?”
“A mixture of all of them.” She knew it, and as unsurprising as that reality was, she’d like to have been wrong, at least this one time. “Can’t you do anything with them, darling?” He was now going too far. She was twenty-seven, and a long way from being his darling any more, as sad as that was for her to admit.
“I have no jurisdiction on this one, nothing. So you’ve wasted your time calling.” He picked up on the hatred. He didn’t blame her.
“Anya, it’s never a waste of time speaking with you. I’m just sorry it’s been so long, that’s all. What with you being so busy, living in Russia and all that...”
“This has been my life for a long time, Papa. A life you chose to stop being a part of when you gave up on Mother.”
“I didn’t give up on her, Anya, it just got complicated.”
“Well, life is complicated. It’s not all country clubs and golf buddies. Life is real for me. Life is busy.”
“I know, darling, and I’m proud of you, I really am. All that you are doing.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he said.
“This. These
words. It’s all too late.”
“Too late for what? What’s going through your head, darling? I’m just saying I’m proud of you. Always have been.”
“Stop it, I said!” He’d rarely heard her shout, not since he’d left her mother, a move which had permanently affected his relationship with his only child. “Stop it,” she repeated, much calmer, having gathered herself together.
“Have you heard from your mother? How is she doing?”
“She’s doing as well as you are, okay.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Friends in high places and all that. Practically runs the social scene of the Moscow elite herself.”
“That’s your mother,” he said. “That’s why I loved her...love her,” he said, but she’d caught the meaning. “Look, about this trial that’s happening. The British would never have surrendered Hackett had they known the charge would have the death penalty attached to it. It’s causing quite a stir here, I can tell you. It’ll be disastrous for British/Russian relations if it continues like this.”
“And why should that bother me?”
“I know it bothers you, Anya, you can’t hide that from me. I know you.”
“You knew me, Papa, but that was over ten years ago. You’ve not seen me in three years and haven’t called in over a year.”
“I’m sorry about that, darling. I’ll work at being better at staying in touch. You haven’t called me, either.”
“I stopped bothering when I realised unless I called you, we wouldn’t speak. At least I sent you a card for your birthday.”
“Yet you were over recently and didn’t come visit me,” he said and had a point.
“I was working a case and had MI6 shadowing me the whole time,” which wasn’t entirely accurate. She’d thought about seeing him but hadn’t done anything about it. It would have only complicated a problematic trip as it was.
“Did you see him?”
“You know I saw him, Papa. He was assigned the case from the British side, so we had to work together. I wasn’t a fan of the fact, either.”
“Good. So you still hate him? That’s something we both agree on, at least,” and he chuckled at his own words. “He was never good enough for you, my darling.” It was at least the third time she recalled him calling her that and it was starting to bother her now.
“But you didn’t phone me to talk about Charlie Boon, Papa. So let’s hear it because I have a load of things to be working on. I’m a very busy person, you know.”
“Yes, I know, Anya.” He wanted to call her darling but just sensed a hesitation in his own mind. “The PM has been onto me. The Home Office is in a right uproar. There’s talk of further sanctions with Russia if things proceed as they are currently doing. It will all get nasty if they sentence Hackett to death. If there is anything you can do, I beg you to have a go. I’ve met with his daughters as well. They have mobilised a lot of support in the country, and that’s putting greater pressure on the government. The PM doesn’t know where he stands and doesn’t like to be powerless in such a situation.”
“And what am I supposed to do about this?” she said.
“Speak to your mother, then. She’s got the ear of the Kremlin. She must know someone who can make a difference.”
And there she had it in a nutshell, the issue of the last decade and the problems that came from having a father who was in the House of Lords and a mother who frequented the Kremlin, often dining with Putin himself. She hadn’t spoken much with her mother recently, and not at all since the murder of Fernandes, a man she was confident her mother must have come across if his words about having the ear of the Kremlin were to be believed.
“I’ll see what I can do,” is all she could say, wanting to give some closure and hope to the call. She doubted she’d be able to bring anything more to the case, however.
“Thank you, Anya. And for what it’s worth, it would be nice to see you next time you are in London. You know I can’t come and see you there.” The Russians had made that clear enough.
“Well, I’m not due anytime soon, but I’ll drop you a line the next time I’m in town.”
“It’ll be good to have you home, Anya.”
“I am home,” she said. She was tired of arguing the same things, year after year.
“Okay, darling, well, do your best for Mr Hackett. It’ll only hurt Russia if they carry on with their insistence on the death penalty, remember.”
The phone went dead, and Anya needed some fresh air and space to think. She asked her team to hold all her calls and jogged out of the office. Snow was already falling outside, with winter now just around the corner.
16
Day three of the trial had flown by. Maybe Bill was getting used to things a little more. At least his lawyer had finally got his chance to speak. The prosecution finished their address mid-morning, all the evidence now laid out for the judge and jury to see. They physically placed it all on a large table, which thankfully was moved away before it was the turn of Bill’s lawyer. Bill couldn’t stand the thought of sitting there staring at the evidence in front of him. Or worse still, the jury listening to the words of the lawyer, talking of Bill’s charity work, while their eyes were on the table, looking at the gun which murdered a man. By the end of the day, Bill’s lawyer was basically through his speech. He’d touched on all the areas that showed Bill for who he was, and even managed to get some of the statements read which were taken in the UK as character witness. It was only the minor statements, and having heard them, Bill didn’t see what anyone else would really make of them. He was annoyed that no one had been allowed in person. In truth, he was starting to fear the worst.
Still, the one lady in the jury was starting to smile a little more at him, and Bill duly returned every one. He hardly took his eyes off her as the day progressed. Not understanding a word, but trusting his lawyer, Bill waved away the interpreter and just watched her. If he was able to find favour with someone on the jury, he was going to work hard to do just that. What else could he do?
When the court was dismissed at the end of the third day, Bill was led out and had ten minutes with his lawyer before being put in the cell overnight.
“That seemed to fly a little better today,” Bill said.
“Yes.”
“So what does tomorrow look like? Much the same?”
“Look, I want to be honest with you. I’m about through with all that I can say. There’s nothing more I have to offer that can add anything to your defence. The judge has spoken to me, and he’s keen, given what I told him, that the jury is given the time tomorrow to return a decision.”
“That quickly? It’s only been three days so far.”
“As I said, I haven’t got anything more to bring. The defence has brought their evidence. If we open it up for more, they’ll come back with twice the evidence. It’ll sink us for sure.”
“What more could they possibly add?” Bill was less than impressed.
“They could push the whole spy angle, the words written by Fernandes on the device. They could bring in their own expert doctors to try to explain why you have no memory of it all. They could even bring in a psychiatrist and have your sanity questioned.”
“Would that be a bad thing? Could I still be charged if they thought I was mentally unstable.”
“It might have helped you in the UK but not here, Bill. You’ll still be sentenced the same. You did the same crime, regardless of mental capacity, so why would you be given a lesser sentence?”
“So you think it’s good to have the jury sent out to decide tomorrow?”
“We don’t have much choice, Bill, but yes. It will not hurt your case. They’ll be happy that it’s all come to a close a little earlier. Most murder trials have a two-week minimum time scale. They’ve all been cleared for a fortnight from whatever job they did before, cash in pocket, though it’s not much. Finishing with a week to spare will seem like a holiday.”
“I do seem to have supp
ort from one lady on the jury. She’s front row, furthest right-hand chair. She smiles at me.”
“Good, that’s something. Keep working on that. Personal connections are key in my country. If a Russian likes you, that’s usually enough. It doesn’t matter what others say or do; they’ll protect you. Remember, we need just half of them to believe you for you to be acquitted. Having a jury already puts the odds more in your favour. If you were just before the judge, especially this one, you would be done already.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. He’s an old-timer, and he’s working the room to his advantage. He’s still eyeing up the top job, and with the eyes of the Kremlin on him currently, he’d be sure to do what they want.”
“You mean, the Kremlin wants me found guilty?”
“That’s not quite what I said, but I can’t lie to you, it’s no secret that Fernandes was a friend to Putin and much of his inner circle. They see this as an attack on Russia. To see that the man is brought to justice is a matter of honour. The fact that you, the only suspect, are a British national, it just adds some icing to the cake.”
“They’re using me to have a dig at my country?”
“And why not? The UK has not been friends with Russia for some time.”
“With good reason!” Bill said.
“You are not to believe everything you read in your press. They are biased against my country, but we are getting away from the point.”
“And what is your point, apart from the fact that your government, though I’ve never done anything to harm them, apparently want me dead?”
