The Pandemic Plot

by Scott Mariani

  Chapter 8

  Ben sat up long after McAllister had gone to bed that night. The old battered couch in the cottage’s living room was comfortable enough, and God knew Ben had slept in a lot of worse places in his life. But there was nothing he could do to still his mind except drink himself unconscious – and he wanted to appear reasonably fresh for Jude’s bail hearing in the morning, not smelling like a brewery. Around four a.m. his fatigue finally got the better of him and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  He was awake again just two hours later, and took a fretful walk along the riverbank with Radar as he thought about the long day ahead. McAllister was up soon afterwards, and brewed a pot of excellent coffee. He explained to Ben that he wouldn’t be at the hearing because he had a fresh missing persons case to investigate, and a few doors to knock on that day. Ben wished him good luck with it.

  By eight, Ben was driving into Oxford. He left the Alpina in a park and ride and took an overcrowded bus into the city centre. He might have enjoyed being back in his favourite English city, under different conditions. The Magistrates’ Court in Speedwell Street, just a short walk from his old college, was a grime-streaked modern building that had to be a contender for one of the ugliest in Oxford. Ben got there at nine o’clock sharp with thirty minutes to spare before the hearing began. In a downstairs lobby he met Jude’s court-appointed lawyer, a pimply youth by the name of Dorian Simms who, judging by the brief conversation Ben had with him, didn’t appear any more confident in Jude’s innocence than Tom McAllister. So much for the defence advocate having faith in his client.

  Ben had a request for Simms. ‘As Jude’s only relative, I’d like to address the court on his behalf. Can you arrange that with the judge for me?’

  Simms frowned and glanced at his watch, not pleased at the extra workload this quick errand would place on him. ‘I’d have to hurry. We’ve only got a few minutes.’

  ‘Then you’d best hurry,’ Ben said, looking him in the eye. ‘Now, here’s what I need you to tell him.’

  Simms scurried off to catch Judge Crapper in his chambers and convey Ben’s message before the hearing began. Ben paced in the lobby, waiting. With two minutes to go, Simms returned to say that the request had been granted.

  The courtroom wasn’t one of those grand wood-panelled rooms in which Ben had always imagined great legal dramas playing out. The walls were institutional beige and the seating was like office furniture. A clerk ushered Ben to a seat near the front. Simms sat at a table nearby and opened a briefcase, shuffling papers about with a serious air, like a real lawyer. More people came in and took their places towards the rear. Ben had no idea who anyone was. As he was painfully aware, he was a total stranger to this alien world.

  Ben hadn’t laid eyes Jude in months, not since before he’d gone off to America, and his heart was thumping at the surreal prospect of seeing his son as a prisoner accused of murder. When Jude was brought into the courtroom by two guards and made to stand in the dock, Ben’s stomach tightened into knots. As a remand prisoner, Jude was allowed to wear his own clothes. His unruly mop of blond hair had grown a little longer, and he was a little leaner than before. Ben had never seen him looking so grim and strained. As Jude caught sight of his father sitting there, he lit up momentarily and seemed about to call over to him. Ben signalled to him to keep quiet and stay cool.

  District Judge Crapper appeared from another side door and wedged himself into position behind his bench. He was grey and old and quite fat, wore half-moon spectacles and a look of world-weariness, and seemed to have difficulty walking. After a few preliminaries, the bail hearing got underway. The court was presented with the facts of the case, which sounded even more worryingly cut-and-dried than McAllister’s account of them. The witness statements claiming to have seen and heard Jude threatening the victim were damning enough; the grisly details of the crime, Jude’s presence at the scene and his fingerprints on the murder weapon made his guilt look obvious. Ben found it all hard to listen to, and sat with his hands jammed between his knees. Jude stood in the dock completely stone-faced, his eyes fixed on some spot on the wall opposite.

  When the matters of the case had been heard in excruciating detail, the district judge turned to peer at Jude and said, ‘Mr Arundel, you understand the charges against you?’

  ‘Of course I bloody do,’ Jude replied loudly, holding his chin up in defiance. ‘I’m not an idiot. But I didn’t do it!’

  Simms shot to his feet, anxious to intervene before Jude did himself any more damage. ‘Sir, my client is fully aware of the gravity of these charges, and wishes to plead not guilty.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Simms,’ said Crapper, casting a steely eye across the courtroom and apparently unfazed by Jude’s minor outburst. ‘As the court is aware, the purpose of this preliminary hearing is not to determine the accused’s innocence or guilt, but to decide whether bail should be granted in this case. Under Section Four of the Bail Act of 1976 all accused persons have a right to bail, subject to conditions determined by this court. However, the potential grounds for refusing bail are set out in Schedule 1 of the Act, whereby remand in custody pending trial may be ruled applicable. Now, I understand we have someone here who wishes to speak for the accused?’

  Ben took that as his cue. He stood and gave his name for the court, stating for the record that he was the nearest living relative of the defendant. Speaking in the same clear, careful tones as he’d used back in the day for addressing military briefings, he explained that in his opinion Jude Arundel posed not the slightest flight risk in the event of his being released on bail. Nor was he likely to start interfering with or threatening witnesses, to commit any further offences or pose a threat to public order in any way. This was the first time in his life that he’d ever found himself on the wrong side of the law, and he was a totally responsible citizen, etc., etc. By the time Ben had finished with him, the defendant sounded as though he should be canonised Saint Jude.

  The judge studied some notes in front of him. ‘I understand, Major Hope, that you are the father of the accused?’

  Ben disliked the use of his former military rank, but in situations like this it served a useful purpose. He wouldn’t have instructed Simms to let it be known to the judge, otherwise. ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘And this father-son relationship is despite the disparity between your surnames, Hope and Arundel.’

  Ben gave an inward sigh. Not this again. It hung over him like a curse, and the only response he could give was his old standby. ‘Long story, your Honour.’

  The judge nodded sagely. ‘Very well. We can get into that later. For the moment, Major Hope, are you willing to enter into a recognisance, as a guarantee to the court that conditions of bail would be met?’

  Crapper was studying Ben with sharp eyes over the rims of his half-moon glasses. Ben felt the pressure on him to make the best use of this moment. He was depending on Crapper not being quite as much of a weakling as McAllister had made him out.

  Ben cleared his throat. ‘Yes, your Honour, I am. I’d also like to reiterate for the court that my son has never broken a law or hurt a soul in his life. His past record is completely clean and there’s no reason for anyone to suppose that he would ever break the conditions of his bail, if granted. He will comply with any travel restriction or curfew conditions imposed by the court during that time. As a former officer of HM Armed Forces I will assume responsibility for seeing that he behaves himself.’ He added, ‘Trust me, there’s nothing this court can do to him that I won’t, if he doesn’t.’

  This brought a few quiet chuckles from the back of the room. The judge offered a small smile, and nodded again. Ben sensed that the old man was on his side. His heart began to race with anticipation that the judge would rule in favour of granting bail.

  But before the judge could speak, Jude suddenly gripped the railing of the dock and yelled at the top of his voice, ‘This whole thing is totally insane! I’m innocent!’

  For a bewilde
red moment, all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. Ben glared hard at Jude, but to no avail. Jude shouted, ‘I didn’t kill the guy! You hear me? Anyone who thinks I did needs his fucking head read!’

  District Judge Crapper banged his gavel and said sternly, ‘Mr Simms, please get your client under control at once.’

  But at this point the only way to shut Jude up would have been to shoot him. In a tone of fury that filled the entire courtroom and could not have been missed by anyone standing outside within fifteen yards of its doors he screamed, ‘And I swear, you lock me up in jail for this, and I’ll escape! I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again! You hear me, you bastards?’

  The court dissolved into chaos. The judge banged angrily and demanded that Jude be removed. His guards stepped up, grabbed him by both arms and whisked him hurriedly out of the door through which they’d come. For which Ben was immensely grateful, because otherwise he might have been seriously tempted to leap across the courtroom and personally strangle him. Simms was sitting with his head in his hands. The judge’s face was purple as he went on banging and calling for silence.

  When at last the buzz died away, Judge Crapper rasped, ‘Well, I think that settles that. Bail in this case is hereby denied. I order the suspect to be remanded in custody pending trial, the date of which shall be determined in due course.’

  Chapter 9

  It was 9.53 a.m. The hearing had come to a crashing end after just twenty-three minutes, and it had taken Jude a matter of seconds to torpedo any possibility of being released that day – or any day, until he was formally tried for murder months from now.

  As the courthouse emptied around him Ben remained in his seat, staring at the vacant dock where Jude had been just a moment ago and struggling with the mixed emotions that washed through him. For all his anger towards Jude for having just obliterated his own chances of getting bail, it was hard not to feel a sense of pride at the way he’d stood up to proclaim his innocence. And as Ben sat there searching his own conscience, he couldn’t help but privately admit to himself that, back in the wild days of his youth, he might very well have done exactly the same thing, let the chips fall where they may and damn the consequences.

  Maybe being crazy was just incurably embedded in the Hope family DNA.

  When Ben finally exited the empty courtroom, he found Simms hanging around outside in the corridor. The lawyer looked pale and anxious, and kept shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. What was he thinking? I’m certain that the judge was about to rule in his favour.’

  Ben wished that he knew more about the workings of the law and wasn’t so dependent on Simms for advice. ‘Is there any way out of it?’

  Simms heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh sure, he can always reapply for bail. Though he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of its being granted, after that performance. He couldn’t possibly have done a better job of persuading the court that he was a major flight risk if they were stupid enough to let him walk free.’

  ‘But it can’t hurt to try, can it?’

  Simms shrugged. ‘Frankly, it’d be a waste of time and I have better things to do. Not all of my clients are hell-bent on landing themselves in jail.’

  ‘Still, I’d like you to apply on his behalf. If they agree to another hearing I’ll make sure he doesn’t misbehave again.’

  ‘He’d have to grovel on his knees and beg for mercy. Tell them he had a momentary lapse of sanity or something. Blame it on the stress of being in jail.’

  Ben didn’t see Jude doing that, but promised, ‘I’ll speak to him. When can I see him?’

  ‘Not for a while. It’ll take a few hours before he’s transferred from the holding facility to Bullingdon Prison. I might be able to arrange a visit later in the day.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that, Mr Simms. Thanks.’

  Ben gave Simms his mobile number and asked him to keep in touch. Simms didn’t look too happy about it, but agreed to call him later. With that, clasping his briefcase, he scuttled off down the hallway and disappeared through a door. Ben wasn’t sure whether Simms would even bother to call him. But he was wrong. Four hours later, at three minutes to two in the afternoon, Ben’s phone buzzed.

  At that moment, he was walking through Christ Church Meadow, a blessed haven of serenity right in the middle of Oxford that lay insulated from all the bustle and noise, dirt and traffic of the city. He’d left the splendid ivied rear facade of Meadow Buildings behind him and cut down the broad tree-lined footpath to the river, to wander awhile along its banks and watch the rowers come swishing by in their long racing boats and single sculls. It was a beautiful day to be walking free under the wide blue sky. Not so great for an innocent man slammed behind bars. Earlier, from a pub beer garden where Ben had allowed himself to consume just enough single malt scotch to smooth the edge off his nerves while staying sufficiently sober to jump in his car at a moment’s notice, he’d called Jeff Dekker to give him the promised update on Jude’s situation. Jeff had sounded every bit as depressed as Ben was feeling himself.

  Simms said, ‘Visiting time at Bullingdon ends at quarter to four and I managed to get you a slot for the last hour. Technically you needed to have booked a day in advance, but I called in a favour. Which means you owe me.’

  Simms sounded sullen and pissed off, but at that moment he’d just become Ben’s best buddy. He added, ‘Don’t forget to bring ID or they won’t let you in. And be sure to arrive early, because there’ll be a wait. You know how to get there?’

  Ben was already running. ‘I’m on my way.’

  After a rumbling, jerking, grindingly slow bus ride from St Aldates through the city centre and up Woodstock Road to the park and ride, Ben clambered into the Alpina and burned rubber north-eastwards in the direction of Bicester. It was a twenty-five-minute drive, if you abided by the speed limits. He followed the signs saying HM PRISON BULLINGDON that led off the main road to Jude’s new abode, home to about eleven hundred residents. The cluster of red-roofed prison buildings stood within an irregular octagon of high walls surrounded by open fields. Checkpoints and cameras, guards and wire fences were everywhere, and despite the green areas, playing fields and gardens the place was every bit as forbidding and gloomy as Ben had imagined. He’d been inside prisons before and they weren’t his favourite environments to spend time in. From the visitors’ car park he walked up to the reception building.

  The strict procedure of the ID security check was like an assembly line as visitors were made to go through different rooms. Before a new door could open, the one behind it had to be closed. Step by step, you left the free world behind you. The pat-down search included a sniffing from a security dog that didn’t look as friendly as Storm or Radar. Ben was asked to remove his jacket and surrender his phone as well as his cash-filled wallet, as visitors were forbidden from carrying more than £10 into the prison, and then only in coins for use in the vending machines. He received a lecture from a dead-eyed officer on the strict rules of his visit, and after a long wait was then ushered through several more layers of security before finally being admitted into the visiting block.

  A low mutter of conversation and the cries of restless, distressed children filled the room as a dozen or so prisoners and their loved ones used their allotted hour of visiting time. The room was equipped with rows of low tables flanked by plastic chairs, everything bolted rigidly down. Some artificial plants had been placed here and there in an attempt to provide some semblance of a comforting environment for the sake of the families, but it wasn’t working. Though one or two inmates seemed to be sharing a more joyful moment with their loved ones the atmosphere was mostly tense and overhung with fear, anxiety, sadness, embarrassment, humiliation and frustration. Private conversation was impossible in the presence of the team of watchful, unsmiling security personnel who hovered on standby in the background, listening to every word as though all dialogue were potentially suspicious and ready to step in to prevent old Ma Bar
ker from slipping her beloved nephew a home-baked fruitcake with a file inside.

  Jude was already sitting there waiting for Ben, hunched over his table and looking weary, gaunt and thoroughly depressed after having spent only a matter of hours in his new home. Though permitted to wear his own clothing he was dressed in grey jogging bottoms and a light blue T-shirt. He didn’t stand up as Ben approached, as the rules of the visit dictated that he wasn’t to leave his seat. Ben took his place opposite him at the low table. Physical contact wasn’t allowed. The two of them sat there in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to be the first to speak.

  It was Ben who finally broke the silence. ‘Well, that was a smart play.’

  ‘They weren’t going to give me bail anyway,’ Jude replied.

  ‘We’ll never know now, will we?’

  ‘So I suppose you’ve come to give me a pep talk.’

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t escaped yet. I thought no prison could hold you.’

  ‘I’ll get out of here. I swear it.’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  ‘I’m innocent.’

  ‘I know you are,’ Ben said. ‘Now tell me the whole thing again, from the start.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ Jude said. ‘I’ve lived in Little Denton most of my life. So when I got back home from America, that’s where I headed. My car was there, and I’d nowhere else to stay.’

  ‘Except you couldn’t,’ Ben said. ‘Not with the house let to a tenant.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask him to leave or anything,’ Jude protested. ‘I thought maybe, if I asked nicely, Duggan might be cool about letting me stay in the annexe.’