The Shadows of Justice (14 page)

“Do you think… did Claire… would she have…” he stammered.

“I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to check something when I realised. I think you’ve probably got away with it. But I can’t be certain.”

Adam got up from the table and reached for the door. “We need to get back. I reckon Munroe’s about our only chance of a conviction now. I just hope he can tarnish the holy glow of Saint bloody Martha.”

He hesitated, and then added, “One more thing. Just another bit of advice, if you’re up for listening?”

“I think I’d better.”

“I think you’re right. Look, beware of Katrina. I’ve seen what she can do.”

The magus of a chief inspector ruminated briefly upon the wisdom to be delivered, then his face warmed with one of those smug expressions in which he specialised.

“I’d remember this. Beware of putting the lure of passing lust ahead of the endurance of love.”

Edward Munroe QC was one of the stars of the South West’s legal circuit. He’d made a name defending career criminals, the kind Dan and his peers might refer to in their headlines as
Mr Big
.

The barrister had once been as popular as ants at a picnic with the police, until the day of an unlikely transformation. It was long analysed and eventually summarised by a detective wit, who christened it a
Road to the Supreme Court
conversion.

Munroe was an ambitious man whose CV was replete with his talents at defence work. The opinion was that he needed some high profile prosecution successes to set him fair on a journey to becoming a judge. To the surprise of the police he offered to switch sides, and was welcomed with little hesitation. Whatever the detectives may have thought, Munroe was a charmer of juries, a ruthless dissector of evidence, and on the big cases he tended to get the brief.

He was a little stocky, but fit; a middle distance runner of a decent standard and he was always impeccably shaved. Munroe carried a razor to court and would set aside ten minutes at lunchtime to applying it. The theory, he once explained to Adam with a meaningful nod at the detective’s beard line, was that juries put more trust in a clean complexion.

With a case as finely balanced as this, Munroe’s opinion had been sought on the chances of success. He considered and then pronounced a similar view to the solicitors and detectives. Fifty-fifty, no more and no less.

But Munroe added something else that Adam said was much responsible for the trial being held. He asked whether either of the Edwards would give evidence. Knowing of her eloquence, and the story she could tell a jury about her suffering, it was thought likely Martha would.

In that case, Munroe said, he would like to take the case. And so, many weeks ago, the scene was set for today.

The barrister was silent and unmoving with concentration in final preparation for the coming duel. The twelve jurors watched, several with notepads poised.

Dan tried to force himself to focus. This may well be the pivotal moment in the trial. But he couldn’t help looking three rows ahead and to the women either side of Adam.

He’d made a point of standing by the doors as the court reconvened, mobile clamped to ear – a little curious, as there was no one on the line, except maybe his conscience.

Katrina walked past and Dan smiled, open and easy. Claire approached and he put down the phone and breathed out hard.

“Are you ok?” she asked, with concern.

“Rutherford was sick most of the night. That was the vet calling. He’s ok, thankfully. It was probably just some bug he picked up in the park.”

A caring hand found Dan’s shoulder. “I thought you looked tired. You poor thing. I’d love to see that daft dog again – and his master, of course. Maybe a walk at the weekend?”

“Yeah, that’d be – err, good,” the great deceiver managed, awkwardly.

***

The court was still, only the slightest of seeping breezes relieving the denseness of the heat. All knew what was coming next.

One more whispered conversation with a solicitor and Munroe finally got to his feet. Martha eyed him coolly. They were just a few metres apart.

“You’ve told us about your condition, but I’d like to know a little more, Ms Edwards. How did you feel when you understood you were infected with hepatitis?”

Her face twitched with scorn, and it overflowed into her voice. “Mmmm… let me think. Oh, that’s it – overjoyed. Absolutely delighted. Really! How do you think I felt?”

Like any professional player, Munroe’s expression didn’t change.
“I don’t know, Ms Edwards. I’ve never had the experience. Nor have the jury. So perhaps you could tell us – and a little less sarcastically?”

Martha looked to the judge. “He’s entitled to ask,” ruled Templar, “Whatever you may think of the question, it’s part of the prosecution’s case regarding your alleged motive.”

“Well, if I must. Initially, I suppose I didn’t really understand. I was very young. But then I started to realise. When I still couldn’t go and play with the other children. And I think I knew then I never would. I think…”

“Yes?”

“I felt like I’d never be a proper person. It’s like I was semi-detached from life.”

Munroe nodded and found a sympathetic tone. “A difficult time.”

“Oh, well put. Brilliant in fact.” Contempt filled Martha’s voice. “Yes it was, as you so very rightly say. A… difficult… time.”

From the barrister came no reaction, only a brief, sideways look to the jury. It felt as though he was telling them –
trust me. Follow me. I might have something interesting to show you
.

“Let me take you on a few years. You decide to study forensics. May I ask why?”

“Because it interests me. Because I hope it might lead to a career, something worthwhile.”

“And does it?”

“No. No way. No one wants to employ someone like me. There’s no room for a freak in any company I ever managed to find. It was never said, of course. It was always, ‘you gave an excellent interview, but we regret to inform you there is someone better qualified’, or ‘many thanks, and we will keep your application on file’. All that sort of…”

“Sort of?”

Her expression tightened, the pale skin whitening further. Martha knew where she was being led, but couldn’t resist.

“That bullshit!”

More understanding soothed from the barrister. He had seen into Martha and realised that he, himself, was one of the greatest provocations she could face. Successful, privileged, healthy, a part of the establishment – they were his goads and spurs.

“I see. Well, I was going on to ask how it felt, but…”

“Have a guess!” she interrupted, savagely. “I bet you never could. Someone with your job and life. This is how it felt – we’ll give you this incurable illness. Then, instead of helping, we’ll dump you. Instead of having the decency to say sorry, we’ll gloss over our little mistake, secure in the knowledge it won’t be around long to embarrass us. Soon the problem’ll be solved… ‘coz it’ll be dead.”

Munroe half turned to the jury. “Pretty bitter, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Disillusioned with society?”

“Just a little.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah.”

“So… that was when you decided to take revenge?”

Martha glared at him, briefly closed her eyes as if to cast off the animal of her anger. “I’ve never taken any revenge on anyone.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, the forensics degree – the computing too – they weren’t to provide the knowledge you’d need to be an efficient criminal?”

“No.”

Munroe absorbed the setback. He turned a couple of pages on his notes and ran a hand over the smoothness of his chin. Now the pace of his voice changed. It became quicker, sharper with a new angle of attack.

“What do you think of Annette Newman?”

“What?”

“What do you think of her?”

“I – I don’t think anything of her. I don’t know her.”

“You don’t pity her, for what she’s been through?”

“I…”

“You don’t feel anything for her? After her tears in the witness box? The nightmare of the ordeal that still haunts her?”

Martha glanced at the jury. She might have been searching for a hint about the right answer. For the first time, there was discomfort in her voice.

“I suppose I… feel sorry for her.”

“Suppose?”

“What?”

“You just suppose?”

“Yeah.”

“And feel sorry?”

“Yeah.”

“Just sorry?”

“Yeah.”

“For the torment you inflicted?”

“Yeah… no! You bastard, you’re trying to catch me out.”

Munroe said nothing, just settled upon the ground he had won. He let his eyes run along the twelve expressionless faces in the jury box. And now his tone changed again. He had become an uncle, helping a favoured child with some homework.

“What kind of an outcry was there about you, and thousands of others, being infected with hepatitis and HIV?”

Martha studied him, unsure where she was being lured this time. “You know damn well.”

“Tell us.”

“Just about none.”

“None?”

“No. None. Not a bit. Zip. Absolutely zero.”

“That must have struck you as rather unfair?”

“No shit.”

“That no one seemed to care?”

“Yeah… no one cared.”

“Society least of all?”

Martha snorted unpleasantly. “Not a bit.”

“So, you took Annette to demonstrate the contrast. The very different reaction to what happened to her?”

The forced calm was back. “Don’t bother trying that. I did not take Annette.”

Munroe accepted the block to his parry. He pushed the silvery wig back a little from his brow, gave himself some thinking time.

“A final question, if I may?”

“If you must.”

Munroe rode the jibe. He didn’t react, instead unfolded a large sheet of paper. It looked like a map. He made a point of studying it, and with obvious affection. And then his expression changed, hardened with determination. He focused upon Martha’s eyes.

“So then – Great Mis? Vixen? Cox? Sheep’s?”

“What?”

“Bellever? Pew? North Hessary? Gutter?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Leeden? Yar? Laughter? Leather?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Munroe waved the map. “Tors, Ms Edwards. They’re all Dartmoor tors. What’s your favourite tor?”

“What?”

“You’re a Dartmoor lover, according to your evidence. That which you swore was the truth – remember? You delight in the moor’s natural beauty, or so you say. I just wondered which tor was your favourite?”

“I… I…”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“I do – I like… Hay Tor.”

“Hay Tor?”

“Yes.”

“Hay Tor – Dartmoor’s most visited. The one that probably anyone could name. That’s your favourite?”

“Yes.”

“You said you love seclusion. Peace and tranquillity. Is that why you like Hay Tor?”

“Yeah.”

“Despite it being a tourist honeypot? Having two large car parks, a visitor centre and an ice cream stall?”

Martha glared at Munroe. Her hand clutched at the polished wood of the witness box. Behind her, in the dock, Brian was leaning forwards, agitated. He looked as though he was in pain.

“I like the views,” she said finally.

“You are a liar, Ms Edwards. You kidnapped Annette Newman and you and your brother held her in a cottage in East Prawle.”

“No—”

“You did so because you wanted money for drugs which might help your condition, but most importantly as part of your crusade for revenge.”

“No.”

“Annette was an embodiment of the establishment, so you took her and delighted in making her suffer.”

“No!”

“Because of the attention given to her abduction and the lack of interest in your own plight.”

“No!”

“It was your personal version of justice, wasn’t it?”

“No!”

“You are a liar, Ms Edwards. Despite what you might believe of your lofty purpose and perverted morals, you are nothing more than a common criminal.”

Martha’s face had flushed an angry red. “I am not a common criminal!”

And now Munroe lowered his voice once more. “And that’s exactly how you see yourself, isn’t it? No common felon, but an avenger. Bringing justice to a world that can’t manage to find its own. But I can tell you, Ms Edwards, that you are a criminal. Perhaps not common, maybe even rare, but a criminal nonetheless.”

“No! No, no, no!”

The barrister held her look. “No further questions, Your Honour.”

Dan finished a final note and looked to the jury. The eyes of every man and woman were fixed on Martha Edwards. He thought he could sense a change in some of the expressions. It was nothing readily perceptible, nothing that could be written down, but perhaps the beginnings of an understanding about what truly stood before them.

For the first time in the weeks of the trial, Dan found himself starting to believe that the distant land of a guilty verdict might just be within reach after all.