Court Out (18 page)

“He sent me a text on Monday evening, I replied, and we’ve been chatting ever since.”

I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“What did the text say? Does Lucinda not mind your new friendship?”

“No, she’s had to go back to London to deal with something for the wedding. Didn’t you notice that she wasn’t there yesterday afternoon?”

I try not to blush. “No, I had other things to worry about yesterday afternoon.” I wait, expecting her to mention my role in the proceedings, but to my amazement she carries on as if I haven’t mentioned it.

“I can’t remember what the text was exactly, but the gist was he wanted to take me out for a drink. He totally ‘gets’ me. We were up pretty much all of last night talking about the case and each other.”

What? Last night?

“Really? When did you two meet up again?”

“He called quite late in the evening and I went to meet him at Blue. We got pretty drunk if I’m honest.” She giggles and looks conspiratorially at me. 

I decide to tread very carefully. “That’s nice.” I reply. “Where was Ewan?”

“God knows,” she responds. “I told him I was working. Which I was, I suppose. Andrew’s so deep. We talked for ages about the case, and well, about each other.”

“So if you were ‘up all night’ did you call him too?” I enquire.

“No? I went back to his hotel with him.”

She notices my troubled expression and correctly interprets it.

“Before you start, it was totally platonic. We just talked.”

The trill of her mobile phone interrupts her.

“Speak of the devil!” she exclaims. “I’ll see you in a bit, ok?”

With that, she answers the call and sashays out of my room.

Feeling troubled, all thoughts of breakfast forgotten, I make my way over to court. There is a huge executive coach parked alongside the side entrance and the press are looking at it with interest. They’ve now worked out that I’m the prosecution junior and fire questions at me as I run the gauntlet to the door.

“Lauren! Lauren, why are you all going to the house?”

“Lauren, what’s the next plan of attack?”

“Lauren, do you believe he did it?”

I flash a quick smile at them but don’t say anything. It’s really actually quite intimidating having microphones thrust into your face every morning. Corr and Quinn just saunter through without a care in the world. Mind you, they must be used to it, dealing with murders on a daily basis as they do. I’d never say this out loud, but I’d love to think that one day I could be considered good enough to be made a silk, a Queen’s Counsel. Actually, if it ever were to happen, I’d be more likely to be a King’s Counsel as presumably Charles or William will be on the throne then. People in Chambers would tease me mercilessly if they thought I had that sort of ambition and I’d hate for people to think I was getting too big for my boots and being presumptuous. A lot of barristers aspire to become a Judge, but I can’t imagine that’s something that would suit me. I think I’d get too lonely and miss the Chambers camaraderie.

The parties have assembled in one of the back corridors so that we can get onto the coach without attracting too much attention. I stand next to Corr and Quinn and looks around for Rivers. That’s odd, where is he? I scan the faces in the passage, looking for his familiar profile but draw a blank. I turn to Quinn

“No junior today Peter?” I inquire, checking that I haven’t missed him

“Nope. Flying solo. He said there was something he wanted to work on. Knowing him, he just wants a lie in. I understand Lucinda has been her usual demanding self.”

“I bet,” I say, knowing full well that Lucinda is not the one currently keeping him awake.

He laughs “We all keep teasing him that he’s only marrying her for the money. Very bright lad though is Andrew, very hard working. Really driven to succeed.”

I make a noncommittal noise and Quinn resumes his conversation with Corr. We’re all silenced a few moments later by the arrival of Mr. Justice Wynne and his clerk. He’s wearing a dark grey suit and it’s really odd to see him without his usual ceremonial dress. He looks a lot younger without it and he’s taller than I expected too. He smiles warmly at all of us.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, in a moment we will board the bus but before we do, there are a few ground rules that I must put in place. Number one, whilst we are out, please surrender all mobile phones to the jury bailiff; it’s crucial that no-one contacts anyone outside of our number or takes any photographs of the scene. Number two, please do not touch anything unless you are directed to do so. Please treat the home of Mr. Hobbs with the courtesy you would expect of a visitor to your own house. Finally, number three, stay with the group at all times. Please avoid the temptation to wander off on your own, as that will cause us undue delay. I think that is everything. You already know that you are not to use this excursion as a forum to discuss the previous evidence, so please refrain from doing so. Right, if we’re all ready, then lets go.”

We file out of the exit door and up the stairs onto the coach. The jury are directed to fill up the back three rows, the court staff the next two, then the Defendant and his solicitors in the middle and the barristers sit at the front by the judge.

We sit in silence as we make our way out of the city centre and into one of the leafy suburbs. I watch as the houses become further and further apart before we enter a long road with gated entrances. The coach turns into a property on the left and there are a few gasps from behind me. After being granted access through gates bearing the letters ‘R’ and ‘M’ we process up the long tree-lined drive before stopping in front of an enormous white mansion.

The house was built from scratch in 2002 after the couple demolished an existing 1920’s mansion. Any hint of its former life has been well and truly destroyed by the new design, featuring gaudy pillars, and full size statues of Hobbs in action. We’re led into the entrance hall, which in actual fact is more like a ballroom. The floor is polished white marble and the walls are bright white. The only hint of colour in the room comes from the numerous photographs hung on the walls. Most are again, shots of Hobbs playing for his team. He walks among us, like he is playing the proud host rather than a man on trial for murder.

We spend the next half hour or so going through each of the many rooms in turn. The decor sticks to the same white theme throughout, giving the house an oddly sterile feeling. There are also photographs of Marina everywhere. If I were being cynical, I might suggest that Hobbs has installed them especially for this purpose, to present himself as a grieving widower rather than a drunken wife beater.

He’s left Marina’s wardrobe as per the photographs we have in our bundle. It looks as though when the clothes were taken and put in the suitcases, Marina was in one heck of a hurry.

I look around at the rails of clothes and racks of shoes and feel a pang of sadness that her life was cut short so soon. Garments sit on their hangers still bearing their original tags, bought by Marina no doubt envisioning their debut at some glitzy occasion. Now they just sit here gathering dust.

The two suitcases contained an odd mix of outfits, skiwear, nightclothes, stilettos, boots, cocktail dresses and sweaters. When Marina packed them, then I’d say she was a lady whose head was all over the place. Perhaps unsurprising given her husband had not only been revealed to have cheated on her, but betrayed her in a truly terrible way.

Our guided tour takes us to the cellar and I feel a tingle of excitement. The room is much cooler than the rest of the house and I try to suppress a shiver. We’re not going to have much time in this room, as it doesn’t feature heavily in the case. Yet. I cast my eyes around the various racks of bottles looking for where he keeps the champagne.

To my amazement, the majority of the contents appears to have been stocked from the ‘3 bottles for £10’ section of his local supermarket; I can’t see anything of any real value in here at all. I spy a rack of foil-topped bottles and surreptitiously edge over to get a better look. There are about twenty bottles in all and I note with amusement that there are a few bottles of Asti among them. The rest are of a similar caliber and there is definitely no bottle of Krug Clos Du Mesnil 1995 in this room, or anything like it. I make a note of the labels I can see and tuck my pad into my handbag before running up the stairs out of the room to catch the others.

To end the tour, we are taken outside to the pool. The people that were chatting between themselves stop as we survey the area. It’s a sunny September day and the pool looks a gorgeous shade of aqua blue. That being said, there is no way in a million years I would ever get into it, knowing what happened there.

From what I understand of the evidence from the previous trials, Hobbs has stated he still swims in there every day. He’s just wandered over to an outbuilding and produced a large pole with a net on the end and is fishing out some stray leaves that have fallen in. I turn away; I don’t want to have to look at this for any longer than I have to. It appears the jury feel the same way as I can hear restless murmurs coming from the group.

“I think that’s enough,” says the Judge. “If you could all now return to the coach, we will make our way back to court.”

We arrive in good time to start the afternoon session at two. I’m surprised when Corr suggests that we grab some food before we return. We go for lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant. I grab a table near to the window and we take our seats. Corr drums his fingers on the red tablecloth as a waitress comes over to take our orders. I ask for a tuna melt and a Diet Coke and Corr has a rare beef sandwich and a San Pellegrino. As she walks away, Corr speaks.

“So, what did you make of that?”

I decide not to pass the time with platitudes and get straight to the point.

“If the smashed bottle is the Krug, there is no way it came from his cellar. Whoever dropped the bottle bought it from outside. I did a bit of googling last night and it’s a really rare bottle. There is no way that the jury would believe that coincidentally someone else had one too. Why would burglars bring their own booze?”

“We should have the results of the photo enhancement later today along with a statement from a vintner confirming its rarity. If the results are as you suspect then it will significantly strengthen the prosecution case.”

I beam. “I really hope so. Either way you’ll get some closure on this case.”

He gives me a rare smile in return.

“Too true. I’ll be glad to see the back of him.”

“Hobbs?” I ask “Or Quinn?”

He gives a low chuckle. “Peter and I go way back, but we do differ in terms of style somewhat.”

“You can say that again!” I exclaim. “Chalk and cheese would be something of an understatement.”

Our food arrives and we both tuck in in comfortable silence. After the bill is paid he speaks again.

“Back to battle we go!”

By the time we arrive back in the courtroom Serena and Rivers are already there, sitting together whispering about something. I cough and it seems to me that they jump apart, guiltily.

“So, how was your trip?” asks Rivers. I look at him and see no trace of embarrassment, no shame for his actions of last night.

“Fine thanks.” I reply curtly, walking past them and taking my seat. Even without looking, I know that both of them are watching me.

The next witness for the prosecution is the policeman who arrested Hobbs on the morning of the discovery. Corr is seamlessly taking him through his evidence.

“So officer, when did you become aware that the Defendant was near to the house?”

“We were searching the scene for pieces of evidence when I had a report over my radio that the police helicopter had spotted a man matching the Defendant’s description lurking a few roads away. I got in my patrol car and found him hiding in a phone box.”

“What type of state was he in?” asks Corr.

“His eyes were glazed, he was unsteady on his feet and he smelled strongly of alcohol.”

“What about his behaviour?”

“Well he wasn’t pleased to see me if that’s what you mean. He tried to run away when he saw the police car.”

“Did you manage to catch him?”

“Yes, it wasn’t hard. He fell over a few steps in so I was able to apprehend and handcuff him. Once I’d done that I arrested him on suspicion of murder and cautioned him, read him his rights so to speak,” he replies.

“Did you take him back to the house?”

“No, we took him straight to the police station where his detention was authorised. He was put in a cell until he sobered up and he was interviewed the next day.”

“And in that interview he had the presence of a solicitor?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“But when you asked questions of him, he answered ‘no comment’ to each and every one?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Quinn is on his feet in a flash

“Officer, when you found Mr. Quinn he was quite smelly wasn’t he?”

The policeman pauses.

“Well yes, I suppose he wasn’t particularly fragrant.”

“And he was wearing the same clothes as the night before, we’ve seen the CCTV”

“Yes, I’ll agree with that.”

“And he wasn’t wet was he?” prompts Quinn.

“Pardon?”

“Wet. He wasn’t wet, or damp or at all waterlogged was he?”

“No,” says the officer looking resigned.

“Dry as a bone I’d suggest?”

“Well, it was a dry day,” he retorts.

“Thank you. Now, as a vigilant police officer, I’m sure you were aware of the scandal that was surrounding Mr. Hobbs at that time, the incident with Amanda Windsmore?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And having sex with an underage girl is a criminal offence?”

“Yes, again, of course it is.”

“So it’s quite possible that the police could have been looking to arrest Mr. Hobbs for any number of offences in connection to that girl?”

“Well we did look in to it, but she refused to co-operate.”

“No, officer. On that morning, before you had spoken to her, it’s entirely possible the police could have arrested Mr. Hobbs for a sexual offence,” he presses, knowing full well what the answer will be.