The House in the Woods (Atticus Priest Book 1) Page 23

  “It’s two o’clock,” the judge said. “I had anticipated that Mr. Lamza’s evidence would need all of today to be heard, but things have evidently changed. Mr. Abernathy—you have an additional witness before you conclude the Crown’s evidence with Detective Chief Inspector Jones.”

  “That’s correct, my Lord. Dr. Sandeau. I think it might be possible to get through her evidence this afternoon.”

  “Very well. Let’s get on with it. Call the witness.”

  Dr. Sandeau’s evidence would have been important had it not just been preceded by the implosion of the prosecution case. She was an excellent witness, sober and respectful—diametrically opposed to Lamza—and, by the time that she had answered all of Abernathy’s questions, much of the defence’s anticipated negativity as it pertained to Cameron Mallender had been rebutted. It was impossible to remove the possibility that he might have been responsible for the murders, but Mack was sure that the jury would have a harder time believing it than might have been the case before.

  She didn’t know how important that was any longer.

  She doubted that they would suspect Ralph, either.

  Abernathy concluded the evidence-in-chief. Crow asked a few perfunctory questions, then sat down.

  Somerville looked down from his desk. “I think this might be a good point to adjourn for the day.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Abernathy said.

  Crow nodded his agreement.

  “We’ll reconvene in the morning for the Detective Chief Inspector.”

  Abernathy nodded. “Very good, my Lord.”

  “Then we are adjourned.”

  61

  The atmosphere in the defence conference room was jubilant. Allegra Mallender was sitting with a wide grin on her face that looked as if it might be permanent. Atticus leaned against the wall, watching. Ralph was still on remand and had been taken downstairs to the cells to await his transfer back to prison. Only the lawyers were able to see him at court, and Allegra was anxiously waiting for them to return with news of his reaction.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Crow and Cadogan opened the door and came inside. Both of them were beaming.

  “Well?”

  “He’s happy,” Crow said.

  “Mr. Crow has a gift for understatement,” Cadogan corrected. “He’s ecstatic.”

  “As he should be,” Crow said. “That was a very good day.”

  “A very, very good day.”

  Both men sat down, still smiling.

  “We just bumped into Abernathy, too,” Crow said.

  “It would be fair to say that he didn’t enjoy proceedings as much as we did,” Cadogan added.

  “He thinks I should’ve given notice before I introduced the evidence,” Crow said. “I disagreed. My duty is to do everything lawful in my power to help Ralph. Abernathy can call it an ambush if he likes—I just used the ammunition that I was given in the most effective manner I could. He would have done the same. I’m not bothered that I’ve caused him an inconvenience. It’s just spilt milk. He’s a big boy—he’ll get over it.”

  Cadogan steepled his fingers on the table. “He said that the evidence must have been obtained by criminal means, and shouldn’t have been admissible.”

  “Which is utter nonsense,” Crow said. “The judge has discretion to allow or exclude evidence and, when the evidence speaks to the motivation of a witness to testify—and possibly even to perjure himself—it would be manifestly unfair to exclude it.”

  “So what does it mean?” Allegra asked.

  Crow smiled at her. “How does it affect the case?”

  “Yes. The practical effect.”

  “It means that Lamza’s evidence is worthless. I can’t see any possibility that the jury believes what he said about Ralph’s conversations with him now.”

  “And without that?”

  “Without that, they’re going to have a very difficult time proving that Ralph did what they say he did. There’s more, too. Lamza was at least fifty per cent of their case. We’ve shown that he is, at the very best, untrustworthy, and at worst, mendacious. That stain will pollute everything else. The jurors will have in the back of their minds that the Crown was prepared to rely on someone like Lamza. If him, who else?”

  Allegra had a hopeful expression on her face. “So how do you see our chances?”

  Crow pursed his lips and tapped his fingers together. “Well,” he said, “before this, I would’ve said it was seventy-thirty against, as you know. But now? The opposite, in our favour, and even that might be pessimistic. It might be better.”

  “Is there even a case to answer?” Atticus asked.

  “I’ll make an application when they finish that there isn’t,” Crow said. “It’s hard to know what Somerville will say. It would be good to dismiss the case now, but I don’t think it’ll make much practical difference. I think we can agree that we’ve had the best day of the trial.”

  “The best day I’ve had in months,” Allegra added.

  Cadogan slapped his hands on the table in agreement.

  “So where did the emails come from?” she said.

  “We don’t know,” Cadogan replied.

  “And I’m not sure we really want to know,” Crow said. “It would appear that your husband has a friend who was not prepared for him to go to prison based on the evidence of a perjurer.”

  Allegra leaned back. “Well,” she said, “whoever it was, I’m grateful.”

  Atticus said nothing.

  “Will they still put DCI Jones up?” Allegra asked.

  “They have to,” Crow said. “She’s going to have to work to try to fix the problems we’ve caused.”

  “But you’ll be able to go after her? You know—you’ll put the boot in?”

  “I certainly will,” Crow said. “I’m afraid she’s going to have a very awkward morning indeed.”

  62

  There was a buzz of electricity in the lobby. Reporters spoke to their editors, knowing that their stories would find their way to the front pages of tomorrow’s editions. The proceedings today had been dynamite, and they all knew that they would be given all the space that they needed.

  Atticus was tired. He hadn’t slept on Saturday night, and last night had been disturbed by the prospect of today’s evidence. Fatigue was beginning to get the better of him. His eyes felt scratchy and raw and his eyelids were heavy; he wanted to get home and go to bed.

  He looked around, concerned that he might see Mack. He knew that she would be angry, and that there was a good chance that she might try to take it out on him. He could do without that today.

  “Atticus!”

  He stopped and turned. It was Allegra.

  “Could we…” She paused, glancing around at the others waiting in the lobby. “Could we have a chat?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I give you a lift home?”

  Allegra drove a brand-new Mercedes. They got in and she picked her way through the rush hour traffic that choked Salisbury’s medieval streets. Allegra said nothing for five minutes. The Play for Today was on Radio 4 and they listened to it together in silence; Atticus knew that something was on her mind, but he decided to wait for her to bring it up.

  She reached over and turned down the volume.

  “Can I ask you a question, Atticus?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “Did you find those emails?”

  Atticus concentrated on maintaining a straight face. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No,” he repeated. “I didn’t.”

  “Because they made all the difference.”

  “Whoever found them broke the law. I work hard for my clients, but there are lines I won’t cross.”

  She drove on for a moment, her attention on the road ahead, flicking the car into the outside lane to pass a parked bus and then sliding back again.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “I can’t do m
uch about that.”

  “Those emails didn’t just appear.”

  “No,” he said. “They didn’t. Someone’s certainly on your side.”

  “A guardian angel,” she suggested with a brief hint of sarcasm.

  “That’s one way to describe it.”

  “Well, whoever it was, they’ve made a huge difference. You heard what they said—Crow is actually confident now. Jesus. That’s a first. He’s been doom and gloom until now.”

  “He should be confident.”

  “You think so?”

  “Discrediting Lamza helps. There’s no question about that. I agree with what was said. The prosecution case is thin now.”

  She looked across the cabin at him. “I want you to know that we appreciate all the work that you’re doing. Ralph and I—really, we do. I know that I was a bit sharp with you over the weekend, but I was desperate. We were getting nowhere and the case was coming to the end. I know you’ve been working hard.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s a very stressful experience.”

  “Understatement,” she said, chuckling bitterly. “But then this, today. I don’t know… I feel able to relax for the first time in months.”

  Atticus wanted to tell her that there was still a long way to go. Yes, it was true that the defence had enjoyed a strong day in court. But nothing was guaranteed. Things could go wrong. The judge might decide that there was still a case to answer. Ralph was planning to take the stand, and that offered all sorts of traps and pitfalls. But, as he looked back at her, he didn’t have the heart to suggest that she shouldn’t raise her hopes. He had no experience of the position in which she had found herself, but it was obviously disquieting.

  She deserved an evening where, for the first time in weeks, she might allow herself just a modicum of hope. He was happy to have been able to give her that.

  63

  Allegra dropped Atticus outside Wagamama on Bridge Street. He picked up two takeouts and two bottles of Asahi and strolled down the road, the smell of the food wafting up from the paper bag. He went up to the office and knocked on Jacob’s door.

  Bandit clattered down the stairs and pawed at the glass. Jacob came after him and opened the door.

  “Hi,” Atticus said. He held up the bag. “What do you like? Chilli prawn and kimchee ramen or teriyaki beef donburi?”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You’ve been a big, big help. Go on—pick.”

  Jacob picked the donburi. Atticus took one of the beers and handed it and the food to Jacob, together with a twenty-pound note.

  “Same again tomorrow?”

  “Is that okay?” Atticus said. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

  “You’re not. Bring him up whenever you want.”

  “I should be back to normal by the end of the week. The job I’m on is nearly done.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  Atticus opened the door to the office and let Bandit lead the way inside. He took off his shoes and put Supertramp’s Crime of the Century on the player, carefully sliding the needle onto the vinyl. The wistful harmonica introduction to ‘School’ started to play. He logged onto the game of chess that he was in the middle of and saw that Jack_of_Hearts had not made their next move, but that a message had been left in the comments.

  > I’m sorry that I haven’t been as attentive to our game as normal. I’ve been a little busy. I’ll make my move shortly.

  Atticus typed out that that was fine, sent the message and closed the lid of the laptop. He dropped down onto the sofa and stretched out his legs, resting his feet on the coffee table. He tore the lid off the carton, split the chopsticks and started to eat. It had been a long day, and the weekend had been testing, too. He decided that he would go to the cinema—there was a brainless Marvel movie that would do an admirable job of taking his mind off the case—and then turn in for an early night. There was nothing for him to do on the Mallender case and, even as he looked over at the boxes of documents from the Alfred Burns case that had haunted him for so long, he found that he didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm. Better to eat, distract himself for an hour or two, get ready for bed and then read a chapter or two of Dvoretsky’s School of Chess Excellence that he had been meaning to read for weeks.

  64

  Atticus woke to the sound of a determined knocking at the door below. He lay back on the mattress for a moment, hoping that the knocking would stop. But it didn’t stop. It continued, more determined than before, a constant banging that he could only ignore by putting his pillow over his head.

  Finally, the person at the door gave up.

  Atticus took the pillow away and exhaled. He reached for his watch and looked at the time: midnight. He had only been asleep for half an hour.

  He closed his eyes to try to get back to sleep.

  “Atticus!”

  The voice was at the foot of the flight of outdoor stairs that led from his bedroom to the garden.

  Atticus groaned. He recognised the voice.

  “Atticus!”

  He heard the sound of footsteps rattling up the steel treads. There came a rat-tat-tat against the glass panel in the door.

  “Atticus! I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

  “For pity’s sake, Mack,” he groaned. “It’s midnight.”

  “I don’t care. Open the door now, Atticus.”

  “What is it?”

  “Open the door.”

  Atticus sat up and swung his legs around so that he could stand. He looked in vain for his dressing gown and, instead, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that he found amid the welter on the floor. He looked at the bedroom: it was a shocking mess, with clothes strewn around, together with empty Amazon packaging and the discarded Wagamama bag and carton from his meal. He grabbed the rubbish and stuffed it into the already overflowing bin in the corner of the room.

  “Atticus!”

  “Hold on, hold on.”

  He found the key for the door on his bookshelf and peeled the blackout blind away from the glass. Mack was standing outside on the exterior landing. Her arms were crossed and the security light shone down onto her, revealing the stern expression on her face.

  Atticus unlocked the door and opened it.

  She came inside and looked around. “Jesus.”

  “I know. I need to give it a bit of a clean.”

  “‘A bit of a clean?’” she said. “It needs to be fumigated.”

  “That’s an overreaction.”

  “Is this where you work? In this?”

  Atticus realised that she had never visited him here before.

  “The office is next door,” he said.

  Bandit padded in from the office, his tail wagging. She hadn’t met the dog, either.

  “This is Bandit,” he said. “Bandit, this is Mack. She’s the reason we live in a two-room flat rather than a nice place like normal people.”

  Bandit wagged his tail even more vigorously and negotiated the mattress so that he could get closer to Mack. He nudged her leg until she reached down to rub his head. She looked as if she was going to say something about the dog, but—perhaps because it would be pleasant and might deflect her from the haranguing that Atticus knew that she had come here to deliver—she straightened up, stepped over the clothes, picked a path around the mattress and went through into the office.

  Atticus followed her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “You need me to tell you?” she said, clearing a pile of papers from the sofa but then changing her mind about sitting down.

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Still not following.”

  “I mean, really. Really. What are you doing?”

  “Still nothing.”

  “Piss off, Atticus. Just piss off. The evidence about Freddie Lamza. The emails.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Those.
”

  “Where did they come from?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t help you. Do you want a drink?”

  “No, I don’t want a pissing drink, you dick. I want you to be honest with me, for once, just once, and tell me what you know.”

  “I know the prosecution was relying on the evidence of a witness who was apparently prepared to send a man to prison in return for a big payday. There’s a word for that. Begins with P.”

  She waved that aside. “Where did they come from?”

  “I know as much as you do—Cadogan got an email on Sunday morning. Anonymous. He doesn’t know who it was from.”

  “As simple as that?” Mack said, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “As simple as that.”

  “Convenient.”

  “It was certainly good timing.

  “Very.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s try this another way. Where were you on Saturday night and Sunday morning?”

  “Here.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Ask Bandit—he was with me.”

  The dog cocked his ear at the sound of his voice.

  “That’s your alibi?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “A dog?”

  “What can I say?”

  “You’re going to lie to a police officer?”

  “Are you investigating me, Mack?”

  “I don’t know. Should I be investigating you?”

  “I was here with Bandit,” he said patiently. “I had an early night. I can’t prove it, but you can’t prove that I didn’t.”

  She sighed. “Let me tell you what I think. I think you’ve done something really, really stupid. Really stupid. The kind of thing I won’t be able to help you with if you get found out.”

  Finally, she did sit down on the sofa. She reached into her pocket and took out her phone. She handed it to Atticus. There was a still image from a security camera on the screen. Atticus looked down at the screen: there was a figure in the shot.