Praise for the Burton & Lamb series…

  The Burton & Lamb series always provides excellent courtroom moments and a thoughtful exploration of an area of life where technology is likely to make a big difference in the not-so-far-off future

  Crime Review

  Intelligently conceived and cleverly constructed – topical, relevant and engaging

  Ted Childs, creator of Kavanagh QC

  An evocative and gripping thriller, where the present day meets the technology of the near future. Abi Silver raises startling questions about the dependence and interdependence of technology in our lives in this pacy courtroom drama

  Maha Khan Phillips, author of The Curse of Mohenjodaro

  A refreshing debut from a former lawyer – a first-rate courtroom drama

  Daily Mail

  Abi Silver has carved a niche exploring the moral and practical issues thrown up by technology, and how the law responds. She is adept at turning complex legal debate into compelling legal thrillers... If The Cinderella Plan finds its way onto your holiday reading list, expect to deliver a favourable verdict

  Jewish Chronicle

  You may not have heard of Abi Silver, but if her new book, The Pinocchio Brief, is anything to go by, you soon will have done

  Jewish News

  A quirky and charming debut novel that combines modern technology with a good old-fashioned courtroom drama

  Irish Independent

  Was the man in the driving seat or the car itself responsible for the fatal accident? And is it the AI or the flaws of the humans involved in creating it that poses the greater danger? Tense thriller wrought from a cutting-edge subject

  Times Crime Club

  An enjoyably elaborate and distinctive variation on the courtroom thriller

  Martin Edwards, author of Gallows Court and the Lake District Mysteries

  Raymond Maynard, a precocious 15-year-old schoolboy, is accused of the brutal murder of one of his teachers. Silver, a former solicitor, conjures up a shock for his defence team: the boy’s testimony will be judged by a machine. If this sounds far-fetched, it’s not. Swingeing cuts to legal aid budgets around the world are resulting in ever increasing digitalisation. Silver’s taut thriller provides ample food for thought as the defence team confront the implications of machines dispensing justice

  The Times

  Like a chess grandmaster, Silver expertly manoeuvres the pieces of her plot to craft a tense, intelligent mystery

  Chris Simms

  Pinocchio is the name of a newly developed device that detects lies and which the government has decided to use in law courts. It is supposed to perceive and interpret facial expression and body language, its conclusions providing more accurate judgements than any jury could reach. Regarding this machine as infallible is a dangerous and plausible idea that is central to this fascinating tale... This is a good read and an excellent first novel

  Literary Review

  An intense and compelling legal drama – quite wonderful

  Geoffrey Wansell

  A legal thriller with a neat angle and loads of twists: I cannot tell a lie, this is an excellent read

  Sunday Sport

  An ingenious and compelling whodunnit

  The Times

  A sparklingly clever and entertaining mystery with a juicy helping of courtroom drama

  Daily Telegraph

  It is Abi Silver’s imaginative touches as well as her thorough legal knowledge that make her courtroom thrillers stand out

  Jake Kerridge

  Rumpole of the Bailey, Kavanagh QC, Perry Mason – now joining their ranks is Judith Burton

  Jewish Chronicle

  More a whatdunnit than a whodunnit...it is a good story which discusses factual issues society will have to tackle. Previous books by the author have won well-deserved praise

  Law Society Gazette

  Also by Abi Silver in the Burton & Lamb series:

  The Pinocchio Brief

  The Aladdin Trial

  The Cinderella Plan

  The Rapunzel Act

  Published in 2021

  by Lightning Books Ltd

  Imprint of Eye Books Ltd

  29A Barrow Street

  Much Wenlock

  Shropshire

  TF13 6EN

  www.lightning-books.com

  ISBN: 9781785632426

  Copyright © Abi Silver 2021

  Cover by Nell Wood

  Typeset in Minion Pro and Brandon Grotesque

  The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Printed by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

  For Nao and Jen

  Sisters, sisters

  There were never such devoted sisters

  Irving Berlin

  (and frequently sung to me by my Grandma Kitty)

  ‘Words can’t even explain it right now, I’m just so happy’

  Kyle ‘Bugha’ Giersdorf,

  on winning the Fortnite World Cup Finals, in July 2019

  Contents

  PART ONE

  PART TWO

  PART THREE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY ABI SILVER

  PART ONE

  LONDON, NOVEMBER 2019

  1

  Steady, steady, keep my hands steady. Forward, forward, ease my way forward.

  Which way now? Straight ahead, I’m exposed. Left or right, I’m a sitting duck. Stay here? Not an option.

  Need a strategy.

  Stay alive, that’s a strategy. Ha! But how?

  Keep moving to stay alive. That sounds better.

  Heart rate’s up. Take a breath. Look around. I’m going out there, across that wasteland.

  So, here goes.

  Moving fast, cover the distance in double time.

  I’m fast, but they are too. Need to get to the higher ground. If I’m stuck down here, I’m a goner.

  How far to the big hill? Read the map. Breathe.

  Not too far. Pace myself. Take it in stages.

  Almost at the first buildings, check they’re empty. Check.

  Take refuge inside. Check.

  Mission accomplished. Easy peasy.

  Refill ammo. Clip it on, turnaround. Check location.

  How’m I doing?

  Eighty-seven left and I’m closing in. Seems quiet for now. Oh God.

  One to my left. Bam! Got him. Ew. One more behind that pillar. He’s a crafty one. No rush. Wait for him to poke his head out and then blow him away.

  How’s my ammo? Needs refreshing. Not till I get him though.

  Come on baby, rise and shine. Come on! My finger’s itchy on this trigger.

  There he is. Bam! Bam! Bam! Yesss!

  Feeling good. Blood pumping.

  Took a while for him to die. Pity, he had a cool bandana.

  Take a look around. All alone. Then, I’ll have it. Anything else? His ammo too, and that nice little customised knife. Talk about grave-robbing.

  How’m I doing? Eighty-one still standing. I’m doing my bit for the numbers. Where’s everyone else? Come on, if you’re hard enough [laughs].

  Hey buddies, there’s a storm coming. Better get moving. Back to that plan. Move on up.

  Check my health. I’m going to drop some cash and grab some armour.

  Hm, mmmmmm [hums through teeth].

  Moving forwards. Where’s that hill? Head for the higher ground.

  Come on! Get those toned limbs moving. What’s the point of cardio, if you can’t get going when the going gets tough. Ha!

  Tricky bit here. Like a rat run. Mustn’t get caught.

  There’s someone behind that wall. If I wanted to hide, that’s where I would be. I was wrong. I’m slipping. Take a moment. Breathe.

  Check the location monitor. Someone coming in fast from the left, again. Is that my weak side? Where are they, where are they, where are they? Bam! That’s where they were. Yeuch.

  Time to use my grenade. Three of them ahead in that barn. Just pull the pin and toss it in. Whoosh. Wow. Look at those guys burn. Char-grilled. Sixty-three left. And I’m coming to terminate them all.

  Taking stock. What did I forget? Bounty? I could try that. Why not?

  Jump in the truck. Oops, my steering’s not the best. Which way? Good job I can use a compass.

  Where are they? Over there, I think, behind the aircraft hanger. Out I get, running forward. My feet are pounding; thud, thud, thud. Feel the vibration all through my body. Ready for a fight. Breathe.

  First one’s close now, I can smell him. There? No, false alarm. There? Missed him. There? Bam, bam, bam. Gone, obliterated. Bounty cashed. Kerching!

  Feeling good. Everything’s pumping.

  Seconds ticking down. Buy another grenade and something to boost my health to survive that storm. Not a
second too late. Here it comes, from the East, destroying everything, bending low. Wait it out. Fifty-two left.

  Taking stock. Slow my breathing. Where was I before all this? The bounty, the storm. The hills. That was it. Run for the hills, the higher ground. That’s what they said. That’s where I’m going.

  Getting hot. Really hot. Should’ve opened a window. Too late now.

  Focus, focus. Hot, hot, hot. All that blood making me hot.

  Can’t have sweat rolling into my eyes. Flick my head back, just for a second and it should splash off. Don’t take my eyes off that doorway. There’s sure to be someone behind it.

  Oh God, oh God, I need to speed up. They’re catching up on me. Higher ground. Need to get to that higher ground. How to get there faster? Come on, come on. Use my brain. Think. No time to think. Breathe. No time to breathe. There, over there. A microlight. Can I fly it? Let’s have a go.

  Side to side, wobble, wobble, pull back on the joystick, harder. Now I’m getting the hang of it. I’ll need to rise quickly. Shots coming from the ground. What was that? Too close for comfort. Check location. I’m getting away. Yay. You can’t catch me. Five hundred, 1,000, rising still. At 2,000 feet I’m safe.

  This is crazy. Fly like a bird. I could get used to this.

  Whoa. Don’t look down. Gun battles galore, blood and guts spewed over the corpse-strewn ground. Take my time. Still my pulse. Exhale.

  Only twenty-two left. I’m doing pretty well for a rookie. I should buy a life. That’s what they said, but nowhere to cash in, not up here. But where to come down? Can’t stay up here for ever.

  Time to land then. Those rocks should give me cover.

  Grenade from the right. Shakes the ground. Shakes the world. A flash and another. And now, my legs won’t move. I’m down in the dirt, horizontal, prone, prostrate. Down but not out.

  Get up! Get up! Get up!

  Rushing, pounding, thudding.

  Hot, hot, hot.

  I’m fading fast. Was I hit? Don’t think I was hit.

  There’s no blood. It’s in my ears, in my head; bumping, pumping, thumping.

  It’s getting dark. Two more hours of daylight, but it’s getting dark.

  No air. I’m outside but there’s no air. Breathe. I can’t breathe. I can breathe but I can’t breathe.

  Am I alive or am I dead?

  I just need to get to the higher ground.

  2

  Constance Lamb stood opposite Hackney police station, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her breath freezing in the cold November air. She hadn’t been told much about why she’d been summoned: another youth in trouble, eighteen years old, burglary, they’d said and she’d considered staying home and letting the job pass to the next in line. But then she’d heard her own voice, detached, some distance away, agreeing to take this one, even as her outstretched hand drew back the curtain and she saw the frost glistening on the pavement outside.

  Cross with herself, confused as to the precise mechanism by which her mouth had said yes when her brain had said no, she had zipped up her boots, thrown on her thick coat, turned off the oven – her dinner would have to wait – and walked briskly to her destination. Except now she hesitated, on the threshold, taking a moment to gather her strength. Not her physical strength; it was less than half a mile’s walk from her flat, although she’d moved quickly to keep warm, tucking her scarf in tight, her hands thrust deep into her pockets, and she was hardly bothered by the distance.

  No, it was inner strength, resolve, determination that was required on these occasions; assimilating information calmly, efficiently and from disparate sources, the need to act professionally, the requirement to gain and maintain the trust of a total stranger and the necessity to make the right decision about next steps, when so much depended on it.

  She made a tunnel with her mouth and blew out three short breaths, tipping her head back and watching the white plumes stretch forwards and up. Then she crossed the road and went inside.

  The policewoman on duty – uniform too tight, hair scraped back in a high ponytail – nodded to Constance and waved her off down the corridor.

  ‘Number five,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t have any details yet,’ Constance called out, over her shoulder.

  ‘You do now.’

  Constance turned at Chief Inspector Dawson’s voice. He was thinner than the last time they had met. Was it a deliberate health drive or had he been unwell? His eyes were fine points of light, his cheeks were sunken and his hair, cut short at the sides, was greyer than she remembered. And it had only been a matter of weeks.

  He handed her a wedge of papers and accompanied her to the interview room. Constance sat down without removing her coat, and her eyes skimmed over them, the words ‘murder’ and ‘robbery’ shouting out to her from the page, before settling on the name of the victim.

  ‘They told me burglary,’ she said, knowing, as she spoke that her complaint was meaningless.

  So what if she’d expected some trumped-up petty theft, which would occupy her for half an hour? She was here now and she would have taken the murder charge anyway; she always did. Dawson shrugged and she noticed him wincing at the involuntary movement; the tiniest twitch of one corner of his mouth giving him away.

  ‘What’s the connection? Between my client and the victim?’ Constance asked.

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping he’s going to tell us.’

  ‘I mean, what evidence have you got?’

  Dawson sat back and his eyes found hers. ‘We’ve got fingerprints, his prints in her apartment.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We’ll have the post-mortem results shortly.’

  ‘What makes you think she was murdered? Two days ago, you thought it was natural causes. I saw the headline. Eminent psychiatrist slips away in her sleep.’

  ‘You noticed it was her.’ Dawson’s tone was conciliatory.

  ‘Elizabeth Sullivan. There can’t be two of them, both dying on the same day, on the same street. I do keep up.’

  Dawson smiled. ‘That’s why we have post-mortems, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘And the burglary?’

  ‘Her handbag was stolen. There may be other items too. We’ve yet to locate any family who can verify what’s missing.’

  ‘You’ve found the bag since?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘All right. And my client – Jaden Dodds?’

  ‘We picked him up this afternoon. Like I said, his prints match. He’s a neighbour.’

  ‘Cause of death?’

  ‘We don’t know yet.’

  ‘But no signs of violence.’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Was the news report wrong then?’ Constance suddenly felt tired and hungry and conscious that her need for sleep and food were unlikely to be satisfied for some time.

  ‘I can’t disclose anything. But I’ll let you know what I can, when I can.’ Dawson stood up.

  Constance tutted. This was useless.

  ‘Can I see Jaden now, please?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. I’ll have him brought in.’

  ***

  Jaden Dodds entered the room and sat down opposite Constance. He was wearing an expensive-looking bomber jacket, with an orange camouflage pattern, a crisp, white t-shirt with ‘King’ printed on it and a beanie hat. On his feet, he wore striking canary-yellow trainers; the right one had the word ‘human’ written on it in black lettering and the left, the word ‘race’. He crossed one foot over the other and rested his hands on the table. He had a cut above his right eyebrow, just starting to crust.

  Constance waited till the police officer had gone, then picked up her chair and moved it around, tucking it in at the table end, so she was seated to his left side.

  ‘Hello Jaden.’

  Jaden didn’t respond. Constance also leaned forward, her fingers almost reaching his.

  ‘My name’s Constance Lamb. I’m a solicitor. You spoke to someone at my office earlier, Julie, I think it was. I’m here to advise you.’