Nicki sat on a swing in the park opposite the Birdcage pub. The rocking motion soothed her nerves, which had been jangling since her face-off in court with Ellis that morning. She opened her phone and spent some moments scrolling back through photographs, pausing at some, skipping over others. In between, from time to time, she would glance up and check on Ellis.

  She could see him, seated inside, his back to her, chatting to the barman. It wasn’t his clothes or his hair; she would have recognised him just from the way he was seated, his feet crossed neatly and drawn in tight against the stool, his elbows wide on the bar, his glass raised in silent salute to whatever liquid it contained. Part of her willed him to feel the intensity of her gaze, to turn around and see her there and come to her. But perhaps she wasn’t ready after all. The things she had prepared to say, rehearsed over and over, now overtaken by events.

  A blackbird alighted near the base of the swing and rooted around in the earth, its splayed feet catching in the few remaining tufts of grass. Slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb its labours, she lifted her headphones to her ears, pressed the play button on her phone and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Constance had been busy. She had reviewed police files and interviews from the early days of the investigation and found, buried at the very end of a report, a reference to a taxi driver who had confirmed dropping Rosie home the night before she died, having picked her up at a restaurant in the West End. There was no accompanying statement, but Constance quickly tracked him down via Uber. Of course, they insisted that they could not give away his contact details but would pass on Constance’s and they were sure he would call, if it was as important as she said.

  Constance sat in a café checking her phone every 30 seconds until, after around ten minutes, she decided to take action. She quickly found three people bearing the same name as the driver on Facebook, narrowed it down to two possibles and messaged them directly. Two minutes later, her phone rang.

  36

  ‘Tonight we are going to focus on the role of the judge in a criminal trial; what they do, what experience they need to have. And we’ll look, in particular, at the judge in our featured trial, Judge Bridget Nolan. What do we know about her background?’ Katrina was on the sofa of the Court TV studio, a large photo of Judge Nolan projected on the wall behind her. ‘Andy, tell us why we need a judge in a criminal trial, in the first place.’

  * * *

  Andy had seriously considered calling in sick today. The more he reflected on his performance so far, the more he worried about what was coming next. Clare had found him locked in the bathroom and, after a frank exchange, had convinced him to return. Seeing her before him, hands on hips, formidable as ever, he wondered if Clare might have been a better choice for the show than he was, but he suspected it might be noticed if he sent her in his place.

  ‘I don’t understand the problem,’ Clare had said, standing over him as he sat hunched on the edge of the bath. ‘You do this for a living. Why the sudden panic?’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Andy tried to explain. ‘I thought it would be, but it just isn’t. It’s not like when I’m in court and I know exactly what I need to achieve. OK, I might try to be charming or make the odd, gentle quip to lighten the mood, depending on the circumstances, but otherwise I’m prepared and focused and there’s one objective only; sending the murdering bastard to jail.’

  ‘It’s the same with the show, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. It really isn’t. There’s the general objective of any TV show, I suppose, which is to be entertaining, which isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially when you can’t see your audience and you don’t even know its demographics. Then, there’s the professed objective of this show, which is to educate the public about the law, and then there’s the unspoken objective, which is to say scandalous, outrageous things, to make our own new headlines on top of the ones we’re reporting on. But I have to do all of that without knowing what’s coming next and without offending anyone.

  ‘And, on top of that, they’re doing a feature on the judge tonight and they’ll want me to comment on how she’s doing, to analyse and criticise, like they made me do the other day. And, quite apart from what they’ll say in chambers, I might find myself arguing a case in front of her next week; well, not next week, but once this is over. I feel like I’m on a tightrope with no safety harness, and Katrina is shaking one end up and down with a big smile spread across her face.’

  Clare had laughed and then, seeing his total bewilderment, had held him close.

  ‘It’s something new for you and it will take a bit of time for you to adjust, but I know you will manage,’ she said, kissing the top of his head. ‘Remember you’re all on the same side and just let people see a bit more of you, the real you. Then they’ll love you, just like we do.’

  * * *

  ‘Thanks Katrina. That is a very good question,’ Andy, in the studio, trying very hard to be himself, replied. ‘In civil trials, for example, when I want to sue you for selling me a TV set which doesn’t work, the judge makes the decision. But, in criminal trials their role is a bit more like a referee – probably quite an apt analogy in this case. The judge listens to the evidence and tells the jury which bits are the most important, which less so, and which parts they must ignore.’

  ‘Are they allowed to ask their own questions?’

  ‘They are, especially if a point isn’t clear, but they try to remain as neutral as possible, for obvious reasons.’ Phew! He had used the word neutral and Katrina had now asked two open questions in a row, a record for her.

  ‘If you’ve got two strong personalities before you, though, like Jeremy Laidlaw and Judith Burton, is it hard to keep the peace?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be. First of all, Jeremy and Judith know the rules too, and they shouldn’t be overstepping the mark in the first place.’

  ‘Assuming they do, like with the late calling of this new expert, where they were clearly unable to agree…’

  ‘The judge must weigh up the pros and cons and decide, on balance, whether it’s appropriate to allow this evidence in.’

  ‘But this expert on transitioning, I got the impression, from the look on Judith’s face – here we can watch the exchange…there you are…we didn’t need our body-language expert for that one – she was pretty surprised at that decision.’

  ‘Me too. But the judge is in charge…and that’s how it should be.’

  Katrina stopped and nodded at Andy. He had stuck to his guns, answered fully and fairly and she had exhausted that line of enquiry.

  ‘Why does Jeremy Laidlaw want this expert?’ Now she moved on.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Andy said.

  ‘Oh come on! You must have an idea.’

  Come on Andy, the voice said in his ear. You know why he wants her. Andy stayed calm.

  ‘He wants to have evidence before the court about Debbie Mallard’s transition,’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t that a gross invasion of her privacy?’

  ‘You were the one who said the public should see the whole truth.’

  Andy, remember whose side you’re on, the voice chipped away in his ear. Perhaps that had been a touch argumentative, Andy conceded and reminded himself to rein it in.

  ‘You think it’s appropriate, then, for medical professionals to give away confidential details about their patients?’ Katrina asked.

  ‘Debbie Mallard was never Dr Alves’ patient. Her evidence is completely irrelevant. She’s just some random doctor the prosecution is wheeling in to make trouble.’

  There he had said it, exactly what he thought and it ticked all the boxes; amusing, informative, irreverent.

  ‘That’s a fascinating take on the new evidence and I’m sure it’s going to spark a lot of questions from our viewers,’ Katrina said and Andy believed she meant it. ‘Now we’re going to talk about Judge Nolan’s background. Stay with us, Andy, as we’ll have more from you later.’

  * * *

  Constance had popped home to shower and change before rushing off to Judith with her latest discovery. Then her phone buzzed and she ran from the bathroom to catch it on its final ring. She wondered if it was Greg wanting to apologise for last time and to chat about Court TV. Instead, it was another, less familiar voice, with some less than welcome news.

  * * *

  ‘We’ll ask for an adjournment; we need to have some time to digest all of this,’ Judith responded, as Constance had anticipated, when she called her.

  ‘Are you sure we need it? We have Laura tomorrow and you said Dawson might be back. Then we can work on it over the weekend.’

  ‘Maybe. But we need to talk to Debbie properly about all of this, not just a snatched fifteen minutes before court. Can you message the judge now and ask for a late start, say 11am, and follow it up in person tomorrow morning? Explain we’ve only just received this. And go and see Debbie first thing. If you have any issues come and find me. Oh, the snake!’

  ‘Who? What?’

  ‘Laidlaw. He was being all pally with me this afternoon when Judge Nolan insisted we call Charlie back. Trying to pretend we were on the same side. And all the time he knew this was coming. Ooh. Sometimes I am so gullible. Never trust a man with polished fingernails. That’s one my mother told me and mothers are usually right on matters of the heart.’

  * * *

  Debbie appeared surprisingly sprightly the next morning, dressed in a lemon suit with a pastel scarf thrown loosely over her shoulders, and she almost smiled at Constance’s approach.

  ‘We may be starting a little late today,’ Constance began. Debbie nodded. ‘There’s been a development.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now the near-smile wavered.

  ‘And not a good one.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Constance sat down and rested her elbows on her knees. ‘Did you know that Rosie kept diaries?’ she said.

  * * *

  Upstairs, as Constance headed back from her encounter with Debbie, she spied Laura at the far side of one of the waiting areas, smartly dressed in black trousers, sitting very upright, staring at her feet. She was about to go forward, when Ellis approached from the other direction. Laura leaped up, ran to him and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his neck. Ellis coloured, looked around him and unwound Laura’s arms, consoling her as he did so.

  ‘I didn’t know where you’d gone last night,’ Laura said. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here now.’

  ‘I just went for a walk and then home to sleep. I should’ve said. But I was always going to come today and support you. You’ll be brilliant. Don’t worry about anything,’ Ellis said. ‘You relax and it will be over, before you even blink.’

  ‘I said I would do it, but I’m not sure now.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  Constance sighed quietly to herself and retraced her steps. She would wait a couple of minutes before approaching again. Maybe Laura wasn’t such a tough nut after all.

  37

  Laura strode into court at 11am to begin the defence case. Debbie treated her to a hint of a smile, before deliberately turning away. Judith clutched her pen tightly and turned over two pages of her notes and began.

  ‘Laura, hello. I appreciate this is a very difficult time for you. Do ask for a break if you need one at any time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Laura said.

  ‘Tell us about your family circumstances while you were growing up.’

  Laura shrugged. ‘What do you want to know?’ she said. ‘We were a normal family.’

  ‘Did you eat your meals together?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Did you go on holidays together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were your parents loving?’

  ‘They looked after me and Ben. When they were busy, our grandma helped out.’

  ‘That’s Debbie’s mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see much of Rosie’s mum? Members of the jury, by way of reminder, that’s Mrs Elaine Harper, who gave evidence on Wednesday.’

  ‘When I was little, we did. But not so much the last few years. She and Mum didn’t get on very well. We saw her at Christmas and birthdays and she and Grandpa Brian would meet me or Ben sometimes without Mum, just for a pizza, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Was that for as long as you remember? When your grandmother gave evidence, she suggested that it was only recently that she and your mum had a falling out, beginning around the time your father told everyone he wanted to transition.’

  Laura looked over at her paternal grandmother. ‘Maybe it was worse recently. I don’t think they ever got on very well. They both have…had strong personalities.’

  ‘How about your relationship with your mother?’

  ‘Mum spent more time at work than at home, but I understood. She had a lot of responsibilities and a lot of fans.’

  ‘And were they always friendly, these fans?’

  ‘Not always. She had some trolls, people complaining about the show.’

  ‘And how did she respond to that?’

  ‘She usually tried to reply, at first. I think, because she was in the public eye, she kind of wanted to explain, if she could.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘If they accepted it, fine. If not, or it got nasty, then she did the usual things; blocked them.’

  ‘Did you have a lot of security at home?’

  ‘A burglar alarm and a small gate at the front, and a camera which didn’t work anymore.’

  ‘If someone knocked at the door, rang the bell, what was the procedure?’

  ‘You mean, did we check who it was before we opened it? There was a spy hole in the door and we had a chain, but that wasn’t Mum’s style. She liked visitors.’

  ‘Your honour, Rosie Harper’s door-opening habits are completely irrelevant,’ Laidlaw objected succinctly for once.

  ‘The prosecution is insisting there was no forced entry to the property, drawing the inference that someone familiar killed Rosie. I am simply trying to elicit from this witness how easy it would have been for a third party, not known to Rosie, to gain access. And I think we have the answer. Do you know a friend of your mother’s called Caroline Fleming?’

  ‘The woman who was here the other day? No, I’ve never heard of her before…or seen her – before the court, that is.’

  ‘You’re twenty-one years old now. When did you move out from home?’

  ‘Two years ago, nearly three now.’

  ‘But you studied in London, so you could have lived at home, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I wanted to move out and Mum agreed. She thought it would be good for me to be more independent. It wasn’t because I wanted to get away from them.’

  ‘Did you know that your parents were unhappy together?’

  ‘I don’t think they were.’

  ‘You don’t think they were unhappy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But they got divorced?’

  ‘Look. It wasn’t like when other people get divorced. They weren’t fighting. One day Dad just left. There was no big explosion.’

  ‘Perhaps they hid it from you? You had already left home.’

  ‘So ask Ben. But he’ll tell you the same. Well, he already did. I’m not sure what it is you want me to say, why you even asked me here. I don’t know anything about who killed Mum, except that I’m absolutely sure it wasn’t my dad.’

  * * *

  ‘Hello Laura. I just have a few more questions for you,’ Laidlaw checked his compendious notes before continuing. ‘Do you love your father?’

  ‘Of course, yes.’

  ‘So, it’s natural that you want to protect him?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s natural but I wouldn’t want him to go to prison for something he didn’t do.’

  ‘Did you love your mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You sound less sure.’

  ‘Your honour. Is this really necessary?’ Judith bobbed up from her seat.

  ‘I will allow a little more. Miss Mallard, can you answer the question, please.’

  ‘I thought I already did. If I sounded less sure, that’s because Mum and I didn’t always get on, like I just said. But I still loved her.’

  ‘You mentioned that your grandmother, Debbie’s mother, helped out when you were younger. Why was that?’

  ‘Dad was often away and Mum left early. Grandma would come over, help with meals, sit while Ben did his homework.’

  ‘I heard you play football, like your father?’

  ‘I used to play, and no, not like Dad.’

  ‘Did you watch your father play?’

  ‘When I was young. I don’t remember much now.’

  ‘You must have met a few famous players?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘You said used to. Why did you stop playing?’

  ‘I hurt my knee.’

  ‘And you don’t play any more?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have wanted to play in the local team your father coaches? I suppose it would be difficult to have your father as your boss.’

  ‘I’ve said, I hurt my knee and I don’t play any more.’

  ‘You did, yes. Sharing the love of football, that must have made you and your dad feel close.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Where do you live? We don’t need the address, just to be clear, the area you live in.’

  ‘I live in Shoreditch.’

  ‘Close to the family home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How often did you see your mother, after you left home?’

  ‘About once a month.’

  ‘Did you speak on the phone, in between visits?’

  ‘No. That’s just how we were. Neither of us was really into chat.’