Sophie Eaton, Hari Singh and Maisy Waller all nodded. She went on.
‘Starr told the court he believes Mr Gready was responsible for his brother’s murder. But it is hard to see how he could have been involved, since he was in prison at the time of the very sad murder of Mr Starr’s brother,’ Meg added.
‘I would have to disagree with you there,’ Roberts said. ‘In my experience as a police officer, prisoners with influence have plenty of access to the outside world — much of it through smuggled phones, as well as corrupt prison officers. An inmate with Gready’s alleged credentials and criminal contacts would have no problem arranging a hit on someone, anywhere.’
‘Point taken,’ Meg replied. ‘But can any of us around this table say, again, with complete certainty, that the evidence given against the defendant by Mr Starr is the truth? Please raise your hands if you believe this.’
No one did.
Meg’s heart was thumping, she really was on a roll. ‘Let’s finally consider the evidence given by the defendant himself. As we have all heard, Terence Gready believes he is a victim of a perfect storm of events and that he has been framed by a bitter would-be client whom he refused to take on, on moral grounds. And he believes Starr has been assisted by a police officer — perhaps more than one — who bears a grudge against Gready for the mere fact that he defends criminals the police have arrested, and often gets them off.’ She paused and took a sip of water. Her mouth was dry.
‘We know Starr to be a highly untrustworthy person, who has already admitted that he is both a smuggler of Class-A drugs and a major player in a substantial county lines drugs distribution network. Do any of us believe, with certainty, that the evidence from this person, implicating the defendant, Mr Gready, is the truth? Please, again, give me a show of hands.’ She hammered home the message, remembering from her sales training days that a sales message needed to be seen or heard three times before it would start to be effective.
No one raised a hand.
She was beginning to feel elated. She had them eating out of her palm! ‘Can I now ask you all, please, to write down on a piece of paper your verdicts? Guilty, not guilty, or don’t know.’
A couple of minutes later she scooped up the scraps and then looked at each. She moved the ‘not guilty’ votes to the right, ‘guilty’ to the left.
Two ‘guilty’. Seven ‘not guilty’ — eight, including herself. If she could get just one more ‘not guilty’, she would be home free, if the judge allowed a majority verdict.
The missing vote and unknown quantity was O’Brien, still preoccupied with his spreadsheets.
‘Rory,’ she prompted. ‘Could you let me have your decision?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘not yet, no. I’m going to need more time.’
‘How much more?’ she asked, politely, not wanting to put him under pressure.
‘Several hours at least,’ he replied.
‘What!’ Mark Adams exclaimed, furious. ‘This is ridiculous! Surely we’ve all heard enough to make a decision about the defendant’s guilt. Do we have to drag this out for yet another day?’
Meg turned to the jury bailiff. ‘I think you need to let the judge know that we will not be reaching a decision today.’
Toby exclaimed, ‘Don’t say we are all now going to be sequestered in some bloody shabby hotel. What a nightmare!’
‘That happens in films, Toby,’ Roberts said. ‘It only happens in real life if a judge has concerns there might be an attempt to interfere with the jurors.’
Meg felt her face smarting and hoped it didn’t show. If Roberts was her mystery friend, he was keeping up a remarkable poker face.
The bailiff suddenly made an announcement. ‘His Honour would like you all back in court, please.’
When they were seated in the jury box, Jupp addressed them. ‘Have you elected a foreperson? If so, will that person please stand.’
Meg stood, suddenly a bag of nerves.
‘I understand you are still making your deliberations?’
‘That’s right, Your Honour.’
‘No problem, you can continue tomorrow but I intend to adjourn the court for today. You may all go home, but I will remind you that you must discuss neither this case, nor your deliberations, with anyone, not even your loved ones and closest family. It is also important that you don’t talk to each other about this case either or undertake any research. This includes when you come back to court tomorrow morning and may find yourselves in the retiring room together. Discussions cannot continue until you go back to the room with the jury bailiff. Court is adjourned until 10 a.m. tomorrow.’
100
Wednesday 29 May
It had been a great fishing trip on Saturday, with the sea almost flat calm. Bruno had reeled in a ton of mackerel when they hit a shoal on the way out, and later hooked a fine bass, several good-sized mullet and a Dover sole. They’d taken some of the catch home and Bruno had eagerly helped cleaning and filleting the fish, which they’d then barbecued on Sunday. Bruno seemed in his element, and happier than Roy and Cleo had ever seen him. Humphrey had gobbled down his leftovers, too, and it did seem he might be turning a corner. The vet had referred him for myotherapy treatment at the Galen Centre, where he had started on a course.
To Roy and Cleo’s relief, the therapist believed through her assessment that the dog wasn’t becoming aggressive but was being grumpy towards Noah as a consequence of being in pain with his muscles. This also explained his occasional reluctance to go for walks and the continual licking of his paws. There was still a way to go with the treatment, but they were happy with the early signs and news that he could be helped back to health with some more sessions. Roy was relieved that Humphrey’s grumpy moods and uncharacteristic bouts of being aggressive had nothing to do with Bruno. He’d never really considered it that seriously, but it was often Cleo’s first thought when Humphrey acted strangely that it must have something to do with his elder son perhaps tormenting him.
But now, coming up to the 6 p.m. briefing of Operation Canoe, Roy Grace was less happy with the team’s progress in the case. They were still no further along with any clues as to Stuie Starr’s killers, and Norman Potting had warned him earlier in the day, as if he didn’t already know it, that Cassian Pewe was even more on his back than ever.
Suddenly his door burst open and a beaming Potting lumbered in, holding something in his outstretched hand. Before Grace had a chance to rebuke him for not knocking first, the DS said, ‘We have a breakthrough, chief!’
‘Yes? Tell me?’
Triumphantly, the DS plonked a small black memory stick on his desk. ‘Take a look at this!’
Grace frowned. ‘What’s on it?’
‘Take a look!’ he beamed.
Grace inserted the USB, then clicked the image that appeared on his screen to open it and saw the start button for a video. He clicked on that and immediately there was an aerial view of lush, rolling countryside. The video was silent, slowly moving across the landscape, and very steady. Was it from a drone, he wondered?
Shortly, Grace could see a housing estate, and near it a cluster of industrial buildings. The landscape changed, rapidly, to an urban one — the edge of a town or city. He always found aerial views took a while to figure out, everything looked different and distant. But it was starting to look a little familiar as they passed over a large church or cathedral.
‘Recognize that?’ Potting exclaimed, his excitement palpable.
‘Chichester?’
‘Yes! Look at the date and time, top right on the screen!’