Page 36 of Dissection of a Murder
“But it wasn’t…” he starts saying, before cutting himself off. I watch as he begins to inhale more quickly, then hyperventilate. “This has gone too far. Murder. I’m charged withmurder!”
The reality of the situation has set in, and it’s hard to watch. I’ve seen it happen before; charges like “murder” are simply words until you appear in court and your liberty is suddenly in the hands of someone else. He bangs his fists on the table; the handcuffs clank against the surface. Security peers through the glass window into the conference room, ready to dive in. I raise my hand, letting him know I have everything under control.
“Hey, Jack. Look at me,” I say calmly. His head remains lowered, covered by his hands. “It’s going to be OK. You’re not guilty.”
I quickly look at Davina, who is taking in the whole scene. She’s already unhappy with Jack’s decision to stay quiet until trial, and this won’t inspire confidence. Her worst nightmare is a client who crumbles at the first sign of stress.
“Nobody is going to believe me. You heard the judge. Who’s going to believe me over what they think Anton was like?”
“It’ll be difficult,” I say, placing my hand out in front of him on the table to calm him down.
“He wasn’t as squeaky clean as they all think he was, you know.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask quietly, my eyes quickly flicking to Davina, who is perched on the edge of her seat.
“Everyone’s making such a big deal of my phone going missing. What abouthisphone? Have you searched through that? Becausethat’swhere you’ll find your answers to this.”
“Unfortunately, Jack, we won’t get access to that because we haven’t prepared a defense statement setting out what your defense is. If we do that, the prosecution is compelled to give us any evidence that may assist our defense. If we don’t, we get nothing.”
He leans back in the chair.
“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head.
“Why? Why can’t you do that?”
“I’m not a grass.”
“Jack, this is your life. Your liberty is at stake. You need to think of yourself.”
He shakes his head again.
“So, what’s the plan? Prison for the rest of your life? Doesn’t sound like a great alternative,” I point out, exasperated.
“Look, if you want to put a defense together,” he says, “you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”
“Elaborate, please,” Davina demands. She doesn’t attempt to hide the impatience in her voice.
He shifts toward her. “I’m not going to tell you what happened that night. I can’t. But the answers you need are right in front of you. Where was I the day of the murder? Look at what was happening elsewhere.”
The security guard knocks on the door, signaling they need to take Jack back to the van. As he pushes his chair back, it drags along the floor, sending an ear-shattering noise through the room. Before he reaches the door, he turns to look at me.
“One last thing, Miss Reynolds,” he says. “Don’t trust anyone. That’s what you told me last time, remember?”
17
Jack
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Durham Crown Court
Five years earlier
“Four years?” Isay again, as if repeating it will change the outcome. “That’s the longest sentence I’ve ever had.”
I can’t go to prison for that long. An image of my foster mam flashes through my head as I sit on the edge of the plastic chair, my hands together in front of my mouth as if I’m praying. I can’t help but think of the disappointment she’d feel if she was still here. It was bad enough I was in prison when she died, unable to say a final goodbye. I’ve never forgiven myself for that. She warned me not to do it, but I was adamant I’d give her a good send-off when the time came. That’s the only good thing about terminal cancer: you can at least plan your funeral. They’re expensive, though, so I needed to get some money in, and quick.
I’d planned to sell coke and pills, just for a few weeks. It was pure bad luck I was caught. Even though the judge took circumstances into account, he still locked me up. Some posh prick who didn’t have the slightest clue what it was like to lose the only person you’ve ever loved.
