Page 38 of Dissection of a Murder
“Manipulated?” I repeat back to her. I don’t think she’s aware she used that word.
“Persuaded…” she says, correcting herself. “It is jurors—not the prosecution, not the judge—who are the keyholders to your liberty. Remember that next time.”
“Trust me, there won’t be a next time. Not after this.”
She smiles and reaches for the door handle.
“I have to admit,” I say, “I didn’t have you down as that kind of lawyer.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to think of you doing anything that isn’t by the book.”
She thinks for a few seconds, seeming to consider what to say.
“You’d be surprised.”
Her guard drops when she says it. She’s not the same Miss Reynolds I’ve been with over the past few days. It’s someone else, someone more vulnerable, more complicated. Someone with a story.
“Any last words of advice before they lock me up and throw away the key?”
“Yes, actually.” She nods. “Don’t trust anyone. Especially lawyers.”
18
Leila
80 days before trial
I can’t catch abreak at the moment. All I want to do is work on the trial, now I know for sure Jack is pleading not guilty, but people keep insisting on giving me unrelated tasks.
Often when you’re defending, you suspect your client is guilty, but it is not your function to make that judgment. It is our job, as barristers, to present the evidence before a jury; they determine guilt or innocence.
But with this case, I justknowJack is innocent, and I can’t let him down again. I need to dedicate everything I have to this case, and I have to win. I don’t have time for distractions.
However, Roger, the head of the pupillage committee, has decided that as part of our initiative to draw in “the best of the best,” we must make an appearance at the annual autumn law fair held at Durham University. And when I say “we,” he means me.
“We need to appeal to the youngsters, and you’re good at all that, aren’t you, Britney?” he said to me in his wildly aristocratic voice, fanning his hand around in a bid to demonstrate how beneath him this entire concept was. I had been immersed in drafting a document in the library at the time.
“Well, not really…”
“Yes, you are. What about that blog thing you do? The feminist one?”
“What about it?” I said, suspiciously, peering up at him.
“I think you should go and be our representative. Take some chambers swag. Set up a stall. Be charismatic!”
Easy as that.
It’s the last thing I want to be doing on a Friday morning, but as directed, I take a box full of pens, sticky notes, stress balls(!), and tote bags, all emblazoned with our chambers name, and head down to the university. For good measure, our chambers manager also picked up loads of sweets to dish out, so I’m sorted.
At least, I thought I was.
Upon arrival, I realize I’ve been given the wrong time, and it starts an hour earlier than I was told. Other chambers and solicitor firms are pretty much set up when I walk into the grand hall, and I’m told it’s a case of find anywhere that’s left. I loathe looking unprepared andof coursethe only space left is directly opposite Sienna Fox.
It’s not ideal to look flustered in front of your husband’s ex-wife.
She has obviously arrived early because not only is her stand immaculately tidy with pens already lined up like little stationery soldiers, but she is chilling with a cup of coffee and gently pacing in front of her stand with nothing else to do but admire it.
