Page 59 of Dissection of a Murder
33 days before trial
There he was,just as Keany had said.
At 4:57 p.m. on Friday, August 30, exactly one week before the murder, Jack strolled into Diamond Lounge and went straight up to Quinn Smythe to speak with him. Two things strike me while watching this footage: firstly, they appear to be having an intense discussion about something serious. This, in itself, raises questions. Jack is a prolific criminal, and Quinn is the high-achieving son of a Crown Court judge. They have no reason to be acquainted.
Secondly, Jack’s phone is located at Temptation on the cell site analysis for that time of day, which means he either forgot to take it (and who forgets to take their phone anywhere?), or he deliberately left it for some reason.
Keany was right; Quinn responds negatively to Jack’s presence. He appears agitated at first, running his hands through his hair, fidgeting with his face for a few minutes before completely losing it. Quinn gesticulates with his open hands, starts pointing at him and, at one point, reaches out to place his hand on Jack’s arm, as if to plead with him. Jack calmly removes it. People in the bar start looking over.
We need to get to the bottom of this, so we organize a conferencewith Jack, but have to wait until the following week to get clearance for a visit.
—
When we finally get to see him, Davina and I can barely wait to question Jack on what we have discovered. We’re only a week away from everything shutting down for Christmas, and I want to do so with some feeling of confidence.
He walks calmly into the conference room, as if he isn’t awaiting trial for murder, casually nodding to both of us. He’s wearing matching light gray joggers and sweater. His wild hair is tied back into a messy, low ponytail-thing. Christ knows where he’s got a hair tie from in here. I worry about how he’s treated in prison, but he’s equally someone who deceives people with his looks.
To look at him, he’s a beautiful man. Tall, toned, and athletic. You could easily mistake him, perhaps, for an actor or model on the street, the kind of man who would run the other way in a dangerous situation when, in fact,heis the danger. He has stolen, supplied drugs, and committed violence. Despite possessing a charming eloquence and calm manner, you wouldn’t want to mess with him. This is what worries me about putting him in front of a jury.
“Quinn Smythe,” I say directly. “We know you went to see him a week before the alleged murder. We know Anton went to see him a few hours before he died. What are your dealings with him?”
A small smile spreads across his face.
“Looks like I have a very switched-on legal team,” he says. “Why don’t you just go and ask him what you want to know?”
“He’s the son of the man you’re accused of murdering. Something tells me he isn’t exactly going to be up front about his involvement with you.”
“Too right there,” he says, leaning back in his chair and refusing to pull his eyes away from mine.
“So, what is it?” I ask. “And why didn’t you take your phone when you went to see him?”
“Didn’t wanna lose it.” He shrugs. “Phones have a terrible habit of going missing, you know.”
He’s toying with us.
“Interesting how you went to such enormous lengths to keep it safe and then it mysteriously went missing at such a pivotal moment on the day you’re accused of murder.”
Jack smiles and looks down at the floor for a second.
“It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?” he remarks. “Unpredictable.”
“So, Quinn—”
“Look,” he interrupts, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth would be a start.”
“I told you, I’m not a grass. Especially when it comes to a judge’s son. The judge I’m accused of killing. Did you learn nothing from the last case you defended me for? Things and people have a habit of going missing when you’re up front about them, and I’m not prepared to put myself in that position again.”
“It’s just me and Davina, Jack, you can trust us.”
“Never trust anyone, not even lawyers,remember?”
He spits out the last word. I inhale deeply to hide my frustration. This is getting ridiculous now.
“You shouldn’t have talked,” he goes on, mocking me. “You should have presented your case to the jury.That’s what you said, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Davina looks at me out of the corner of her eye and I’m momentarily embarrassed. I don’t know why—she’s said far worse things to clients—but I dislike my words being exposed in this way.
