Page 67 of Dissection of a Murder
The smile I’ve adopted throughout the interview vanishes. This isn’t a question from a law student.
It’s fromher. It must be.
“Great questions there. Can you explain exactly what a head of chambers is, Leila?”
“Of course,” I say, forcing the smile back onto my face. “Barristers work from a set of offices—or chambers. The head of chambers is our leader and makes all final decisions that affect us.”
“So, things like which students to take on for—what’s it called? Pupillage?”
“Yes. Sometimes the head of chambers is on the pupillage panel. But it’s difficult to get in—you have to impress them first with an outstanding CV, then spend a week with them. If they think you’re good enough, you get an interview.”
“Sounds intense!”
“It is. My head of chambers has been a tremendous supporter of mine since day one. It’s important to have that from senior members. I applied to Innovation because of their reputation for upholding exceptionally high moral standards and integrity. There is nothing more important to me than maintaining professional excellence.”
I watch as Serene scribbles this down in her notepad; the diamonds from the rings on her fingers sparkle in the light.
“Sorry, who asked that question?” I ask her.
“A girl called Liza.”
“No, I mean what’s her username?”
“Give me a second.” She fiddles about on her phone for a minute or so, not that I need her to. I know exactly what name she’s going to give me.
“It was@JustAnotherDumbBlonde. She sounds switched on, doesn’t she?”
Itisher. Of course. It’s been her all along.
It didn’t quite click before: the girl asking weird questions at the lecture, the figure hanging around my car, the person at the house. The messages. Call it naivety or denial, but she’s been gone such a long time, it’s taken me a while to realize—or admit—she’s back. This is about so much more than the case and my behavior as a lawyer—this is about us, our past.
Now she’s here, I know she won’t be satisfied until she’s destroyed me.
But why is she mentioning the trial? How is she connected to it? The thought sends me into a blind panic.
Calm down, Leila. She’s just scoured the papers and is trying to scare you.
If she thinks she’s going to reenter my life after all these years and sabotage the most important moment of my professional career, she’s wrong.
33
Leila
21 days before trial
11:41 a.m.
“Can I havea word, darling?” Julian says like a smiling assassin, poking his head around the door to the conference room I’m working in at chambers. He doesn’t wait for an answer before striding in and standing over me. His white shirt—the one I ironed for him—looks immaculate against the salmon-pink tie hanging around his neck.
He’s wearing his smug face, the one I’ve seen countless times before as his pupil. He’d tell me before we went into court that he was about to decimate his opponent with a piece of evidence that would shut the case down, and that I ought to watch their face when the penny dropped. I lean forward over my notebook so he can’t see what I’m doing, which is a bit rich, given that I stole evidence. I’m immediately suspicious of him coming in to see me now on the final working day before we break for holiday; whatever he’s about to give me he’s purposefully left until now, knowing I won’t be able to do much with it until we return in a couple of weeks. It’s a tactic I’ve seen him deploy in the past.
My professional spikes shoot up, knowing something bad is coming.
“We’re in possession of CCTV that traces Jack’s final movements in the hours before the murder.”
There it is. I’m sure he’ll have had this CCTV for at least a week. He hangs on to evidence and deliberately presents it at the last, or worst, possible opportunity. One of the “tactics” he taught me when I was a pupil. Unbelievable.
“Alleged murder,” I rephrase through gritted teeth. He sighs, knowing I’m being pedantic.
