Page 76 of Dissection of a Murder
Maybe it’s true that I will not, and do not, stand a chance.
—
As far as Christmas Days go, it’s bleak. Julian gives me a pretty, but overpriced Tiffany bracelet, and we go for lunch at a local restaurant.We stick to non-work chat, but it feels forced, stale. Neither of us can forget what was said last night and the only thing to cleanse the air now is going to be the end of the trial itself. This case hangs over our heads like a dark thundercloud, gathering electricity, waiting to unleash hell in a matter of weeks.
I’m relieved to get home and settle down in front of the TV. At about 8 p.m., our phones buzz at the same time and I momentarily panic, wondering if it’s something to do withher. But it’s not.
It’s a message in our chambers WhatsApp group from Chester.
Never thought I’d be saying this again, but guess who’s about to become a father for the third time? Demi said she’ll do all the nappies providing I fund the “Insta Nursery,” whatever the hell that is. Baby Vernon due May 2025!
Attached to the message is a scan photo of a baby. I read it and immediately look at Julian. He has no reaction whatsoever and puts his phone straight back down again.
“What do you think about this, then?” I ask, surprised.
“Good for them, I suppose.”
“You can’t honestly see Chester running around after a toddler? At his age?”
“None of our business, is it?”
And then the possibility of it hits me. I pause, while my head scrambles to work things out.
“If the baby is due in May, that means it must have been conceived around…August-ish.”
He looks at me, puzzled. “So?”
“Just something Chester said a while back, that’s all.”
“What did he say?” Julian asks, turning to look at me.
“Oh, nothing. Just…you know what he’s like.”
We continue watching TV, but my mind is running one hundred miles an hour. Chester’s message has given me an idea, but more importantly, it’s given me hope.
Julian was wrong.
If anyone’s coming out of this a winner, it’s going to be me.
38
Leila
3 days until trial
It’s the Fridaybefore the trial starts. The last working day to ensure everything is in order. We begin Monday morning, 10:30 sharp.
I’ve set up one of the conference rooms as a base, and Davina comes in when she can. The large table is taken up with folders, documents, photos, and empty Starbucks coffee cups. Jim brings me pastries from the bakery around the corner whenever he nips out, and I couldn’t love him more for it. I’m mainlining coffee like there’s no tomorrow and only eating things that require one hand to do so. I’m averaging around five hours’ sleep a night. The classic pretrial ritual.
When I finish, around 6 p.m., I’m grateful to go somewhere that isn’t home or chambers. With everything going on, visiting Audrey’s house on a Friday night has become my constant.
The external lights switch on as I walk up the driveway, signaling my arrival. The savage January wind wraps around my body and threatens never to let go. I pull the long puffer coat around myself as I make my way toward the house.
The door is unlocked again, and a wave of irritation rushes through me. Why have I bought extra locks for the door if she never uses them?
“Only me!” I yell, as music travels down the hall. Odd. It doesn’t sound like her usual Classic FM.
Walking into the lounge, I see Audrey sitting in her window chair, looking unusually bright and cheery. Whenever I come to visit her, she has a drawn look about her—a result of being bored all week. But, today, she looks invigorated and has natural color in her cheeks. She looks as if she’s been brought back to life.
