Page 104 of Dissection of a Murder
“Mr. Millman, for the court record, can you repeat what you said so there’s no ambiguity and we are all absolutely clear?” I struggle to keep my voice steady. A veneer of sweat begins to collect on my chest.
“I didn’t kill Anton Smythe. Someone else did. I told you, I’m not guilty.”
“Your Ladyship, I wonder if I might have a moment with my client?”
“I don’t need a moment,” he interrupts. “I’m not going to tell you anything different from what I’m saying here. I want people—the jury—to know the truth about what happened. So, I’m telling you. All of you. Now.”
Everyone looks at me because it’s my job to steer this ship.
“Mr. Millman, do you know who killed Mr. Smythe?” I ask slowly.
“I do, yes.”
I’ve never known a court be so quiet. It’s as though everyone has stopped breathing.
“Can you please tell this court who it was?”
“I’m not prepared to do that.”
My heart races. I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Whispers sprint around the courtroom. I see Julian in my peripheral vision frantically writing notes, preparing his cross-examination.
“Mr. Millman, you’re charged with murder—an offense that carries life imprisonment, if convicted,” I inform him. “Are you prepared to risk that for someone else?”
“Yes,” he confirms. No hesitation. It sounds far-fetched and unbelievable.
“Is there any information you’re willing to share with us about the night of September 6?”
He takes a deep breath before turning toward the jury.
“For seven months before this incident I’d been having an affair with a married woman. I know how that makes me sound, but she was trapped in an abusive marriage and was very unhappy. We got together and would meet regularly at my apartment. She was there on the evening of September 6.”
“What was the exact nature of your relationship with her?”
“I loved her. Istilllove her.”
Jack continues to gaze at the jury, but you can see the pain in his face. He looks awkward as he says it, having to reveal his most intimate feelings to an entire courtroom.
“What happened that night?” I ask him, pulling him back.
“She came around just after 9 p.m. We were…being intimate with each other when there was a knock at the door at about 10:30 p.m. I didn’t answer it at first—I thought it was something to do with work and hoped they’d leave. Then there was more banging, and a voice shouted, ‘It’s Anton Smythe, let me in.’ ”
“What did you do?”
“I panicked. I didn’t want him in my flat. But he shouted, ‘If you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down,’ or something like that.”
“Mr. Millman, why was Mr. Smythe coming to your flat in the first place?”
“It was regarding his son, Quinn.”
“What about him?”
Jack takes a moment. He peers down at his shoes for a second before facing me again.
“I told him to deal with it. I never wanted it to go on this long.”
“Deal with what?”
“I never wanted it to come out like this.”
