Page 118 of Dissection of a Murder
Not now. Please not now. Although I recognize the delivery of the card is perfectly timed. Predictable, really, if I’d thought about it hard enough. But I’ve been so focused on this case, I’ve let things slip.
It’s all part of her game, of course.
One I can’t afford to lose.
58
Leila
5:27 p.m.
It makes senseshe’d time her revenge so it’d coincide with the biggest case of my career. There’s no way to stop it now. It’s coming.
Soon.That’s what she’s telling me with this note. She’s closing in on me.
I have to secure an acquittal for Jack first. Then I’ll deal with her. I can’t let him down.
When I arrive home, the house is cold. I feel sick but I’m starving. Everything in my body is telling me there’s an imminent threat, but I’m also expected to save a man’s life via an intelligent, well-crafted closing speech in the next seventeen hours.
Usually, when conducting a trial, you work backward; figure out the main points you want to tell a jury in your closing speech, then work out how to get there by eliciting that evidence throughout the trial. You can prepare the bare bones of a closing submission before the trial even starts.
Usually.
This case has been monumentally difficult to prepare. The speech will keep me up all night and will have to be delivered perfectly in court against the backdrop of the time bomb ticking quietly in my ear, not knowing when—or where—she is going to strike.
One thing I can’t work out is this: she’s always had enough ammunition to destroy my life. Always. That’s why the timing of everything now makes me nervous. She’s clearly waited so the wound would be so crushing, so intimate, I’d never recover.
I get that.
But the recent messages also point toward Jack. They all seem to be connected to his case. How could that possibly be?
Then a thought flashes through my head, so vile I physically have to close my eyes to get rid of it.
She wouldn’t. Could she?
It can’t be that. Please don’t let it be that.
As hellish, unpalatable thoughts begin to consume my brain, my breathing becomes rapid and I stand, leaving my case papers and laptop on the dining-room table where I’ve set up to write my speech. It will have to wait.
Always be prepared for things to go tits up.
I need to check something.
As I’m about to leave the house, Julian arrives. He dumps his bag onto the floor in the hallway and walks into the dining room. He says nothing, just stands with his hands in his pockets, looking at me.
“What?” I ask, barely able to entertain whatever he has to say. I have bigger things to worry about.
“Very convenient you had the CCTV of Quinn to hand over after Millman’s explosive revelations.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, putting my shoes on.
“You knew he’d met Jack before. You didn’t raise it with him initially.”
“The CCTV only became relevant to my client’s defense following his evidence.”
“And you found out about this mystery woman the same time as the rest of us.”
“What’s your problem?” I snap at him.
