Page 144 of Dissection of a Murder
The detective sergeant stands in front of me. We don’t know each other—our paths have not crossed professionally—but I can see how much he’s relishing this. His big moment.
“Leila Kesler, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murdering Anton Smythe. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
I know how important this is. Most defendants don’t really listen to the words in the criminal caution, but the response to it can make or break your defense. The words you say in the seconds following arrest are pored over in a trial.
I’ve often wondered what I’d say if my past caught up with me. A million thoughts rush through my head. I think about what Delilah would say and what Leila would say. Two ends of the spectrum. A choice.
Who am I now?
Here, with the man I love more than anything, after what I’ve already put him through, there’s only one thing I can say. I know the weight it will hold, its significance, its consequences.
“Jack had nothing to do with it. This was all me.”
And in that moment, Leila Reynolds transforms into the person I never thought she’d be brave enough to become. Dad would be utterly disgusted.
Just the way I like it.
Epilogue
Delilah
R v Delilah Reynolds
Rule #12
Always Have a Backup Plan
“If this trialhas taught you anything, ladies and gentlemen, it’s that not everything is as it seems. One thing youcanbe sure of, however, is that this defendant is not trustworthy. The Crown rejects the preposterous tale offered by the defendant. It is one of a fantasist. One of a liar. One of a killer. And in due course, I will invite you to return a verdict of guilty in this case.”
John Henley-Bow KC prosecutes my murder trial. He is quite the savage beast. Aggressive—he reminds me of Julian. I’d never heard of him before—he was instructed from London (very fancy), given the high-profile nature of the case. He kept me in the witness box for a whole day. It was a relentless attack, in which he called me a liar, a manipulator, and a delusional woman who lived by a set of “harmful rules” that made me “a danger to everyone I came into contact with.”
A bit overdramatic, if you ask me.
He forced Jack to give evidence against me, of course, which he did, reluctantly, as per my instructions. I watched and listened as the details of our affair were laid bare in court for the world to hear. Printed in newspapers for people to ridicule.
My downfall was the phone.
Fury surges through my body, even now, when I think about it. A monumental mistake. I should have known better. Watching the video play out in court was the lowest moment of my life. A final fuck-you from Elise beyond the grave, whose body remains missing. I thankfully haven’t been charged with her murder. Yet. She’d sent the video to her mother, Lynette, the day we met on the bridge, with instructions to send it to the police if she suddenly went missing. I never stood a chance.
Life’s not fair.
Quite.
There it was, for all to see—a murder filmed on camera. The question was, was I acting in defense of another? If the jury decided that I was, then I’m not guilty and free to go. If they think I wasn’t, I face life imprisonment.
And everything came out in this trial.
Everything.
The press has had a field day with it. They’ve heard it all. Well, they think they have. No one suspects the house fire was me. They still refer to it in court as an “accident.” At least I still have that. My revenge against Dad is mine to keep.
Maxine Connor KC defends me. I wanted a woman to do it. She’s very good. Her closing speech is persuasive. Not quite how I’d have executed it, but probably the best anyone else could do. Obviously, I thought of representing myself, but you must consider how everything looks to a jury. There’s an arrogance to doing that, and the last thing I want them to think is that I’m some kind of narcissist.
They’ve been considering their verdict now for two and a half days and were given a majority direction this morning, as they weren’t able to reach a unanimous decision. I’ve rattled them.
But now they have reached a verdict, so here we are.
I stand, ready to face my fate. I know the drill. Sticking with tradition, I wore the slick trouser suit I always wear for important trials. My hair, now fully blonde again, is tied back into a sleek ponytail. And, of course, I wouldn’t go near a courtroom without my red lipstick. If I’m going down, I’m going down in style. The jury foreman stands up.
