Page 24 of Dissection of a Murder
They will do anything to secure an acquittal, even if it’s not by the book, and are funded by all the big-time criminals.
“Why is he doing this? The riddles, the cryptic clues?” she says. “I sensed some friction when he mentioned the last time you represented him. Anything I need to be aware of?”
I place my pen down on the table. It still stings to talk about it. “I advised him—entirely properly—on how to proceed with that case but it backfired. He was convicted, labeled a grass, and went to prison.”
“So, what’s changed now? No offense, but I’m surprised he instructed you again.”
“He knows I’ll run the trial however he wants. No defense statement. No idea what he’s going to say in evidence. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, but he knows I won’t stop it. I owe him.”
“If he makes us work out what happened, I guess he technically hasn’t grassed anyone up?”
“Exactly.”
“And it has the added bonus of clawing his reputation back, by the look of things. The criminal network talks. Whoever he’s protecting—and it sounds like they’re high up—they remain safe. That’ll get out. He’s smart, this one.”
This is why Jack chose Davina as his lawyer. Damage limitation. He knows that as long as he doesn’t speak, Davina will make sure the criminal underground hears about it. Whether he’s acquitted and gets out or goes to prison, his reputation as a snitch will at least be gone.
“I wonder if I should have a conference with him alone, see if he’ll talk.”
“Alone?” I ask, confused. “Why?”
“I think he’d be more likely to talk to me if you weren’t there.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I think clients like Jack—they’re removed from the likes of you. They see the wig and robes and there’s an air of distrust. They trust me because I’m more on their level. He might open up to me. I’d relay everything back to you, obviously.”
Setting aside the fact that I’m not remotely convinced Davinawould tell me everything Jack said in a secret conference of this type, I’m insulted she’s portrayed me as being stuffy and out of touch with my client.
“I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Leila…”
Why is she pushing this? What’s the urgency to be alone with him? Especially after the conversation we’ve just had.
“No,” I say firmly. “I think it’s best we see him together.”
A silence hangs in the air. I don’t want the conference to get off to a bad start, but I need to be definite with her about this.
“So, where do you want to begin? The postmortem?” Davina asks abruptly. “Pretty grim reading.”
“Cause of death—subdural hematoma. Bleeding to the brain as a result of blunt force trauma. Died a few hours after arriving at the hospital,” I confirm. “He was hit over the head with a blunt weapon, something heavy by the looks of things.”
“It’s this,” she answers, picking up a photo of a kettlebell, surrounded by markers to demonstrate how big it is.
“What weight is it?”
“Ten kilograms. Pathologist claims it’s consistent with the injury.”
“That’s bad for us if he’s going to go down the self-defense route. The kettlebell was found at the scene, effectively acting as a doorstop in the bedroom. No attempt to hide it and no prints, is that right?”
“Yes. Odd, isn’t it?”
I lean back in my chair, staring at this photo of a black and electric-blue kettlebell.
“Very. Is there any indication where it was kept before that?”
“Nothing in the file.”
