Page 34 of Dissection of a Murder
The shame. The guilt. The self-loathing. The crushing sense of humiliation and exposure.
The only other time I’ve experienced those emotions with the same level of intensity was the night Anton Smythe died.
16
Leila
98 days before trial
“I’ve just hadto ward off three journalists harassing me about you,” Davina says, throwing a large bundle of files down onto the table in the robing room. To a casual observer, I’m calm and cool, sipping the dregs of the filtered coffee I bought from the café and leaning back in my chair, my legs crossed, as the heavy black robes I wear fall elegantly to the floor. My pristine white collarette, which sits snugly around my neck, stands out against my favorite black, fitted trouser suit. It’s my power suit, the one I wear for special cases. Something about the cut makes me feel confident.
But I am not confident. It’s all an act.
“What do you mean, ‘harassing you about me’?” I ask, placing the white cup down onto its saucer. A faint lipstick mark kisses the rim.
“They know you’re married to the prosecutor,” she says. “It gives an already juicy case extra frisson.”
I roll my eyes and start gathering my stuff. I knew this would happen. It isn’t a big deal; married barristers come up against each other frequently in this job and the press know it, but they will make it out to be an issue here because of the nature of the case. They will pit us against each other, and it could eclipse the case itself. It’s also likely to draw unnecessary attention to us. That’s Julian’s territory—I’mnot a fan of being under the microscope. All it will do is highlight my inexperience. If a juror sees it, it could influence their verdict.
“Right, well, that sounds like something I’ll worry about tomorrow,” I say, standing up. “Let’s enter the lion’s den, shall we?”
We’re the first case on in Court 1 of Newcastle Crown Court in front of His Honor Judge Byson. Jack Millman will formally enter his plea to the charge of murder.
Julian stands outside court, talking to some police officers. His confidence oozes out of every pore. I do a cursory nod as I walk by, aware people will be watching. I want to appear professional.
We drove separately to chambers this morning; it didn’t feel right to arrive together. It was a weird atmosphere in the house as we both got ready for work. Usually, we chat about the day ahead and I sing along to whatever is on the radio. Not today. We shuffled around each other, barely saying anything as we prepared for war. We’ve had a challenging weekend. Julian kept getting angry every time I mentioned the intruder at the house on Friday night. I finally told him about the incident with the car and mentioned the other weird things happening, including the message on social media. His response was to simply “turn it off.” He said I should remain vigilant but not be overly concerned, claiming that these things happen sometimes, and it’s easy to think they’re related but that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He conceded it’s natural to be paranoid when involved with a case like this, but I need to remain focused on the trial and not let these things affect my judgment. He is, of course, right. The only thing to do is put it all to the back of my head for now. I’ve got more important things to worry about.
As we approach the door of the court, a middle-aged man with neat, combed-back graying hair and a trimmed beard walks toward us. Next to him is a woman who looks as if she might be his age, but her face doesn’t match the rest of her. Her blonde hair is in a slick,low ponytail, contrasting with the sharp, fitted black dress she wears with black patent stilettos. Her immaculate cream Louis Vuitton handbag sits obediently beside her leg.
“How is he holding up, Davina?” the man asks.
“Sorry, who…?” I ask, pretending to be confused, even though I know exactly who he is. The biggest crime boss in the northeast.
“Miss Reynolds, this is Eddie Sorrington and his wife, Daniella. Eddie owns Temptation,” Davina says, to which they smile and shake hands with me. “Eddie and Daniella are good friends with Jack. I think it was you who got him the job at the club, wasn’t it, Eddie?”
“Yeah, after he came out of prison. He needed a break, especially after…you know…so I gave him a job. Was it you who dealt with him for all that back in 2019?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Hmm.” He nods, making eye contact with me. “I’m sure you’ll do him justice this time around. He had a bit of a rough ride after that. Upset a lot of people. I’m sure you can imagine.”
Yes, I know.
“He’s a hard worker,” he goes on. “Very loyal to those who stand by him. He always does the right thing.”
“Does he?” I ask.
“Always. I took him in and gave him chances when nobody else would. Got him out of the system doing odd jobs for me. We liked having him around, didn’t we, Daniella? He was like a brother to…”
Something changes in his demeanor. The steely exterior drops and the glamorous wife—who has served as a prop until now—discreetly reaches for his hand.
“We suffered a bereavement a while ago,” Daniella says, robotic in tone. Her mouth is the only part of her that moves when she tells us this. She exhales slowly, as if it hurts physically to push the words out of her mouth.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell them both, but don’t inquire further. I always think you can tell when grief is raw and needs to be handled with care.
“Please look after him, Miss Reynolds. Jack is a good man,” Eddie says. His voice breaks a little bit. He swallows hard to compose himself.
“We really appreciate you coming to support Jack,” I tell him. “We’ll let him know you’re here.”
