Page 5 of Dissection of a Murder
I cross the room toward him. “Can I have a word?” I whisper. It’s unusual to see him loitering in the corner at an event like this. Julian more often roams around the floor, making himself known to people.
He doesn’t answer, just subtly excuses himself in the very classy, elegant manner he inhabits, which I’ve come to recognize over the years. Even after a full day in court, he retains the handsome features that have given him so many privileges: groomed dark hair with the slightest wild kink and silver streak shining through. Large eyes, the color of dark ale. He has this ability to make you feel you’re the only person in the room. He follows me away from the throng.
“You’re panicking already, aren’t you? You’re doing the eye thing.”
Julian always says that my left eye does this weird twitchy thing when I’m really stressed out.
“Of course I’m panicking!”
I fully appreciate that from this moment on, Julian and I are professional opponents. I really ought to be holding my cards closer to my chest in terms of how nervous I feel, but this situation has gripped me by the throat. I can’t breathe.
“Just think of it as any other case,” he says, taking a sip of his warm wine. “But against me.”
“That’s the problem. You’ve got a good eleven years more experience. And you’re King’s Counsel. What if I mess up?”
He slides his hand around my waist, giving it a little squeeze.
“You’ll be fantastic. This is your chance to shine.”
“Fine for you to say. You’ve got the easier job. Who’s ever acquitted of murder?”
“There you go. Less pressure.” He smiles, giving me a casual, reassuring wink. Now that he’s King’s Counsel, he really only does murder cases—he could do them in his sleep and still win. “When they called to ask if I’d prosecute, I obviously jumped at the chance.”
“You knew I was defending when they offered it to you, and you still said yes?”
“I’d have been mad to pass it up. Such a prominent case. It’ll elevate both of our careers, not to mention the national recognition.”
I understand the logic behind it, but this case will be challenging enough. The nation casting its glare isn’t something I really want.
“I’m surprised they allowed it, given our relationship,” I tell him, more out of defiance than anything else. I’m annoyed he took on the case, but I’m not surprised. Julian would have been the Crown Prosecution Service’s first choice. He is fierce, strong, and fearless as far as advocates go, and his conviction rate is very high. The fact he’s prosecuting against his former pupilandyounger wife will have everyone in the CPS rubbing their hands with glee. They’ll see it as a clear win, and if I’m being honest with myself, Julian will see it that way, too.
As will everyone else.
“They made it very clear that, providing we act professionally and impartially, and have open and honest communication, there’s no reason why we can’t be opponents. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time a husband and wife have gone up against each other in court. You’re not suggesting I should have turned it down, are you?”
“Of course not!” I lie. “It’s just—this is a big deal for me, and I want to do a good job.” I know how naive I must sound. I suddenly feel like a pupil again, walking into chambers every day desperate to impress everyone, particularly him.
“Have you read the papers yet?” he inquires.
“No, I haven’t had the chance…”
“Looks pretty damning at this early stage. Don’t think he’s got a defense, so it probably won’t even be a trial. I imagine an early guilty plea. You’re worrying over nothing.”
After Julian hands me a glass of wine to calm me down, I try to act normal and chat with members of chambers, but all I can think of is the case. Colleagues insist on coming over to “congratulate” me on securing “the brief of a lifetime,” saying Julian and I will be “fighting it out to the death,” as if we’re starring in a Marvel film.
“Well done, Britney!” slurs Nigel, a high-functioning alcoholic who still somehow manages to run a very successful criminal practice. “Britney” is my chambers nickname and was given to me in my first week. Everybody gets one. The men are assigned names pertaining to a variation of their surname; Julian’s is simply “Kes.” Ridiculous. It’s different for women; we tend to be named after someone we vaguely resemble. When I joined chambers, I had long, blonde hair that contrasted with my big, brown eyes, so I was initiated as “Britney Spears.” The only people who don’t call me this are Jim, Julian, and Chester.
People crowd around Julian and me, clamoring for the tiniest morsel of inside info. As always, there are even some veiled suggestions that I got the case because of him.
“Wow! Very unusual for someone sojuniorto receive such a case. Unheard of. You must have made the right connections!” says Ophelia (aka “Legally Brunette”), daughter of a High Court judge, who scraped a pass at law school and clearly doesn’t understand what nepotism—or irony—is.
I know what they’re getting at. It’s the same thing they’re always getting at—that I only get good cases because of my husband. Because when you marry a KC, that gives you a leg up. You’re suddenly “someone.”
“Got to hand it to him,” Simon bellows, thinking I can’t hear,clutching a glass of red wine like his life depends on it. “Kes has played this one well. Get his younger, inexperienced wife to defend the trial of the decade. Guaranteed a win!”
Roars of laughter follow.
Brilliant.
