Page 42 of Dissection of a Murder
Leila
70 days before trial
Since the pleahearing, the Crown has been serving us evidence as they receive it, including evidence from Jack’s phone. Well, I say Jack’s phone: they’re extremely limited in what they can extract, given they don’t have the handset. What they do have, however, are the records taken from his mobile phone provider outlining the date and time of every call he made and every text message he sent since the beginning of the year.
“Davina, have you seen the phone evidence?” I ask, perching my own mobile phone between my chin and shoulder, my eyes skimming over what’s been placed in front of me.
“Yes, just looking at it now. I think there’s a lot more to this than we thought, don’t you?”
“As I suspected. Can we meet?”
“Yes. I also have something for you.”
“Jesus. Is it good or bad?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. Boat Club, 5 p.m.”
She hangs up without saying goodbye.
—
It’s quiet for a Monday evening. The Boat Club is situated on the river with cinematic views of Durham Cathedral. It’s dark outside by5 p.m.; the cathedral is lit up and looks spectacular. We sit in the corner of the restaurant, in a curved booth for extra privacy. It also means I can see who comes in and out. These last few weeks have made me paranoid.
“Thought you should see this,” Davina says bluntly, slamming a newspaper down in front of me.
It’s a full-page article in the local rag about the trial. The headline is “HUB AND WIFE TEAM IN JUDGE-KILLER TRIAL.” My heart sinks. It’s the last thing I need. There’s barely anything about the actual murder; the majority is about me and Julian.
What really pisses me off is that they make me sound like a naive sixth-form law student. Julian, of course, is described as a distinguished silk with many victories to his name. They’ve pulled up our photos from the chambers website. Julian looks exactly like a barrister in his, sophisticated and suave. My long blonde hair falls over my shoulders in mine; I wish I’d had the sense to tie it back. I look young and unprofessional next to him.
“I suppose I had to expect it.” I sigh.
“Ignore it. Nest of vipers, the lot of them.”
“All it does is highlight how underqualified I am to be doing this case,” I tell her. “I don’t need it being broadcast even louder than it already is.”
“You’re not underqualified. You’re right where you need to be.” She smiles. I don’t know what it is about Davina; even though she can be scary at times, she’s also quite caring, if you catch her in the right mood.
We set to the task at hand, ordering drinks before we get started.
“The kettlebell,” she says dramatically, the second the waiter leaves our table after pouring us each a huge glass of wine. “Get this…it’s always used as a doorstop for the bedroom door, which means Jack removed it from there and then put it straight back.”
My eyes don’t leave Davina’s.
“Who uses something as a weapon, then puts it straight back? No attempt to dispose of or hide it?”
“I know,” she interrupts. “These aren’t the actions of, well…”
“An experienced criminal?”
“Quite.”
“What evidence have you got?”
“For about two months prior to the incident, Jack had been weight training with an eighteen-year-old lad called Kit Gordon, who works at Innocence. He used to go up to the apartment before his shifts, and Jack would show him how to bulk up with exercises. For Kit’s birthday, Jack bought him the kettlebell, which he kept at the apartment. They used it in their sessions.”
“Why the doorstop, though?” I inquire.
“It was apparently a running joke that Jack considered it a ‘woman’s weight’—way too light for him—so the only use he had for it in his flat was—”
