Page 54 of Dissection of a Murder
“I can’t make the dish without it,” I reply. “Go on, it’s less than ten minutes away.”
Rolling his eyes, he slides off the chair, grabs his keys, and heads out of the front door. The slam reverberates through the hallway, plunging the house into silence. I can hear myself breathe. Walking out of the kitchen, I pause in front of the study and listen for the car to leave the drive.
The study is Julian’s man cave and where he prepares all his cases. I rarely go in, preferring to work in the dining room. We like having our separate spaces. He’s started to lock the door in the last few weeks, given the sensitivity of the evidence stored there, and the fact I’m allowed nowhere near it. He’s right about this, of course. Maintaining integrity throughout this trial is so important. It’s the cornerstone of our profession.
He shouldn’t have trusted me to honor that.
I am not losing this case.
After counting to sixty in my head, I quickly remove from my jeans pocket the shiny gold key I had cut earlier today. He didn’t even know I had taken it from his keys at work. Walking to the study, I pop the key into the lock, twist, and open the door.
I’ve got six, seven minutes, tops.
His desk is scattered with documents, most of which I alreadyhave. Julian is messier than I am. I like order but he prefers chaos. Even though this desk looks like a bomb has hit it, he will know exactly where everything is. I need to be careful. He misses nothing. I attempt to search for what I need as delicately as I can without moving much, otherwise he’ll know I’ve been in here.
As I pick up documents, I attempt to assess mentally things he’s highlighted and annotated. What’s the relevance of it? What has he noticed?
And then I see it. What I’m looking for.
It’s the document I spied last time. A schedule of Anton Smythe’s mobile phone activity and a list of phone numbers he’s called and texted. But the real bonus with his phone is this: because the prosecution has access to his handset, they were also able to extract the content of his messages. Removing my phone, I start taking photographs.
The priority is taking photos of every page, which I do at speed. There are over thirty. My heart races with each click of the camera. The internal voice, telling me,You really shouldn’t be doing this, screams on repeat. In these few seconds, I’ve undone over a decade’s worth of immaculate and conscientious work.
I am now professionally dishonest.
I don’t like how that sounds, but I can’t take it back now.
Just as I reach the final few pages—the most crucial—dated September 6, 2024, I hear Julian’s car pull up on the drive.
Shit.
I speed up, unsure of the quality of the photos, but I need to get this finished. Reaching the last page, I take a photo and return the document to where it was. Running out of the room, I lock the door and shove the key into my pocket.
When he walks into the kitchen, I’m standing at the stove,stirring the pan. My breathing is quick, irregular, and I’m sweating. I hope he doesn’t come too close.
“Please don’t make me go back if it’s the wrong one,” Julian says, throwing a box of stock capsules onto the kitchen top.
“They’re fine, thank you,” I respond in the best upbeat voice I can muster, opening a window to cool down.
For the rest of the night, I’m on edge. All I want to do is look at the evidence I now have in my possession. I try to wait until the morning so I can dissect it thoroughly, but in the end, I can’t hold myself back.
After dinner, I tell Julian I’m going for a long bath and take my phone upstairs.
While the water is running, I lock the door, sit on the toilet with a towel wrapped around me and open my photographs. Zooming in, I skip straight to the day of the murder. No wonder Julian was keeping this quiet.
It appears Anton was calling and texting one number repeatedly. At 3:47 p.m. on the day of the murder, he texted that same number:
No, not there. Diamond Lounge 6 p.m. Don’t panic. Nobody knows.
But it’s the last text message, at 3:52 p.m., that makes me understand why Julian never wanted me to see this.
This will be sorted by tonight. I’ll make sure of it. I love you.
26
Leila
39 days before trial
