Page 55 of Dissection of a Murder
12:21 p.m.
It becomes clearafter a night of barely any sleep that I can’t keep this kind of information to myself, so after thinking long and hard about it, I elect to tell Davina. Given her proclivity toward the less ethical side of lawyering, I’m hopeful I can speak to her in confidence.
After requesting an emergency conference with her just after midday, when I meet her in Starbucks she practically launches herself at me. She must have sensed there has been a development, for she is wearing one of her statement piece power suits with significant shoulder pads.
She barely flinched when I told her what I’d done.This is why Jack instructed her in the first place.It’s a necessary means to an end.
“We need to find out whose number that is,” she confirms, picking up her enormous red cup. “And fast. Clock is ticking. This is only the tip of the iceberg, I suspect.”
“What have we got ourselves into here, Davina?”
“Whatever it is, we can handle it,” she says, completely unperturbed. “So, how do you want to do this?”
“We need to be careful. We can’t do anything that alerts the prosecution to the fact we know about the texts.”
“But we need to know who he’s messaging. I mean, what’s he talking about, ‘Nobody knows’? Sounds shady to me, and relevant to the case.”
“Yes, but without any kind of defense being put forward, the prosecution won’t disclose the messages—they don’t know it’s relevant to us.”
“There’s only one way to know whose phone number it is,” she says. I already know where she’s going with this. “We’ll have to call it.”
“Absolutely not,” I reply sharply. “Just seeing these texts is bad enough. Calling any of the numbers is interfering with potential prosecution witnesses. Not to mention the fact that it would leave a trail back to us, and if found out, I’d be disbarred.”
“Not necessarily.” She shrugs casually. “We don’t have to disclose who we are. Think of it as a fact-finding prank call in pursuit of justice.”
The way she phrases it makes me think this isn’t the first time Davina has done this. I let the knowledge relieve my guilt slightly. I’m not the only one at fault here.
“Even if we could call it, how would we do it? I’m not calling from my phone.”
“Use our work mobile! It’s the one we use whenever we call clients. The call comes up as a withheld number. Do you think any of our punters would answer the phone if the firm’s name popped up?”
Jack’s face flashes into my head for a moment. The one from the last time I represented him, and he was about to be sent to prison. I can’t see that again.
“What would we even say?” I ask.
“You’re the barrister. Be creative!” she says, her words bathed in nonchalance. After I tapped the number into the phone, the display says “calling” and she hands it to me.
“No!” I whisper, through gritted teeth. I hear the ringtone before holding it up to my ear.
Feeling panicked, I scramble to think of something to say when someone answers after four rings.
It’s a man.
“Hello?” the voice says. He’s obviously somewhere outside. I hear traffic and beeping from a pedestrian crossing in the distance.
“Hi there,” I reply, looking at Davina. “Erm, this is PC Windsor calling from Durham Police Station, central division. Is now a good time to chat?”
He doesn’t reply immediately, and the sound of traffic in the background fills the space.
“Sorry, what’s this about?”
“It’s about an offense you’ve been implicated in.”
“What the…?” he replies, confused. “What offense? Who’s implicated me in it? How do you have my number?”
He sounds young—in his twenties, possibly younger. When you cross-examine liars for a living you become skilled in reading people’s voices, their tone, pitch, and timbre. His voice is sprinkled with a touch of panic and a dash of anger. Interesting.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But it will be easier if you cooperate with us, David.”
