Cruel Acts. Jane Casey

Taylor. He’s all charm on the outside but if you challenge him, you’d better come prepared for a fight.’

      ‘DI Derwent is always prepared for a fight.’ I said it for the pleasure of making Derwent scowl.

      ‘I’m looking forward to seeing his face when Stone gets convicted again.’

      I looked around, checking for eavesdroppers, and noticed a young woman in dark tights and a bulky coat. She was sitting in one of the alcoves outside the court, apparently concentrating on her phone.

      ‘We should take this somewhere else,’ I said quietly. Derwent, naturally, ignored me.

      ‘Jesus, I feel sorry for Lambert but he’s out of his tiny mind if he thinks his dad is innocent. I’ve never seen a more obvious psycho. He needs locking up again, as soon as we can possibly manage it. If we can get him put inside for anything at all, we should.’

      ‘We can’t harass him,’ I said.

      ‘I’m prepared to risk upsetting him if it means no one else dies,’ Derwent snapped.

      ‘Harry’s waiting,’ Godley said, with maximum disapproval, and on this occasion even Derwent took the hint.

       10

      The café in the Royal Courts of Justice was at the back of the ground floor, in an old courtroom that had been refitted with cheap tables and chairs. It was crowded with that peculiar mix of people that frequented the RCJ: the tax cases, the personal injury suits, the police officers and criminals and their families and the lawyers, all pretending to ignore one another. Hollingwood had found a table on the other side of the room. His junior, Kit Harries, waved at me energetically from the queue.

      ‘Coffee? Your usual?’ The barrister’s voice carried easily over the noise in the café. I gave him the thumbs up rather than trying to answer.

      ‘Do you know him?’ Derwent was beside me all of a sudden.

      ‘Kit? Yeah, he’s a nice guy. I’ve worked with him a few times.’

      ‘He looks better with his wig on.’

      The barrister had a lot of very fine straw-coloured hair and a round face, and his wig had made him sweat so his hair was plastered to his head. As usual, Derwent wasn’t kind but he was right.

      ‘He’s a lovely person and he’s married, so be nice.’

      ‘I’m always nice.’

      ‘Not in a way that’s noticeable to the casual observer.’

      Derwent moved away from me, grinning to himself. As if to prove me wrong, he went across to the queue to help Kit with the drinks. I followed Godley and Whitlock to the table, not without some misgivings. Derwent would take the opportunity to talk to Kit about me, unsupervised, and I liked Kit but he wasn’t the most discreet person I’d ever encountered. I couldn’t think of anything I needed to hide, specifically, but then again I couldn’t think of anything I’d like Derwent to find out about me. He knew too much already.

      Without his wig and gown, Harry Hollingwood looked different too. His grey hair was swept back from a high square forehead and brushed against his collar at the back. He was compact, fit, fiftyish and he looked good-humoured, despite the loss in court. His small brown eyes were shrewd and full of life.

      ‘Sit down, sit down. I thought we should have a little post-mortem before we all went home.’

      ‘It was the result we expected,’ Whitlock said, which was his way of reassuring the lawyer that he didn’t blame him.

      ‘Couldn’t have gone any other way. The point is that we’ve got to prepare ourselves for a retrial.’

      ‘How soon can we expect the retrial?’

      ‘Soon,’ Hollingwood said. ‘He’ll be in the Crown Court tomorrow to be formally released from prison. How long do you want him out?’

      ‘Not long.’

      ‘Well, then. We’ll seek an early trial date. In the circumstances, we should get it. But that obviously means you have less time to conduct your reinvestigation. A month or two.’

      ‘We’ll manage,’ Godley said, with a confidence that I didn’t feel. ‘Have you met Maeve Kerrigan? She’s one of my best detectives.’

      Hollingwood nodded to me. ‘Kit speaks very highly of you.’

      ‘I’ve always enjoyed working with him.’ I hoped I sounded like a tough and experienced detective sergeant, even if I was flustered to the point of blushing by what Godley had said.

      ‘I should say that the previous investigation was excellent.’ Hollingwood turned to Whitlock. ‘We were very happy with the evidence as it was gathered and presented to us. I am simply conscious of the fact that time has passed and the defence has had an opportunity to revisit the case they ran. We want to be prepared for them to take issue with anything that was awkward for them in the previous hearing. We’ll be disclosing anything new that you find out, of course, but with any luck it will be unanswerable.’

      There was a brief hiatus while Derwent and Kit returned with the coffee. Kit had the expression of a man who had gone through a car wash in a convertible with the roof down. Derwent was at his most bland. He smiled at me as he sat down: never a good sign.

      ‘What was the defence?’ I asked quickly. ‘I read the files the other day and it seemed there wasn’t much room for doubt.’

      ‘There’s always room for doubt in a defence case,’ Hollingwood said. ‘They don’t have to prove he didn’t do it. They only need to confuse the jury. The idea is to reinterpret the evidence so the Crown’s account of what happened seems open to debate.’

      ‘He had a really good brief,’ Kit contributed. ‘One of those guys who does a closing argument that makes the jury fall in love with him a little bit. Make ’em laugh, make ’em cry.’

      ‘I don’t see where the doubt comes in,’ I said. ‘Stone was sitting in the house when they went there to ask him about the van. There was forensic evidence of Willa Howard having been in the room behind him.’

      ‘No,’ Kit said, grinning. ‘That was the mistake we’d made, according to his brief. There was forensic evidence in the cupboard in the room behind him. The defence alleged he’d found it dumped on a street corner and thought it would be useful. The defence said that someone else had used it to imprison Willa Howard before or after her death, and that Stone had unwittingly brought it into his home.’

      ‘And locked it in a room? And hid the key so we never found it?’

      ‘They said that Stone was worried about being burgled. He was obsessed with security.’

      ‘Yeah, funny how serial killers like their privacy.’ Derwent shook his head. ‘Surely there’s no way the jury would have fallen for it.’

      ‘You don’t need to convince all twelve of them. You can get a mistrial if you confuse three of them beyond the point where they know black from white.’ Hollingwood leaned back in his chair, amused rather than upset by it. ‘The prosecution has to play it dead straight – no showboating, no dramatics, just concentrate on the facts. The defence can do what they like.’

      ‘And as for being convincing, they won over more people than you’d think. Journalists, campaigners … and Sara Grey’s family.’ Whitlock’s voice dropped at the end of the sentence, and I realised with a mild sense of shock that he was angry. ‘I need to warn you about that. You’re going to have to handle them with care. They turned against the police during the initial investigation into Sara’s disappearance. My understanding is that the local CID didn’t impress them and stepped on a few toes. The fiancé was out of the country when it happened, but the detectives had their concerns about him. That bothered the family, who felt they were wasting