Don’t Say a Word: A gripping psychological thriller from the author of The Good Mother. A. Bird L.
a fix we’re in, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘She says she didn’t do it.’
‘Yes, well she would, wouldn’t she?’
‘But what if she didn’t, Tim? Maybe she’s telling the truth – why would she put her kid in danger like that? Maybe we just need to treat her a bit more … respectfully.’
Tim looks at me thoughtfully. There’s a pause. It grows uncomfortable. Is it me that’s showing a lack of respect, now?
‘Sorry, Tim, I just thought …’
‘No, no – don’t apologize. That’s exactly the sort of fresh insight I was looking for. Listen, I’ve got a conference with Daniel set up for two. I’ve got lunch with another of the barristers over there, so I’ll see you at chambers. OK?’
‘Sure thing.’ I nod. How can you be worried about your lunch, when Rhea is perishing in a jail somewhere? I want to ask him. How can you be so cold? Or maybe he doesn’t get it. Maybe he doesn’t know how to listen between the words, hear the sounds of a chaotic world. A victim, not a culpable culprit.
‘If you wouldn’t mind bringing the files too, that would be great. Thanks, Jen.’
He ushers me out of his office, and away he goes.
***
I arrive early to Daniel’s chambers. In the mirror in the lift up to his floor I see how pale I am. I quickly slide on some lipstick. Too pink for my thoughts, but maybe that’s the point of make-up. I remember that delicious plum colour that Chloe used to wear. Made her look more inviting than she really was.
‘Jen!’ Daniel cries on seeing me, interrupting my reminiscing. He shakes my hand. I feel a frisson as our fingers meet. How lovely it is that there is an acceptable social way to touch each other immediately. He goes for a kiss on one cheek, and I feel his stubble impress itself on my skin. I pull away as he goes for the other cheek. Embarrassed, I lean in again, but I missed the moment. Things my mother never taught me #347.
‘Hey,’ I say. I search for small talk but can’t find any. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since that non-date and I’m struck by how much sexier he is in the flesh than in his photo. I’d forgotten that his thick brown hair is so wavy, that his cheekbones are so high. His eyes so piercing and alive. I’d like to take his hand again. Wouldn’t let him slip through my fingers another time.
I clear my throat, like he can hear my thoughts, and tap the case file. ‘Did you read the interview notes?’
‘From the first interview?’ Dan asks.
I nod.
He nods too.
‘Tough stuff,’ he says.
‘You didn’t think Tim was a bit …’ I trail off. There are many words I could use.
Dan finishes for me. ‘Blunt?’
I smile a little. ‘Yes, blunt. That’ll do.’
Dan nods. ‘Yep, I have a confession. I think that’s my fault.’
‘Your fault? How?’
‘I told him about how one of our QCs always talks to witnesses or defendants the first time proper bad-cop style, to see what they’ll be like under cross-examination. I suspect Tim was playing QCs but got it a bit wrong.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I do. And when I meet the poor girl, I’ll tell her so myself.’
‘You feel sorry for her, then?’ I ask Dan.
‘Don’t you?’ he counters.
I relax a little. The human race has come in first again – Dan has restored my confidence in it. I shrug a little and take a seat. He doesn’t need to know quite how sorry I feel for our Rhea.
When Tim appears a few moments later, he no longer seems like an ogre with no emotional intelligence. Just a wannabe who’s over-reached himself. Haven’t we all been there (maybe I still am)?
Dan and Tim greet each other. Not quite like old friends – it’s very cordial, but professional. I suppose Dan was just offered as the guy the firm always uses, perhaps not Tim’s first choice.
We get onto the meat of the conference.
‘What are her prospects, Dan?’ Tim asks.
Dan must have been expecting this question but he wriggles a bit. ‘Not great, I think. I can see why the CPS have chosen this case. It seems a bit mean, and you can’t help feeling sorry for her, with all that background of being in care but –’
‘Yes, but if the CPS didn’t prosecute then, they wouldn’t in half of all cases!’ says Tim.
I flinch. Dan looks at me quizzically. I pretend to be taking notes.
Dan resumes his point. ‘Sure. But what I mean is, there’s this string of circumstantial stuff – all one plus one plus one plus one, which they’re fervently hoping adds up to four, but we have to show it doesn’t. Our best chance is to ignore all the prostitution stuff and focus on disproving the drugs element.’
‘She swears blind she wasn’t a mule,’ Tim says.
‘Exactly.’
‘But how do we prove that?’ Tim asks.
‘Again, exactly.’ Dan runs one hand through his lovely hair. ‘Look – she was there when the stuff was there. That plus the incident years ago when they think she probably was there. Plus her kid’s dad with links to the ring – it’s slam-dunk to a jury.’
‘So what do we do?’ I ask. Or rather, whine. My voice is high, caught in my throat.
Tim and Dan look at me in surprise. Yes, I may be a junior woman, there to take notes, but I do have a voice.
‘Well, I guess the main thing apart from my job of telling the CPS guy they haven’t proved what they think they’ve proved is to get something human from her that will show us why she couldn’t possibly have done it,’ Dan says. ‘Something the jury will go for.’
Tim muses for a while. ‘What, like she would never be involved in drugs because her kid sister died from them you mean?’
My pen freezes. My brain freezes. I want to ask Tim to repeat the phrase. But I don’t have to. I’ve heard it before.
A decade ago. About Emma. Mick’s sister.
I look at Tim for any sign he knows the significance of what he’s said. There’s nothing. He’s talking freely to Dan. Dan is nodding soberly at something. I don’t know what. My ears have frozen over too.
Is this one of those situations they warn you about? That if you say or do the wrong thing, everything comes out? That I must be very careful how I act?
‘She did say she has a daughter who she wouldn’t let people do drugs in front of,’ I venture.
Tim looks at me kindly. ‘You’ll come to learn, Jen, that people saying drugs are banned in their home doesn’t mean they ban themselves from selling them on the street.’
Just as I thought I was defrosting, I refreeze again. Two lines from my past life. This is too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?
‘Ah, but Jen doesn’t know that seedy underbelly we frequent, Tim. She is but a novice in these parts!’ Dan’s tone is light.
‘Oh, don’t misjudge her, Dan. I’m sure Ms Sutton has done her share of racy deeds.’
Are they flirting? Or are they insinuating? Have I found myself in the lion’s den, or just a pit of everyday sexism?
‘Excuse me,’ I say. I push back my chair and leave the room.
I rush along the corridor to the ladies’ bathroom before they can follow