Chapter 11 Leila
Leila
Durham Crown Court
Five years earlier
There is something in legal circles known as a “hospital pass,” which is a case nobody else wants.
It’s often a case that’s unwanted because it’s going to be tied up in legal argument all day, or the witnesses are going to be a nightmare (if they turn up at all).
Sometimes, it’s because the case is at a court at the other end of the country.
They’re usually given to junior barristers because they’re less likely to kick up a fuss.
Jim called me at 8:32 this morning with the immortal and now familiar words.
“Miss Reynolds, I’m aware you’ve booked to be out of court today, but I have a plea and trial preparation hearing I need returning, and you’re the only barrister available.”
I couldn’t say no, even though Julian and I had planned to set off for our trip to the Lake District. He’d booked a cottage for the weekend, and we were meant to be leaving in thirty minutes.
“No problem, Jim,” I said, as Julian violently shook his head in my direction. As a barrister, you become used to this at the junior end. Julian would be allowed to turn it down as he’s more senior, but I’m not yet at a point in my career where I’m able to do so.
“Thank you, Miss Reynolds! I’ll get it on early so you and Mr. Kesler can be off as soon as possible. He’s spoken of nothing else all week.”
Cute. It’s been a hectic twelve months, what with getting married and Julian taking silk. We try and grab these moments away when we can. It’s not easy trying to coordinate diaries, especially when this kind of thing happens.
“I appreciate that. What’s the name of the defendant?”
“Millman. Jack Millman.”
—
I dash into chambers to pick up the brief before heading to court.
I need to become acquainted with it quickly so I can advise Mr. Millman as to whether he should plead guilty or not guilty at his hearing today.
He’s charged with Section 20 inflicting grievous bodily harm, the less serious of the two GBH offenses.
Mr. Millman works the door security at the Temptation Club in Durham (dodgy in itself) and it’s alleged he assaulted the complainant—a man called Tony Flanagan—by delivering a punch to the jaw that forced him to stumble backward and fall into a glass table, which cut his body to bits.
It doesn’t take long to understand why nobody wanted this case. Tony Flanagan is well-known within the criminal network. He’s also the rival of Eddie Sorrington, who owns the Temptation Club.
It’s going to be a knotty case.
I call out for Mr. Millman on the concourse, and a man with short, jet-black hair and striking blue eyes stands and walks toward me. Unlike most of my clients, he’s formally dressed. A navy-blue suit and white shirt rest smartly on his broad frame.
“Are you Miss Reynolds?” he asks, offering his hand for me to shake.
“I am, yes.” I nod, surprised by his politeness. I take his hand and meet his eye. I always think you can tell a lot about a man by his handshake. “I’m your barrister today. Sorry, but your solicitor is tied up with another case at the moment. Let’s have a chat before we go in.”
I take him into a conference room beside court and get straight to it. I’ve seen from his antecedent history he’s familiar with the system but doesn’t have anything for violence since he was fifteen. Now that he’s twenty-seven years old, this allegation seems quite out of character.
“You gave a no-comment interview upon arrest so, as far as the prosecution are concerned, they have no idea what your version of events is. I’ve read the notes from your solicitor, which details what you told them in conference—namely, that your reason for assaulting Mr. Flanagan was because you found him in a room attempting to sexually assault a young woman called Mia Woods, who is twenty-two? ”
“Correct,” he confirms, sitting opposite me across the table. The case papers are spread out between us.
“And she works at Temptation as a hostess.”
“Yes.”
“Your solicitor says Miss Woods is prepared to give evidence in court to confirm this?”
“She is, yes.”
I pause for a moment to check the papers. Something isn’t sitting well with me.
“Mr. Millman, did you have a solicitor in your police interview?”
“Yeah, he advised me to go no comment. He said because of who it was, he didn’t think it would go anywhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tony Flanagan doesn’t want unnecessary coppers in his life. Or, at least, that’s what we thought.”
“He doesn’t get on with Eddie, does he?”
“Nah. They’ve been rivals for years. That’s what this is all about. He wouldn’t be pursuing it otherwise.”
I’m aware of Flanagan. He’s a dangerous man. Notorious. Jack’s solicitor was right to advise him not to say anything in interview, but it’s going to cause issues now.
“Mr. Millman, from what I’ve seen and heard, you should plead not guilty to this offense. Your defense should be that you were defending another from harm.”
“Yeah, I’m good with that.” He’s soft-spoken for a man of his build.
“You’ll have the opportunity to tell the jury what happened when you give evidence if you plead not guilty.”
“Well, I am not guilty,” he tells me firmly. “If I hadn’t got Flanagan off her, Christ knows what he would have done.”
There’s sincerity in his voice. I believe him.
“Let’s hope she turns up at court and says just that.”
His piercing eyes drill into mine. “You don’t think she will, do you?”
I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. My robes drop to the floor.
“Do you? Honestly?” I ask him straight, to his surprise. His eyes don’t move from mine. “Your defense hinges on her. Flanagan knows who she is. He’s a dangerous man. It will be difficult to show a jury you’re not guilty if, for whatever reason, your main witness doesn’t show up.”
This man in front of me has no idea of the legal dilemma I face, because this is not a normal case. It never is when influential people are involved. I have two choices and both carry pros, cons, and an element of risk.
I can cooperate with the prosecution and serve them a defense statement that sets out everything Mr. Millman has told me regarding his defense.
This could help him in the long run, as they might find and disclose evidence to corroborate his version.
The disadvantage is that the prosecution will know exactly what he’s going to say at trial, and given the people involved, Flanagan might ensure the vital witness in this case goes missing.
Or I could take the more maverick approach and not serve a defense statement at all. The prosecution will have no clue what Jack is going to say and so won’t be able to sabotage anything. But the jury will be told they can draw an adverse inference from this when they come to determine his guilt.
It’s difficult, weighing these kinds of decisions, when it’s someone’s liberty at stake.
“Who will represent me at trial?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, mirroring me.
“It’ll probably be me now, if you’re content with that?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, the dimples in his cheeks revealing themselves for the first time. “You’ve got your wits about you. And you’re more on my level than the other one.”
“Your level?” I frown.
“You know.” He shrugs. “Not stuck-up.”
“I take that as a huge compliment.” I laugh, gathering all the case papers from the table. “Come on, then. Let’s hope your witness isn’t given an incentive to stay away.”
Julian taught me you should always serve a defense statement; it’s never worth the uncertainty not to. He’s right. It’s the safer option, even if there is still risk attached to it. At least that way, you can’t be criticized, whereas you will be questioned on your decision not to serve one.
Always better to be safe than sorry when you’re dealing with a human life.
As I enter court, I mentally drown out the voice inside my head screaming that it’s the wrong decision. I’m doing what my pupilmaster taught me and he is always right.
At least, I hope he is.