Chapter 33 Leila
Leila
“Can I have a word, darling?” Julian says like a smiling assassin, poking his head around the door to the conference room I’m working in at chambers.
He doesn’t wait for an answer before striding in and standing over me.
His white shirt—the one I ironed for him—looks immaculate against the salmon-pink tie hanging around his neck.
He’s wearing his smug face, the one I’ve seen countless times before as his pupil.
He’d tell me before we went into court that he was about to decimate his opponent with a piece of evidence that would shut the case down, and that I ought to watch their face when the penny dropped.
I lean forward over my notebook so he can’t see what I’m doing, which is a bit rich, given that I stole evidence.
I’m immediately suspicious of him coming in to see me now on the final working day before we break for holiday; whatever he’s about to give me he’s purposefully left until now, knowing I won’t be able to do much with it until we return in a couple of weeks.
It’s a tactic I’ve seen him deploy in the past.
My professional spikes shoot up, knowing something bad is coming.
“We’re in possession of CCTV that traces Jack’s final movements in the hours before the murder.”
There it is. I’m sure he’ll have had this CCTV for at least a week. He hangs on to evidence and deliberately presents it at the last, or worst, possible opportunity. One of the “tactics” he taught me when I was a pupil. Unbelievable.
“Alleged murder,” I rephrase through gritted teeth. He sighs, knowing I’m being pedantic.
“Thank you for this. I’ll consider it over the Christmas break,” I say to him sarcastically. “What does it show?”
“At 1:17 p.m. he leaves Temptation and goes to a beauty salon in West Sutton. He remains there for six minutes, then leaves.”
“That’s it?”
“Wait until you see whose salon it is,” he says, with the faintest sign of a smirk, handing me the USB stick. “The reason you didn’t know about it before now is because it didn’t show up on cell site analysis. He didn’t take his phone. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” I reply, upbeat, while knowing exactly how odd it is.
“Millman never takes his phone anywhere, does he? I wonder what he has on there that’s so important.”
God, he can be so condescending. No wonder people don’t like him on a professional level.
I choose to ignore this side of him because he’s my husband, but I’ve been seeing it more and more throughout this case, and I don’t like it.
As his pupil, I thought his arrogance made him smart; now, I’m cringing at how much of a dick he can be.
“Maybe he’s just a private person.” I smile. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually,” he says, almost as an afterthought, walking round to the other side of the conference table.
“I’m sending you Quinn’s statement, too.
I got on that immediately. You’ll see that he says Jack had been harassing him for several weeks prior to the murder.
Anton was there on September 6, telling him to leave his son alone. ”
Crap. There’s Anton’s motive for being at Jack’s flat. And it’s a strong one.
“Harassing Quinn Smythe?” I ask. My tone is abrupt, and I want him to know it. “For what reason?”
I’m dying to ask him what evidence he has to back this up, but I want to keep my cards close to my chest.
“You know what bouncers are like at these clubs. They take an instant dislike to a posh lad who comes in. Then they find out it’s actually the son of the judge who sent them to prison. Couldn’t make this up.”
The grin on his face is too much to bear.
“No, you really couldn’t. And he volunteered all this to you, did he?
” I ask skeptically, because I know what’s happened here.
I’ve seen Julian do it before. He’ll be in conference with a witness and come within an inch of coaching them, while staying just far away enough from the line that it couldn’t be proven improper.
“In fact it was you asking about Quinn’s statement the other day that made me think he had something to do with it. I couldn’t figure out where the smoking gun was until you mentioned it. So…thank you.”
He allows this to linger in the air, like smoke in a filthy bar. He wants me to know I’ve led him to this conclusion, that it’s because of my inexperience he’s got the upper hand.
“We have CCTV of Anton visiting a distressed Quinn at work, hours before the murder,” he goes on. “The timescale works. It fits.”
I use every ounce of strength I have to look unbothered and unbroken in front of him. He’s reveling in what he’s doing to me, like some kind of sadist.
“Well, in that case, take this as notice that I want you to call Quinn Smythe as a prosecution witness, because I want to cross-examine him, under oath.”
“I don’t have a problem with that. Cross-examine him all you want. He’s got nothing to hide.”
He absolutely does, going by what I’ve seen on Temptation’s secret camera.
“Anything else?” I smile.
“A matter of formality, obviously, but just confirming in the absence of a defense statement that Millman won’t be giving evidence? I’m wondering when speeches will be.”
“Oh, he will be,” I reply cheerily.
His eyes widen. He’s shocked. I knew he would be.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re allowing your client, who hasn’t given you any instructions throughout a murder trial, to give evidence?”
He pronounces each word slowly, as if English isn’t my main language.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what he’s going to say?”
“No,” I say casually. A part of me is enjoying this.
“Leila, I’m speaking as your pupilmaster now,” he says, placing his hands on the table opposite me to demonstrate how serious he is. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“It’s his call.” I shrug.
“If this goes the way I suspect it will, people will question why you allowed it. You do understand this? For your own sake, convince him not to get in the witness box.”
Scare tactics. Nice.
“Tell you what, Julian,” I say, raising my voice slightly. “You concentrate on your case, and I’ll concentrate on mine. OK?”
It’s only when he leaves the room that I realize how clenched my jaw is.
My chest feels tight, and I’m so angry I can hear the blood pumping into my brain.
In the space of five minutes, Julian has completely derailed our case and insinuated I’m going to lose and be laughed at.
With only hours to go before the entire legal profession shuts down for Christmas, there’s nothing I can do until January, and by then, it’ll only be a few days until the trial.
He’s done this on purpose.
Just like Chester warned me, Julian will stop at nothing to win. I need to get to work.