Chapter 42 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
After speeding away from Chester’s house on Friday, I went home and collected my laptop and case papers, then took them all to Audrey’s house and stayed the night.
I locked all the doors to ensure there was no way of her getting back in.
Protecting Audrey and her home is a priority.
First thing on Saturday morning, I called a locksmith to come and make the house more secure, with a few added measures to give me peace of mind.
I need to be able to focus on the trial.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes residence in my stomach as I pull my suitcase out of the car and drag it into court.
I catch a few members of chambers on their way in, and they wish me good luck, in the professional sense, of course.
But they want me to lose. After all, I’m defending the man accused of killing their friend and colleague.
The atmosphere in Newcastle Crown Court robing room is somber. Weaving through the files and bags on the floor, I head toward the corner so I can robe away from everybody else. The volume drops once I enter. This is the only case people are talking about.
“Best of luck, Britney!” some of the men say, which sounds ludicrous in the context of this situation.
Putting my robes, collarette, and wig on today doesn’t feel like court dress; it feels like armor. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I take a quick breath and release it slowly. Here it is—the most important moment of my career.
Something to prove. Everything to lose.
Entering Court 1, I see Julian setting up the bench.
As King’s Counsel, he is allowed to use a lectern in court, whereas I am not.
So, straight off the bat, that’s the first thing that marks me out to the jury as inferior, in addition to the different robes.
It immediately says, “He is more senior to her.”
Walking straight past him, I go over to Davina, who is setting up our benches next to the jury box. This is a privilege you have when defending, which I love. There is nothing better than speaking directly to a jury, up close and personal.
“Day of reckoning, then?” Davina announces dramatically.
“I suppose,” I reply, with a raised eyebrow. “Shall we go and see him?”
—
I’m taken aback when Jack walks into the cells.
In contrast to how he’s looked the last few times I’ve seen him, he’s now immaculately groomed and wearing a white shirt, with black trousers, a suit jacket, and a black tie.
His hair, usually messy, has been tamed and teased into a side parting.
It looks respectable but still retains a slight air of rebellion.
“You look great, Jack,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” He smiles. “Eddie helped me out. Wanted me to make a good impression.”
“You do.”
“Have you thought of a decent defense for me yet?” he asks, the tiniest of smiles curling up his mouth.
Even now, on the morning of his murder trial, he’s making jokes. It worries me.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just running with what you’ve disclosed in the police interview, which is absolutely nothing.”
“Let’s trust the process, shall we?”
I catch Davina glaring at Jack, presumably trying to read him. She’ll be hoping this confidence translates well in front of a jury.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me before it starts?”
“Nope.”
“For the record, I need to tell you again that whatever you say in evidence is going to be held against you because you’re bringing it up late. The judge will direct the jury that they are allowed to hold an adverse inference against you.”
“I’m aware. You’ve said it enough times.”
“The prosecution barrister is going to try to annihilate you. I’m not saying that to scare you, but you need to be prepared.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes,” I answer. “My husband.”
“Are you OK?”
Jack is the only person who has asked me, with any sincerity, how the case has affected me and my marriage. It catches me off guard and I take a sharp intake of breath.
“This case will hinge on many factors. The fact I’m married to the prosecutor will not be one of them. I—”
“Miss Reynolds? I have no regrets.”
—
Upstairs, people are taking their places in court.
As per tradition for a murder trial, white shirts must be worn by the legal team.
The public gallery is filled with journalists and Anton’s family.
Barristers have come in to watch, as have some solicitors, including Sienna.
I even catch Demi sitting right at the back, as well as Eddie and Daniella Sorrington.
People are treating this as a day out, it seems.
Presiding over this trial is Mrs. Justice Brightman, a High Court judge from London with a reputation for being stern and exceptionally sharp.
When you think of judges with this level of seniority, you imagine them to be old men, but she is a petite woman with a short, baby-blonde bob and gold-rimmed glasses.
I’m grateful to have a woman presiding over the case, especially with Julian as my opponent.
At exactly 10:30 a.m., she walks onto the bench and Jack enters court.
After dealing with standard housekeeping matters, we agree a jury can be selected, and twelve people are brought forward to take the oath.
It is always at this point that I like to study each one.
What kind of person are you? Are you empathetic?
Are you easily persuaded? Are you a leader or do you follow others?
Are you kind? Are you strict? How would you react if a family member got into trouble? How do you treat your spouse?
You can get a good grasp of people just by watching them. I can always tell who the foreman is going to be. For me, this moment in the trial process is very important. Julian never even watches this part.
Our jury is made up of five men and seven women.
Once they’re sworn in, they’re addressed directly by the judge, who informs them that the evidence upon which they will decide the case is the evidence that will be presented to them in court.
All twelve jurors listen intently. Some glance fleetingly over at Jack before drawing their eyes back to the judge.
The responsibility bears down heavily on their shoulders by the time she’s finished.
Next, Her Ladyship asks them to leave the courtroom so we can address a few other matters before the trial gets underway.
“Miss Reynolds,” the judge barks, “it’s my understanding that the Crown has requested to adduce a conviction dating back to 2019 against your client as bad character evidence. He was convicted of an s.20 occasioning grievous bodily harm without intent?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
“You haven’t resisted this application?”
“No, Your Ladyship.”
“Is your client aware that the circumstances of that offense will be made available to the jury? And they will be entitled to consider whether such an offense means he has a propensity to commit violent acts?”
“He is, Your Ladyship,” I reply, feeling all eyes on me straightaway. “In fact, Mr. Millman is content for all of his previous convictions to be revealed to the jury.” An odd decision, but Jack “wants his day in court.”
Christ.
The judge peers down her glasses at Jack, then directs her eyes back to me.
“Very well.” She nods. “Bring them back in.”
The usher guides the jury back into court. As they take their seats, something in the air changes. Everyone sits up. My heart starts to race. This is it.
“Mr. Kesler,” the judge says. “Would you like to begin?”