Chapter 56 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
“You’re a liar, aren’t you, Mr. Millman?”
Julian goes straight in with an aggressive approach, just as I knew he would. It’s something he’s known for. We’re told in law school “cross-examine, don’t examine crossly,” but some advocates shine this way. That’s why he was briefed in this case—it needed this approach.
This is going to be excruciating to witness.
“I’m not.”
“You’re a liar and a fantasist.”
“No.”
“Do you honestly expect these twelve intelligent members of the jury to believe this ludicrous story you’ve told under oath?”
He stretches the question out, an octave higher than his normal speaking range, emphasizing every word. He signposts his arm out to the jury when he says it for maximum effect, as if Jack doesn’t know who they are.
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s quite a story. Well thought out, I’ll give you that,” Julian remarks. “You had an opportunity to tell it to the police the second you were arrested, but you didn’t, did you?”
“No.”
“You could have told them in interview, couldn’t you?”
“I didn’t have to say anything in interview, actually.”
“If you were innocent, that would have been the time to hold your hands up and say, ‘It wasn’t me, I didn’t do this, this is why I am innocent.’ But you didn’t, did you?”
“No.”
“And the reason you haven’t mentioned it is because you’ve made it up between then and now, haven’t you?”
“No. Like I said, I wanted to have a fair trial. I didn’t want evidence being tampered with. Things and people tend to go missing when you’re dealing with powerful people.”
Jack stands firm in the witness box, hands together in front of him. Confident but not cocky.
“Oh, yes. Let’s dive into this. You’re talking about your previous conviction for s.
20 GBH assault, which I have permission to bring into evidence.
Members of the jury, in 2019, the defendant was convicted following a trial for a violent offense against a man that caused him severe injuries.
In that trial, the defendant argued he was defending a woman from being sexually assaulted when the offense took place.
You do like telling elaborate tales, don’t you, Mr. Millman? ”
“No, just the truth. And you missed the part about how the ‘victim’ I assaulted was one of the most dangerous criminals in the northeast,” Jack says, facing the jury.
“Can you tell this jury, Mr. Millman, if the woman you were allegedly defending gave evidence in that trial?”
“She didn’t. That’s my point.”
“And were you convicted of that offense?”
“Yes.”
“After a trial, no less?”
“Yes, but—”
“So, the jury in that case heard all of the evidence, including your story, and they still convicted you?”
“Yes.”
“In other words, they decided you weren’t worthy of belief in that case?”
“It wasn’t a fair trial.”
“But this one is, presumably?”
“I hope so.”
Julian delivers one of his smug looks to the jury.
“Mr. Millman, you do find yourself placed in sticky situations, don’t you? Quite the knight in shining armor. Forever at the mercy of the law, saving young women. It’s becoming quite a habit of yours, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“If convicted of this offense, you’ll receive life imprisonment. Say you were completely innocent. You’d be prepared to risk that for a woman?”
“For the woman I love, yes.”
“That’s a very bold and unrealistic claim to make, isn’t it?” Julian sneers, directing the question to the jury.
“I don’t know what the relationship with your wife is like, Mr. Kesler, but I’d do anything to protect the woman I love.”
“Mr. Millman,” the judge interrupts.
Sharp intakes of breath and a few sniggers bounce around the courtroom. A quick glance at the jury confirms it; they all know Julian is my husband. They would have seen the newspaper articles; it’s common knowledge. Their eyes flick between the two of us to see our reactions.
But I know one thing: Julian does not like being laughed at. He will make Jack pay for that. Julian firmly places his hands on the sides of the lectern in front of him. His knuckles turn white. His blue notebook sits open for reference, but he doesn’t need it.
“This story you’ve told us, casting allegations against the victim’s son, Quinn. Do you understand how serious it is?” Julian asks.
“Yes.”
“You say that Mr. Smythe initially came to your home to ask for the video, for which he offered to pay you a large sum of money?”
“Yes.”
“You claim that Quinn knew of the existence of this video, and that it caused him anxiety?”
“It did, yes.”
“This is the one thing that can prove you’re telling the truth. Something tangible, something these jurors can physically see. The one piece of evidence that would exonerate you. Your phone. Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” Jack shrugs.
Julian turns, slowly, to glance at the jury again. It’s theatrically done, intended to convey his sheer disbelief. I don’t believe this man, and neither should you. It’s convincing.
What a fucking disaster.
“The one piece of evidence…no, I’ll rephrase that. The most important piece of evidence in this trial, and you’ve, what? Mislaid it?”
“I last saw my phone around 7 p.m., about three hours before Anton came round.”
“Yes, you sent a text message to X at that time.”
“It went missing after that.”
“Where were you?”
“I was working, so I was in the club. Innocence, not Temptation. That doesn’t open until 10 p.m.”
“What do you suppose happened to it? Because cell site places it at the premises where you live until 10:41 p.m.”
“I don’t know. And the ‘premises where I live’ is also a nightclub and bar. It was the last weekend before the kids went away to uni, so we were jam-packed. Maybe it fell out of my pocket, and someone took it.”
“It just happened to jump out of your pocket? This vital piece of evidence with a video on it that supposedly showed a man killing someone?”
“Yes.”
“Very convenient, isn’t it? A bit too convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“Decidedly inconvenient for me, if I’m being honest,” Jack replies, directing his answer to the jury.
“You didn’t like Quinn Smythe, did you?”
“I had no issue with him until what happened with Lewis.”
“Coincidence, is it, that his father sent you to prison in 2014?”
“It is, yes.”
“Quinn says you were threatening him.”
“Why would I do that? I had no reason to. If anything, he was aggressive toward me when I suggested he go to the police.”
“Another lie, isn’t it, Mr. Millman? All you’ve told this jury today is lies, haven’t you?”
“No. Only truth.”
Julian takes a moment to pause. Everyone in court catches their breath.
“You were brought up in care, weren’t you? Abandoned by your parents. It’s fair to say you don’t trust people, isn’t it?”
Jack takes a long breath before answering. Where is Julian going with this?
“I suppose so.”
“You have a cynical view of the world. You’re a bit of a lone wolf, aren’t you?”
No, Julian. Please.
He’s repeating what I said to him on his birthday weekend at Barkenfield Lodge. I remember it so clearly. Buttering me up beforehand, telling me how talented I was as a pupil, making me feel safe. Telling me it was normal to chat about cases, so long as you didn’t cross a line.
The absolute bastard.
“I don’t think that’s unreasonable, given where I’ve come from,” Jack replies, with more grace and dignity than my rat of a husband will ever have.
“No,” Julian says, with the most patronizing tone in his voice, “but it’s made you resentful, hasn’t it? Of people who have the life you don’t. You wanted revenge against the man who stole your liberty, and you saw fit to execute that through his son, didn’t you?”
“I’d never do that,” Jack replies calmly.
“It was you who used that kettlebell to kill Mr. Smythe, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“And you attempted to cover up the offense by placing it back as a doorstop, didn’t you?”
“I’ve told you—it wasn’t me.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment that your version of events is true. I’ll indulge it. Answer this, please. How long did you and your lover wait between striking this man with a kettlebell and calling the ambulance?”
He’s going in for the kill.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching the clock. It was a very intense time,” he tells the court, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He’s starting to feel the pressure now, and who can blame him? This is horrific.
“Was it, really? It sounds frightening, especially for Mr. Smythe, who is now dead. Let me ask you this—did you check for any signs of life?”
“I can’t remember,” he says quietly.
“But you remember telling your lover to leave so she wouldn’t get into trouble. What else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. There wasn’t time. She got her stuff and left.”
“And then you called 999 from the club landline?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Smythe opened up FaceTime at 10:39 p.m. but you didn’t call 999 until 11:07 p.m. What on earth were you—and your lover—doing for twenty-eight minutes?”
“As I said, I can’t remember. We were in shock.”
“Isn’t it right that the reason you didn’t call an ambulance straightaway is because you wanted Anton Smythe to die?”
“No,” he reaffirms.
“Something else happened in the room that night that doesn’t add up here, and you needed to ensure that whatever it was didn’t leave that room. Isn’t that right?”
“No, I’ve told you everything.”
“There’s no reason why you wouldn’t call an ambulance straightaway. The only reason would be that you wanted him dead.”
“That’s not true.”
“And you needed him dead so he wouldn’t be able to tell the police what happened, and that you attempted to kill him.”
“No,” he says, looking up at the ceiling. His tone is defensive now. His voice, louder. Careful, Jack.
“As for this lover of yours, she doesn’t exist, does she? Or if she does, she wasn’t there.”
“Yes, she was.” He nods, the faintest hint of irritation coming through.
“It’s frankly absurd to suggest that you’d go through all of this for someone else. To put your liberty on the line without any guarantee it would work out in the end.”
“That’s your opinion,” he tells Julian.
Please let this be over soon.
“Isn’t it fair to say that you care more about protecting yourself or this woman of yours than carrying out justice for Anton Smythe’s family?”
“True justice would be having Quinn Smythe take responsibility for what he’s done. If he had, his father wouldn’t be dead,” Jack snaps.
It’s a bold statement, and I see why he made it, but it doesn’t land well.
It comes across as cold, uncaring, and, well, the kind of thing a killer would say.
Julian got what he went in for. While Jack was calm and collected for the most part, all it takes is one sentence to throw the rest of the evidence off.
One sentence the prosecution can hang their entire closing speech on. And that was it.
“No further questions, Your Ladyship,” Julian declares. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide the smirk on his face.
“Reexamination, Miss Reynolds?”
No, thank you. I’m not making this worse than it is.
“None, My Lady,” I reply.
Jack is taken back into the dock as Julian sits quietly a few benches away. I refuse to look at him directly. He thinks he’s decimated us.
Well, I’m not done yet.
“Who is your next defense witness, Miss Reynolds?”
“Your Ladyship, the defense asks for leave to recall Quinn Smythe to the witness box.”
Because, while Julian has been looking incredibly smug, sitting at the opposite end of the advocates’ bench, what he didn’t realize was that he just handed me a grenade.
And I’m about to pull the pin.