Chapter 57 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
I watch as all twelve jurors shift to sit up straight as Quinn Smythe makes his way back into the witness box. They are intrigued. Eager to hear his side of the story. Good. At least I have their attention. He looks a lot less sure of himself than he did before.
“Mr. Smythe, before we begin,” the judge speaks, “I remind you that you are under oath. Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes.”
“That it is a criminal offense to lie to this court?”
“Yes,” he replies quietly. He keeps his head down, refusing to look at anyone.
I need to approach this very carefully. Quinn Smythe has just become our most important witness.
“Mr. Smythe, you’ve heard what Mr. Millman said. After you gave your evidence, you listened to him make some very serious allegations against you, particularly in relation to the death of Lewis Sorrington.”
“My Lady.” Julian stands up and interrupts. “This trial concerns the murder of Anton Smythe, this witness’s father. Tragic though it may be, the death of this other boy is not this court’s concern.”
“Your Ladyship,” I respond robustly, “this issue is pivotal to the defendant’s case. It sheds light on why Mr. Smythe was at Mr. Millman’s home to begin with and illustrates his state of mind. Of establishing a threat to the defendant. It is relevant.”
“I’ll allow it,” the judge says. “Tread carefully, Miss Reynolds. I know where you’re going with this.
Mr. Smythe, before you answer anything further, I must warn you that as a witness in these proceedings, you are entitled to avoid any self-incrimination and therefore may refuse to answer any questions that would put you at risk of criminal prosecution. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he says. I watch his chest quickly rise and fall. He’s trying to appear calm, but he knows I’m onto him.
I dive straight in.
“Quinn Smythe, are you responsible for the death of Lewis Sorrington?”
He grips the side of the witness box.
“No,” he says immediately. “There’s no evidence of it. It’s his word against mine.”
“Is it?” I ask.
“Yes. He has no proof.”
“Have you told the truth during this trial?”
“Yes,” he says, looking at the jury. He can’t look at me.
“When you gave your evidence yesterday, I asked if you’d ever met Jack Millman outside of Innocence. Do you remember what your answer was?”
“I said I hadn’t.”
“Can you confirm you had taken the oath before you gave your evidence?”
“I did.”
“My Lady, with permission, I’d like to play a short piece of CCTV to the jury.”
Julian shoots up from his seat. “Your Ladyship, we have had no notice of this,” he barks.
“My Lady, this piece of film had no relevance until Mr. Millman gave his evidence-in-chief and was so skillfully cross-examined by Mr. Kesler. During Mr. Millman’s evidence, matters came to light that have necessitated the introduction of this CCTV into evidence.”
The judge’s eyes flit between Julian and me.
“I’ll allow it, in the interest of justice,” she says.
It’s the CCTV footage from when Jack went to visit Quinn at Diamond Lounge a week before Anton was killed.
Both figures can easily be identified in the recording.
Quinn looks anxious and heightened, gesticulating in a way that comes across as wild.
Aggressive, almost. Jack, in contrast, steps back and holds his hands up.
Taking a glance at Julian as it plays, I recognize that he’s livid he didn’t catch this.
There’s no way he would have considered Quinn important enough to comb through his work CCTV.
One thing that the footage makes clear is that Jack is in no way acting in a threatening manner.
“Can you tell the jury who the two men in that clip are?” I ask the witness, who is reluctant to answer.
“Me…”
“Yes, and who else?”
“Jack.”
“The man you said you’d never met before outside of the club.
You said when you gave evidence to this court that he had been intimidating you.
Your barrister called Mr. Millman a liar when he put forward that it was you who had been behaving threateningly toward him.
He’s certainly not threatening you here, is he?
In fact, if anyone looks angry in this video, it’s you. ”
Quinn doesn’t say anything.
“Did you forget that you’d met him, or was it a lie?”
“It…you don’t understand—”
“It was a deliberate lie, wasn’t it? Everything Jack has told the court today is true, isn’t it?”
“My dad has been killed and all you’re bothered about is this?” he yells, swiping his arm toward Jack.
“Please tell the court where you were on the night your father died.”
“I was at work. My final shift before I left for uni.”
“And after that?”
“Innocence Bar. We always went on Friday nights. Everyone from school did, it was the place to be. But, also, why would I go to the place where I’d allegedly killed someone? Explain that to me!”
“Why would you want to go to a bar where one of the bouncers was intimidating you?”
It silences him. He knows his story doesn’t add up.
“I’d have been the only one not going. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my final night at home.”
“What time were you at Innocence until?”
“Not late. I was driving because I went there straight from work and I had to travel to Cambridge the next day. I didn’t stay long.”
“Where did you go after you left?”
“I went home around 11 p.m. I was with Mum when she got the phone call about my father, and we went to the hospital. Look, you can’t frame me for anything.”
“Tell me—how long were you in Innocence?”
“Why is this relevant? You can’t do this to me! I’m one of the victims here. You have no evidence, except the word of a known criminal. Unless his phone turns up, which apparently has a video with me on it, you’ve got nothing. And even that won’t show what he’s claiming.”
“You’re quite right, Quinn. That phone has been the one thing in this trial that none of us can pin down. I was hoping you, perhaps, saw something, given you were there the night it went missing.”
He doesn’t even realize he’s about to completely drop himself in it.
This is one of the reasons I became a barrister. The feeling I have now. Just before I land my biggest blow to this case, I wait, in silence, goading him into delivering the information himself. It has more impact with a jury than if I say it.
“Are you suggesting I stole it?”
And there it is. A quick glance at the jury tells me their suspicion is growing. Brows start to rise.
“What?” I ask him, surprised. “Stole a phone, which happened to have a video incriminating you in a serious crime that, if seen by police, would send you to prison?”
Like most witnesses, he sees too late the path I’ve taken him down. Chester was right—I’m good at what I do. The color drains from Quinn’s face, and the jury see it, too. I turn to look at them, just to make the point. Are you seeing this? Hearing these lies?
“I didn’t take it. I swear, I honestly didn’t,” he says, flustered. His eyes jump between me and the jury, begging us to believe him. We don’t.
“Just one final point, Quinn, then I’ll let you go. Can you tell the jury which village you live in? Please don’t give out the actual address.”
He doesn’t want to say it. He knows where I’ve taken him now, and he’s got no way out.
“Pickford,” he says quietly, staring at me, unable to hide his contempt.
“Could you speak up for the jury, please?”
“Pickford,” he repeats, louder.
“It’s right to say, isn’t it, that Pickford is a very small village, twelve miles north of Durham?”
“Yes,” he says in a tiny voice.
“Mr. Millman’s phone sent out a signal at 11:27 p.m. on the night your father died, from Pickford before either being switched off or the battery died. In fact, the signal came a few meters away from your house. Are you sure you didn’t take it? Is that a complete coincidence?”
His eyes dart between me and the jury. They plead with every juror to be on his side.
“It’s a coincidence.”
I deliver a broad smile to him because I want him to know he’s lost. I don’t believe him and I’m certain the jury won’t either.
“No further questions, My Lady.”
Quinn remains in the witness box for a few seconds, as if he wants to redo his evidence, but it’s too late. The usher walks over and gently places her arm on Quinn’s, indicating he needs to leave. Julian looks enraged.
“My Lady,” I say loudly. “That closes the defense case.”
“Very well,” she agrees. “I am conscious both advocates have speeches to write, so I will adjourn for today. Be back at 10:30 in the morning.”
As soon as she leaves the bench, I almost collapse from the adrenaline. I’m beyond grateful for a slightly early finish. Cases have been won on closing speeches alone, so it’s vital this one is exceptional. I need to start writing.
—
Walking out of the lift onto the ground floor of Crown Court, I pass the reception desk and hear someone call my name.
“This was left for you, Miss Reynolds,” the lady says, handing me a white envelope with my name and chambers written on the front in black ink.
Forcing my finger under the flap, I rip it open and pull out a card. It’s an illustration of two cartoony matchsticks holding hands with cute faces and fire for hair. Above them it says: “Twin Flames Forever!” I think I might throw up.
My hands shake as I open it.
Saw this and thought of you. I bet I’m the only person who can say that.
Pretty sure none of your lawyer chums know about your pyro skills.
Really hope your husband doesn’t find out.
Sexy, isn’t he? Ironic you’re defending murderers these days when you are one yourself. I wonder what Jack would think of that.
Fuck.
Not now. Please not now. Although I recognize the delivery of the card is perfectly timed. Predictable, really, if I’d thought about it hard enough. But I’ve been so focused on this case, I’ve let things slip.
It’s all part of her game, of course.
One I can’t afford to lose.