Chapter 62 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
The judge directs the jury to the law they must apply to the case and provides a summary of both the prosecution and defense evidence. She reminds them that the prosecution brings this case and must prove it beyond reasonable doubt. Jack Millman is innocent until proven guilty to that standard.
She sets out the elements of murder that must be proved, namely that Jack Millman intended to kill or cause serious harm to Anton Smythe and that that harm caused his death.
She reminds the jury they may consider an adverse inference against Jack for failing to mention, before yesterday, the account he gave during the trial.
The judge tells them a unanimous verdict is the only verdict she will accept at this time and that they must elect a foreman or -woman to represent the jury and deliver that verdict.
An usher leads them out of the courtroom. And that’s it. I can’t do anything more.
I can already feel the adrenaline slump kicking in. This is no way to live. This ridiculous job, with its high highs and low lows.
“Well done, Leila!” Davina says, walking over from her position in court.
“How do you think it’s gone? Honestly?”
“I don’t know, but that was a very impressive speech.”
“Can we grab some coffee? I feel I’m about to collapse,” I say, pulling my wig off. “Actually, hold on a second.” I dash over to the dock before they take Jack downstairs.
“Are you OK?” I ask.
“Great speech,” he says. “Got my vote.”
“We’re not giving up yet.”
“Good to hear,” he says before being dragged away.
—
We get called back half an hour later so the judge can send the jury to lunch. But, make no mistake, we are now on red alert waiting for the loudspeaker to ring, announcing a verdict has been reached.
We all return at 2:10 p.m., and the clock starts ticking again. There is literally nothing to do but wait. Except there is something that needs dealing with before I do anything else.
“Can we speak in private?” I say quietly to Julian, who is sitting at one of the tables in the robing room surrounded by his cronies. He barely even registers I’m here. I am nothing to him now.
“When we get home,” he says, tapping away at his laptop.
“No,” I say firmly. “Now.”
Julian senses the other barristers around him will pick up on the atmosphere if he doesn’t come, so he pushes his chair back and follows me into one of the side rooms. It’s raining outside and water streams down the floor-to-ceiling glass.
“What did you think of my speech?” I ask.
It irks him. He stands in front of me, puffing his chest out, hands behind his back.
“Leila, what is this?”
“I’m not allowed to ask my pupilmaster for feedback?”
He knows I’m being deliberately obtuse.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“You may have seen I was late into court this morning. I met a friend for a coffee.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” He shrugs.
“It was someone you used to know. Sienna Fox.”
He does a sarcastic little laugh and looks out of the window but can’t hide the fear that flashes across his face. I know him too well.
“I see. Best friends now, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but we did have a good chat. Although you probably should know I accidentally told her about your indiscretion with Demi.”
The smug mask Julian wears most of the time completely drops.
“You what?” he sputters.
“Just slipped out.”
He quickly turns away from me and runs his hands through his hair.
“Jesus Christ, Leila!” he barks. “Of all people, you told her? Do you know how close she is to Chester?”
“I do,” I confirm calmly. “That’s why I told her.”
He looks at me as if I’m insane.
“What the…Leila…she’s going to fucking ruin me.”
“Yes, she will…unless you give me a divorce.”
“What?” he asks, clearly scrambling to find a way out of this unscathed.
“That’s all I want. A painless, quick divorce, and neither of us will ever say anything about it. You have my word.”
He walks to the other side of the small room, away from me, and leans against the wall. Julian isn’t used to people—especially me—so openly calling the shots. He is accustomed to being in control.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, seemingly forgetting that less than twenty-four hours ago, he threatened to destroy my life after I discovered he had impregnated another woman.
“Because she’s the one person in the world you can’t stand, and your fate now rests in her hands.
She could destroy you with one phone call.
Your reputation would be ruined, and you’d have to leave chambers, probably Durham, and practice in a different part of the country.
There’s a poetic justice to her having that power, given what you’ve done to her. ”
He knows he’s fucked. Defeated. He sighs loudly.
Checkmate.
“Fine,” he says quietly.
“Was that a ‘yes’?” I can’t resist.
“For god’s sake, Leila! Yes. Let’s just be done with it.”
I nod and walk toward the door.
“How did you know?” he asks as I reach for the handle.
“What?”
“How did you find out? About Demi?”
I smile. That’s what’s bothering him. He can’t stand that I figured it out.
“Let’s just call it a tip-off. You weren’t as discreet as you thought you were,” I tell him. “You knew she was at our house that night when I thought we were being burgled. You let me believe we were in danger.”
“I wanted nothing to do with her by then. Earlier that evening, she’d told me she was pregnant.
Things were left on a bad note. She tried to call me several times about it, but I ignored her.
I think she came to the house to scare me, threaten me, get me to talk to her.
It backfired because you woke up. She should never have come to our house. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
As I turn the door handle, he asks, “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain? That Sienna won’t use this opportunity to ruin me, regardless?”
“Because Sienna and I have more integrity than you do,” I tell him, in the way a mother scolds her teenage son. “And that’s enough.”
A smile creeps onto my face as I walk out.
I remember the day Julian signed me off as his pupil. It was the proudest, most satisfying day of my life. That action told the world, “She’s good enough,” and his opinion meant more to me than anything.
I walk away from him today—no longer his pupil or his wife—not caring one bit what he thinks of me.
Whatever happens in this trial, I won.
—
By 4:15 p.m., people are starting to pack their stuff away. The judge will send the jury home at 4:30. Most of the other courts have closed for the day, and it’s only the people involved in Jack’s case hanging around.
I hear the click of the loudspeaker amplify through the robing room and my stomach lurches.
“Could all parties in the case of R v Jack Millman please report to Court 1 immediately?”
Davina and I look at each other, alarmed.
“A verdict already?” she says.
“Bad news, if so. They’d never acquit this quickly.”
We pick up our bags and rush down, the prosecution team in front of us. We all try to look calm and collected, but we aren’t. You can practically hear our unsynchronized hearts beating like drums.
The press are already in, like vultures, ready to dine on whatever is happening. There’s an audible buzz in the courtroom.
“Is it a jury question or a verdict?” I ask the usher.
“It’s a verdict.”
My heart jolts. They’ve only been deliberating three hours. At this stage, it has to be unanimous, so they either all think he’s guilty or they all think he’s not guilty.
“Leila?” Davina calls, gesturing for me to get into place.
I can hear her, but I’m not really in the same room.
The enormity of what’s happening is only just registering.
Slowly walking to the same seat I’ve been sitting in for the past three days, I look around the courtroom as people pile in to view the spectacle that’s about to occur.
I see people from chambers, including Chester, all of whom will be judging my ability as an advocate based on this verdict.
But none of them matters as much as Jack.
Have I worked hard enough? Have I done the absolute best I could have, in the circumstances? Could I have done anything else? For so long, I’ve wanted to prove myself in this job, prove I have what it takes to do this kind of case, and now I’ve had my shot.
In he comes, to the dock. Gone is the self-assured, almost-confident man we’ve seen throughout this process.
Jack looks like a man about to lose everything.
I see the fear in his eyes from four benches away.
I say nothing to him, only nod, which I hope expresses that whatever happens, I’m here. It will be OK.
The jury bailiff brings the jurors in through a door at the side of the dock.
I do not turn to look at them. If I do, I’ll make all kinds of assumptions about what their verdict is.
I concentrate on looking straight ahead, as a barrister should.
My heart feels about to burst, but I maintain a cool exterior.
“All rise!” the usher yells, at which point the judge walks onto the bench.
Court is silent.
“Before we begin, I would like to say now that any outbursts from anyone in the next few minutes will not be tolerated. Those causing trouble will be removed immediately.”
The court clerk asks the jury foreman to stand. A man wearing black-rimmed glasses rises. He clasps his hands together and clears his throat.
He’s about to change all of our lives.