Chapter 63 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
“Have you reached a verdict upon which you’re all agreed?”
“Yes.”
“On count one, a charge of murder, what is your verdict?”
Time stops. The longest eternity, packed into a single moment.
“Not guilty.”
I feel as if I black out for a few seconds.
I come round quickly to Davina shaking my shoulders and whispering, “Well done!” into my ear. Turning to see Jack, he is as shocked as I am. He stares back as me in sheer disbelief.
People mutter and whisper, filling the courtroom with sounds I’m not sure how to interpret. Out of the corner of my eye I see Julian throw a pen down onto the bench, which bounces onto the floor. His left leg taps repeatedly on the floor, something he does when he’s highly agitated.
The judge addresses the jury and thanks them for their consideration on what has been a difficult case.
They returned a verdict within hours. A unanimous verdict. I placed enough doubt about the prosecution’s case in all of their heads. How on earth did that happen?
“Mr. Millman, please stand,” the judge says. “You’ve been found not guilty of murder. You are free to leave.”
Just like that. All the months Jack has been held without bail, suddenly cast aside. He is a free man.
Leaving court, I’m swarmed by colleagues who offer their congratulations on a stunning win. It feels surreal.
This time, we meet Jack not in the cells, but in a conference room. No handcuffs, no security guard. We sit beside him, and I can see he’s shaking.
“It’s over,” I tell him, aware he likely needs to hear it again. That it hasn’t sunk in yet. “You can move on with your life.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I know it wasn’t the way you usually run things.”
“It worked out well in the end.”
“You too, Davina—thank you.”
“No problem, Jack, and don’t worry about anything—I’ll ensure everyone knows you didn’t mention any names, and were utterly loyal to whoever it was you were protecting. I assume that’s why you instructed me in the first place,” she says, winking. “You’ve conducted yourself impeccably.”
“Thanks.” He grins.
“So, what now?” I ask him. I really hope he’s going to do something positive—that he’ll never end back here again.
“I don’t know. I might go traveling. I’ve been locked up here long enough.”
“All I’d say is, be careful who you associate with,” I warn him cautiously. “They’ll be watching you to find out who this woman is.”
“I know.”
“Might be good to lay low for a while.” I smile. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Millman.”
He stands up and offers his hand for me to shake, but it feels too impersonal, too flippant after what we’ve been through. Instead, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He tightly grips my waist in a way that suggests it’s the most important hug he’s ever had.
“Well, if we’re doing hugs!” Davina interrupts, before breaking us up and going in for one herself. We all laugh, not quite believing that, after everything, we really won.
As I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to the robing room, I wish, more than anything, I could go home and quietly congratulate myself on this win. For me, for Jack. For what we’ve managed to pull off. But I can’t.
It’s a peculiar concept to grasp: achieving the biggest win of your professional life, yet feeling flat afterward. The reason is that I know this isn’t the end. I have not yet won all my battles.
Sure enough, it comes about half an hour later. A new message from @JustAnotherDumbBlonde.
The girl who always thinks of everything seems to have misplaced a vital piece of evidence from her trial. Slippy fingers! Don’t worry. I can hand it in at the local cop shop or you can come get it from me yourself.
This is the problem when you leave toxic people behind in life—they never really go away. If you dig shallow graves, you can’t be surprised when the bodies emerge. I need to put an end to this, once and for all.
Tonight.
I compose a reply.
I’ll meet you 6 p.m. Not in public. Nightingale Dene, on the bridge overlooking the river.