Chapter 51
‘Barnaby Spada?’ Copeland asked the barrister.
‘Who’s asking?’
‘DC Copeland. I’m attached to the Met’s Serial Crime Unit,’ she said, flashing her warrant card. ‘I understand that you’re prosecuting Catlin Ferguson.’
‘Are you here to tell me that you found her? The judge issued a bench warrant about an hour ago.’
‘Found her … no,’ said Copeland. ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk?’
‘Private? What exactly is going on?’
Copeland stepped forward, lowering her voice. ‘Catlin Ferguson is dead.’
Barnaby’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean. How?’
‘An acid attack on Saturday night which is why I need to—’
‘Hold on,’ Barnaby said, stepping away from Copeland. His voice travelled and echoed around the tiled hallway as he shouted urgently. ‘Kerry, Will.’
A female barrister turned around and looked at Barnaby quizzically.
‘My room,’ Barnaby said, picking up his laptop and papers.
‘Who are you?’ Kerry asked, removing her wig as Barnaby closed the door of the CPS office.
‘DC Copeland, this is Kerry Murphy, defence counsel for Ms Ferguson,’ said Barnaby ‘And this is Will Summers, Ms Ferguson’s solicitor.’
‘Have you found her?’ Will asked.
Copeland glanced at the clock on the wall. Ferguson had been dead for nearly thirty-six hours. She couldn’t understand why she, a police officer from a unit on the other side of the river, was delivering the death message.
‘On Saturday night a woman was attacked with acid in Notting Hill and died yesterday morning,’ said Copeland. ‘That woman was identified as Catlin Ferguson.’
‘Excuse me, what?’ Will exclaimed as his briefcase fell out of his hand. ‘She can’t … are you sure?’
‘Her identity was confirmed and her family have been informed.’
‘Why are we only being informed now?’ asked Kerry as she looked across at Barnaby and then back at Copeland.
‘I don’t know why you or the court haven’t been informed by the investigating officers,’ said Copeland softening her voice, aware that she was getting defensive.
‘Aren’t you the investigating officer?’ Will asked suspiciously.
‘No, I’m attached to the Serial Crimes Unit,’ said Copeland. ‘It’s early doors and we’re just making all the necessary enquiries now to determine if Ferguson’s murder is a part of a series of vigilante attacks.’
‘Christ,’ Will said. ‘How can the verdict stand if the defendant is dead?’
‘The verdict has to be set aside. Excuse me.’ Kerry grabbed her belongings, pushed past Copeland and left the room.
‘Verdict?’ Copeland asked as Barnaby also picked up his belongings. ‘The trial isn’t listed until 11 a.m..’
‘The wrong time was published online,’ Barnaby explained.
‘The case was called on at 9.45 a.m. and the judge sent the jury out almost immediately. He then called us back in at 10.25 a.m. and issued a bench warrant because we thought Catlin had failed to surrender. I think the jury had already made up their mind because, forty minutes later, there was a verdict.’
‘Guilty,’ said Will. ‘Unanimous. Not that I was surprised. She should have bloody pleaded. She would have been serving a prison sentence but at least she would have been alive.’
‘I was hoping that the OIC would be around. I wanted to ask him if Catlin had reported incidents of harassment,’ said Copeland as she moved and blocked the door. ‘Was there anything that happened recently, any incidents at court? I’m not asking you to break legal privilege, Mr Summers, but did—’
‘She thought she was being followed,’ said Will. ‘I assumed she was being paranoid and overdramatic as per usual.’
‘Was there anything else other than being followed?’ Copeland asked.
Will blew out his lips as he rubbed the top of his bald head. ‘I’m assuming you already know about the slashed tyres and shit through her door?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Copeland. ‘Did she report it?’
‘I advised her to but—’ Will stopped as his phone rang. ‘Sorry, it’s the office. I need to take this.’
‘There was also the incident last Friday with her sister, Siobhan,’ said Barnaby as Will left the room and the sound of the tannoy crackled.
‘All parties in the case of Ferguson to Court Six immediately.’
‘That’s us, but you might be in luck. Siobhan has been here for every single day of the trial. Check with witness services. I’m sorry, I really have to go but also don’t leave the building, just in case the judge wants to hear from you.’
‘Siobhan Perez,’ Copeland shouted as she ran across the small car park towards the woman who had her hand on the door of a blue Mini. The woman jumped back, her car keys firmly between her fingers.
Copeland did her best not to gasp. The foundation couldn’t conceal the red, scarred and fragile skin on the left side of Siobhan’s face. The twisted skin of her left eyelid looked heavy as it concealed her weeping eye.
Copeland held out her warrant card. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ she said. ‘My name is DC Copeland. I’m with the Serial Crime Unit.’
‘Am I supposed to know what that is?’
‘We’re a specialist unit based in Greenwich. We’re making enquiries into—’ Copeland paused and turned her face buying herself more time. For the second time in less than an hour she was going to deliver the death message. ‘Your sister.’
‘I’m not really interested in hearing about my bitch of a sister, unless you’re here to tell me you’ve found her and she’s on her way to prison,’ Siobhan said furiously.
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ said Copeland. ‘Your sister was attacked on—’
‘Good. Hopefully she’s dead,’ Siobhan said, lowering herself into the car seat.
Copeland grabbed the top of the car door to stop Siobhan from slamming it shut. ‘Your sister was attacked with acid on Saturday night. She died in the early hours of Sunday morning,’ she said.
Copeland waited for any expression to cross Siobhan’s face. Shock, bewilderment, denial or even acceptance but they never came. She remained impassive. Copeland suspected that Siobhan would have shown more emotion if she’d been listening to an electricity meter reading.
Siobhan stared back. ‘What are you expecting of me? For me to be sorry?’
Copeland bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the temptation to answer in the affirmative. ‘Look, I understand that your relationship with your sister was tumultuous but—’
‘Tumultuous?’ Siobhan scoffed, pointing at her face. ‘Look at me.’
‘I’m sorry for what happened to you. I just need to ask you a few questions and then I’ll let you get on. I understand your sister had breached her bail conditions by visiting you?’
‘She’s a psychopath and a narcissist,’ said Siobhan. ‘I’m a psychiatrist and you would have thought I’d have been able to see the signs in my own flesh and blood. The day before the trial, she turned up in my house.’
‘What do you mean, “in your house”?’ asked Copeland.
‘I gave a spare key to my nephew which she obviously took. I came home from work, and she was sitting there in my kitchen, drinking a glass of wine as though we were—’
Siobhan turned her face, her voice cracking for the first time.
‘What did she want?’
‘For me not to give evidence. To either not turn up at all or to stand in that courtroom and lie. Tell them it was someone else who threw acid in my face.’
‘What did she do when you told her no?’
‘Offered me money. A lot of money. Which was just like her. If she couldn’t manipulate you then she would throw money at the problem. I told her to get out. Threatened to call the police.’
‘And did she?’
Siobhan nodded. ‘I came to court every day, but there are all these rules, which meant I had to wait in the witness room until they were ready for me. I didn’t see her again until the day I gave evidence.
She sat in the dock, looking at me as though I was a piece of shit and then she sat up there in the witness box, all fucking sanctimonious and acted as though she was the victim. ’
‘Did you attack her outside the court last Friday?’
‘It was hardly an attack. It was just … she looked at me as though she was so sure she was going to get away with it and I just—’ Siobhan lifted up the central console, pulled out a bunch of tissues and wiped her weeping eye. ‘Thank God Mika was there to stop me.’
‘Mika?’ Copeland asked, her grip on the car door growing tighter. ‘Who’s Mika?’
‘She’s works in witness services. Victim support,’ Siobhan replied cautiously. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done without her. She’s been a godsend these past two weeks.’
‘And this Mika works here at the court?’ Copeland asked as she released the door, took her phone out of her pocket and went to her emails. ‘Come on,’ she said as she tapped repeatedly on the jpeg icon attached to Stanford’s email, desperate for it to open.
‘You won’t have much luck out here. The reception is awful. You’re better off inside.’
‘This Mika. Do you know her surname?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘And have you seen her today? Was she with you when the verdict was delivered?’
‘No, she wasn’t. I doubt very much that I was the only victim on her list.’ Siobhan pressed the ignition button and the car engine purred. ‘Can I go now? This has all been a lot and I really want to go home.’
‘Of course,’ Copeland replied as she stepped back from the car door. ‘Oh, but before you go, can you describe Mika?’
‘Has she done something?’ Siobhan asked suspiciously.
‘It’s just routine in an investigation like this.’
‘Ok. She’s about five foot five, slim build. Shoulder length blonde hair, dyed. She has a small mole under her right eye. Late forties, early fifties, I think. Sorry, I’m not the best with guessing ages. That’s it. Just ordinary really.’
Copeland stepped into the large court admin office. There were only three people in there as the court morning session hadn’t yet concluded. A short, middle-aged Asian man with his glasses hanging around his neck on a chain, stood by the photocopier, while a younger woman was on the phone.
‘I’m DC Copeland attached to the Serial Crime Unit.
I’m looking for a woman called Mika,’ she said exasperatedly as her phone finally connected to the court Wi-Fi.
‘She was looking after a witness in the Catlin Ferguson trial. Court Three. She’s blonde, about five foot five. Has a mole. Late forties.’
The third woman, whose name badge identified her as Pearl, approached Copeland who showed her the photograph of the sketch that Stanford had emailed to the team.
‘Can’t say that I recognise her. Hold on. Terri,’ she said, turning to look behind her. ‘You’re covering Court Three, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, not that there’s much to cover at the moment. The defendant was apparently murdered over the weekend. Acid attack,’ said Terri. She put down the phone and approached Copeland. ‘Is this what you’re here about?’
‘Yes,’ Copeland replied as the man who’d been by the photocopier picked up a coat from the back of a chair and walked out. ‘Do you know this woman?’
Terri wrinkled her face as Copeland held out her phone. ‘That looks like Mikaela. She’s the new witness services manager. She lets the witnesses call her Mika.’
‘Where is she?’ Copeland asked.
‘What has she done?’
‘Where is she?’ Copeland repeated urgently.
‘I don’t know, but you can ask Elliot. She’s his wife. He was just standing by … Pearl, wasn’t Elliot just here?’ Terri asked.
‘He just left. Must be grabbing a cigarette break,’ said Pearl.
‘The man who was standing by the photocopier?’ Copeland asked.
‘Elliot Fonseka. He’s Judge Tarlov’s—’
‘And this woman is his wife?’
‘Yeah, he introduced her to me.’
‘Find the police liaison officer and tell them I need backup, now! I’ve got a suspect on the run,’ Copeland shouted.
She ran out of the office, into the empty hallway and stopped at the lift.
Copeland ran down the stairs. She wished she’d paid closer attention to the man standing innocently next to the photocopier.
She reached the ground floor and turned to the lift.
The doors were closed, and the lift was on its way to the second floor.
‘Did an Asian man just leave? He works here. A clerk. Elliot,’ Copeland shouted at the surprised security guard.
‘Yes, a few seconds ago,’ the guard replied.
Copeland pushed through the glass door and stood momentarily at the top of the steps.
‘Police!’ she shouted as the man who’d been walking quickly through the car park turned left and ran across the wet grass of the Court grounds. Copeland grabbed and extended her baton as she sprinted after Elliot.
‘Stop! Police!’ she shouted again. It didn’t take long for Copeland to catch up with Elliot and grab him by his coattails. Elliot screamed out; his arms wild. He punched Copeland in the face.
Copeland gasped as she landed heavily on her back. She turned over and scrambled to her feet, picked up her baton and gave chase again, her trainers slipping on the wet grass.
‘You little shit,’ Copeland muttered, striking her baton hard against Elliot’s arm and pushing him to the ground. She dropped to her knees and turned a wittering Elliot around as the police liaison officer ran towards her.
Copeland straddled Elliot and grabbed hold of his left arm. ‘Elliot Fonseka, I’m arresting you for murder,’ she said.
‘Ow, you’re hurting me,’ screamed Elliot, his Manchester accent broad.
‘Shut up,’ Copeland ordered, grabbing his right arm and placing the handcuffs on his wrists as she cautioned him.
‘Tell her to let me go. She’s made a mistake,’ Elliot shouted as Copeland pulled him to his feet and handed him over to the police liaison officer.
‘I told you to shut up,’ Copeland repeated. She winced as she bent down and picked up her phone which had fallen out of her pocket and dialled Henley.