Chapter Ten
On Thursday afternoon, after being kept waiting an hour past the scheduled time, Cristy and Connor were finally shown into Julian Hargreaves’s office.
It was a large, musty space on the first floor of a nineteenth-century merchant’s house, as cluttered with law books, case files and old steel filing cabinets as it was devoid of visitor comfort.
Two hardback chairs had been placed in front of the old-fashioned oak desk, where the lawyer himself remained intent on whatever he was reading.
He was a harried, impatient looking man in his mid-to-late sixties, with a shock of white hair, a florid nose and a jutting lower jaw.
‘Hi, I’m Honey Blackwell.’ A much younger, far friendlier-looking associate smiled as she gestured for them to sit.
She had to be around thirty, was smartly dressed and wore her extra weight well.
She was quite probably, Cristy thought, related to Jeffrey Backwell, the other half of Hargreaves Blackwell, given their shared ethnicity and same workplace.
‘I hope you were offered refreshments while you were waiting?’ Honey asked.
‘Thanks, we were,’ Cristy told her, and after Honey seated herself at the edge of Hargreaves’s desk, taking a kind of umpire position, Cristy turned back to the man himself.
Finally deigning to look up, he said gruffly, ‘Cristy Ward. You reported on the Ivorson case back in the day.’
‘I did,’ she confirmed, and deliberately held out a hand to shake. ‘It’s good to meet you, Mr Hargreaves. Thank you for sparing us the time.’
Taking the hand, he half rose from his chair and fixed a stare on Connor, who also reached out to do the polite thing.
After dutifully accepting the formal greeting, Hargreaves sat back down, saying, ‘I’m not sure how much I can help you. You must have all the background you need on the—’
‘From a press perspective,’ Cristy interrupted, ‘and of course, we hope to have the trial transcript soon. What we’d like to discuss with you today is Nicole’s recent release.’
Before Hargreaves could respond, Connor said, ‘Would you be OK with us recording this?’
‘No,’ Hargreaves replied bluntly.
That was it. No qualifier, no attempt to soften the refusal and certainly no smile.
Cristy glanced fleetingly at Honey Blackwell, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
Hargreaves said, ‘I will confirm that Nicole has now accepted responsibility for her actions and has been granted parole, but if you’re going to ask me to reveal her whereabouts, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.’
‘Actually, I was going to ask if the twins’ bodies have been found,’ Cristy informed him. ‘Or if there have been any leads as to their whereabouts.’
He eyed her warily. ‘Not as far as anyone in this office is aware,’ he retorted.
Connor said, ‘We understand you can’t give us any information on where Nicole is, but would you be willing to pass on a message from us?’
As Cristy pulled a small white envelope from her bag, a note already prepared, Hargreaves stalled her with a raised hand.
‘It won’t do you any good,’ he said. ‘One of her parole conditions is to stay away from the media – social and mainstream. Of course, there’s nothing we can do about the former, although she’s been strongly advised for her own sake not to engage, but you …
mavericks from the old school trotting out your modern-day podcasts and—’
Deciding she’d had enough of this windbag’s insufferable condescension, Cristy cut in smoothly, ‘That was offensive, Mr Hargreaves, and if it’s how you feel, I have to wonder why you agreed to see us.’
Hargreaves stared at her hard, clearly not used to being challenged in his own office – or by a woman. He allowed several chilling moments to pass before apparently realizing she was just as good at playing the silence game as he was. He backed down first.
‘I apologize,’ he said, his manner slightly less hostile now. ‘I should probably tell you that you’re only here because Honey is a fan.’
Cristy glanced at the associate, who rolled her eyes. Apparently, she had a little more sway around here than Cristy had given her credit for – good to know – and so was almost certainly related to the firm’s other senior partner.
Hargreaves was saying, ‘… after the way Nicole was treated by the press, both before and after the trial – you were there, so you know, although Honey has assured me you weren’t as bad as some – you can’t be surprised to hear that she actually doesn’t want anything to do with any of you now.
Besides, as I’ve already pointed out, it would break the terms of her parole, and she naturally has no desire to find herself back in prison. ’
Unable to argue with that, Cristy said, ‘Would you be willing to tell us why she’s confessed now when she could have done so at any time over the past twenty years? Her previous parole hearing, for example.’
Once again, Hargreaves stared at her, tapping the desk with a forefinger as he seemed to calculate how much or how little he was willing to share. ‘She was found guilty at trial, so I’m not sure why you’re seeking to cast doubt on her confession.’
‘Do you believe she did it?’ Connor jumped in.
Deflecting, Hargreaves said, ‘As her lawyer, it was my duty to provide as full and robust a defence as we could, so that is what we did.’
Cristy was starting to remember him in court, seated behind the barristers he’d appointed, occasionally talking to them, mostly scribbling on a notepad and seeming, at least to an observer’s eye, to have virtually no connection with the girl in the dock at all.
He wasn’t doing much to change that opinion now.
‘Can we ask how Nicole came to be your client?’ Cristy ventured.
Hargreaves’s thready eyebrows arched. ‘I was on duty at the time of her arrest.’
Of course, he would have been part of his firm’s rotating team of on-call lawyers back then, obliged to advise and represent anyone who didn’t already have someone to reach out to.
She wondered if he thought he’d lucked out with the Ivorson case – quite probably, considering how heavily companies like his depended on legal aid for income.
Connor said, ‘Just to be sure we’ve got things straight: Nicole thought she could get away with a plea of not-guilty if she – or her lawyers – could convince the jury that someone had stolen the twins? That was the thrust of her defence, wasn’t it?’
Hargreaves eyed him coldly. ‘Where exactly are you going with that, Mr …’
‘Church, but you can call me Connor. I’m just trying to get a handle on why there was never a search for a potential abductor. Or maybe there was?’
‘All I can tell you,’ Hargreaves said tersely, ‘is that neither we, at this firm, nor the police, had anything to go on; no evidence of abduction. We would have carried out a search if we had.’
‘So Nicole had no theories?’ Cristy asked. ‘She claimed at the time that some random person or persons must have entered the house and taken the twins while she was down at the woods burying the cat.’
‘Correct. This is all common knowledge, so I’m not sure—’
‘What about the blood?’ Cristy interrupted. ‘Traces were mentioned in court—’
‘Correct, traces. The way you lot reported it, anyone would have thought the place was awash with it.’
Barely suppressing a surge of irritation, Cristy said, ‘There was animal blood, we know, which might have been what led to rumours of a cult?’
He shrugged. ‘There was mention of a cult, yes, but neither we nor the police ever found anything to corroborate the claim.’
‘So how did the animal blood get there?’
‘They had a cat.’
His tone was so scathing that it made her feel foolish simply for asking – and actually, she was, because she remembered now that this very point had been made at the trial. The cat was known to bring in small creatures and kill them.
What was wrong with her? How had she forgotten that?
Taking over again, Connor said, ‘As far as we know, Nicole never appealed her sentence …’
‘We had no grounds for appeal – no new evidence to present to the court and, frankly, no instructions from our client to try and find any.’
‘How much contact have you had with her since she went to prison?’ Cristy asked, starting to suspect that he’d cut and run as soon as the legal aid tap had been turned off.
‘Honey here covered the recent parole hearings,’ he replied, ‘so she has been in touch during recent times and still is, of course.’
In other words, he hadn’t been in contact at all himself. So no post-conviction work, no more advice on how they might be able to turn up new evidence. Even if Nicole had done it, she’d surely have played along with that, given her continued claims of innocence.
Unprompted, Hargreaves said, ‘You seem to have reached certain conclusions concerning this case that aren’t in keeping with the facts. She has confessed, Ms Ward, and now, finally, she’s convinced a parole board of her remorse, which has led to where she is today.’
‘Has she changed her name?’ Connor asked.
Hargreaves’s tone was snarky as he said, ‘If she has, you surely can’t think I’d tell you.’
‘You don’t have to say what it is, only that it’s happened.’
Getting to his feet, Hargreaves said, ‘I’m afraid I’m already late for my next meeting, so if you’ll excuse me, Honey will see you out.’
Minutes later, they were on the street, a stone’s throw from the Crown Court, where a trial of interest was clearly breaking for the day given the press presence.
Completely unexpectedly, Honey Blackwell said, ‘I’d like to join forces with you regarding Nicole’s case, although I’m afraid there’s a limit to what I – or you – can do, given her parole conditions.’
Surprised and encouraged by this, Cristy said carefully, ‘Does that mean you’re not entirely convinced by her confession?’
Honey’s warm, amber eyes met hers. ‘Let’s just say it concerns me, but you have to understand that she can’t personally engage in an attempt to prove her innocence or the licence will be instantly revoked.’