Post Mortem, Gary Bell [best fiction novels .txt] 📗

to thin out before deciding to drive back to chambers. I had to collect the case papers I’d left there after rushing off to the Scrubs with Zara. Exhausted from her first real walk, the dog had collapsed inside her crate, but I still apologised as I bolted her inside. ‘Sorry, but we can’t have you trashing the place, can we, girl?’ I realised that I didn’t have a name by which to call her. I doubted Werner had ever thought to give her one. ‘I’ll have to think about that,’ I said, but she wasn’t really listening.

Miller & Stubbs Criminal Barristers was closed for the evening when I unlocked the front door and stepped into the empty reception. I knew there’d be a handful of juniors still scattered around the rooms of the building, working hard and late into the night as I’d so often done while Jenny Rook ate supper alone. Upstairs, in my room, I turned on the lamp and began to pile up the papers from where I’d left them strewn over my desk.

All cases require meticulous preparation before they ever go near a courtroom. The actual case papers themselves are novellas of witness statements, exhibits and interviews, but the typical working day also covers the organisation of interview edits, agreed facts and admissions, the preparation of the PCMH – plea and case management hearing – form, the drafting of the defence statement, activating secondary disclosure of any relevant material raised in said defence statement, and the planning of any legal arguments over issues such as bad character. In this case, there’d be no lenience from the jury for having been thrown in with only a week to prepare. I needed to submit the defence statement with whichever defence we were going to go with, but my mind was restive.

Charli Meadows. Andre Israel. Wormwood Scrubs connecting the two. I could feel the start of a headache coming on. I crossed my room, poked my head out to glance up and down the vacant corridor outside, and then closed the door and locked it. There were no blinds or curtains at my only window, so I turned off the lamp, shoved the window open and sat on the ledge to light a Marlboro from my coat pocket.

As I blew smoke out of the building, I dialled Zara.

‘What’s up?’ she blurted after a single ring. ‘Is it the dog?’

‘No, she’s sleeping. At least I hope she is. I’m back in chambers. Any luck at the bank?’

A bitter laugh. Behind the laugh, I could hear the rise and fall of passing engines, the bleeping of a pedestrian crossing: the sounds of central London. ‘Not really.’

‘You know, I do still have some cash left over from the Kessler fraud case. You were a big help there, and … that is, if you’re seriously in the shit, I could al—’

‘No. We don’t know what’s going to happen after this month and … No, I’d just rather not.’

‘That’s fair enough.’ I didn’t push it.

‘Thought of a name?’ she asked.

I held the cigarette between my teeth, and with my empty hand patted my stomach loud enough for her to hear it down the line. ‘I’m still waiting for the next scan to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.’ I left a pause for laughter. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘How about naming her after your ex-wife?’ she chuckled. ‘I’m sure that’d really stick it to her!’

I winced. Instinctively, my eyes moved through the shadows to the shelf where I kept my first-edition copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, which Jenny had gifted me on the morning I passed the Bar. ‘How about Harper?’ I suggested.

‘Not since every wannabe Beckham named their kid it.’

‘Boo Radley then? She looks almost scary enough for a Boo.’

‘God no. Boo is like a pet name between Insta-couples these days.’

‘Insta-couples?’ I laughed. ‘In my day, we called those blow-up dolls.’

‘I bet you did. If you’re going Mockingbird, why not Scout?’

‘Scout …’ I turned to the window and gazed at the parallel building across the narrow passageway, the long shadows pushed up its stone face by the lamp post far below. ‘I like it.’

‘You’re welcome. So, how come you’re back in chambers at this time?’

‘Rushed out earlier without my work. Say, you have digital copies of Israel’s case papers, don’t you?’ I knew she did; Zara was digital in all the ways I was still analogue. ‘Any chance you could forward me copies?’

‘Absolutely!’ She sounded brightened and surprised. ‘I’m still central. If you hang on in chambers another fifteen minutes or so I could come meet you and print out the hard copies …’ She coughed guiltily. ‘Then, if you’re feeling charitable, I wouldn’t say no to a lift back down to Brixton to save me the Tube fare …’

‘Deal.’

‘Nice. You’re following the drugs then?’

‘Yes. Whether your client really does know anything of value or not remains to be seen, but I think it’s worth a punt.’

‘You’re probably right …’

A big, blatant gap. ‘But?’

‘Well, I’m not going to lie, the thought of using my client like this makes me feel a bit weird. It’s a shame you don’t know anyone else.’

‘Anybody else?’

‘Yeah. I mean, you’ve worked with enough clients over the years, I thought maybe you’d know someone else with an inside perspective of the Scrubs. Maybe someone who could give us a different opinion on this gang.’

I paused, stumped, only just seeing the obvious answer. ‘Barnes, you are a genius.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Yes. Meadows lives in Walthamstow. As it happens, I know just the place where we could –’ I stopped abruptly. Distancing the phone, I strained my ear towards the landing. There were soft footsteps approaching, footsteps accompanied by the rumbling of small wheels and the jangling of keys. ‘Ah, great …’ Back to the phone. ‘Meet me at chambers.’ I hung up and sent the fag spinning out of the window.

No sooner had I shut the window than the door was unlocked, and our caretaker