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

location. A lot of people skate in these parks, they might know him. I could message them and see if they have any idea where he might be hiding.’

‘But if the people he runs with haven’t yet been able to find him …’

‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘This could be my whole case!’ Her voice turned quiet and earnest. ‘This public-interest crap has got me clutching at straws. All I know is that this idiot is supposed to be sitting in Andre’s place, and Andre still won’t tell me anything about him!’

‘And do you really believe that Omar would take Israel’s place willingly?’

‘I know, but I’ll never be sure unless I talk to him.’

‘It sounds unlikely. My advice is to take a step back. Fight the case to the best of your capabilities and trust in the system. You don’t need to do this independent research.’

‘A little rich coming from you.’

She wasn’t wrong there.

‘Speaking of independent research,’ Zara went on, ‘I did a bit of digging into Banged Up Records. The producer is shown on their website as Deacon Walker.’

‘We already knew that.’

‘Not the surname, we didn’t. Don’t you think it’s strange? Walker.’

‘It isn’t the strangest I’ve ever heard.’

‘Not the name.’ She rolled her eyes again. ‘The initials. Think about it. If his initials are DW, then why is he driving a car around with the registration DM1?’

‘Meadows told me that he’s an Uber driver. Apparently, the car belongs to a friend.’

‘You believe that?’

‘I don’t know. She lied about his existence in the first place. If it is his car then DM1 could’ve simply been the closest thing available. Deacon Music, maybe.’

‘Or maybe his real name isn’t Walker at all.’ Now she was fully whispering. ‘Maybe it actually stands for Deacon Macey! Think about it. He could be the mystery heir that Patch was telling us about.’

‘It’s a theory.’ I sipped my tea. ‘Of course, Patch also believes that Elvis Presley is alive on the moon, eating cheese and riding around on the back of Shergar.’

‘Fine,’ she snapped, ‘but until you come up with something better, I’m keeping all possibilities on the table.’

That afternoon brought my first attempt at challenging a witness for the prosecution. There was nothing in his witness statement that I disagreed with and, generally, you would allow the prosecution to read such a witness’s statement as agreed evidence, but I had an inkling that I could get a little more out of him than he’d told the police. The oft-quoted rule of advocacy is never to ask a question unless you know the answer. Sometimes, however, you have to take a gamble, especially when the weight of evidence is against you.

The aged black man in the box kept leaning too close to the microphone when he spoke, which gave his voice the tinny resonance of a cheap DJ. Sporting a fuzz of white hair and an ancient brown suit, he introduced himself as Russell Chapman and told the court that his role at the Scrubs amounted to sitting in a booth by the entrance gates for forty hours every week, watching vehicles roll in and out of the prison grounds. Upon reflection, I remembered seeing him on the day we visited Andre Israel.

‘Not what you’d call stimulating,’ he chuckled, ‘especially since they installed those automated barriers, but it gets me by.’ He seemed to be enjoying the attention of the room and kept smiling warmly towards the jury; for some witnesses, this was the most excitement they were likely to see all year.

‘Do all of the vehicles that enter the grounds belong to members of staff?’ Garrick asked.

‘Most, and that’s not just guards. We’ve got nurses, administration, cleaners, counsellors, handymen, employers in the workshops. More staff than I could count, cars coming and going all day long. They either scan their tickets, or they don’t get past, it’s as simple as that.’

‘Tickets?’ Garrick replied. ‘Are you saying that every employee has a permit?’

‘Uh-huh, that’s right. We’ve got the red-and-white barriers up, you know, one in and one out. There’s a machine there that scans the ticket and lifts the barrier.’

‘And with all this automated machinery, what exactly do you do?’

‘Well, we get a lot of vans, deliveries and linen. They’re scheduled in advance, but I’ve got to get out and check them off. I get a list at the start of every week and make sure those drivers have got their paperwork in return. Course, they could just send the lorry drivers a ticket out in advance, but don’t tell them that or I’ll be out of a job!’ The tiniest titter from the jury, which made the man beam with pride. ‘Never get too many issues, except for you lawyers trying to park onsite.’

‘Is there any public or legal visitor car parking onsite whatsoever?’

‘Uh-uh, none. Visitors park out there at the roadside.’

‘To clarify, the only vehicles that ever get past your booth are authorised in advance, one way or the other?’

‘All authorised, yes.’

‘Were you working on Monday the fifteenth of January this year?’

‘Eight until four.’

‘You were onsite when the staff vehicles were searched?’

‘I was.’

‘And are you familiar with the vehicle registered to the defendant?’

He nodded. ‘Vauxhall, dark blue, a bit of a rattler.’

‘Do you happen to know the registration number of the defendant’s Vauxhall?’

‘You must be joking. I don’t even know my own car’s registration number.’

Lady Allen leaned to her microphone. ‘Is this evidence disputed, Mr Rook?’

‘No, My Lady, the defence accepts every word of Mr Chapman’s evidence. My learned friend may lead him through all of it.’

Garrick bristled. ‘If Mr Rook accepts this witness’s evidence unchallenged, then why has he been fully bound to attend court? Why couldn’t we just read his statement?’

‘Mr Rook?’ The judge raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

‘I have a few supplementary questions for the witness.’ I smiled. ‘A few points I hope he can clarify.’

‘Very well. Continue, Mr Garrick.’

After a hard stare, he did. ‘The car in question would be a Corsa, registration X326 ADM?’

‘Sounds about right.’

‘And