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

clenched my shaking fists and spoke. ‘Can you please state your name for the court?’

‘My name is Lydia Roth.’

‘And your occupation?’ I asked.

‘Solicitor.’

‘Are you, in fact, the solicitor acting for the defendant, Charli Meadows?’

‘I am.’

I swallowed. ‘And were you acting for her when she was interviewed for this offence?’

‘I was, yes.’

‘We’ve heard the officer in the case, DI Linford, give evidence to the effect that Miss Meadows answered “no comment” to the various questions asked of her in interview. He claims that she had been advised to make no comment by you, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why did you give that advice?’

‘Well, as I said to the interviewing officer at the time, my client seemed to be in shock. I didn’t think she was in a fit mental state to be interviewed.’

‘And what did the interviewing officer say in response?’

‘He told me that he disagreed, and that the interview would proceed as normal. I informed him in return that, if the interview did go ahead, I’d advise Miss Meadows to give no comment.’

I nodded and felt tension through my own neck. ‘During your preparation for this case,’ I said, ‘did you ever visit Miss Meadows at her home address?’

‘Several times,’ she replied.

‘And was there ever a dog in the house?’

‘Yes, there was, about a month ago. A huge white dog. She had to lock it away while I entered the house.’

‘Great,’ I muttered, feeling anything but.

That was all I needed to ask. Her evidence was completed. It was time to sit down. My emotions were spiralling: here was the familiar burn of anger, the dizziness of shock, and something else altogether. Hurt.

I didn’t sit down. I couldn’t. I sighed and then began.

‘Roth is your married name, is it not?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Lydia replied; if she hadn’t been waiting on Garrick’s questions, I suspect that she would’ve already had one foot out of the box. ‘What did you say?’

‘Your maiden name,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

She tilted her head, glanced around the room, and then leaned closer to the microphone as if it was just the two of us here. ‘Why?’

I could feel the shake in my hands. ‘What is your maiden name, Ms Roth?’

‘Elliot …’ She blinked, eyelashes fluttering, but her eyes were wary now. ‘What on earth does that matter?’

‘Macey,’ I replied for her, hearing the disappointment in my own voice. ‘Is it true that your maiden name is Lydia Macey?’

She pursed her lips. ‘Where are you getting this from?’

‘I didn’t see the similarity before,’ I said sadly. ‘Your hair is so much lighter than his, and of course I wasn’t looking for it, but those eyes … Those green eyes …’

‘Mr Rook?’ The judge appeared genuinely concerned.

‘Ms Roth,’ I continued, ‘are you related to Daniel Mandamás, also known as Daniel Macey?’

‘Related?’ Lydia glanced to the jury. ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

A voice from the public gallery; it was, unmistakably, Delroy Meadows. ‘What?’

‘Silence,’ Lady Allen said, but her eyes were fixed on Lydia. ‘Answer the questions, Ms Roth.’

‘The questions are nonsense,’ she said. ‘I came up here to answer two questions, that is all, one about –’

‘Ms Roth,’ I continued, sharper now. ‘Are you the daughter of the notorious drug tsar Roy Macey, a fugitive currently believed to be hiding out on the Costa del Sol?’

She laughed, but the laugh was dead. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

‘And therefore,’ I continued, ‘are you one of the two figureheads in charge of Roy Macey’s extensive county lines drug-dealing operation?’

‘My Lady!’ Garrick cried, hauling himself to his feet. ‘I don’t know what Rook is doing, but these are all leading questions!’

‘They are,’ Allen responded, ‘but I for one am curious to see where they lead. Please continue, Mr Rook.’

‘I will, My Lady, I just need a moment to figure out exactly where these questions do lead, as –’ Then it all fell into place, and the feeling was near to bliss. ‘That’s it.’

‘That’s what?’ Lydia spat back.

‘The garage,’ I said, remembering something Delroy Meadows had told me the very first time I’d seen Danny at work: the guy’s a genius with a spray gun.

Lydia’s face, once so striking, had turned the colour of old cream.

‘Ms Roth,’ I said, ‘is it true that your twin brother, Daniel, sprays the synthetic drug known as Spice onto rolling tobacco, for sale to the general public, as well as legal papers for distribution among the local prisons, at his place of work in Hackney Wick? That place of work being the very same garage where the defendant’s car was taken for its MOT mere weeks before those drugs were discovered concealed in the boot?’

Gasps across the room. From the public gallery, Delroy’s voice again: ‘He does what?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Lydia replied coldly. ‘You’re delusional.’

‘I have been.’ I nodded. ‘So, you’re saying that if the stack of legal papers you were carrying this morning, which you presumably passed on to your client over in Court 8, were retrieved and analysed, they wouldn’t be coated with synthetic cannabinoids bound for Pentonville?’

Her smile was like a knife now; she looked like a total stranger. ‘Have you been drinking again, Elliot?’

‘Not today,’ I said. ‘Not yet. That’s all I have to ask. If you wait there, Mr Garrick may have some questions for you.’

I glanced at Garrick. He was slumped with his chin almost resting on our row.

‘Mr Garrick,’ Allen said, ‘do you have any questions for Ms, um, Roth?’

‘N-no, My Lady. No questions.’

‘In that case you are free to go,’ Lady Allen said, ‘but on no account whatsoever may you leave this court building until further notice.’

Lydia didn’t respond. She stormed for the exit with her nose turned up high. My hands were still shaking wildly.

As soon as the doors at the back of the room had slammed shut, Lady Allen turned to her clerk. ‘Find out if the van has already left for Pentonville with its remand prisoners, would you, Kate?’

‘Certainly.’ Another brief phone call took place before the clerk hung up and replied quietly. ‘Not yet, My