Adam Palmer - The Boudicca Parchments

“Okay let me brief you about what’s going to happen when we go into court. You’ll be asked to confirm your name. At that point you just say yes, nothing more. Don’t say anything else at that stage unless they actually get your name wrong, which almost certainly isn’t going to happen.”

Daniel nodded.

“Okay then the next thing they’ll do is read out the charge and ask you whether you plead guilty or not guilty. At that point you say ‘not guilty’ and nothing else. You can even sit down after that.”

“What about bail?”

“That’s what I’m getting to. At that stage, the judge will ask if there’s an application for bail. At that point I’ll make an application for bail. The judge will invite counsel for the prosecution to respond and needless to say he — or she — will oppose the application. There may be a bit of too-ing and fro-ing between me and the lawyer from the CPS and then the judge will rule.”

“What are my chances?”

“Of getting bail on a murder charge?”

“Yes.”

“It can happen. You have don’t have a criminal record for a similar offence, so the legal presumption is in your favour. On the other hand you did breach your bail conditions that time you were accused of killing Harrison Carmichael.”

“If I hadn’t done that I’d never have come up with the evidence that proved my innocence.”

“I can argue that, but it’s not the sort of thing that the Courts like to hear.”

“What do they like to hear?”

“That you’re sorry about that time, but that it was a very different case. That you came back of your own accord. That you’re a man of unblemished record when it comes to actual criminal convictions. That you have a permanent residence in this country. That you have a job. That you’re ready to surrender your passport and wear an electronic tag.”

“And you think that’ll swing it?”

The lawyer gave this a moment’s thought.

“We can but try .”

“Is that a coded way of telling me not to get my hopes up.”

The lawyer smiled.

“We’re on the same wavelength.”

“Is there anything I can do that might help tip the scales in my favour?”

Again the lawyer paused to give the answer the care and consideration it deserved.

“Nothing at this stage. When it comes to the committal hearing, what we really need is evidence.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“Something that might counter the prosecution’s theory about Costa changing his mind.”

“Like what? He never had a chance to tell me anything.”

“No but he sent you the image already. So we could argue that changing his mind was irrelevant.”

“Yes, but like I told the police, the image was blurred. That’s why I was meeting him. He was going to show me the original — at least I assume he was.”

“You know what they say about assume. But let me ask you this: why didn’t you just ask him to send you another copy of the image — a less blurred copy?

“I told him it was blurred and left the ball in his court. He chose not to do it that way.”

“But you see, that’s the problem. That suggests that maybe he decided not to be so open with you.”

“Or maybe he just felt that a face to face meeting would be more productive.”

“Now that is pure speculation. Can you take a look at the image and see if you can decipher it… or read at least part of it?”

“It was on my phone. I dropped that when I escaped.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t make a back up.”

The words jogged Daniel’s memory. He just about to blurt out that he had, when he decided to hold back. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know anything about this man who was representing him. Sure it was his lawyer, and as such some one who had a professional duty to him as the client. But how much did he really know about him? He had hired him on a recommendation. But even if Hackett was a hundred percent trustworthy, what if he was being watched? Whoever had tried to kill Daniel, it was evidently some one dangerous. Anything he told the lawyer might merely put the lawyer in jeopardy… and might leak out to the unknown enemy who was still out there.

Daniel decided to hold back for the time being.

“I hope you didn’t take it personally,” said Baruch Tikva as he helped the young redhead get her hand luggage down from the overhead compartment. She was twentysomething and petite, yet athletic. But he wasn’t supposed to notice that. When she had first taken up her window seat next to him, he had objected to the airline staff, explaining that he was an orthodox Jew and that he couldn’t sit next to a woman. She had pointed out that she was modestly dressed but he insisted that either she or he be moved so that he could sit next to a man instead.

She agreed to move in principle, but explained that her bag was already in the overhead compartment and that as the plane had now more or less filled up, she might not be able to find room for it elsewhere. The flight attendant said that she could leave the bag there and collect it at the end of the flight. She agreed to this but insisted that if she needed anything from it during the flight she must be free to get it. The flight attendant diplomatically extracted a promise from Baruch Tikva that this would be no problem.

Baruch realized that he had probably come over as rather pushy, but he believed in standing up for his principles and he knew that airline staff tend to try to be accommodating. In the event the girl hadn’t come back during the flight and he actually felt grateful that she had agreed to be the one to move. Without giving way to the feelings of lust from his loins, he actually warmed to this girl somewhat, perhaps because she was clearly not Jewish. If her morals were loose, that was of no consequence, because she was a stranger . This meant that she wasn’t a traitor in the way that fallen Jewish women were.

So when she returned for the bag at the end of the flight, he realized that it made sense for him to take advantage of his considerable height to help her get it down. And she, for her part, seemed grateful. He had already picked up on the girl’s Irish accent and as he took the bag down, he noticed the name Siobhan Stewart on the baggage tag. Clearly Irish! But she didn’t look like a nun or even a convent girl. He suspected that she was simply a returning tourist who had just visited the Holy Land and that she either lived in London or was going to get a connecting flight to Ireland.

At passport control he was surprised to see that she was ahead of him in the non-EU passport queue. He assumed that Ireland was part of the EU. But again he dismissed it from his mind as he cleared Passport Control. Paradoxically, the queue for EU passports was longer than for non-EU — because border control staff had been re-assigned to customs in accordance with the government philosophy that catching smugglers was more important than facilitating the fast through-flow of passengers.

He didn’t have any stowed luggage of his own, only hand baggage, and so he went directly to the green channel with his small suitcase, passing through unimpeded, until he spotted a powerful man bearing a sign with the name “Tikva”. Baruch Tikva was a big man himself, but he sensed that the driver was a fighter who would be a formidable opponent. He suspected that this man was not merely the driver of the person he was going to see, but also the bodyguard. And he knew well why a bodyguard was needed.

The driver took his bag and led him to the short-term car park, where a white Rolls Royce was waiting. The driver opened a rear passenger door deferentially for Tikva, who stepped into a white leather-upholstered interior while the driver placed the bag in the boot. The half hour drive took them to Chesham Place in Belgravia.