Jane Casey - Cruel Acts

The first man mumbled something and pushed the door open. I followed them out and stopped, watching them walk away down the corridor, one looking dazed and hurrying to keep up with the other’s long stride.

‘Not what you’d expect.’ Paul Whitlock nodded in their direction. ‘Considering.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Chap with dark hair is Kelly Lambert.’

I shook my head, not recognising the name.

‘Leo Stone’s son.’

‘His son ?’

‘Long lost. Stone never married his mother – it was a casual relationship. They were both young when Kelly was born – early twenties, they would have been. Stone’s forty-eight now, though he looks older than me. Kelly’s mum died when he was young and he was taken into care. He had no contact with his dad for a long time, but Stone was in and out of prison so it was probably for the best. He wouldn’t have been a good influence, put it that way.’

‘How come they got back in touch?’

Whitlock shrugged. ‘Lambert found him when he was in prison in 2013. Started visiting him. When Stone came out, Lambert helped him get his life back on track. Lambert’s a carpenter. He got his dad some labouring work on building sites. Nothing skilled, but enough that he had a bit of cash. He wanted to keep him out of trouble, he said.’

‘That worked well.’

Whitlock gave a short laugh. ‘You said it.’

‘Did you look at him as a suspect?’ Derwent asked.

‘He had solid alibis for all the disappearances.’ Whitlock shook his head. ‘Kelly’s an argument for the care system. Whoever looked after him, they did a decent job. He seems to be the kind of chap who sees the good in everyone. Either that or he doesn’t want to believe that half his DNA is from a murdering shit. He’s been campaigning to get his dad released. Absolutely refuses to believe his dad could have done anything like that to those women, even though Stone had a history of violence towards his mum before they split up. Stone was a suspect in her death but they never made it stick.’

‘It’s a big jump from domestic abuse and burglary to murdering strangers,’ I said, as neutrally as I could. Whitlock bristled all the same.

‘It’s a good case. It’s solid. Stone got lucky on a technicality. There’ll be another trial and this time he’ll go away forever.’

And I’ll be proved right . He didn’t need to say it. I didn’t blame him for minding, in fact.

‘Who was the other guy with Kelly Lambert?’ Derwent asked, saving me the trouble.

‘That’s Stone’s solicitor, Seth Taylor.’ Whitlock grimaced. ‘Clever guy. Arrogant, though. He’s made his reputation off how he handled Stone’s case. They didn’t give us an inch, all the way through.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought he had much material to work with,’ Derwent said. ‘It was pretty cut and dried, as I understood it.’

‘It didn’t seem that way once the defence got to grips with the evidence.’ Whitlock shook his head. ‘Tell you what, if I ever get in trouble with the law, I’m calling Taylor. He’s all charm on the outside but if you challenge him, you’d better come prepared for a fight.’

‘DI Derwent is always prepared for a fight.’ I said it for the pleasure of making Derwent scowl.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing his face when Stone gets convicted again.’

I looked around, checking for eavesdroppers, and noticed a young woman in dark tights and a bulky coat. She was sitting in one of the alcoves outside the court, apparently concentrating on her phone.

‘We should take this somewhere else,’ I said quietly. Derwent, naturally, ignored me.

‘Jesus, I feel sorry for Lambert but he’s out of his tiny mind if he thinks his dad is innocent. I’ve never seen a more obvious psycho. He needs locking up again, as soon as we can possibly manage it. If we can get him put inside for anything at all, we should.’

‘We can’t harass him,’ I said.

‘I’m prepared to risk upsetting him if it means no one else dies,’ Derwent snapped.

‘Harry’s waiting,’ Godley said, with maximum disapproval, and on this occasion even Derwent took the hint.

The café in the Royal Courts of Justice was at the back of the ground floor, in an old courtroom that had been refitted with cheap tables and chairs. It was crowded with that peculiar mix of people that frequented the RCJ: the tax cases, the personal injury suits, the police officers and criminals and their families and the lawyers, all pretending to ignore one another. Hollingwood had found a table on the other side of the room. His junior, Kit Harries, waved at me energetically from the queue.

‘Coffee? Your usual?’ The barrister’s voice carried easily over the noise in the café. I gave him the thumbs up rather than trying to answer.

‘Do you know him?’ Derwent was beside me all of a sudden.

‘Kit? Yeah, he’s a nice guy. I’ve worked with him a few times.’

‘He looks better with his wig on.’

The barrister had a lot of very fine straw-coloured hair and a round face, and his wig had made him sweat so his hair was plastered to his head. As usual, Derwent wasn’t kind but he was right.

‘He’s a lovely person and he’s married, so be nice.’

‘I’m always nice.’

‘Not in a way that’s noticeable to the casual observer.’

Derwent moved away from me, grinning to himself. As if to prove me wrong, he went across to the queue to help Kit with the drinks. I followed Godley and Whitlock to the table, not without some misgivings. Derwent would take the opportunity to talk to Kit about me, unsupervised, and I liked Kit but he wasn’t the most discreet person I’d ever encountered. I couldn’t think of anything I needed to hide, specifically, but then again I couldn’t think of anything I’d like Derwent to find out about me. He knew too much already.

Without his wig and gown, Harry Hollingwood looked different too. His grey hair was swept back from a high square forehead and brushed against his collar at the back. He was compact, fit, fiftyish and he looked good-humoured, despite the loss in court. His small brown eyes were shrewd and full of life.

‘Sit down, sit down. I thought we should have a little post-mortem before we all went home.’

‘It was the result we expected,’ Whitlock said, which was his way of reassuring the lawyer that he didn’t blame him.

‘Couldn’t have gone any other way. The point is that we’ve got to prepare ourselves for a retrial.’

‘How soon can we expect the retrial?’

‘Soon,’ Hollingwood said. ‘He’ll be in the Crown Court tomorrow to be formally released from prison. How long do you want him out?’

‘Not long.’

‘Well, then. We’ll seek an early trial date. In the circumstances, we should get it. But that obviously means you have less time to conduct your reinvestigation. A month or two.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Godley said, with a confidence that I didn’t feel. ‘Have you met Maeve Kerrigan? She’s one of my best detectives.’

Hollingwood nodded to me. ‘Kit speaks very highly of you.’

‘I’ve always enjoyed working with him.’ I hoped I sounded like a tough and experienced detective sergeant, even if I was flustered to the point of blushing by what Godley had said.