Elizabeth Woodcraft - Babyface

‘Oh yeah?’ He was interested. ‘Who you representing?’

‘The victims. Look, I do want to get away, but it’s not going to make any difference to your sentence if you plead guilty today or next week,’ I said. ‘But for God’s sake, you’ve got so little to lose by fighting it. Plead guilty, you get life. Plead not guilty and lose, you get life. And I think there are investigations to be made – I don’t know if they’ve been done – that could help your case.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, I don’t know, checking local newspaper reports for the month Fleming disappeared, retracing his last known steps, talking to his mum.’

‘All right, you can stop worrying.’ He rolled his cigarette between his fingers. ‘Write this down. “This morning, I will not ask to change my plea.” ’ I scribbled on my faxed back sheet. He held out his hand for the pen and signed his initials. ‘You’re a good little barrister, aren’t you? I’d like to see you cross-examining someone.’

‘Yes, I’m a real Rottweiler,’ I said.

‘No, I’d say you were more of a – what are they called?’

‘A Borzoi?’ I said, imagining something elegant and sophisticated.

‘No, no, I was thinking more like a Jack Russell.’

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