Neil White - COLD KILL

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Do all defence lawyers think like you?’

Hoyle laughed. ‘Deep down, yes, but some are like you and cloak it in bullshit. All the stuff about protecting our freedoms? That is just crap, because it’s a dirty game, and you don’t pick your fight, your client picks it for you. It’s time for you to be honest with yourself now, and stop disguising your courtroom tales as freedom. It’s just gossip, tales over the garden fence, revelling in someone else’s downfall. God help us if the world is ever as bad as the papers make out.’

‘I can’t believe I’m having a debate about morals with a lawyer,’ Jack said.

Hoyle checked his watch and then winked, before flicking his cigarette stub onto the pavement outside. ‘You’re not,’ he said, with a grin. ‘You’ve been delayed. My client should be in his car by now, and well away from your camera lens.’

Jack sighed. Didn’t Hoyle ever stop playing the game?

‘You need to stop wasting your time in there,’ Hoyle said, pointing back up the court steps. ‘Go after a proper story.’

‘Give me one to think about.’

Hoyle smiled. ‘A good story always involves me,’ he said, and then patted Jack on the shoulder. ‘Next time, ask my client the questions, not me, because I’ll just protect my client every time,’ and then he set off, walking away from the court, a brown leather bag thrown over his shoulder.

Jack leaned against the door frame and watched him go. It was characters like Hoyle who made the courtroom a livelier place, made the day less tedious. And despite Hoyle’s brashness he knew Hoyle was right, he did need to kick-start his life again, instead of trying to get by on inquests and court stories.

Dolby had used the recession as an excuse to cut costs and streamline the paper, except that Jack knew it wasn’t just that. Newspapers were changing, with people going to the internet for the news, and so there was no longer the luxury of a cadre of staff reporters, with Jack providing the freelance stories. Dolby had just two full-time reporters left. He used freelance for the rest, and because there was always some eager new hack ready to provide the stories, Jack wrote whatever Dolby wanted. He hadn’t written anything of his own choosing for nearly a year now. It wasn’t why he went freelance, but he knew that his career was gone once Dolby looked elsewhere for material. He had thought about writing a book, but on the days he’d set aside for it, his fingers had just hovered over the keys and he’d written nothing.

Jack knew that the problem was deeper than just Dolby though. The court routine had become too comfortable, because going for the big stories had become too dangerous. Criminals were bad people, it came with the job description, but reporters didn’t come with the protection that police or lawyers enjoyed, because they weren’t players in the game. They were on the sidelines – observing, annoying, interfering. He was sick of the risk and had been hurt – badly – a couple of times.

Jack smiled ruefully as Hoyle disappeared from view, and then his mind drifted back to the murder scene. He thought about the victim from a few weeks earlier. The two deaths hadn’t been officially linked yet, but he ought to make the connection in his story, so that once it was confirmed, the story would be ready to run. An update from the first victim’s family would be a good way to start.

He glanced back up the court steps. There was nothing going on there, and so he walked back to the Stag, parked further along the road. It was time to concentrate on the murder story.

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