Lost - Michael Robotham [93]
I look around for Rachel, hoping she might be here. Instead I see Aleksei, who is watching me as though waiting for me to instantly disintegrate. To his left is the Russian and to the right a young black man with loose limbs and liquid eyes.
The Rook adjusts his horsehair wig and glances across at his adversary, Fiona Hanley, QC, a handsome woman, who reminds me of my second wife, Jessie, who has the same cool detachment and honey-colored eyes. Miss Hanley is busy shuffling papers and rearranging box files as though creating a mini-fortress around her. She turns and gives me an uncertain smile as though we might have met somewhere before (only about a dozen times).
“All rise.”
Lord Connelly, the Chief Justice, enters and pauses, surveying the courtroom as though keeping watch over the pearly gates. He sits. Everybody sits.
Howard Wavell appears next, climbing the stairs into the dock. Gape-mouthed and gray, with his hair hanging limply across his forehead, he has a vague, forgetful frown as though he’s lost his bearings. Eddie whispers something to him and they laugh. I’m seeing conspiracies everywhere.
Campbell thinks this has been Howard’s plan from the very beginning. The ransom demand, the lock of Mickey’s hair, her bikini—all were part of an elaborate hoax designed to cast doubt on his conviction and set him free.
I don’t buy it because it begs the same question that Joe keeps asking me: Why wait three years?
Lord Connelly adjusts a lumbar cushion behind his back and clears his throat. He spends a moment studying the courtroom ceiling and begins.
“I have studied the defense submissions regarding the original trial of Mr. Wavell. While I am willing to agree with several of the points raised about the trial judge’s summing up, on balance I don’t feel they altered the outcome of the jury’s deliberations. However, I am willing to hear oral arguments. Are you ready to proceed, Mr. Raynor?”
The Rook is on his feet, pushing his black gown along his forearms. “Yes, Your Honor, I will be seeking to introduce fresh evidence.”
“Does this evidence address the grounds for appeal or the original offense?”
“The original offense.”
Miss Hanley objects. “Your Honor, my learned friend seems intent on rerunning this trial even before being granted leave to appeal. We have been given a witness list with two dozen names. Surely he doesn’t intend calling them all.”
Lord Connelly looks at the list.
The Rook clarifies the situation. “It may be that we call only one witness, Your Honor. It very much depends upon what he has to say.”
“I hope you’re not embarking on a fishing expedition, Mr. Raynor.”
“No, Your Honor, I can assure you that’s not the case. I wish to call the Detective Inspector who was in charge of the original investigation into the disappearance of Michaela Carlyle.”
Lord Connelly underlines my name on the list. “Miss Hanley, the overriding purpose of the Criminal Appeal Act is to further the interests of justice. It allows fresh evidence to be admitted by the prosecution and the defense. However, I warn you, Mr. Raynor, that I’m not going to allow you to rerun this trial.”
Miss Hanley immediately makes an application for the proceedings to be heard in a closed court.
“Your Honor, there are issues involved that go beyond the immediate fate of Mr. Wavell. An important criminal investigation could be jeopardized if certain information is made public.”
What investigation? Campbell is only interested in nailing me.
“Does this investigation involve Mr. Wavell?” asks Lord Connelly.
“Indirectly, it may do. I’m aware of the nature of the investigation but not the precise details. There is a media blackout in place.”
The Rook puts his oar in, more out of habit than desire. “Justice must be seen to be done, Your Honor.”
Lord Connelly rules in favor of the Crown and the public gallery and press benches are cleared. This is when the real arguments begin, full of phrases like “with all due respect” and “my learned friend” (legal shorthand for “you complete moron”). Then again,