Post Mortem by Gary Bell (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📕

readjusting the folds of shirt that had billowed out from her waistband. ‘What other c—’ She paused. Despite her stress, a slanted grin began to unfold. ‘The solicitor?’

‘Shall we?’ I blustered through the door into the courtroom.

The Resident Judge, responsible for the large Crown court centre at Snaresbrook, was Evelyn Allen QC, an indomitable woman of around sixty-five who was famously fine company outside of the courtroom, and infamously formidable at the bench. She was wearing the violet robe with lilac trim of her office, with a short horsehair wig and a red sash over one shoulder. She was also wearing an impatient, austere frown on her jowly face when the three of us came charging into her silent courtroom. ‘Rook,’ she said sharply across the room. ‘I’m not supposed to be hearing your case until next week, am I?’

‘Correct, My Lady.’

‘What business brings you here?’

I gestured to Zara. ‘Miss Barnes is coming up to the end of her pupillage at Miller & Stubbs. I’m here to observe her performance.’

‘Ha.’ This dead laugh had come from the right-hand side of the room. It was followed by a drawling voice. ‘It’s no great surprise, My Lady. These days, one seldom sees anything of Rook or Barnes without the other in tow.’

I glowered across and saw Ted Bowen, an old adversary from our own set, sitting on the prosecution’s side. The last time Zara and I had faced him in court he’d lost, and he hadn’t lost particularly well.

‘You didn’t tell me Bowen was prosecuting,’ I grumbled quietly as we made our way into the well.

‘I didn’t know,’ Zara replied. ‘Makes no difference to me.’

I was planning on sitting a row behind her to avoid stealing her thunder, but our solicitor dived into that row before I had a chance, so I slunk in alongside Zara while she was still stuffing her bag down at her feet.

I looked around the room: Bowen was sitting hunched and crooked, a spindly plucked vulture alongside a short woman whom I vaguely recognised as Claire Morton from the Crown Prosecution Service. There was also a man of around thirty-five sitting on their side, with messy hair, stylish stubble, blue jeans and a tan suede jacket; a plain-clothes officer if ever I’d seen one. Andre Israel was in the dock. It had only been five days, but his bruises had healed surprisingly well, which was rather unfortunate considering this morning’s hearing.

The prosecution introduced both parties, then it was over to the judge.

‘Morning,’ Lady Allen said. ‘His Honour Peter Bromley, who will be hearing Mr Israel’s upcoming trial, could not be here at such short notice because of prior commitments, though he has been made aware of these latest developments. As Snaresbrook’s Resident Judge, I will be hearing this particular matter.’ She glanced briefly at her paperwork. ‘Miss Barnes, this case is listed for a bail application.’

‘It is, My Lady.’

‘As the defendant has already made an application for bail, which was refused, there needs to be a change in circumstances in order to make a second application.’

‘There does, My Lady.’

‘And what is the change in circumstances?’

Zara’s voice sounded high and shaky and I felt a knot of both empathy and pride tighten my chest. ‘The defendant has been served with a Threat to Life warning notice.’

‘I see.’ The judge turned to the prosecution. ‘Mr Bowen, do you accept that this constitutes a change in circumstances?’

Bowen rose slowly to his feet. ‘Not exactly.’

Lady Allen raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you being serious, Mr Bowen?’

‘I am. What troubles me most, My Lady, is that the defence had this case listed for bail yesterday morning, the hearing originally scheduled for this afternoon, and yet this Threat to Life notice was only issued late last night. It all seems a tad convenient.’

‘I am not concerned about what troubles you,’ the judge replied. ‘It doesn’t trouble me, even if Miss Barnes does possess a remarkable gift of foresight. From where I’m sitting, this clearly amounts to a change in circumstances. Do you intend on calling any evidence?’

‘Yes, My Lady.’ Bowen coughed lightly into his fist, apparently crestfallen. ‘I call the officer in the case, Detective Inspector Jack Linford.’

The plain-clothes officer was on his feet with soldierly speed. He marched into the witness box and was sworn to give evidence. Linford looked like a young father, the sort that still makes it to the Sunday league and runs the occasional marathon for fun.

‘What can you tell us about this warning?’ Lady Allen asked him.

‘The warning was issued to the defendant within hours of receiving our intelligence, which came from a source that has repeatedly proven itself to be credible. Because of several ongoing investigations, I can’t reveal that source to the court at this time. Suffice it to say I believe the threat to be genuine, and to involve alleged organised criminal activity within HMP Wormwood Scrubs. Both the message and motive were simple enough. These criminals do not wish for Mr Israel to make it to court. I believe they will do almost anything to stop that from happening.’

Lady Allen scribbled notes onto paper. ‘Thank you, DI Linford. Do the prosecution have any questions for the officer?’

Bowen shook his head. ‘No, My Lady.’

‘Defence?’

‘Yes.’ Zara rose to her feet. ‘I have several questions, My Lady.’ She turned to face the witness. ‘DI Linford, were you present at the raid at the Princess Alexandria?’

‘I was.’

‘Is it correct that you were in charge of that operation?’

‘Yes.’

‘When six men, including my client, were arrested for drug offences?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What about the seventh man?’ she asked. ‘What can you tell us about him?’

Linford winced, scratching his left temple. ‘The seventh man?’

‘Yes, the seventh. The man you allowed to escape. Your participating informant.’

Linford shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’

‘You’re not?’ Zara returned the shrug. ‘DI Linford, do you not recall a young man by the name of Omar Pickett?’

Instead of answering, Linford hastily turned to the bench. ‘My Lady, I need to have a word with Mr Bowen.’

Allen shook