Ascension Day

little nudge.’

Nudge quickly became push with Jac informing Durrant that this was absolutely his last visit to try and convince him to put in for clemency. ‘When I walk away from here now, that’s it. So if there’s anything, anything that might make you want to continue clinging to life, now’s the time to speak up.’ It was as far as he dared go; he couldn’t risk Durrant catching on that he knew about Joshua’s e-mail.

But still Durrant was guarded, closed-handed. ‘Before we get into that — how you getting on with gaining me freedom from this rat-hole? Made any moves yet?’

‘I’ve already spoken to Mike Coultaine, your original lawyer,’ Jac had lied. ‘Got more background from the trial and appeal. But you’re going to have to help me too. Give me some good reasons why you think you might be innocent. Something to fight with.’

Durrant flinched at the ‘think you might be’, a sudden reminder that he couldn’t know for sure, and his face clouded as he fought to explain, though maybe it was the darkness of the images still haunting him as much as lack of clarity. Jac made brief notes and nodded knowingly at some points, as if they might be significant — and perhaps they would be when he finally got to speak to Coultaine.

Jac looked back over his notes as he finished, shaking his head. ‘I want to help, Lawrence, I really do. But all of this is going to take time — time which we just don’t have. And there’s another reason why we need that extra time…’ Jac had pondered long and hard whether to tell Durrant about the anonymous e-mails, had finally decided that he had to at some point; now it might be just the thing to tip the balance.

Durrant was lost in thought for a moment. A long moment. A wry smile finally surfaced, though uncertainly, as if the revelation had painted an extra confusing layer to his thoughts that would take him a while to filter anything through clearly. ‘Nice to know someone else out there is thinking about me. Thought you were the only one.’

He asked a few questions for clarification, Jac stressing that while it could be a hoaxer or could be genuine, again, it would no doubt take time to find out which. ‘Time which we don’t have right now.’

Durrant looked down thoughtfully at that point, was slow in looking back up again. ‘Okay, Counselor. There is something that’s given me some “hope”, as you call it. So, bring on whatever paperwork you have to — I’ll sign it.’

Secretive as ever, Durrant didn’t elaborate on what might have given him fresh hope, but equally Jac didn’t pursue it, was eager to tie up the details before Durrant changed his mind. But as Jac shook Durrant’s hand in parting, Durrant reached up and gripped his forearm tight.

‘Promise me, Counselor — on a Bible if that’s what it takes for you to really mean it — after I’ve signed these papers, you won’t just forget about me and leave me here to rot. You’ll do all you can to get me out.’

‘I promise.’ Jac felt the strength in Durrant’s grip, saw the fiery intent in his eyes.

‘Because there’s somebody I’ve been apart from already far too long. And I don’t want to spend the next ten to fifteen with us only being able to clasp fingertips through the holes in a glass screen.’

Jac had phoned Mike Coultaine when he got back to his apartment, but still now he found himself swallowing back a lump in his throat as he thought about the promise he’d made and what it signified to Durrant, Coultaine’s gaze across the marina telling him just how distant and out of reach making good on that promise might be.

‘You can actually see Adelay Roche’s yacht from here,’ Coultaine said, pointing. ‘That gin palace on the end of the second quay.’

‘I see.’ Jac wondered if that’s why Coultaine had arranged to meet him here; at the same time give him a feel for the victim’s family.

‘Never moves far. Roche either has parties on board so that everyone in the marina can see him — or at most it goes no more than a few miles offshore. Always still in sight of the refineries that paid for it.’ Coultaine smiled tightly. ‘Makes this thing look like a bathtub.’

Jac cast a quick eye around Coultaine’s boat. 32ft Bayliner, more than big enough for Coultaine’s favourite pastime of sports fishing. He seemed to have slipped fully into the lifestyle too: blue deck shoes, khaki shorts and denim shirt, with his greying brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A far cry from his cropped-haired, pinstripe-suited days defending Durrant.

‘You know, at one point in the appeal, I really thought we were getting somewhere.’ Coultaine looked keenly at Jac for a moment before his gaze drifted again across the marina and the river beyond; inspiration for distant thoughts, the steady timeless surge of the Mississippi pushing them on. ‘Truelle the pyschiatrist’s testimony, and everything surrounding Durrant’s initial confession, was starting to look shaky. I mean, he still had gaps in his memory about so many other things after his car accident — so how could anyone be sure that his recall about what happened that night was accurate? But his depth of detail of the events that night with Jessica Roche — things that only the killer could possibly have known — killed it, if you’ll excuse the expression.’ Coultaine forced an awkward smile. ‘That and the DNA evidence.’

Jac nodded. Before meeting Coultaine, he’d gone through the trial bundle again to get the sequence clear in his mind: the police working a general suspect list which didn’t include Durrant, his car accident four months after the murder and his resultant partial amnesia and ‘recovered memory’ sessions with Truelle in which details of the murder emerged; then the final damning DNA evidence. ‘Pretty conclusive from what I saw in the trial papers.’

‘Yep. Four blood spots on one of Durrant’s jackets with a hundred per cent match with Jessica Roche’s DNA, found at his house straight after his confession. And on top, witness identification — even though it was from a hundred yards away at night.’ Coultaine shrugged. ‘So however much we might have cast doubt on Durrant’s confession due to the fractured state of his memory at the time — we were never able to shift from the jury’s or the appeal judge’s mind the fact that Durrant must have been there.’ Coultaine looked at Jac with his head lowered, eyes lifted — the look a judge might give above his pince-nez. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’ll find exactly the same. But if you want to give it a shot because of the promise you’ve made to Durrant, or whatever — I’ll gladly give you some names and pointers.’

‘Thanks, that’d be helpful.’ Though Jac wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for; it looked a hopeless quest. Jac started making notes as Coultaine related the key points and contact names, his memory at times stretched as it leapt the eleven-year gap.

‘Lieutenant Patrick, “Pat”, Coyne… that’s it. He headed the investigation. He’s probably long retired by now, he was over fifty at the time. But he had a bright-eyed assistant — Frier or Friar — something like that. Good chance he’d still be around. Truelle you’ve already got, and we had a psychiatrist countering for defence whose name for the moment escapes me. I’ll have to phone you later with that.’ As Coultaine finished, he asked, ‘What’s Durrant given you that might help fight his corner?’

‘He said that he can’t imagine he’d have broken the promise to his wife not to re-offend, especially with their son just born.’

‘That old turkey.’

‘And he has doubts about the jacket with Jessica Roche’s bloodstains. Says almost certainly he’d have worn one of two other jackets for a “job”. Oh, and the gun used — he’s pretty sure it wasn’t one of his. Doesn’t recall it at all.’

‘The jacket he’s mentioned before, except then he just “wasn’t sure”. But the gun’s something new. At the time, he simply didn’t recognize it — but then he didn’t have recall of any gun he’d had with him on past robberies. So at least his memory appears to be freeing up some. Makes a change. Most people’s memories fade with the years. His seems to be getting clearer.’ Coultaine grimaced. ‘But it’s still all supposition: Larry thinks this, Larry believes that. If Durrant’s memory reached the stage where he could actually remember where he was that fateful night apart from at the Roche residence — drinking, playing pool, seeing a mistress, whatever — because all his wife remembers was that he was “out” — then you’d be getting somewhere.’

Jac nodded pensively. ‘Anything you remember from the investigation whereby there might have been another eye-witness that never came forward?’

‘No, not that I recall. But that’s something you could ask Coyne or his side-kick when you speak to them. I suppose it’s possible that if someone else was seen, say by the woman walking her dog, but never came forward — it might not have featured in the police report if they decided it wasn’t relevant. But it’s unlikely.’ Coultaine shrugged, then looked at Jac more keenly. ‘Why do you ask?’

I was there at the time. Jac passed across the best of the three photos from the twelve enhancements Souchelle had sent him; and as Coultaine examined them, at moments turning them as if for