good enough, not classy enough to marry, or be someone's girlfriend.
Well, at least she had a plan, and she thought it was a good one. Noreen Anne had saved nearly two thousand quid since she'd begun to walk the streets. She thought she needed another three thousand or so, and then she would head back to Ireland. She'd start a small beauty shop, because she did know the secrets of beauty, and also a lot about the dreams women have.
So, in the meantime, here I am in front of Kensington Palace Hotel, she thought. Freezing my fine butt off.
'Excuse me, miss,' she heard, and turned with a start. She hadn't heard anyone come up on her.
'I couldn't help noticing you standing here. You're an extraordinary beauty. But of course you know that, don't you?'
Noreen Anne felt relief the moment she saw who it was. This one wouldn't hurt her, couldn't if he tried. She could hurt him if it came to that.
He was old, in his late sixties or seventies; he was obscenely fat; and he was seated in a wheelchair.
And so she went off with Conqueror.
It was all part of the game.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Seventy-Nine
The Americans had promised a speedy route to trial and the fools had actually delivered.
Five months had passed since the murder of Detective Patsy Hampton. Alex Cross had been shuttling back and forth to Bermuda, but still had no idea where Christine had disappeared to. Shafer had been out of jail, but on a very short leash. He hadn't played the game once since Hampton's murder. The game of games had been on hold and it was driving him mad.
Now Shafer sat in his black Jag in the parking lot directly under the courthouse, feeling hopeful. He was eager to stand trial on the count of Aggravated, Premeditated Murder in the First Degree. The rules of play had been established, and he appreciated that.
The suppression hearing from weeks before was still a vivid memory for him. He relished every minute of it -the preliminary hearing was held before jury selection, to determine what evidence would be allowed at the trial. It was held in the spacious chambers of Judge Michael Fescoe. The judge set the rules, so in a way he was the gamemaster. How fabulously droll, how delicious.
Shafer's lawyer, Jules Halpern, argued that Shafer was in a therapy session at Dr. Cassad's home office; and he therefore had every right to privacy. 'That privacy was violated. First, Dr. Cassady refused to let Detective Cross and the other officers come inside. Second, Colonel Shafer showed his identification to the detective. It proved that he was with the British Embassy and had diplomatic immunity. Cross barged into the therapist's office anyway. Consequently, any evidence obtained, if indeed any evidence was obtained, is the result of unlawful search.'
Judge Fescoe took the rest of the day to consider, then made his decision the next morning. 'As I listened to both sides, it seemed to me that the issues were straightforward and not all that unusual in a murder case. Mr. Shafer does, indeed, have diplomatic immunity. However, it is my opinion that Detective Cross acted in a reasonable and lawful manner when he went to Dr. Cassady's apartment. He suspected a grave crime had been committed. Dr. Cassady opened the door, allowing Detective Cross plain view of Mr. Shafer's attire. Colonel Shafer had insisted that his diplomatic immunity denied Detective Cross permission to enter the premises.'
'I am therefore going to allow the prosecution to use the clothing Colonel Shafer was wearing the night of the murder, as well as the blood on the carpet outside the apartment door, as evidence.'
'The prosecution may also use any evidence found in the parking garage - both in Detective Hampton's car and Colonel Shafer's.' Judge Fescoe continued, and this was the key part of his ruling, 'I will not allow evidence found once Detective Cross entered the apartment against the stated wishes of both Colonel Shafer and Dr. Cassady. Any and all evidence discovered during the initial or subsequent searches is suppressed and will not be allowed at the trial.'
The prosecution was also told not to make any reference, during the trial, to any other uncharged murders that Shafer was suspected of having committed in Washington. The jury was to understand that Shafer was under investigation only for the murder of Senior Detective Patricia Hampton. Both the prosecution and defense claimed victory at the end of the suppression hearing.
The stone steps outside the courthouse were swarming with a buzzing, unruly crowd on the morning of the first day. Shafer's supporters were wearing UK/OK buttons and waving crisp new Union Jacks. These wondrous fools made him smile as he clasped both hands high over his head in victory. He enjoyed being a hero immensely.
What a glorious time. Even if he was a little high and spacey on a few choice pharmaceuticals.
Both sides were still predicting 'slam dunk' victories. Lawyers were such fabulous bullshitters.
The press was touting the outrageous charade as the 'criminal trial of the decade'. The media hype, expected and ritualistic, thrilled him anyway. He internalized it as tribute and adulation. His due.
He purposely cut quite a dashing figure; he wanted to make an impression - on the world. He wore a soft- shouldered, tailored gray suit, a striped bespoke shirt from Budd, and black Oxfords from Lobb's of St James's. He was photographed a hundred times in the first few moments alone.
He walked inside the courthouse as if in a dream. The most delicious thing of all was that he might lose everything.
Courtroom 4 was on the third floor. It was the largest in the building. Closest to the double set of public doors was a gallery that held around a hundred and forty spectators. Then came the 'bar area', where the attorneys' tables were situated. Then the judge's bench, which took up about a quarter of the room.
The trial began at ten in the morning, and it was all a rattle and hum to him. The lead prosecutor was Assistant US Attorney Catherine Marie Fitzgibbon. He already yearned to murder her, and wondered if he possibly could. He
