Deep breath. ‘Innocent people end up in jail. Usually because of incompetence. Cops, lawyers, expert witnesses. We’re all guilty of failures, bad faith sometimes, occasionally downright crookedness. Sometimes it’s because the evidence at the time of conviction wasn’t capable of particular forensic analysis. Whatever the reason, people end up behind bars who shouldn’t be there. You agree?’
Carol nodded. ‘It happens. You’re the one who mentioned the Appeal Court. That’s what it’s there for. That and the Criminal Cases Review Commission.’
‘The mechanism’s there, but the resources to produce the evidence to convince aren’t. There’s no provision for Legal Aid to pursue speculative investigations. And some of us think that’s unacceptable. So we’ve formed an informal group of professionals to look into cases where we think there’s been a serious miscarriage of justice. We’re in the process of taking our first case through the CCRC and we’re feeling confident about the court overturning a life sentence for arson.’
‘Good for you.’ Carol folded her arms across her chest. She knew where this was going and she didn’t want to go there.
‘We want you to join us.’
‘I’m not interested. I’m done with that part of my life.’
Bronwen looked round, her eyes snagging on Carol’s half-finished carpentry. ‘Given it up for woodworking, have you? You think Tony’s going to join you making dovetailed joints when he gets out of prison?’ Her tone was light but the intent was not.
‘I’m so far beyond the point where I can be taunted into things. I’m not interested in putting myself back in the front line of investigation.’
‘It’s hardly the front line, Carol. It’s digging through old files and trying to find a loose end to tug on. Maybe the occasional conversation with a witness.’
Carol really didn’t want to engage, but there was one question she had to ask. ‘So who else have you talked into this?’
Bronwen was smart enough to show no hint of triumph. ‘Two other lawyers – Cora Bryant, the QC, and Hector Marsh. He used to be with the CPS but he’s given up prosecuting and joined my firm. Morna Thorsson, who’s a law professor at Bradfield University, Dr Claire Morgan, who teaches forensic science there.’ She paused for effect. ‘And Grisha Shatalov.’
That startled Carol. She’d worked closely with Dr Grisha Shatalov over several years. The Canadian had been the Home Office pathologist based in Bradfield for as long as Carol had worked there and she admired his attitude. He was thorough, respectful and willing to go beyond observation to offer theories as to how injuries might have happened. But as well as acknowledging his professionalism, she also liked him. He had a considerate manner and a quiet but sometimes lacerating sense of humour. She’d eaten supper round his table with his wife and family more than once. If he’d nailed his colours to the mast of Bronwen’s project, it wasn’t so easy to dismiss as a waste of time.
And the lawyer was right. It had always been Carol’s sense of justice that had fired her up as a detective. So often, there was a gap between the law and justice. What charges could be brought, what the courts handed down, what the limits on sentencing were – so often, the victims, their families and the witnesses were left feeling bewildered and cheated. Not just them – Carol had sat gloomily in pubs with her team while they unpicked the many ways in which the system had failed to deliver yet again. There had been nothing in her professional life that angered and disappointed her more than that. She’d even had to admit to herself earlier that day that a small part of why she’d let herself be pushed into investigating Vanessa’s conman was the potential pleasure of seeing him pay the price, both literal and metaphorical.
‘I know you know Grisha,’ Bronwen said after a long moment. ‘He was the one who suggested inviting you on board. I wanted him to come and talk to you himself.’ Another quick flash of a smile. ‘I reckoned he’d have more chance of persuading you than I have. But he refused. He said you’d feel you’d been tricked if he talked you into joining us then discovered I was running the show.’ She spread her arms wide. ‘So that’s why I’m here instead of him. Carol, you are a brilliant detective. You are the smartest cop I ever butted heads with. You can’t just sit here whittling bits of wood and wasting that investigative talent.’ She dropped her hands to her side and shook her head. ‘I say this not out of emotional blackmail—’
‘Which means that’s exactly what you’re about to commit,’ Carol interrupted, chin up, eyes defiant. ‘I’d put money on you saying something along the lines of how disappointed Tony would be that I’m not using my skills and experience to serve justice.’
‘I’ll let you do the job for me,’ Bronwen said. She reached inside the extravagant swagger of her coat and opened a soft leather satchel slung across her body beneath its folds. She took out a slim brown A4 envelope and held it out towards Carol. ‘This is the case where I think you’d make a difference.’
Carol made no move to accept it. ‘Not interested,’ she repeated.
Bronwen carried on regardless. It was, Carol thought, a performance not many would have the nerve to give. ‘Saul Neilson. He was only twenty-eight when he was sentenced to life three years ago for murder. It’s particularly interesting because it’s a no body case. He didn’t do it, Carol.’ Bronwen tossed the envelope on to a nearby chair. ‘Here’s another bet for you. You’ll have opened
