From their seat in the dock, the four defendants sat facing the trial judge’s seat some twenty five feet away, almost on eye level, but not quite. They were, however, raised above everyone else who had participated in the court proceedings.
Winston, dressed in prison attire, looked as sullen and aggressive as ever, while Garston, who had at least made the effort to wear a suit and tie, looked overwhelmed. Angela Marley appeared much healthier than the last time they had seen her. She had put on some weight and her skin pallor had improved. Mullings just looked confused.
To the judge’s left and the defendant's right, there were two rows of benches reserved for counsel. They ran perpendicular to the dock, and the custom was for the prosecution to sit nearest to the judge and for the defence to sit nearest the dock to enable them to take instruction from their clients during the trial.
Lacroix and his junior, a bubbly blonde barrister called Heather Quayle, had made themselves comfortable on the green leather seats that were built into the benches and they were busily sorting their papers out in readiness for the court to convene for its final sitting in this case.
Once everyone was seated, the usher slipped out to bring the jury in.
Conversation was muted as the twelve men and woman filed into the court from the nearby jury room, and virtually every person in the room studied them intently, trying to second guess their decision.
The jury consisted of five men and seven women, and they were from a diverse range of ages, colours, and backgrounds. Their foreman, a smartly suited black man in his mid-forties, looked drained as he took his seat at the front, and he made a point of studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone else in the court.
Dillon leaned over and whispered into Jack’s ear. “He looks frazzled,” he said.
Tyler nodded. “They all do.” He guessed that this hadn’t been an easy one for them to all agree on, and he was grateful that it hadn’t gone to a majority.
Suddenly there were three loud bangs and the door opened to admit the red-robed trial judge. The room went deathly quiet as everyone stood up respectfully.
As he sat down, Tyler glanced at the defendants. Winston glared intimidatingly at the jury foreman, trying to get his attention.
Not doing yourself any favours there, Jack thought, pleased to see that the judge had also noticed.
Garston looked like he might throw up at any second, and he was wringing his hands together nervously and fidgeting in his seat.
Marley just stared down at the floor, resigned to her fate.
Mullings was more interested in picking his nose than what was going on around him. He looked bored.
A number of security officers stood in the dock behind them, and they had been fully briefed on Winston’s penchant for extreme violence. They were prepared for him to kick off if things didn’t go his way.
“Will the four defendants please stand up,” the Clerk said, breaking the silence.
Garston, Marley, and Mullings rose to their feet straight away, but Winston had to be chivvied along by one of the security officers.
The Clerk turned to the jury. “Mr Foreman of the Jury, I am going to read out the charges in relation to each defendant, and in response, I require you to answer guilty or not guilty. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the foreman replied, sounding like he had a frog in his throat. The usher quickly moved forward and gave him a glass of water, which he downed gratefully. “Yes,” he said again, his voice sounding much firmer.
The Clerk nodded. “Very well, with regard to the first defendant, Claude Marcel Winston, do you find him guilty or not guilty of the murder of police constable Stanley Morrison?”
There was a drawn-out silence in which the foreman risked a furtive glance at the dock. “Guilty,” he said.
The public gallery erupted in applause, which the judge tolerated for several seconds before indicating that was enough.
“Quiet, please,” the Clerk barked, and the noise quickly died down. She returned her attention to the foreman of the jury, upon whose brow a film of sweat had broken out. “With regard to the second defendant, Deontay William Garston, do you find him guilty or not guilty of the murder of police constable Stanley Morrison?”
This time the foreman refrained from staring at the occupants of the dock. Instead, he looked straight at the judge and spoke without hesitation. “Guilty.”
There was more cheering from above, but this time the judge didn’t let it pass without comment, and the public gallery was told to refrain from making any further noise.
“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Quinlan whispered.
Tyler glanced sideways at him. “They’re all going down,” he murmured under his breath.
“We’ll see,” Quinan said, noncommittally.
“With regard to the third defendant,” the Clerk said, “do you find Angela Coreen Marley guilty or not guilty of the murder of police constable Stanley Morrison?”
The foreman seemed to hesitate, and Tyler felt his stomach tighten. Taking another sip of water, the foreman looked over at Marley and then turned to the judge. “Guilty,” he said.
“With regard to the fourth defendant,” the Clerk said, “do you find Gifford Anthony Mullings guilty or not guilty of the murder of police constable Stanley Morrison?”
The foreman glanced over at Mullings, and something flickered across his eyes. Was it pity, Jack wondered? Maybe the jury hadn’t been convinced about the level of his involvement and had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt? He could hardly blame them if they had, and three out of four was still a fantastic result.
“Guilty,” the foreman said.
The public gallery applauded.
A wave of relief flooded over Tyler, who looked at Quinlan and winked. “Told you,” he said.
◆◆◆
The customary piss-up started as soon as the press
