Grace gave her partner a kiss before going back upstairs to take a shower. How had she got so lucky, she wondered, not for the first time. She and Clare had met at a Law Society symposium on the role of foster parents in the modern world, and they’d hardly spent a day apart since. They liked to hold hands and giggle about men they’d met, who imagined they were so irresistible. But only in the privacy of their own home. Once, when they were walking through the park hand in hand, a teenage boy had brushed past them on his bike shouting, ‘Lesbos, lesbos, lesbos,’ before pedalling off. Clare had raised a finger, which she later regretted.
‘I shouldn’t have lowered myself to his level,’ she told Grace, clearly angry with herself.
How could a moron like that begin to understand that love took many forms? Clare was kind, generous, warm, witty, and as smart as two whiplashes. And as she was a solicitor and Grace a barrister, it made for an ideal partnership. In fact, one of her male colleagues had been overheard in chambers saying, ‘If you’re up against those two, don’t think of them as partners, more like an advancing army.’
Grace checked herself in the mirror. A neatly tailored navy-blue suit and sensible black shoes. Never, ever wear high heels in the courtroom, a woman judge had once advised her. You can be on your feet for hours, and comfort is much more important than gaining a couple of inches in height. Grace continued to rehearse her questions and even the pauses, as she brushed her hair and stared at the defendant in the mirror.
Clare’s sharp reminder – ‘It’s time to get going, Grace, or he’ll be found not guilty before you turn up!’ – brought her quickly back to earth.
‘I called this morning’s meeting a little earlier than usual,’ said Hawksby, ‘as Superintendent Lamont has to be back at the Old Bailey by ten o’clock.’ Lamont made no comment. ‘Don’t worry, Bruce. If Faulkner is foolish enough to take the stand, Sir Julian will tear him apart limb from limb.’
‘He won’t be up against Sir Julian,’ said Lamont. ‘His daughter will be conducting the cross-examination.’
‘Then God help the poor man,’ said William, although neither of the two senior police officers looked convinced.
‘While we’ve been concentrating on Faulkner,’ continued Hawksby, ‘DC Adaja and the rest of the team have been keeping a close eye on Rashidi. Are you any nearer to finding out the location of his drugs factory, Paul?’
‘Possibly a step nearer, sir,’ said Adaja, ‘but I can’t claim much more. We’ve been checking every tower block in Brixton, as I’m sure the slaughter has to be on the top floors of one of them, but I still don’t know which one.’
‘What makes it more difficult,’ said William, ‘is that we can’t risk the same officers following Rashidi for more than two days in a row. So locating the slaughter could take weeks, even months.’
‘As I blend into the Brixton scene a bit more convincingly than you lot,’ said Paul, ‘perhaps I could manage three days?’ Which elicited the first laugh of the morning.
‘I was wondering if your UCO had been in touch, sir,’ said William. ‘He might even have found out where the slaughter is by now.’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ said the Hawk sharply, recalling the last occasion DS Warwick had questioned him about MM. ‘Never forget, DS Warwick, he risks his life every day. If the other side were to suspect even for a moment that he was a member of our team, we’d find his body floating down the river the next morning.’
Jackie could well remember where she’d heard almost those exact words when her lover was talking about himself.
‘And frankly, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience,’ added the Hawk, immediately regretting his words.
William was tempted to remind the commander that if they’d arrested Tulip in Felixstowe, Adrian would still be alive, but he resisted the temptation.
‘If Rashidi’s slaughter’s on the top floor of one of those tower blocks,’ said Paul, coming to William’s rescue, ‘it will be difficult, if not impossible, for us to enter the front door before a lookout’s warned them we’re on the way. They could shut up shop and have disappeared long before we reach them, and all we would have achieved would be to mildly inconvenience the bastards.’
Commander Hawksby looked out of the window. ‘Then we’ll just have to wait until it snows.’
Court number one at the Old Bailey is known in the trade as the show court, and usually plays to full houses. But the idea of Sir Julian Warwick QC’s understudy taking the lead on the press night guaranteed that it was packed long before Ms Grace Warwick walked onto the stage.
Clare was just a pace behind, but as she wasn’t an official member of the Crown’s team, she slipped into a spare seat next to William near the back of the courtroom.
‘Revenge in the name of your brother,’ had been her final instruction before Grace made her way to the front bench to join her father.
‘Good morning, Grace,’ he said. ‘Do you have enough stones in your pouch to slay Goliath?’
‘You seem to forget, Father,’ she replied, ‘that David only needed one stone.’
‘Then you’ll have to make sure it strikes him squarely on the forehead and doesn’t fly harmlessly over his shoulder, because I can tell you Faulkner will duck and dive in every direction as you hurl each new stone at him.’
Booth Watson took his place at the other end of the bench, and the two QCs exchanged cursory nods, more out of convention than conviction. Grace glanced across at the dock to see her adversary glaring down at her. A shudder ran down her spine as their eyes locked and he licked his lips. She turned her attention to Clare, who gave her a thumbs-up sign.
‘If that’s
