Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“Who has been well tutored by the master over many years.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to remind the Warwicks exactly who they’re up against. In any case, what have I got to lose?”

“Your freedom.”

“But I might never get another opportunity like this to publicly humiliate Sir Julian Warwick and destroy his daughter at the same time, with Hawksby, Lamont, and the choirboy all having to watch from the sidelines.”

“I’ve given you my opinion, Miles. Avoid appearing in the witness box at all costs, because I think you’ll find the curtain has already come down.”

“Not on my performance it hasn’t,” said Miles.

“Which will be unscripted, don’t forget.”

“Let’s face it,” said Miles. “You were nothing more than the gravedigger. They’re now waiting for Hamlet to make his entrance.”

“And we all know how that ended.”

20

When Grace awoke, she wasn’t sure if she’d slept at all, as her mind was buzzing with fear and anticipation.

She lay still for a few moments, not wanting to wake Clare, before slipping quietly out of bed and padding barefoot across the carpet to the bathroom. She closed the door quietly and turned on the light.

She looked at herself in the mirror. A lot of work to be done, but not now. She needed her brain to be at its sharpest if she were to have any hope of ambushing Faulkner. After dousing her face with cold water and brushing her teeth, she put on her dressing gown, turned off the bathroom light, tiptoed back across the room and out into the corridor, pleased that she hadn’t woken Clare.

As she walked downstairs, Grace realized she must have left the kitchen light on before going to bed, and cursed under her breath. Her dear mother would have chastised her for being “fuelish.” But when she opened the kitchen door, she found Clare sitting at the table, pen in hand, surrounded by legal papers.

“Good morning, Grace,” she said as if she was sitting in her office at work. “I’ve just been going over your questions in preparation for this morning’s cross-examination. I’ve rearranged the order slightly, to make it more difficult for Faulkner to work out where you’re coming from. But you can’t relax for one moment because that man’s extremely sharp and fast on his feet, so you’ll always have to try and remain one step ahead of him. He mustn’t see the sucker punch coming, so when you land the second blow in his solar plexus, he won’t have time to recover, because the third one has to knock him out. And by the way, I’ve gone over Adrian Heath’s testimony again, and your father was right—he did send us a coded message on how to trap Faulkner. Let’s hope he and Booth Watson haven’t spotted it. Now, you sit down and go through what I’ve done, while I boil you an egg, because you must have a hearty breakfast.”

“Before I’m hanged,” said Grace. They both laughed nervously. Grace sat down and began to consider the new order of questions. Clare was right, switching a couple of them around would give Faulkner less chance of anticipating “Can I return to the eight hundred pounds?”

“Right,” said Clare, placing a cup of tea in front of Grace. “Now let’s do it for real. I’ll be Faulkner, while you play the leading advocate in the land. Go for it.”

Grace rose from her chair. “Mr. Faulkner, do you believe Mr. Heath was telling the truth when he stated under oath…”

For the next hour, they exchanged barbed remarks and sharp rejoinders, jousting with each other as if they were deadly rivals, often stopping to deliver a sentence in a different way, or emphasize a word to give it more impact. After the third cup of tea, Clare threw her arms in the air and exclaimed, “‘She’s got it, I think she’s got it!’ Now, go and get ready. You also have to look your best if you’re going to disarm the jury.”

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 pedaling 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 Hawks

by, “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?”