The Trials of Lila Dalton by L. J. Shepherd

Author:L. J. Shepherd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo
Published: 2024-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

23

I return to the robing room to find Paxton and Andrew already robed.

There’s a knock at the door, shortly followed by Malcolm’s bespectacled head. ‘His Lordship is ready for you now,’ he says.

Paxton flaps an impatient arm at him. ‘Yes, thank you, we know.’

The door closes.

I bristle at Paxton’s behaviour towards Malcolm. It was so unnecessarily aggressive.

‘Are you relying on Hewitt’s evidence?’ I ask.

‘Of course,’ says Paxton, as though my suggestion is ludicrous.

‘And you’ll steer clear of the hearsay?’

‘You don’t have to remind me about the rules of inadmissibility, I’ve been doing this rather a long time, you know.’ He strides out, Andrew in tow.

I robe up and return to the courtroom, still nervous about what I’m going to ask Hewitt, having done no preparation.

When I arrive, Hewitt is already in situ behind the dust-pink curtains that shield the witness from the defendant’s view but allow the jury to see them.

I look over at the press bench. Agatha Price is there, glaring at me, but it appears Dev still hasn’t returned from his errand.

‘Mr Hewitt,’ begins Paxton. ‘Did you know the accused?’

Hewitt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, I knew Jonathan Eades.’

‘Sorry, can’t hear you.’ The judge cups his hand around his ear and bellows at Hewitt, as though his problem is deafness rather than dumbness.

‘Yes, I knew Jonathan Eades.’

‘Right, now keep your voice up.’

And he does, just about. Paxton takes him through his evidence, expertly avoiding the hearsay like potholes, confining the evidence to the parts Hewitt personally heard and witnessed. Unfortunately, what Hewitt personally heard and witnessed was Eades’s Holocaust denial, racism, denigration of women and homophobia.

I look at the jury. They’re still playing judge, not letting anything show on their faces. A man in the front row notices me looking at him, so I turn away quickly. It’s a sign of weakness to keep looking at them to see what they make of the evidence.

Paxton concludes examining Hewitt in chief by saying, ‘I don’t have any more questions for you, but if you wait there, my learned friend might do.’

I get to my feet, leaning on the bench in front of me for support, trying to forget about my daughter. Her toothy smile. A smile I’ll never see again if this fails.

The jury’s eyes are on me. I can feel them on my skin. With a sense of déjà vu that stops me in my tracks, I look up and find twelve strangers staring back at me.

I open my mouth to speak only to find that my breath catches in my throat. It’s such an illogical thought, one that has no place interrupting my cross-examination, but I worry that this is the moment I’ll lose my memories again. Perhaps that’s all it ever was—nerves.

I tear my eyes away from the jury. I make a fountain-pen mark, the third stroke in the tally chart at the back of Archbold. It calms me, anchoring me in the here and now.

‘Mr Hewitt, it won’t have escaped the

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