Post Mortem by Gary Bell (inspirational books for students .TXT) 📗

‘The two of you?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why on earth would Omar Pickett have come to you?’

‘He’d heard about Andre’s defence,’ Zara replied quickly. ‘He felt guilty, I guess, and wanted to know if he could help him out.’

‘Oh.’ A beat. ‘And you didn’t think to drop me a message?’

‘It has all been rather touch and go,’ I said.

‘Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know.’ The lie came out so smoothly that for a moment I forgot I really did. ‘I’ve told him that he needs to see you so that you can take a witness statement from him.’

Her frown suggested that Lydia didn’t buy it. ‘So how am I supposed to contact him to take a witness statement if we don’t know where he is?’

Zara answered before I could. ‘He’s staying in a homeless centre, but he’s agreed to come back to us in time for further details. He didn’t say where.’

A moment passed between us; I could’ve sworn the solicitor looked hurt.

‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘Well, you’ll be in touch as soon as he shows up, won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ I told her. ‘You’ll be the first person I call.’

She began to walk away, heels clacking on the ground. She paused and looked back. ‘You remember what I said, don’t you, Elliot? About us all being in this together?’

I nodded. ‘The first person I call.’

She was gone.

Zara slapped a hand on my back, as playful as it was uneasy. ‘You’re a real hit with the ladies this morning, aren’t you, champ?’

‘I always am.’

She started to follow Lydia’s route to the cells. I caught her by the shoulder.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘As his counsel it is ultimately your decision, but I would advise you not to tell Israel about Pickett’s appearance. Not yet.’

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘You just told his solicitor.’

‘Do you remember what I told you last week about my own time in prison? The dangers of hope?’

She thought about it. ‘That the idea of being convicted was terrifying, but hope for acquittal was even worse?’

‘Exactly. Giving him such hope before we know that we can rely on Pickett, well, I’m just not sure it would be the kindest thing to do.’

‘I think he deserves to know.’

‘As I said, it’s your call, but your client is in a uniquely desperate position. His hope is not my only concern.’

She sighed, tapping her feet. ‘OK. I guess I’ll play it by ear.’

He was facing the wall of his cell when we entered; the door was snapped shut and the silence came down around us. I was the first to break it. ‘How are you doing, Mr Israel?’ It was a pointless question, but somebody had to ask.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to answer.

‘Omar Pickett has shown up!’ Zara blurted. She’d taken one look at her weary, broken client and crumbled.

I winced, briefly clenching my eyes, and when I opened them again Andre was facing her. ‘What?’

‘Pickett,’ she repeated. ‘We’re hoping that we can convince him to submit evidence about the night of the raid. He could testify that you were never there with drugs in the first place.’

‘Why would he do that? He don’t owe me shit.’

‘Because he’s running scared,’ Zara said. ‘You know what these people are like, Andre. What they’ll do to him.’

Andre shrugged. ‘The way I hear it, he tried to play the game from both sides and got played. Serves him right. Omar’s let me sit inside for months now. Fuck his scared little bitch-arse.’

‘There’s more to your case,’ I said. ‘It’s more intricate than we first imagined, but it ties into a case of my own. Pickett can bust it all wide open. The whole story. Cutthroats, the lot. I just need your help with a couple of questions.’

‘You said you’d get me bail.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

He glanced to Zara, sulking. ‘Fine. What do you want this time?’

‘What can you tell us about Deacon Walker?’ I asked.

His expression brightened a little. ‘D? He’s a sick producer, that’s what. Helped me out big time with my tracks.’

‘That’s not his only business though, is it?’ Zara said. ‘He deals drugs.’

‘So? He’s given a lot of kids work that way.’

‘Do you consider that a noble thing to do?’ I asked.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Man coming down here, talking about nobility and shit. Where I come from, in ends, kids are more concerned with filling their bellies than filling their big fat egos, old man. What the fuck would you know about that?’

‘More than you think,’ Zara bit. ‘I was brought up on an estate, just like you were, Andre. I’m standing here today because I worked my arse off to better myself.’

‘Whereas I grew up in a slum without hot running water,’ I added, surprising myself. ‘By your age, I’d already been down the mines. You’re not the only kid who’s had it hard.’

Andre was quiet. He eyed us both, narrow and suspicious. Then, when he’d apparently decided that we weren’t lying, he leaned back until his head was on the wall. ‘Deacon’s done some bad shit, all right, but he really has done a lot of good. It’s just, like, perspective. He treats his kids well. Some of them, these trappers, they don’t. They keep the young ones in line with beatings and rape and all kinds of nasty shit. D spoils his kids.’

‘I’ll bet he does,’ Zara said. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Andre, but in a court of law they call that grooming.’

‘What about a man called Roy Macey?’ I asked. ‘Ever heard of him?’

Andre nearly smirked. ‘Jesus, how old are you, man? My grandad used to tell me stories about that guy. He must be like, what? Eighty?’

‘Thereabouts,’ I said. ‘You haven’t heard anybody mention him lately? That surname?’

‘No. But if half of what my grandad said about that man was true, then shit – it isn’t the kind of surname people would be stupid enough to shout about.’

‘You think he’s still dangerous?’ Zara asked.

‘Everybody is dangerous. If you don’t realise that soon,