'True. But all the other evidence, including the eyewitness statements, seems to indicate that he did. And the police are confident that forensics will turn up more evidence against him eventually.'
'And what does Jude say?' I asked.
'How would I know?' said Minerva. 'I'm not his lawyer.'
'I know.' I couldn't keep the trace of impatience out of my voice. 'But you must have heard on the journalists' grapevine what's going on.'
'Last I heard, Jude's not saying a word. He admits that he knew Cara but that's it. Unless his lawyer surprises everyone by coming up with an alibi or something, I reckon Jude's got no defence.'
'If he's found guilty, will he hang?'
Pause. 'Almost certainly.'
'I see.' I sipped at my soup, which might as well have been wallpaper flavour.
'Why're you so concerned about Jude?' asked Minerva. 'The bastard shot me and threatened you and your baby – remember? And he meant every word. He's dangerous.'
'I know that.'
Minerva scrutinized me. 'Are you going to answer my question now?'
At my feigned puzzlement, Minerva smiled. 'Nice try, Sephy. But I'll ask you once again, why all the questions?'
Prevarication or the truth. I decided I was too tired to beat around the bush.
'I just wanted to know for Meggie's sake. No one will really tell her what's going on so I said I'd try and help.'
'Don't get involved, Sephy,' Minerva warned. 'It has nothing to do with you and if you stick your nose in, Jude will grab it and drag you down with him. And for God's sake, please don't pass on what I've just told you. And it's not as if any of it would make Meggie feel better even if she did know.'
'I just want to help her. She's lost so much already. And ever since Jude was arrested, she hardly goes out of the house and she's barely said a word to anyone – except Rose, her granddaughter. I'm worried about her.'
'Jude's actions are his responsibility, not hers.'
'Meggie lost her daughter Lynette in a road accident. Her husband Ryan was electrocuted trying to escape from prison and . . . and her youngest son was hanged. If Jude were to die, I think it'd just about finish her off. You weren't there when it came on the news that the police wanted Jude in connection with Cara Imega's death. She broke down completely.'
'I'm sorry, but if Jude's guilty—'
I interrupted harshly. 'Her other son was innocent and that didn't get him anywhere, did it?'
Minerva let her spoon clatter back down into her now empty soup bowl. She regarded me speculatively. I didn't flinch from her gaze.
'Sephy, don't make the mistake of confusing one brother for the other.'
'What?'
'Jude isn't Callum. Don't start looking for the good in him 'cause you'll go blind trying to find it. He tried to kill us – remember?'
'I'm not likely to forget.'
'I hope not – for your sake. Callum had his faults but—'
'I'm not here to talk about . . . him,' I dismissed.
Minerva studied me. 'Why are you finding it so hard to even say Callum's name?'
'I'm not finding it hard at all,' I denied.
'Say it now then.'
'Why? What's the point? Because you tell me to?'
'No, but because if you can open up and tell someone how you feel about Callum and how you feel about . . . his death, then maybe you'll be able to move on with your life – and Meggie'll be able to do the same. That way you might both stand a chance.'
'Neither of us wants to live in the past,' I said. 'Meggie reckons we should both move on.'
'Unless you can both fully discuss what happened to Ryan and Callum and then let it go, wherever you move on to, you'll just drag the past behind you. And it'll get heavier and heavier,' Minerva said seriously.
'Studying psychology on the side, are you?' I challenged.
'No. But it's obvious. No one's asking you to forget the past. I'm saying both you and Meggie need to let it go.'
How do I do that? I wondered. 'Out of sight is out of mind' sure wasn't working. Not when every time I looked at my own daughter, all I could see was Callum. At times I almost wondered if Callum's soul had been born into Rose's body. Then I'd tell myself I was being fanciful. But then I'd ask myself – why not? Callum's soul might've entered Rose's body. It was possible. After all, Rose laughed the same way as Callum, she looked more and more like him with each passing day, and her eyes . . . It was so much like looking into Callum's eyes that it scared me. Rose's eyes were a different colour but that was irrelevant. Everything else about them was the same – the shape, the lashes, the way they looked at me with that contemplative stare.
'Are you close to Meggie?' Minerva asked.
I shrugged. 'I guess.'
'Then I'm glad you're going to be there for her,' Minerva said sombrely. 'Because, make no mistake about it, Jude is going to hang.'
The main course arrived. We both picked at our fish in silence. All I could think was that if I didn't try to do something, Meggie was about to lose the only child she had left.
'Your turn now. You still haven't told me why you wanted to see me,' I pointed out.
Minerva took a deep breath. 'I'd like an interview with Meggie.'
'Excuse me?'
'I'd like an interview with Meggie, for my newspaper,' Minerva repeated. 'Can you arrange it for me?'
I stared at her. 'Are you drunk or what? I'm not going to ask Meggie to let you interview her. What d'you take me for?'
'Sephy, I need this interview. If Meggie does this, my future on the Daily Shouter is secure.'
'No way!'
'Sephy, I need this job.'
'That's not my problem,' I told her. 'And I don't intend to make it Meggie's either. Didn't you hear a word of what I just said? Meggie is going through hell – again. How can you even ask me something like that?'
'I'll make sure she has a sympathetic hearing in my article.'
'Minerva, which part of NO are you having trouble with? The "N" or the "O"?'
'If you could just ask her,' Minerva persisted. 'Let Meggie make the decision.'
I began to shake my head.
'Please, Sephy. For me. Just ask her – that's all I want.'
I studied my sister, not attempting to keep the disdain off my face.
'It's my job, Sephy,' Minerva said. 'And it means a lot to me. Please.'
'No, I can't. . .'
'I got shot for you,' Minerva said quietly. 'Do this for me and we'll be even.'
My head and my heart went very still at her words. It was as if something inside of me took a step back from her and just curled up into a ball to hide.
I got shot for you . . .
'I see,' I said at last.
'Look, forget what I just said.' Minerva shook her head. 'I don't even know where that came from. I didn't mean it.'
I said nothing.
'Sephy, I'm really sorry I said that. Forgive me?'
I shrugged. 'It's OK, Minerva. I'll do what you want. I'll ask Meggie – but that's all I can do. The decision is hers.'
'That's great. Thank you so much,' Minerva beamed.
'I can tell you now – Meggie will say no,' I warned.
'You'll swing it for me – I know you can.' Minerva was all smiles.
I didn't bother to reply. There was no point. Minerva was convinced that given time and a little pressure from me she'd get her exclusive interview with Meggie. A few choice words on her part and she had me where she wanted me. Her job meant more than the world to her. Which was fair enough. Besides, I had no doubt that once Minerva found out what I intended to do with the information she'd just given me about Jude, she'd change her mind about asking me for anything ever again.
Using people was a two-way street.
fifty-three. Jude
'Mr McGregor, I'm on your side – you have to believe that,' said Mr Clooney.
'I don't have to believe a damn thing you tell me,' I said icily. God knows where they dug up the
fossil in front of me. He must've been pushing sixty-odd and marking time until retirement. And the man didn't have a clue. He was a doddering old fart of a Cross with short-cut, white-silver hair and a thin salt-and-pepper moustache. We were in one of the three private visitors' rooms in the prison, strictly reserved for prisoners' interviews with their lawyers, conjugal visits and imparting bad news.
'I'm trying to give you the benefit of my experience,' the dagger said as he struggled for patience. 'This is a serious charge.'
'Don't patronize me,' I said. 'I know it's a serious charge. I'm the one with my head in a noose, not you.'
'Then will you let me advise you?'
'Let's hear your advice first.' I sat back in my chair, not expecting much. And that was exactly what I got.
'I think you should plead guilty and throw yourself on the mercy of the court,' said the bloody idiot before me.
'And that's the best you can do?' I said with contempt.
'It's your only chance to escape the death penalty. If you plead innocent and you're found guilty, you'll automatically receive the death penalty,' said Mr Clooney.
Like I didn't already know that.
'And if I plead guilty?'
'You'll get out in twenty-five to thirty years but you'll still be able to have some kind of life.'
Twenty-five to thirty years? Could he hear himself? He might as well have said twenty-five to thirty centuries. I wasn't going to grow old that way, rotting away slowly but surely like some of them I'd seen in this prison. I'd rather hang – and that was the truth.
'And if I say yes?'
Clooney's face lit up like a Crossmas tree. 'I can submit your new plea for the court's inspection and we could have the whole matter sorted out inside of a fortnight.'
'And if I say no?'
Clooney's smile faded. 'Then the trial will probably drag on for months and you'll more than likely be found guilty anyway.'
'Your faith in me just moves me to tears,' I said with disdain. 'I'm all moist!'
Jude's law number two was ringing in my head, with a bit of Jude's law number nine – The only person you can ever rely on is yourself – chucked in for good measure.
'I'm trying to be realistic,' Clooney told me.
'You're trying my patience is what you're doing,' I replied. 'And if you're the best I've got in my corner, then I'm in deep crap.'
'I am on your side,' Clooney began.
'Not any more. You're fired.'
'Pardon?'
'Turn up your hearing aid, granddad. You're fired. Your services will no longer be required. You can take a hike.'
'You need someone to defend you,' said Clooney.
'I'll do it myself,' I informed him.
'I really wouldn't advise that.'
'I don't give a rat's fart about your advice,' I said. 'Hit the road.'
Clooney got to his feet and gathered up his papers, putting them in his briefcase.
'You're making a serious mistake,' he said.
'Maybe, but at least it's my mistake not yours,' I replied.
Clooney looked down at me and shook his head. I stood up.
'You know what I'm looking at?' Clooney asked quietly.
'No. What?'
'A dead man walking.'
And if the guard hadn't stepped forward at that point, I'd've smacked Clooney down for sure. Pompous arse. One thing was certain. Defending myself, I couldn't do any worse.
fifty-four. Sephy
Sephy, think long and hard about what you're proposing to do. You know only too well what Jude McGregor is. If you were dangling over a cliff and your hand was glued to his, he'd rather chop off his own arm at the elbow than haul you up to safety. And he shot your sister. He would've shot you too if he hadn't thought of a much better way to get back at you. Don't do it, Sephy. Don't do it.
But what about Meggie? I owe it to her.
Get off the Cross, Sephy. Someone else needs the wood. You don't owe Meggie or anyone else anything. Stop taking the problems of the world onto your own shoulders.
If it wasn't for me, Callum would still be alive. Jude got that bit right at least. And I have to help Meggie. She's been through so much.
Even if it means helping your worst enemy?
It'd be for Meggie . . .
Are you sure about that? Wouldn't it be more for your own benefit . . ?
Of course not. How would it help me, for heaven's sake?
Maybe it's your way of trying to feel better about yourself.
I feel just fine, thank you.
Look in the mirror and tell yourself that . . .
You're forgetting one important thing in all this. Jude might actually be innocent.
Look in the mirror and tell yourself that too. When are you going to forgive yourself, Sephy? When're you going to give yourself a break?
Stop it! Just stop . . .
I groaned and rolled over, unable to get to sleep. The darkness, which was supposed to be my friend, didn't bring me the comfort it usually did. I always felt safe in the dark. Free. I was anonymous. No eyes watching. No one judging. But now the darkness just seemed to be mocking me. I groaned again. If anyone could hear my thoughts at that precise moment, I'd be instantly committed to a mental institution. Here I was, mentally arguing with myself over what I planned to do. How far gone was I!
But who could I talk to?
Who could I turn to?
One way or another, I was about to do something incredibly stupid, not to mention dangerous, but deep down I knew that that wouldn't stop me. I was at the start of my journey to hell.
And there was no turning back.
fifty-five. Jude
'You have a visitor,' the dagger guard told me.
'I don't want to see anyone,' I hissed back.
I didn't even bother looking at him. I lay on my bed in my prison cell, counting the flecks of paint still left on the ceiling. In a few days' time, my court case was due to start. They'd pulled out all the stops to get this trial scheduled and on the move. I was going to try again to be let out on bail but the chances of that happening were minuscule. It was far more likely that I'd be remanded in custody until my trial was over. That's what they did to noughts like me. This prison would be my home until the day I died – which wouldn't be long now. I turned my head. The guard was still watching me.
'Yes?' I snapped.
'Your visitor said to tell you that your brother sent her,' said the dagger.
My head snapped up at that one. Mum . . . I didn't want to talk to her again – not after what happened the last time. I didn't want to watch the hurt on her face as she looked at me. I already had one foot in the grave. It'd be best for everyone if she just left. But even as I opened my mouth to say I wouldn't see her, the words refused to leave my mouth. I tried a second time. The same thing happened. So much for Jude's law number four – Caring equals vulnerability. Never show either. I sighed inwardly.
'OK, I'll meet her,' I said reluctantly, swinging round to sit up on my bed. Instinct told me that I was making a huge mistake but she was the only family I had left – and that counted for something. I stood up and headed for the cell door. The door lock clicked and clunked as the lock was undone.
'Do I need to handcuff you again?' asked the dagger.
I shook my head. I didn't want Mum to see me in handcuffs.
'Are you going to behave yourself?'
'I said so, didn't I?' I snarled.
If this dagger didn't get out of my face, he'd be sorry. I might be going down but I could still take some of the bastards with me.
Another dagger guard arrived from nowhere and they flanked me as we walked down the corridor. They led the way to the visitors' room. For hardened criminals like me, there were no face to face meetings. Instead, a toughened-glass partition which reached from floor to ceiling separated each visitor from the inmates. The glass partition was sectioned off into semi cubicles so there was the illusion of privacy, but the guards walked up and down constantl
y, listening and watching. I walked past a few other prisoners before one of the guards pointed at my chair. I'd half sat in it before I fully took in who was my visitor. It wasn't Mum.
It was Persephone Hadley.
What the hell was she doing here? Shock made me sit down slowly, though I never took my eyes off her. For a moment, I wondered if my eyes were playing bizarre tricks. We both sat, regarding each other. Anger began to swell inside me. Now that I was going to die, I was so sorry I hadn't shot Sephy dead when I had the chance. The only thing I regretted was that it was Cara who'd been in front of me when I had flipped and not Sephy. Now that I would've enjoyed.
'Hello, Jude,' Sephy said quietly.
'Come to gloat, have you?'
'No. I've come to save your life.'
Whatever else I'd been expecting, that wasn't it. Sephy wasn't laughing, but I sure as hell did.
'That's a good one!' I told her at last when my chortling began to fade. 'Thanks for giving me a good laugh if nothing else.'
'I mean it,' Sephy told me seriously.
'You're going to save my life? How're you going to do that?' I asked.
She leaned forward and I could only just hear her whisper, 'By giving you an alibi.'
And all at once this wasn't funny any more. I frowned at Sephy, trying to figure out if she really meant it, then mentally kicked myself for believing that she might, even for a second.
'Did you . . . kill Cara Imega?' Sephy asked. But then she added, so quickly and softly that I could hardly pick up the words, 'No, never mind. Don't answer that. I don't want to know.'
I stayed silent. Sephy glanced to either side. To her left, a female nought visitor was trying to comfort a screaming baby; to her right, both prisoner and visitor were lost in their own private conversation and leaning so close together that if it hadn't been for the screen in their cubicle, they would've been touching.
'How long were you in Cara's house?' Sephy asked in a low voice.
I studied Sephy, still trying to gauge from her expression, from her body language, from the clothes she wore to the long, dangly silver earrings that stood out against her dark skin, whether or not she was serious. Sephy sat in silence waiting for my answer to her question. Well, OK. I'd play along – for now.