“She would make me collect her prescription medication on a regular basis. It made me uncomfortable because it’s not in my job description. My duties are mainly administration.”
Una lets out an audible huff of annoyance from her place in the courtroom. When I look at Jay, he has his arms folded, and there’s the slightest touch of a smile on his face. Then I study Emma, and there’s no denying that she’d rather be anywhere else than on that witness stand right now, no matter if she is unhappy in her job. Somehow, Jay has coerced her into being here. I can just tell.
Dad walks over to the desk and picks up several sheets of paper. He hands them to Emma.
“Are you familiar with these documents, Mrs Feelan?”
“Yes.”
“Where have you seen them before?”
“Miss Harris had me regularly visit her doctor and collect these prescriptions before going to the pharmacy to have them filled.”
“Was there any money exchanged?”
“Yes.”
“How much money?”
Emma scratches at her arm before answering, “Anywhere between two hundred and five hundred euros.”
“Did you find this unusual?”
“I did, but it wasn’t my job to question it. I carried out many tasks for Miss Harris. She’s a very busy woman.”
“I have no doubt. Did you also pay money to the pharmacist who filled the prescription, that is to say, over and above the usual cost of the drugs?”
“Yes.”
Oh, my God. Several people in the gallery gasp in surprise. It’s quite obvious where Dad is going with this, even if on the surface the topic might seem irrelevant.
“In your personal experience, is this usual when collecting medication?”
“No. I have never paid for medicine for myself in this way.”
“In your experience dealing with Miss Harris, did you know her to have any long-standing illnesses that would necessitate the kind of medication she was having you collect for her?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“And in your personal opinion, would you say that Miss Harris was having you procure these medications because she was addicted?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes she would act unusually irritable or confused at the office, but I put it down to stress.”
“Objection,” Thomas Jenkins interrupts. “There is no evidence to prove that my client is not sick, and this line of questioning could be incriminating the witness.”
Dad picks up the prescription papers again and hands them to the judge. “I will bring your attention to the amounts that were being prescribed each month. Even if Miss Harris was severely ill, no law-abiding doctor would prescribe these levels of medication.”
“Overruled,” says the judge.
Dad returns his attention to Emma. “Did you ever try to refuse to carry out Miss Harris’ bidding?”
Emma swallows. “Yes. On several occasions I refused and she threatened to sack me from my job. She also said she’d make certain that I couldn’t find another one.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I was in fear for my livelihood.”
“One final question. In your personal opinion, do you think that Miss Harris could be trusted to carry out properly researched journalism while under the influence of the kind of medication she was taking?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Mrs Feelan.”
Thomas Jenkins steps up for the cross examination, and although he does an extremely good job of questioning Emma and salvaging some of Una’s reputation, Dad’s point has been made clear. Una Harris is an addict, unfit to carry out her job, and therefore none of what she has written about Jay can be considered credible. Dad even brings a medical professional to the stand to give evidence of how the drugs Una was taking could hinder her, physically and mentally.
When the court adjourns for a break, I rise out of my seat with purpose. I want to talk to Jessie. I catch up to her as she moves to leave the gallery, grabbing her by the arm and practically dragging her outside with me.
“Hey, easy does it, Matilda!” she exclaims. “You’re gonna pull my arm out of the socket.”
“I want to talk to you in private,” I tell her, leading her to the ladies’ disabled bathroom farthest away from the courtrooms. We go inside, and it’s thankfully empty.
I let go of her arm and put my hands on my hips. “What’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?”
“The flipping cougar is Una Harris’ assistant, Jessie! Did you and Jay think I wouldn’t remember her? I’m not stupid.”
“Listen….” she begins, but before she can say anything more, the bathroom door opens and Jay strides in.
“Leave us, Jessie,” he says, his voice commanding.
“We’re having a conversation. And if you hadn’t noticed, this is the ladies’. You’re not allowed in here,” I snap.
Jay doesn’t even look at me. “Jessie. Go.”
Without another word she hurries from the room, leaving me alone with Jay. All of a sudden, I feel suffocated. His very presence sucks up all the air in both a good and a bad way. We stand in silence for a moment before he turns and goes to flick over the lock. When he looks at me, his eyes are dark with temper.
“You need to calm the fuck down, Watson.”
“Why should I? First I overhear you and Dad arguing last night, and now the cougar from the casino is Una Harris’ assistant? Not only that, but she’s standing as a witness. I know I promised not to ask questions, but things are just getting ridiculous. You can’t continue to keep me in the dark.”
Something shifts in Jay’s expression. “You overheard me and your dad?”
“Yes,” I reply, exasperated. “Not that any of it made much sense.”
He moves toward me then, backing me up into the wall. His hand goes to my cheek, stroking downward before settling on my neck. “I thought you were sleeping, darlin’.”
Tingles break out where he’s touching me, and I swallow. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who can pretend.”
He looks me dead in the eye, his expression fierce. “I never pretend. Not with you. You want me to tell you the truth? Okay, here’s the truth. Jessie and I targeted Emma Feelan a long while ago. Jessie started up a thing with her, took a few embarrassing pictures, and recorded what happened the night she and her husband invited her to have a threesome. Jessie then suggested to Emma that if she didn’t stand as a witness in the trial, those pictures and that recording might fall into the wrong hands. That’s it.”
“That’s blackmail. And illegal. I believe where you come from they call it ‘fruit of the poisonous tree.’”
“We’re not using the blackmail as evidence. We’re using blackmail to get her to give genuine evidence. The proof of Una’s drug use is all legit. In fact, Mrs Feelan handed it over quite freely. The persuasion technique used is a necessary evil.”
I let out a joyless laugh. “‘Persuasion technique’? Okay, if that’s what you want to call it. So, just how many of these necessary evils have you committed, Jay?”
“A few.”
“Shit.”
He smiles. “I like it when you swear. Just so you know, big fucking turn-on.”
“Are you being glib right now? Seriously?” I push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.
He grabs my hand and rubs his thumb gently down the centre of my palm. “Don’t hate me yet. Just give me a couple more days. A couple more days, and I promise you, no more secrets, yeah?”
“How can you justify this? That poor woman is probably going to lose her job now. Do you even care?”
For a second, a strange expression comes over him. He ignores my question but simply replies, “Just wait, Matilda. Wait for the bigger picture.”
I stare at him for a long moment, but there’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes. I let out a long sigh. His thumb on my palm makes me tremble. This is the closest he’s gotten to me in a while
, and I can feel every inch of his big, hard body pressing me into the wall. “Fine. I’ll wait. But I swear, this better be good.”
He rubs his hands up and down my arms now. “I promise it will be.” A quick breath escapes him, his eyes looking back and forth between mine. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
I communicate to him silently that kissing wouldn’t be wise. He communicates right back that he accepts the challenge.
“Fuck it,” he curses. “I’m kissing you.”
Before I can try to move away, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding its way into my mouth. A deep moan escapes me, and he cups my face in his hands. It’s been so long since I’ve had this, and I can feel his kiss everywhere. Between my thighs, in my hardening nipples, on the tips of my eager fingers as they clutch tightly at the lapels of his suit.
Of their own accord, my hands start to undo the buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to feel his skin. I wouldn’t normally give in so easily, but I need this. I haven’t been able to touch him in so long. We’d grown close, and yet there was a wall between us. He groans when I touch him, sliding my palm over his chest. His hand moves down between my legs, hitching my skirt up and cupping me right there. I moan loudly.
The door handle moves, somebody on the other side trying to get in, and we pull apart, our breathing laboured. I let go of him and run a hand through my hair. “We’d, um, we’d better go grab a bite to eat before we have to be back.”
The dark, hot look he gives me lets me know that’s the last thing he wants to do. But we both know this is the last place we should be doing this, so he finally replies, “Yeah, let’s do that, then.”
I tell him I’ll catch up with him, and he leaves, but not before murmuring in my ear, “I fucking love the way you taste.”
I shiver at his words and his hot breath on my skin. Then I lock the door after him, making quick work of using the bathroom and straightening up my appearance. As I’m making my way back out, I turn a corner and almost bump into Una Harris. Her normally coiffed hair is slightly dishevelled, and it looks like she bit so hard on her lip it started bleeding. Also, her pupils are completely dilated.
“Looking at me like she thinks she’s better than me,” she slurs, and a waft of alcohol hits my nose. If my assumptions are right, she’s on something and she’s been drinking. Jesus, she picked the worst possible place to unravel.
“I’d rather not look at you at all, Una,” I say, raising my chin.
She screws up her mouth and wags her finger at me. “Oh, the other night didn’t scare you, did it? You should be scared. It would be very wise on your part to be scared.” She reaches out and runs her hand down my scar. “How did you get this again?”
I immediately recoil from her touch. “I don’t recall telling you. Now please, get out of my way.”
“Una, that’s enough,” comes the hard voice of Brian Scott. He walks toward her and sleekly slides his arm around her waist.
Jessie’s at my side then, asking, “You okay, Matilda?” She shoots a sharp glance in Una’s direction.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Who the hell are you?” Una asks, slurring her words again.
“Uh, none of your fucking business,” Jessie answers, folding her arms and levelling her eyes on Brian. “You’d wanna go get her cleaned up. She’s a hot mess right now.”
“Yes,” says Brian, voice steely. “I have every intention. Goodbye, ladies.”
He steers Una away, as she swears her head off. “Fucking leave me alone, Brian. I can walk perfectly fine on my own.”
“Bitch has more issues than Vogue,” Jessie mutters under her breath, and I laugh.
The rest of the day moves fairly slowly, and there are no more big revelations. I leave the courthouse with Dad and Jay, the press hounding us with questions, to which they receive a firm “no comment.” We quickly locate Jay’s car, and he drives us home. Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t stay for dinner, but instead leaves right after he’s dropped us off.
The next day of the trial goes as follows: Una’s second PA (yes, the woman actually has two assistants) takes the witness stand. This one is a guy, and he basically goes against everything Emma Feelan said the day before, painting Una as the perfect, most generous boss a person could ask for. Then Dad calls Una to the stand, and that’s when things start to get interesting.
“Miss Harris, in 2004, did you write an article exposing the private life of government TD Victor Nugent?”
Una narrows her eyes at Dad. “Yes, I’d been covering politics at the time and discovered that Mr Nugent had been procuring the services of prostitutes.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“I have informants,” Una replies sharply. “All journalists do.”
“Did you tap his phone or hack into his computer like you did with my client?”
“How is this relevant?” Thomas Jenkins objects. “We are not here to talk about past articles. We’re here to talk about the articles Miss Harris wrote about Mr Fields.”
“I assure you, my line of questioning is extremely relevant, Justice,” says Dad to the judge.
“Continue,” says the judge with a casual gesture of his hand.
“You can answer my question, Miss Harris,” says Dad, turning back to Una.
Her one-word reply sounds strained. “No.”
“Mr Nugent took his own life a few months after you broke the story. Are you aware of this?”
“Of course I am.”
“Do you hold yourself responsible?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “No.”
“Do you think that if you hadn’t written the article, Mr Nugent would still be alive and well today?”
“I can’t know that. But I will say that Victor Nugent was supposed to be an upstanding member of society, and the things he was doing needed to be exposed.”
Really, the irony here is just laughable. Una Harris judging someone else’s tawdry private life after everything that’s come to light about her. I guess everyone’s the hero of their own story.
“And did you go to great lengths to expose them, Miss Harris?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘great lengths,’” Una states, her voice hard.
“Did you hack into his private email account?”
“No.”
“Thank you. That will be all, Miss Harris.”
Una leaves the witness stand and returns to her seat, while Dad picks up a folder and offers it to the judge. “Here I present records of Victor Nugent’s personal email account being accessed from Una Harris’ home computer in 2004. The emails accessed are also included, alongside a copy of the article Miss Harris published in The Daily Post several days later. As you can see, information from these emails has been used, almost verbatim, in the article.”
I seriously have no words. I really wish I had been working with Dad on this case instead of with Will these past few months, because seriously, I don’t think I can take any more surprises.
The next few days are absolute madness. All across the country, people are in an uproar over The Daily Post, and every television channel, radio station, and newspaper is calling for the publication to be shut down. Una has been branded a devil and Brian the one who gave her a platform to work from.
The biggest surprise, though, is still to come. And even though there isn’t any magic involved, I like to think of it as Jay’s prestige. His big finish. And, inarguably, the final nail in the dual coffin of Una Harris and Brian Scott.
Twenty-Eight
It’s the second-to-last day of the trial. Tomorrow the jury will decide on a verdict. I’m fairly confident that Jay is going to get some serious compensation, but there’s always the chance that things could change. Despite all of the evidence brought forward against them, Brian and Una’s legal team have still managed to salvage some of the case.
Dad is to call forward one more witness. Reporters had shown up at our house this morning, looking for state
ments from Dad, so we were all in a fluster to get to court on time. By contrast, Jay is cool as a cucumber. He’s wearing my favourite suit, the light grey one, and looks as handsome as ever.
There’s a peace about him, like the turmoil inside his head is all coming to a conclusion.
I’m so busy admiring his gorgeous profile that I don’t listen when Dad calls his final witness. There are shocked gasps from those in the gallery, and the men and women in the jury. Brian is getting up from his seat, running a hand through his greying hair and looking entirely discombobulated, while Una has gone pale as a ghost, her expression distraught.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask Will, who’s sitting beside me.
“Haven’t you been listening?” he whispers animatedly. “David Murphy is the witness.”
“Huh?”
“David Murphy. Jay’s volunteer. The one Una reported had died of a heart attack.”
I swear to God, it really is too early in the morning, because my brain refuses to comprehend what he’s telling me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Christ, Matilda. Didn’t Hugh tell you?”
“No. He and Jay have actually been very tight-lipped about the particulars of the case,” I say somewhat shakily. “David Murphy is alive?”
“Yes!” says Will excitedly.
I don’t understand how this can be possible. I mean, Una might be underhanded, but I didn’t think she could be this dumb. She must have had some kind of proof of the man’s death before she decided to break her story, right? And Jay! My God. He’s been playing everyone this entire time, never once correcting anyone when they spoke of David’s heart attack.
This is fucked up. This is…amazing.
I can’t believe the sneaky, clever, trickster bastard managed to pull this off.
And now I have no words.
Finally, I manage to pull myself together enough to become aware of the fact that all hell has broken loose. Una is standing up and yelling at Jay, who’s sitting back calmly in his chair, one sardonic eyebrow raised and the ghost of a satisfied smile on his mouth.
“This is outrageous. The man sitting in the witness box cannot be David Murphy. I held his death certificate in my own two hands!” Her previously pale complexion has now turned red with fury as she points her finger at Jay.