The devil you know, p.1
The Devil You Know, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by S.J. Coles
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
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THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
S.J. COLES
The Devil You Know
ISBN # 978-1-83943-196-8
©Copyright S.J. Coles 2022
Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright May 2022
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2022 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
The law is about how you represent the truth. Love is no different.
Hilary Whyte believes that he has left his teenage troubles—and the person who embodied them—in the past. He has spent a decade building his career as a defense solicitor, believing that despite his troubled past, even the worst human beings deserve justice.
Now he has a promotion on the horizon as well as a fairytale wedding to his film star fiancé. On paper, life couldn’t be better.
But now he is being made to represent Dom Gosford, the boy who made his adolescence a living hell, on a double murder charge, and Hilary can’t be sure he is innocent. As the trial approaches, the two men are forced to travel a road of discovery, only to find that the truth of their connection goes much deeper than the question of who killed Lizzie and Dean Wood.
Dedication
For Shez, a fount of valuable legal advice.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Bentley: Bentley Motors Limited Corporation
Twitter: Twitter Inc.
The Sun: NewsCorp UK and Ireland Ltd.
Grey Goose: Bacardi and Company Ltd.
Jack Daniel’s: Jack Daniel’s Properties Inc
EpiPen: Mylan Inc.
Facebook: Facebook Inc.
Instagram: Instagram LLC
Sharpie: Sanford LP
James Bond: Ian Fleming
iPad: AVC Group LLC
Hello! magazine: Hello Ltd.
The Savoy: Kingdom Holding, FRHI, Katara
Raiders of the Lost Ark: Paramount Pictures
Bluetooth: Bluetooth SIG Inc.
Reddit: Advance Publications
Netflix: Netflix Inc.
YouTube: Google Inc.
WhatsApp: WhatsApp Inc.
Limp Bizkit: Limp Bismark LLC
See You on the Other Side: Korn
Arctic Monkeys: Alex Turner, Matthew Helders, Andrew Nicholson & James Cook
Coldplay: Chris Martin, Jon Buckland, Guy Berryman and Will Champion, all United Kingdom Citizens Partnership
Heineken: Heineken Brouwerijen B.V. Private Limited Company
Linkin Park: Linkin Park LLC
Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.
People magazine: IAC
Belvedere: LVMH
Michelin: Compagnie Générale Des Etablissements Michelin Société En Commandite Par Actions
The Addams Family: Charles Addams
Uber: Uber Technologies Inc.
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness: Smashing Pumpkins, Virgin
My Chemical Romance: My Chemical Romance LLC
Green Day: Green Day Inc.
Papa Roach: Papa Roach LLC
Oscar: The Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences
Google: Google Inc.
Lamborghini: Automobili Lamborghini S.P.A.
Rolls-Royce: Rolls-Royce Limited Motor Car Company
Glock: Glock Gesellschaft MBH Limited Liability Joint Stock Company
Land Rover: Jaguar Land Rover Limited
Chapter One
Hilary took a deep breath. His shirt, new on that morning, was sticking to the small of his back. He looked up at the Hart-Gosfords’ Mayfair townhouse and told himself, yet again, that it was just another case.
You can do this.
He straightened his back, let out the breath and pushed the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Hilary Whyte from Gunnerson and Gains to see Mr. Hart-Gosford.”
The gate buzzed and swung open. Hilary transferred his briefcase from one hand to the other so he could wipe his palms on his trousers as he climbed the steps to the front door. Before he could knock, it was opened by a short, stiff-necked man with a smart suit and a grim expression. The scar of an old piercing marred one eyebrow and another, more jagged, bisected the fleshiest part of his neck. The marks, combined with the crew-cut, made him more look like private security than house staff, though it didn’t surprise Hilary that the Hart-Gosfords felt the need for both.
“This way.”
Hilary resisted staring at the minimalist paintings and crystal sculptures as he followed the butler into a well-appointed parlor. It was best not to appear daunted by such things, even though just one of these pieces was probably worth more than he made in a year, even now.
Tall windows flooded the room with weak spring sunshine. Two women with the same shade of platinum hair looked up as he entered. The younger, who sat on the edge of a mauve love seat, wore a carefully schooled expression, the sort executed best by those who spent a lifetime practicing it. But Hilary detected strain in her slate-gray eyes. The older woman managed to look down her nose at Hilary, even though she barely grazed five feet in her thin-heeled patents. Her eyes, a shade paler than her daughter’s, were sharper than cut glass.
“Mr. Hilary Whyte, ma’am…for Master Dominic.”
“Thank you, Merriweather,” the younger woman said, her accent crisp. “Some coffee, I think. Coffee, Mr. Whyte?”
“Yes, thank you,” Hilary said, finally spotting the other figure in the room. Dominic Hart-Gosford stood with his back to them as he poured whiskey into a tumbler on a chrome sideboard. Even at this distance, Hilary could see that his hair had darkened since school, now a brown just this side of black. He’d also added yet more muscle to his six-foot-three frame. Hilary fought to keep his face neutral.
“You’re the solicitor Walter recommended?” the older woman said, examining Hilary like he was something she’d just stepped in.
“That’s right.”
“This is simply not acceptable—”
“Mother—”
“No, Amelia,” the older woman cut her off. “This simply will not do. You…Mr. Whyte. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-nine, Mrs. Hart.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I was not aware Walter Gunnerson had a sense of humor—or that he would have such poor taste as to use my son-in-law’s murder trial as a chance to exercise it.”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Hart, I am a fully qualified solicitor with years of experience in criminal defense.”
“How can you possibly have years of experience?”
“By dedicating almost every waking hour to my profession since I was eighteen years old,” Hilary replied without inflection. “Mr. Gunnerson supplied you with my trial record, I believe?” Mrs. Hart narrowed he r eyes. “If that is not enough to reassure you, you are more than welcome to apply to the senior partners for a change of counsel. But, in the meantime, there is rather a lot to be done. So, if you don’t mind…” Hilary indicated the open door.
“I suggest you don’t get too comfortable,” Mrs. Hart said, then swept from the room.
“I’m sorry for my mother,” Amelia said, standing and clasping her manicured hands together. “This is a trying time.”
“I understand,” Hilary said with a careful smile. “But it will take at least a few hours for your mother to try to have me removed from this case. In the meantime, my time is best served speaking with your husband.”
“Yes, of course.” She glanced back at Dominic. He stood, gazing out of the window, his drink untouched in his hand. Hilary took in the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the controlled stillness in his stance and hurriedly suppressed the memories that threatened to surface before they could show on his face.
Amelia stepped forward, lowering her voice. “My husband is innocent, Mr. Whyte. Whatever you think you know, you must believe that.”
Hilary smiled but did not speak. Amelia left as Merriweather appeared with a silver tray of coffee and china cups and set it down.
“You sure you don’t need me, sir?” he said, his eyes on Hilary.
“I’m fine, Merriweather. Thank you.”
Merriweather withdrew, closing the door behind him, and Hilary fought the impression that the room had shrunk.
Dominic finally turned around. Hilary had told himself many times in the last few weeks that he’d forgotten what this man looked like—that he’d successfully wiped the image from his mind, along with the sound of his voice. But as he took in the eyes, blacker than midnight, the hard, almost cruel set to a jaw that would otherwise be considered handsome, it was like Hilary was again sprawled on the PE changing room floor, that same face hanging over his, bloodied lips twisted and mocking, his fist raised for another blow.
“So, it really is you.” Dominic didn’t speak loudly, but it was like a stone had dropped into the silence of the room. “I could have laid a considerable amount of money on never seeing you again.”
“Well, I guess we would have both lost that wager. Shall we?” Hilary said, indicating the sofas and coffee.
“I’m good,” Dominic said, lifting his glass. “You help yourself.”
Hilary sat, ignoring the coffee, even though his veins were clamoring for caffeine. Fear that the coffee pot would shake in his grip was too real. Instead, he opened his briefcase and began laying the paperwork out on the narrow glass table. “It probably would have been better to meet at the office for this—”
“Too many flapping ears,” Dominic said. “My mother-in-law has some trust issues, to say the least.”
“We can manage here if you’re more comfortable. But just so you know,” he said, pulling a device out of his case and laying it on the coffee table, “I’ll be recording every session.”
“Still have trust issues of your own, I see.”
“So,” Hilary said, switching the recorder on, not meeting Dominic’s eye, “I’m up to speed on all the known facts of this case. This meeting is for me to get to know your side of the story in more detail and to help you prepare for what happens next.”
Dominic gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’ve been trying to remember… What was it we called you? In school?”
“That isn’t—”
“Lilywhite. That was it, wasn’t it?”
Hilary took a moment to steady his voice. “Let’s get one thing straight right from the start, Mr. Hart-Gosford,” he said levelly. “Our personal connection is one of the reasons why Walter Gunnerson wanted me to represent you. But all he knows is that we both attended St. Edmund’s.”
Dominic lifted his fine, black eyebrows. “If the good Mr. Gunnerson knew the truth, he might wonder why you agreed to take this case at all…as I do.”
Hilary looked him in the eye. “I’m capable of not allowing the past to affect my judgment. But if you insist on bringing it up, it will become a problem. Understand?”
He sipped his drink. “I understand.”
“Good. And now that’s on record,” Hilary continued, nodding at the recording device, “perhaps we could discuss your case?”
“There’s nothing I would like more.” Dominic’s smile widened and he unbuttoned his suit jacket and lowered himself onto the sofa, draping one arm along the back and crossing his long legs. “Where do we start?”
Hilary took in the mocking slant to his mouth. “I think we need to start by establishing just how serious this is.”
“I am aware of the seriousness of the situation.”
“I’m not sure you are. You have been charged with double murder. First degree. If you’re convicted, you will go to prison for life.”
“I know you won’t allow that to happen.”
“But you have means, motive and no alibi.”
“I didn’t do it.”
Hilary examined Dominic for a long moment—his strong limbs held so still, his cool expression…
“From the top, then,” Hilary continued, sliding the witness statements over the table. “On the morning of Thursday, the twenty-third of November last year, a postal worker attempting to deliver a package to Number 4 Kensington Gardens found the front door open. He rang the bell, but there was no answer. He pushed the door ajar, thinking to leave the package on the mat. It was then he saw the murdered body of Dean Wood on the stairs and called the police. When the police arrived, they discovered Dean’s twin sister, Lizzie, the resident of the property, in the living room, also dead. Lizzie had been shot seven times. Dean twice. The neighbors never heard a thing, so the police believe a silencer was used.”
Dominic was watching him over the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink.
Hilary looked away. “Lizzie’s neighbors say Dean quite often came over to cook dinner for them both. But there was no set routine for this, so it’s believed Lizzie was the intended target.” Dominic’s gaze dropped to the papers on the table, but he didn’t speak. “Feel free to contribute at any point,” Hilary said after a pause.
“Thank you. I will.”
Hilary repressed his impatience and placed the crime scene photographs on top of the witness statements. A young, brunette woman lay on her back, her head twisted at an awkward angle. Her eyes were wide and staring. Blood soaked her sun-yellow top almost black and stippled the skin of her face and neck. A young man with a similar build and coloring was sprawled on a staircase, the treads and banister smeared with blood where he’d tried to drag himself up.
Dominic looked at them, his own eyes unreadable. “Do I really need to see these?”
“Lizzie Wood worked for you?” Hilary said, tapping the picture of the dead girl.
“I believe so. Or, rather, not me…Amelia. Some sort of low-level admin in one of the charities. I’d never met her.”
“Never?”
“No.”
Hilary laid out another photo. It was of Dominic at a formal occasion, resplendent in an elegant dinner suit and black tie, a glass of champagne in hand and a fixed smile for the camera. He was amongst half a dozen other people in front of a banner emblazoned with the slogan Homes with Hart. Amelia, looking stunning in an azure ball gown and flashing white smile, was on his right. Lizzie Wood, looking shy, despite her professional updo and designer playsuit, stood at his left elbow.
“I explained this to the police,” Dominic said. “I go to dozens of these things. I try not to speak to people unless I have to. I rarely remember them.”
That’ll be the drink. Hilary pushed the thought aside. “Lizzie was fired from Homes with Hart about a month before she died.”
“I believe so.”
“Do you know why?”
“I didn’t then. I do now. She’d been making fraudulent expense claims.”
Hilary laid a bank statement on top of the other papers. “Lizzie Wood was in a considerable amount of debt—credit cards, payday loans. There’s even some evidence that she’d resorted to some less-than-legal solutions more recently.”
Dominic swirled his whiskey and didn’t speak. Hilary pointed at a highlighted transaction on the bank statement. “This cash deposit was paid into her account the week before she died. Ten thousand pounds.”
