The devil you know, p.23
The Devil You Know, page 23
“Or the gun club guy,” Beck went on. “We can re-establish Amelia never even owned a silencer—”
“Does the defense have another witness?”
“It won’t take much, boss,” Beck went on. “We just need to shake what she said, let them see it’s just McGarry’s speculation. We—”
“Mr. Whyte?” Fotheringham’s voice held a note of impatience.
“Call on me.”
Hilary’s head was pounding so hard that he barely heard Dom. The papers blurred on the desk in front of him. The black spots started dancing.
“Hilary.”
Hilary raised his head. Dom’s face was close to his. Hilary could suddenly taste him and smell his hair. He remembered the gentle touch of his strong hands, the tenderness with which he coaxed him out of himself.
A roaring started up in his ears. He closed his eyes against it all. When he opened them again, he was standing with everyone looking at him, silence all around.
“Defense calls Dominic Hart-Gosford.”
Chapter Thirteen
Silence fell as Dom took the stand. Augustine’s eyes were narrow. Jabal’s were filled with a grim satisfaction. But Hilary barely registered any of it. His pulse was fluttering in his wrists. The pounding in his temples was getting stronger.
The roaring in his ears gained volume as Dom took his oath and sat, calm and collected, crossing his long legs and meeting Hilary’s look without expression. Dom gave him an infinitesimal, reassuring nod. Hilary pulled in a deep breath and willed his trembling nerves to still.
“I will start by saying that I advised my client against taking the stand in his defense,” Hilary said, meeting the eyes of the jury. “I know the members of the court will have endeavored to remain objective in the face of media speculation, but we’re all human.” Hilary pressed his fingertips together. “But Mr. Hart-Gosford is taking the stand today not for himself but for Lizzie and Dean. He wants to tell the truth, whatever the cost to him, because the real perpetrator of this crime is still out there and he wants them punished just as much as the rest of us do.”
“My lady, please,” Jabal drawled, getting to his feet. “Does the defense have any questions to actually ask?”
“I beg your pardon, my lady, and the pardon of the court members, too,” Hilary said. “I just wanted my client’s reasoning established before we began. Mr. Hart-Gosford”—Dom’s eyes were steady—“did you know Lizzie Wood?”
“No.”
“Despite there being photographic evidence of you attending the same events together on more than one occasion?” Hilary clicked the clicker and the photograph of Dom at the event with Amelia and Lizzie appeared on the screen.
“I attend many events for my wife,” Dom said. “But they are her events, not mine. I don’t socialize at them.”
“You didn’t have a personal relationship with Lizzie of any kind?”
“I did not.”
“You didn’t speak to her, or to Adeel Bukhari, at any of these events?”
“Not to my recollection. That’s not to say it didn’t happen,” he said with a keen glance at the prosecutor’s table. “But as Mr. Bukhari’s own testimony established, I do not enjoy talking to people at these events.”
Hilary swallowed. “Did Lizzie Wood ever approach you outside of work, try to blackmail you at any time?”
“Certainly not.”
Hilary winced. Dom’s face was cold. Beck watched with a grim expression, her hands tight around the iPad. Hilary looked away before she could meet his gaze.
“Why do you think Lizzie told her friend Sara that she did, then?”
“I don’t know,” Dom said. “But, as Miss Holden herself admitted, Miss Wood never named me—never showed her any evidence of the identity of whoever she claimed to be angry with.”
“She did state it was someone linked to her old job.”
“I can’t explain that. I only know it wasn’t me.”
“Can you offer any reason why you have been implicated in this crime?”
Dom glanced at the jury. “It seems the entirety of the case against me is the hair they found at the scene.”
“Your hair.”
“So the tests say.”
“Can you offer an explanation as to how it ended up at the crime scene?” Hilary held his breath.
“I was never at that house.”
“Can you see why the police arrested you, though, Mr. Hart-Gosford?” Hilary said, keeping his voice level with an effort. “Like DI McGarry said, your arrest record, the lack of alibi, your link to one of the victims—”
“My link to Miss Wood is tenuous,” Dom stated, and Hilary tried to tell him with his eyes to soften his tone, prayed for him to stop sitting so casually in the chair, but Dom was talking to the jury and not to him. “As to my personal history…” He took a breath. “I have made mistakes over the course of my life. Many people do, when they find it hard to see a good road open to them, when they’re unsure whether love really exists in the world, when they suspect they will never be worthy of it even if it does.”
He finally looked back. His eyes burned into Hilary’s. It seemed like the whole room held its breath.
“It’s not an excuse for the way I’ve lived,” he said quietly. “Just an explanation.”
“Do you regret the things you’ve done?” Hilary asked, trying to sound dispassionate. Trying not to sound like he was desperate for the answer for himself.
“Yes, I do. Every day.”
“Why now?”
Dom’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Amelia, who inclined her head. The jury watched, breathless. Dom sat straighter in his seat.
“Because I’ve recently learned what it feels like to have people believe in me,” he said. “I’ve learned, perhaps, that I’m worthy of some people’s good opinion—people who are important to me.” Glances slid to Amelia. She stayed very still, her eyes on her husband.
“It has allowed me to hope that I may be given the chance to make amends for some of the hurt I’ve caused.” Dom looked at the jury. “I have spent a great deal of my life being selfish. Angry. Violent, on occasion, it’s true. But whatever chance I do or don’t deserve, these two young people…” He paused. Hilary watched him swallow and saw a very real pain brighten his eyes. He snuck a glance at the jury. They were focused on Dom, but each expression was guarded. “These two young people are dead, and the trail to their killer is getting colder by the day. Lizzie and Dean’s parents deserve to know what happened to their children. I want to tell the truth here today because I want them to get their answers.”
Hilary took a breath. “The prosecution will cross-examine you shortly. They are going to point out that you had the motive, the means and the opportunity to commit this crime. They are going to try to make the jury believe that that is all they need to judge you guilty. What can you give them that will help them see beyond these circumstances?”
“Just what you’ve spent this entire trial demonstrating, Mr. Whyte,” he said softly. “That there is no proof I did any of these things. And you can only convict someone if you consider them guilty beyond all reasonable doubt.” He looked at Augustine again. “Of course I’m going to say I’m innocent. Who wouldn’t when charged with such a horrible crime? But, frankly, what I say or don’t say doesn’t change the fact that they cannot prove anything beyond all reasonable doubt.”
“You admit you may have met Adeel Bukhari at some events but have no recollection of it. Did you know where he lived?”
“No.”
“Could you have found out?”
Dom looked at him closely.
“I’m only asking because the prosecution will. They are going to ask you if you could have found Mr. Bukhari’s address through your wife’s employment records. They’re going to make it look like you planted that silencer to incriminate Mr. Bukhari after his impassioned testimony here, to distract attention from yourself.”
“It’s all possible. I could have done such a thing—but I didn’t.”
Hilary inclined his head. “Mr. Jabal is going to ask you some questions now,” Hilary said, trying to speak to him with his eyes. Don’t fuck this up. Dom nodded.
Jabal stood and Hilary returned to his seat.
“Fuck me, boss,” Beck whispered as he sat. “Talk about skating a bloody knife edge.”
“He did well,” Hilary murmured as he tapped files together.
“Yeah, talking to you…”
Hilary watched Jabal approach the witness box, his heart fluttering like a caged bird as he took in the grim set to Dom’s face.
“Mr. Hart-Gosford,” Jabal started, an expression just short of a sneer twisting his face. “You have admitted yourself that you are a violent person. Is that right?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I think it is,” Jabal said. “Would you like the court reporter to read it back?”
“I said I have a violent past.”
“So wouldn’t you say that makes you a violent person?”
“No.”
“Then what does it make you?”
Dom’s expression didn’t flicker, but Hilary saw the dark fire light in his eyes and bit the inside of his lip. “It makes me someone who has made mistakes.”
“Mistakes that have ended with injuries grave enough to land people in hospital, isn’t that right?”
Hilary suppressed a groan.
“I believe there were some bruised ribs involved after one fight, yes.”
Jabal took a paper handed to him by Augustine. “Jack Hadnall. Forty-one. Admitted to the Royal London Hospital on the twenty-second of April last year. Two broken ribs, a black eye. Sprained wrist. Split lip.”
“He broke my nose, too,” Dom said levelly. “Though you won’t have a record of that as I had it treated privately at home.”
“What did Mr. Hadnall do to earn your ire, Mr. Hart-Gosford?”
“Objection,” Hilary called. “Relevance?”
Jabal raised his eyebrows. “Your client is the one who is suggesting his violent past should be discounted. I’m merely trying to establish if that’s the case, my lady.”
“Overruled.”
Hilary swore under his breath as he sat down.
“Mr. Hart-Gosford?” Jabal prompted. “Why did you attack this man?”
“He threatened me.”
Jabal visibly gathered his patience. “Okay, why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“That’s what I said.”
Jabal raised his eyebrows. “So he just cornered you on the street, unprovoked?” Dom didn’t answer. Hilary clenched his hands together. “Witnesses say they heard Mr. Hadnall taunting you,” Jabal went on, referring to his paper. “Taunting your integrity. Your wife. Any of this sounding familiar?”
“That wasn’t in the witness reports.”
“Not at the time,” Jabal replied. “But the witnesses have recently been re-interviewed. Funny how their recollections seem to be clearer now than at the time. Why do you think that is?”
Dom didn’t answer.
“Okay then, how about this one?” Jabal said turning the page. “George Fletcher. October 2020. Admitted to University College Hospital with a fractured wrist and concussion. What did this man say to you, Mr. Hart-Gosford?”
“It was a drunken fight after a card game turned sour. I was injured, too.”
“As badly as Mr. Fletcher?”
“None of this is relevant, Mr. Jabal.”
“I’m afraid I beg to differ.”
“I’ve already said I’ve made mistakes…that I regret them.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do, now that they’ve landed you with a double murder charge.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Careful, Mr. Jabal.”
“Apologies, my lady. I withdraw the statement. I’m just finding it hard to believe Mr. Hart-Gosford has had any reason to change.”
“I already said—”
“Yes, that you found someone who makes you feel worthy,” Jabal mocked. “Who is that someone, Mr. Hart-Gosford? What miracle worker has made you understand the worst of yourself and convinced you to make amends, when even your marriage hasn’t been enough to rid you of your violent tendencies?”
“That’s not relevant either.”
Jabal’s gaze slid to Hilary. He went cold.
“Is it true, Mr. Hart-Gosford, that you went to the same school as your solicitor, Mr. Whyte?”
“Objection.” The word came out high and tight and Hilary fought to keep control. “My lady, that really is not relevant.”
“Are you sure about that, Mr. Whyte?”
“I must say, Mr. Jabal,” the judge said, “I’m struggling to see the significance.”
“Surely a childhood association with his client must be significant, my lady.”
“Well, it depends on the extent of the relationship, which I would hope has already been examined and deemed within reasonable parameters.”
“Yes, but, my lady—”
“Mr. Hart-Gosford,” Fotheringham went on with a sigh, “were you friends with Mr. Whyte at school?”
“No, my lady.”
“Have you had any association since?”
Hilary felt sick. Dom shook his head. “No, my lady. I haven’t seen him even once since I left school.”
“I don’t think there is any conflict of interest here, Mr. Jabal.”
“I wasn’t worried about conflict of interest in that way, my lady,” Jabal said, his eyes gimlet-sharp. “I was just wondering if Mr. Whyte, someone who knew Mr. Hart-Gosford in his formative years and who has recently re-entered his life, might be the person who has suddenly and very conveniently inspired Mr. Hart-Gosford to mend his wicked ways?”
“My lady,” Hilary started but Dom spoke.
“Yes,” he stated. “Yes, he is, as it happens. He is an excellent lawyer and a good man. He would inspire anyone to be a better person.”
Jabal blinked. Fotheringham frowned. Beck looked between them, bewildered. Hilary lowered himself back into his seat, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“So now we have an explanation,” Jabal said calmly. “And yes, I believe your schoolfriend lawyer could very easily persuade you to take such a stance in court, Mr. Hart-Gosford, when the case hinges upon it.”
“The case hinges on your proving I killed two people,” Dom returned. “You can’t.”
“This is the misapprehension you and Mr. Whyte have been laboring under this whole time, Mr. Hart-Gosford. I don’t need to prove it,” Jabal said with a small smile. “I just need to show the jury the sort of man you really are. Then the truth will be evident.” Hilary resisted clutching at the table as Jabal flipped through his files. “The school you went to with Mr. Whyte. What school was that?”
Dom’s jaw clenched. “St. Edmund’s Academy for Boys.”
“That’s the one,” Jabal said, peering at his papers. “Did you graduate from that school?”
“I graduated from Munroe-Robert’s Sixth Form College.”
“By the skin of your teeth,” Jabal said, his finger marking a place on the paper.
“Objection,” Hilary snapped.
“I withdraw,” Jabal said, waving a hand. “Why the change in schools, Mr. Hart-Gosford?”
“It was over a decade ago, Mr. Jabal.”
“You must remember, surely?”
Dom glared. Hilary shut his eyes. “I was expelled from St. Edmund’s.”
A murmur went around the room.
“What for?”
Dom didn’t reply. Hilary opened his eyes. Dom’s black gaze burned into Jabal, but the barrister remained unfazed.
“Why were you expelled?” Jabal prompted. Still Dom didn’t speak. “Fine. I’ll tell the court if you won’t. You threatened a teacher, isn’t that right? A female teacher, yes?”
Disapproval rippled through the audience.
“That’s correct,” Dom said flatly.
“Witnesses state you were heard to say, ‘I’ll fucking kill you, you sadistic bitch. Just see that I don’t.’”
Hilary stared at his hands. The roaring had returned to his ears. He swallowed bile.
“I said that. It’s true.”
Jabal blinked. “Why? What could this sixty-year-old woman have possibly done to make you threaten her like that?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Perhaps Mr. Whyte remembers?”
“Objection,” Hilary snarled. “My lady, we’ve already established my attendance at my client’s school is not relevant to this case. And I’m sure it’s quite clear in the school records that my client and I were in different years, and I wasn’t present at this scene.”
“Yes, I think you had better leave that particular line of questioning alone, Mr. Jabal,” Fotheringham stated with a look over her glasses.
“My apologies, my lady, Mr. Whyte. We’ll move on.” Jabal clicked the remote. The photo of Dom leaving Eloise’s gallery appeared on the screen. “This is the last time you were seen on the day of the murders. Neither you nor your car appear on any more CCTV until eight the following morning. Nothing was charged to any of your credit or debit cards and your phone was turned off the whole time.”
“That’s not a question, Mr. Jabal,” Dom said.
“Here’s my question. Where did you go?”
Hilary’s heart sank. I told you so was written on Beck’s face. He looked away.
“Where I went that night is not relevant.”
“If you are innocent as you suggest,” Jabal went on, “it is more than relevant.”
“It’s not my job to prove my innocence,” Dom said. “It’s your job to prove my guilt. You’re still not doing that.”
Jabal hesitated and Hilary’s heart fluttered. Jabal clicked the remote. Footage from the banquet started playing on the screen. Finely dressed people sat around the huge table, sipping wine and eating from silver and china, their jewelry glinting in the candlelight. Amelia sat on her mother’s right-hand side. Merriweather made his way down the line of guests, pouring wine. Eloise was smiling and graceful as she chatted to her guests. Amelia’s gaze was fixed on the empty chair beside her.
