She removed the packet and was reading the instructions when the burner phone rang.
‘Hello?’ she answered and an instant later, to her dread, heard the familiar male voice.
‘So, you had a nice time on the beach tonight with your friend, Alison, Meg. But very indiscreet of you — not to mention disobedient — to tell her so much,’ he chided. ‘Don’t you remember the warning I gave you? About what would happen to any friend you told?’
How the hell did he know where she had been this evening?
‘I didn’t tell her a thing about — you know.’
‘Really, Meg? Do you think I rode into town in the back of a truck? Come on, get real! I know what you were talking about.’
‘We were just chatting about stuff. I didn’t say anything about — you know.’
‘Really? How about this, let me read it out to you. This is what your friend said, pretty much: What about an anonymous phone call or note to the judge, telling him that two members of the jury have been nobbled, required to coerce the rest into a “not guilty” verdict? He would have to take that seriously.’
Meg felt a rush of cold blood in her stomach. ‘You — you couldn’t — that’s bullshit.’
‘But you know it isn’t, don’t you, Meg? I mean, your No Bull burger might be bullshit, but not what Alison said.’
A prickle of fear crawled down her back. She looked up. Around. He was watching her. Inside her own home.
Courage is knowing what not to fear.
‘Fuck you!’ she said and killed the call.
She stood, shaking in terror, her eyes darting everywhere. Where the hell was the camera? In one of the downlighters? Heating vents? The phone rang again. She let it ring, once, twice, three times. Then answered.
‘I really don’t advise hanging up on me, Meg, there could be consequences. Let me tell you how your conversation on the beach with Alison — or rather Ali — started: So, Megs, what is it, what’s going on? And you said: This may sound crazy, but I’m scared to tell you. I am correct, am I not?’ he said.
How? Meg was wondering frantically. How did he know?
‘You are curious, aren’t you, Meg? You took precautions, paddling into the surf, very clever — I wonder where you got that idea from. You were absolutely right to do that, because running water of any kind masks conversation. But you overlooked something.’
‘Oh, really?’ The alcohol was giving her the courage to be angry. To be reckless.
‘Technology may be fine for many purposes, but sometimes a more old-fashioned technique of surveillance works better. You checked everyone on the beach, looking for binoculars and directional mics, didn’t you?’
She said nothing.
‘Let me tell you something. You live in an historic city. Brighton and Hove have beautiful buildings, but so many have shops on the ground floor and they distract us. We forget to look up, at the beautiful architecture above them. Have you ever been to Chichester, Meg?’
‘Chichester? What does that have to do with anything?’
‘It’s a beautiful cathedral city, Meg. Chichester has one of the prettiest high streets in England, but only if you look up. If you only look at eye level, you will just see the same shops as every other high street in the country. But raise your eyes and you see such lovely architecture. It’s the same with Brighton and Hove. If you had just looked up at the apartment building above Marrocco’s restaurant on King’s Esplanade, you might have spotted a glint of glass. A telescope, Meg, through which a profoundly deaf gentleman was watching you and your friend, Ali. This gentleman is able to lip-read and picked up large chunks and the gist of your conversation. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Meg.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Tut, tut, there is no need for bad language.’ He sounded genuinely hurt. ‘I’m doing all I can to protect Laura and you are not making my job easy. You do understand that I have to report everything back to my boss, don’t you?’
The icy edge to his voice cut through her soul like a knife.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meekly. ‘I — OK — I shouldn’t have done what I did.’
‘No, you shouldn’t. I have already tried to warn you about consequences. Is that not fair to say?’
‘Yes.’ Still meek.
‘Are you going to give me your assurances this won’t happen again?’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘How would you feel about your friend Ali meeting with a fatal accident?’
‘Please, leave her alone. Please. This is nothing to do with her, she’s just a kind friend concerned about me. I won’t say another word to her. I’ll do whatever you want from now on. I really will.’
‘Yes.’ Menace returned to his voice. ‘Yes, you will, Meg. You’ve got someone else involved now, well done. Now you have put another life at risk. You’d better get back to her and warn her not to say a word to anyone. Take this as a lesson. There is nothing you can do that we can’t see or hear. Don’t leave our phone at home again. Wherever you are. However clever you might think you are, however much drinking wine might give you false courage, all you are doing is putting Laura into very real danger. Do I need to remind you that she is not safe and never will be until this trial is over and you have delivered? You are going to deliver, aren’t you?’
‘I–I’m — doing — doing my best,’ she stammered.
‘Oh no, Meg. You and I — we both know how badly this trial is going for the defendant, don’t we? You are going to have to do more than just your best. Much more. You don’t get any prize for coming second, unless of course you consider Laura being unloaded from a plane in a coffin to be a prize.’
68
Friday 17 May
Shit. Meg sat in the jury box on top of an almost sleepless night of worrying about everything, on top of a large hangover. She’d swallowed paracetamols and drunk copious quantities of water during the night and again just now in the jury room. Her mind was all over the place, thinking back to the phone call last night, the threats, the knowledge that she really was being watched and listened to 24/7.
You do have a friend on the jury.
Who? This morning, as before in the jury room, opinions had been expressed. Hugo Pink, despite all they had heard yesterday, was adamant that Terence Gready was an innocent man, fitted up by the police because he was a solicitor who had made a career out of defending criminals. The former Detective Superintendent, Mike Roberts, seemed to be supporting him on that point.
One of them? She drifted fleetingly at the thought. Then she winced again as her headache cut like a cheese wire through her brain. Somehow, she was going to have to hold it together today, suffer in silence and keep focused, clocking anything she might see as a weakness in the prosecution’s unfolding evidence. But she felt utterly exhausted from lack of sleep. Yesterday she had found herself nodding off many times — she was going to have to try even harder today to stay alert.
Alison’s words came back. Courage is knowing what not to fear. She liked those words. But. A massive but. How could she know what not to fear? Was her mystery caller exaggerating about Laura? He knew where her daughter was, the photographs showed that. Then there was the zip-wire accident. He had definitely been involved in that. And what he had told her last night, relaying back to her parts of her conversation with Alison. Or Ali as he had correctly identified. Just what lengths would they go to to protect Gready? Where would this end? What price for their lives?