do?’
He nodded wearily. ‘Basically, we have to do the CCRC’s work for them and present them with the evidence on a plate. Which is what we’re trying to do for Sean. But if we aren’t allowed to retest the exhibits, and for whatever reason they don’t think it’s worth doing themselves, there won’t be any “new and compelling evidence” and they’ll turn us down. Catch bloody twenty-two. It’s no fucking way to run a criminal justice system.’ He thumped the table hard with his fist. ‘From what I hear, we have just a matter of a few weeks to come up with something before they decide on Sean’s application.’
She saw the despair in his eyes and was reminded of Duran’s original question to her in Bellevue: ‘Do you believe in justice?’ She had answered so quickly in the affirmative, but it was an un-thought-out, automatic response. The justice system was far from perfect. In her opinion, at the very least it sounded as though a forensic re-examination of the evidence was merited in Farrell’s case. But without cooperation from Wiltshire Police, the CCRC was Farrell’s last hope. Based on what Dan said, and the little she herself had picked up from the media, it wasn’t an option that filled her with much confidence either.
She moved towards the door, then turned around to face him. There was something she had to clarify, if only to satisfy her own curiosity. ‘One last question. Do you really believe Sean Farrell is innocent?’
He looked surprised. ‘Yes. Of course.’
The response was quick and emphatic, but it still didn’t convince her. Before she had a chance to say anything else, the door to the office opened and Zofia came into the room carrying Dan’s coffee and a paper bag. Dan stabbed out his cigarette violently in an empty mug on the desk beside him and slowly got to his feet.
‘We won’t take on a case unless we’re pretty certain,’ he added. ‘We have hundreds of prisoners contacting us each year, but, as I told you, we have very limited resources. We have to be very careful to focus on the cases where we can help most, where we can add value to what has been done before and where there’s been an obvious miscarriage of justice.’ He spoke vehemently, the irritation in his voice clear.
‘Everybody gets it wrong though sometimes, don’t they?’ Eve said. ‘Has it never happened to you?’
There was a beat before Dan replied, a quick, subtle movement of his eyes towards Zofia, which told Eve everything. Then he gave a grudging nod. ‘Yes. We’ve got it wrong a couple of times. But I’m absolutely convinced this time. Sean Farrell’s innocent.’
EIGHT
Dan watched Eve go, listened to her footsteps on the stairs, followed by the distant thud of the front door.
Zofia thrust his coffee and a paper bag at him. ‘I got you a couple of croissants. That’s all they have left. The painkillers are in there too. What’s she talking about? Does she think Sean’s guilty?’
‘No. She’s just kicking the tyres.’
‘Why do you have to speak with her?’
‘Because I do.’
He yawned, sat down again and reached for the coffee, burning his fingers as he peeled off the plastic lid. He felt too weary to explain, although he didn’t blame her for being suspicious. Where she came from, the police were mostly corrupt or incompetent, or at least so she said. But he didn’t like her telling him what to think and what to do.
He took a swig and downed a couple of pills. He hadn’t slept at all well and felt nauseous. If Zofia hadn’t been there, he would have gone straight back to bed. Eve had been more than thorough. His first instinct was to dislike her. He resented her irritatingly professional, probing questions, but reluctantly he had to admit she seemed to know what she was doing. She had also picked up on his weak spot. Was Sean Farrell really innocent? He had gone over it all in his mind again and again until he was convinced that he was right, but his previous two mistakes had made him wary. Was Sean Farrell really innocent? He still thought so. He had been sure of it in the beginning, but the passage of time, and the increasing pressure of the looming deadline to turn up something new, which might, or might not exist, had eroded his confidence. The doubt was doing his head in. He was battle-scarred and weary; in no fit state to do battle at all, if he was honest. He had lost all feel for the case. At the very least, Sean’s conviction was unsound, based on the lack of direct evidence and the bungled defence, but that was not enough. He wanted so much to believe in Sean. He was ninety-nine per cent sure, but the other one per cent was keeping him awake at night. He needed to speak to Kristen, but she wasn’t returning his calls.
Zofia was staring at him disapprovingly. ‘What does she want?’ she asked.
‘To help, I guess. At least that’s what Alan Peters said.’
She spread her hands. ‘But why?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. He’s paying her, not us.’ She was still staring at him. ‘What’s your problem? We need all the help we can get.’
‘What do you think of her?’ Her tone was matter-of-fact as usual, but the remark was loaded, accompanied by a sideways glance, as she crossed the room to her desk.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’ She peeled off her coat, swung it over the back of her chair and sat down.
He was aware of her eyes again upon him, searching and critical. Even without her, the voice in his head was saying the same unspoken things: You’re a fool if you think Kristen will take you back. You’ve blown it for the last time. She’s gone for good. Wake up. Get real. Pull yourself together. Sean Farrell deserves better than you can give. Yes, Eve’s more than pretty. Almost as beautiful as Kristen. But it wasn’t the sort of beauty that brought peace or happiness or pleasure, in his experience.
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ he lied.
‘Really?’
‘Actually, I don’t think she’s very pretty, so shut up about it. It’s irrelevant anyway what she looks like.’ Did Zofia really think that he would allow a woman’s looks to cloud his judgement? Anyway, the last thing on his mind was sex.
‘If you say so.’ Zofia turned back to her screen.
‘Have you managed to track down Mickey?’ he asked sharply.
‘No. He’s not answering his phone. I leave messages for the last three days but no reply.’
‘Shit.’ He banged his fist on the desk.
Zofia looked around. ‘If he wants his pay, he will have to come in sometime.’ When he didn’t answer, she leaned forwards, eyes narrowed, and peered at him. ‘Dan? When you last see him?’
‘Last week. I bumped into him outside the Tube. He was on his way over here but I was running late and couldn’t stop.’
‘You give him money?’
He left the question unanswered for a moment, then closed his eyes and nodded wearily.
‘Dan, how could you? I tell you not to trust him. Kristen never gives him money unless job is done. You know this.’
He
