together rather than competing for the judges’ favour. The journalists had slid out of the benches at the earliest opportunity, scattering down the long, tiled corridor to find a quiet nook where they could call their newsrooms.
On my right, Godley sighed. ‘Well. That’s that.’
‘Nothing else they could do.’ Whitlock stood up. ‘Frustrating, though. In some ways it feels worse than if we’d lost the first trial. I took a lot of satisfaction out of locking Stone up. It made me feel the world was a safer place for him being behind bars.’
‘We’ll put him back there for you. Fucking juries.’ Derwent eased his hips forward, slouching. It wasn’t actually possible to lounge on the high-backed wooden benches but he gave it his best shot.
Harry Hollingwood QC paused at the end of our bench. ‘Quick chat before I go back to chambers?’
‘Of course.’ Godley got up, energised. I made to follow him and Paul Whitlock, but hung back to let someone pass through the heavy doors before me. He hesitated for a beat, looking at me and I returned the scrutiny: dark hair, dark eyes, heavy eyebrows, a slight frame. The man who had been in front of me in the hearing, who had waved at Leo Stone.
‘Come on.’ The man behind him nudged him. He was a head taller and correspondingly broad, his shoulders straining against the fine fabric of his three-piece pinstripe suit. It was exquisitely fitted, I noted, just as I noted that he was strikingly handsome and roughly my age. He had a full beard, which ordinarily did nothing for me, but he made it look good. He stared at me briefly, assessing me in much the same way that I was eyeing him, but whether he was impressed or not I couldn’t tell.
The first man mumbled something and pushed the door open. I followed them out and stopped, watching them walk away down the corridor, one looking dazed and hurrying to keep up with the other’s long stride.
‘Not what you’d expect.’ Paul Whitlock nodded in their direction. ‘Considering.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Chap with dark hair is Kelly Lambert.’
I shook my head, not recognising the name.
‘Leo Stone’s son.’
‘His son?’
‘Long lost. Stone never married his mother – it was a casual relationship. They were both young when Kelly was born – early twenties, they would have been. Stone’s forty-eight now, though he looks older than me. Kelly’s mum died when he was young and he was taken into care. He had no contact with his dad for a long time, but Stone was in and out of prison so it was probably for the best. He wouldn’t have been a good influence, put it that way.’
‘How come they got back in touch?’
Whitlock shrugged. ‘Lambert found him when he was in prison in 2013. Started visiting him. When Stone came out, Lambert helped him get his life back on track. Lambert’s a carpenter. He got his dad some labouring work on building sites. Nothing skilled, but enough that he had a bit of cash. He wanted to keep him out of trouble, he said.’
‘That worked well.’
Whitlock gave a short laugh. ‘You said it.’
‘Did you look at him as a suspect?’ Derwent asked.
‘He had solid alibis for all the disappearances.’ Whitlock shook his head. ‘Kelly’s an argument for the care system. Whoever looked after him, they did a decent job. He seems to be the kind of chap who sees the good in everyone. Either that or he doesn’t want to believe that half his DNA is from a murdering shit. He’s been campaigning to get his dad released. Absolutely refuses to believe his dad could have done anything like that to those women, even though Stone had a history of violence towards his mum before they split up. Stone was a suspect in her death but they never made it stick.’
‘It’s a big jump from domestic abuse and burglary to murdering strangers,’ I said, as neutrally as I could. Whitlock bristled all the same.
‘It’s a good case. It’s solid. Stone got lucky on a technicality. There’ll be another trial and this time he’ll go away forever.’
And I’ll be proved right. He didn’t need to say it. I didn’t blame him for minding, in fact.
‘Who was the other guy with Kelly Lambert?’ Derwent asked, saving me the trouble.
‘That’s Stone’s solicitor, Seth Taylor.’ Whitlock grimaced. ‘Clever guy. Arrogant, though. He’s made his reputation off how he handled Stone’s case. They didn’t give us an inch, all the way through.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he had much material to work with,’ Derwent said. ‘It was pretty cut and dried, as I understood it.’
‘It didn’t seem that way once the defence got to grips with the evidence.’ Whitlock shook his head. ‘Tell you what, if I ever get in trouble with the law, I’m calling Taylor. He’s all charm on the outside but if you challenge him, you’d better come prepared for a fight.’
‘DI Derwent is always prepared for a fight.’ I said it for the pleasure of making Derwent scowl.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing his face when Stone gets convicted again.’
I looked around, checking for eavesdroppers, and noticed a young woman in dark tights and a bulky coat. She was sitting in one of the alcoves outside the court, apparently concentrating on her phone.
‘We should take this somewhere else,’ I said quietly. Derwent, naturally, ignored me.
‘Jesus, I feel sorry for Lambert but he’s out of his tiny mind if he thinks his dad is innocent. I’ve never seen a more obvious psycho. He needs locking up again, as soon as we can possibly manage it. If we can get him put inside for anything at all, we should.’
‘We can’t harass him,’ I said.
‘I’m prepared to risk upsetting him if it means no one else dies,’ Derwent snapped.
‘Harry’s waiting,’ Godley said, with maximum disapproval, and on this occasion even Derwent took the hint.
The café in the Royal Courts of Justice was at the back of the ground floor, in an old courtroom that had been refitted with cheap tables and chairs. It was crowded with that peculiar mix of people that frequented the RCJ: the tax cases, the personal injury suits, the police officers and criminals and their families and the lawyers, all pretending to ignore one another. Hollingwood had found a table on the other side of the room. His junior, Kit Harries, waved at me energetically from the queue.
‘Coffee? Your usual?’ The barrister’s voice carried easily over the noise in the café. I gave him the thumbs up rather than trying to answer.
‘Do you know him?’ Derwent was beside me all of a sudden.
‘Kit? Yeah, he’s a nice guy. I’ve worked with him a few times.’
‘He looks better with his wig on.’
