Find Them Dead

75 Monday 20 May

Like several other members of the jury, Meg had taken to bringing her own lunch in, rather than having to go out during the recess. She’d have preferred to have taken a walk around Lewes and got some fresh air, particularly on this glorious, sunny early afternoon, after the stuffy atmosphere of the court, but it gave her the opportunity to talk to any of the jurors doing the same as herself. Today there were just three other jurors in the room. Good, she thought, a chance to speak one to one.

Hari Singh had a wonderful-smelling picnic box, from which he again pulled samosas and proffered them to his colleagues. Maisy Waller looked at the one handed to her, dubiously, and nibbled the edge like a mouse at a piece of cheese which it knows is a trap.

Harold Trout declined with the excuse that spicy food gave him indigestion.

Meg gobbled hers down and could happily have had another. ‘So, what do you think so far, Hari?’ she asked.

Ever jolly, he said, ‘Well, you see, I really don’t know if I should be on this jury at all. I am just not a person who can easily sit in judgement of my fellow human beings.’

‘But that’s why you are,’ said Trout, sourly and pedantically. ‘That is precisely what doing jury service is.’

Singh nodded. ‘Oh yes, Harold, you are absolutely quite right to make this point. But you see I am having this problem because of my beliefs.’

‘You’re a Buddhist, you told us, is that correct?’ Trout said the word ‘Buddhist’ with a faint hint of distaste — not overtly disapproving, but making clear his dyed-in-the-wool mistrust of anything alien to his own culture and belief system.

‘Indeed I am!’ Singh replied with pride.

‘So, forgive my ignorance,’ Trout said. ‘What does being a Buddhist have to do with deciding whether the defendant is guilty or innocent? Surely the law is the law, and right and wrong are the same, regardless of anyone’s beliefs?’

Singh nodded, still smiling, and Meg watched, loving the way he stood up to the dull old fart.

‘Well, sir, you are quite right. But what you need to understand is that the Buddha teaches kindness and understanding.’

Trout frowned at him. ‘Are you suggesting that slimy creep — that monster — in the dock who has clearly destroyed countless lives through the drugs he sells — deserves any kindness?’

Singh rose to his own defence. ‘What I am saying, sir, with much respectfulness, is that until today, we have heard only from the prosecution. At this moment the defendant, Mr Gready, is charged with offences relating to drugs, but these do not mean he is a drug dealer. That will only happen if we, the jury, decide that he is guilty. Surely you will respect the opinion of the people called as witnesses, both for the prosecution and the defence?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Trout said, with some hesitation. ‘Are you saying you doubt the quite overwhelming evidence we have all heard to date against the defendant?’

‘No, sir, that is not at all what I am saying. But you need to understand that my duties as a juror are in conflict with my own personal conduct as a Buddhist.’

‘So, what are you actually saying?’ Trout quizzed, his voice laden with doubt. ‘I’m a little confused.’

‘What I am saying is I am not very comfortable to be sitting in judgement of a fellow human being.’

Trout stared at the man. Meg could see the contempt in his face. She could almost read his mind. All the prejudices Trout probably had about any race, or culture, different to his own were showing in the twitches in the corners of his mouth. Sure, Singh’s views, in terms of reaching a verdict, were not the kind of tick-box that Trout would understand. But she was very happy to take Singh as another potential ally.

A loud sneeze from Maisy Waller interrupted her thoughts. Maisy sat at the table, sipping herbal tea and eating a particularly bland-looking cheese sandwich. She sneezed intermittently, having sniffed all the way through this morning’s proceedings, to Pink’s especial annoyance. During a brief recess earlier in the morning he had rounded on her, telling her in no uncertain terms that she should be home in bed before she infected the entire jury.

To Meg’s surprise, Maisy had argued back robustly, telling him it was a summer cold that was doing the rounds, and it wasn’t going to prevent her from performing her duty. But it probably explained, Meg thought, why there were fewer people in here eating their lunch than there had been last week.

As she bit into a falafel wrap she’d picked up from a deli on her way in that morning, she began eagerly reading a long WhatsApp message from Laura that had just come in, to her relief after the long silence, telling her their plans and itinerary for their visit to the Galapagos. Meg calculated the current time difference from the time stamp on the message and worked out that Laura must have been up and compos mentis at 7 a.m. today. If there was one positive about her daughter’s trip, Meg thought, it had at least cured her — even if only temporarily — of her ability to sleep all morning.

‘Looking pretty open and shut to me,’ Trout said, suddenly, in his monotone Yorkshire accent, turning away from Singh and looking at Maisy Waller. He had all the spreadsheets open in front of him.

‘I’d certainly have to agree with you on that one at the moment,’ Maisy said and sneezed again.

Meg looked up and saw Trout pop the lid off a plastic lunch box, remove a stick of carrot and crunch on it with small, sharp-looking incisors. She noticed, for the first time, what a very small mouth the man had, as well as virtually no chin at all. He was rather odd-looking altogether, thin and angular, with a greying comb-over, glasses perched on a beak of a nose and a bobbing, protruding Adam’s apple above the collar of his checked shirt which was at least one size too big for him. He wore a drab tweed jacket, a lichen-coloured tie, grey flannels and sandals over socks. He reminded her of one of Laura’s rodents.

‘Well,’ Meg said, calmly but defensively. ‘I think it’s a bit early to start forming any judgements. The prosecution hasn’t finished giving evidence and we haven’t yet heard any of the defence witnesses.’

Trout tapped the pile of spreadsheets. ‘It’s all here, all we need to know. That Financial Investigator lady is pretty sharp. The Iceberg, she called him.’ He gave a rather smug smile. ‘I’d say that is a pretty accurate description. So much so very cleverly concealed.’

To Meg’s surprise, Maisy suddenly interjected. ‘I think we need to bear in mind that the defendant is a criminal solicitor — a specialist in legal aid cases. I once worked for a legal aid law firm and, I can tell you, they are very poorly paid, for what they do. They are decent, dedicated people who really struggle financially.’

‘And your point is?’ Trout said, rather petulantly.

‘In my experience, the police hate lawyers — certainly criminal ones, and legal aid ones. They don’t like the idea of them defending people they believe are clearly guilty. We need to consider whether this case against Mr Gready could be a police conspiracy — a vendetta. We’ve seen a long history of falsified or unsafe evidence given by police in the past. The Birmingham Six is one. The recent enquiry into the Met Police investigation of high-profile sexual abuse accusations is another. Who’s to say this is not yet another case of trumped-up evidence?’

Good for you! Meg thought. Maisy seemed to change her mind a lot.

Trout tapped the spreadsheets again. ‘These, madam. These are irrefutable, in my humble opinion.’

‘I’m a payroll clerk,’ Maisy said. ‘And I’ve been studying these spreadsheets carefully myself. I agree with our foreperson.’ She nodded at Meg. ‘It is certainly a convoluted trail of shell companies and bank accounts, but I’ve not yet seen anything that comes anywhere near to establishing beyond doubt any link between the defendant and these companies.’

Trout removed another carrot and crunched on it, noisily, looking miffed. When he had finished, he said, ‘Clearly, the man is devilishly clever, I will concede that.’

‘And since when,’ Maisy Waller asked, ‘has being devilishly clever been a crime?’