Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,41
invitation, I enter Roger’s domain and, working on the premise that attack is the best form of defence, launch in to my version.
“You know as well as I do that I did nothing wrong. Ask any QC, any senior, or God knows, any pupil what they would have done and they’ll tell you the same. I know you have a responsibility to try and resolve any internal issues, but I’m really not in the mood for this now Roger!”
“Good morning to you too, Miss”
His reply stops me in my tracks and I pause, confused. True to form, he has a lit cigarette in his mouth and he’s staring at me in amusement neither noticing or caring about the falling detritus that’s landing on his dark grey suit.
“Just called you down to wish you luck Miss. Big day and all.”
My mind attempts to process this information and fails miserably.
“You mean I’m not here because Serena’s put in a complaint against me?”
“Oh she has, yes, but my sources have told me what happened. It’ll go nowhere Miss. Typical schoolgirl error, she gets too big for her boots sometimes.”
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed. I plump for the former.
“Ok then, well, thanks. I’m just going over to court to meet Corr now.”
“Don’t let the pressure get to you Miss. All or nothing this time,” he says softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Last chance to nail the bastard. All yours Miss.”
I nod, not really taking in his words. Whilst I know that this is the last trial there will be, surely the pressure and ultimate result has to lie with Corr? I say goodbye and back out of his office. As I’m leaving, Roger speaks again.
“Watch your back, Miss.”
I exit with a peculiar feeling in the bottom of my stomach and begin the walk to the court centre. For a man in flat shoes this journey would take about three minutes at most, but as I precariously pick my way through the cracks in the pavement and avoid stray pieces of discarded chewing gum I arrive about fifteen minutes after my encounter with Roger.
The first sign that something unusual is afoot at Farrington Crown Court today is the waiting crowd of men dressed mainly in black leather jackets wielding large cameras with huge lenses attached. Paparazzi.
There must be at least twenty of them gathered on the main steps to the building lying in wait to get a shot of Ryan Hobbs as he attends for his trial. There are also news crews set up with glamourous looking reporters getting ready to link into the morning breakfast shows.
As I make my way carefully up the steps, trying not to drop my suitcase in the process, I’m stopped by a bald man in a long black coat. In a deep accented voice he speaks.
“You anything to do with the Hobbs case?”
It’s strictly against the Code of Conduct for barristers to do anything that could bring the profession into disrepute and there are chapters of guidance regarding dealing with the press, none of which I’ve read in any great detail. I err on the side of caution by giving him a noncommittal shrug and continue my path into the building.
Security is extra tight this morning and I watch as the contents of my bag are unceremoniously dumped on to a nearby table and searched. I can see my property being rummaged through like goods at a car boot sale: there goes my bank statements, cheque book, packet of jelly babies, spare phone charger, Tampax, keys. This would be majorly humiliating if everyone didn’t have to undergo the same procedure.
There’s an odd silence that falls across the crowds as through the double doors comes three men all wearing sunglasses and pulling wheelie trolleys. They’re dressed immaculately in three-piece suits, devoid of any particle of fluff or stray hair that may have had the audacity to attach itself to their expensive garments.
I recognise Corr immediately. He’s in his mid sixties and is a couple of inches shorter than me. He’s lost most of his hair save for a couple of tufts above his ears and he’s wearing a pair of rectangular wire rimmed spectacles. He strides purposefully through the security arch and is allowed to progress without the need for a full cavity search. I try to follow him as he heads for the elevator but am prevented from doing so by virtue of the fact the security guard in charge of my bag is trying to establish