Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,77

lips are moving and the man nods. I’m walking away and the man turns to look at me.

“That,” says Connelly, “Is Mr. Walker.”

“And that is when you gave him this cheque,” adds Matthews, somewhat unnecessarily with a sickening note of triumph in his tone.

Chapter Fifteen

I sit in my cell and watch the sky outside darken. I sip at a cup of luke-warm tea, housed in a polystyrene cup that was given to me by a female officer about twenty minutes ago. Although my head is full of the devastation unfolding around me, I can’t face thinking about it at the moment. Instead I’m counting the rows of bricks on the wall in front of me.

I have no concept as to the time; I know I’ve been sat here most of the day and I have no idea how long they plan on keeping me here for. The hatch in the door is opened at sporadic intervals and I’ve seen countless different faces looking in at me. I’m trying not to feel paranoid about this; I know it’s routine for the police to keep people in their custody under observations, but I can’t help feeling that everyone is coming to have a good old-fashioned gawp at me.

I attempt to focus my thoughts so that I can rationally think about what is most likely to happen to me. From the evidence they showed me in the interview, I can’t escape from the fact that there is a case against me. That means they’ll either charge me with something soon, or bail me pending further enquiries. If it’s the former then I’ll be produced at court, as a Defendant and the whole sickening process will start. I try helplessly to stay calm at this but I’m overwhelmed by what may be coming.

The night seems endless and I lie awake on the hard mattress feeling totally empty. I have a pounding headache and I couldn’t face the meal that was put through the door earlier. Things must be bad if I’ve lost my appetite. They let me try to call Sebastian earlier, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I’m afraid that he’ll already know about this, that someone will have told him about my spectacular fall from grace. I pray that he knows me well enough to instantly realise that there has been a horrible mistake. With a sickening sense of reality, I imagine the press hounding him and my family for a quote.

By the time morning comes I’ve imagined all sorts of terrible scenarios in which Sebastian has denied any connection to me and my parents have disowned me. Whilst these thoughts have been mentally crippling, they’ve saved me from thinking about what may ultimately happen to me.

To my surprise the cell door opens and an unfamiliar female officer stands in the open space.

“Time to go,” she barks perfunctorily.

“What?” I reply dumbly.

“Get your things,” she repeats impatiently.

I rise to my feet, noticing instantly the cold floor against my stockinged feet. I pick up my discarded wig from the bed and rub my hands across my cheekbones in an attempt to remove some of the makeup that I know must be streaked across my face.

I follow her in silence down the grey corridors, past other cells and back into the custody block. I’m immediately confronted by an assortment of people: police, lawyers and detainees waiting to be processed. Some of the lawyers gape in astonishment at the sight of a bedraggled barrister who is obviously not here for a professional visit. I try to keep my head bowed as I’m taken forward to the custody desk. My heart is racing, as I know I’m about to find out what they’re going to do with me.

A slim Asian male officer reads through a few pages of notes before looking up at me.

“The allegation against you is going to be referred to the Crown prosecution Service to determine whether or not you are to be charged with an offence. In the meantime you are going to be released on bail. Having considered this case, that bail will be unconditional.”

It takes a moment for this to sink in. I can go. They’re not charging me. Why aren’t they charging me? For a split second, I imagine it’s because the police have realised that there is no way I could ever have been involved in any of this. Before the rational piece of my brain can remind me of the real evidence that I face, the officer