The Hung Jury Read online

  Estelle looked around the courtroom nervously like a small child about to sing a solo in the Christmas show at primary school. “It’s good,” she murmured. “We’re really close.”

  Sugars smiled warmly. “Ah. Your relationship hasn’t been affected by these accusations then?”

  Estelle shook her head. “No, I don’t believe Mum did it.”

  Sugars nodded. “How old are you, Estelle?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “And how was your upbringing? Did you have a happy childhood?”

  “Yeah,” Estelle replied quietly.

  “Was your mother ever violent towards you?”

  “No!” Estelle exclaimed, looking horrified. “Never. She never rose her hand, or anything!”

  “What about to your brother? Or your father? Remember, Estelle, you are under oath.”

  Estelle looked across the courtroom at her mother and smiled. “She’s been the best mum ever. She does everything she can to keep us safe. Dad was the same.”

  Sugars nodded and looked back towards the jury. “So, in summary, you would describe your childhood as bliss? No dark skeletons in the closet?”

  “No.”

  “And what about your mother and father’s relationship. How would you describe that?”

  Estelle thought for a moment and shrugged. “Happy. As far as I knew.”

  “Did they ever argue?”

  “No, and even if they did, it was over really fast. I can remember, like, one row they had when I was about six. I dunno what it was about, but it was a big one. But that’s it.”

  “You remember one row, thirteen years ago, in the whole time you’ve known your parents?” Sugars clarified. Again, he turned to the jury, seeming to speak directly to them. “Hardly what one would describe as a dysfunctional family. No further questions, my Lord.”

  The judge turned to Sugars’ opponent. “Mr Tate?”

  Tate narrowed his eyes at Estelle, his moustache bristling furiously as he stood up, his thumbs tucked tightly into his lapels. “Estelle, where were you on the day of your father’s death?”

  “I was out with friends. We went to the cinema.”

  “And what did you go to see?”

  “The new IT film.”

  Tate raised an eyebrow. “That’s a horror film, isn’t it?”

  Nicola frowned, wondering where Tate was going with his questioning. Estelle appeared just as confused. “Yeah?”

  Tate nodded, and seemed to stare at Estelle for a few seconds. “How would you describe your fashion on a day to day basis, Estelle?”

  “My fashion?” Estelle repeated, looking down at her outfit.

  “Not necessarily what you’re wearing today,” Tate clarified. “Though, I think we can all hazard a guess as to your usual style.”

  “Your honour,” Sugars interrupted. “I don’t see the relevance to my learned friend’s questioning.”

  “Relevance will be established in due course, my Lord,” Tate snapped.

  “Yes, alright. Get on with it, Mr Tate,” the judge replied.

  “My Lord.” Tate turned back to Estelle. “Would I be right in saying that you would describe your style as gothic, Estelle?”

  Estelle shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Now, my understanding of the gothic culture, limited as it may be, is that it’s a culture all to do with darkness, angst and, in some cases, death?”

  “Not necessarily, -”

  “It’s just that you described your upbringing and your childhood as a happy one. I think it’s a fairly established fact that goths are not seen as especially happy people?”

  “That’s a very clichéd view. t’s more to do with music.”

  “Music that is, by definition, angry? Angst filled?” Estelle tried to reply, but Tate interrupted her. “My point is, Estelle, you live your life a certain way, a fashion choice that is supposed to be representational of something. I put it to you, that your style is a reaction to something. Was your childhood really as happy as you would have us believe?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then why this maudlin approach to life? A perchance for horror films, music that is so angry, what has happened to you that you are reacting to?”

  Next to Nicola, the other members of the jury murmured quietly amongst themselves. It seemed they thought that Tate rather had a point.

  “Nothing! It’s just a style!” Estelle argued.

  “A glance through your school records tells a very different story,” Tate told her. He picked up a document in front of him. “Unauthorised absences, exclusions for fighting in the classroom, a general reluctance to conform to uniform and school rules.” He threw the document down again with a flourish. “Hardly the machinations of a girl who claims to have such a happy childhood and upbringing.” Estelle seemed lost for words, as Tate swooped in for his final swipe at his prey. “I put it to you that you are not a happy person, Estelle, because your mother, far from the idyllic image you would like to create, is somebody you fear.”

  “No!”

  “A woman who has caused you much pain and anguish in your life. And now, you are clinging to some desperate childlike image that your mother is an angel! Do you have any evidence that you can put before this court, that the woman sat over there did not murder your father?”

  Estelle faltered, looking desperately around the courtroom for someone to help her. Tate turned around to face the jury, his hands held out in triumph. “I thought not. No further questions, my Lord.”

  As Tate sat down, Estelle looked across at her mother, with a look of utter dismay on her face, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she said softly.

  The judge cleared his throat. “I think we’ll leave it there for today. Ladies and gentlemen, we shall reconvene at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” He leant across in his seat and addressed the jury. “I strongly suspect that tomorrow will be the final day, notwithstanding any unexpected developments. Ten AM tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

  “All rise!”

  The courtroom rose to their feet. Nicola watched as Rebecca was led away, her head down, looking empty behind the eyes. She looked as if she thought nothing could help her now.

  “What did I tell you?” Dorothy said to her as they made their way out of the courtroom. “No doubt she did it. Even her own daughter couldn’t defend her.”

  “I don’t see how anyone could defend anyone with that prosecution barrister biting their head off all the time,” Nicola replied. “He was one step away from shining a torch in her face.”

  “Just doing his job,” Dorothy replied briskly as they reached the cloakroom. “It’s men like that that keep murdering scum off our streets. God bless him. See you tomorrow!”

  Nicola shook her head as she watched Dorothy totter away. Pulling her own coat on, she could not help but go over the day’s evidence in her mind. There was something troubling her, but she could not quite put her finger on what it was.

  3

  Despite the case playing on her mind on her drive home, Nicola found herself relaxing once she entered the familiar road leading into Eventide Bay. She had lived in the seaside town for most of her life, and she had no desire to go anywhere else. Something about the town made her feel safe and comfortable. She could never decide whether it was the beautiful sunsets that the town always offered of an evening, painting the sea with a stunning orange hue, or the fact that, deep down, she would not know how to begin a new life anywhere else.

  Glancing down at the clock on the dashboard, she thought it best to put her foot down. She was already five minutes late to work at the restaurant, and even though Kath was her best friend, Nicola was not past being given a dressing down by her, especially during a time when the restaurant was so busy.

  Sure enough, as soon as Nicola walked through the door, she immediately had an apron thrown at her, and she did not need to take it off her head to see who had been responsible.

  “Oh, nice of you to pop in!” Kath said, wa
ving her hands around at the bustling restaurant and full bar.

  “I’m sorry,” Nicola replied, hastily removing her coat and chucking it under the bar before throwing her apron around her. “What do you want me to do? Tell a court of law that I’ve got to leave because my boss will feed me to her customers if I’m late?”

  Kath’s bark was much worse than her bite, and Nicola knew her well enough to know that by the end of the night her stress would have vanished, and she would be laughing and joking as usual. Sure enough, Kath appeared to relax slightly once Nicola started serving customers and before too long, the throng of customers had died down slightly, and Kath was able to come behind the bar and talk to Nicola.

  “So,” she said, banging a glass on the bar and pouring a bottle of Coca Cola into it. “You didn’t get yourself locked up then.”

  “No,” Nicola replied, handing a customer his change and turning to face her. “Tell you what though, Rebecca Winters isn’t going to be a free woman for much longer. Tomorrow they reckon is when we’ll be deciding.”

  “And you don’t think she did it?”

  “Oh, I dunno,” Nicola replied, sighing. “She’s got that much evidence against her. She’s not even bothered to pretend she didn’t have a blazing row with her hubby before he died. She’d found out he was cheating on her, and then she’s saying they argued, made up, she went to the shop for some wine, leaving him alone in the house, and by the time she’d got back, he was lying dead on the floor. Why wouldn’t you give yourself a better defence that that, unless it was true?”

  Kath rolled her eyes, laughing. “You aren’t supposed to be telling me any of this. You could be fined or locked up. I haven’t got the money to bail you out!”

  Nicola snorted with derision as she looked out over the busy restaurant. “No, you’re absolutely broke. How’s the new chef?”

  Kath’s face seemed to light up. “He’s incredible. Honestly, I had no idea just how good his references were. We’ve really got ourselves a keeper in that one, hopefully. The samples he made for me, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

  “Is he here now?”

  “Yes! Working! Like you should be!” And without another word, she strolled off to clear a table before welcoming some new arrivals in.

  Nicola knew how proud Kath was of The Sunset Diner, and she had good reason to be. She had worked her fingers to the bone to get the restaurant up and running, sacrificing two relationships because she had prioritised her work over anything else. Now, she was the owner of the best eatery in Eventide Bay and was reaping the rewards.

  At that moment, Nicola felt a tap on her shoulder. “I’ve heard everything you’ve just said, and I will report you to every court in the land if you don’t do my shift next Wednesday.”

  Nicola turned around with a disdainful expression. Dominic Bridges, a waiter at the restaurant was standing in front of her with a hand on his hip, a subtly but still visibly plucked eyebrow raised.

  “Is that a fact?” Nicola retorted, attempting to return the level of sass he was giving her. “Well, you get me locked up and my phone call will be to Kath, telling her about the night she was off, and somebody was in the stock cupboard with one of the customers.”

  “You have no proof of that evening,” Dominic replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll just deny it.”

  “Deny it all you like, but we both know whipped cream went missing that night, and it wasn’t because we had an unusually high order of Knickerbocker Glories.”

  Dominic cleared his throat and looked down at the floor for a moment before recomposing himself.

  “What do you want it off for, anyway?” Nicola asked him, already guessing what his response would be.

  Dominic smiled as he went about wiping the bar down. “Because I have a date.”

  “And how do you know I’m not busy next Wednesday?” Nicola asked him.

  Dominic shrugged. “It’s not a full moon?”

  Nicola glared at him. As hard as she tried to keep her lack of social life a secret from anybody but Kath, it was made trickier by the fact that she always appeared able to work overtime, and cover anybody that ever needed it. “Well, I am,” she replied sharply. “So, you’ll have to find somebody else.”

  Before Dominic could attempt to argue with her, a customer approached the bar and ordered a large round of drinks, and Nicola was able to escape.

  For the next couple of hours, things were busy but uneventful. Dominic kept trying to catch Nicola out in the lie that she was busy on the night of his big date, and Nicola kept having to invent plans, until by the time there was an hour till closing, she was apparently spending the morning in town with her mother, who unbeknownst to Dominic was currently residing in a retirement home fifty miles away, and then in the afternoon was going out drinking with a group of people she had gone to school with. She was relieved that Dominic appeared to buy it before she had to invent a dog that she had to take to the vets.

  By the time eleven PM hit, Nicola was starting to feel the early start she had had that morning. She leant over the bar and groaned as Kath locked the door behind the final customer.

  “What a night,” she exclaimed. She raised her head weakly and looked up at her best friend. “How much did we make tonight?”

  “Enough to warrant keeping the new chef,” Kath replied cheerfully. “Turns out he’s going to be a bit more expensive than the last one.”

  “More expensive? Why?”

  Kath shrugged. “You get what you pay for. You have to admit, the customers were happy. I got so many compliments about the food. He even made some suggestions to me before we opened about new starters and side orders. If they’re as good as everything he made on our menu, then we’d be stupid to lose him. More orders mean more money.”

  “So, where is this guy anyway?” Dominic said as he brought a tray of glasses across to the bar. “I’ve not met him. Or are you keeping him locked up to protect him from Nicki’s roaming hands?”

  Before Nicola could reply to Dominic’s jibes, Kath cut her off. “You can both meet him now. He’ll be in the kitchen, which is where the remainder of the plates on the table should be. Go, while I cash up. We can sort out the rest before opening tomorrow.”

  Glaring at Dominic, Nicola grabbed the plates from the table and charged into the kitchen, with Dominic not far behind her. “My hands have never roamed once in my life.”

  “Oh, please,” Dominic replied. “There’s people losing their jobs in Hollywood for less than you’ve done in the past.”

  “I have not – ARGH!”” As she entered the kitchen, Nicola’s foot collided with a broom that had fallen on the floor. Before she could stop herself, the plates she was carrying had been sent flying and smashed on the floor, scattering bits of white china all over the kitchen. Unable to maintain her balance, she stumbled forwards, desperately trying to grab hold of something to prevent her from falling, but the only thing she could grasp was a baking tray on the counter which followed her down heavily to the ground. As she lay, dazed for a few moments, she opened her eyes and saw a mixing bowl hurtling towards her, full of some sort of mixture. It landed smack bang in the middle of her face, adding insult to injury as whatever the mixture was, ended up all over her.

  She looked up at Dominic, who was laughing hysterically from the other side of the kitchen.

  “My fishcakes!”

  A pair of legs rushed towards her. As her eyeline continued tracking upwards, she locked eyes with a man in chef whites, straight brown hair threatening to cover his eyes and a shocked and annoyed looking expression. “Are you alright?” he asked, though the way he said it made Nicola wonder if he was talking to the fishcakes rather than her.

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Dominic said, placing the plates immediately on the side and looking at the chef with a hungry look in his eyes. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Dominic, head waiter here, you are?”

  The chef glanced down at the mess on the floor again then briefly shook
Dominic’s outstretched hand. “I’m Alex. I started today. I was hoping to get started for tomorrow as well, but it looks like I’ll just have to come in early instead.”

  “Oh, she’s always doing stuff like this,” Dominic laughed, waving a hand dismissively at Nicola, who was still lying on the floor. “She’s like a cross between Mr Bean and Mr Blobby sometimes. Blunders about like she’s drunk half the time. I don’t know why we keep her.”

  “Will you shut up?” Nicola snapped, throwing a handful of the mixture from the floor at him. She pulled herself up and rubbed herself down, just as Kath walked in.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” She looked down at the shattered plates, fishcakes and batter all over the floor and over Nicola and sighed, rolling her eyes.

  “Just Nicki causing chaos,” Dominic replied cheerfully.

  “I’m going to have to make all these again,” Alex grumbled as he went about picking up the completed fishcakes from the floor. “It took me a good two hours to make all these!”

  Nicola rubbed a piece of batter off her nose and glared at him. “Well, don’t blame me. You were the one who left your bloody broom right across the floor, waiting to send somebody flying! It was an accident waiting to happen!”

  “Nicki,” sighed Kath, picking up the broom. “What time have you got to be at court tomorrow?”

  “Nine.”

  “Well, then go home. Get some sleep. These early starts and late nights obviously aren’t a great combo for you.”

  “But it had nothing to do with, - “

  “Just go,” Kath insisted as she began to sweep up the broken bits of plate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She wrinkled her nose as Nicola sighed and walked towards the door. “And make sure you have a shower. Fish mixture isn’t a good odour on you.”

  Nicola glared at Dominic, who was barely suppressing his laughter and stormed out of the kitchen.

  Nicola kicked the door to her flat open and slammed it behind her. She flung her shoes off haphazardly and threw herself onto the sofa, knocking a pile of books to the floor in the process. She glanced around briefly at the mess around her. It was getting to the point where she would not know where to begin soon. Clothes, books, paperwork, cups, and the odd empty bottle of wine were scattered everywhere. She had been meaning to give it a good clean at the start of the week, but the early starts had taken it all out of her by the end of the day.