The Fall by Claire McGowan Page B

nightclub in Camden. The arresting officer, DC Matthew Hegarty, is present and willing to answer questions on the evidence if the court requires.’
    She paused, adjusting her glasses, which gleamed in the dull strip-lighting. Charlotte found she was squeezing her hands together so tightly it was cutting off the blood. There was more murmuring. ‘The court calls DC Matthew Hegarty.’
    Then the policeman was leaping up to the stand. He couldn’t have slept much at the weekend either, but he seemed perky as could be, whereas Charlotte felt like she’d been hit by a truck.
    He took the affirmation with loud northern tones and the lawyer said, ‘Officer Hegarty, can you connect the defendant with this case?’
    The officer smiled, leaned forward. ‘We believe so, yes.’
    ‘Will you be recommending bail in this case?’
    The policeman leaned forward further. ‘Your worships, this is a serious case of brutal and possibly racially motivated murder. The defendant has shown signs of violent and unstable behaviour, which may pose a risk to the public.’ He paused to take a breath. Murmurs went round the courtroom; Charlotte tried to block her ears. She wanted to turn to them, shout, say, I’m sorry he’s dead, but Dan didn’t do it! You’ve got the wrong person!
    ‘Furthermore, the defendant has access to considerable resources, and therefore, represents a high likelihood of absconding. There has also been a large degree of public interest in the case, and as such, bail could represent a danger to the defendant’s own safety.’ The policeman smiled. So he was saying Dan had to be in prison for his wellbeing? Charlotte gaped.
    More chat, and the lawyer sat down, rearranging her papers neatly. The three magistrates, a woman in the middle and two men on either side – one Asian, one white – scribbled furiously.
    Dan’s lawyer, Mr Crusty, got slowly to his feet and at this point Charlotte got lost in his wavering tones, interrupted by loud sneezes into his cotton hankie. He asked various questions of the policeman. Had Dan said he was innocent? Did he deny the charges? Did he waive his right to have a lawyer present? Was it true Dan did not fully remember the incident? The policeman answered them all with the same confident smile.
    It dragged on. Mr Crusty was citing point after point of procedure and kept saying, ‘Your worships, the evidence is highly circumstantial.’ He didn’t even bring up what Charlotte thought was the most obvious point, that Dan had no blood on him when they’d left the club that night. Wouldn’t he have blood on him, if he’d stabbed someone?
    After a while, Charlotte stopped listening. Her knuckles were white from gripping her hands together, trying not to leap up and shout how stupid it all was. Of course Dan didn’t do it. He was a banker, for God’s sake. He bought his ties on Savile Row. In a few years he’d be softening in the middle and losing his hair. He didn’t go around getting in bar fights over declined credit cards.
    The facts were like a crossword puzzle she couldn’t make fit. The club. The row. The arrest. Even with the drugs, which had seemed to change them both, she knew Dan just wouldn’t do this. No. No. He wouldn’t. It was like some awful dream, like one of those nightmares where she forgot her bouquet or no one turned up at the wedding. But even if it took a while to explain all these damning facts, he’d still go home on bail, still be able to marry her. Wouldn’t he? Maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the country, maybe they’d lose the honeymoon. Would travel insurance cover it? But still, even if they couldn’t go to Jamaica, she would try to be good and brave about it. She would rise to the occasion, so long as he could come out from behind that screen and grip her hand in his strong one, so long as she could breathe his smell over the varnish and lino reek of this place. She tried to shut her ears to the calls and whistles. ‘ Ra-cist!