Page 133 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘There’s no security camera covering that entrance.’

That wasn’t the question I’d asked. I was about to double down when Riley came to his senses.

‘Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Flynn has staged an inadmissible reconstruction in court by pretending to spill water on his client’s clothes, which I’m sure she was instructed to wear today. I move that the entirety of this cross-examination be struck from the record and the jury instructed to ignore it.’

‘The water was an accident, Your Honor. You can’t—’

She wasn’t interested in my excuses.

‘Sustained. The jury will disregard everything they have heard today. Mr. Flynn, that’s another thousand-dollar fine for contempt. Next time, I’m not going to fine you. I’m going to have you thrown in a cell, do you understand?’

‘I have an objection, Your Honor,’ I said. ‘I think your actions are confusing the jury, my client and everyone else in this courtroom.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Tanner.

‘I just think it would be a hell of a lot clearer to everyone in this courtroom if you came down off the bench and just took your seat beside Mr. Riley at the prosecution table. That way my client and the jury won’t confuse you with an unbiased judge.’

I heard a few intakes of breath from the jury.

I’d made my point.

I didn’t have to look at Harry. I could feel him staring at the back of my head.

‘This case is adjourned for one hour,’ said Judge Tanner. ‘Bailiff, arrest Mr. Flynn.’

55

Eddie

In a strange way, I like jail cells.

It’s quiet. There are no distractions.

I have time to think.

I was pretty sure I had most of this case figured out.

It seemed clear to me that the paint team Bloch took out at the Hamptons house was involved in the murder of the woman known as Molly Green. Maybe they were planning on moving her body, to make it look like a disappearance, and that was why they painted over the bloodstains on her wall.

That was a rational explanation, but this case defied logic on so many levels.

There was more to it. Much more.

As I lay on a concrete bench in the cell, I looked up at the wall beside me. It was covered in graffiti. Gang tags, names of former occupants of this cell, trial dates, band names and slogans, some of it in ballpoint pen, but mostly it was scratched into the surface.

I put my hand on the wall, closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

Something was bubbling to the surface of my consciousness. Something that had been working there for a while. I turned my head away from the wall to the chipped cream paint on the cell barsand door. Beyond them, in the hallway, I saw a notice to prisoners pinned up on the wall. Jailhouse rules.

I sat up.

I had an idea.

Footsteps were coming down that hallway.

Harry Ford leaned over and peered through the bars at me.

‘You’re spending more time in a jail cell than a courtroom these days,’ he said.