The Walking Dead

They were back in court now, and the whole morning had been given up to the dispute; the judge had looked to be biting his lip to control his irritation at time lost. Jools hadn't given a toss, and had enjoyed another cup of coffee from the machine in their room.

He was 'Jools' to his colleagues of nine weeks. Actually, everyone who knew him well — and the few who loved him, some who despised him, and the many who were casual in his life — called him Jools. Formally, he was Julian Wright: husband of Barbara, father of Kathy. He was Julian to his parents, and Mr Wright, occasionally, to his pupils. He enjoyed the nickname, Jools, and believed it gave him a certain welcome raffishness. Now, because they had all had to move chairs, he sat between Ettie and Vicky; the rearrangement of their places was because Rob had eased into Glenys's seat, extreme left of the lower tier, nearest the judge…Ettie had a powerful scent on her, dabbed on her wrists and neck, but the whiff of Vicky's perspiration was richly attractive.

Of course they were guilty.

It was the first time that Jools had sat on a jury. Not bad to have reached the age of thirty-seven and never before received the brown envelope with the demand that he present himself to Snaresbrook Crown Court for duty as a juror on a Monday morning in February. His initial reaction had been, as he realized now, typical. He hadn't time for it, he was in work, he had responsibilities. He'd telephoned the given number and explained, rather forcibly, that he was deputy head of the geography department at a comprehensive, and had a classroom schedule stretching through the coming term into the summer — but the woman at the far end of the line hadn't taken a blink of interest. She had said that, unless there were more pressing demands on his time, he should pay more attention to his civic responsibilities and be at Snaresbrook on the appointed day.

Jools had gone to his head teacher, believing that there he would find support, that a letter would be written on the school's headed paper stating that he could not be spared from his curriculum obligations. He had been brushed away with a cryptic 'We'll just have to get a temporary replacement in. Personally, I'd give my right ball to be out of this place for a month or two. Consider yourself fortunate, Jools. The education authority will pay your salary, you won't be out of pocket. You'll be envied by each one of us — an escape tunnel from this stalag is how I'd regard it. Relax and enjoy the ride. But, please, try not to get one of those long ones.' His retaliation had been, when a milling mass of prospective jurors was gathered in a cold, airless waiting room, to volunteer for any case, regardless of how much time it would take up, and he had said to the bailiff, with an earnest lilt in his voice, that he regarded his obligations to society as of paramount importance. His reward was to be free of a classroom of juvenile yobbery where geography counted only as a route map to the nearest fast-food outlet, or the way to the park where blow-jobs were on offer for peanuts, or the road to…On his last Friday afternoon, he'd turned in the doorway of the staff common room and announced that it might be some time before he met up with them all again. The remark had been greeted with indifference, as if nobody cared whether he was there or not.

Not only was it the first time he had sat on a jury, it was also Jools's induction to the daily working life of a Crown Court. The legal profession hardly stretched themselves — God, they didn't. The hours weren't fierce. With pomp and circumstance the judge entered court eighteen at ten thirty in the morning, broke for lunch at a quarter to one, resumed at two fifteen, and called a halt usually at a quarter past four and certainly not later than half past. At the drop of a wig, the barristers were on their feet and seeking to make legal arguments that necessitated the jury evacuating to their room, sometimes for hours. When the court was in session, with full steam up, the barristers' questioning of witnesses was as slow as paint drying.

If the padding had been cut away, the business of the court could have been completed in a week or less. Herbert, up there in the clouds with angels for company, seemed to have little interest in prodding witnesses and lawyers from a jog to a run. Jools had had much time to ponder on the courtroom pace, nine weeks of it.

Most of the others took full notes, as Mr Justice Herbert did, in longhand on the lined pages of A4 refill pads. Corenza was on her second, Rob was on his third, and Fanny wrote in short headline bursts on scraps of paper. Jools did not do notes. He could see no reason to.

They were guilty.