The Walking Dead

He had been far away in a cloud of thoughts. His daughter and Hannah. Bad thoughts and good thoughts. The little cow, cheekier by the day, sided with her mother…Hannah, whom he'd be with that night. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if it would rid him of the cloud.

'Do I know you?'

J don't think so, but..

'Are you a parent of one of my students? I have to tell you — sorry and all that — I cannot discuss school affairs here.' A new cloud had formed: suspicion.

'Steady on, Mr Wright. Nothing about school.'

'About what, then?'

'About something that might be of advantage to you, Mr Wright.'

'I'm in rather a hurry I have to get home — I have to—'

'Considerable advantage, Mr Wright.'

'Well, some other time. If you'll, please, excuse me.'

He wanted to run but felt caged — as if he were fettered. A hand was on his arm. The grip tightened. He knew it then: he would have to fight to be free…but Jools had never fought in his life. Had never struggled, never kicked, never eye-gouged. He felt panic rising.

'Nothing for you to worry about, Mr Wright. What I said, something of considerable advantage, and that's going to be worth a few minutes of your valuable time — yes?'

'I don't know, I really don't.'

'Let's go and sit in my car for those few minutes. Where's the harm in that?'

His arm was held vice tight. Jools said limply, 'I can't be late home. I've got to go out again.'

'So I'll drop you. Now, let's go to my car. No problems, are there?'

He was walked to the car, his liberty gone. Only when a passenger door had been opened was the grip on his arm loosened. He sagged down into the seat, the door was closed on him and the man walked round the front, then sat behind the wheel. Jools realized that this was the first time he had registered the man's appearance: middle age, average height, average build, average hair, a jacket of a neutral grey, and a shirt with a light check in it, slacks that were a darker grey. But the eyes burned with authority and the grip had been fierce on his sleeve. Under that veneer of reasonableness, almost charm, there had been the implication of violence. Jools sat hunched and taut; his teeth bit into his lover lip. The radio was turned on and there was a low babble of voices from the speakers.

'Now then, Mr Wright, I hope you'll listen very carefully to me. You will?'

'Yes.'

'And you'll hear me right through till I've finished?'

'I'll hear what you have to say.'

The man leaned back and edged himself more comfortably into his seat.

'You, Mr Wright, are currently sitting as a juror in court eighteen at Snaresbrook, right?' His voice was quiet.

Oh, God…He understood. Jools sighed. What chance of getting clear of the car and running? None. His head dropped and he whispered his answer: 'Yes, I am.'

'I represent some friends of friends, Mr Wright. The friends of my friends are the Curtis brothers, and you are hearing their case. Now, my friends say that you look to be a reasonable, fair man, one with an open mind 'and not prejudiced. You see, Mr Wright, the Curtis boys have been stitched up by the Crime Directorate. They have been subject to lies and untruths. They are good family men and they are honest, straight businessmen, but you wouldn't know that from the perjured evidence of the police. They are also, Mr Wright, men of exceptional generosity, most of which is directed towards local charities — a child with leukaemia near where they live was sent to the States for treatment, a Boys' Club needed premises, which were funded — but a substantial example of their generosity would be directed towards anyone who stood up for them against all that untruthful police evidence. It's why I said, Mr Wright, that meeting me could be to your advantage. No, don't say anything, just listen, please. To be rewarded with that generosity, you would have to guarantee that your vote would go to a not-guilty verdict, and that you would give your best effort to persuading others on the jury to follow you. Your advantage, their generosity, adds up to twenty-five thousand pounds, Mr Wright, cash in hand. I think you'll agree it's an attractive offer…and I am aware that your financial circumstances are not healthy. It would be a new start, a fresh page. It's on the table.'

His breath came in little gasps. Under his windcheater, his shirt was soaked in sweat. The man's hand dropped into his jacket pocket.

A photograph was lifted out. Jools saw the face of his daughter Kathy, her grin and wink to a friend. It was held in front of him, his eyes lingered on it, and then it was back in the pocket.

'Very pretty girl, Mr Wright, and long may she stay that way. Good complexion, unblemished skin, not a mark on it…I wouldn't, and neither would my friends, want the generosity of the Curtis brothers abused. It would be very sad, with consequences, if a considerable trust were broken.'

Jools sat very still. Kathy wanted to train as a hairdresser, but no one would want to employ a salon girl whose face had been slashed.