Six of Hearts
Page 39
I communicate to him silently that kissing wouldn’t be wise. He communicates right back that he accepts the challenge.
“Fuck it,” he curses. “I’m kissing you.”
Before I can try to move away, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding its way into my mouth. A deep moan escapes me, and he cups my face in his hands. It’s been so long since I’ve had this, and I can feel his kiss everywhere. Between my thighs, in my hardening ni**les, on the tips of my eager fingers as they clutch tightly at the lapels of his suit.
Of their own accord, my hands start to undo the buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to feel his skin. I wouldn’t normally give in so easily, but I need this. I haven’t been able to touch him in so long. We’d grown close, and yet there was a wall between us. He groans when I touch him, sliding my palm over his chest. His hand moves down between my legs, hitching my skirt up and cupping me right there. I moan loudly.
The door handle moves, somebody on the other side trying to get in, and we pull apart, our breathing laboured. I let go of him and run a hand through my hair. “We’d, um, we’d better go grab a bite to eat before we have to be back.”
The dark, hot look he gives me lets me know that’s the last thing he wants to do. But we both know this is the last place we should be doing this, so he finally replies, “Yeah, let’s do that, then.”
I tell him I’ll catch up with him, and he leaves, but not before murmuring in my ear, “I f**king love the way you taste.”
I shiver at his words and his hot breath on my skin. Then I lock the door after him, making quick work of using the bathroom and straightening up my appearance. As I’m making my way back out, I turn a corner and almost bump into Una Harris. Her normally coiffed hair is slightly dishevelled, and it looks like she bit so hard on her lip it started bleeding. Also, her pupils are completely dilated.
“Looking at me like she thinks she’s better than me,” she slurs, and a waft of alcohol hits my nose. If my assumptions are right, she’s on something and she’s been drinking. Jesus, she picked the worst possible place to unravel.
“I’d rather not look at you at all, Una,” I say, raising my chin.
She screws up her mouth and wags her finger at me. “Oh, the other night didn’t scare you, did it? You should be scared. It would be very wise on your part to be scared.” She reaches out and runs her hand down my scar. “How did you get this again?”
I immediately recoil from her touch. “I don’t recall telling you. Now please, get out of my way.”
“Una, that’s enough,” comes the hard voice of Brian Scott. He walks toward her and sleekly slides his arm around her waist.
Jessie’s at my side then, asking, “You okay, Matilda?” She shoots a sharp glance in Una’s direction.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Who the hell are you?” Una asks, slurring her words again.
“Uh, none of your f**king business,” Jessie answers, folding her arms and levelling her eyes on Brian. “You’d wanna go get her cleaned up. She’s a hot mess right now.”
“Yes,” says Brian, voice steely. “I have every intention. Goodbye, ladies.”
He steers Una away, as she swears her head off. “Fucking leave me alone, Brian. I can walk perfectly fine on my own.”
“Bitch has more issues than Vogue,” Jessie mutters under her breath, and I laugh.
The rest of the day moves fairly slowly, and there are no more big revelations. I leave the courthouse with Dad and Jay, the press hounding us with questions, to which they receive a firm “no comment.” We quickly locate Jay’s car, and he drives us home. Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t stay for dinner, but instead leaves right after he’s dropped us off.
The next day of the trial goes as follows: Una’s second PA (yes, the woman actually has two assistants) takes the witness stand. This one is a guy, and he basically goes against everything Emma Feelan said the day before, painting Una as the perfect, most generous boss a person could ask for. Then Dad calls Una to the stand, and that’s when things start to get interesting.
“Miss Harris, in 2004, did you write an article exposing the private life of government TD Victor Nugent?”
Una narrows her eyes at Dad. “Yes, I’d been covering politics at the time and discovered that Mr Nugent had been procuring the services of prostitutes.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“I have informants,” Una replies sharply. “All journalists do.”
“Did you tap his phone or hack into his computer like you did with my client?”
“How is this relevant?” Thomas Jenkins objects. “We are not here to talk about past articles. We’re here to talk about the articles Miss Harris wrote about Mr Fields.”
“I assure you, my line of questioning is extremely relevant, Justice,” says Dad to the judge.
“Continue,” says the judge with a casual gesture of his hand.
“You can answer my question, Miss Harris,” says Dad, turning back to Una.
Her one-word reply sounds strained. “No.”
“Mr Nugent took his own life a few months after you broke the story. Are you aware of this?”
“Of course I am.”
“Do you hold yourself responsible?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “No.”
“Do you think that if you hadn’t written the article, Mr Nugent would still be alive and well today?”
“I can’t know that. But I will say that Victor Nugent was supposed to be an upstanding member of society, and the things he was doing needed to be exposed.”
Really, the irony here is just laughable. Una Harris judging someone else’s tawdry private life after everything that’s come to light about her. I guess everyone’s the hero of their own story.
“And did you go to great lengths to expose them, Miss Harris?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘great lengths,’” Una states, her voice hard.
“Did you hack into his private email account?”
“No.”
“Thank you. That will be all, Miss Harris.”
Una leaves the witness stand and returns to her seat, while Dad picks up a folder and offers it to the judge. “Here I present records of Victor Nugent’s personal email account being accessed from Una Harris’ home computer in 2004. The emails accessed are also included, alongside a copy of the article Miss Harris published in The Daily Post several days later. As you can see, information from these emails has been used, almost verbatim, in the article.”
I seriously have no words. I really wish I had been working with Dad on this case instead of with Will these past few months, because seriously, I don’t think I can take any more surprises.
The next few days are absolute madness. All across the country, people are in an uproar over The Daily Post, and every television channel, radio station, and newspaper is calling for the publication to be shut down. Una has been branded a devil and Brian the one who gave her a platform to work from.
The biggest surprise, though, is still to come. And even though there isn’t any magic involved, I like to think of it as Jay’s prestige. His big finish. And, inarguably, the final nail in the dual coffin of Una Harris and Brian Scott.
Twenty-Eight
It’s the second-to-last day of the trial. Tomorrow the jury will decide on a verdict. I’m fairly confident that Jay is going to get some serious compensation, but there’s always the chance that things could change. Despite all of the evidence brought forward against them, Brian and Una’s legal team have still managed to salvage some of the case.
Dad is to call forward one more witness. Reporters had shown up at our house this morning, looking for statements from Dad, so we were all in a fluster to get to court on time. By contrast, Jay is cool as a cucumber. He’s wearing my favourite suit, the light grey one, and looks as handsome as ever.
There’s a peace about him, like the turmoil inside his head is all coming to a conclusion.
I’m so busy admiring his gorgeous profile that I don’t listen when Dad calls his final witness. There are shocked gasps from those in the gallery, and the men and women in the jury. Brian is getting up from his seat, running a hand through his greying hair and looking entirely discombobulated, while Una has gone pale as a ghost, her expression distraught.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask Will, who’s sitting beside me.
“Haven’t you been listening?” he whispers animatedly. “David Murphy is the witness.”
“Huh?”
“David Murphy. Jay’s volunteer. The one Una reported had died of a heart attack.”
I swear to God, it really is too early in the morning, because my brain refuses to comprehend what he’s telling me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Christ, Matilda. Didn’t Hugh tell you?”
“No. He and Jay have actually been very tight-lipped about the particulars of the case,” I say somewhat shakily. “David Murphy is alive?”
“Yes!” says Will excitedly.
I don’t understand how this can be possible. I mean, Una might be underhanded, but I didn’t think she could be this dumb. She must have had some kind of proof of the man’s death before she decided to break her story, right? And Jay! My God. He’s been playing everyone this entire time, never once correcting anyone when they spoke of David’s heart attack.
This is f**ked up. This is…amazing.
I can’t believe the sneaky, clever, trickster bastard managed to pull this off.
And now I have no words.
Finally, I manage to pull myself together enough to become aware of the fact that all hell has broken loose. Una is standing up and yelling at Jay, who’s sitting back calmly in his chair, one sardonic eyebrow raised and the ghost of a satisfied smile on his mouth.
“This is outrageous. The man sitting in the witness box cannot be David Murphy. I held his death certificate in my own two hands!” Her previously pale complexion has now turned red with fury as she points her finger at Jay.
The judge slams his gavel down hard and calls for Una to contain herself.
“Are you sure about that, Una?” Jay asks casually, flicking a coin through his fingers with expert precision. “David Murphy is a pretty common name in this country. Perhaps you were confusing him with somebody else.”
“I am not confused. I saw it! You did this. You knew all along that he wasn’t dead.”
“Miss Harris,” says the judge. “Please sit down.”
It takes another few minutes for order to be restored and for Dad to begin his examination.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I suppose I should begin by asking you to clarify who you are?”
David smiles. He’s actually quite handsome, probably in his mid-thirties, with a mop of thick brown hair. “I’m David Murphy.”
“The same David Murphy who took part in Mr Fields’ television show as a volunteer?”
“That’s right.”
“And you are alive?”
A chuckle. “I should hope so.”
Dad picks up a passport, birth certificate, and driver’s licence, handing them to David. “Are these documents yours?”
“They are indeed.”
The judge requests to see David’s identification documents before Dad can continue with his questioning.
“Have you any idea how Miss Harris might have come to the conclusion that you were dead?”
“No. Right after I finished filming with Jay, I emigrated to Australia for work but recently returned home. I haven’t been around, but I certainly haven’t been dead.”
“Thank you, Mr Murphy. That’s all I wanted to ask.”
Brian and Una’s barrister, Thomas Jenkins, rises swiftly from his seat, clearly eager to bombard David with questions.
“Mr Murphy, before my client published her article, she had collected several pieces of documentation to show that you had died of a heart attack. These documents have subsequently gone missing from the secure location where they were being stored. Even the soft copies and the original government and hospital records have vanished without a trace. Do you know anything about this?”
David leans into the microphone. “No, I do not.”
Hmm, even if he doesn’t, I’m sure Jay does. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my gaze narrowed in wariness and just a little bit of awe.
“Did Mr Fields recruit you to fake your own death?”
David laughs loudly now. “No, of course not. This isn’t a movie, Mr Jenkins.” I notice a couple of members of the jury try to suppress their smiles.
Thomas Jenkins’ mouth forms a thin, displeased line.
“My client, Miss Harris, was led to believe that Mr Fields paid a large sum of money to your mother for funeral expenses. Do you know anything about this?”
“Yes, I do. Jay did give my mother money, but it wasn’t for a funeral. It was a loan for home renovations that has now been paid back in full. I’m not sure where your client got the idea it was for a funeral.”
Dad steps forward and provides all the required evidence for the loan. Brian and Una’s barrister throws a few more clever questions at David, but he has foolproof responses to all of them, even slyly hinting that Una never had the documents she claims she had in the first place.
After the lunch break, Thomas Jenkins calls a witness, a guy named Blake who apparently worked as a cameraman on Jay’s show, and who Una claims has been an informant of hers for the past two years. She also claims that Blake was the one who originally informed her of David’s passing.
“Fuck it,” he curses. “I’m kissing you.”
Before I can try to move away, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding its way into my mouth. A deep moan escapes me, and he cups my face in his hands. It’s been so long since I’ve had this, and I can feel his kiss everywhere. Between my thighs, in my hardening ni**les, on the tips of my eager fingers as they clutch tightly at the lapels of his suit.
Of their own accord, my hands start to undo the buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to feel his skin. I wouldn’t normally give in so easily, but I need this. I haven’t been able to touch him in so long. We’d grown close, and yet there was a wall between us. He groans when I touch him, sliding my palm over his chest. His hand moves down between my legs, hitching my skirt up and cupping me right there. I moan loudly.
The door handle moves, somebody on the other side trying to get in, and we pull apart, our breathing laboured. I let go of him and run a hand through my hair. “We’d, um, we’d better go grab a bite to eat before we have to be back.”
The dark, hot look he gives me lets me know that’s the last thing he wants to do. But we both know this is the last place we should be doing this, so he finally replies, “Yeah, let’s do that, then.”
I tell him I’ll catch up with him, and he leaves, but not before murmuring in my ear, “I f**king love the way you taste.”
I shiver at his words and his hot breath on my skin. Then I lock the door after him, making quick work of using the bathroom and straightening up my appearance. As I’m making my way back out, I turn a corner and almost bump into Una Harris. Her normally coiffed hair is slightly dishevelled, and it looks like she bit so hard on her lip it started bleeding. Also, her pupils are completely dilated.
“Looking at me like she thinks she’s better than me,” she slurs, and a waft of alcohol hits my nose. If my assumptions are right, she’s on something and she’s been drinking. Jesus, she picked the worst possible place to unravel.
“I’d rather not look at you at all, Una,” I say, raising my chin.
She screws up her mouth and wags her finger at me. “Oh, the other night didn’t scare you, did it? You should be scared. It would be very wise on your part to be scared.” She reaches out and runs her hand down my scar. “How did you get this again?”
I immediately recoil from her touch. “I don’t recall telling you. Now please, get out of my way.”
“Una, that’s enough,” comes the hard voice of Brian Scott. He walks toward her and sleekly slides his arm around her waist.
Jessie’s at my side then, asking, “You okay, Matilda?” She shoots a sharp glance in Una’s direction.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Who the hell are you?” Una asks, slurring her words again.
“Uh, none of your f**king business,” Jessie answers, folding her arms and levelling her eyes on Brian. “You’d wanna go get her cleaned up. She’s a hot mess right now.”
“Yes,” says Brian, voice steely. “I have every intention. Goodbye, ladies.”
He steers Una away, as she swears her head off. “Fucking leave me alone, Brian. I can walk perfectly fine on my own.”
“Bitch has more issues than Vogue,” Jessie mutters under her breath, and I laugh.
The rest of the day moves fairly slowly, and there are no more big revelations. I leave the courthouse with Dad and Jay, the press hounding us with questions, to which they receive a firm “no comment.” We quickly locate Jay’s car, and he drives us home. Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t stay for dinner, but instead leaves right after he’s dropped us off.
The next day of the trial goes as follows: Una’s second PA (yes, the woman actually has two assistants) takes the witness stand. This one is a guy, and he basically goes against everything Emma Feelan said the day before, painting Una as the perfect, most generous boss a person could ask for. Then Dad calls Una to the stand, and that’s when things start to get interesting.
“Miss Harris, in 2004, did you write an article exposing the private life of government TD Victor Nugent?”
Una narrows her eyes at Dad. “Yes, I’d been covering politics at the time and discovered that Mr Nugent had been procuring the services of prostitutes.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“I have informants,” Una replies sharply. “All journalists do.”
“Did you tap his phone or hack into his computer like you did with my client?”
“How is this relevant?” Thomas Jenkins objects. “We are not here to talk about past articles. We’re here to talk about the articles Miss Harris wrote about Mr Fields.”
“I assure you, my line of questioning is extremely relevant, Justice,” says Dad to the judge.
“Continue,” says the judge with a casual gesture of his hand.
“You can answer my question, Miss Harris,” says Dad, turning back to Una.
Her one-word reply sounds strained. “No.”
“Mr Nugent took his own life a few months after you broke the story. Are you aware of this?”
“Of course I am.”
“Do you hold yourself responsible?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “No.”
“Do you think that if you hadn’t written the article, Mr Nugent would still be alive and well today?”
“I can’t know that. But I will say that Victor Nugent was supposed to be an upstanding member of society, and the things he was doing needed to be exposed.”
Really, the irony here is just laughable. Una Harris judging someone else’s tawdry private life after everything that’s come to light about her. I guess everyone’s the hero of their own story.
“And did you go to great lengths to expose them, Miss Harris?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘great lengths,’” Una states, her voice hard.
“Did you hack into his private email account?”
“No.”
“Thank you. That will be all, Miss Harris.”
Una leaves the witness stand and returns to her seat, while Dad picks up a folder and offers it to the judge. “Here I present records of Victor Nugent’s personal email account being accessed from Una Harris’ home computer in 2004. The emails accessed are also included, alongside a copy of the article Miss Harris published in The Daily Post several days later. As you can see, information from these emails has been used, almost verbatim, in the article.”
I seriously have no words. I really wish I had been working with Dad on this case instead of with Will these past few months, because seriously, I don’t think I can take any more surprises.
The next few days are absolute madness. All across the country, people are in an uproar over The Daily Post, and every television channel, radio station, and newspaper is calling for the publication to be shut down. Una has been branded a devil and Brian the one who gave her a platform to work from.
The biggest surprise, though, is still to come. And even though there isn’t any magic involved, I like to think of it as Jay’s prestige. His big finish. And, inarguably, the final nail in the dual coffin of Una Harris and Brian Scott.
Twenty-Eight
It’s the second-to-last day of the trial. Tomorrow the jury will decide on a verdict. I’m fairly confident that Jay is going to get some serious compensation, but there’s always the chance that things could change. Despite all of the evidence brought forward against them, Brian and Una’s legal team have still managed to salvage some of the case.
Dad is to call forward one more witness. Reporters had shown up at our house this morning, looking for statements from Dad, so we were all in a fluster to get to court on time. By contrast, Jay is cool as a cucumber. He’s wearing my favourite suit, the light grey one, and looks as handsome as ever.
There’s a peace about him, like the turmoil inside his head is all coming to a conclusion.
I’m so busy admiring his gorgeous profile that I don’t listen when Dad calls his final witness. There are shocked gasps from those in the gallery, and the men and women in the jury. Brian is getting up from his seat, running a hand through his greying hair and looking entirely discombobulated, while Una has gone pale as a ghost, her expression distraught.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask Will, who’s sitting beside me.
“Haven’t you been listening?” he whispers animatedly. “David Murphy is the witness.”
“Huh?”
“David Murphy. Jay’s volunteer. The one Una reported had died of a heart attack.”
I swear to God, it really is too early in the morning, because my brain refuses to comprehend what he’s telling me.
“I don’t understand.”
“Christ, Matilda. Didn’t Hugh tell you?”
“No. He and Jay have actually been very tight-lipped about the particulars of the case,” I say somewhat shakily. “David Murphy is alive?”
“Yes!” says Will excitedly.
I don’t understand how this can be possible. I mean, Una might be underhanded, but I didn’t think she could be this dumb. She must have had some kind of proof of the man’s death before she decided to break her story, right? And Jay! My God. He’s been playing everyone this entire time, never once correcting anyone when they spoke of David’s heart attack.
This is f**ked up. This is…amazing.
I can’t believe the sneaky, clever, trickster bastard managed to pull this off.
And now I have no words.
Finally, I manage to pull myself together enough to become aware of the fact that all hell has broken loose. Una is standing up and yelling at Jay, who’s sitting back calmly in his chair, one sardonic eyebrow raised and the ghost of a satisfied smile on his mouth.
“This is outrageous. The man sitting in the witness box cannot be David Murphy. I held his death certificate in my own two hands!” Her previously pale complexion has now turned red with fury as she points her finger at Jay.
The judge slams his gavel down hard and calls for Una to contain herself.
“Are you sure about that, Una?” Jay asks casually, flicking a coin through his fingers with expert precision. “David Murphy is a pretty common name in this country. Perhaps you were confusing him with somebody else.”
“I am not confused. I saw it! You did this. You knew all along that he wasn’t dead.”
“Miss Harris,” says the judge. “Please sit down.”
It takes another few minutes for order to be restored and for Dad to begin his examination.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I suppose I should begin by asking you to clarify who you are?”
David smiles. He’s actually quite handsome, probably in his mid-thirties, with a mop of thick brown hair. “I’m David Murphy.”
“The same David Murphy who took part in Mr Fields’ television show as a volunteer?”
“That’s right.”
“And you are alive?”
A chuckle. “I should hope so.”
Dad picks up a passport, birth certificate, and driver’s licence, handing them to David. “Are these documents yours?”
“They are indeed.”
The judge requests to see David’s identification documents before Dad can continue with his questioning.
“Have you any idea how Miss Harris might have come to the conclusion that you were dead?”
“No. Right after I finished filming with Jay, I emigrated to Australia for work but recently returned home. I haven’t been around, but I certainly haven’t been dead.”
“Thank you, Mr Murphy. That’s all I wanted to ask.”
Brian and Una’s barrister, Thomas Jenkins, rises swiftly from his seat, clearly eager to bombard David with questions.
“Mr Murphy, before my client published her article, she had collected several pieces of documentation to show that you had died of a heart attack. These documents have subsequently gone missing from the secure location where they were being stored. Even the soft copies and the original government and hospital records have vanished without a trace. Do you know anything about this?”
David leans into the microphone. “No, I do not.”
Hmm, even if he doesn’t, I’m sure Jay does. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my gaze narrowed in wariness and just a little bit of awe.
“Did Mr Fields recruit you to fake your own death?”
David laughs loudly now. “No, of course not. This isn’t a movie, Mr Jenkins.” I notice a couple of members of the jury try to suppress their smiles.
Thomas Jenkins’ mouth forms a thin, displeased line.
“My client, Miss Harris, was led to believe that Mr Fields paid a large sum of money to your mother for funeral expenses. Do you know anything about this?”
“Yes, I do. Jay did give my mother money, but it wasn’t for a funeral. It was a loan for home renovations that has now been paid back in full. I’m not sure where your client got the idea it was for a funeral.”
Dad steps forward and provides all the required evidence for the loan. Brian and Una’s barrister throws a few more clever questions at David, but he has foolproof responses to all of them, even slyly hinting that Una never had the documents she claims she had in the first place.
After the lunch break, Thomas Jenkins calls a witness, a guy named Blake who apparently worked as a cameraman on Jay’s show, and who Una claims has been an informant of hers for the past two years. She also claims that Blake was the one who originally informed her of David’s passing.
