Mystery and Crime Fiction posted January 16, 2025 Chapters: 1 2 -3- 4... 


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Stacey arrives at the court
A chapter in the book Convicted

Convicted - Chapter Three

by Jacob1395




Background
How can Stacey prove her son's innocence when she's the only one who believes in it?

Houses blitz pass. I cross my knees and try to focus on the words of the book I’m reading. The train judders around me. Before this past year, I could read a book quite easily on a train ride. Today, the words dance on the page in front of me, not making sense. Someone behind me is playing music with no headphones making it hard to concentrate. I snap it shut and take in a steady breath. It’s seven thirty. Rebecca didn’t offer to give me a lift to the station, even though it would’ve only taken her ten minutes. It’s because she didn’t want me to go in the first place. I heave a sigh. There’s a young blonde woman sitting opposite me, checking her appearance in her travel mirror, holding it up to her eyes, then her lips. She pouts, smacks it shut and places it in her pocket. She must be chewing gum because every now and again I get a whiff of something minty. Her blue eyes catch me staring and I flick my gaze to the window. It’s so crazy how every young woman I see now reminds me of Alex, the girl Joshua is on trial for killing, his girlfriend. I swallow. From the moment Joshua first introduced her to us, eighteen months ago now, I loved her. I could see how happy she made him, he was always smiling. He didn’t kill her. Tears prick my eyes. No, don’t cry, I can’t cry now. Whatever happened to that poor girl, my son wasn’t responsible. I clench my fists.

The train announces the next stop will be Liverpool Street and I breathe a sigh of relief. Everyone around me moves about in their seats, packing away their belongings, the woman sitting opposite grumbles something to herself. I place my book in my bag. The train slows and we pass the graffiti covered grey walls to my left as we pull into the station, the wheels screeching on the tracks. Keep calm. They’ll find him not guilty. They’ve got to. The train comes to a gentle stop. I get up and head for the door, my heart bouncing in my chest. There’s a buzzing sound and the doors whisk open. I jump out, hurrying up the platform, squeezing in between people, who are clearly in no hurry to get to work, and towards the ticket barriers, keeping my head down. In another life, thirty odd years ago, I used to come to this station every day for work. I worked at the NatWest bank a ten minute walk away. My skin bristles. I envy how young and free I was then, no decisions about my life made. But I know I would make the mistakes all over again to have my children. I shake the thought out of my head, swipe my debit card on the ticket barrier and dive through into the hustle and bustle of the main station. On autopilot I drift towards the underground platforms, the direction everyone else is headed. There’s a man walking beside me with his phone clamped to his ear, he’s arguing with someone, but I can’t workout what the argument's about. Something to do with his job I imagine. It’ll be another five minute sweaty train ride to St. Paul’s, the closest station to the Old Bailey. I pass through the ticket barriers, keeping my head down.

The train arrives within thirty seconds of me making it to the packed, sweltering platform. I hold my hand to my forehead. Everyone crams in around me, not caring about the passengers who need to get off first. Everyone’s desperate to get on and get to their destination. Once on board, I cling onto the sweaty yellow handrail, the stench of someone’s after shave wafting into my nostrils as the train hammers towards St. Paul’s. I glance at my watch, 7:45. a.m. By eight o’clock I’ll be inside the court. Joshua will be standing there, facing the judge, and the jury who’ll decide his fate.

At St. Paul’s I dart out into bright sunshine, holding my hand above my eyes. No one pays me any attention. In my past life, I would’ve gazed at all the high rise buildings around me, marvelling at them, pointing out anything historical. Now I race down the streets, not wanting to look. I don’t want anyone to notice me. I want to get to my destination, that’s it.

The shadow of the statue of Our Lady Justice rises on the ground in front of me. I grind my teeth. Justice. What justice is there when Joshua’s on trial for something he didn’t do? There’s already a camera crew setting up outside the court. I recognise several of the journalists, drinking from plastic coffee cups, laughing amongst themselves. They’ve been here since day one. Swallowing hard, I race up the steps and breeze through the doors and in through the entrance, my heels clicking on the marble floor. How many other trials are going on today? I bet none of them get the same level of attention my son is getting?

I pass through security, tension thrumming in my chest, and hand over my bag. I eye a couple of barristers in their wigs ahead of me, chatting. They’re both clutching onto heavy looking files. My son’s barrister, Damien Knowles, a man in his thirties with brown, swept back hair and five o’clock shadow on his chin, will be with him, prepping him for what’s expected to be the final day ahead. Michael actually paid for the solicitor, it’s the one good thing he’s done in the past year.  

Once I’ve passed through security I head in the direction of court room three, taking in deep breaths.

There are already people sitting in the public gallery, talking quietly amongst themselves. There’s an air of anticipation about, I feel it. It’s electric. I freeze. Alex’s mother and her sister sitting at the front. They gave a lengthy interview to The Sun newspaper last year about their daughter. Her mother, Rose is in her sixties like me, although she’s a couple of years older. She has a pristine bob of silver hair, and always dresses for the occasion, Alex’s family certainly aren't short of money, Alex and her sister, Jenny both went to private school. There was one newspaper article that suggested Alex liked bad boys, which is why she was attracted to Joshua. Anger churns in my stomach. This is the first day they’ve been here. They’ve kept away up until now. They’re here for the complete opposite reason I am. Keeping my head down I sit as far away from them as I can at the back. I can’t let them see me. I clutch my bag tight on my lap.

A hushed silence falls on the now packed out court room. My son enters the room, dressed in a dark jacket, white shirt. I lean forward in my seat, my heart beating fast. He’s keeping his facial expression neutral, his hazel eyes fixed straight ahead, where the judge will sit.  

There’s a loud bang and my heart starts running even faster. Everyone rises to their feet, I do the same, breathing in deep breaths. This is it. The judge, a thin woman with big glasses balanced on her nose, sits in the central red chair.

The usher shouts, “Would all persons having business in the Central Criminal Court this day draw near and give your attention. God save the King.”





Characters:

Stacey - Protagonist
Joshua - Stacey's son
Alex - murder victim (Joshua's girlfriend)
Rebecca - Stacey's daughter
Michael - Stacey's ex-husband
Lydia - jury member
Ruth - journalist
Rose - Alex's mother
Detective Inspector Dominic Hitchens - police officer

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