Page 48 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

Then it was the defence’s turn. HMS stood up and addressed the jury .

“You are aware that you are sitting on a unique trial. George Tyler is a well-known businessman, philanthropist, and media personality. He’s particularly famous for his investment in the floating cities that currently house thousands of people, liberating them from the Quarterlands and the work camps.

The idea that he prostituted his indentured servants in order to blackmail business partners and IS agency officials is inconceivable.

The truth is that the body Inquisitus dredged up is not that of Solange Alajika.

We refute, utterly and completely, the idea that anyone from the IS agency has been bribed to alter the database. ”

HMS called Martin Bagshaw to the witness stand. He was all smiles and effusive unction, directed mainly at the judge, but also to the jury and the world in general. A more affable man would be hard to find.

“Mr Bagshaw, you are in charge of the government’s indentured servant agency, I believe?” HMS asked.

“I am, sir,” Bagshaw said proudly.

“For how long?”

“Five years.”

“And before that?”

“I worked at the IS agency, handling the accounts of high-profile clients such as Mr Tyler.”

“So, you were Mr Tyler’s account handler when Ms Alajika was first registered on the IS database?”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“In all the time you’ve worked at the IS agency, have there been any instances of the database being tampered with?”

“There have been incorrect registrations,” Bagshaw replied uncertainly.

“I’m talking about instances where the security of the database itself was undermined,” HMS explained. “Where it was hacked, or the information in it altered without the knowledge of the authorities.”

“No, sir, that couldn’t happen.” Bagshaw launched into a detailed explanation as to why. Several members of the jury immediately entered notes on their court-issued nanopads, looking impressed.

“Could the database be altered by an employee of the ISA? ”

“Of course, but we have robust alteration policies in place. The system notes any changes, so there’s always a data trail.”

Solange’s IS records were brought up for the jury to examine.

Josiah heard Alex take a sharp intake of breath as her registration photo flashed up on the court smartwall.

He realised that Alex had only ever seen one photo of Solange in years – the one he’d kept with him for so long – and that was seared into his brain.

He was transfixed by the new image, his eyes shining wetly.

Ted glanced at him, his eyes also glassy, and Alex met his gaze.

She was the reason they were here, the reason why they’d risked so much.

Gone, but never forgotten, these two men had carried her memory in their hearts for years, waiting for this moment.

Whatever happened, Josiah was moved by their bravery.

Byrne took over and was a lot less impressed by Bagshaw’s attempts to ingratiate himself.

“Have you ever been asked to take a bribe in order to falsify IS records?” she asked.

“Good lord, no. Investigator Raine requisitioned all my bank statements as part of his investigation and he found nothing amiss, no large incoming amounts of money.”

“What about a different kind of bribe – a sexual bribe,” she pressed. “Mr Tyler owns the contracts of many different indentured servants. Did he ever offer you their sexual services in exchange for your professional cooperation?”

Bagshaw was clearly waiting for the question. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly.

Josiah was aware of Alex staring at the man, his eyes boring holes into him, but Bagshaw didn’t once look in his direction.

“Running the IS agency isn’t a glamorous job,” Bagshaw explained.

“It’s mainly record-keeping and policy. We’re also tasked with ensuring the welfare and proper treatment of the country’s indentured servants.

That’s a mission I feel passionately about.

I would hardly jeopardise my career and all I believe in for the sake of an assignation.

Prostitution of an IS is illegal, and rightly so.

That is one of the primary rules our agency exists to protect.

Indentured servants are not our slaves. The nature of their contracts means we have a special duty of care towards them, and my agency takes great pride in upholding that, as you can see by our record.

Under my directorship, we’ve successfully prosecuted hundreds of houders who have not conformed to the rigorous standards we set. ”

“Yes, your record is most commendable.” Byrne gave a tight smile. “Are you married, Mr Bagshaw?”

“Yes.”

“Happily?”

“Very.” He looked angry, as well he might at the personal nature of the questioning.

“And you have two sons?”

“Yes.” He relaxed a little at that, his mouth curving into a gentle smile. Josiah had no doubt he loved his children.

“Did George Tyler ever offer you sex with Alexander Lytton, either with or without strings attached?”

“No!” Bagshaw looked appalled.

Alex’s hand landed on Josiah’s arm and his nails dug in hard. Josiah didn’t blame him.

“Did you receive a call to the ISA helpline from Alexander Lytton on Tuesday, September twenty-first, 2088?”

“Yes, we did. It’s documented in his records.”

“What did he say?”

“He was distressed. We do see this sometimes with those who are sentenced to servitude instead of prison time. They haven’t chosen the life and it can be an adjustment.”

“What did you do when you received the call from Mr Lytton?”

“I called George – uh, Mr Tyler – and advised him, and then I went straight to his residence.”

“What time was this?”

“Evening. I don’t recall a precise time.”

“Was it usual to perform agency business in the evening?”

Bagshaw puffed out his chest. “I made it my business to be available to my account holders twenty-four-seven.”

“ Your account holders?” Byrne raised an eyebrow. “The ISA is a government agency. They pay your salary. You may well have handled several big accounts, but those people had no call on your time outside hours, and they were not your account holders.”

“It’s just a figure of speech. The people whose accounts I looked after on behalf of the agency,” Bagshaw said quickly.

“What did you do when you went to Mr Tyler’s residence?”

“I asked to speak to Mr Lytton.”

“In private?”

“Yes, absolutely. We had a nice little chat, and I was able to reassure him that his treatment had been exemplary, and he was merely experiencing distress at his loss of independence and status – no different to being in prison.”

“Was he satisfied with that?”

“Oh, yes. He had a little weep on my shoulder and that was that.” Bagshaw gave a saintly smile.

Alex’s nails dug deeper into Josiah’s arm.

“I see. Mr Bagshaw, have you ever had sexual intercourse with Alexander Lytton? Either before or after this encounter?”

“Absolutely not,” Bagshaw exclaimed, his face flushing an indignant shade of red.

“Thank you. That’s all.” Byrne gave a curt nod.

Josiah sighed. He’d done considerable digging on Bagshaw but found nothing – no suspicious payments into his bank accounts, no evidence that he’d had affairs outside his marriage, or an interest in young – the younger, the better – men.

He was sure such evidence existed. He doubted a man like Bagshaw would be satisfied with the handful of young men Tyler threw his way.

But Tyler had performed a very efficient job of sweeping away the evidence.

It had been clear to Josiah from the lack of evidence everywhere that Tyler had been preparing for this trial, not simply from the moment of his arrest but since the night he’d killed Solange.

There was a break for lunch, and when they returned, HMS stepped forward, his entire body quivering in anticipatory glee.

“Oh, shit,” Josiah whispered.

Alex glanced at him, startled. “What? ”

“Brace yourself,” Josiah warned.

Mona Byrne had not shared all the details of the prosecution’s case with him.

In fact, she’d thrown him out of her office weeks ago, telling him to “feck off, you big, interfering goon. This is my fecking case, and I’ll conduct it my fecking way.

” So he knew there would be some surprises, the first of which, he suspected, was about to appear.

HMS surveyed the court for a few minutes, waiting until everyone’s attention was fixed completely on him. Then he dropped his bombshell.

“I call Solange Alajika to the stand.”

“What?” Alex craned his head as the side door opened and a beautiful woman walked in. She had the most stunning hair, which settled around her slender shoulders like a cloud. She was wearing a navy-blue suit over a cream blouse and smart knee-length boots.

Alex grabbed Josiah’s arm. “No,” he said in a strangled whisper.

“Solange” took her place on the stand, right next to the picture on the smartwall from her registration ID.

The two women looked almost identical – one, it seemed, an older version of the other.

Alex looked at Ted, who looked back at Alex in disbelief.

Josiah suspected the photograph on the IS database that had affected them so much was of this woman, not of Solange, and he fought down a surge of anger at Tyler’s manipulations.

They’d been so touched by that photo, but it wasn’t even real.

“Solange?” Ted whispered, reaching out his hand. The woman on the stand didn’t look at him.

“Please give your name,” HMS invited.

“I’m Solange Alajika,” she said, looking serious but serene. “And I’m George Tyler’s goddaughter.”

Pandemonium broke out. The jury looked mystified. Was this huge, important trial all a mistake? It all seemed unbelievable. Josiah sat beside Alex, unmoving, his arm now covered in indentations from his fingernails.

“Ms Alajika. In his witness statement, Mr Marlon Baxter stated that he met you at Oxford, and you told him you were Mr Tyler’s goddaughter. Is that correct?”