Page 9 of The Twins

She laughed softly. “I bet they were a lovely surprise, my best stems, they were, fresh from Columbia Road Market this morning.”

“They were unexpected, and I’m not sure who they’re from.” I paused and took a deep breath. “Were they ordered in person or online?”

“In person, dear. Tall chap, stubble, big gold signet rings.”

Fuck. This was not good news. “And he paid with a card?”

“No, he paid cash, had a great big wad of it in his wallet, I tell you.”

“Did he leave a name?”

“Oh no, he was in and out quick. Said he had things to do and people to see.”

An image flashed up in my mind, Mick Stone, an asshole I’d defended four years ago. I hadn’t won his case. It didn’t bother me, he was a piece of work and deserved to go away. And then I thought of Reg Jacks, another bastard who’d been convinced he’d get off scot-free with his crimes but didn’t. Was one of my past clients blaming me for their time behind bars?

“Miss, anything else I can help you with?”

“Er, no thanks…”

“A verdict has been reached,” Melanie called into the room. “Everyone on the Crown versus Tippin case back into court.”

I ended the call and slipped my phone away. I then picked up the flowers and dropped them into the nearest bin, petals down. They landed with a metallicwhump.

“You don’t want them?” Joseph asked as he stood.

“No I do not.”

“Why? They are—”

“We have to go. Judge Jenkins doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” A bitter taste in my mouth had replaced Finn’s sweet kiss, and I marched ahead of everyone else toward the courtroom. My stomach was tense, taut, and a knot of anger was forming.

How dare someone think they could pester me like this, attempt to make me feel vulnerable and threatened. As soon as I had a little more information, I’d be making a visit to the police station.

Walking in, I spotted Emma back behind her glass partition with her usual two prison officers. She was pale with red-rimmed eyes, and I reminded myself why I did my job.

“This is good,” I mouthed, hoping I wasn’t giving false hope at the speed in which the jury had deliberated and come to a verdict.

Her bottom lip trembled, and she knotted her hands beneath her chin.

I gave her a small smile and glanced at the public gallery—no Finn this time—then I sat at my desk. The jury had been quick, very quick, which meant they were all either certain Emma was innocent or certain that she was guilty.

They came in, all twelve, giving nothing away with their expressions, though one middle-aged woman did glance at Emma with a hint of a smile.

I took that as an encouraging sign.

“Thank you all,” Judge Jenkins said. “For your deliberation. I trust your foreperson is ready to speak for you all.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” A young man with bright-orange hair and matching glasses stood. He took a deep breath and set down his shoulders.

Time seemed to stand still, a collective holding of breath—the defendant, the journalists, the lawyers, and secretaries—and then the jury foreperson gave the verdict.

“We find the defendant not guilty.”

I blew out a breath, sagging forward. Thank the dear Lord above the jury had common sense.

Emma gasped behind me.

I turned and saw the tears streaming down her face.