Conviction

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I met him once, and never would have dreamed he would be the type. But then who is, until pushed to their limits?Just a couple of days ago, I had been green with envy over this case. Any barrister in their right mind would take it: the media coverage, the career progression, the recognition from peers; Queen’s Counsel, if they hadn’t been appointed already. It is a dream of a trial, when one looks beyond the tragedy of the case. I look to my calendar and mentally mark the day. Wednesday 2 January, 2019: the defining day of my career.When I was told just yesterday that I had been chosen to defend, I sat and let the news sink in, knowing this would be the case to change my career trajectory forever. If only I had more time to prepare. If my client had been charged with a petty crime, it would be easy enough; there is a blueprint to those kinds of cases. I could recite my argument for a client like that in my sleep. But to prepare a defence for a client facing three life sentences, in what is said to be the biggest trial of the year, in a matter of days?I break away from my thoughts and spot my hands white-knuckling the arms of my chair. I unclench them, flexing my fingers until the blood flows back to the tips.It has been a long time since I had a physical brief to grip onto, with the justice system finally having reached the digital age. However, the older, more experienced barristers like Whittaker are often stuck in the past, plagued by the superstition that changing one’s ways will affect their performance. I get it. It feels right like this, in the same way a painter must feel holding their brush.I trace the cover with my fingers, savouring the moment. I have advocated in murder trials before, but never one of this magnitude, and with my upcoming fifteen-year anniversary as a barrister, the timing couldn’t feel more poignant. Winning the Darling trial will be an automatic shoo-in for Queen’s Counsel. Better cases. Better pay. Those two simple letters after my name that I have wanted for longer than I care to remember. And despite the little time I have to prepare, thinking of Whittaker’s decades of experience and expertise helps calm my nerves. If I had to choose a case to take over at such short notice, it would be one of his.I glance over today’s front pages fanned out on my desk. The Darlings’ home is splayed over every cover, flames roaring from the windows of the sprawling country home. The Darling murders have graced the headlines for months, and spread through the public masses like wildfire, with everyone from the Scottish Highlands to Land’s End forming their own opinions on the case and my client. The truth has been twisted and mangled by their wagging tongues so many times that I know I will have my work cut out for me in bringing them back to the facts. Lies are always so much more enticing.I pull my copy of the Metro from the pile and take a look at my client: Wade Darling takes up the front page, snapped as he was led out of the hospital in handcuffs after he was arrested for allegedly murdering his family while they slept. He is a handsome man, from what I can see of him: pale eyes, chiselled cheekbones, a head of thick blond hair – no easy feat for a man beyond the forty mark. He will certainly be able to woo some of the jury with such good looks on his side, if they can look past his alleged crimes. In the photo, he towers above the officers flanking either side of him, and even in cuffs he has an air of authority. I wonder how he appeared to his family behind closed doors.I take a deep breath and open the brief, fingering through the newspaper cuttings that have been sliced out with an unsteady hand, and scan the headlines.HOUSE OF HORRORS: MOTHER AND CHILDREN SHOT DEAD IN FIERY BLAZEFATHER OF TWO CHARGED WITH DARLING MASSACREThe horror of the photographs is almost hypnotic. I eye the once magnificent country mansion burnt to a shell, its innards crumbled and collapsed within the wreck; then the aerial shots that the press helicopters took from above as the firefighters were still battling the blaze well into the late hours of the following day, and the day after that, as the thick trail of smoke continued to rise up into the sky for miles. If looked at closely, you can see the corpses of the Darlings’ horses, shot between the eyes and left to burn, their remains charred black where they lay in the burnt rubble of their stables. The bodies of the Darling family were found among the mass of destruction. It took almost a week to get them all out; to distinguish their bones