Primrose Brown continued. ‘So, Mrs Butt, in checking the diary for that day it appears that Mr Gready was busy throughout and only left the office for a dental appointment.’

‘That is correct,’ Mrs Butt replied.

‘Does your boss have a separate diary for private events?’ the QC asked.

‘Not to my knowledge, no.’

Brown thanked her. ‘I have no more questions.’

Stephen Cork stood. ‘One last question for you. The court has heard evidence indicating that Michael Starr entered the premises where you worked, having been buzzed in. Do you recall seeing him that day?’

‘No, I do not.’

‘If you did not see him, where would he have gone in the building?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Thank you. No more questions.’

Mrs Butt was instructed to leave the witness box and she walked calmly out of the courtroom.

The rest of the day was taken up by the prosecution reading a number of statements from witnesses. These had been agreed in advance with the defence, and included evidence of the arrest of Gready, provided by a number of police officers. There was also additional evidence from Border Force officers who had been deployed at the port at the time of the attempted drugs importation. The jury then heard evidence from the forensic laboratory confirming that the white powder, seized from the vehicle, was cocaine and was analysed to be of high purity.

Primrose Brown rose and addressed Jupp. ‘Your Honour, there is an issue I need to raise with you without the jury present.’

The judge looked at the clock. It was coming up to 4.15 p.m. He turned to the jury. ‘As you have just heard, there is an issue we need to sort out. I will adjourn court and we will recommence at 10 a.m. tomorrow.’ He looked at Cork, then at Brown. ‘Come to my chambers in five minutes.’

58

Wednesday 15 May

‘It is what it is!’ Nick used to say. All the time.

It used to irritate her, Meg remembered. So damned much. The phrase had gotten into his head like a mantra. The electricity bill’s more expensive this month than last! It is what it is.

It was his answer to any piece of bad news, however insignificant.

Now she would give everything she had in the world to hear him say it one more time. And that was never going to happen.

Daphne, she thought back sadly. A feisty little nine-month-old kitten when Nick and Will died. Only the day before, Will had confessed that he’d never liked cats before Daphne. They’d had a real bond together.

How did you explain death to a cat?

How did you explain to a kitten that its owner had been wiped out by a man in a van busy texting his girlfriend?

You didn’t.