Brown continued with her questions, suggesting that her client had been framed, which Branson denied.

‘You have told the court that my client was responsible for so-called county lines drug dealing within Sussex. From what I have been able to establish, these activities have continued despite my client and his alleged conspirator being locked up. How do you explain that?’

‘The reality is that whenever the police are able to cut off one supply or take out one drug dealer, there are many lining up to take their place, which is what has happened within Sussex.’

‘So there are any number of people who are involved in the county lines drug dealing?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Are any of them solicitors?’

‘No,’ Branson answered.

‘Do any of them defend those accused of serious crimes?’

‘No.’

‘I have one more question,’ Primrose Brown said. ‘My client believes that you have been taken in by Michael Starr, who has lied throughout to help himself and reduce his sentence. That is a possibility, isn’t it?’

Branson replied, ‘Absolutely not, there is clear evidence of your client’s involvement.’

‘So whatever is suggested to you, you cannot even entertain the thought that my client is being cleverly accused of crimes he did not commit?’

Branson stared at her, unsure of how to respond. Before he could, she nodded once and said, ‘I have no more questions, Your Honour.’

Cork confirmed he had no re-examination and that the prosecution case was complete.

Richard Jupp said that the trial was now adjourned for the day and they would recommence tomorrow at 10 a.m., when they would hear from the defence.

As soon as the judge had left the court and the jurors headed back to their room to collect their things, Meg scrambled past the others, just making it to the toilet in time. She locked the door behind her, lifted the lid and threw up.

81

Wednesday 22 May

Just after 5 p.m., Primrose Brown, her junior counsel, Crispin Sykes, and Nick Fox sat once more with Terence Gready in an interview room at Lewes Crown Court.

To all three of them, Gready was looking shell-shocked, as if all the fight had gone from him. He sat, hunched over the metal table, defeat in his eyes. ‘What the fuck happened?’ he said, quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

‘Terry, you tell us,’ Fox said. ‘Michael Starr was meant to be our prime witness. He was going to swear on the Holy Bible in the witness box that he had never met you before in his life and was acting alone. What the hell happened?’

Gready looked up at him, haplessly. ‘Someone must have got to him. Who and why? This has got to do with the murder of his brother. That’s what’s behind this – he thinks I’m responsible. OK, so I did—’