Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Vincent Okoro sat with his arm draped across the back of the front bench of court thirteen, which creaked under the weight of his muscular frame. The trial bundle was spread across his lap but his interrogation of it was limited to idly flipping through the pages, only giving cursory attention to the text. Anything else would have been pointless: he knew the contents intimately.

He was vaguely aware of the hum of people around him. Behind, two men and a woman sat nervously shuffling around, not quite sure how to find a comfortable pose on the ancient wooden pews that served as seating in the Royal Courts of Justice. To his left, an usher draped in ill-fitting robes was moving papers around with great purpose, although the end result eluded Okoro. High above him to the back of the court, a scattering of journalists were engrossed in the soft lights from their smartphones and tablets, trying to find something productive to do before the trial started.

It was a disappointing turn-out. Given the media attention the case had enjoyed for the past two years, he had hoped for more of a journalistic presence on day one of Elias v. The Real Byte Limited. But then it was early. The start time was an hour and a half away. Not even the claimant and her team of blood-sucking lawyers had arrived in court, although rumour suggested they had been milling around the public cafe earlier filling their time with croissants and anecdotes.

Still, an hour and a half to go – and no sign of Priest, or their first witness.

Okoro sighed heavily, and threw the bundle back under the bench. He turned around and was surprised to see behind him another figure who must have ghosted into court.

‘Hello,’ Georgie Someday said brightly, her green eyes peering curiously at him.

‘How long have you been there?’ Okoro asked.

‘Three minutes. I didn’t want to disturb your reading.’

‘I’ve read it before. Where’s Priest?’

‘He rang to say he’s on his way.’

‘Is he with Simeon?’

Georgie grimaced. ‘He didn’t mention that.’

Okoro found himself sighing again, but with more vigour. Simeon Ali – his crucial witness – could make or break this case. Without his evidence, it could well be a very short and humiliating trial.

Maybe the lack of journalists at the back wasn’t so bad after all.

‘Go and phone Priest,’ Okoro instructed. ‘Find out where he is and get confirmation that Simeon is turning up on time this morning and looking like the million-pound witness he is.’

Georgie nodded, brushed a strand of ginger hair out of her face and scurried out.

‘Morning, Okoro.’ A gruff voice directed Okoro’s attention to the claimant’s side of the courtroom where a hunched figure was lining bundles up on the front bench.