Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(3)

Daniel wondered for a moment if he should press the issue further.

‘Don’t,’ Blackwell said, reading his mind. ‘You don’t want to know. Just a little document with a . . . questionable signature.’

‘Does Park know of this?’ Daniel said quickly. When Blackwell looked chagrined, Daniel realised it was Park for whom he’d forged a document. ‘So that might give him a reason to damage you,’ Daniel said eagerly. At last he might be on to something.

Blackwell’s eyebrows rose high. ‘I did him a favour.’

‘He incurred a debt. He either can’t pay it, or doesn’t want to.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘And so cynical!’ Blackwell sighed.

‘It comes from being a lawyer. What was the favour?’

Blackwell was silent for several moments.

Daniel tightened his grip on Blackwell’s wrist ‘Roman – we haven’t got time to spare. They’ll be coming for us any moment now. What did you do for Park that he can’t afford to repay you?’

‘I told you – I’ve got no proof!’ Blackwell repeated.

‘He doesn’t know that. Come on!’ Daniel said sharply ‘Details . . .’

Blackwell remained silent.

‘You asked me if they would hang you,’ Daniel said between his teeth, hating the sound of his voice. ‘Yes, they will! And once the verdict is in, it’s hell’s own job to change it!’

‘All right! I wrote up some documents for him . . . once. And a letter to recommend him. It was – inventive.’ Blackwell wrinkled his nose. ‘Do I need to spell it out for you?’

‘Why was that so bad? What did you say that wasn’t true?’ Daniel asked.

‘That he was honest, and had a position of trust in a company doing business abroad.’

‘And he hadn’t?’

‘No such company. I signed a dead man’s name.’

Blackwell looked rueful. ‘Does he still have the position?’

‘Yes. On the strength of that letter.’

‘And has he abused that position?’ Daniel already knew the answer. It was written on Blackwell’s face, the pride and shame at the same time.

‘But the owners don’t know yet, and if I speak now, somebody else will get the blame,’ he answered.

‘And if I don’t call him into question, somebody else will get the blame for killing Hinton: you will!’

Before Blackwell could reply, the door swung open. A remarkably handsome woman stood on the threshold. She was of less than average height, and time had added to her magnificent bosom and a certain amount to her hips. Her black hair was wound thickly at the back of her head, made the more striking by a streak of white at the front. Her olive skin was flushed with exertion, and probably temper, and her eyes flashed black fire.

She ignored Blackwell and looked straight at Daniel.

‘You’d better do something, young man! I’m not paying you to be charming. If charm would work, I could do it myself!’

Daniel rose to his feet. ‘Mrs Blackwell . . .’ he began.

‘Call me Mercy.’

‘Mercy.’ It was not a plea for clemency, it was an abbreviation of her name, Mercedes. She was Blackwell’s mother, and it was she who had engaged Daniel’s services, to the very mixed feelings of Mr fford Croft, head of the firm fford Croft and Gibson.

She closed the door behind her and came over to stand next to the table. Roman rose also, but she did not accept the chair offered to her. She was not going to accept courtesy or excuses.

‘Well? What are you going to do? How are you going to attack these miserable creatures?’ She did not need to explain herself. The brief adjournment for luncheon had come during the testimony of Park.

Before Blackwell could answer, and express his desperation, Daniel spoke.

‘We are going to attack, Mrs Blackwell . . .’

‘Good.’ she said. ‘Who?’

‘The man whose evidence is the most important, and who has every reason to lie,’ Daniel replied, trying to sound confident.

She gave a little grunt of agreement, but her eyes were cautious. She was going to need proof before she dared to hope.

Daniel knew what she was waiting for. He took a deep breath. ‘Park. He’s vulnerable, and now I know how,’ he answered.

She nodded slowly. Had they been alone, he was sure she would have demanded to know the details, but one quick glance at Roman told her how desperate he was, and how close to despair. Daniel knew that she would not have spared him anything. He was used to their banter, and he saw, beneath the mock fights, and the fierce arguments, that her long and deep loyalty was unquestioning and unshakeable. She would criticise her son in all sorts of ways, even slap him if tried sorely enough, but let anyone else find fault with him, and they would rue the day.

Before Daniel could explain himself any further, he was saved by the warder returning and telling him the luncheon adjournment was over. He was taking Roman back to the dock, where the accused sat throughout the trial. Daniel would go to the place in the courtroom he thought of as the arena. Mercedes Blackwell would go to sit in the public gallery.

As soon as Roman and the warder were gone, she turned to Daniel, her black eyes relentless.