Bombproof (32 page)

Eddie Barrett joins them. ‘Trust me, kid, do as he says.’

‘I did that last time.’

‘This is a better deal.’

Mr Gallagher goes back to the bar. The judge folds the letter and puts it in a file. Then he begins writing notes. For the next twenty minutes the courtroom has to watch him scribbling, with nobody saying anything above a whisper.

Finally, he’s ready. He blinks through his glasses at Sami, addressing him directly.

‘Let me say this, Mr Macbeth. I spent last night reading the details of this case and I can only conclude that you are, without question, one of the unluckiest people to ever set foot in my courtroom. You also appear to have the unfortunate ability to turn a desperate situation into a hopeless one. Does that seem a fair thing to say?’

‘Yes, your honour.’

‘Armed robbery, manslaughter, grievous bodily harm, abduction, firearms charges, possession of explosives, trespassing, criminal damage … I could go on, but there doesn’t appear much point given I’ve been asked to let these matters lay on file until some later, indeterminate date.

‘Conceivably the Crown Prosecution Service has thought long and hard about how to proceed in this matter and has chosen to seek your co-operation in other matters before these courts.

‘Based upon the recommendations of the CPS and the Attorney General and given the ordeal that you and your sister have endured, I struggle to see how society would benefit from your further incarceration.’

He bangs a polished wooden thingummy on his desk and tells the clerk of the court to dismiss prospective jurors or reassign them to a different jury pool.

Sami raises his hand as though he’s still at school.

The judge pauses and looks at him quizzically.

‘You have a question, Mr Macbeth?’

‘Yes, your honour, I just wondered or hoped, really, that you could explain to me what just happened?’

‘There will be no trial today. You’re free to go.’

‘Free?’

‘The allegations against you, Mr Macbeth, have been set aside. They may one day be resurrected but that depends on your co-operation. What you
know,
Mr Macbeth, has become more important than what you’ve done.’

The judge is gathering his papers to leave.

Sami is dumbstruck. ‘Thank you,’ he whispers.

His voice carries to the bench. The judge stops and turns.

‘Good luck, Mr Macbeth. It may well be that your sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others. That’s for the future to decide.’

Terminal Four at Heathrow Airport is like a third world outpost with families of refugees taking up corners of the lounge and backpackers sprawled out on hard plastic chairs that will outlive civilisation.

Vincent Ruiz has been allowed airside, along with Miranda. They’re watching Sami and Nadia stock up on suntan lotion and travel guides. According to the witness protection guidelines their destination is supposed to be a secret but Sami is wearing a
Save the Whales - Harpoon a Jap
T-shirt promoting Greenpeace in Australia.

‘So you’re ready,’ says Ruiz.

‘We’re ready.’

Nadia is showing Miranda her purchases. Sami looks up at the departures board.

‘Guess we’d better go.’

‘I guess so.’

‘We’ll be back for the trial.’

‘You will.’

‘Do you think Murphy and Garza will go to prison?’

‘That’s not your problem. You swear on oath. You tell the truth. You walk away.’

‘Just like that.’

‘Just like that.’

‘And what happens then?’

‘Nothing. Just the rest of your lives.’

Sami nods. Ruiz wants to say stuff like ‘stay in touch’ and ‘don’t be a stranger’ but none of that’s going to be possible. From now on Sami and Nadia will always be someone different. Someone new.

Miranda gives Sami a hug.

‘Looks like I’ll never be a rock god.’

‘You can still have a band. Just don’t get too famous.’

‘I could wear make-up.’

‘Too seventies.’

The goodbyes are said. The hugs are given. Sami and Nadia disappear through the gate into an aeroplane that’s so huge it takes a leap of faith to imagine it could sail through the air.

The psychologist, Joe O’Loughlin, once told Ruiz about one of his patients, a commercial pilot, who believed that God picked up each plane on take-off and set it down again on landing. There was nothing that said the guy couldn’t fly. He’s probably still working.

Ruiz and Miranda walk back through the terminal and step outside.

‘You want to come to Paris with me?’ he asks.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve bought the tickets and I don’t know if Eurostar will give me a refund?’

‘You want my body?’

‘Not as a temple - I want it as an adventure playground.’

Miranda laughs. ‘You haven’t changed.’

Ruiz looks aghast. ‘You mean after all the work I’ve done on myself, trying to shed my bad habits and personality traits … and I’m still the same.’

She sighs and tucks her arm through his. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Saturday.’

‘I choose the hotel. You pay the bill.’

He sighs happily. ‘It was ever thus.’