Free The Brothers of Baker Street by Michael Robertson Page B

There, you have it.”
    The magistrate sat back in his chair, and on his gesture the bailiff turned the display for the lawyers to see.
    Reggie breathed a sigh of relief, and he felt a little tingle of victory go down his spine.
    Darla looked as though she were about to dance in her chair.
    Langdon stared at the screen for a moment longer, said nothing, and then began to pretend that he was looking for something important among his documents.
    “Mr. Langdon,” said the magistrate, “I believe what we see is a Black Cab with the WHAMU1 license number your witnesses reported, at the time they reported it in Chelsea, but it is obviously not in Chelsea—it is on Lower Clapton Road in Hackney, some forty minutes away. Would you agree?”
    “I … it would appear so, my lord.”
    “Have you any explanation how that can be?”
    “Not … quite yet, my lord, but I’m sure something will turn up.”
    Now the magistrate’s tone showed some annoyance: “And have you any explanation why this tape was not specifically called out in the prosecution’s bundle of discovery documents, so that both the court and defense would know of its significance?”
    “I can only say that there were many hours of tapes, and little time to prepare, and the police are only human, my lord.”
    The magistrate nodded, but with a frown. For several seconds he stared at the video display, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. Then he looked up.
    “Be sure everyone takes a little more time if you try again, Mr. Langdon. I am dismissing without prejudice; you may refile when and if you think you’ve got it right. In the meantime, the defendant will be released forthwith.”
    There was an audible murmur now from the gallery behind Reggie, but just what it meant he could not tell.
    The judge stood, and in spectacularly anticlimactic fashion exited the courtroom.
    “I knew there was a reason I chose you,” said Darla, smiling up at Reggie. “No matter what anyone said. I’ll collect our client and meet you at the side exit?”
    Reggie nodded.
    Darla looked back over her shoulder, her face glowing from the victory, and smiled at Reggie again as she exited.
    Reggie left the courtroom now himself and he went to the barrister’s cloakroom to pack up his wig and gown. Then, as he exited the cloakroom, he encountered the prosecuting barrister in the corridor. Langdon’s usual put-on self-effacing manner was gone.
    “Congratulations, Heath,” he said. “You have not lost your touch, it seems.”
    “Thank you.”
    They were about to continue in opposite directions down the corridor, but Langdon turned.
    “It was a bit of luck, though, wasn’t it?” he said.
    “In what way?” said Reggie.
    “CCTVs are quite imperfect. So many things can prevent a CCTV camera capturing the license of a vehicle as it passes by. Lampposts. Double-deckers. Pedestrians with large umbrellas. You had no time to review the tapes. How did you know what you needed would be there?”
    “I knew it when I saw you kick the cassette under the desk,” said Reggie.
    Langdon thought about that for a moment, then shook his head in the negative and laughed. “But that really was just an accident, Heath. There was no time for me to review them either. I had no idea what the tape would show.”
    “A bit of luck on my part then,” said Reggie.
    Langdon nodded very slightly in the affirmative at that and then, looking at something past Reggie’s shoulder, he said, “Good evening, Heath.”
    “Good evening.”
    Langdon walked away in the opposite direction down the corridor.
    Reggie turned now and saw that Darla and Walters had come up behind.
    “I wondered how you knew that, too,” said Darla.
    Walters said, “I’m just bleeding glad you knew to do it. Thank you, Mr. Heath, thank you.”
    Reggie just nodded and shook the man’s hand. It still seemed unwise to acknowledge to anyone that he had been relying on a tip letter written to Sherlock Holmes.
    They reached the end