The Dark Clouds Shining

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The Harrow courtroom was in a shabby condition; like so much else it was still waiting for a postwar recovery. The large expanses of wood paneling looked like they hadn’t been polished for years, which was somewhat surprising given the number of people outside yearning for gainful employment.

The railing in front of Jack McColl was shiny enough, presumably greased by the sweating palms of previous defendants. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood in a dock, but he’d never been alone in one before, and for some reason the experience felt less stressful. Perhaps because he had only himself to worry about.

He was glad his mother hadn’t come down from Scotland. She had visited him in Pentonville a week or so earlier, and he had obviously convinced her that there was little point. He had refused her offer to pay for a better lawyer for much the same reason. Moral support was always nice, but she didn’t have that much money to spare, and both of them knew it would have been wasted.

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