EIGHTY-SEVEN
In utter despair, David Jarrett sat in his cell with his hands in his head, close to tears.
All his hopes and expectations had been ripped out of his soul. It would have been better never to have started the appeal. A process entered into with such high hopes, his expectations encouraged by the bravado of Kenneth Kehinde. He recalled some of the lawyer’s enthusiastic, grandiose, extravagant pronouncements:
‘This appeal,’ Kehinde had said of the first rejected appeal, is incompetent, shabby, poorly presented and a disgrace, an insult to you and the majesty of the law. Whomever presented this worthless parody of an appeal should be struck off ignominiously, struck down and barred from practice.’
And
Without being boastful, I can tell you there is nobody better than I in thi
