Guilty One (31 page)

Irene jumped to her feet and Daniel held his breath.

‘With your lordship’s leave, I must object to this line of questioning. It really is hearsay.’

‘Yes, but I’m going to allow it.’ Philip Baron’s voice was deep and authoritative, although he sat slumped on the bench, lost in his robes and corpulent. ‘I am satisfied that it is admissible in the interests of justice.’

Irene sat down. She turned to glance at Daniel. He nodded in support of her frustration.

‘Sebastian could be very violent, very bullying …’

‘In what way?’

‘Once, when Poppy didn’t want to play a game he wanted, he threatened
her with a piece of broken glass. He was holding her hair so she couldn’t get away and had the piece of glass right against her throat … I saw from the—’

Irene was on her feet again. ‘My lord, I must protest this prejudicial line in front of the jury. My client has no opportunity to defend himself.’

‘Well,’ said Judge Baron, his fingers fluttering upward like an exalting Christ, ‘I see he has a more than adequate defence in you, Miss Clarke.’

Irene opened her mouth to speak, but reluctantly sat down. Daniel scrawled a note and passed it to her junior, Mark. It read:
Ask her about domestic violence in Croll house?

Irene turned when she read the note. Daniel met her gaze as she considered. The abuse brought context to Sebastian’s behaviour to the neighbours’ children but Daniel understood that it was also risky. It could hint that Sebastian had learned to be violent; that he was driven to act out the scenes that he had witnessed in his family home.

‘… Poppy was quite terrified of him. She had told me before that she didn’t like Sebastian, but I had encouraged her to try and get along. After seeing my daughter being threatened in that way, I forbade her to play with Sebastian again.’

‘Did you speak to Sebastian’s parents about this incident?’

‘I spoke to his mother, yes.’ Gillian stiffened, as if the memory was offensive to her. ‘She took no interest at all. She seemed utterly unconcerned. I just made sure that Poppy didn’t play with him any more.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Hodge.’ Gordon Jones tidied his notes and sat down.

*

‘Mrs
Hodge.’ Irene was composed.

Daniel leaned forward on the table, one hand under his chin. A second later, Sebastian did the same, mirroring Daniel’s posture.

‘Tell me, how long have you lived next door to the Crolls and the Stokeses?’

‘I … don’t remember, about three or four years.’

‘That’s when you moved to Richmond Crescent?’

‘Yes.’

‘The children played together. Did you spend time socially with any of the other parents?’

‘Yes, of course, there was the odd glass of wine or cup of coffee – more with Madeline, I would say – although I have been to visit … Charlotte once or twice.’

‘You told Charlotte Croll about Sebastian’s behaviour towards your daughter and you say she took no interest? A neighbour with whom you had socialised? Do you expect us to believe this?’

Gillian seemed to flush a little. Her large eyes searched the courtroom and then looked upwards. ‘She was … understanding … but nothing changed. She didn’t seem to have any control … ’

‘Mrs Hodge, this incident to which you refer, where Sebastian purportedly threatened your daughter with a piece of glass, did you report this to anyone other than the boy’s mother?’

Mrs Hodge’s eyes were wide. She looked up at Irene and shook her head.

‘You’re shaking your head. Did you not report the incident to the police or even the school – a social worker?’

Mrs Hodge cleared her throat. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I
saw it happen and I told him off, severely, and then stopped Poppy playing with him again. That was the end of it. No harm was done.’

‘I see,
no harm was done.
When you told Sebastian off –
severely –
as you say, what was his reaction?’

‘He was … apologetic. He is … very polite.’ Gillian cleared her throat. ‘He said sorry to Poppy when I asked him to.’

At his side, Sebastian beamed up at Daniel, as if pleased at the praise.

‘Mrs Hodge, we have heard you say that Sebastian could be a little aggressive. But did you
ever
have cause to report his behaviour to the authorities in the nearly four years that you lived next door?’

Gillian Hodge reddened. ‘Not to the authorities, no.’

‘And as a good mother, if you had
ever
felt that Sebastian was any kind of real threat to your child or your neighbours’ children, you would have done so immediately?’

‘Well, yes …’

‘You are the mother of two children, ages the same as the deceased and the defendant, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me, have either of your children ever acted in an aggressive way?’

Mrs Hodge coloured again.

Jones stood up, a hand held high in exasperation. ‘My lord, I must query the relevance of this line of questioning.’

‘Yes, but I’ll allow it,’ said Baron. ‘I have already ruled on the admissibility of this.’

‘Mrs Hodge,’ Irene repeated, ‘have either of your children ever acted in an aggressive way?’

‘Well,
yes. All children can be aggressive.’

‘So they can,’ Irene retorted. ‘No further questions.’

‘Very well, in view of the hour, I think this might be a convenient moment … ’ Baron twisted to face the jury. ‘Enjoy your lunch, but I’ll remind you once again not to discuss the case unless all together.’

There was a hush, a waterless wave, a rush of fabric and air in the stifled room, as the court rose with the judge and then sat again in his absence. The clerk asked for the public gallery to be cleared and Daniel looked up to watch the reluctant faces turn away from the spectacle.

Daniel stood behind Sebastian’s chair and squeezed his shoulders gently. ‘You OK, Sebastian?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sebastian started jumping up and down, nodding his head at Daniel as he did so; then he was touching his toes and spinning round. The sharp edges of his too-big suit rose up to his ears and down again as he jumped.

‘Are you dancing, Seb?’ the police officer asked. ‘It’s time to go back downstairs.’

‘In a minute, Charlie,’ said Sebastian. ‘I’ve been sitting down so long.’

‘You can dance your way downstairs then, Fred Astaire, OK?’

‘Bye for now, Danny,’ said Sebastian, turning, the police officer’s hand on his shoulder. ‘See you after lunch.’

‘See you later,’ said Daniel, shaking his head as he watched his young client go. Part of him wanted to laugh at the boy and his antics, but another part of him was deeply saddened.

*

Irene
reached over and squeezed Daniel’s elbow. ‘I just didn’t feel it was right, Danny.’ Daniel smiled and looked her in the eye, thinking how pretty her eyes were. ‘It’s a double-edged sword.’

‘Hey, I know, it’s a value call,’ he said. ‘And honestly, it’s probably the last thing Sebastian or his family want to have revealed in open court.’

She smiled at him.

‘I trust your judgement,’ he said, as they made their way out of court.

Daniel went down to the cell to speak to Sebastian. Charlotte was there too. As the guard let Daniel in, Sebastian kicked his mother in the thigh. She made no sound, but moved away, flat palm against her leg.

‘Easy, Seb,’ said Daniel.

Sebastian was slumped against the wall, his lower lip pouting.

Charlotte seemed agitated after the evidence. ‘Why did they have to call her? She’s always putting her nose in where it doesn’t belong.’

‘She hates me,’ said Sebastian again.

‘Gillian
hates us all,’
said Charlotte.

‘Can I talk to you outside, Charlotte?’ Daniel asked.

She nodded in assent and turned from him to pick up her bag. Daniel could see her shoulder blades through her suit.

When the door closed, Charlotte wanted a cigarette. Daniel begged permission from the security officer for her to go outside directly from the cells, without going upstairs. Daniel was surprised that the guard allowed it, but it seemed that Charlotte had asked
to be let out there to smoke before. The back door of the cells was isolated and free of reporters.

Her hands shook as she tried to light her cigarette. There was a breeze and so Daniel cupped his hand around it. When it was lit, she sucked hard before turning to him, deep frown lines cutting into her brow.

‘I know it’s hard on you, Charlotte, but think how it is for Sebastian. Right now every single person that gives evidence is castigating him.’

‘He’s my son. They’re castigating me too.’

‘You have to be strong. This is just the beginning. It’s only going to get worse.’

‘They shouldn’t be allowed to say such things,’ she said. ‘That I can’t control him; that I didn’t care when he threatened other kids. I wasn’t there when he tried to cut another child with a piece of glass.’

Her voice was shrill, her face crumbling. She seemed so old suddenly.

‘Try to remind yourself that when they stoop to things like this – bad character, hearsay – it’s because they need to. Their evidence is mainly circumstantial. With his school reports showing a history of aggression this was bound to come up, but try to remember that it doesn’t prove—’

‘I’m
to blame – that’s what they are trying to say. This is to be
my trial.
Find him guilty and say
it’s all my fault?’

Daniel reached out and squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘Nobody’s saying that …’

She turned away and when she turned back to take another drag from her cigarette, Daniel saw that she was crying. Her tears were black and they washed fragile white veins through her foundation.

‘You’re
his mum,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s eleven years old and on trial for murder. It will affect the rest of his life. He needs you to be strong for him.’

The prison vans were huddled dark and forbidding in the courtyard. It reminded Daniel of the farm at night: the sheds where the animals were kept. The emergency exit door they had slipped out of banged in the wind.

‘Strong like you, you mean?’ she said, knuckle to her lower lids, careful not to smudge. She placed her palm on Daniel’s chest. Under his shirt, he felt his skin tingle at her touch.
‘Feel
how strong you are.’

‘Charlotte,’ he whispered, taking a step back and feeling the building behind him. He smelled her heady perfume and then her cigarette breath. Her lips were millimetres from his own. A column of ash trembled and fell on to the lapel of her jacket. Daniel stood up straight and let the back of his head touch the outside wall.

She let her hand fall slowly and he felt her long nails on his lower abdomen. He tightened his stomach muscles, and, under his shirt, the skin of his stomach withdrew from her.

There was something almost abhorrent about her, eye makeup smudged, foundation thick over her pores, but he felt a flush of empathy.

‘Enough,’ he whispered. ‘Your son needs you.’

Charlotte moved back, chastened. She seemed almost heartbroken, although Daniel knew that it was not just this rejection which had crushed her. Her eyes were smudges, her yellow fingers shaking the butt to her lips. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed.

She let the cigarette fall to the ground. Daniel held the door.

*

‘T
he
Crown calls Geoffrey Rankine.’

Daniel watched the man stand and walk to the witness box. He seemed too tall for the courtroom, trousers skirting the tops of his shoes. He had neatly trimmed, receding hair and eyebrows that were perpetually raised. When he swore to tell the truth before God he had a slight smile on his lips.

‘Mr Rankine, you reported to the police that you witnessed two boys fighting in Barnard Park on the afternoon of 8 August. Is that correct?’

‘That’s correct. I’ve been watching the news since, and thinking if only I’d done something … ’ Rankine’s voice was apathetic.

‘You mention two sightings of the boys fighting in your statement of 8 August. When did each of these occur?’

‘It was about two in the afternoon the first time I saw them. I always take the dog out about then, just for a quick walk after lunch, let him do his business.’

‘Can you describe the two boys you saw fighting?’

‘Well, it was like I said to the police: they both had short brown hair and there wasn’t much of a difference between them in height, but one was slightly smaller. One was in a long-sleeved white top and the other in a red T-shirt.’

‘My lord … if I may direct your lordship and the jury to page fifty-seven in your bundle, and the picture and description of Ben Stokes’s clothing on the day that he died, particularly the red T-shirt,’ said Gordon Jones, allowing his glasses to balance on the end of his nose as he viewed his own bundle. ‘And on page fifty-eight the clothing recovered by forensics and worn by the defendant on the date of the murder … Did you know either of the boys, Mr Rankine?’

‘No, not by name, but I had seen them both around. Their faces
were familiar. We live not far from each other and I’m always out with the dog.’

‘Tell us about the first time you saw the boys that day.’

‘I was walking my dog, not in the park but along the pavement that runs down Barnsbury Road. He’s an old dog, you know, likes a good sniff around. I’m a keen walker and I get frustrated with him. That day was like all the others, he was possibly even slower than normal. It was sunny. The park was busy, I would say, and I knew some of the other dog walkers who I normally see, but then I became aware of two young boys fighting on the crest of the hill.’

‘How far away were you from the boys, would you say?’

‘Maybe twenty, thirty feet – no more.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Well, at first I wasn’t much concerned. It was just two young boys having a bit of a scrap, but one of the boys began to get the upper hand. I remember he grabbed the smaller boy by the hair and forced him down on to his knees. He was punching him in the kidneys and the stomach. I have two sons and boys will be boys, and normally I wouldn’t interfere, but this seemed rather excessive, somewhat dangerous or … violent.’