Guilty One (8 page)

‘He’ll appear in youth court first thing tomorrow morning. The case itself’ll probably go to the Crown Court so there’ll be a plea and case management hearing in about two weeks …’

‘Plea hearing? Well, he’s not guilty of course.’

‘The only thing is that they’ll ask for him to be taken into custody through all of this, probably a secure unit. It will be a few months until trial. We’ll obviously ask that he be granted bail, but in murder cases the judge tends to rule for custody, even for a child.’

‘Murder. Cases. Murder. We can pay, you know? Whatever it costs.’

‘Like I said, I’ll get a good barrister for you and they’ll argue, but we have to prepare ourselves for him being in custody for some time before the trial.’

‘When will the trial be?’

‘It all depends. I would think by November …’

Charlotte covered her mouth as she gulped. ‘And his defence?’

‘We’ll be
contacting potential witnesses for the defence, and instructing expert witnesses, in this case psychiatrists, psychologists …’

‘Why on earth?’

‘Well, they’ll assess Sebastian – whether he’s fit or sane enough to stand trial.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s perfectly sane.’

‘But they will also talk about the crime itself and assess whether Sebastian is mature enough to understand the offence he is charged with committing.’

She sucked hard at the last of her cigarette. It was a stub tweezered in her manicured nails and yet she sucked at it. Daniel saw the lipstick stains on the butt and the cigarette stains on her fingertips. He remembered his own mother’s yellow fingertips and the line of her skull appearing when she inhaled. He remembered the bite of hunger, watching as she swapped a tenner for drugs. He remembered lollipops for dinner: crunching them too fast.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. It was the letter, he knew, not Charlotte, which had provoked these memories. He shook his head as if to release them.

It was seven o’clock in the evening. The interview room was calmed by the sweet smell wafting from Sebastian’s hot chocolate.

Sergeant Turner cleared his throat. Written notice of the charge was given to Charlotte and Daniel, as Sebastian’s appropriate adult representatives.

‘Sebastian Croll, you are charged with the offence stated below: murdering Benjamin Tyler Stokes on Sunday 8 August 2010.’

‘Fine,’ Sebastian
answered. He held his breath, as if he was about to take a dive.

Daniel felt his throat tighten as he watched the boy. Part of him admired the boy’s gall but another part of him wondered what it was masking. He glanced at Charlotte and she was rocking gently, holding on to her elbows. It was as if she was to be charged instead of her son.

Turner faltered for a moment at the boy’s response. The boy turned to his mother. ‘I didn’t do it, Mummy!’

Charlotte put a hand on his leg to calm him. He began to pick at his fingernails, his lower lip out.

‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘I didn’t do it, you know. Mum, I didn’t,’ said Sebastian.

He began to cry.

Daniel was there at 08:55 the next morning when the Reliance van drew up and opened its doors to receive Sebastian. Daniel stood with his arms folded as the boy was led from his cell, his thin wrists cuffed, into the cage in the back of the van. Shades on, Charlotte cried. She gripped Daniel’s forearm as the cage doors were closed and locked.

‘Mummy,’ Sebastian called from inside. ‘Mummy!’ His screams were like a nail coursing along the metal casing of the van. Daniel held his breath. He had watched this happen to so many clients: people he was willing to fight for, people he admired; people he despised. This moment had always been calm for him. It signalled the beginning. The beginning of his case; the beginning of the defence.

Watching the doors
close on Sebastian, Daniel heard his own childhood cries in the boy’s desperate pleas. He remembered being Sebastian’s age. He had been troubled. He had been capable of violence. What was it that had saved him from this fate?

When the doors were locked, Daniel and Charlotte could still hear Sebastian crying inside. Daniel didn’t know if the little boy was innocent or guilty. Part of him believed that Sebastian had told him the truth, another part of him was concerned about the boy’s strange interest in blood and his tantrums that seemed worthy of a younger child. But Sebastian’s innocence or guilt was inconsequential. Daniel did not judge his clients. They were all entitled to a defence and he worked as hard for those he disliked as those he admired. But juveniles were always difficult. Even when they were guilty, as Tyrel had been, he wanted to keep them out of the prison system. He had seen what happened to juveniles inside – drug dependency and re-offending. The help that Daniel felt they needed was considered too expensive; politicians used the criminal justice system to win political points.

Daniel sat in his office overlooking Liverpool Street. He had the radio on low as he made notes on Sebastian’s case.

He had placed the letter in the front pocket of his briefcase; the paper was crumpled now, from being read and reread. He took it out and read it again. He still had not called the hospital. He refused to believe Minnie was dead, but read the letter again as if he had missed something. It was a cruel ploy, he decided. All her phone calls over the years asking for forgiveness, and then tiring of that and just asking to see him one more time.

Daniel wondered if the letter was another attempt to have him back in her life. She might well be sick, but trying to manipulate.
He folded the letter and pushed it away from him. Just thinking about her made his stomach tight with anger.

The office was warm, delicate rays of sunshine shot through the sash windows and illuminated dust. He picked up the telephone.

After all the things he had said to her, she would still call every year on his birthday and sometimes at Christmas. He would avoid her calls, but then lie awake at night arguing with her in his head. It seemed that the years did nothing to calm the anger he felt towards her. The few times that they had spoken, Daniel had been clipped and distant, not allowing her to tempt him into conversation, when she asked how he was enjoying work or if he had a girlfriend. He had mastered detachment long ago, but Minnie had helped him to perfect it. It was because of her that he didn’t want to let anyone in. She would talk to him about the farm and the animals, as if to remind him of home. He was only reminded of how she had let him down. Sometimes she would say again that she was sorry, and he would cut her off. He would hang up the phone. He hated her justifications even more than what she had done. She said it had been for his own good. He didn’t like to remember, and mostly he did not, but the pain of that still took his breath away.

He
had not called
her
for over fifteen years.

Not since their disagreement when he told her that he wished she was dead.

It hadn’t seemed enough. He remembered wanting to hurt her more.

Nevertheless, he dialled without checking her number or struggling to recall it. The phone rang and Daniel took a deep breath. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the desk, eye on the door of his office.

He imagined her prising herself out of the chair in the living
room, as her latest pound-mongrel raised its eyebrows at her. He could almost smell her gin and hear her sighs.
Hold yer horses, I’m comin’, I’m comin’,
she would say. The phone switched to answer-phone. Daniel put the receiver to his chin for a moment, thinking. He didn’t have time for this. He hung up.

Outside the window, he saw a runner, lean and wiry. Daniel watched him navigating the traffic and the pedestrians. He could see from his style and the length of his stride that he was making a good pace but from this distance it seemed as if the man was running slowly. The trees shimmered at Daniel from behind the glass. He had been at the office since early morning and had not stepped outside since to feel the grace of the sun on his skin.

‘You busy?’ said Veronica Steele, Daniel’s senior partner, popping her head round the door.

‘What’s up?’

Veronica sat on the arm of the couch, facing him. ‘Just wondering how you’re holding up.’

Daniel threw a pencil down on to a pad that was covered with scribbles. He spun to face her, hands behind his head.

‘I’m all right.’ Daniel sat back in his chair.

‘You’ve decided to stay with it?’

‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Not the best career decision, I’m sure. I know it’ll get messy. Half of me feels totally out of my depth and the other half wants to try and … save him?’

‘He’s pleading not guilty?’

‘Yes, sticking hard to his story. The mother is backing him up.’

‘Was it Highbury Corner you were at on Thursday?’

‘Yup, bail refused as predicted, so he’s been sent to Parklands House secure unit.’

‘God, that’s bleak. He’ll be the youngest one in there.’

Daniel nodded, rubbing
a hand across his jaw.

‘Who’s your silk – Irene’s a QC now, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she got the nod. Made the silk list in March.’

‘I remember I wrote to congratulate her.’

‘I was surprised she took this on, but she was even at the youth court. I’m so glad she did, though. We have a chance.’

The telephone rang and Daniel picked it up, hand over the receiver, apologising to Veronica.

‘Steph,’ he said, ‘I asked you not to put through any calls.’

‘I know, Danny, I’m sorry. It’s just it’s a personal call for you. He says it’s urgent. I thought I’d ask if you wanted to take it?’

‘Who is it?’

‘A lawyer from the north. He said it’s about a family member.’

‘Put him through.’ Daniel sighed and shrugged at Veronica, who smiled and left the room.

Daniel cleared his throat again. The muscles in his body were suddenly sprung.

‘Hello, is that Daniel Hunter? My name’s John Cunningham, solicitor for Mrs Flynn. Daniel, I’m sorry. I have some bad news for you. Your mother has passed away. I don’t know if you’ve heard … but she has left instructions …’

‘She’s not my mother.’

Daniel couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

There was silence on the line for a minute. Daniel could only hear his heart beating.

‘I understand Minnie … adopted you in 1988.’

‘Look, what is it? I’m actually about to go into a meeting.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Possibly I could call another time? It’s just about the funeral and then there’s the matter of the will.’

‘I don’t want
anything of hers.’

‘She has left you her entire estate.’

‘Her
estate.’
Daniel stood up. He tried to laugh, but he only managed to open his mouth.

‘A simple funeral is being held on Tuesday the seventeenth, if you wish to attend.’

The breath almost didn’t carry his words, but he said: ‘I don’t have time.’

‘I see, but the inheritance …’

‘Like I said, I don’t want anything.’

‘All right, well, there’s no rush. I expect it’ll take a while to settle the house. I’ll be in touch again when—’

‘Look, I really don’t have time just now.’

‘Fine. Shall I call again on Wednesday, after the funeral? I have left my details with your colleague, should you wish to get in touch.’

‘Very well. Goodbye.’

Daniel hung up. He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb then took a deep breath.

Daniel had to change at Whitechapel and take the London Overground to Parklands House. When he emerged at Anerley, the street smelled of exhaust fumes and evaporated rain. Daniel could feel the sweat forming at his hairline and between his shoulder blades. The sky was low, pressing on him. It was Friday morning, just a day since the first hearing at Highbury Corner, and he was going to see Sebastian and his parents. Sebastian’s father had returned from Hong Kong and this was the first time Daniel would meet him.

He felt strangely apprehensive about seeing the boy again, and
meeting his family. Daniel had not slept well. His morning run had been slow because he had been tired before he began. Two nights in a row he had woken up dreaming of Brampton, her house with the dirty floors and the chickens in the run outside.

Her funeral would be held in a few days, but he did not yet feel her loss.

When he arrived at the secure unit, the Crolls were waiting. Daniel had asked to meet with them first before he spoke to Sebastian. They sat at a table in a bright room with high, small windows.

‘Good to meet you, Daniel,’ said Sebastian’s father, striding across the room to squeeze his hand. He was an inch or so taller than Daniel and so he stretched his spine and pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the older man’s hand. The hand was dry and warm and yet the strength of it caused Daniel to inhale slightly.

Kenneth King Croll was a powerful man. He was heavy: stomach and jowls, reddened brown skin and thick, dark hair. He stood with his hands on his hips, allowing his pelvis to tilt, as if to assert he was a better man than Daniel. The spider veins on his cheeks had been formed by the best wines and whisky. He possessed a seismic arrogance and wealth. All the energy in the room was drawn to him, like a whirlpool. Charlotte sat near him, eyes always finding him whenever he spoke or lifted his hands. Daniel took the lid from his fountain pen and slid his business card across the table. Kenneth studied it with a slight curl in his full lips.

Charlotte brought watery coffee from the machine. She was still immaculate; her long nails a different colour every time Daniel saw her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed each cup on the table.

‘I just
hate
him being
in here,’ she said. ‘This place is quite vile. One of the kids committed suicide in here last week, did you hear? Hanged himself. It doesn’t bear
thinking
about. Did you know about that, Daniel?’

Daniel nodded. His own client, Tyrel, had tried to kill himself soon after sentence. At seventeen, the boy had just been moved to a new young offenders institution and Daniel worried that he would try again. Even secure units didn’t provide the kind of care that Daniel felt juveniles needed.