The Fall (38 page)

Ice slid down her throat. ‘Ruby?’

He said slowly, ‘I didn’t know what else to do. Then the cops got that banker fella – well, he’s had a good life, why shouldn’t he go down? He was just lucky it wasn’t him. It was an accident. I fucked up.’ He was rubbing furiously at his shaved head. ‘You gotta help me. They’ll go after you too, the cops.’

Keisha pushed her chair out. He raised his voice. ‘You gotta help me! You knew all this time, and you never said nothing!’

She was standing up.

‘Think about your kid!’ he yelled. ‘Both of us locked up! Think about it!’

She was going. She wasn’t looking back. As she left the prison she dropped her letter into the first postbox she passed, and walked away.

As the trial went on, eventually even Charlotte was lost among the endless back and forward of facts, interpretations, suggestions. Finally it was time for Dan to speak in his own defence. He took the stand to a huge swell of interest, the whole courtroom of reporters and family and jeerers and well-wishers all waiting to hear what he was going to say.

Adam Hunt had managed to build up quite a picture of Dan with the prosecution witnesses. A privileged young man, sent to Westminster and Oxford, continuing his sense of entitlement into his banking career. (She thought that was a bit rich, considering Adam Hunt QC had almost certainly gone to public school and Oxbridge too.) A man who used drugs, bullied interns, lashed out when his platinum card was declined. Who could have been responsible for the vicious sprays of blood all over the walls of that office. She hoped Kylie would manage to change this picture. Because as it stood, even Charlotte didn’t much like the person who’d emerged.

Then it was Kylie’s turn. She stood up, giving Dan a big smile. Charlotte loved her for it, at that moment. Everyone else in the room was staring at him as if he was dirt on their shoes.

‘Mr Stockbridge. You are accused here of a very serious crime; the most serious, of taking a life. What did it feel like when you were first arrested?’

Dan looked surprised; this was a very different tack to the endless rehashing about prints and blood and CCTV. ‘I was shocked, I suppose. I thought it must be a mistake. I knew that we’d fought – I just got angry, I’d had such a bad day. But I thought . . . I thought he was OK, the – Anthony Johnson. He even laughed at me, after I – after I hit him.’

‘Can you tell the court what you remember about the night?’

Dan was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. Everyone watched, breath drawn in. ‘There’s bits that are gone. I’d had a few – blackouts, I suppose. At work, a few times. It was so stressful. I really don’t think I could have coped much longer.’

‘Can you tell us why that was?’ She was quiet, probing, more like a therapist than a barrister.

Dan thought for a moment. ‘The bank was going under. I was so stressed out, and, well, there were things going on that we knew to be – in some cases – illegal. We knew that if we didn’t toe the line we’d be fired, but if we did these things, we could go to prison.’ He smiled briefly, bitterly. ‘I didn’t know then I’d end up there anyway.’

‘Can you tell us what put you under so much stress?’

‘I was thinking of – I was trying to put evidence together. Whistle-blow, I suppose you’d call it, but it wasn’t as dramatic as that. I just . . . I knew I could be arrested any day, and there was my wedding coming up – yes. So there was a huge amount of pressure, yes.’ He looked at his hands.

Kylie was gentle with Dan. She took him through his version of that night, the worry and the drugs, the club, the row, the brief time he had been in the office, the taxi home.

‘Was there anything unusual when you got home?’

‘My knuckle was a bit sore, and I had a small spot of blood on my sleeve. That was all. I was so tired, I just threw my clothes on the floor, and then next thing I knew, the police were at the door.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Mr Stockbridge. That’s all.’

Adam Hunt QC was ready with his big guns. ‘Is it fair to say, Mr Stockbridge, that on the tenth of May this year, you had one of the worst days of your life? Your bank was collapsing – source of all that wealth and status. You knew you might lose the luxury flat, the lavish wedding you planned with your fiancée.’ Charlotte cringed. Her neck was burning as hundreds of eyes bored into her.

‘It was a bad day,’ said Dan evenly.

‘To ease your tension, you decided to indulge in a binge of cocaine and alcohol, is that correct?’

Charlotte made a very small ‘huh’ sound; Adam Hunt QC was laying it on a bit thick. As if
he
wouldn’t drink, if someone told him he was getting fired.

‘Isn’t it true, Mr Stockbridge, that in the magistrates’ court you said, “I’m so sorry, God, I’m sorry”?’

‘I did, yes.’ Dan gritted his teeth.

‘May we ask why you would do this, if, as you profess, you are innocent?’

Sweat stood out on his forehead. ‘Because I’d heard the evidence. I thought – I just wasn’t sure. Those people – they were all shouting. I don’t know what I thought.’

Up went the eyebrows. ‘Surely you would know whether you were guilty?’

‘But that’s the thing. I’ve tried and I just don’t remember. It’s – well, it’s sort of like a big black hole where the memory should be.’

‘Had you suffered from memory loss before?’

Dan’s brow was sweating. ‘Not really. I mean, yes, it had happened a few times. Work was extremely stressful during that time. Extremely.’

‘Just answer the question, please. Record that Mr Stockbridge said yes.’ The lawyer shuffled his papers. ‘Would you call yourself a racist, Mr Stockbridge?’

Dan looked away. ‘I’m really sick of that question.’

‘Just answer it, please.’

Dan’s thin face was set in hard lines. ‘No, I am not a racist. I’m not. Just because he was black, you can’t assume that.’

‘Mr Johnson was, as you say,
black
.’ Hunt managed to make it sound as if Dan had made a racial slur. What else were you supposed to say? ‘The court has seen a number of statements to the effect that you subjected the victim to racial abuse before the murder, is that correct?’

Dan just shook his head. ‘No. It’s not true.’

‘But you have previously said you do not remember everything?’

‘I – I don’t know. But I know I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Does the name Rumila Chakri mean anything to you, Mr Stockbridge?’

‘No.’ Dan barely opened his mouth.

‘You didn’t work with her at Haussmann’s last year?’

He looked confused. ‘Oh, yes. Rumila. I forgot her name.’

Charlotte put her head in her hands. What was wrong with him? Was he trying to come across as an arsehole?’

‘Ms Chakri was hired from university as a junior analyst, but she left after just three months, alleging serious racial and sexual harassment from the team at Haussmann’s. That team included you, did it not?’

‘Yeah, but – it’s always like that. You banter with people. Shows you can rely on them, when your ass is on the line.’

‘Mr Stockbridge, please watch your language,’ said the judge sternly.

The lawyer frowned at his paper again. ‘Would you say calling someone a “terrorist Paki” was banter?’

Dan looked irritated. ‘I never called her that.’

‘She didn’t accuse specific people. But the fact remains, a young Asian woman was forced from her post due to sustained racial harassment by your team, was she not?’

‘I suppose. Whatever.’ His hands were shaking again.

‘To go back to the night of the murder. You became embroiled in a row with the victim, is that correct?’

‘We had words.’

‘And when these “words” became heated, you went to the victim’s office to settle the score?’

‘Not settle the score, I mean, yes, we went, but—’

Adam Hunt QC stared round the courtroom to make a dramatic point. ‘And was it not in this office that Mr Johnson was found dead just ten minutes later? Bled to death from a neck wound inflicted with a broken beer bottle – a bottle, Mr Stockbridge, covered in your fingerprints?’

Dan was shaking his head. ‘No. I mean, yes, they were on it, but I didn’t—’

‘And after you lashed out, I put it to you that you fled the scene, leaving the victim to bleed to death, and you went home to your luxury flat with your fiancée. Is that correct?’

Again Charlotte made a tiny incredulous noise. He hadn’t exactly been there, had he, to know all this? This time Adam Hunt QC glanced over and she flushed tomato-red.

Dan said, ‘I went home, yes, but he was fine. I swear he was fine.’

‘But you don’t remember, do you? As you have previously stated?’

‘No.’ His voice was very small.

And on it went, through the racist accusations and the bullying and the workplace blackouts and the prints on the bottle and the fight he’d had with Anthony Johnson, and once again that big killer, that no one else had been seen going in or coming out until the man was found, dead, his blood already leaked out all over the floor. Dan had nothing to say to these facts, inarguable as they were. He sat with his head down and Charlotte’s heart sank with every word.

At the end Adam Hunt said, ‘Let me ask you this, Mr Stockbridge. Did you feel that you, as a wealthy, privileged young man, could act with impunity? That you could attack a black man, and go unpunished?’

At this several people clapped, and the judge glared. Adam Hunt looked officially disapproving but wildly pleased, the twat.

Dan’s face was shining with sweat. He twisted his hands together. ‘No. I don’t think that. I didn’t. Of course not. But you see, I didn’t—’

‘Thank you. No further questions.’

The courtroom sat in stunned silence as Kylie got up again. ‘Can you describe exactly what happened with the intern, Ms Chakri?’

Dan seemed to be struggling. ‘The atmosphere was – I could describe it as kill or be killed. If you couldn’t cope, you were no use to us. So I suppose we tested people.’

‘Tested them how?’

‘You could call it bullying, I suppose, but it wasn’t that really. It was seen as totally normal for that environment. With her, the girl, it was maybe because she was Asian, but it could be anything. Your sore points.’

‘To summarise, you’re saying that bullying was normal for the way your team functioned?’

‘Yes. The reason I don’t remember her that well, it was because people started every week and then they left. Couldn’t hack it.’

‘Why did
you
stay?’

His eyes found Charlotte’s; she looked away. ‘I felt I needed the money. I felt trapped into that life. And what I’d done, I knew some of it wasn’t legal. You see, they had you by the . . . they had you where they wanted you.’

Very quietly, Kylie asked, ‘How do you feel now about what happened?’

He leaned forward and put his hands to his face. ‘I’m so sorry. It must be so awful, to have someone just die like that.’

She nodded gently; go on.

‘But now – I don’t know if I did it. I’ve been in prison for months. I’ve lost my job, my wedding – my life. If it wasn’t me, well, I shouldn’t be punished any more. I’ve had enough.’

The judge had to call for order four times before the noise died down. Dan was led out again, and this time he looked back, and for the first time Charlotte caught his eye and held it. He met hers, strong and steady, and for a long moment they just looked at each other across the courtroom, as if no one else was there. Then he was gone, and she felt her knees almost give way at the tidal wave of feeling that swamped her.

The trial went on, experts and Forensics from both sides wrangling over the details, evidence piled up and then just as quickly whipped away, like a magic trick. Kylie pushing all her facts – the scene had been contaminated, no one had checked the other CCTV, and the irrefutable fact that Daniel Stockbridge’s clothes and most importantly his shoes had not been covered in Anthony Johnson’s blood. The prosecution hammering home their own points – the prints on the bottle, the overheard row, the fact that no one else was seen going in or out of the office before the body was found.

Days of argument went by on whether or not Dan would have been spattered with blood. The expert Kylie had wheeled out was a big noise in the government and he felt, although he wouldn’t commit fully, of course, that on balance the defendant would have had ‘substantial spatter of bodily fluids, most notably on the soles of his shoes’. Kylie dwelled for a long time over a computer model the expert had done for her that showed blood had gone all over the walls of the office, as high as the top of the door.

‘Would someone standing there have been in the trajectory?’ Her questions were so sweet, like she was amazed at the expertise before her.

The old guy liked her, you could tell. ‘I would expect to see that, yes.’

‘From the CCTV when he emerged, did the defendant have any visible blood on him at all?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘And from the forensic reports you were able to review, was there any blood on the shoes Mr Stockbridge wore that night?’

‘There wasn’t, no.’

‘Thank you, Dr Smith.’ She smiled at him with her wide blue eyes. Damn, Hegarty had to admit, she was good at what she did, even if this sweet-as-pie act was fake as Adam Hunt’s hair. The court watched the CCTV to prove the lack of bloodstains, and noted how Dan was shown weaving and swaying on his way out, bumping into the door as if drunk – or blacking out. It was also clear there was no bottle in his hand when he came out.

But then it all changed again. Adam Hunt tore into the witness, asking over and over whether the wound could have been plugged until the defendant had left the room. Dr Smith had to admit it was possible.

And on and on with the studies and the models and the arguing over what direction blood had spilled. God, they could really make a gory murder into a snooze-fest. Half the courtroom looked to be asleep. Charlotte was propping herself up on her hands. She saw Hegarty looking and smiled as if caught out; it was so boring, what could you do? More forensics experts were wheeled out – he could just imagine how much this was costing the Stockbridges, but then they could probably afford it.