Witness (21 page)

‘You calling me a liar?’ Zak could feel the hot rush of rage in his guts.

‘Aren’t you a liar?’

‘Piss off!’

There was a flurry of reactions in the court and the judge told Zak he would be held in contempt if he was abusive.

‘I’m not lying,’ he shouted, his skin crawling, roaring in his ears.

The judge said they would take a brief break to enable the witness to compose himself and then resume.

The usher tried to calm Zak down – offered him a drink. Zak felt boxed in. He asked if he could take a leak – just needed to move, get up and out – but the guy said it’d be better to wait. They’d start again soon, he said, just answer the questions, don’t let it get to you.

Zak shuffled in the seat, muttered a bit, then the woman, skanky bitch, was back in his face again. ‘You knew Derek Carlton’s accomplices?’

‘Like who?’

‘Michael Revington? The man you called Midge?’

Zak didn’t want to talk about Midge, he felt bad. ‘Yeah.’

‘You stayed at his house, spent time with him?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You claim in your statement that Michael Revington took possession of the handgun used to shoot Danny Macateer?’

‘I think it was, no one said that—’ Zak couldn’t finish, she talked over him.

‘I suggest another version of events: I suggest you played a far greater role in things than you are admitting. I put it to you …’

Her voice banging on and on, Zak could feel his nerves jangling, sparking.

‘… that it was you who delivered that gun for safekeeping to Michael Revington and—’

‘No way! That’s slander that is, you can’t say that!’

‘And that you know a lot more about the murder of Danny Macateer than you have told the court and you have twisted everything round to suit your own ends,’ she said vehemently.

Zak’s head was bursting. She was saying he’d been in on the shooting, that he’d do something like that. ‘I’m not havin’ this—’

‘You didn’t actually see who fired that gun but that doesn’t matter, does it, the truth doesn’t matter, only saving your own skin – even if you send two innocent men to prison. This is a tissue of lies, why don’t you admit it?’

‘I’m not doin’ this. You can go fuck yourself.’ Zak got to his feet, ripped off the microphone. The usher stood up, trying to calm him.

‘Sit down!’ thundered the judge. Then everyone was yelling. Zak reached the door of the room and wrenched at it. It was locked. He kicked it hard, bastard pain in his foot. Slammed his hands against it. Smacked his head into it, hard, harder, blotting out all the thoughts, the avalanche of feelings, the thumps and slaps and curses.

Then the door was unlocked and Little was yanking him out and spitting words at him. His wolf’s grin looking like he was ready to rip Zak’s throat out. In the end Zak had to go and sit back down. It was that or be arrested then and there and banged up for contempt. He was tempted but he had Bess to think of.

There was another ten minutes of slagging off from the woman and then the other brief, the one looking after Sam Millins, started in on him. More of the same: trashing Zak’s reputation, liar, conartist, beggar man, thief. He’d invented a pack of lies to escape the law, he was a completely unreliable witness and his account could not be trusted. The fact that his evidence was even being admitted today indicated how weak the prosecution case actually was. Whoever killed Danny Macateer that day it was not his client and the garbled rag-bag account they had just heard was simply the desperate imaginings of someone who told the police what he thought they wanted to hear to escape jail himself.

‘Crap!’ Zak said.

‘Precisely,’ replied the brief. People sniggered and then he was done.

Little and Large were not pleased. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of being done for contempt and if that had happened he’d have been off the programme, beyond their protection. Plus his antics on the stand (as they called it) had been bloody atrocious. Zak couldn’t be bothered to defend himself any more.

‘You’ve done it now, your name’s out there,’ Large said, ‘in lights, Blackpool illuminations. Keep your head down and your nose clean, Ryan. There’s a lot of people would like to take you apart for what you’ve done. They’ll be looking for you.’

‘What about the reward?’ Zak asked them. ‘I kept my end of the bargain.’

Little went red, like he’d burst, and Large laughed. ‘What planet are you on, lad?
Evidence
leading to a conviction
– could go either way thanks to your performance. There might not be any conviction. If these guys get sent down, it’ll be in spite of you not because of you.’

Zak shook his head, a bitter taste in his mouth. Shafted.

They dropped him at his flat and went to bring Bess. She danced around him like a mad thing.

‘What about a move?’ Zak asked Large. ‘You said maybe after the trial?’

‘No chance.’

‘Well, a better job then,’ he wheedled.

‘Doing what, exactly? No skills, no qualifications.’

‘I like animals.’

‘Try the Jobcentre, keep an eye out. It’s time to stand on your own two feet, Ryan.’

Stop calling me that, Zak thought.

‘Any problems, any bother, call the number,’ Large said. ‘We can get you to safety.’

‘So you’d move me if there was bother,’ Zak asked, wondering if that was a plan.

Large sighed. ‘Genuine bother, and a move could be worse than here.’

How? thought Zak.

Large got up to go and Zak said, ‘Can you give us summat to get some grub in? No money till tomorrow.’ He’d get something to take the chill away, something to make him relax.

Large shook his head but came up with a fiver anyway.

‘I need dog food an’ all,’ Zak complained. Even though he had plenty in the cupboard.

Large signalled for him to give the fiver back and gave him a ten. ‘That’s your lot,’ he said, ‘you have to make your own way now. Don’t mess up, lad.’

Zak took Bess up to the park but he couldn’t shake off the feeling he had. A dirty shame at the way they’d talked about him in court, how they’d treated him. Like he was rubbish, no respect, nothing. Like he wasn’t even a human being with feelings. He needed something to help him forget, to rub out the feeling.

He settled Bess and headed out once it got dark. There was a pub on the far side of the dual carriageway on the estate. Bit of a dive but exactly the sort of place where he could score. A bit of weed or some coke. Something to take the edge off. No – more than that. Something to help him get completely off his face. That’s what he needed now. And a tenner should cover it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Fiona

F
iona had been following the trial in the newspapers and on television. First there had been two anonymous witnesses, one a passer-by like she was and the other a local woman who knew both Danny and the men accused of killing him. She had given her evidence by video and with her voice distorted so she wouldn’t be recognized. That took real guts, Fiona thought.

Then yesterday had been a shambles by all accounts. The man who was on the witness protection programme appeared on remote video link losing his temper and swearing and trying to walk out of wherever he was and almost getting arrested. His behaviour was a gift to the defence. He’d come over as chaotic and unreliable and much had been made of his criminal background.

Joe had rung her last night. He didn’t go into any details, said nothing that she couldn’t have got from the media, but he told her the guy hadn’t done them any favours and it was a godsend she’d be on the stand the next day, redressing the balance.

He sounded weary, she thought.

‘It must be a strain for you,’ she said, ‘not knowing how it will go.’

‘Yeah, but it’s worse if you don’t even get to court. Some cases, they eat away at you.’

She thought he might say more, the wistful note in his voice, but he changed topic, picked up the pace. ‘Still, everything all right for tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I will get the tram but the early one.’

She’d been dillying and dallying over whether to get a taxi or the tram, fretting that if there was any disruption to the tram service she’d be late.

‘You sure? I can sort out a lift.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘I’ll see you there then. Goodnight.’

Owen had come in then, he’d been walking Molly home. Molly who’d been there after school one day last week coming down from Owen’s room with him when Fiona got home. Chatty and giggly with dyed black hair and panda eyes. Owen’s girlfriend. Owen blushed as he introduced them. Molly was in his English class, music too. Delicate-featured, half his size, Molly volunteered fulsome replies to Fiona’s pleasantries. A dark-haired pixie. Fiona peeped out of the living-room window when they’d left and saw them kissing, Owen stooping over to cuddle her.

Fiona was moved to see him so affectionate, delighted. Fiona presented Owen with a box of condoms the next day. Well, she left them in his room while he was skateboarding and told him as they were finishing dinner, let him eat first. She knew there’d likely be some awkwardness and he’d want to escape.

‘I know you might not need them yet but they’ll last a while. And it’s important you use them when you do have sex.’ She’d seen her share of young parents-to-be, still kids themselves, lives knocked sideways with an unexpected pregnancy.

Owen groaned and shook his head. Got to his feet.

‘Sex is great—’

‘Ugh, Mum!’

She felt her own face warm. ‘It’s a beautiful thing. It’s even better when you stay safe. Now that’s all I need to say,’ Fiona told him. ‘And don’t forget the dishwasher,’ she called after his retreating back.

This evening she reminded him about her court appearance.

‘Right,’ he nodded and kept on nodding as though if he did it for long enough he might dredge up something to say.

Fiona laughed and Owen scowled. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. You make me laugh, that’s all.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’ It was something to do with his awkwardness, the gap between the size of him and his childishness, the clumsiness and naivety. She found it funny when it wasn’t driving her to distraction.

The day of her court appearance was cool and grey with a fresh wind and she walked Ziggy early. Just a short run about the meadow, down to the bridge and back. There were gulls soaring high and circling over the river, the birds the same colour as the clouds. A cormorant took off from the far bank; its large wings made long slow strokes, powering it up and into the trees.

Fiona could smell the dark, sweet scent of water: earth, a hint of sewage and something flowery, reminiscent of shampoo. She wondered if waste-water ever got into the system, all those chemical fragrances. Ziggy chased a squirrel, then set out after a magpie. She called to him and they went back.

She had dreamt about Joe; a shameless, sexy dream that felt so real that when she woke she could feel the physical effects, the glow of warmth between her legs, the excitement fizzing on her skin, in her veins.

Now, when she met him at the witness suite, she was riddled with embarrassment, her greeting forced and brittle, barely able to take in what he was actually saying. He went to fetch her tea and Francine came into the waiting room. A Chinese couple were sitting in one corner with someone Fiona assumed was another volunteer. The other seats were empty. Francine gave Fiona her statement to read. Fiona’s hand shook lightly as she took the papers. A family passed along the corridor and with a start Fiona recognized them: the Macateers, Danny’s parents, Nadine, the grandma.

Fiona began to read. Remembered how she had sat with the police at the edge of the recreation ground, telling them what had happened. The sun high above, her palms, her knees, rusty with blood. Her eyes seized on the phrases stark and shorn of detail:
they
almost knocked me down, he wasn’t breathing, he was
losing a lot of blood, I performed CPR
.

The room was warm, airless, no hint of the wind blowing outside. Fiona felt a stir of anxiety, a band of heat across her shoulders. She took a slow breath. Joe appeared with her tea. It was hot and she scalded her lip, the burn bringing tears to her eyes.

‘All okay?’ He nodded at the statement.

‘Yes.’

‘And you?’ he asked gently.

‘Just want to get through it.’

He wore a dark shirt, charcoal grey with a thin lilac stripe in it. No tie. Top button undone. No hair visible there. She was appalled at her own shallowness. A murder trial and she was like some lovesick girl. This was his job, that was why he was here. Nothing more. She wondered about his kids again, was tempted to ask what they were like. Tell him about Owen and Molly.

Joe’s phone beeped and he excused himself, went out to take the call. Francine came back and chatted to Fiona – would she want to swear on a holy book or affirm? ‘Affirm,’ Fiona said. She’d no religious affiliation, didn’t believe in a God.

‘It shouldn’t be much longer,’ Francine reassured her. Fiona drank her tea. The Chinese couple said something to the volunteer, who got up to leave with them. ‘Just going for a smoke break,’ the volunteer said to Francine.

‘Maybe I’ll join them,’ Fiona joked.

‘Do you smoke?’ Francine asked her.

‘No, but I could start.’

Francine smiled. ‘I’ll go and see where we’re up to.’

Fiona stretched her neck, rolled her ankles, then Francine was back. ‘Yeah, they’re ready. We’ll go down.’

Fiona felt dizzy, heard the hum in her ears, took a breath and blew out slowly and followed Francine into the corridor. Joe was there. He nodded at her. His soft green eyes shone. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

She couldn’t speak. She kept one hand against the wall as they went downstairs, not trusting her balance. It felt as if the building was listing to one side, and that she would make a misstep.

The humming in her ears grew louder, a static that interfered with her sight as well as her hearing. They went along and down some other stairs into a room where Francine asked her to wait a minute. Then she took her up a narrow wooden staircase and into court.

The drone in Fiona’s head persisted as she read out the affirmation. She could see the piece of card trembling in her hand and her own words sounded muffled. She took another slow breath, tried to focus on what she could see rather than the turmoil inside.

The jury sat in front of her across the court, two rows of them, a mix of men and women, different ages, most of them white but there were two black women and an Asian man. The judge up on his dais at Fiona’s right was looking at papers, and below, slightly to the left between her and the jury, were the benches with lawyers and clerks. Fiona could sense but not see the crowd of people in the public gallery; there were whispers from there and an occasional cough.

The prosecuting barrister, a tall, skinny man, began talking Fiona through the main points of her testimony. The questions were easy, her replies straightforward, and the swarm in her head subsided. If she stuck to simple facts, didn’t submerge herself in the memory, she could keep it together.

‘Yes, I heard this bang, the shot, and looked out of the window.’

‘What did you see?’

‘I saw him falling,’ she answered.

‘What did you do?’

‘I asked the woman I was with to ring an ambulance then I ran outside. To go and help.’

‘If I can refer the jury to the map, Your Honour,’ said the barrister. ‘The witness was at this point here when she crossed the street.’

Fiona watched him identify the place on a large map that was on the screens.

‘Tell us what happened as you crossed the road.’

‘A car came along, very quickly. I nearly ran into it. They braked and swerved then drove on.’

‘Which direction did they come from?’

‘My left, erm, from the north.’

‘From here.’ He indicated on the map.

‘Yes.’

‘Can you describe the car?’

‘It was a BMW, silver.’

‘Did you see the occupants?’

‘Yes. There were two people in the front but I only got a good look at the driver.’ She had lurched to a halt inches from the vehicle, seen his face, angry and intense.

‘You later identified this person as Samuel Millins?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Samuel Millins communicate with you in any way?’

‘No – he just glared at me.’

‘And when the car drove off, what did you do?’

‘I went to try and help.’

‘What did you find?’

The boy lay on his back, one leg buckled to the side,
his arms outflung
. ‘The boy, Danny, there was a wound in his chest; he was losing a lot of blood.’
Pooled in a slick beneath his shoulders, soaking into
the grass, into the hard earth among the daisies and
dandelions
.

‘What did you do?’

‘I took my cardigan off, tried to use it to stop the bleeding.’
His eyes locked on hers
.

‘What happened then?’

‘He stopped breathing. I couldn’t find his pulse. I began CPR, tried to start the heart.’ Her voice cracked a little; she cleared her throat.
The smell of
soap on his skin, the fine down on his cheek. The sun
on her neck, his blood warm on her hands
. The memory clawed at her. She blinked and tried to relax her shoulders.

‘And then?’

‘The ambulance came and the people from church – his family.’ They were here, Fiona thought, listening to her, drowning in their own memories. How could they bear it? To wake every day with that loss in their hearts, the absence, the child missing from their world. At work she had dealt with women who miscarried, whose babies were stillborn limp and blue, or whose babies were sick and couldn’t be saved. Fiona had witnessed their grief, offered what comfort she could, but to lose a child after fifteen years – to lose him to violence, the bite of a bullet tearing his future away. She thought of life without Owen, squashed the thought.

The barrister representing Sam Millins was a podgy man with a beard. He thanked her for coming but he was a little concerned with some points of her evidence and he’d like to examine these.

Fiona swallowed and felt her ears pop.

‘How would you describe your state of mind when you left the house to attend to the victim that day?’

‘Well, I was worried, frightened and shocked, I think.’

‘Yes. Thank you. And when the car almost ran you over, is it fair to say that added to your shock?’

‘Yes.’ She had been shaking, her nerves electric, senses sharp as glass.

‘You say the car used its brakes. Did it come to a halt?’

‘Not completely, it slowed then went faster again.’

‘So you only saw the driver momentarily?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘When the victim sadly died you were eager to help the police?’

‘Of course,’ Fiona said.

‘You wanted to do anything you could to bring those responsible to justice?’

‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘And you were asked to see if you could identify the driver of the car from video records held by the police?’

‘Yes.’ Remembering the smooth way Joe had organized it so she wouldn’t get a chance to freak out.

‘So you were determined to find the culprit among the records you were shown?’

‘No,’ Fiona objected with an eddy of dislike at the implication she was on some sort of vendetta, ‘only if he was there.’

‘You glimpsed the driver for one fraction of a second, in a state of deep shock, yet you expect us to accept that you could identify his face many days later?’

‘Yes,’ she insisted.

‘And you had absolutely no doubt?’ He almost sneered, implying her certainty was preposterous.

‘No. He was just like I remembered.’

‘Witness identification is notoriously unreliable, you could have been mistaken, after all.’

‘I don’t think so. In my experience shock heightens the senses, it was like seeing a snapshot of him and he was distinctive enough for me to spot him immediately when I saw him on the video.’

‘Distinctive?’ The man frowned.

‘He looks like Johnny Depp,’ said Fiona, slightly embarrassed, ‘but different hair.’

There was whooping and cheering in the court and the judge got irritated. The clerk called for quiet.

‘So your identification was based on the notion that the man driving the car looks like a film actor?’

‘One particular film actor.’ She would not be made a fool of, she’d not back down. ‘That makes him memorable.’

Someone wolf-whistled and the judge put his hand to his head and then said gravely, ‘If there are any more interruptions from the public gallery I will clear the court. That is not a threat, that is a promise.’