The Guilty Mother

by Diane Jeffrey

  Jon shrugs. ‘It’s your call, Simon,’ he says.

  Goodman stands up. ‘None of this is to leave the room,’ he says. ‘Understood?’

  From the corner of my eye, I see Bella look up sharply at him.

  ‘Yes,’ I say with more conviction than I feel. Bella nods.

  Jon doesn’t seem so sure. ‘But Melissa—’

  ‘If Lissa ever finds out about this, she’ll start grieving all over again. She thinks Ellie died of cot death, peacefully, in her sleep. Let’s leave her with that version of events, shall we?’ His voice is no-nonsense, non-negotiable. ‘Melissa’s appeal is coming up in just a few weeks’ time. The whole process will take a lot longer if this comes out now.’ He lowers his voice as he adds, ‘Lissa’s innocent. The main thing is that she is released from prison as soon as possible. With a bit of luck, we won’t need the full truth to do that.’ He looks at Jon, who shifts uncomfortably. I get the impression the two of them know something I don’t.

  ‘I want you all to promise you won’t mention any of this to anyone.’ Goodman waits while the three of us solemnly vow, each in turn, never to speak about this again. ‘I’ll sort this out.’ His voice is cold as he says this and it makes the hairs at the back of my neck tingle.

  Superintendent Goodman tilts his head towards the door, an order for Jon and me to leave. I pat Bella’s shoulder one last time and get up. My limbs feel heavy and my movements are in slow motion. I can’t find my tongue until I’m doing up my seatbelt in Jon’s car.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I ask, aware that I’m echoing the question he put to Goodman just a few minutes earlier.

  ‘We go back to the office and put our heads together. We’ve got one hell of an article to write.’

  ‘But we’ve just given our word we won’t ever mention—’

  ‘Not about Bella. About Melissa. We need to paint such a pretty portrait of her that the public will not only be shouting for her to be freed, they’ll also be demanding that she be canonised.’

  Judging from the coverage in the news recently, public opinion is very much in Melissa’s favour anyway, but I get why Jon wants to do this. Well, partly. He seems to think he owes Goodman for something – I’m not sure what – but it’s also about protecting Bella. If Melissa’s appeal is unsuccessful, it doesn’t bode well for Bella. I doubt her story could stay a secret. In other words, if the recovered post-mortem report isn’t enough to free Melissa, Bella will have to confess to killing Ellie.

  ‘Is she safe? With Superintendent Goodman, I mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jon says. ‘Bella is safe.’ He emphasises her name and I wonder if he’s implying that someone else is in danger.

  But maybe he’s thinking of Melissa, innocent and languishing in prison while she waits for her appeal.

  Not long to wait now. Just a couple of weeks.

  Chapter 33

  Jon

  November 2018

  Kelly and I get an early train from Bristol Temple Meads to London Paddington, then we take the Circle line to Temple. There’s already a crowd along the pavement on the Strand when we arrive. Journalists and photographers, armed with takeaway coffees and cameras, are noisily preparing to broadcast live updates to their networks. Behind them and to either side are groups of people, some looking curious; others anxious. Scanning the whole throng, I recognise a few faces. Simon, Callum, Melissa’s parents. George Moore gives me a taut smile when he sees me. There’s a slim, attractive woman standing next to Simon who I think must be Melissa’s friend, Jennifer Porter.

  But I don’t see Michael Slade. That surprises me. This is about his baby after all, even if he has known the truth about her death all along.

  Someone hits me hard on the back, knocking me forwards. Whirling round, I find myself face to face with Dan, the journalist who used to work with me at The Rag. He managed to concoct a salacious article from the coincidence I mentioned to him about Eleanor Wood QC and Roger Sparks having attended the same university.

  ‘All right, mate?’ he greets me with another clap on the back.

  ‘Great piece you wrote, Dan,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, proper job, that. The boss liked it. Cheers for the tip.’ His Bristol accent has broadened somehow since he’s been living in London. I introduce him to Kelly.

  Together, we make our way inside the Royal Courts of Justice.

  ‘Impressive,’ Kelly comments, staring at the carvings of judges’ heads over the porch arches, ‘and a bit creepy.’

  Kelly’s mouth is wide open as she takes in the vast Main Hall with its high ceilings, Gothic arches and ornate floors. I bump into Simon as we go through security. He is smartly dressed, but haggard.

  ‘She’ll be out of here tomorrow, or the day after that at the latest,’ he says. ‘She’ll be walking out the main door.’ He gestures behind him. ‘And then she’ll be coming home to Callum and me.’ He rubs his stubble furiously, belying his confident tone.

  I watch Goodman step into the courtroom ahead of me. He’s closely followed by Callum, his shoulders slumped and his eyes to the ground. There’s a sign on the wall by the heavy wooden door. Court Number Three.

  Kelly points to it. ‘Melissa’s lucky number,’ she says.

  Kelly and I make our way inside. The door behind us closes on a courtroom that is bursting at the seams. There are so many journalists that there’s not enough seating room on the press benches for us all and some reporters are standing; others have squeezed into the public gallery instead.

  Melissa is led in by a security guard. She’s wearing a straight black skirt and flimsy white blouse, like a waitress’s outfit. I’m sure she’s aiming for smart, but she must be cold. She looks terrified. The three judges – one woman and two men, all in their forties or fifties – look kind, though. Let’s hope they are. Melissa’s freedom and future depend on their decision. Her eyes flit from one to another as they take their seats in comfy-looking red leather chairs, their faces half hidden by green lamps. I shift enviously, only half of my arse fitting onto the end of the hard wooden pew next to Kelly.

  I spot Simon, whose face has gone grey. Despite his prediction that Melissa will be leaving through the main entrance when this is over, in his mind the outcome of this appeal is obviously not the foregone conclusion he has made it out to be.

  Even Martin May QC, Melissa’s barrister, seems nervous, adjusting his wig repeatedly and stuttering once or twice.

  Kelly has had the same thought. ‘He doesn’t seem very sure of himself,’ she whispers. ‘That’s not a good sign. Melissa described him as confident in her diary, didn’t she?’

  ‘It’s probably the most important case in his career,’ I whisper back, although I’m inclined to agree with her. He’s acting like Melissa has already lost. Or maybe he thinks she’s guilty.

  It’s obvious that the thought going through everyone’s minds is that this is Melissa’s last chance. If she loses, she’ll stay in jail and serve out the rest of her life sentence.

  Melissa’s barrister clears his throat and makes his opening statement. His voice is tremulous at first, but he soon gets into his stride.

  ‘This is a clear case of non-disclosure, which has caused a grave miscarriage of justice,’ he says. ‘There is irrefutable evidence of a natural cause of death for Ellie Slade, as for her sister Amber. It is evident that had the toxicology results been made available earlier, as they should have been, Melissa Slade would never have been charged with the murder of either of her twin daughters, much less convicted of murdering Baby Ellie.’

  The judges agree that the main issue here is the toxicology analysis. They instruct the prosecution and the defence to call only one expert witness each.

  Listening to the experts, an imminent toxicologist and a paediatric pathologist, and knowing the truth about the missing report, I feel more and more restless as the day goes on. I catch Simon’s eye once, but he looks away.

  Before the court adjourns that evening, Lord Justice Hartley says, ‘Since t
he failure to disclose the toxicology analysis calls into question the reliability of Dr Sparks’s expert testimony and by extension the cause of Baby Ellie Slade’s death, Dr Sparks will be given the opportunity tomorrow to explain the circumstances surrounding the omission of this vital document from the original post-mortem report.’

  As we stand up and the judges leave the courtroom, I mop my brow with my sleeve.

  Kelly and I spend the night in a Premier Inn near Victoria station. Tired after our early start, we eat dinner in the hotel before turning in. My room is quiet and the bed’s fine, but I hardly sleep. Anxious to avoid having to give Holly a full account of the day’s proceedings, I send her a quick text to say goodnight. There will be extensive coverage on tonight’s news anyway. She doesn’t need me to bring her up to speed.

  The knot in my stomach tightens as we head back to the Court of Appeal the next day. Kelly tries once or twice to talk about the case but soon gives up, perhaps assuming I’m not a morning person. I can’t discuss what’s on my mind, so I keep my thoughts to myself. I’m worried about what Holly’s colleague will say when they call him to the witness box. Will he claim the document was planted? Will he destroy Melissa’s chances of freedom? These questions have been going round in my head for most of the night. And today I’ll find out the answers.

  All eyes are on Dr Sparks as he takes his place in the witness box. The courtroom is swamped by a surge of disapproving groans, but they quickly die down. He’s of average height, of slight build with an ordinary face. His jacket does little to pad out his slim shoulders. He’s clean-shaven and wears frameless glasses. He appears frail despite an effort to stand up tall.

  Martin May QC asks Sparks if he can explain how part of the original post-mortem for Ellie Slade came to be missing. The judges take notes while Sparks speaks. So does Kelly. I keep my eyes fixed on the Royal Coat of Arms, carved in the wood behind the judges, but I don’t miss a word of what he says.

  ‘I can only imagine that it was an oversight,’ he says. ‘A terrible mistake.’

  He dodges the question, though, when May asks if Sparks was the one who made the mistake. He looks as if he’s about to cry at this point. He’s buckled over, broken, no longer able to hold himself up straight. It is hard to imagine this man harassing Holly, but I suppose bullies come in all shapes and sizes.

  Sparks looks contrite when he is asked if he can confirm that he is the author of the toxicology report.

  ‘I have no recollection of writing it, but I recognise this as my work,’ he says. ‘It was on my computer and the technical phrases would be the same for any pathologist, but there are expressions in this report that do indeed appear to be mine.’

  I feel sorry for Sparks. He is used to working with evidence, and now the evidence is working against him.

  ‘What will happen to him?’ Holly whispers.

  ‘No idea. Maybe he’ll have to face trial himself. He has just retired, so he won’t be suspended or struck off, at least.’

  In her cross-examination, Eleanor Wood QC implies that there was no failure to disclose the toxicology report, but rather a failure on the part of the defence at the original trial to request it.

  ‘It was never concealed deliberately or kept separate from the rest of the post-mortem report.’ Eleanor Wood QC concludes.

  But it’s irrelevant. Sparks isn’t the one on trial here. Melissa is. And I think it’s very likely she’ll be given the benefit of the doubt now even if Sparks isn’t.

  Glancing at my watch, I groan inwardly. I don’t want to come back here again for a third day, but it’s getting late in the afternoon, and it looks like the court will shortly adjourn. I shift uncomfortably on the bench.

  But then Eleanor Wood QC is on her feet again. ‘My lord,’ she booms, her powerful voice contradicting her petite stature, ‘the prosecution no longer seeks to uphold this conviction.’

  I sense Kelly stiffen beside me. The only sound in the courtroom is a collective, sharp intake of breath. After that, it’s deathly silent as everyone awaits Lord Justice Hartley’s response.

  ‘Understood, Ms Wood,’ he says. ‘Which leaves the matter of a retrial.’

  I observe Melissa as she looks from one barrister to the other, then to the judges, before seeking out Simon’s blue gaze in the gallery. I see him nod at her, in an attempt to reassure her, and probably himself.

  ‘My lord, given that Ellie Slade was cremated and another post-mortem cannot therefore be carried out, the Crown does not seek a retrial.’

  It’s over. I turn to Kelly, sitting on the press bench next to me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. I pull my handkerchief out of my jacket pocket and pass it to her, receiving a watery smile in return.

  ‘Is Melissa free?’ Kelly asks.

  Not trusting myself to speak past the lump in my throat, I nod towards the Lord Justice of Appeal to indicate that Kelly should listen to him. I try to listen, too, but the words are muffled, as if I’m underwater and someone is talking to me from above the surface. I catch only phrases: unsafe conviction … no retrial … sentence quashed.

  I glance again at Melissa, who appears to be rooted to the spot, her eyes wide in disbelief, and then at Simon, who has jumped to his feet and is punching the air. When Lord Justice Hartley has finished talking, the judges retire. And now it really is over.

  Kelly and I stand outside the Royal Courts of Justice to get our shot of Melissa stepping into freedom.

  ‘What’s taking so long?’ Kelly asks after about half an hour. ‘I’m freezing my … sorry. I’m—’

  ‘It will take a while for Melissa to be processed out,’ I explain. ‘Forms to fill in, formalities to complete.’

  We freeze our unmentionables off for another hour before Melissa appears. She comes out of the main door, just as Simon predicted. As I take photos, Kelly frantically tweets snippets of the short statement Melissa makes on the steps to the courts, under the arch of the porch. There are camera crews with cumbersome equipment and microphones, jostling each other and us to get closer.

  ‘I’d like to thank everyone for the overwhelming support I’ve received. First and foremost, my family …’

  Melissa is flanked by Callum and Simon; her parents, George and Ivy, are standing nearby, at the bottom of the steps, both smiling. Again it occurs to me that Michael Slade is conspicuous in his absence. I wonder what message that sends. Is he trying to make a statement? Does he want people to think that he believes Melissa is guilty of murdering their daughter? He knows better than anyone that she’s innocent.

  I tune back in as Melissa says, ‘I will not be celebrating my release. I’m overjoyed to be free, but my babies died. My imprisonment was a miscarriage of justice that has been righted, but nothing can bring back my babies, and because of my loss, I do not consider this to be a win.’

  In the train on the way home, I type up an account of Melissa’s successful appeal, resisting the urge to sleep for a bit, while Kelly fiddles on her phone next to me.

  ‘Oh my God! Jon!’ she suddenly shouts, causing several travellers to look up in alarm.

  She hands me her smartphone. Looking at the screen, I see she has been reading an article published online by The Post a few hours ago.

  I read the headline: MAN’S BODY FOUND ON ROCKS AT PORTISHEAD BEACH

  ‘It doesn’t say how he ended up there,’ Kelly says.

  ‘Shhh.’

  ‘It doesn’t say if he washed up onto the rocks or fell over the cliffs and landed there.’

  Shutting out Kelly’s voice so I can concentrate, I scroll down the text on her phone and skim-read. Then my eyes are drawn to one particular sentence.

  The body has not yet been formally identified, but is thought to be that of local Bristol builder Michael Slade, missing since yesterday.

  ‘What do you think?’ Kelly asks excitedly before I can get through any more of the article.

  ‘I think Slade would be furious if he knew they’d written “builder” instead of “c
hartered surveyor”.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I—’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ My tone is serious now. ‘Don’t say it.’

  She doesn’t. But I’m sure she’s thinking it, as I am, for the rest of the train journey. Did Goodman have a hand in this? He didn’t use his own hands, that’s for sure. If Slade went missing yesterday, Goodman has the perfect alibi. He was in court. I guess we know now why Slade wasn’t.

  Chapter 34

  Kelly

  November 2018

  I can hear the music from outside Superintendent Goodman’s flat. The place is practically vibrating with the bass of some metal or hardcore track, Callum’s choice, I presume, rather than his father’s. I have to hammer hard on the front door a couple of times before it opens.

  It’s Melissa. Wearing make-up and a navy blue woollen dress, a flute of bubbly in her hand, she looks far more relaxed than the last time I saw her, about ten days ago, standing on the steps of the Royal Courts of London, making her statement to the press. So much for not celebrating the outcome of her appeal, though.

  ‘Come in, Kelly,’ she says, leaning forwards to kiss my cheek. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’

  ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

  I follow her into the living room. Jon and Holly are already there. Superintendent Goodman hands me a glass of Prosecco as soon as I enter the room.

  ‘Darling, do you think you could lower the volume a bit?’ Melissa says. I turn round to see Callum sitting on the sofa. I do a double take when I see who is sitting next to him. Bella. She gives me a little wave as Callum points the remote control towards the stereo next to the television set.

  ‘It’s a bit risky, inviting Bella, isn’t it?’ I whisper, joining Jon and nodding towards Bella and Callum in greeting. I watch Holly and Melissa as they pick up plates and bowls from the coffee table and offer crisps, olives and various other nibbles to Bella and Callum. ‘Isn’t Goodman worried Melissa will find out about what Bella told us?’