by Ros Carne
‘No. I don’t want to go into that.’
‘Why not? It goes to credibility. Casts doubts on Natasha’s character.’
‘I said NO,’ Mel retorted, her voice rising in pitch, unable to quell her agitation.
‘What is it, Mel?’
‘What’s what?’
‘There’s something else. Something you haven’t told me. This Lola. What about her? If Natasha’s hiding something that can only help us.’
‘I’ve already said, Alisha, I can’t talk about it. OK?’
‘Mel, if you want me to represent you properly you need to be open with me.’
Mel shuddered. Everything could blow open. Her son had refused to show her the texts. How bad could they be? What if there were more pictures? And how could she be sure of Jacob’s story? He had closed down pretty fast and she had no idea how far he had gone. Natasha must have made the first move. But she was not on trial today. Her behaviour would only reinforce Mel’s motive for hurting her.
‘You’ll have to trust me on this, Alisha. There’s stuff about Lola, about Jacob, I don’t want it coming out. They were texting, sharing photographs. I can’t even bear to talk about it. Mention the shoplifting if you like, if the judge lets you. But nothing else.’
‘But that’s serious, Mel. Are you saying she was grooming him?’
‘I don’t think I would use that word. From what I gathered from Jacob he was pretty keen to go along with it.’
‘But that’s just the point. Sexual predators…’
‘For Christ sake, Alisha, I said I don’t want to go there. God knows what Jacob might have done or said. I don’t want it mentioned. Anyway, he’s all right now. That’s the main thing.’
‘What if Digger raises it?’
‘Why would he blacken his own client?’
‘If it gives you a motive for hurting Natasha, she might agree to it. It depends what she did. Did you see her texts?’
‘No. He wouldn’t let me see them. Made me give her back her phone.’
‘So you only have Jacob’s word for what happened?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Alisha! I saw the fucking photographs!’
It was hard to breathe. Something in her chest was fluttering as if a tiny bird had been caught between her ribs.
‘OK, Mel. Stay cool. I’ll follow your instructions. You know that. I only wish you’d told me all this before.’
Mel remembered how often she had said or thought that about her own clients who kept things back. But all she could say was, ‘I couldn’t.’
Through the glass of the dock she could see Digger conferring with someone from the Crown Prosecution Service. There were three people on the public benches: Georgie; a young woman with a notebook who might be a law student; and an elderly man who Mel guessed was one of those full-time court room spectators, a self-appointed expert who filled his days with other people’s catastrophes. Her mother wouldn’t be allowed in until she had given her own evidence. At least Jacob had agreed not to come. On another set of benches closer to the judge she noted the reporter she had seen yesterday. Alisha was sitting close, waiting for her to continue.
‘Was Natasha charged?’ Mel asked.
‘No, they let her go. So that won’t get us very far. We’ll see what McDermid says. But Lola – that’s another story. Lola was guilty. She was cautioned five years ago in Leicester.’
‘What for?’
‘Same thing. Shoplifting. The main thing is the fake name. It goes to credibility. She told the Bar Standards Board she had no convictions. Strictly speaking true. But she should have mentioned the caution. Remember the little box where you’re supposed to put anything else that might be relevant? You were right all along. Not what she seems.’
‘She’s waiting to start work at the CPS,’ said Mel.
Alisha made a face. ‘Could be tricky for her. They’ll be looking into her background pretty carefully after last night.’ She paused. ‘So, what about this Lola?’
‘OK. But not a word about Jacob.’
Mel heard movement from beyond the dock and she looked through the glass to see the usher standing beside the judge’s bench.
‘Court rise.’
Their short break was over. In seconds the judge was back, and Alisha had left the dock. From her place at the front of the court, she explained about the arrest.
‘Has Miss Baker been charged?’
‘No, Your Honour.’
McDermid peered down from the Bench; his voice was tinged with irritation. ‘So, a young woman is picked up for shoplifting. She fails to pay for some items. The young woman happens to be pregnant, and in a heightened nervous state. I do not propose to delve into allegations when the police themselves chose not to take the matter further.’
‘Your Honour, the issue relates to credibility. Miss Baker has another name. Lola Tondowski. Unlike Miss Natasha Baker, Miss Lola Tondowski was charged with an offence of shoplifting five years ago. There was no trial. She accepted a caution.’
‘And on what basis do you say this Lola Tondowski and the prosecution witness are the same person?’ queried McDermid.
‘They have the same fingerprints.’
Digger bounced up. ‘Your Honour, this has absolutely no relevance to what happened to Miss Baker six months ago in Dulwich. She was attacked. She was hurt. These are the matters on the Indictment. What she may or may not have done five years ago is not in issue here.’
‘Well, Miss Mehta. I will allow some questioning on the use of the name. If the questioning proves to be unnecessarily prejudicial it will of course be stopped. As to the caution, the usual rules apply. Mr Diggory-Brown, you may wish to re-examine your client.’
The jury was called. Natasha walked slowly across the courtroom, using her right arm to lever herself up the step into the witness box. She wore the same outfit as yesterday, a long-sleeved blue dress that caressed her bump. She looked tired but lovely, an exhausted Madonna.
Alisha began with uncontested matters, aiming to put Natasha at ease by referring to her achievements, how she had worked her way through law school, landed a sought-for pupillage. A sketch for the jury. Not the victim portrait offered by the prosecution. But an ambitious woman. Strong-willed. Tenacious. A woman who might take a step too far to gain her ends. A woman who could be motivated by revenge.
‘Miss Baker, it’s true, isn’t it, that you sometimes use another name?’
Most witnesses would have been rattled, but Natasha kept her cool. ‘Occasionally.’
‘Lola Tondowski?’
‘Lola Tondowski is my birth name. I was adopted at ten. That’s when I became Natasha.’
‘But you still use Lola?’
‘Sometimes. Lola has a Facebook page. I don’t want to lose touch with where I came from. My father was Polish. I never knew him but the name is special to me.’
Mel could tell Alisha was itching to take it further, longing to get stuck in, to expose Natasha as a liar and a predator. But, good barrister that she was, she would not veer from her client’s instructions.
She put Mel’s case, Natasha’s failure to get the tenancy and consequent determination to injure her pupil supervisor in whatever way she could. By slow careful questioning she attempted to shift the jury’s viewpoint. Natasha would no longer be a woman wronged, but a woman ready to cause damage.
Following Mel’s instructions Alisha accused Natasha of plotting her way into Mel’s mother’s house, of planning to pocket her jewellery and sell the vintage costumes for her own benefit. But there was no hard evidence to rely on. When she accused Natasha of blackmail, threatening to expose Mel’s affair if she refused to write the reference, Natasha shook her head slowly.
‘That’s absurd.’
‘But correct, is it not Miss Baker?’ urged Alisha.
‘Absolutely not.’
Apart from that one exchange, Natasha’s demeanour remained calm and unruffled. When it came to the assault itself and Mel listened to the story she had rehe
arsed in her mind so many times, the scenario sounded horribly unlikely. According to Alisha, Natasha had lost her temper and rushed at Mel who had attempted to defend herself by holding up her arms. Natasha had been wearing high heels and had stumbled, tripping on one of the other shoes scattered across the carpet. Initially she had fallen backwards but hitting the shoe caused her to twist and crash against the dressing table. It had been a horrible accident and had led to serious injury. Natasha’s accusation of assault was simply an attempt at revenge for what she saw as Mel’s lack of professional support.
Natasha denied it all.
Having failed to see her witness crumple in response to direct challenge, Alisha tried a different tack. ‘The Bar is a competitive profession, isn’t it, Miss Baker?’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Things can get difficult in chambers.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You were expecting to get a tenancy at Bridge Court.’
‘Hoping.’
‘And when you didn’t, you blamed Miss Goddard.’
‘I’ve no idea how the voting went. Anyway, she’s entitled to her opinion.’
‘You were angry with her?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Looking for revenge?’
‘No.’
‘And the best revenge would be to blacken her name and ruin her career?’
‘I’ve already said no.’
‘Indeed, you invented this complaint after the event.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘When you fell against the dressing table you were concussed?’
‘Slightly.’
‘It’s in the medical record.’
‘Yes. That’s what they said.’
‘So, you don’t actually remember what happened that afternoon?’
‘That’s not true. She grabbed hold of me and threw me against the dressing table. I might have blacked out for a few minutes afterwards, but I remember exactly what she did. I never laid a finger on her. I told them at the hospital. You saw the evidence. The defendant didn’t even challenge it. And I told Luke when I got back from the hospital. Every word of it is true.’
‘Thank you, Miss Baker,’ said Alisha.
There was no re-examination. At least no one had mentioned Jacob. But for all her years of experience there was not much Alisha could do with a clever, determined witness, particularly one who was telling truth. It was looking bad.
Chapter Forty-four
Mel
Isabel appeared unsteady as she approached the witness box, turning to smile at the judge and then the jury. Mel had no idea whether the unsteadiness was authentic or part of today’s role-play, nor how far she could count on her mother.
Isabel’s written statement emphasised the antagonism between her daughter and her guest. There had been a disagreement. The disagreement had led to a scuffle. But Isabel could not say precisely what had caused Natasha to fall with such force against the dressing table. During the long months of waiting, her mother had refused to speak of the incident.
‘I’m not allowed to talk to you, darling. You’ve seen my statement. I’ll do what I’ve been asked to do.’
In the witness box Isabel confirmed that she had looked again at the statement which was prepared last year. Yes, the contents were true.
Digger led her through the events of that day, the outing to the museum, the early return to Dulwich, Mel’s attitude to Natasha, the unexpected outburst.
‘Please describe the outburst, Mrs Goddard.’
‘Melanie was in the house when we returned. She announced that Natasha should leave immediately. Quite out of the blue.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Natasha went upstairs to change.’
‘Did your daughter explain why she wanted Natasha to leave?’
‘Something to do with Natasha being not what she seemed.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t recall. It was all very confusing.’
The judge intervened. ‘Mrs Goddard. You cannot be compelled to answer every question. But you were an eyewitness to what occurred that day. Anything you can remember about what preceded the events that led to this charge will be helpful to the jury in reaching its verdict.’
‘I understand, Your Honour.’
‘What did you do next?’ asked Digger.
It was as Mel had anticipated. Digger didn’t want Isabel to divulge too much about the causes of the argument, didn’t want to risk the jury members asking themselves questions about Natasha’s character. Maybe her mother had forgotten the main cause of the clash between the two women. Or maybe, like Mel, she didn’t want Jacob’s name brought into this. Alisha had promised not to mention him. If Mel was to get off, the jury must never know the full story. But as Digger moved on, Mel was aware of a weight in her chest. She had been growing used to a variety of inexplicable symptoms, aching limbs, a fluttering stomach, a tightness in the jaw, pains around the eyes. This one was new, a slow persistent thudding as if her heart had become suddenly heavy.
And now Digger was asking Isabel to describe the spare bedroom.
‘The bed’s on the right as you walk in. There’s a fitted cupboard down one wall, a chest of drawers against the other and a dressing table in front of the bay window.’
‘Did you enter the room?’
‘No. I stood in the doorway.’
‘Where was Miss Baker?’
‘She was standing near the dressing table.’
‘In your statement you mention shoes on the floor.’
‘Yes. Natasha had been trying them on before we went out.’
Mel glanced from her mother to the jury. There was only one point they needed to decide. Did she fall or was she pushed? But Digger wouldn’t ask that. Wouldn’t chance it. He didn’t need to put Natasha’s case to Isabel. She was there to set the scene for the prosecution. No more, no less.
‘You’ve told us you followed your daughter into the room. What was the atmosphere like at that point?’
‘Very unpleasant.’
‘Please explain.’
Isabel paused and looked at Mel. It wasn’t a compassionate look, not a look the jury would expect from a mother to a daughter. And at that moment Mel wished she had been nicer to her mother. She remembered the times she had been irritated by Isabel, had shouted at her, argued with her. She tried to remember what the arguments were about. Nothing important. Isabel’s habit of opting out when discussion became difficult, her insistence that she was too stupid to understand law or politics, her love of the superficial, her obsession with style and celebrity. Once Isabel had accused Mel of trying to make her feel small. Was this it? Isabel’s revenge?
‘I felt frightened.’
‘Why?’
‘Mel was angry. I know what she’s like when she’s angry.’
‘What is she like?’
‘Loud, out of control. Aggressive.’
‘Violent?’
‘She can be.’
Mel felt her throat closing, her breath quickening.
‘Can you describe instances when you have witnessed her violence?’
‘I prefer not to say.’
The jury appeared attentive. Digger fiddled with his spectacles and looked down at his notes, letting the answer sink in, a familiar tactic. Then he raised his head. ‘We’ll come back to that, Mrs Goddard. Can you describe the conversation in the bedroom between Natasha and your daughter?’
‘I wouldn’t call it conversation. More like a row.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘It’s in my statement.’
‘Please tell the jury.’
‘My daughter believed Natasha was planning to steal my jewellery and sell my costumes.’
‘Did you believe Miss Baker would do this?’
‘Certainly not. She and I had been organising an exhibition.’
‘Was there anything else that might have made Melanie angry?’
‘Natasha said something about Jacob. That’s what set Mel off.’
At the sound of her son’s name a shockwave tore through her. As the aftershocks died down, she was conscious once again of the weight in her chest.
‘You haven’t mentioned Jacob in your statement.’
‘I didn’t want him dragged into this. Melanie doesn’t either, I’m sure of that. But I’ve sworn to tell the whole truth.’
‘What did Natasha say about Jacob?’
‘I don’t remember the exact words. Something about him being a good-looking boy.’
‘Why would that make her angry?’
‘It was more than that. Almost as if, you know, Natasha might have had an interest in the lad. That would have upset Melanie. It upset me.’
Mel tried to read her mother’s face. The features were taut; the eyes narrowed in what might have been pain. Physical or emotional? It was impossible to say. The words ‘Please, Mum,’ looped silently in her mind.
‘Is there any other reason why there’s nothing about Jacob in your statement?’
‘After everything that happened, I was distraught. I still am. I didn’t want my grandson bandied about in police statements.’
‘Yet you mention him now.’
‘When the police interviewed me, I answered their questions. They only asked about the jewellery and costumes. But I’ve taken an oath. The whole truth.’
‘Can we go back to the scene in the bedroom? Where was Melanie when you arrived in the doorway?’
‘Close to Natasha. They were both by the dressing table.’
‘How was Natasha’s mood? As far as you could judge?’
‘Calm at first, even when Melanie accused her. Then she grew animated, as if she was enjoying herself. I think she might have laughed.’
‘Mrs Goddard, you say in your statement there was a scuffle but that you don’t know who started it.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Yet you have just told us that Miss Baker was calm, Melanie angry.’
‘Everything happened so fast. One minute they were standing there arguing. The next minute the poor girl was on the floor covered in blood.’