I tap my tongue against my dry pallet, then look to the court assistant and motion a mock sipping to her. I was told there’d be a jug of water in the witness box but there isn’t. She nods back at me, then turns and paces out a side door.
‘Well, this, coming from an experienced member of the police force is really troubling. Are you saying Joy Stapleton was a suspect right from the get-go and that detectives were solely focused on getting her prosecuted for this crime?’
‘Absolutely she was,’ I say. ‘And because of that, the whole investigation turned into a task of finding out what she did, rather than us being out there and exploring the entire truth of what happened to Oscar and Reese.’
‘Can you give us examples of this?’
The court assistant walks back through the side door, holding a paper cup towards me. I mouth a ‘thank you’ to her as she hands it to me and then take a quick sip, just to wet my whistle.
‘Well, detectives felt Joy was suspicious,’ I say, ‘but there was absolutely zero evidence to suggest she had anything to do with her sons going missing. Of course, because she was a mother who was, at times back then, uncontrollably grieving, investigators had to walk on eggshells around her. Personally, I would have had a preference for looking into other possibilities, cos as far as I was concerned Joy Stapleton was going nowhere. She wasn’t getting away from us.’
‘So, there were other leads?’ Bracken asks.
‘Well, in truth, we had nothing to go on. It was like Oscar and Reese just vanished into thin air. So, I wanted to explore all of the thin air. But our investigation seemed to solely narrow onto the grieving mother.’
‘Okay, well, if you can give me a specific example of what you call narrowing the investigation…’
‘Well, the last witness you had sitting here this morning–Mr Grimshaw… Him and his dog Bunny, right? Our bosses were aware Mr Grimshaw had helped detectives solve murder cases in the UK, so they called him over with his dog to sniff out the Stapleton home. I don’t think this was a calculated or conscious deliberate step over the line. I think our bosses genuinely just felt, “How can we prove the mother did this? – let’s get sniffer dogs in”. So, they searched and searched for a dog handler who they knew had a history of assisting police forces with positive conclusions in this specific regard. They couldn’t find one in Ireland, and eventually came to Mr Grimshaw in the UK. And, of course Grimshaw, through his sniffer dog, gave them exactly what they wanted. But truth be known, as you have found out in this court this morning, that is not scientific evidence at all. And I’ve never believed it to be.’
‘Speculation, Your Honour,’ the other lawyer yells out.
‘Not your place to speculate, Mrs Gleeson,’ the judge tells me. ‘If you can just answer the direct question please.’
‘Well, what I will say is, Bunny the dog’s findings – if you want to call them that – weren’t enough for an arrest anyway. I was very surprised that evidence was even allowed in the original trial, to be honest. We knew – or certainly I knew – Mr Grimshaw’s credibility was lacking. It amazed me it was allowed into court… but that too, I guess, is a reflection of the court system fitting into a flawed system.’
‘That is more speculation, Your Honour,’ the lawyer says, this time slapping his hand to the desk in front of him.
‘Mrs Gleeson.’ The judge’s eyes peer over her glasses at me. ‘Your job here is not to speculate, but to answer direct questions. I will not remind you of that again.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. Then I turn back to Bracken, cringing a little inside. ‘I guess what I mean is the dog coming in is a good example of an investigation following a system, rather than the investigation following the truth. Does that make sense?’
Bracken interlocks his fingers across his stomach.
‘If you could explain that a little more clearly for the court, Sandra.’
‘Well, instead of following evidence and letting the evidence lead detectives to a suspect, the detectives already had their suspect and then tried to create the evidence around her. Same with the CCTV footage.’
I take another sip of water, and as I do, I afford myself another quick glance at Joy. She’s sitting as still as she can, her fingers forming a fallen steeple on the desk in front of her. She fascinates me. She really does. She’s either one of the coldest killers in the history of our nation. Or she has lived one of the most unfortunate and saddest lives in the history of our nation. It doesn’t get any more intriguing than that.
‘Are you referring to the CCTV of the lady in the pink hooded top?’
‘Yes,’ I say, before taking another sip of water – though it doesn’t seem to be doing anything for the cotton on my tongue. ‘When the bodies of Oscar and Reese were found two years after they were reported missing, the investigation didn’t turn into “How did these bodies get to this location?” It immediately turned into “How do we link Joy to this location?”’
What I’m saying is true. About four hours after the bodies had been confirmed as the two Stapleton boys, one detective at our station was rubbing his hands together with glee, shouting ‘We’re gonna nail her now.’ I don’t think any of the cops I worked with were nasty, or calculated, or manipulative, even. They were just following the system, without realising how fractured it truly was. Some people just never notice the obvious things that are staring them in the face.
‘So, they were actively looking to link Joy to that scene?’
‘Exactly. I calculated at the time – because I have been fascinated by this case and this is actually the case that really started to open my eyes into how the system operates – that officers must have viewed over five thousand hours of CCTV footage. There were two hundred and twenty-eight CCTV cameras at the bottom of the Dublin mountains that recorded footage that night. Some of which still had their footage stored digitally, most didn’t. But we still managed to get five thousand hours of footage from different cameras. My problem was they weren’t viewing five thousand hours looking for anything suspicious. They were specifically looking for Joy. They wanted to put her near the scene of where the bodies were found.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then they found those famous three seconds of footage… the footage we’ve all seen. Where a figure walks by a garden wearing a pink hoodie. And that was that. They felt they had their woman. We knew Joy had been wearing a pink hooded top the day before the boys were reported missing. But as you know, Mr Bracken, this footage is only three seconds long, and we see no face, just a figure in a pink hoodie. And, as was brought up in the original trial as an argument, there was no footage of the woman in the pink hoodie going up the mountain. Only coming down.’
‘Sorry… They used three seconds out of five thousand hours as a reason to arrest Joy Stapleton?’
‘They did.’
‘So, in your expert opinion, detectives fit the whole investigation around their suspect, rather than allowing the investigation to lead them to a suspect, right?’
‘Exactly, Mr Bracken. That is the fracture in the system.’
He spins on his heels and points one finger towards the ceiling.
‘For the record, this is Sandra Gleeson – an assistant detective working on the investigation into the Oscar and Reese Stapleton case – admitting to us here, under oath, that the investigation was flawed and that my client was a suspect from the get-go. Sandra, the court thank you for your time.’
‘Mrs Gleeson,’ the other lawyer says, standing up. ‘You interviewed for the position of Chief Superintendent in early 2011, correct?’
‘That is correct,’ I say, before reaching for my glass again. I thought I might get a little breather before cross examination, but it seems to have started before Bracken has even sat down.
‘You didn’t get that job, did you?’
‘No. There was somebody more qualified than me for that position.’
‘Seems odd then, that you left the police force nine months later. If you were gunn
ing for a promotion, surely you weren’t really that angered by ‘the system’ as you call it?’
‘As I said, I had already made up my mind that the system was flawed.’
‘Okay, but that didn’t stop you still wanting to be part of that system, did it? You interviewed for a promotion. Are you sure you were not bitter about being overlooked for this position, subsequently left the force and have, ever since, been rather negative about your former bosses?’
I gasp, then slam the paper cup I’m holding onto the shelf in front of me.
‘Sir, I left a sixty thousand euro a year job with a fantastic pension and security to earn no wage by running a charity that deals with helping people in society. I wasn’t bitter. I was better. I wanted to help people.’
His face drops. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, young man. You little shit. Trying to trap me. My opinion on the investigative procedures in this country have nothing to do with that Chief Superintendent’s position. I never felt I was going to get that role, anyway. Stevie Wood was much more primed for it than I was. He was next in line. I only interviewed for it because that was part of the system too. You were expected to interview… expected to show an eagerness for climbing the ranks.
‘You know what, Mrs Gleeson,’ the lawyer says, shoving both of his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Let’s just get some clarity on the testimony you’ve given here today, shall we? You are here to testify that in your experience, as a police officer and investigator, the system in which investigators operate in is flawed, right? “Fractured” you called it specifically. You’ve even said today that you think the judicial system is fractured in some way. Now I’m not disagreeing with you. And I am sure you will find other members of An Garda Siochana and other employees in the judicial system who would agree with you also. But is such testimony really pertinent to this specific case? You happen to be a person who is critical of the system who also happened to work on the Stapleton case, right? So, Mr Bracken rounding you up to testify at this court case kind of gives off the impression that the Stapleton case, specifically, was fractured and that it led to the wrong person being arrested. But that is not what you are here to testify today, is it? You are only here to testify that the system in which you once worked, is, in your opinion, fractured, correct?’
‘That is correct, Sir,’ I say. ‘I am only here to testify that the system is flawed. Not whether or not I think Joy is innocent or guilty. This case – as far as I’m concerned – all comes down to whether or not you believe Joy Stapleton is the lady in that three-seconds of CCTV footage – or whether or not you believe it to be a crazy coincidence.’
‘And do you think it’s a crazy coincidence, Mrs Gleeson?’
‘Objection.’ Bracken stands as he shouts, scooting his chair back.
‘Your Honour,’ the other lawyer says, ‘question is pertinent.’
Judge Delia squelches up her mouth then switches her stare from the lawyer to me. But not in time to see me stifle a gasp. I didn’t think I’d be asked this directly. Bracken knew I wouldn’t guarantee him a positive answer if he asked me on the stand if I thought Joy was guilty or innocent, because we discussed it and I told him I couldn’t be certain that it’s not Joy in that footage. But he also told me that Jonathan Ryan wouldn’t ask this question either. Because it would be just too darn risky for him. If I say right now that, ‘No, I don’t think that’s Joy Stapleton in that CCTV footage’, then I’d blow this case wide open. But if I say I do think it’s her, then my testimony here really would and should be regarded as redundant by the judge. I feel my bullishness slip away from me as I wait on her to make her mind up. I hope she doesn’t make me answer that question.
‘I’ll allow it,’ she says. ‘I feel that question specifically pertinent to this witness given the testimony she has offered today. You may answer, Mrs Gleeson.’
I look over the rim of the paper cup at Joy as I gulp down the last of my water. She stares back at me, accompanying it with a sombre pursing of her lips. Jesus, I’ve obsessed about her face for years. Obsessed about this case. It was the case I cut my teeth on as a detective. The case that made me realise the whole system is flawed from top to bottom. I’ve read every word ever written about this case; have even read the transcripts of the original trial three times. There can’t be many people – if anyone – who knows it in more depth than I do. Truth be known, there simply is no evidence that links Joy Stapleton to this crime. By the time the bodies were found, all forensic evidence had long since weathered away. This whole case comes down to those three seconds of CCTV footage – footage I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for years. I’ve even dreamt about it. And in the dream, the hooded figure in the CCTV stops walking, then turns around to stare up to the CCTV camera to wave at me… And yet every time she does, the fecking face is always just a blur. Truth be known, I simply – like everybody else – can’t know for certain if it is Joy under that hoodie. Though I have to say, I can see why people find the defence of “coincidence” difficult to swallow.
‘Mrs Gleeson, would you like me to repeat the question?’ the lawyer asks, growing in impatience as I continue to hide behind my paper cup. ‘Do you or do you not think it is just a coincidence that somebody with the exact unique hoodie as Mrs Stapleton happened to be walking close to where her sons’ bodies were found on the night we believe them to have been murdered?’
‘I’m no expert on coincidences,’ I say, taking the cup away from my mouth. ‘I have no experience in coincidence. I do, however, have experience in investigative work. And I believe that the investigation that led to Joy Stapleton’s arrest was flawed. That’s all I’m prepared to testify.’
2,635 days ago…
Joy wobbled herself into the canteen, now flanked – as she had been for the past two months – by only one officer, before pausing. None of her pals were at their usual bench. She glanced around and, sweeping the curls away from her face, placed her palm against her forehead, confused.
‘They’re all in the kitchen,’ one of the elderly prisoners told her.
So, Joy removed her hand from her forehead, offered the back of the elderly woman’s head a grateful nod and paced around the back of the counter until she swept open the double doors that led to the kitchen.
They were all gathered around a bench. It was Lizzie who looked up first.
‘Oh no, she’s here,’ she said.
Then the whole group looked up from the bench to see Joy’s confused expression heading towards them.
‘Surprise!’ they yelled in unison, stepping aside and showing Joy the half-iced cake that was slopped onto the bench.
‘Congrats, sista,’ Christy said, squeezing Joy’s shoulder ‘We’re one year in today. You’ve come a long way, girl. I’m proud o’ ya.’
They ate cake for breakfast, washed down with lukewarm tea, and then Joy sat in the television room with Christy, not only looking backwards about how far they’d come during their year inside together, but looking forwards, to their fight to get Joy’s double-life sentence overturned.
It only took Christy to reveal that the visions she saw under that pink hoodie had brown hair, brown eyes and a pale face, before Joy was accusing Lavinia Kirwan of killing her boys. Though her best friend had long been on her radar as a suspect – especially after Lavinia had testified against Joy in the original trial; saying that Joy was suffering mentally in the lead up to the boys’ disappearance.
But to make absolutely sure, Joy made Christy go deeper into her visions, to see if a glint of green was in those eyes, like the glint Joy knew Lavinia had in hers; and to see if there was a tiny mole on the side of the figure’s neck much like the one Lavinia had. Each time Christy went deeper into her vision, under pleas from Joy, she came back only further determining within Joy’s mind that it was indeed her best friend who had murdered Oscar and Reese.
They began the ‘Joy Stapleton is Innocent’ campaign; a campaign that was supported by about one-third of Elm House, as
well as, bizarrely, about one-third of the population outside of the prison’s walls.
Although most were sympathetic to Joy’s plight, the theory of Lavinia being the killer never really made it past the confines of the prison without being met by derision. Mostly because Lavinia had a rock-solid alibi for the night in question.
By this stage Joy was settling comfortably into prison life, if it weren’t for the cold. For some reason she felt colder than the rest of the prisoners, and often wore two sweat tops to wander around the landings of Elm House. She was still being flanked by one prison officer, though most in the wing felt that was largely unnecessary as, by this stage, nobody wanted to harm Joy more so than they wanted to harm any of the other prisoners. Yes, there was a split between Nancy’s Cohorts and Christy’s Crazies, but physical attacks were pretty much non-existent in Elm House, save for the odd square-up in the games room when somebody felt the rules were being flaunted. Both factions had learned to live together, the only real tension coming when Nancy and Christy happened to confront each other. But they were both prison-wise and aware of their aging years. So, nothing untoward happened between them, bar a tense silence that would eventually be filled. Joy felt uncomfortable by the manner in which Nancy would stare her up and down and lick her lips when Christy wasn’t around, but she had long since stopped feeling intimidated.
The Coincidence (The Trial Trilogy) Page 6