‘So,’ Jonathan Ryan says. ‘She was tired?’
‘Yes. And apart from her not getting a great amount of sleep due to the night feeds or whatever, Oscar in particular was high-maintenance for Joy, even in the daytime. He needed constant attention. It drained her.’
Hell, Oscar used to drain me. And I only had to see him a couple of hours a week. He was just one of those annoying little boys with one of those high-pitched voices that would never stop asking question after question after question. He’d even ask questions he already knew the answers to, just to get attention. But I can’t say that out loud. Course I can’t. Ye can’t speak ill of the dead. Especially not the young dead.
‘Thank you for being so honest,’ Ryan says. ‘Now, to move on slightly… when Oscar and Reese were reported missing, you helped out with combing the streets in search of the boys, correct?’
‘That is correct.’
‘By this stage, you didn’t suspect Mrs Stapleton, right?’
‘No. I didn’t. I genuinely believed her. I thought someone had taken them – that they’d been snatched. I prayed every day and every night for them to come home safely. It didn’t cross my mind at all that they were dead, lying in a ditch in the Dublin mountains.’
‘So, when did you become suspicious that your best friend was involved?’
‘It was dawning on me as time went on… but when the bodies were found, I immediately said to my brother, “I bet she did it. I’m sure she did it.” Then a while later the CCTV footage was made public and as soon as I saw it… and I mean this from the bottom of my heart… as soon as I saw that footage, I pointed at the screen and said, ‘That’s her! That’s Joy!’
The courtroom falls eerily silent. Just as Jonathan Ryan had told me it would after I’d said that line. I’m not saying it for effect or anything like that. I’m saying it because it’s true. I know Joy. I know that’s her in that CCTV footage.
‘Well, that is very powerful testimony, Ms Kirwan, indeed. Before I let you go though, there is something else I must ask. About five years ago, your name came up as a possible suspect in this case, correct?’
I offer a light snigger into the microphone.
‘Yes.’
‘By whom?’
‘Joy. From prison. I’m not quite sure where her head was at then, I hadn’t seen her in years. I just remember seeing it online somewhere, that Joy was trying to scream from prison that I was the woman under the pink hood all along.’
‘Now, the defendant has chosen not to testify at her own retrial here, so she can’t answer this herself, but do you know where she got that theory from?’
‘I had my lawyer look into it, to try to get some answers. Apparently, Joy was making this noise through the Joy is Innocent campaign from within the prison. But when my lawyers spoke to some people, they couldn’t get much info on where her theory originated from. Apparently one of prisoners just dreamt it up or something and tried to convince Joy of it. It all came out of nowhere.’
‘And of course, this theory proves Mrs Stapleton was not making any sense, right?’
‘Yeah. This is more proof that she’s not of sound mind. The police did look at me in the days after Oscar and Reese went missing; they looked into all of us. Of course they did. But I was at the cinema the night they went missing. I was on a date with a bloke called Andy Harkness, and we had drinks afterwards… So…’
‘So, the police ruled you out?’
‘They did indeed. They checked everything, and in fact I rechecked everything after Joy started making stuff up about me from prison. On the night Joy killed and buried Oscar and Reese in the mountains, and when she was caught on those three seconds of CCTV footage, I, myself, was caught on a CCTV camera going into the cinema, and coming out of the cinema two hours later. Then there is more footage of me walking up Parnell Street and then going into Murray’s pub on O’Connell Street at 10:45 p.m. and leaving at just gone one-thirty a.m.–my whole night is accounted for.’
‘Thank you so much for your time, Ms Kirwan,’ Jonathan Ryan says. Then he makes his way back to his desk and offers me an approval of my performance by winking at me subtly.
‘Mr Bracken,’ the judge calls out. And suddenly Bracken is on his feet before I can even take a sip of water to compose myself.
‘Ms Kirwan, can you state for the record what your occupation is?’
‘Mine?’
Bracken nods his head, showing me his bright-white veneers. The cheesy prick.
‘Eh… well right now I work in a shop, as a shop assistant, I guess. Before that I worked in a bookies. I worked as a cleaner. I was also a receptionist in Fullams Accountancy once.’
‘Ah… so lots of different career paths, yes?’
‘You could say that, yes.’
‘Yet despite your many careers, you were never a detective, right?’
I tut.
‘No.’
‘So, you don’t know Joy is guilty with any degree of certainty, do you?’
‘I know it was her.’
‘Well, let me stop you there, Ms Kirwan. Are you saying you knew Joy was capable of murdering her two sons?’
‘No. I’m not saying I knew beforehand. Of course not.’
‘Exactly. So, you didn’t know she was going to do it in the same way that you don’t know in the aftermath. What definitive proof do you have to suggest Joy Stapleton is guilty? Any forensic evidence this court doesn’t know about? Any eye witnesses the court have yet to hear from who saw the crime?’
‘No.’
‘No. So, you can’t know with a degree of certainty that Joy was involved in these murders at all, can you?’
I take a sip of my water. And as I do, I take in the state of his leathery orange skin as he stands staring up at me from just below the witness box. Jonathan Ryan told me Bracken would lay it on thick with me. I just didn’t know he’d look so smug while doin’ it.
‘I know in the way only a best friend would know.’
‘Hardly definitive proof of murder is it?’ he replies, the grin still on his face. ‘Okay, so let’s move on slightly. I need to ask you this question, Ms Kirwan – and I guess the answer is in the title I just called you – you are not married, have never married, is that correct?’
I silently tut again.
‘I don’t see what this has to do with anything.’
‘Answer the question, Ms Kirwan,’ the judge says, kinda bluntly at me.
‘Eh… no. I have never married.’
‘Never had any children? Never been a mother?’
Ah. I see where he’s going. I cough into my fist, then take another sip of water.
‘No. I haven’t been married and have never had any children… So?’
‘So, you have no first-hand experience of the ailments you accuse Mrs Stapleton of having after she had given birth to two boys, have you?’
‘Ailments?’
‘You suggested here today that Mrs Stapleton was suffering with some mental health fragilities in the weeks leading up to Oscar and Reese Stapleton being reported missing, yes?’
‘Yes. And?’
‘And, I am asking if you have any first-hand experiences of these post-partem mental health fragilities you accuse her of having?’
‘Well, obviously not if I’ve never had kids.’ I tut. And because I do it loudly, I look up at the judge to see if she is going to snap at me. She frowns over her glasses, then diverts her eyes back to Bracken.
‘Do you have any academic qualifications in post-partem depressions, Ms Kirwan?’
I huff silently though my nose. I knew the cross-examination would end up as an examination of me. But I’m not the one on trial here. She is. She’s the murderer. All I’m guilty of is not reporting to Shay that she was acting all strange before she killed her boys… before it was too late.
‘No, of course I’ve no qualifications in post-partem depression.’
‘Right. So, you have no first-hand experience, and no qualifications
in post-partem depression. And you have no qualifications in detective work. Yet, despite all that, you think you are capable of solving the country’s biggest ever crime, yes?’
‘I know Joy better than anyone!’
‘Really? Did you ever live with Joy?’
‘No.’
‘Ever marry her?’
‘Course not.’
‘Ever carry her children?’
‘Objection!’
‘No need, Your Honour, I’m done,’ Bracken says. The tangerine-coloured cunt. I could strangle him. I see what he’s doing. Trying to suggest Shay knew Joy better than I did and that means his testimony should hold stronger than mine. Gerd Bracken should be ashamed of himself. Defending her. Making it out as if she’s innocent. She’s a fucking murderer. There’s no doubt about it in my mind whatsoever… and there shouldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind. That is Joy in that CCTV footage. There is no such thing as a fucking coincidence in this case.
1,625 days ago…
Aidan told Joy, in confidence, that the Governor had mentioned in passing that he wouldn’t have sanctioned Christy Jabefemi’s release the year previous had he known it would cause such a dramatic turn in Elm House. Her presence had ensured a somewhat peaceful ambience on the wing; extraordinary given that some of the most notorious inmates in the country were incarcerated there. Although Christy was a bat-shit crazy meth head in the eyes of almost all of the staff, they were aware that her athletic physique and bulbous bloodshot eyes made her an intimidating prospect for the other inmates. Even Nancy Trott.
‘I told him it was getting out of hand on the wing now, but there’s not much he can do – resources are stretched,’ Aidan said.
‘It’s not that bad here, is it?’ Joy shrugged, unable to look him in the eye.
She was glad that Aidan was back confiding in her. He had steered away from his friendly banter with Joy ever since she took it too far and tried to kiss him. But whilst she appreciated his rekindled support, she didn’t want him coming this close to her. Not because she may feel an urge to kiss him again, but because Nancy had warned her to stay well away.
‘I know you fancy the pants off him, but he’s one of them, d’ya hear me?’ Nancy had said to her numerous times over the past months. ‘I know how these guys operate… been around the block too many times. They pretend to be all pally-pally with you so they can get you to open up, then they’re sneaking back to the Gov and spewing everything you said. Aidan doesn’t like you, Joy. Not the way you like him. Besides, he likes dick. Not pussy. S’what I heard anyway. If he comes up to you to talk, just keep your mouth shut and walk away.’
Aidan wasn’t the only person Nancy had tried to turn Joy against.
‘She was a junkie clown,’ she had said of Christy. ‘You thought she was protecting you all in here, she wasn’t. She was deluded. Is back out on the streets now high as a kite, I hear. Bitch could never be trusted. Somehow you fell for her shit. Hell, I even saw you doing prayers with her. And the talk is she was only getting close with you so she could sell a story on you when she got out.’
Joy didn’t have the inclination, nor the energy to ask Nancy why, if that was the case, Christy hadn’t yet sold her story, despite being out for over a year. So, she just silently sighed instead. Which was becoming a regular tic for Joy. Her energy levels were low; lower than ever. She was fatigued by her role as Nancy’s second-in-command. And as a result, she became insular, and mute; doing more listening than she did talking because Nancy’s orders were so plentiful and exhausting. So, rather than arguing or even talking back, Joy just nodded along and did as she was told.
Nancy would hold court first thing in the morning, inside the dining-room, ensuring all prisoners sat together and not in cliques. Then she’d bang on the soup pot with her wooden spoon, call everybody’s attention and introduce new prisoners or rattle off a eulogy or two about those who had just been released. The contents of what Nancy would talk about, openly in the dining room to every prisoner as well as the prisoner officers on duty, seemed genuinely caring and inclusive. But Joy knew better than anybody by now that that was all just a front. All Nancy was doing by coming across as the caring leader of the wing was getting everybody onside, so that they wouldn’t rat her out.
Nancy had been smuggling in valuable prison assets; from sweets to mobile phones. She’d come up with the plan when bored out of her head in isolation at the start of the year. An associate of hers in the outside world had come into contact with one of the screws on another wing whom she had a hold over. He was bringing the phones and treats into the prison and then placing them into a marked laundry basket which one of the prisoners would eventually wheel to Joy’s cell. Joy would then be tasked with distributing the goods to prisoners who had already paid Nancy in advance. It was a terribly dangerous game for Joy to get involved in, especially as she could have been housing anything up to a thousand euros worth of phones at any one time, but she had no choice in the matter. It was to her advantage that the screws in Elm House would never have thought of Joy getting involved in such affairs and that she would never be considered suspicious. Though that had actually been a part of Nancy’s plan all along – getting goody-goody Joy Stapleton involved as her distributor. That way they’d never get caught.
‘What the fuck were you doing talking to him?’ Nancy asked, appearing in Joy’s cell doorway.
‘I, eh… he, eh… he just came to talk to me… that’s all. I can hardly kick him out of my cell.’
‘What did he want to talk to you about?’
Joy shook her curls.
‘Nothing really. He just said I look tired and that…’
‘And what?’
‘And that if I was having any trouble that I should come talk to him.’
Nancy stepped towards Joy, pressing her fat tits against her.
‘I’ve told you before. Don’t—’
‘Talk to Aidan. I know. I get it, Nancy. It’s just… what can I do when he comes to my cell?’
Joy shrugged her shoulders and then Nancy snarled up the corner of her lips before spinning on her heels.
‘Okay, come in Tina,’ she whispered.
Tina appeared, the cold sores on her lips looking nastier than ever, pushing a laundry basket into Joy’s cell.
‘Not more phones,’ Joy said, almost sighing. ‘I just got rid of six for you on Monday.’
‘Relax,’ Nancy said, placing a hand to the back of Joy’s neck.
‘We’ve been providing the whole fucking prison with phones for six months now, everybody’s practically got one. Orders are drying up. Besides,’ she said, squeezing at Joy’s neck, ‘the phones were only a trial run.’
‘Trial run. Trial run for what?’
Then Nancy nodded at Tina and Tina removed the dirty laundry sheets from the top of the basket.
‘Oh, for fuck sake,’ Joy said. ‘What is that?’
‘Meth,’ Nancy whispered. ‘The purest meth available on Dublin’s streets right now. Well… was available on Dublin’s streets. Cos we’ve just done the cops a great turn by taking it off the streets. And now it’s gonna be your job, Joy, to hold it here in your cell, before you distribute it to the prisoners on my orders. This,’ she said, slapping her hands to both of Joy’s cheeks, ‘is gonna make us a lot of money.’
‘You a lot of money,’ Joy said, ‘I don’t see a cent.’
Nancy grinned.
‘No… us a lot of money. Only your share pays for your protection, doesn’t it?’ Then she slapped Joy on both cheeks again, only harder this time, before she turned on her heels.
‘Now, find a good hiding place for that stuff somewhere in here. And don’t get fuckin’ caught with it.’
1,624 days ago…
Joy had delivered two small bags to a prisoner from Maple House while she was out in the yard after lunch. But the majority of the meth was still taped to the underside of the toilet bowl in the corner of her cell.
She wasn’t overly stressed
about it – it may as well be meth as phones. If she was caught, there was very little that could be done about it, aside from the goods being confiscated. Joy was serving two life sentences after all… what were they gonna do? Add an extra couple of months for drug possession?
‘How long ya inside now, Joy?’ Tina asked, showing her gummy teeth.
‘Four years in September.’
‘Jeez, is it that long, love? Fuck, I remember your trial. Was in the papers and all over the news for weeks… months.’
‘Years!’ Joy said, unmoving, still staring at the concrete floor of the TV room, which was all she seemed to really do when mixing with the other inmates these days.
‘No offence. And I know we aren’t really supposed to question prisoners on whether or not they’re guilty, cos it’s what’s-the-word…?’
‘Prison code,’ one of the prisoners offered up.
‘Yeah… it’s code. But I have to say, I didn’t know what to believe in your case, Joy. It was a real did-she, didn’t-she, ye know what I mean?’ Those sitting around nodded their heads, but they didn’t offer their opinion. ‘I thought you did it, I have to say… but now that I’ve met you in here. I’m not so sure. You seem too quiet to be a killer.’
‘Thought killers normally were quiet,’ one of the elderly women said.
‘Suppose,’ Tina replied, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Anyway, what’s going on with your appeal… haven’t seen you shouting about your innocence in a long time. Weren’t you saying it was yer old best mate or somethin’ that killed your boys? That’s gone all quiet…’
The Coincidence (The Trial Trilogy) Page 15