“Your Honour,” the prosecutor said, “the witness is quite clearly speculating.”
“Your Honour,” Paul barked. “I fail to see how an expert witness in blunt cranial trauma who is describing the pathological and physiological responses from a blow to the head can be said to be speculating.”
“I agree. Thank you, Miss Revell,” Judge Watling said. Miss Revell sat back down in her chair, looking defeated. One of her colleagues put a hand on her shoulder and leaned forward to say something in her ear. Whatever he said, Miss Revell didn’t agree with it and her face turned even sourer.
“Dr Klein, thank you. Would you now explain to the jury what happens when blows which are hard enough to break the skull are delivered?” Paul asked.
“Yes, certainly. The egg analogy is another useful one in this case. If you imagine hitting an egg hard enough to break the shell, the egg white then stops protecting the yoke, or the brain. Once the protective layer of the skull is breached, the brain can be disrupted much in the same way that an egg yolk can break, spilling its contents. If the area of disruption includes an area of the brain which is crucial to life itself, then this can have fatal results.”
On the jury bench, Ella was holding a tissue to her mouth, and Minnie had gone a deathly pale colour. As I watched, the juror next to her leaned across to comfort her. I wondered if I should say something to Laura, or get her attention somehow. The poor woman on the jury bench didn’t look well at all.
“The hypothalamus is one such area,” Dr Klein continued, oblivious to the plight of Gloria and Minnie, which surprised me. “It controls the heart rate and respiratory rate. If the damage to this area is severe enough, then the heart stops beating and respiration ceases. Life itself ceases.” As Dr Klein spoke these words, there was a genuine look of sadness on her face. I glanced back across the jury to see many of them frowning, one or two wearing the same expression as Dr Klein’s. Ella let out a loud sob, and the juror next to her put her arm around her shoulder.
“Your Honour,” Paul said in a soft voice. “Perhaps now would be a good time to take a break?”
42
When we all re-entered the courtroom about half an hour later, both Gloria and Minnie were looking a bit better, but still pretty ropey. A few of the other jurors glanced in my direction as they filed back into their seats, but it was impossible for me to read their expressions. One of them, Mark, who I’d pitched to in my testimony, looked almost sympathetic. Dr Klein took her seat and looked at Paul, her eyebrows raised.
“Now Dr Klein, as you know, there were some anomalies in the timelines of the night in question,” Paul said. “My client has put forward one version of these timelines, while my learned colleagues and the police have put forward another. I’m keen to see what the forensic evidence says.” Paul paused, and looked at the jury before returning to Dr Klein. “Could you tell us what you found when you reviewed the results of the post-mortem?” During the break, the television and laptop had been put back into position. Dr Klein raised the remote control in the direction of the screen, but paused before pressing the button.
“Ladies and gentlemen, some of these images are, I’m afraid, rather graphic,” Dr Klein said in a quiet voice. “I apologise in advance for having to show them, but I can’t explain things to you properly unless I do.” Some of the jurors nodded as she looked at them, and I saw Ella close her eyes for a brief second before opening them again and taking a deep breath. She looked directly at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. I held her gaze for a second before looking down as Laura had told me to do if any of the jurors stared at me. ‘Try to look penitent and repentant,’ Laura had said before having to explain what those words meant.
Dr Klein pressed the button on the remote control, and there was an audible gasp from the jury bench. On the screen, in glorious high definition Technicolour, was a close-up image of Robert’s head, much closer than the earlier images which had shown the whole scene. The damage that had been inflicted on his skull was plain to see. Jagged fragments of white bone could be seen poking through bloodstained tissue and hair. Off-white flecks of what could only be brain matter were spattered around the wounds. Whoever had done this hadn’t been messing about at all. I was quite aware that the jury might well still think it had been me, so I looked from the screen straight back down to my lap.
“As you can see here, the skull is severely damaged and the brain itself is disrupted,” Dr Klein said in a matter of fact voice, as if she was describing a damaged plant in her greenhouse. She pressed the button again and the gruesome image was replaced by an x-ray image of what must be Robert’s head. “This is an x-ray image that shows the bony damage underneath all the soft tissue.” As if the previous image hadn’t been dramatic enough, she pressed another button on the remote control and a small red dot from a laser pointer built into the remote danced on the screen. She steadied her hand and located the red dot onto an area at the base of Robert’s skull, using it to draw a rough circle around a shard of bone.
“This area just here is the hypothalamus, the area I was talking about just before our little break. It controls the body’s most basic functions necessary for life, such as heartbeat and respiration.” She paused and looked at the jury before continuing. “As you can see, there is a sharp piece of bone which has gone straight through it. In the post-mortem report, the pathologist highlights this fragment as having completely transected the hypothalamic area.”
“So in other words, that piece of bone killed Mr Wainwright?” Paul asked. I guessed he was trying to make things simple for the jury.
“Well, some of the other injuries are very severe, but yes. That would be a fair statement.”
“And when that piece of bone, what was the phrase you used, transected the hypothalamus?” Dr Klein nodded in response to Paul's question. “That would stop Mr Wainwright’s heartbeat?”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“So up to that point, the point at which that particular blow was struck, Mr Wainwright’s heart was still beating? Do I understand that correctly?” Paul asked. Even though I knew that this was a well choreographed exchange, that made it no less riveting. As I looked over at the jury, I could tell they were as fascinated as I was.
“Probably,” Dr Klein replied.
“Probably?”
“Yes, probably. It’s impossible to say for certain. He could have received a blow before the one that caused the hypothalamus to be transected which was in itself fatal.”
“But if there had been a blow prior to this one which was not fatal, would it be possible to identify that?”
“Yes, I believe it would.”
There was a palpable tension in the courtroom as Dr Klein gave the answer to this question, and I knew instinctively that the next few minutes of her testimony were crucial.
“Could you explain that in a little more detail please, Dr Klein?” Paul said in a low voice. Dr Klein didn’t reply at first, but just pressed a button on the remote control. The picture on the screen changed back to the close-up of Robert’s shattered skull.
“When I read the original trial transcript to prepare for this case, there was an obvious discrepancy between the defendant’s version of events, and the version of events that the prosecution presented.” Dr Klein glanced across at Miss Revell, who didn’t respond. “So I re-examined the evidence with this discrepancy in mind. I wanted to look for evidence of a time lag between the original assault and the fatal blows, to see if it was possible to confirm or deny either version of events from a forensic perspective.”
Dr Klein pressed the button on the remote control again. The screen changed to a close-up of some pieces of tattered flesh.
“This is a highlight of the wounds on the victim’s head.” The red laser dot reappeared, circling a darkened area of tissue. “This area is interesting. There is evidence of some clotting here underneath the skin. A bruise if you will.” She focused the red dot on the darker area. “But the clotted area has then been ov
erlaid with another, far more traumatic, injury. The fact that there is clotting underneath suggests a delay between the blow that caused the clotting, and subsequent wounds.” I risked a glance at the jury. There were one or two nodding heads, which I took as a good sign. “Clotting takes between five and ten minutes to appear, you see,” Dr Klein said.
“So, is that conclusive evidence of a delay between the two injuries?” Paul asked.
“No, it’s not conclusive. It’s highly indicative, but not conclusive.” Dr Klein’s face changed into a wan smile. “Sorry, there are just too many variables involved in soft tissue injuries such as this one,” she said, looking at the jury. “But there is evidence which I believe is conclusive.”
You could have cut the atmosphere in the courtroom with a knife as Dr Klein said this. I couldn’t help but lean forward in anticipation, and as I did so I noticed a few of the jury members doing the same thing. Dr Klein pressed the button again, and the image changed. The change on the screen was accompanied by a few gasps in the courtroom.
“This is a photograph of a slice of the brain taken following the post-mortem of Mr Robert Wainwright,” she said. I was glad I’d had something to eat. Dr Klein waved the red dot around a fuzzy looking area on the picture. It almost looked as if something had gone wrong with the camera taking the picture. “This area is the most damaged area of the brain. What you can see here is disruption to the brain tissue itself. However, that’s not the area I’m most interested in. I’m just going to show you a different version of the same image to make it easier to explain.”
The screen changed to show a black and white image, similar to an x-ray or CT scan. Regardless of whether or not it was easier to explain, it was a lot easier to look at now it wasn’t in glorious Technicolour. Dr Klein repositioned the red dot over a small white circular area on the opposite side of the brain to where the damage was. “This area here is quite normal, and you can see another similar area on the other side. It’s known as white matter and is a part of the brain that passes messages from one part of the brain to another. The darker areas are grey matter and are where all the important bits are. The neural cell bodies, axon terminals, and dendrites, as well as all the nerve synapses, are in these grey parts. Now the interesting thing is—”
“Dr Klein,” Paul interrupted. “Those white and grey areas are normal, you say?” I got the impression that he was throttling her back a touch and reminding her to keep things simple for the jury.
“Well, they look normal in these pictures,” she replied, taking a sip of water from a glass in front of her. “But they’re not.”
“In what way are they not normal?”
“Well, perhaps I should rewind slightly before explaining this next part?” Dr Klein smiled at the jury. “I don’t want to lose anyone.” Several of the jurors returned her smile.
“Please do, Dr Klein.”
“Now, if you remember what I was saying earlier about the brain being bounced about inside the skull. When a blow is struck that doesn’t fracture the skull?” Dr Klein said, looking at the jury. Several of them nodded in response and I realised that I had done exactly the same thing. “The force that is reflected through the inside of the skull affects different areas in different ways, depending on the density of the brain tissue.” She used the laser pointer to draw a circle around the white area on the screen. “These two areas, the white matter and the grey matter, have different densities. They move slightly differently in response to this force and as they do so, there can be small tears in the tissue at the junction of the two types.” Dr Klein was speaking much slower than she had been, and I figured that my suspicion about Paul’s interruption was correct.
Dr Klein took another sip of water before continuing. “I wanted to have a closer look, so I examined this area under a microscope.” She pressed the remote control again, and the screen changed to a mottled grey colour with some red streaks. Frowns appeared on the faces of a few of the jury members as they craned forward to look at the screen. Dr Klein said nothing, but just sat in her chair looking at the screen.
“Dr Klein, could you explain what we are looking at?” Paul said a few seconds later. Dr Klein jumped back into life.
“Yes, these red streaks here,” she said, pointing at the screen with the laser pointer. “They are haemorrhages within the brain tissue. Tiny areas of bleeding between the grey and the white matter, where the tissue has torn.”
“I see,” Paul replied. I was glad he did because I didn’t. “And what is the significance of these haemorrhages?”
“Well, one area of significance is that they are only seen in closed head trauma. If the skull is ruptured, then they won’t occur as the force that’s required to cause them has been dissipated. But that’s not the most important thing,” Dr Klein said. Paul paused, letting the obvious question hang in the air.
“What is the most important thing, Dr Klein?”
“In order for these haemorrhages to form, two things are required. One of them is time. They don’t form immediately.” Another pause from Paul, and another obvious question left to simmer for a second.
“And the other?” Paul asked.
“A heartbeat,” Dr Klein replied. “They need time, and a beating heart. If there is neither, then they won’t form. They can’t form.”
“So how long does the heart need to be beating for after the initial injury for these haemorrhages to form?”
“At least ten minutes, if not longer.”
43
The next morning dawned with blue skies, but it was freezing cold. As I was being led from the door of the prison to the van, the wind tore through me. Even though it was still only November, it felt cold enough to snow but the blue sky said otherwise. I sat on the metal seat in the van, wincing as I did so as the temperature irritated the stitches in my buttock. At least it was only a short journey to the courtroom.
The difference in the temperature between the van and the interior of the court cells when we arrived was enough to make me break out into a sweat. The court heating must have been running at full pelt, and it was much warmer than it had been earlier in the week. Once the holding cell locked behind me, the first thing I did was take off my suit jacket. I was looking around for something to hang it on when I heard a voice behind me.
“Do you want me to hang that up for you?” I turned to see a young man with an earnest expression looking through the bars at me. He was thin, about my height, and dressed in the white shirt and black trousers that so many people who worked in the system seemed to wear. There was an embroidered patch on his shirt with a company logo, some squiggle in red and white that I couldn’t quite make out. Another couple of men in the same uniform were milling about behind him on the other side of the room. “There’s nothing to hang it up on in the cell, you see.” His accent gave him away as being local to Norfolk, and it was too broad for him to be from Norwich itself. “People would only try to hang themselves off of it if we put a hook in there.” He laughed at his own joke, even though it wasn’t very funny. I handed my jacket through the bars of the cell.
“Thank you,” I said as he took the jacket from me. To my surprise, he walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a proper hangar, sliding the jacket onto it and smoothing the fabric as he put the jacket back into the cupboard. I’d been half expecting him to throw it over the back of a chair.
“Do you want a cup of tea or coffee?” the young man called over.
A few minutes later, I was sipping a cup of tea from a polystyrene cup. It was the nicest cup of tea I’d had since before I’d been arrested. The young man — I wasn’t sure quite what to call him — had asked me about milk and sugar, the whole works. He’d even checked that it was the right colour before passing me the cup. That was, I thought, the reason it tasted so good. There was a bit of effort that had gone into it. It wasn’t just a cup of brown muck that had been handed over. I sat in the cell for maybe ten minutes before Mr Jackson came into the room. He stood next to the ma
n who’d made the tea chatting for a few seconds before they both walked over to my cell. Mr Jackson made the other man look even thinner. I knew it wasn’t a fair comparison, but I couldn’t help it.
“You’re on, Mr Dawson,” Mr Jackson said as the man in the white shirt unlocked the door to the cell. I walked through, handing him the empty polystyrene cup. I figured that me walking over and putting it in the bin wouldn’t go down too well with Mr Jackson.
“Thank you very much for the tea,” I said. The young man smiled in return.
“Oh, no problem,” he replied. “I’ll just grab your jacket for you.” As he headed across the room to the cupboard, I looked at Mr Jackson. He stared back at me, with his normal sullen expression.
“Did you have a good evening?” I asked him on the off chance he might speak to me for once. To my surprise, he replied a moment later.
“Yeah, was okay I guess.” That was it, though. It was progress of sorts. I shrugged my way into the suit jacket and followed Mr Jackson up the stairs and into the courtroom.
In the courtroom, the only people that were there when we arrived were Paul and Laura. When they saw me come in and take my seat, they both walked over to speak to me. Paul was dressed in his standard black robes over a dark grey suit, and Laura had her usual business suit on. Her blouse today was cream, not the green one I liked the most, and she had tied her hair up into a French plait. At least, I think that’s what it was called.
“Gareth, my dear boy,” Paul went first. “How are you? I must apologise for not visiting you last night.” He nodded toward Laura. “I’m afraid that we’ve both been rather busy.” I looked across at Laura and a bizarre image of the two of them together, as in properly together, somewhere in a seedy Norwich hotel room came into my head. Despite the unwanted image, I smiled. “I’m confident, you know,” Paul continued. “Really confident.” Laura smiled at me, and I immediately felt bad for the previous thoughts I had about her. I had been in prison for a while, though.
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