In the living room her head was thrown back in the chair, the fingers of her right hand still reaching out to grasp the glass that Daniel had removed.
Daniel stood with his hands on his hips for a moment and sighed. He turned off the television and put the guard across the fire. He turned out the light beside her chair then took her hand and helped her forward until he could get an arm underneath her shoulder.
‘No, leave me, love, leave me,’ she protested.
But he lifted her up, put her arm over his shoulder and walked her, a hand by her waist, out of the living-room door and upstairs. Twice he had to stop and steady himself, one foot behind him on the lower step, when she leaned back into him, but he got her upstairs and then lowered her on to her bed, where she lay with her lips parted and her torso twisted so that her feet were on the floor.
Daniel knelt and unlaced her boots, slipped them off and then her big wool socks. He was always amazed by the smallness of her feet. He loosened her blouse and peeled the cardigan from her, then took the clasp from her hair, allowing her long grey curls to spill over the pillow.
He took her feet and slipped them under the covers, lifted her shoulders a little and centred her on the pillow, before pulling the quilt over her.
‘You’re a good lad,’ she whispered to him, when he was still leaning over her. Always she would do this: surprise him with her consciousness. ‘I love you, so I do.’
He tucked her in, and turned off the light.
‘G’night, Mam,’ he whispered, in the near dark.
25
It was the second week of Sebastian’s trial. Daniel was deliberately not reading the newspapers, but he was distracted by a story that he glimpsed over someone’s shoulder on the Tube. When he reached St Paul’s he ran into a newsagent’s where he picked up a copy of the Mail and flicked through it. On page six there was his photograph. He was frowning; it was a shot taken at the entrance to the Old Bailey. The headline read: THE MAN WHO WANTS TO FREE THE ANGEL KILLER. The report also mentioned Irene.
Daniel put the paper back on the rack. When he arrived at court, it was just before nine. The crowds outside the Old Bailey had not lessened since the trial began. A policeman shielded Daniel as he tried to enter the court, a cup of coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other.
‘Mr Hunter, what’s the defence going to be?’ a journalist shouted, and Daniel turned in case he recognised the man, but it was not the journalist who had called at his flat. ‘Would you say the Crown’s winning?’
The crowd jostled around the reporter.
*
Inside the Old Bailey, Daniel straightened his shoulders and walked towards Court Thirteen, looking up at the ornate, painted walls of the court. He saw Irene minutes before the judge came in. She tapped his shoulder as she passed, and bent down to whisper, ‘Bastards,’ so close that her voice tickled his ear. He knew she had seen the article.
‘They don’t know how they pervert justice,’ she said. ‘How dare they be judge and jury?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Daniel whispered back. ‘Good luck.’
‘The Crown calls John Cairns.’
John Cairns was a man uncomfortable in a suit. Daniel could see from the way the suit pulled at the shoulders that Cairns felt constricted. The man stepped into the witness box and took a sip of water before looking at the jury, at the judge and then at Gordon Jones with his sharp upturned jaw, who was addressing him.
‘Mr Cairns, you work at the Barnard Park Adventure Playground, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please can you state your role, and how long you have been employed there?’
‘I am one of the play managers, and I’ve worked there for the last three years.’ His voice was thick, as if he were nervous or recovering from a cold.
The court was freshly convened and rapt.
‘Mr Cairns, can you tell us about the morning of Monday 9 August this year?’
Mr Cairns sniffed, and leaned on the witness box for support. ‘I was first in. I’m always first. I opened up as usual and then made a cup of coffee. I always check the yard on Monday, in case any of the ropes are loose or … usually I need to tidy up some litter, so I did that next. It was while I was doing that that I found … the child’s body.’
‘The body was later identified as that of the victim, Benjamin Stokes. Can you confirm for us the exact location of the body when you found it?’
‘It was partially hidden under the small wooden playhouse that we have in the playground, in the far corner near Barnsbury Road and Copenhagen Street.’
‘At this point I would direct you to page fifty-three in the jury bundle. You will see here a map of the playground with the areas identified by numbered and lettered squares. Please can you tell us the approximate location on this map?’
‘E3.’
‘Thank you. Was the body immediately obvious to you?’
‘No, not at all. I saw there was something there, but to be honest I just thought it was a plastic carrier bag or something, litter that had got caught by the trees near the fence …’
There was a gasp from the gallery. Daniel glanced up to see Mrs Stokes lean forward, a hand over her mouth. Her husband pulled her into him, but she was now inconsolable and had to be taken out. Sebastian sat up straight with his hands folded in his lap. He seemed interested in the evidence of the play manager and also strangely pleased by Mrs Stokes’s breakdown. Daniel put a hand on his back to ask him to turn round, when he turned to watch Mrs Stokes go.
Kenneth Croll was in court, and he leaned forward then, rising out of his seat to do so, and poked Sebastian in the back. The thick finger was enough to send Sebastian jolting forward in his seat. Daniel glanced at Croll out of the corner of his eye. Sebastian began scrunching up his eyes again, and rocking slightly, back and forth.
The scribblers in the gallery had noticed. As had the jury.
‘Please continue, Mr Cairns,’ Jones prompted.
‘Well, as I drew nearer, I saw the boy’s trainers and again … my first thought was that they were discarded shoes and trousers that had possibly been thrown over the fence. You get that kind of thing … But as I drew near …’
‘We have photographs of the body as it was when you discovered it. If the jury could refer to page three in their bundle.’
Daniel watched as the jury viewed the photograph, hands over their mouths in distaste, although there was worse to come. Sebastian watched their faces. At the same time he was drawing in biro – a picture of trees.
‘Mr Cairns, I am sorry to press you on this, I know it must be disturbing for you to recall, but if you could continue telling us what you saw.’
‘Well, as I drew near, I saw that it wasn’t a pile of clothes, but rather a small boy, underneath the wooden house.’
‘Immediately you could see that it was a boy?’
‘No, I could see his legs sticking out. His face was well hidden, under the house, but I realised it was a child.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I crawled under the trees and then down on my belly to pull him out from under the wooden house, but as I drew near I realized …’
‘Yes, Mr Cairns?’
‘Well, I realised that he was dead and so I daren’t touch him. I went inside immediately and called the police.’
‘Were you aware that a little boy had gone missing?’
‘Well, I don’t live in the area, but when I came to work in the morning I saw the pictures and I saw the incident van. I hadn’t watched the news. I didn’t know what it was all about …’
‘You just described to us how you accessed the body …’ Jones placed his glasses over his nose and held his notes at arm’s length to read, ‘“crawling … on your belly”.’ He removed his glasses and leaned forward on his lectern. ‘So would it be correct to say that the area where the body was found was difficult for an adult to access?’
‘Very much so, it’s totally overgrown. I think tha
t’s why the body wasn’t spotted. I’m only glad it was me and not one of the kids that found him.’
‘Indeed. When the little boy was identified, did you recognise him?’
‘No. He wasn’t a regular at the playground.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cairns.’
There was the usual hush as Gordon Jones turned towards Irene Clarke. Daniel bit his lip as he waited for her question. He watched her consulting her notes, noticing the tendon defining her long neck.
Jones looked pleased with himself. By trying to show that the murder site was inaccessible to an adult, he had pre-empted the defence’s assertion that the injuries inflicted on Ben required strength difficult to attribute to a child.
Irene leaned on the lectern with both hands and smiled at Mr Cairns with closed lips. Daniel admired her poise.
‘Mr Cairns, you describe the structure under which the victim was found as a wooden house. Could you tell us a little more about it, please?’
‘Well, it’s a small hut or house, raised off the ground on stilts … I suppose you might call it a tree house, but … it’s only a couple of feet off the ground. It’s still surrounded by trees so it gives the kids that kind of feeling. I suppose that’s the idea.’
‘Is this a popular part of the playground for children to play?’
‘Well, sometimes they do play there, but I wouldn’t say it’s popular, no. Because it’s so overgrown, it’s a bit too wild for some of the kids. Quite often there are insects and nettles and such …’
‘My goodness, it sounds to me like a difficult area to reach, even if you were a child?’
‘To some extent. You have to push branches out of the way, maybe get yourself a bit dirty. Most kids don’t mind that though.’
‘So would you say it took you, what … ten minutes to reach the tree house and the victim’s body?’
‘No, less than a minute.’
‘Less than a minute? For a grown man to push through all this greenery?’
‘Yes, I would say so.’
‘So it is not the case that this area of the park is accessible only to children?’
‘No, we couldn’t have that. We supervise all the play and so we need to be able to get into all the corners, in case kids are in trouble.’
‘Might it even be the case that some children would have difficulty reaching the house, possibly if they lacked the strength to hold the branches back?’
‘Well, yes, that might be the case, but most of the children just crawl in under the trees. An adult would have to push the trees back.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cairns, nothing further.’
After the break, Daniel noted Kenneth Croll sitting far back in his chair, glaring at Sebastian. The boy turned away from his father, looking down at the table, as if shamed. Daniel had found a word-search in one of the newspapers that had been left in the common room. He placed it in front of Sebastian, turning to glance and nod at Croll.
Sebastian dipped his head and took the lid off his pen and began to circle the words, intent. Daniel observed the boy’s fragile neck: the nape with its tapering baby hairs. He had watched grown men weep at their trials and wondered what strength allowed Sebastian to maintain such concentration and composure.
The video screens were being checked. Madeline Stokes was in tears. Her face was white and twisted, and Daniel had to look away. He had seen their family liaison officer explaining something to them during the break. Mr Stokes had been nodding, his face dark. Daniel could guess what they were being told. The pathologist, police witnesses and forensic scientists were next to be called. The solicitor would have explained that the photographs of the body were all necessary and that they needed to be projected in order to highlight details, but that the parents did not have to remain in court. Possibly Mr Stokes had identified his son’s body: confirming a birthmark on the shoulder, or the shape of Ben’s feet.
Now he did not turn to comfort his wife as she cried, or pass her a handkerchief when she opened her handbag in search of a tissue. Only his eyes belied his pain; they searched the courtroom, every corner, every face, as if silently asking why.
‘Are they going to show a movie?’ asked Sebastian.
‘No, they’ll be showing some pictures of …’ Daniel stopped himself from saying the body, remembering Sebastian’s fascination. ‘The other side’s lawyers will have some experts to explain what they think happened to the victim. I expect they’ll want to point things out on the screen …’
Sebastian smiled and nodded, put the lid on his pen and clasped his hands. It was as if a show was about to begin.
The afternoon began with police evidence: photographs of the child’s body, found flat on his back, arms at his sides. Sergeant Turner, who had interviewed Sebastian, went into the witness box. Footage was shown of Sebastian being questioned – refusing to admit that he had hurt Ben in any way. Jones took the rest of the afternoon to question Sergeant Turner, while playing footage of Sebastian talking about the blood on his clothes, and breaking down in tears. Jones also lingered over Sebastian’s bravado in the face of questioning and his logical explanations for the forensic evidence being on his person. The jury seemed to be left with the impression that Sebastian was clever and manipulative beyond his years.
It was the next morning before Irene was able to properly cross-examine the police sergeant. The court seemed heavier and more quiet than usual, as if everyone was still shocked by the sight of the young boy sobbing in police custody from the day before. He had seemed so small on the tapes.
‘Sergeant, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr Rankine’s statement, if that’s OK?’ Irene began.
‘Of course,’ said the sergeant. Under the bright courtroom lighting, his face seemed red, almost angry, yet he smiled at Irene.
‘We have heard from the pathologist that the victim could have been attacked any time on the afternoon of 8 August … four, five, even nearer six o’clock. Mr Rankine stated that he saw a person in a pale blue or white top seemingly attacking the victim around three thirty or four in the afternoon. What did you do to confirm the identity of this white attacker?’
‘A white top belonging to the defendant has been submitted into evidence. The witness seemed confident that he saw a boy matching the description of the defendant earlier in the day – which the defendant admits – and then later on.’
‘I see,’ said Irene, turning and raising her hand to the jury. ‘But of course!’ She turned to face the sergeant. ‘Your defendant had a white top and admits squabbling with the victim around two. No need for you to do anything further. No need to investigate whether or not there was another attacker, possibly an adult in a pale blue top …’
‘Miss Clarke,’ said Baron, with another crumpled smile, ‘do you intend to pose a question to the witness?’
‘Yes, m’lord. Sergeant, did the witness become convinced he saw a child in a white top because your colleagues suggested that you had someone of that description in custody?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Miss Clarke, I would have expected better from a young QC,’ chastised the judge.
Daniel glanced at Irene but she was undaunted. She had a tilt to her chin as if in challenge.
‘Sergeant Turner,’ she continued, ‘Mr Rankine has admitted in court that he may in fact have seen an adult wearing a blue or white top. Regardless of whether the defendant owned a white top, can you tell us what you did to trace this sighting of someone attacking the victim late in the afternoon at a time when my client has an alibi?’
‘We did examine CCTV footage, but could not confirm anyone in the playground at the time … in fact for the entire afternoon and early evening.’
‘Does that mean that a pale-blue-shirted adult did not attack the victim that afternoon?’
‘No, nor does it prove that your client did not attack the victim that afternoon.’
‘And why is that?’
Sergeant Turner coughed. ‘Well, the TV cameras were ma
inly aimed at the surrounding streets during the afternoon and not turned on the park for sufficient time to allow a sighting … Basically the attack was not on camera, neither was the fight the boys had earlier, to which the defendant has already admitted.’
‘How convenient.’ Again Irene turned to the jury. ‘The cameras were not pointed at the park in the afternoon, a witness spots a white-or pale-blue-shirted person attacking the victim, you have a child in custody who owns a white shirt, so that’s that …’
‘A white shirt marked with the victim’s blood,’ said Sergeant Turner, interrupting her, raising his voice.
Daniel felt the courtroom bristle as Irene again tilted her chin to the attack.
‘When the CCTV footage proved useless, what else did you do to find the late afternoon attacker?’
‘As I said, forensic evidence convinced us that we had our man.’ Turner paused and seemed to blush, as if in recognition of the inappropriateness of his language.
‘You had your man,’ repeated Irene. ‘I see. You had a very small boy in custody, and a witness who told you that he saw someone in a pale blue or white top attacking the victim around four o’clock …’
Again Turner interrupted Irene. ‘The witness said he saw a boy … the same boy from the afternoon.’
Daniel could sense that the jury were displeased by the sergeant shouting at Irene.
‘I see, so you had a match …’ Irene turned to the witness and paused.
‘We didn’t fit him up, he fitted the description.’ Turner’s face was now very red.
‘What if I was to tell you that Mr Rankine testified to being myopic, and that he now considers he may have seen an adult that afternoon, would you still consider that you had a match?’
‘Yes, the forensic evidence speaks for itself.’
‘I would say your lack of police work speaks for itself. If there is a chance that the witness did see an adult attack the victim, do you not consider it reasonable to do everything in your powers to locate this person?’
‘We conducted a thorough investigation. The defendant matched the description given by the witness, and was later found to have the victim’s blood on his clothes.’
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