Guilty One

by Lisa Ballantyne

  Daniel finished shaving and wiped his face dry. He stood with his hands on the sink staring at his reflection. He saw the line of muscle on his upper arms and, when he held his breath and tensed, the rows of muscle on his abdomen appeared. His chest was hairless apart from one or two hairs around his breastbone, and a sparse triangle below his navel. He ran a hand over his now-smooth jawline. He felt relaxed after his run, but his mind was still troubled.

  Cunningham was proceeding with the sale of the farmhouse. Daniel didn’t want the farm, yet whenever he thought of it, he felt a sharp pang of grief.

  He stared at his face again. He remembered Minnie taking his chin between her forefinger and thumb and telling him he was good-looking. He remembered sweeping all her photographs off the mantelpiece. He remembered her face, twisted with the pain of thinking that she would lose him after all that they had been through together. He missed her, he admitted now. He had missed her even as he stood before her promising that she would never see him again. He had taken out loans and worked in bars in Sheffield at night, determined to finish university without her; determined to prove that he didn’t need her. He had missed her then and he missed her now.

  She had wanted to come to his graduation, but he wouldn’t let her. He had never admitted it to himself before, but he had missed her that day too. He remembered looking anxiously around in case she had come nevertheless. All the other parents were there, brothers, sisters. He had drunk champagne on his own and then snogged one of the waitresses.

  And then he had been working, and Minnie was off his mind. Success came quickly and he paid off his loans and bought the flat in Bow.

  He put both hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward until his brown eyes came into focus. It seemed incomprehensible to him now that he had sustained so much anger towards her, for so long. He had always wanted more from her – repentance had never been enough. He hadn’t considered what she had already lost, before he forced her to lose him too.

  Daniel took a deep breath. With regret so heavy on his mind, he didn’t want to face the day, but he was ready for it.

  In the cell, Sebastian was playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ with the police officer. He was kneeling on his bunk in his jacket and tie, giggling. The jury should see this, Daniel thought: no monster, but a child who still takes delight in childish things.

  ‘Do you want to play, Danny?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘No, we need to go soon.’

  The judge agreed that Sebastian could give evidence, but there was no question that this would be other than via video link. There was no way to gauge how the child would perform on the day, plus there were practical considerations, such as his stature being too short for the witness box, and the necessity of the court to see his facial expressions. The criminal justice system had been criticised enough over the years for its indifference to young people accused of serious crimes and Justice Baron would not open the proceedings to further criticism. The video would be shown in open court but out of view of the gallery.

  Walking to Court Thirteen, Daniel checked his phone. There was a text from Cunningham:

  House contracts to be exchanged end of week. Call me later.

  Daniel stopped on the flagstoned hallway, the stone arches of the old court stretching overhead. Not now. Not now. He breathed out and pressed his lips together. Irene appeared at his side.

  Daniel switched off his phone and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Listen, I want you to keep a close eye on him this morning. If you get any feeling that he’s not coping, we can stop it. He seems to talk to you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not with him. They have a social worker …’

  ‘I know, but we’ll take regular breaks. Check on him.’

  ‘Will do … Good luck,’ said Daniel.

  *

  ‘My lord, I now call … Sebastian Croll.’

  The screen flickered and then Sebastian’s face appeared. He was sitting up straight and wore a thin smile.

  ‘Sebastian?’ said Philip Baron, turning himself round to face the screen.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  Daniel sat back in his chair. Yes, sir. During rehearsal, Sebastian had not been told to address the judge that way. Daniel glanced up at the gallery. It was full today, but restless. Daniel could sense the journalists’ frustration at being unable to see the screen: necks craned and fingers appeared on the edge of the balcony.

  ‘I want to ask you a question. Do you know what it means to tell the truth?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it means you don’t tell any lies.’

  ‘And do you know the difference between the truth and a lie?’

  ‘Yes, the truth is what really happened and a lie is what didn’t.’

  ‘And if you promise today to tell the truth, what do you think

  that means?’

  ‘I must tell the truth.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Baron, to the court. ‘He may be sworn.’

  Irene stood up, ‘I want you to tell us, first of all, about your relationship with Ben Stokes. How long had you known Ben?’

  ‘For about three or four years.’

  ‘And how would you describe Ben, would you describe him as a friend?’

  ‘He was my friend and my neighbour and my schoolmate,’ said Sebastian clearly.

  ‘And did you play with him regularly?’

  ‘I played with him sometimes.’

  ‘How often would you say that was?’

  The projected image of Sebastian was pensive, the large green eyes, turned up to one side, considering the question. ‘Probably about three times a month.’

  ‘And what kind of things would you do together?’

  ‘Well, if we were at school, we might play with a ball or play tig. If we were at home, sometimes he would come to my house or I would go to his, but normally we would play outside.’

  ‘On the day that Ben went missing, Sebastian, did you see him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’

  ‘Well, like I told the police, he was out playing on his bike and I asked him if he wanted to play. We played by our houses for a while, but then we decided to go to the adventure playground.’

  ‘Whose decision was that?’

  ‘Well, it was really a joint decision, I suppose.’

  The judge interrupted, his heavy cheeks colouring with temper. ‘You must slow down, Miss Clarke. You forget I have to note this down!’

  ‘Yes, my lord, getting somewhat carried away … Now, Sebastian, a little slower, did you tell your mother where you were going?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Well, we were just going to the park. It’s only over there, and we would be back before she knew it.’

  Daniel exhaled down his nose. Sebastian had changed the pace of his speech, pausing after every phrase, to allow the judge to take notes.

  ‘What happened when you got to the park?’

  ‘Well, we were running about and chasing each other and then we started to have a play fight, which turned into a bit of a real fight … Ben started calling me names and shoving me … At first I told him to stop it, but he wouldn’t stop at all. So I pushed him back. It was then that the tall man with the dog called over … Mr Rankine.’

  Irene faltered for a moment. Sebastian had remembered the name of the witness.

  ‘He told us to cut it out, and so we did for a little bit – we ran over the crest of the hill.’

  ‘What happened then?’ prompted Irene, clearing her throat.

  ‘Well, we ran into the playground. It was closed, but there’s still a way in. When we got there, we climbed up to the highest part of the climbing frame, but then I started to wonder about my mum. She was having a lie-down ’cause she had a headache. I thought I would go back and check on her …’

  Daniel saw Irene’s shoulders relax. Sebastian was on track.

  ‘But … Ben didn’t want me to go home. He started pushing an
d shoving me again. I was scared that he was going to shove me off the climbing frame. He was punching me in the stomach and pulling my hair and wrestling me. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t so after a while I told him it wasn’t fun any more and I was definitely going home.’

  ‘And then?’ prompted Irene.

  ‘Well, I was about to climb down, but Ben seemed really sad that I was going home. He wanted to stay out. He told me he was going to jump off the climbing frame. I told him to go on then, but I didn’t really think he would do it. I think he wanted to impress me. I’m older than he is,’ Sebastian said, smiling. ‘He wanted to stop me going home …’

  ‘Did Ben jump off?’

  ‘Yes, he jumped down and landed in a bad way. He hit his nose and his forehead and there was some blood. He rolled over on to his back, and I climbed down to help him.’

  ‘How did you help him?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t really. I know a bit of first aid, but not much. I leaned over him, and I tried to stop the blood. His nose was bleeding a lot. It was making his face red … But he was angry with me. He was calling me names again. I didn’t know why because it had been his idea to jump off.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I left him in the playground. I told him I was going to tell his mum that he had hit me and called me names, but I didn’t. I thought I might get into trouble for hitting him back while we were in the park. I feel bad now for leaving him there. I don’t know who hurt him, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t left him like that. I think that I could’ve done something …’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Irene. Daniel could tell from the tone of her voice that she was almost afraid of hearing the answer.

  He’s using the evidence he has heard, thought Daniel. He wants to explain the expirated blood on his shirt. Daniel also wondered if the boy was copying the other witnesses who had expressed regret at doing nothing that day – like Rankine.

  ‘I didn’t know someone would hurt him. If we’d made up and gone home together, maybe he would still be all right.’

  Once again Sebastian looked straight into the camera. Daniel held his breath. The tiny smile had gone, and the green eyes seemed to brim with tears.

  ‘And what time was it when you left Ben in the playground and returned home?’

  ‘I was home about three o’clock.’

  ‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ said Irene.

  When she took her seat, she gave a reassuring look to Mark, her junior, who sat behind, and then raised an eyebrow at Daniel.

  After the break, Gordon Jones stood up to question Sebastian. The boy’s thin smile returned. Daniel leaned forward, transfixed.

  ‘Sebastian, did you hear the police recordings that were played earlier in the trial – recordings of your interviews while you were in custody?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I read now from your statement: We went to the adventure playground and climbed up to the highest parts, but then I had to get home. I thought I would check on my mum, see if she needed her head rubbed. Do you remember telling the police that?’

  On the big screen, Sebastian nodded, unblinking.

  ‘Sebastian?’ said Judge Baron, interrupting again, ‘I know it is probably strange for you to be … on television, so to speak … but if you could enunciate your answers, that would help us greatly. By that I mean …’

  ‘It’s all right, I understand. I can’t nod, I have to say yes.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Baron. The judge gave a small, crumpled smile of appreciation, which he directed at his notes.

  ‘You do remember making that statement to the police, Sebastian?’ prompted Jones.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And it was only later, when the police advised you that they had found Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and shoes, and also advised you that this was expirated blood, that you changed your story, to incorporate the fall and the nosebleed. Is that not correct?’

  ‘I was very frightened at the police station,’ said Sebastian. His eyes were huge, and Daniel stared into them. ‘They took away all my clothes and put me in a white paper suit … They said I couldn’t see my mum – they wouldn’t tell her to come back in – until I had answered all their questions. I got very confused. I just felt really scared.’ Again, the magnified eyes seemed to mist with tears.

  Daniel smiled again to himself. He had great faith in Sebastian to overcome Gordon Jones. The darts of accusation would wound, but they would not take him down. Sebastian had remembered Daniel’s anger when the detectives delayed bringing his mother to the interview room, and was using it to his advantage now in court. Damage had been done by Baird, the psychologist who had been turned by the Crown, but Sebastian was turning his own case around. Daniel had defended adults who lacked the boy’s adroitness.

  ‘Scared or not, you do appreciate that you told the police one thing and then when you realised your story wasn’t holding up, you changed your story … You lied. Is that not true, Sebastian?’

  ‘I don’t think I was actually lying. I was just scared and confused and got things a bit mixed up and forgot some things. I just wanted to see my mum.’

  ‘Sebastian,’ Gordon Jones continued, ‘Benjamin Stokes’s blood was found on your T-shirt, jeans and trainers; your skin was found underneath Ben Stokes’s fingernails and fibres from your jeans were found on the waistband of Ben’s trousers, as if – and I am sure you have heard the pathologist suggest just that – you had straddled him. I ask you, did you strike Ben Stokes in the face with a brick at the playground?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did you hit him in the face causing his eye socket to fracture and inflicting a severe head injury that would result in his death?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Sebastian’s voice was louder now, insistent. His eyes were wide and round.

  ‘I think you are a liar. You admit lying to the police?’

  ‘I was confused. I didn’t lie.’

  ‘And you are lying to us now, are you not?’

  ‘No, sir, no,’ said Sebastian. His head bowed. A tiny hand covered his face. He pushed the knuckle of his forefinger into his eye, as if to stop a tear.

  The court listened for a few moments as the boy sniffed, before the judge addressed the social worker sitting with Sebastian, to ask if a break would be required.

  Daniel watched as the social worker leaned into Sebastian, her face close to his. Sebastian shook his head and drew away from her.

  Jones continued. He leafed through his ring binder and Daniel wondered if he was going to produce more police transcripts.

  He paused longer than seemed necessary. Jones was an actor: poised, holding the moment in the spotlight for as long as possible, drawing all the attention towards him.

  ‘Are you a clever boy, Sebastian?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Do a lot of people think so?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do your teachers think so?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think you’re clever too, Sebastian. I think you’re a very clever little boy …’

  Sebastian smiled at the praise, with lips closed.

  ‘You understand very well what’s going on in court here today, don’t you?’ Jones’s voice was sinister. ‘You understood the doctor talking about Benjamin Stokes’s injuries and about the blood and DNA that was found on your clothes, did you not?’

  Sebastian nodded, carefully, and then said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you watch television, Sebastian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Every day?’

  ‘Almost every day, yes.’

  ‘How many hours of television do you watch every day?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe two or three.’

  ‘What kind of things do you like to watch?’

  ‘Most things.’

  ‘Do you like watching police dramas?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

 
; ‘Crime programmes where they try to find the murderer?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘I see. Are you interested in murder, Sebastian?’

  ‘Everyone’s interested in murder,’ said Sebastian. Daniel held his breath. ‘I mean, there are a lot of TV programmes about it. There wouldn’t be so many if people weren’t interested in it.’

  Daniel exhaled.

  ‘Did you hear the doctor earlier, saying that you had an unhealthy interest … a morbid curiosity, in fact … about blood, death and injury?’

  Jones said each of the words slowly, enjoying the drama as their vowels bludgeoned the room.

  ‘Yes, I did hear, but I didn’t think he knew anything about me. He met me just twice. He doesn’t know what I’m interested in, or what I like or don’t like, or anything.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jones, almost to himself. ‘The expert witness didn’t know anything … yet he did comment on your previous diagnosis with Asperger’s syndrome. Do you have Asperger’s, Sebastian?’

  ‘No!’ A scowl appeared on the small boy’s face. The green eyes darkened as his brows lowered.

  ‘Do you know what Asperger’s is?’

  Sebastian sat dumb, frowning, as Irene jumped to her feet. ‘My lord, with your leave, the expert witness asserted that Sebastian did not have Asperger’s syndrome, as previously diagnosed.’

  Baron shrugged and turned his mouth downwards. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could rephrase.’

  ‘Let me ask you, Sebastian, is it true that you have no friends?’

  ‘I do have friends.’

  ‘I see. Not according to your teachers. Who are your friends … Ben Stokes?’

  ‘I have friends.’

  ‘I see. We have your school records here. They tell us that you are a bully; that nobody wants to be your friend because you’re mean to them.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  Sebastian spat quiet but distinct rage into not and true. Under his breath, Daniel began to whisper, It’s all right, calm down. You’re all right, just calm down.

  Irene turned round in her seat slightly and shot a look at Daniel. He nodded to assure her that things would be OK. Inside, he was no longer sure.

  ‘Is it true that when you do make friends it is only for a very short time?’