‘No.’
‘Other children don’t want to be with you, Sebastian, is that not correct?’
‘No.’ The boy was not shouting, but his lower teeth appeared. They were tiny and white, like the teeth of a pike.
‘Is it not true that as soon as other children get to know you, they do not want to be friends with you?’
‘No!’
The court was spellbound. On the screen, Sebastian’s cheeks were pink with rage.
‘I have here care notes from the secure unit where you are currently on remand. The warden has specifically mentioned your inability to get on with the other children and to form friendships …’
Irene stood up. ‘My lord, I must protest. My client is an innocent boy on remand in a secure unit where he is by far the youngest child among a number of severely disturbed teenagers. I should think it obvious, and to my client’s credit, that he would find it difficult to form friendships in these circumstances.’
There was a small pause and Daniel relaxed as both Jones and Baron conceded Irene’s point.
‘Let’s get back to the subject of Ben’s murder … Murder, after all, is what interests you. You had Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and your shoes: how did that feel?’
‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian’s temper left him for a moment, as he was drawn into Jones’s abstraction.
‘Well, when Ben supposedly burst his nose and his blood got on to your clothes and your shoes, how did it feel?’
‘All right. It’s just blood. Everybody has blood.’
‘I see, so you felt quite good with Ben’s blood on you, when you walked home?’
‘I felt OK. It was just a natural thing.’ Sebastian was looking up in the corner of the screen, as if remembering. His thin smile had returned.
‘What about when Ben was hurt, how did you feel then?’
‘Well, he was hurting. I wasn’t. I didn’t feel anything.’
‘What do you suppose Ben was feeling?’
‘Well, he fell down and he was bleeding, but that is sometimes what happens when your nose gets banged. Sometimes … you don’t have to hit someone very hard … sometimes they can just get slapped and their nose starts bleeding. Noses are quite sensitive.’
Daniel felt pain in his diaphragm. Sebastian seemed so far away. Behind the screen, it was as if he was in another dimension, lost to all their efforts to save him. He was irreclaimable, gone. The court heard a boy who lacked empathy discussing random violence, but Daniel knew that Sebastian was specifically referring to King Kong hitting his mother.
‘Did you hit Ben, Sebastian, to make his nose bleed?’ Gordon Jones was almost whispering.
Daniel was surprised that Sebastian could hear. If it had been in open court, Jones would have had to speak louder.
Sebastian shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Blood … is natural,’ repeated Jones. ‘Everyone has blood … When you had Ben’s blood on you, you felt fine. Had you ever had anyone else’s blood on you, Sebastian?’
‘Well … my own … if I got hurt.’
‘I see, anyone else?’
Sebastian was pensive for a moment, green eyes to the side and looking upwards, remembering. ‘My mum’s blood … I don’t mean when I was born, because being born there is a lot of blood, and it gets on to the baby, but afterwards if she got hurt and she touched me, sometimes it would get on to me.’
‘I see. Have you ever caused another to bleed?’
Irene rose to her feet. ‘My lord, I must question the relevance of this line of questioning.’
Baron nodded and cleared his throat loudly. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could try to stick to the point.’
‘Very well, my lord. Sebastian – did you tell the police – and I read now from the transcripts of your interview:
‘Do you know whose blood might have been on your shirt?
‘A bird’s?
‘Why, did you hurt a bird?
‘No, but I saw a dead one once and I picked it up. It was still warm and its blood was all sticky.’
Again Irene rose to her feet. ‘My lord,’ she began, but Baron silenced her with a hand.
‘I will hear the answer,’ he said. ‘But Mr Jones, Miss Clarke is correct, you must make your question clear.’
‘Yes, m’lord.’ Irene sat down.
‘You remember telling the police that, Sebastian?’ said Jones.
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you think the blood on your clothes belonged to the bird and not to Ben?’
‘I got confused. The bird was another day.’
‘I see, another day. Did you hurt this bird?’
‘No,’ said Sebastian, but then he paused. His eyes turned up and to the left of the screen as he considered. Daniel thought he looked like a young boy saint, persecuted. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth and sucked it. He released it with a sound that was almost like a kiss. ‘I helped it …’
‘Tell me about the bird, Sebastian. What did you do to it, to cause its blood to transfer on to your clothes?’
Again, Sebastian’s eyes rolled upwards as he remembered. The eyes of the boy seemed enormous on the big screen.
‘Well … there was a bird I found in the park one day. It had a broken wing. It was a pigeon or something. It was turning round and round because it couldn’t fly. It was going to die, you see. It would get eaten by a fox or dog or a cat, or it would just starve to death …’
‘I see, so what did you do?’ Jones had his body turned towards the jury, but each time he addressed Sebastian he would look in the direction of the camera.
‘I stamped on its head; I had to put it out of its misery, but it didn’t die. Its claws were still moving.’ As if the words were not enough, Sebastian raised both hands up before his face. He held his hands like claws and made them twitch. ‘So I had to end it.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Jones.
‘I pulled its head away from its body, and then … it was still.’ Again Sebastian looked upwards and to the left, remembering. ‘But I had the bird’s blood on me then.’ Sebastian turned to look into the camera again. He rubbed his hands together, as if washing them.
Daniel clasped his hands tightly together, under the table. They were damp with sweat.
‘Why did you decide you needed to kill the bird, Sebastian?’ whispered Gordon Jones, still turned from the boy.
‘I told you. It would have died anyway. I had to put it out of its misery.’
‘You could have taken it to the vet. Why did you not want to help the bird? Why did you decide to murder it?’
‘I don’t think vets help pigeons with broken wings,’ said Sebastian. His tone was authoritative, condescending. ‘The vet would have killed it too, only with a needle.’
The word needle seemed to pierce the skin of silence in the room. There was a rustle, as the people in the court shifted in their seats.
‘How did you feel when the bird was dead?’ asked Jones.
‘Well, it was only little and it had to die, so that was a shame. But it was better that it didn’t suffer.’
‘Ben Stokes was only little. Were you upset when he died?’
Sebastian blinked, twice or maybe three times; he turned his head to the side, as if in anticipation of Charlotte’s fingers coursing through his hair.
‘Well … I’m only little too,’ he said. ‘Why is everyone so interested in Ben? He’s dead now, but I’m still here.’
The room was unnaturally silent.
‘No more questions for this witness, m’lord,’ said Jones.
‘Miss Clarke?’ Baron asked.
Daniel almost could not breathe, but he watched Irene stand up. Despite the evidence, she seemed strong, valiant.
‘Sebastian,’ Irene called.
Her voice was clear and awakened the room. Sebastian turned anew to the camera, blinking.
‘Ben Stokes was your friend. What did you like about him?’
‘He was funny and … he could do very
good backward rolls. I can’t do them. They hurt my neck.’
‘You had known Ben for nearly four years. In all that time had you fought physically, so that either of you had to visit the hospital or even have first aid?’
‘No, but we sometimes played wrestling and we had a few fights, but we didn’t really get hurt.’
‘I see. Did you kill Ben Stokes on 8 August this year?’
‘No.’ Sebastian was quiet, chin down to his chest.
‘Did you hit your friend Ben Stokes in the face with a brick in the adventure playground on 8 August?’
‘No!’ Sebastian’s mouth was round, his eyes turned down in distress.
Daniel could feel the energy in the room change. The jury, even the gallery, seemed shocked that Irene should confront the child in this way. But Daniel was proud of her for it. The bird might now be forgotten.
‘No further questions, m’lord.’
Without voice, the video buzzed. Sebastian stared at the camera, his eyes shining and a slight smile on his still-pink lips. Sebastian wiped each eye in turn and then looked upwards. His white face captivated the court one last time, and then the monitor was switched off.
Daniel stepped outside because he needed air. He would have to go down and see the child before court convened again.
It had been hard for Daniel to watch Sebastian testify. He turned up his collar and looked at the clouds which pressed down on the buildings. His mind was a confusion of recent and distant memories. He saw Sebastian’s face enlarged on the screen; heard the clatter of the pail and the spade in Minnie’s yard; he watched Minnie fall again – losing her footing and falling on her bad hip when he pulled away from her.
He had hurt her, he saw that now.
His own pain over the lie she had told now seemed less important than the pain that he had caused to her. She had always known what was best for him. He had not understood it at the time, but she had protected him. He thought of her dying, wanting to see him one more time but knowing that he would not come. She was the only person that he truly believed had loved him. He closed his eyes, remembering the warm weight of her hand on his head when she said goodnight. Even during the years of anger, he had not doubted that she loved him. He hoped she had known that he had loved her too. Years he had denied her, but now he acknowledged all that she had done for him.
Daniel went to check on Sebastian, who was again playing games with the police officer in his cell. He was talkative and energetic, standing up on his bunk and reaching for the ceiling. He seemed unaffected by cross-examination, unaware of how he had done badly and how he had done well.
‘Did I do OK?’ asked Sebastian, eyes blinking up at Daniel.
Daniel put his hands in his pockets. ‘You did fine.’
Upstairs, Daniel called Cunningham.
‘You’ll be relieved this is all over,’ Cunningham said. ‘I know you thought it would take ages to sell, but this is quicker than I ever thought it would be. Will you come up, or do you want me to handle it?’
‘You handle it,’ said Daniel quickly. He ran a hand through his hair and turned in the corridor. ‘Or … can you wait? I might come up at the weekend. I want to see the place one more time – I just … Can you just wait, actually?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry this has happened at a … difficult time for you.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I saw you on TV. The Angel Killer. You’re on the case.’
Daniel took a breath. Everyone else had made up their mind about Sebastian. He wondered what the jury would decide.
30
Jones looked triumphant as he glanced over his notes. Closing speeches were scheduled for the morning, with the judge’s summing up to follow that afternoon. The judge arrived and the gallery filled up. Daniel tried not to look up into the journalists’ faces.
Jones placed his papers on the podium and turned towards the jury, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Daniel thought he looked pleased with himself.
‘Cast your mind back to everything you have heard relating to the events of 8 August this year … You have heard the defendant admit that he was playing with little Ben Stokes on that day. A witness saw the defendant fighting with Ben in the open park and then later identified him fighting in the adventure playground where Ben was found dead.
‘The type of injury which Ben sustained means that we cannot pinpoint the time of the attack, only the time of death, around six in the evening. This means that Ben could have sustained his fatal wounds at any point that afternoon and evening, since he was last seen alive about 2 p.m. The defendant claims to have an alibi – his mother – from 3 p.m. onwards, but you have heard the cocktail of drugs which the boy’s mother ingested that day and you are therefore correct to wonder if she is reliable.
‘You have heard from forensic scientists who explained to you how the victim’s blood was transferred on to his attacker’s clothing. I remind you that the defendant had defensive scratches on his arms and also fibres from the victim’s clothes on his jeans, suggesting that he had straddled the victim. From this position, it would have been possible for the defendant to use the force of gravity to help him cause the significant, brutal facial injuries which resulted in young Ben literally bleeding to death.
‘You heard the forensic expert attest to the fact that the bloodstains on the defendant’s clothes were a result of a “violent assault to the face or nose, with the victim then blowing blood on to the attacker”.
‘Make no mistake.’ Jones paused and stabbed the lectern with his forefinger. He leaned forward on to his finger for emphasis, staring unblinking at the jury. ‘This was not an easy murder to carry out. There was no accident here, no sleight of hand or loss of footing. This was violent bloody murder, carried out face to face.
‘You have heard the defendant himself tell of his fascination for murder and death. You have heard experts testify that the defendant has a mild disorder on the Asperger’s spectrum: a disorder which makes him prone to violence, which makes it difficult for him to form friendships, but a disorder which would not prevent him from lying about his actions. And lie he has done, when, testifying, he told you that he did not murder the defendant. We have heard from neighbours of the victim, whose children were terrorised by the defendant before he took this one stage further, when he brutally murdered Benjamin Stokes. The defendant threatened neighbours’ children with broken glass, and indeed bullied and physically injured the victim before he finally murdered him on 8 August.
‘Boys may be boys, but this boy was a known danger in the neighbourhood. He is proven to be capable of this ghastly crime. Forensic evidence puts him at the scene of the crime. We know that the defendant and the victim fought, and the victim’s blood was transferred on to the defendant’s clothing.
‘Sebastian Croll is a proven bully with a sick interest in murder, and murder he did on 8 August this year.
‘I know that when you stop to consider the facts of the case, you will find the defendant, Sebastian Croll … guilty.’
Daniel could see the headlines already: A BULLY WITH A SICK INTEREST IN MURDER. He thought of Tyrel’s trial and how the verdict had seemed another violence.
At the break Daniel followed the Crolls out of the courtroom. Even the skin on Charlotte’s face was trembling. He accompanied the family to the public waiting room. Kenneth Croll manoeuvred his wife by her elbow into the room. He demanded coffee but Charlotte was shaking too much to get the coins into the slot. Daniel helped her and carried the cups over to where Kenneth was reclining in a chair, legs akimbo and hands clasped behind his head.
‘We can appeal?’ said Kenneth.
‘We talk about appeals if he’s found guilty,’ returned Daniel.
Croll’s eyes seemed to flash with anger. Daniel met his gaze.
*
Back in court, Daniel thought that Irene looked nervous. He had never seen her nervous before. She was fidgety, twirling her watch on her wrist. He had not had a ch
ance to speak to her, but she looked over at him. Daniel mouthed good luck. She smiled and looked away.
When called, Irene stood up and rested her open notebook on the lectern. There was silence as she glanced at her notes and reminded herself of her arguments. When they were defending Tyrel, Irene had rehearsed her closing speech to Daniel the night before. He remembered her pacing back and forth before him, in her stocking feet.
Now she turned to face the jury.
‘Sebastian … is a little boy,’ she began. She no longer looked nervous: shoulders back, chin raised. ‘Sebastian … is eleven years old. If he were eighteen months younger, he would not be before you today. Sebastian is a child on trial for murder. He is accused of killing another little boy, a child even younger than he is now.
‘That Ben was murdered is a tragedy and something that we should all feel devastated by … but we won’t get justice for little Ben by convicting the wrong person, and certainly not by convicting another innocent little boy.
‘The papers all love a good story, and I know you read about this case in the newspapers, before you even got to court, before you knew that you would sit on this jury. The papers have talked about societal decay, about the failure of the family … The papers have used words like evil, wicked and depraved.
‘But, ladies and gentlemen, I have to remind you that this … is not a story. This trial is not about societal decay and it is not your task to address it. It is your job to consider the facts, as they have been presented to you in this courtroom, and not in the press. It is your job to consider the evidence and only the evidence before you decide if the defendant is guilty or not guilty.
‘You’ve seen some terrible images and heard some disturbing evidence during this trial. It’s natural when presented with shocking acts of violence to want to blame, to want to find … someone responsible. But this little boy is not responsible for the violence that you have had described to you in the course of this trial.
‘So what is the evidence?
‘There were no witnesses to this terrible crime. No one saw Ben being harmed. A witness did claim to see Sebastian and Ben fighting late on the afternoon of the murder but the witness’s account was unreliable. There is a murder weapon in evidence; but it cannot be tied to any one suspect. No fingerprint or DNA was found on the brick which was used to kill little Ben Stokes. He suffered a cerebral haematoma, which means that we know approximately what time he died – around six o’clock in the evening – but we don’t know when he was attacked and suffered the fatal blow. Sebastian was home in his house from three o’clock in the afternoon, well before Ben was reported missing.
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