Guilty One

by Lisa Ballantyne

  ‘Sebastian admits fighting with Ben earlier that day and he told us how Ben jumped from the climbing frame, causing his nose to bleed. Spots of Ben’s blood and fibres from his clothes were transferred on to Sebastian’s clothing, but no more than you might expect in the course of a few hours’ play outside where there was a childish disagreement and an accident. The prosecution’s own scientists told you that they would have expected much more blood to be on Sebastian’s clothes if he had in fact killed Ben in this very violent way. Those of you with children will know that the small amounts of fibres and blood found on Sebastian’s clothing are entirely consistent with normal rough-and-tumble play.

  ‘Ben’s murder was brutal, but it also required considerable strength and I know that you will question the ludicrousness of the prosecution’s suggestion that the small boy before you today would have been able to wield such force. We know that the witness, Mr Rankine, is short-sighted. He didn’t see Sebastian with Ben that afternoon, but did he see someone else trying to hurt that little boy? He has told you that it was possible he saw a small adult attacking Ben.’

  Irene turned a page in her notebook. She took a deep breath and swallowed, nodding gently at the jury. Daniel watched them. They were rapt, watching Irene, believing her.

  ‘You have heard that Sebastian suffers from a very mild disorder known as PDD-NOS – a disorder on the Asperger’s spectrum – and this may make Sebastian seem more … intense than other eleven-year-olds you may know, but … however unusual you may find him, you must not let that distract you from the evidence of the case. Sebastian … was brave enough to tell you his story. He didn’t need to, but he wanted to speak so that you could hear the truth about what happened that day, in his own words. Sebastian may be intense, but he is not a murderer. He may be a bully at school, but he is not a murderer.

  ‘The facts: if Sebastian had killed Ben, he would have gone home that day covered in blood. He would not have arrived home at three o’clock and watched television with his mum. Sebastian is a small boy and could never have wielded the murder weapon with the force required to kill Ben. But more significantly, there is no evidence tying the brick to Sebastian, and no one saw Sebastian hurt Ben. He was seen chasing and fighting Ben in the park, but this fight was so unconcerning to the man who witnessed it that he did not even feel the need to physically separate the boys, or to report the incident to the police. The prosecution’s witness went home and watched television because what he had seen was not an act of violence preceding murder but a very normal argument between two little boys, and the boys, when called on by an adult to stop, did exactly that.

  ‘More importantly, what role have the police played in ensuring justice was done in this case? Mr Rankine admitted that he may have seen an adult in a pale blue or white top attacking Ben. What did the police do about this? They checked the council’s CCTV tapes and found nothing, so what else did they do …?’

  Irene raised both hands up to the jury, as if asking them to contribute.

  ‘Not a thing.’ She shrugged her shoulders and leaned on the lectern, as if resigned to such faineance.

  ‘By all accounts there could be an adult assailant – someone who had a white or pale blue top, who attacked and killed Benjamin after Sebastian left the playground. This important possibility, highlighted to us by the Crown’s witness, was not properly followed up, as it should have been. Are we sure that this boy committed this crime, or is there indeed the chance that someone else did?

  ‘And so you must ask yourselves, is it safe to convict this boy on this evidence? Once you set aside the newspapers, the terrible images you have seen, and the things you have heard; once you consider that there is absolutely no evidence that directly proves Sebastian killed Ben: no forensic evidence consistent with an injury of this type, no fingerprints on the murder weapon, no witnesses to the actual attack – you have to come to the only rational conclusion that is left.

  ‘The prosecution has to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty. The burden of proof lies with the prosecution, not with the defence. You must now consider whether that has been achieved, or if you indeed doubt the circumstantial evidence that has been presented to you. This is no hardened criminal who stands before you, with a string of convictions in his past. This … is a little boy.

  ‘When you come back from your jury room, I want you to be very sure … very sure that you have made the right decision. I know that you will see the facts as they are and realise that Sebastian … is not guilty.

  ‘If you believe that Sebastian is innocent, you must acquit. If you believe that Sebastian is probably innocent you must acquit. Even if you think that Sebastian might be innocent, you must acquit.’

  Irene gathered up her notes. ‘Thank you for listening.’

  The judge’s summing up lasted all afternoon as expected and then the jury were excused to consider the verdict.

  Daniel worked late at the office and then went to the Crown for last orders. He texted Irene when he was halfway through his pint: ‘Thinking about tomorrow. Not sure I am ready for it. Hope u r ok.’ There was no reply.

  The next day was Friday, and Daniel worked through the morning before he got the call to say that the jury had reached a verdict.

  In the courtroom, everyone assembled again: lawyers, family, journalists and public. Sebastian sat beside Daniel, waiting for the decision that would define the rest of his life.

  Daniel looked around when court was in session. Minutes passed dizzily, a flutter of processes. He glanced down at the small boy beside him, noticing again the valiant tilt of his chin, the young green eyes expectant, wary.

  He put a hand on Sebastian’s back. The little boy seemed so smart today in a fresh shirt that was too big on the collar and a striped tie. He looked up at Daniel and smiled.

  Baron raised himself in his chair, and peered over his glasses at Sebastian and Daniel. ‘The child need not stand.’

  The clerk stood up and addressed the jury. ‘Will the foreman please stand?’

  The foreman was a woman. She rose to her feet and folded her hands in front of her.

  ‘Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the woman, who was middle-aged, clearly spoken.

  ‘Do you find the defendant, Sebastian Croll, guilty or not guilty of the murder of Benjamin Stokes?’

  Daniel couldn’t breathe. The air was thick. Each pair of eyes in the crowded court was focused on the woman’s lips, waiting for her to speak. Daniel could feel the tension emanating from the young boy beside him.

  When Tyrel had been in the dock, Daniel had felt separate from him and powerless. Yet now it felt worse having Sebastian at his side, feeling the brush of the boy’s arm, watching the almost imperceptible rock of his body, smelling his clean hair. With his little client right beside him, he was no more able to protect Sebastian than he had been with Tyrel.

  If Sebastian was convicted of murder, the judge would have no discretion and would have to sentence him to detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Even after sentencing, the length of Sebastian’s incarceration would be decided not by legal professionals but by the Home Secretary. The boy’s life would then be subject to political expediency, with the likelihood of the Home Secretary lengthening his sentence to assuage public and media outrage.

  Daniel thought about the years the child would spend in secure units and then adult prisons; the drugs he would be introduced to, the relationships he would form and learn to lose; the estrangement he would feel from society and from the future itself. The future would always imply some kind of imprisonment. The foreman of the jury raised her eyes to look at the clerk who addressed her.

  Sebastian exhaled and, at the same time, slipped his hand into Daniel’s. Daniel coursed his thumb across the back of the boy’s hand, as Minnie might have done. Daniel remembered the roughness of her thumb on his young skin. It was an instinct of care and, after all, she had taught him to care. />
  Irene’s spine was completely straight. Daniel wished he could take her hand too.

  ‘Not guilty.’

  ‘And is that the verdict of you all?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There were no cries of rapture. The courtroom reeled in shock. There was a gulf of silence before the voices came, hushed and insistent, like a wave crashing on to the shore. A choke of sobs rose from the victim’s family, angry voices of protest.

  Baron silenced the courtroom. ‘I will remind you that this is not a football ground.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Sebastian when the jury had been excused, the judge had left and the gallery cleared. He was still holding on to Daniel’s hand.

  ‘It means you can come home, darling,’ said Charlotte, turning her son towards her. Her eyelids trembled as they rose above her large eyes. Sebastian leaned, weary and willowy, into his mother. She curled around him and tousled his hair.

  The court began to clear. Daniel followed Irene and Mark out into the great hall of the Old Bailey.

  As he made his way towards the exit, Daniel felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder and turn him round. Before he could say a word Kenneth King Croll was shaking his hand and slapping him on the back. Kenneth then reached out to Mark and shook his hand before taking Irene by the shoulders, shaking her lightly and planting a kiss on each cheek.

  Released from Kenneth’s grasp, Irene turned to Daniel and smiled. Daniel wanted to hold her, but felt inhibited with their clients nearby.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ Daniel said, looking down at her, trying to find her eyes.

  ‘Back to the office, I suppose. I don’t know. I’m exhausted. Go home, maybe. What about you? You’ll have to meet the Great British Press.’

  ‘Face the music.’

  ‘Shall I wait for you, then?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, wait and we can go get a drink or something. I might be a little while. I’ll be done as soon as I can.’

  *

  When Irene left, Daniel turned back towards the court to see Ben Stokes’s parents leaving with the family liaison officer. He felt a sudden flush of empathy for them. Paul was holding Madeline by the shoulders. He seemed to be half carrying her. Her feet moved with tiny steps, her head down, hair over her face. Just before she reached Daniel she pushed her hair back and Daniel saw the red eyes and nose, the sunken cheeks. Her eyes flashed for a moment and she pulled away from her husband. Daniel stood back, sure that she was going to attack him. But it was Charlotte whom Madeline targeted. The vast hall echoed as Madeline screamed and reached out – fingers like claws – towards Charlotte’s shoulder.

  ‘He’s a monster,’ Madeline Stokes screamed. ‘He killed my little boy …’

  Daniel was about to call security, but Paul Stokes pulled his wife away. As she passed she became passive again, allowing her husband to lead her away.

  ‘Are you all right, Charlotte?’ said Daniel.

  Charlotte had opened up her handbag. She was searching through it fervently. Objects fell out on to the floor: a hairbrush, a vanity mirror, eyeliners and pens. Deftly, bending at the knees each time, Sebastian stooped to pick them up.

  ‘I need, I need …’ she said.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, calm down,’ Kenneth hissed.

  Daniel reached out to her, but it was too late. Charlotte’s knees buckled and she fell on to the floor, letting her handbag fall. The pills she had been searching for rolled out. Sebastian held them up to his father.

  ‘Here,’ the boy said, presenting them.

  Kenneth’s face was almost purple, and Daniel was not sure if it was embarrassment or the strain as he helped Charlotte to her feet.

  A security officer came up and asked them if they needed assistance.

  ‘Look, we’re fine,’ Croll boomed. He turned to Daniel. ‘Could I ask you to stay with Seb for a moment? I need to calm her down before we go out.’

  Daniel nodded, watching them go. Sebastian looked up at him, hands by his side, chin tilted so that his entire round face was turned towards Daniel.

  ‘We’ll be in that conference room,’ Daniel shouted after Croll.

  ‘Give us twenty minutes.’

  Daniel looked at his watch. The boy was still staring at him.

  ‘She’s having a panic attack. She can’t breathe and her face goes all white and she starts to breathe like this …’ Sebastian began to mime hyperventilation, until Daniel put a hand on his shoulder. Already the boy was red and coughing.

  ‘Come on,’ said Daniel, opening the door to one of the conference rooms and saluting the security guard who stood nearby. ‘Let’s go in here and sit for a while until your mum’s feeling better.’

  The door closed behind them, sealing them in its insulated space. There were no windows in this room. Daniel was reminded of the placer where Minnie had been cremated. The sounds of the Old Bailey – heels on the flagstones, lawyers talking over each other into mobile phones, solicitors whispering to clients – were all excluded.

  There was a warm, germinating silence. The boy’s eyes were dry and his pale face pensive. It reminded Daniel of the first time they’d met, in the police station in Islington.

  ‘Do you think most people are sad that I was found not guilty?’ said Sebastian, looking up at Daniel.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what other people think; you had a good defence and the jury found you not guilty. You can go back to your life now.’

  Sebastian got up and walked around the table to Daniel. He stood by the side of Daniel’s chair.

  ‘I didn’t want to go back to Parklands House.’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. He was leaning forward on his elbows, so that his face was level with the boy’s. ‘I didn’t want you to have to go back there either.’

  The little boy sighed and then leaned into Daniel. He rested his head on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel had watched him being comforted by his mother often enough and knew what to do. After a moment’s pause, he raised his hand and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ Daniel whispered. ‘It’s all over now.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll go to hell?’

  ‘No, Seb.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because hell doesn’t exist. I don’t believe in it, anyway.’

  ‘But you don’t actually know. Nobody actually knows. Believe means you just think something is so.’

  ‘Well, call me stubborn but I think I do know. All sounds like rubbish to me.’

  ‘Will Ben be in heaven? Everyone says he’s an angel.’

  ‘Seb, listen, I know this has been really hard on you – the case has been on TV and in the papers and all the other kids at Parklands House have been talking about you, but you have to try not to pay attention to all the newspapers and stuff. They only do that to sell papers, not because there’s a shred of truth …’

  ‘Truth,’ said Sebastian, calmly. ‘Do you like me, Daniel?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daniel, exhaling.

  ‘If I tell you something, will you still like me?’

  Daniel considered, then nodded.

  ‘I put the brick on Ben’s face.’

  Daniel held his breath and watched the small boy. The light was catching his green eyes. He had an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

  ‘You told me you just went home …’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Sebastian, smiling properly now. ‘I’ll be OK. You don’t need to worry about me.’

  Daniel nodded. He felt his stomach muscles tighten.

  ‘I like you too,’ said Sebastian. ‘I think you’re my friend. I’m glad you were my lawyer …’

  Daniel nodded again. His collar was tight at his throat.

  ‘What do you mean … you put the … brick on Ben’s face?’

  ‘I didn’t like Ben’s face. I just wanted to cover it up, so I wouldn’t see it any more. He was all cry-baby and snot and wanting to go home. I told him he had to stop crying. I told him that if he
tried to go, I’d give him something to cry about … and then after I put the brick on his face, he didn’t cry at all. He didn’t make a sound. Not any more.’

  Daniel let his shoulders fall. He exhaled and loosened his tie. He leaned forward and put both hands through his hair.

  ‘You should’ve told me, Sebastian.’ His voice was loud in the room. ‘You should’ve told me at the beginning. We would have done things differently.’

  Sebastian smiled, and sat down again, opposite Daniel. He was all innocence: all eyelashes and freckles and neatly parted hair. ‘I thought you wouldn’t like me if I told you. I wanted you to like me.’

  ‘It’s not about like, Sebastian. I told you at the beginning, you needed to tell me everything, the truth, pure and simple. I’m your lawyer … You should have told me.’

  ‘Well, you know now,’ said Sebastian. He tilted his head to one side.

  Daniel felt sick, a chill sweat on his back. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, controlling himself.

  ‘I have to go now,’ said Daniel. ‘Let’s … find your parents.’ The boy looked up at him, and Daniel took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say to the child.

  Outside Charlotte was on her feet again, wavering like a sunflower, large black shades over her eyes. Ken was still holding on to her elbow.

  ‘Thanks, Dan,’ said Kenneth as he returned the boy to their care. Daniel winced at Croll’s out-of-place informality.

  ‘All right, young man?’ Kenneth boomed at his son.

  Sebastian slipped between his parents and took their hands. The sight of the family like this sickened Daniel. He wanted to look away.

  But then they were gone, all hand in hand, walking out the doors of the Old Bailey, Sebastian looking over his shoulder at Daniel as he was tugged gently outside.