A Place Of Safety

by Helen Black

  Lilly burst out laughing. Last night’s clothes were black and acrid and there was no way she could wear them to court.

  ‘Have you got anything bigger?’

  Alexia went back to her wardrobe. ‘I have this for when I’m premenstrual.’

  Lilly took the blue silk skirt. It was floaty the waist elastic. It would do.

  ‘What about a top? It needs to be white.’

  Alexia pulled out a white T-shirt with ‘LA Lakers’ emblazoned across the chest. ‘You could wear it inside out.’

  Lilly wasn’t convinced.

  ‘You’ll have your robe thing over the top.’

  As Lilly turned the corner to Old Bailey her mobile rang.

  ‘Right on cue, David.’

  ‘I can see you on telly again,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to ask what on earth are you wearing?’

  Lilly ignored the camera pointed directly under her chin.

  ‘There was a fire at the cottage.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Lil, are you okay?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  Lilly checked her reflection in the rain-spattered glass of the door to the court.

  ‘Buy me a black suit.’

  ‘What size?’ he asked.

  ‘Twelve.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Better make that a fourteen.’

  She climbed the stairs and met Jez at the top, where he was stood with Kerry Thomson. Jez looked her up and down. Kerry sniggered into her hand.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ said Lilly.

  Jez swallowed a laugh.

  ‘Not even half a word,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Good morning,’ a voice boomed from behind.

  Lilly turned to see Teddy Roberts sauntering towards them. Out of his robes and ridiculous wig he was a handsome man. His hair was flecked with grey, his jaw distinguished.

  He appraised Lilly in much the same way as Jez.

  ‘My chambers. Now.’

  Judge Roberts peered over his glasses at Lilly. ‘There is an explanation, I presume.’

  Lilly shrugged, as if a peasant skirt and a T-shirt worn inside out were everyday attire in the Crown Court.

  ‘I didn’t have access to my clothes this morning, Your Honour.’

  ‘And why was that, Miss Valentine? An all-night party, perhaps?’

  Lilly stuck her chin in the air. The pompous bugger had no right to make assumptions.

  ‘Actually, Your Honour, my house was fire-bombed by racist thugs.’

  The judge’s mouth fell open.

  ‘My things are in disarray,’ she continued. ‘But my ex-husband has kindly agreed to purchase something suitable and deliver it to me at court.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Valentine,’ said the judge. ‘Surely you will want an adjournment?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jez spluttered. ‘The case must be adjourned.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked the judge.

  Lilly held her neck quite straight. ‘My mother taught me never to give in to bullies.’

  When she had left the room, Teddy Roberts shook his head. ‘She’s a hell of a woman.’

  Jez let a smile spread across his face. ‘Indeed she is.’

  Alexia headed down Fleet Street towards the West End. There was nothing to be gained by hanging out at Old Bailey. The story was well and truly covered.

  She buried her head under her umbrella against the rain and looked longingly at the black cabs that sped past. Being skint was such a bummer. Then she thought about Lilly’s cottage, charred and smoking, and how she’d just got out in time. Now was not the time for self-pity.

  Lilly’s commitment to Petrescu made Alexia shamefaced. With her world literally in ashes, Lilly hadn’t wept for her home and possessions; instead she’d been more bothered about trying to prove her client had been raped.

  When Lilly was finally asleep, Alexia covered her in a blanket. She pulled out her recorder and played the tape. There it was, an exclusive interview with Lilly Valentine. Guaranteed front-page material. She sighed and tossed it in the bin.

  She had done a lot of selfish things in her time but had never felt guilt the way she did now. She had led a gang of dangerous thugs to this poor woman’s door, and for what?

  She felt angry with herself and sick at the same time. She had to make amends; do something to help. She could use her journalistic skills to help Lilly’s case.

  When she got to Theatreland she checked in her pocket and pulled out a photograph of Manor Park Year Eleven. Two rows of teenagers stood on the steps and squinted into the sun. There was Charles Stanton, a pretty boy with great teeth. Next to him was a bigger boy with wild red hair and bad skin. On the other side Lilly had circled a boy’s face. This was Luke Walker. He had witnessed the rape and was the key to Catalina’s salvation.

  Alexia would bet her Vivienne Westwood platforms that he was in London. Didn’t every kid think the streets were paved with gold? And when they discovered their error, a lot of them ended up here.

  ‘The defence calls their first witness, Dr Leyla Kadir.’ Lilly wrapped the robe around her. She had borrowed it from a friend of Jez’s and hoped it covered most of the madness she was wearing beneath.

  Dr Kadir looked the epitome of sophistication in a beige jacket that perfectly complemented her dark skin. Her hair was tied in a chignon, not a strand out of place. As was so common for witnesses, she had hung around all day yesterday without being called, yet she hadn’t complained once. She had just worked on her laptop, smiled and worked some more.

  ‘Dr Kadir,’ said Lilly. ‘Could you tell us what you know about Catalina Petrescu?’

  ‘I know she is a very damaged person,’ said the doctor.

  ‘How have you come to that conclusion?’

  ‘I have read the case papers and had numerous interviews with her,’ said Dr Kadir.

  ‘Have you been able to make any diagnosis?’

  Dr Kadir nodded once. ‘I think she is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has affected the balance of her mind.’

  ‘Dr Kadir,’ Jez dazzled her with his most charming smile. ‘Tell me a little more about this syndrome. What did you call it—PMT?’

  The jury tittered.

  The doctor clucked at him as if he were an errant schoolboy. ‘PTSD, Mr Stafford, and you know perfectly well what it is. No doubt you were up all last night researching it on the Internet.’

  Jez gave a cheeky grin. ‘I may have been up all night, Doctor, but I most certainly wasn’t working.’

  The jury laughed at his brazen flirtatiousness.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Lilly jumped to her feet. ‘Do we really need the theatrics?’

  The judge banged his gavel to bring the mirth to an end. Jez put up his hands in apology.

  ‘Dr Kadir,’ he continued. ‘Could you enlighten me as to the symptoms of PTSD?’

  ‘Anxiety sleeplessness, paranoia…’

  ‘All nasty I’m sure,’ said Jez. ‘But nothing that would make a person start shooting people.’

  The doctor eyed him coolly. ‘If you had let me finish, I was going to explain that one of the main symptoms in patients with PTSD is detachment.’

  ‘And that would make a person load up their gun, would it?’

  ‘It could mean a patient is so dislocated from reality that he or she may enter into such an action without fully comprehending the implications.’

  ‘Are you serious, Doctor?’

  She nodded gravely. ‘When I myself was suffering with this condition I drove my car into a brick wall. I have a steel rod in my spine, but to this day I do not recall how it happened.’

  The jury gasped.

  Jez was visibly shocked, but collected himself quickly.

  ‘What would cause PTSD, Doctor?’

  ‘The clue is in the name,’ she answered. ‘A trauma.’

  ‘Such as an accident—a plane crash perhaps?’

  Lilly frowned
at Jez’s calculated use of recent events.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And many Gulf War veterans are suffering with PTSD, are they not?’

  Dr Kadir smiled. ‘So you were up all night doing research, Mr Stafford.’

  Lilly covered her mouth with her hand. Dr Kadir was a consummate professional.

  ‘And you made your diagnosis of the defendant while she had us all believing she suffered her particular trauma in Kosovo?’

  ‘I made my diagnosis at that time, yes,’ said Dr Kadir.

  ‘Well, given that was a lie, Doctor—that there was no trauma in Kosovo—how do you think this defendant got PTSD?’

  Lilly sucked in her breath and crossed her fingers. This was such a vital point. One with so much mileage for Jez.

  ‘It has always been my contention that the incident that triggered Catalina’s condition was not necessarily the war in Kosovo,’ said Dr Kadir.

  Jez ratcheted up the pressure. ‘Tell us then, Doctor, what else could possibly excuse the defendant’s wicked actions?’

  ‘It is not for me to say whether Catalina’s PTSD excuses what happened.’ Dr Kadir turned to the jury. ‘It is for the jury.’

  ‘Just so,’ said Jez.

  She levelled him in her sights again. ‘But, as I said, it has always been my contention that the factor which pushed Catalina into detachment was not Kosovo but the rape.’

  Noise erupted from the gallery.

  Jez played to the crowd and somehow managed to address Dr Kadir, the jury and the gallery at the same time. Lilly wished she had even half his skill.

  ‘Ah, the alleged rape,’ he said. ‘The unreported rape?’

  ‘Thousands of rapes go unreported every year, Mr Stafford.’

  ‘But we are only interested in this one,’ he replied. ‘And how can we expect intelligent men and women to believe it without any evidence whatsoever?’

  Lilly pushed herself to her feet. ‘Your Honour, that is a ridiculous question. How can Dr Kadir answer for the jury’s expectations? She is a psychiatrist, not a palm reader.’

  The judge wagged his finger. ‘It was clumsily put, Miss Valentine, but it is valid nonetheless. Dr Kadir must substantiate the basis of her diagnosis.’

  ‘I cannot say that the rape was real or not real. I was not there,’ said Dr Kadir.

  Jez turned to the jury with open palms. Lilly was almost expecting him to say, ‘Told you.’

  ‘However,’ said Dr Kadir. ‘My medical opinion, my expert opinion, remains the same.’

  She gestured first to the jury and then to Catalina, ensuring each eye fell on the pathetic creature in the dock.

  ‘This girl is suffering with PTSD, and my instincts as a professional say to me that it is as a result of a brutal rape.’

  Six lousy quid.

  Luke kicks the box aside in disgust.

  They’ve been begging for hours and have hardly got enough for a Happy Meal, let alone what they really need. It’s been impossible to find a spot with the police crawling around everywhere, some of them armed.

  Caz is by his side, shivering, her nose running.

  There’s a reason they call it ‘doing your rattle’—every bone is shaking inside her, like coins in pockets.

  ‘I can’t take this,’ she says.

  He scoops up the change. ‘Let’s get a coffee.’

  ‘I don’t want any coffee.’

  Luke knows what she wants, but they don’t have enough.

  ‘I’m going to get some money,’ she says.

  Luke turns away. He can’t bear the thought of it.

  ‘Don’t,’ he whispers.

  ‘C’mon, soft lad, it’ll only take half an hour.’

  ‘Please.’

  She pleads with her eyes. ‘I’ve got to get some gear, Luke.’

  He pushes his hand through his hair. It is slick with grease and rain.

  ‘Let’s try to get the money I’m owed from the Black Cat,’ he says.

  Caz shakes her head. ‘That bitch won’t give you a penny.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to make her.’

  ‘It’s going very well.’

  Milo smiled at Lilly as they descended to the cells.

  ‘As well as I could expect,’ said Lilly. ‘Given the circumstances.’

  ‘The doctor says Catalina has a problem with her brain,’ said Milo. ‘The jury will have to accept it.’

  ‘The jury don’t have to accept anything, Milo.’

  ‘But she’s a doctor, an expert.’

  Lilly waited for the guard to swing open the door. ‘The jury will make up their own minds.’

  * * *

  Catalina was standing in the far corner of her cell, the only colour against the grey bricks.

  ‘You’re going to have to take the stand,’ said Lilly.

  Catalina pressed against the wall as if she were trying to dissolve into it.

  ‘You have to tell your story,’ Lilly continued.

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  Lilly went over to the bench and sat. Her robe fell open, revealing the bizarre outfit underneath.

  ‘There’s no other choice,’ said Lilly. ‘I have to make the jury believe you were raped, and I have no evidence at all.’

  There were signs of the homeless in every doorway. An empty bottle of cider, a dirty sleeping bag. But catching one of them was like shooting rabbits—as soon as you approached, the buggers scarpered.

  Alexia managed to corner one man who was too drunk to run away, but he wouldn’t even look at the photograph and buried his head in his jumper.

  What she needed was some money. Anyone could be bribed to tell you things with ten-pound notes, particularly if they were cold and wet and desperate.

  The trouble was, she had exactly eight pounds in her purse and her cashpoint card had been swallowed.

  She thought about everything that had happened in the last few weeks. The lying and cheating. She had left home to make something of herself, to prove she was not a trustafarian with more shoes than brain cells. She didn’t want to be a stylist, or to work in PR. She wanted to be a journalist. She wanted to make her father proud.

  She pulled out her mobile.

  ‘Daddy, it’s Lex,’ she said. ‘I need some cash.’

  Catalina took the Bible in her tiny fingers.

  ‘I promise to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’

  Lilly looked at her client, dwarfed by the courtroom, ludicrous in her dungarees. The only person who could tell her story was Catalina. It was up to her.

  ‘Tell me about the night you met three boys from Manor Park School.’

  Jez flew to his feet. ‘Objection. My friend is leading her defendant as if she were a horse in a circus.’

  ‘He’s right, Miss Valentine.’

  Lilly shrugged. ‘I apologise, but I just thought we should cut to the chase.’

  Catalina glanced at the jury, then at Lilly. Her face was pink with shame.

  ‘I met them in the village and we went to the park,’ she mumbled.

  The members of the jury craned their necks to hear her. Lilly could have advised her to speak up, but decided it was better coming out in Catalina’s own sorrowful way.

  ‘Everything was fine until…’

  ‘Until what?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘One of the boys pulled me to the floor and raped me.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  Catalina buried her head in her chest. ‘Like an animal.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘It was as though everything wasn’t real. Like I was there, but not there.’ Catalina shook her head as if it were a puzzle to her. ‘I felt like a robot.’

  ‘Lilly took a deep breath. This was the crux. On the day of the shooting, did you still feel like that?’

  ‘Yes. It felt like a dream.’

  ‘Miss Petrescu,’ Jez leaned on his elbow as if she were hardly worth the effort. ‘Do you seriously expect this court to believ
e you didn’t know what you were doing when you obtained a gun and went to a school with it?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it.’

  Jez laughed. ‘Surely it seemed a little out of the ordinary?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise to me,’ said Jez, inferring that there were others more deserving of her excuses. He leafed through his papers and Lilly sighed. Jez would know every letter in those files, he was simply putting Catalina under the scrutiny of the jury’s glare.

  ‘You say you were raped, Miss Petrescu.’

  Catalina nodded.

  ‘Yet you didn’t go to the police?’

  ‘I didn’t think they would believe me.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘They can perform tests, make notes of your bruising.’

  ‘They were rich boys, English boys,’ she said. ‘I thought they would say I was another lying asylum seeker. Just like you say I am lying.’

  ‘I don’t infer you made this up because I am a racist, Miss Petrescu,’ he said.

  ‘No?’

  Jez shook his head. ‘Not at all. I am simply going on your track record.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Jez tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to Catalina. ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Jez tapped it with his finger. ‘This is the statement you gave to the immigration authorities. Do you recall what you said?’

  ‘Not word for word.’

  ‘Then let me refresh your memory.’ Jez snatched back the statement. ‘You called yourself Anna Duraku. You said you were from Kosovo and that your family had been murdered by the Serbs.’

  Catalina hid her face in her hands.

  ‘It’s a tissue of lies, isn’t it?’ roared Jez.

  ‘Yes,’ Catalina whispered into her fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ said Jez.

  ‘Yes,’ Catalina wailed.

  ‘Then answer me this.’ Jez lowered his voice. ‘If you were lying about that, why should we believe you about the rape?’

  ‘Not you two again.’

  The woman with the bleached hair is letting the workers out of the back of a van.

  ‘Just give me what you owe me and I’ll never come back here again,’ says Luke.