by Tim Parks
Daniel returned to his seat. As if nothing out of the way had been said, the Reverend Cornwell immediately began the collect: O Merciful God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life . . . Later outside, waiting for the coffin to be slid into the hearse, Daniel found himself standing beside the ancient Judge Carter. But his eye was searching for his family. Do you really not know, the old man rasped, why Shields gave up practice? No, Daniel said. I have lost my family, he thought. Judge Carter swayed very slightly back and forward and said nothing.
TWENTY-FIVE
JUDGE SAVAGE WROTE a letter to the Palace, announcing, with regret, that he would be unable to accept the MBE. In court Sedley seemed to be making no headway with the eight defendants still charged with Grievous Bodily Harm in the incident that had destroyed Elizabeth Whitaker’s life. The evidence against the group of young people remained where it was and largely circumstantial, while the chorus of denials grew louder and louder. Called as a character witness, the Reverend Mrs Gosse described David Sayle as the most promising of St Barnabus’s young folks and a born youth leader. The jury were perplexed. If he went to talk to prostitutes, the Reverend Mrs Gosse said, and she seemed an intelligent woman, that was no doubt part of a laudable curiosity, his willingness not to be governed by prejudice. He didn’t have sex with them after all, she pointed out. And certainly in this regard, as in others, David Sayle was unlike Judge Savage who, having heard that evidence, now returned to the ring road and after visiting three or four lay-bys on two separate evenings eventually tracked down his Brazilian girl, if she was Brazilian. She took him to the same house, but a different room. Euphoric with the wild risk he was taking on a day when he had received more than one offensive letter, Daniel tried to make the encounter more conscious and more generous than the high-speed accident that their first meeting had been. The girl responded up to a point. She took out her chewing gum. For a moment she giggled when he pulled a face. Give me your mobile number, he said. Judge Savage has a mobile himself now. Mobile is an excellent word, he had thought, in the extremely unstable state of mind in which he was buying the thing. Identity fizzed away like aspirin in soda water. The judge was elated, but prone to moments of panic.
Most of her clients were white, the girl answered him. Then she said: But you seem real English more than the rest. She had registered the contrast of his colour and his class. He was pleased. They are jealous of the dark secrets of your body, he told her. He was joking. Or maybe not. He had felt before how you could get an echo of romance by aping it, by being honest about aping it. They fear they may be innocent, he said to her in a soft deep voice, so they come running to your dark mystery. She didn’t understand. For a few moments I’m enjoying myself, he decided, though the letters he had begun to receive over the last few days made his mouth dry with fear. Filthy black bastard stealing our women. He dropped them the moment his eye took in an insult. Pompous black ponce, go fuck yourself. My mother was Brazilian, he told the prostitute. I’m British bred, but the genius is in the genes. He raised his eyebrows in fun. Again the girl didn’t appear to have understood, but conceded her mobile number and allowed him to stroke her. How beautifully young she was! The time slot was fifteen minutes. A name for the mobile memory? he asked. Sue, she said. He knew he would never be able to think of her as Sue. While taking her back to the road, Judge Savage enquired, Do people ever come just to talk to you? Sure, she laughed. She said: But Gabriel come and he chase them away. With great amusement, she mimicked: You don’t fuck, you fuck off, little white prickies. She was a coltish girl with long legs and an endearing way of clutching her handbag as she trod off across the lamp-lit gravel. Clutching your prick more like, Frank laughed. He shook his head in admiration. You’re mad, Dan. Daniel felt the pride of the little brother who has at last managed to upstage the older.
Meantime, to his own considerable surprise, despite all the allegations in the press, Judge Savage has not been suspended or invited to resign, or even reprimanded. Not yet. He has a charmed life it seems. You always had a charmed life, Frank told him. Palace, colleagues and newspapers all urge him to change his position on the MBE. You should accept it, Dan, a voice from London tells him, on behalf of other non-white barristers if nothing else. With exquisite pomposity The Times reflects that the country must choose between doing an injustice to one individual on the basis of hearsay, and ensuring that the public retain its respect for the administrators of justice. The editor thinks the dilemma is a real one. But the climate is on Savage’s side. His authority in court doesn’t seem diminished, despite a stare or two. If anything, the sense of his charisma has increased. After a lifetime fearing conspiracy, or just some instinctive closing of white ranks, he now finds the Guardian attacking the tabloids for seeking to revive moribund myths of black bestiality. It should be remembered, the Guardian tells its readers rather sternly, that Judge Savage takes his surname from his adoptive white parents and not from his natural ancestors.
Did you see it, Sarah phones him to ask. He’s sitting in his office going through papers, but at the same time wondering, If you go to a prostitute, why return to the same one, why seek affection? You toss up a dust storm, Judge Savage tells himself, and grope for roots. Mum and I are cutting out all the articles, his daughter says. Immediately, he is nostalgic for home, for a living room with a table and scissors and paste. Did you see Cosmopolitan praised you for not rehearsing the farce of family solidarity? I didn’t, Daniel confessed. He held the phone carefully as if it might be fragile. How are you? he asked. All right. I’m back at school for re-takes. That’s wonderful, he said. I knew you’d say that, she laughed. But his daughter too, Daniel sensed, was asking for approval. Having kicked me out of the house, she longs for me to approve. How’s Tom? he asked. The usual pain, she said. And Mum? There was a pause. Busy with her lessons? Sarah hesitated. Mum’s not teaching, she’s a bit depressed. But Max comes over no doubt? No, Sarah said. Why not? Mum says she can’t see him any more. But why? She liked teaching him. His daughter’s voice became vague and distant. She says she’s already taught him all she can. So what is she doing? Playing herself, I suppose. No, she’s not playing at all. Daniel didn’t know how to continue. It was their first contact since he had left. But you’re happy, he asked. Yes, she said. Good. Still going to the Community? he asked. She said no. She said, That was all a bit stupid.
Again there was a long silence. Then she asked: Dad? Her voice had altered. Yes? Minnie got in touch. Oh? You’ve made friends? Kind of. I went to see her, in their flat. On Sperringway? Right. That’s nice, he said. She asked if I could promise one thing: that none of us would mention her name, in these stories that are coming out. She said she’d told her parents a lot of lies. Daniel said: Whether her name comes out or not will depend on who’s giving these rumours to the press and how much they know. I suppose so, Sarah said. She asked, Who could it be, Dad? He reflected. It was positive, he thought, that she was calling him Dad. He felt pleased that Hilary had banished Max. I’ve sometimes thought it might be Christine, he said. Sarah said nothing. What do you think? he asked, any ideas?
Dad, she whispered. What is it? Oh nothing. Then with a charmingly girlish change of tone, she announced: I’m seeing someone Dad. Seeing someone? A man, silly. Immediately he responded to her cheerfulness. And may I ask whom? This was why she’d called, he realised. You may, she giggled, but you won’t get an answer. You’re happy though? –er, the girl said, happier. I seem to have a daughter again, Daniel decided when he put the phone down. It made him want to speak to Hilary. Our twentieth anniversary is two weeks away. Then he saw: Whoever gave this information to the press, seeks to destroy my life as a man, a family man. But only that. Four affairs had been dug out from the woodwork, but there had been no mention of girls on juries or professional misconduct. By denying nothing, The Times said and suing no one, Judge Savage has shown that he is not scared of these stories being aired in public and thus not susceptible to blackmail. From this
point of view, however regrettable it might be for those concerned, his separation from his wife is salutary. He is not in the vulnerable position of the man defending a sandcastle. He has declared his independence. The judicial system can ill afford to lose men of this calibre, men capable of surviving first a brutal physical attack, then a ruthless exposure of their private life. Who, Judge Savage wondered, having set out to harm him and seeing this paradoxical result, would not deliver the death blow, the story of Minnie?
Who, Sedley asked, was the leader of the group?
Having surrendered herself at last to the police, Janet Crawley was now in the witness box.
No one, she said.
It was growing wearisome. There were eight defendants to be examined then cross-examined, first by their own defence counsels, then by each of the other defence counsels if they should see fit and finally by the prosecution counsel. A total of seventy-three examinations if each barrister availed him or herself of each opportunity, and this without even taking into account the other witnesses called. Inevitably Sedley was doing most of the work. Let me approach the question differently, he said for perhaps the hundredth time. Which of the men in the group seemed most eager to show-off, to establish his manhood, if you like?
David, she said at once.
Mr Sayle, Sedley said.
Fortunately not all the lawyers were eager to stand up whenever they could. Counsels for Davidson and Simmons in particular were following the time-honoured strategy of saying as little as possible, calculating that at the end of the trial almost nothing specific would have been said about their clients and consequently that the jury would feel unable to convict them for so serious a crime. Daniel himself had often been at pains to reassure clients that he was doing better for them by keeping his mouth shut than by questioning witnesses, since in the end one can never quite know what this or that witness might say. It had been established, or at least all the defendants agreed, that Simmons had arrived at the scene on a motorbike carrying Janet Crawley on the pillion, while Davidson had driven the car that brought Stuart Bateson and Gill Crawley. Both vehicles, their drivers and passengers claimed, had arrived at the scene to find Sayle, Singleton, Grier and Riley already on the bridge.
And would it be fair to say, Sedley tried, that there was a certain amount of animosity between the male members of the group?
I don’t know what you are getting at.
Miss Crawley, due to your absence, you have inevitably missed a great deal of what has been said in this trial. However, it is not important for you to understand what I am getting at, but to answer my questions. Let me be precise: Is it true that Mr Sayle and Mr Grier were in competition to impress the girls?
I don’t see, Janet Crawley said petulantly, why I have to answer questions about our private life. The girl’s counsel stood up. Your honour . . . Mr Sedley, Daniel asked, can you explain to us how these questions are relevant to the trial? Your honour, Mr Sedley began, as I have said from the beginning, this is very much a joint enterprise trial and one where the dynamic of the group of people involved is both complex and important. I am seeking to establish that the motivation for the crime lay in that group dynamic, in the relationships of the different members of the group to each other. Judge Savage considered: I will give you just a few minutes, Mr Sedley, to see if this line of questioning will lead to anything.
Sedley paused to concentrate. Miss Crawley, the qualities of sensitivity and loyalty to friends are most admirable, but may sometimes prove misguided. Let me approach the problem in a way that will perhaps make it easier for you to answer.
The girl stared at him. She was a small, tense, abrasive creature, the face crudely pretty with bright lipstick and sharp eyes.
You are part of what Mr Sayle has described as a ‘tight-knit’ group. At what age would you expect such a group to form?
Don’t know. Mid-teens.
And at what age would it normally break up?
Early-twenties, I suppose.
You are in your early-twenties.
Right.
Your group hasn’t broken up.
No.
What kind of thing do you think could make a group like yours break up?
Your honour, the girl’s counsel was on his feet again. Not only is the defendant being asked a series of irrelevant questions about her private life, but now she is being invited to launch into the purest speculation. She is not, so far as I know an expert on social mores.
I shall rephrase the question, Sedley conceded. Miss Crawley, did you and your friends ever talk about the kind of things that broke up groups like your own?
Yes.
And did you reach any conclusions?
Well, people get married, don’t they, Janet Crawley said. Couples get wrapped up in themselves and pull out.
Is that why Ginnie Keane was not present on the bridge on the night of March 22nd?
Again I have to object your honour. The defendant is being invited to speculate.
Mr Sedley . . .
Did Ginnie tell you why she wasn’t coming to the bridge?
She was with her boyfriend, yes, if that’s what you mean.
And the boyfriend is not part of the group?
No.
Did Ginnie tell you what she and her boyfriend were doing while you were on the bridge?
The girl laughed: What do you think they were doing?
I’ve no idea.
Bet you have.
Did she tell you they were making love?
You’ve said it, the girl said. She seemed at once pleased and grim.
When people form strong couples, that destroys groups, doesn’t it? Sedley suggested very quickly. Is that the conclusion you reached when you talked together about such things?
I suppose you could say that.
Who was most opposed to this?
You what?
Who was determined to keep the group together at all costs?
She didn’t reply.
Sedley sensed he was getting somewhere. Daniel was anxious that he was allowing the man to get away with too much. But all at once the questioning had geared in to his own intuitions.
David Sayle didn’t have sex with his girlfriend, did he, Miss Crawley, despite their having been together for some years?
She hesitated.
Miss Crawley, in an interview with the police, you . . .
Okay, no, he didn’t, they didn’t.
And you all knew.
No, I knew because Sasha told me. We was like sisters.
Ah, so no doubt she also told you why he didn’t, or they didn’t.
Your honour, I object. It was Sayle’s counsel this time.
But Janet Crawley was already answering: It’s true he had this thing about us staying together as a group. He wanted us to go to youth club as well.
Sayle’s counsel hesitated, then sat down.
Mr Sayle had a thing about sex too, didn’t he?
Your honour! Now she was on her feet again.
Yes, Mrs Wilson.
Your honour it seems admirable rather than unnatural for a young man not to have sex with a girl he is not married to and entirely consistent with his evident religious vocation. I really do not see how my learned friend can deduce some kind of perversity from this abstention. In general, can I submit that this whole line of questioning seems quite irrelevant to the facts of the case.
Mrs Wilson, the prosecution counsel has not said anything about perversity. For the moment I shall allow him to continue.
Miss Crawley, did Mr Sayle have a very particular position on, or shall we say against sex?
The girl took a breath. You could say that, she said.
Some of you must have thought, surely, that Mr Sayle was a bit, er, nutty, talking to prostitutes, then not having sex with his girlfriend.
She shrugged her shoulders. Course we did.
And who, in this group of eleven, I believe the numbers on the mobiles go up to eleven, do they not, who mo
st keenly opposed Mr Sayle?
I don’t know what you mean.
Miss Crawley, has it ever occurred to you that you yourself might be the victim of Mr Sayle’s obsession with keeping a group together?
Sometimes I’ve thought he was a bit queer.
Did any member of the group think David Sayle was a complete nutcase and a tyrant?
She didn’t reply.
Somebody who was only frequenting the group to be near one of the girls perhaps?
Judge Savage was impressed by the mileage Sedley was getting out of this from the purely psychological, general interest point of view. But as ever there was the danger that a great deal of court time would pass and nothing substantial would be proven or demonstrated. It was his task to make sure that that did not happen. Listings officers rightly disliked judges whose trials went on forever. In another few minutes he would have to force Sedley to arrive at the point.
Was there somebody else – I shall be as clear as I can – who fancied Sasha Singleton?
The girl had her lips pressed tight. She folded her arms.
Miss Crawley, can I put it to you that one of the other men in the group regularly mocked Mr Sayle in order to impress Miss Singleton.
Janet Crawley’s stare had now become belligerent. The lipstick had gone from her lower lip.
In your first police interview, Miss Crawley, which you later claimed was made under pressure. . . .