by Silver Abi
“Your Honour, my client is the last on my list, that is true, but…”
“But what?” The judge’s eyes were clear and questioning as he interrupted her. Judith bristled. Even if they finished at close tomorrow they would still be within her one-week time estimate. He could not possibly have expected to finish any earlier than that.
“My solicitor provided me with some new instructions during the lunch time recess.”
“And?”
“And, as a result, it may be necessary to call one or two further witnesses.”
“One or two?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“Well, is it one or is it two?”
Judith took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height. She heard a low snicker from Arkwright as he basked in her discomfort.
“Your Honour, I will take further instructions during the course of the afternoon and may be able to tell Your Honour before close today, failing that, first thing tomorrow morning. To be on the safe side I must say ‘two’.”
Judge Blake chewed his lip and gazed intently from Judith to Arkwright and back again. She saw his eyes dart to the row behind her and blink once, taking in Constance’s absence. Judith was sorely tempted to speak again but her experience held her back. She wanted to keep him on side but knew better than to promise anything she could not fulfil.
“Very well then,” he replied gravely. “Let’s get on.”
Judith nodded towards Raymond, who obediently rose to his feet and walked slowly and deliberately over to take the stand. She had stood before him for a full 10 minutes downstairs explaining what Constance had discovered only that morning, imploring him to speak and keep things in play till the end of the day, to buy them some more time. She had no idea if he had even heard her as he had remained immobile and failed to respond in any way to her news or entreaties.
Hoping that he was listening, despite his aloof manner, she had given him a brief trot through how to give evidence; “address your comments to the judge”, “answer the question clearly, don’t prejudge”, “speak slowly and articulate your words clearly”, “don’t make jokes” (hardly relevant in Raymond’s case but she did not want to depart from her usual checklist), “if you make a mistake admit it and correct it” and finally “don’t, whatever you do, get angry”. Again, whilst he was conscious, in the sense that he stood before her with his eyes open, she had not been able to say if he could hear her or make any sense of her words.
A policeman removed Raymond’s handcuffs and he ascended the two low steps to stand before the court and the watching world in the witness box.
“Please state your full name,” Judith began, wishing that Constance was behind her at this crucial time. Raymond stared hard at Judith and stood without moving or speaking. There was silence in the court, no one else moved or spoke or wrote. Then, just as Judith had waited so long that she felt obliged to repeat the question, he began to speak, slowly and steadily, turning his head towards the judge, just as she had advised him.
“Raymond James Maynard.”
Judith swallowed hard and stared at Ray, her eyes attempting to see how the next two hours would unfold. She forced herself to stick to her script, despite her desire to fast-forward to the very end where she would ask him, “Did you kill Roger Davis?” and Pinocchio would register and assess his response.
A man approached the front of the courtroom and checked the camera which had been set up overnight, situated directly opposite Raymond. He returned to a laptop he was operating further along the bench she shared with Arkwright and made a few adjustments. Then he nodded to the judge who in turn nodded to Judith. The software was running. Now Pinocchio, a computer programme thought up in a Manchester bar and developed in a London conservatory, would decide if Raymond Maynard had killed Roger Davis. Judith stared at the camera and at the screen which the man was controlling, willing it in equal measure to either fail completely or exonerate Raymond.
The judge coughed impatiently and Judith roused herself and turned to her young client.
“Thank you. Hello Raymond. How are you?”
“Fine thank you, Miss Burton.”
“And for the benefit of the court, how old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“So you must have celebrated a birthday recently.”
“Yes, it was last week. The 22nd. I wasn’t allowed a cake.”
Mr Arkwright smiled a smug smile at Judith, which she glimpsed from the corner of one eye. He had noted the date; now the boy was 16 he could have the full sentence if convicted, despite the fact he was 15 at the time of the offence, at the judge’s discretion.
“Ah. Well. Let’s hope your next birthday is spent in a more relaxing way.”
“I hope so, yes.”
What was that? Raymond had smiled when he answered. And not a weaselly or evil smile. It had been gentle and soft, tinged with anxiety, nothing less than you would expect from a 16-year-old boy on trial for his life and perhaps considerably more. Who was this boy? He was not the same unresponsive, sullen boy she had met before or the drab, insipid, bookish boy described to her by countless others. The jury, positioned close by, watching his every move, must have loved that smile.
“Raymond, do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Yes.”
“So, is it a brother?”
“No, I have a sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“Marnie.”
“How old is she?”
“Eighteen.”
“And where does she go to school?”
“She just left.”
“Before she left?”
“Hartfield High.”
Judith could hardly breathe. Ray was being obliging and civil, which was good. But he was also answering just a touch slower than you might expect from polite conversation, which added a dash of humility and as he spoke his wide eyes fluttered around the court, drawing the audience into his private terror. Whatever the reason for his mesmerising manner, it was extremely effective so far in terms of courting sympathy.
“And your parents. Are they here today?”
“My mother’s here.” Mrs Maynard sobbed audibly before collapsing behind her daughter.
“And your father?”
“He’s not here.”
“Am I right that your father passed away five years ago?”
“And 13 days, yes.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You asked me about my father. And you asked if he passed away five years ago. Well, it was five years and 13 days.”
“Thank you. Where were you at school previously before Richmond Boys’?”
“At Hartfield Junior.”
“A school with a ‘needs improvement’ OFSTED report?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you like Hartfield?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just didn’t.”
“Did you have a lot of friends there?”
“No.”
“Did you have a lot of enemies?”
“Well, not enemies, but kids used to take my money, that sort of thing.”
“Bullying you?”
“I suppose.”
“You were pleased, then, when a place became available at Richmond Boys’?”
“I was at first. Mum told me it was a really good school but it was just the same really.”
“Just the same?”
“Same kind of thing, kids taking my money, hitting me. Only this time they were richer kids.”
A low giggle from the public gallery.
“You were bullied at Richmond Boys’?”
“If that is what you call it, yes.”
“Did the teachers know?”
Ray shrugged and pushed his hair away from his eyes.
“Thank you, let’s move on. How did you do academically?”
“I was top of the year for physics, chemistry, biology, maths and computer science.”
“Last year?”
“From when I started.”
“Wow. Very impressive. Mr Davis was your house master as well as your maths teacher?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like him?”
“He was all right.”
“Did he like you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Why do you say that?”
Judith held her breath. If he said “because I was cleverer than him”, oh yes, people would laugh, but he would lose their support in that second. Ray lifted his head for a moment, his eyes seeking her out for the first time. Then, slowly, his head rotated first to face Mr Arkwright and then towards the judge.
“I’m not certain. I tried very hard in my lessons but it was always hard to tell with Mr Davis, what he was thinking.”
Arkwright’s lips twitched out his disappointment. Judith exhaled loudly. What was so ironic was that Ray was behaving exactly as if he had been schooled in his evidence when, of course, nothing was further from the truth. If he carried on like this, she might find herself in trouble for coaching him.
“Did Mr Davis shout at you ever?”
“Shout? No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you have detention or any other punishment from him?”
“No.”
“So moving on to the day of the…the day when Mr Davis died. You went to his room?”
“Yes.”
“What time was that?”
“2.52.”
“That’s very precise.”
“I’m just answering your question.”
“All right. So, 2.52.” Judith, again, tried to cover her surprise. Raymond had not been found by Mrs Taylor until well after 3. What had he done for 20 minutes in Mr Davis’ room if he was not guilty of murdering him?
“Yes.”
“Why did you go to his room?”
“I wanted to talk to him.”
“Well, that is clear. What is it that was so urgent you had to speak to him then and not wait till your next lesson?”
A shrug. “I had some ideas for something. I wanted to tell him.”
“What happened when you went to Mr Davis’ room?”
“I went to his room. The door was closed. I went away. That’s all.”
“What do you mean the door was closed?”
“When he is holding his sessions, he leaves the door open if he’s free and closes it when someone comes in.”
“So you assumed he was not free?”
“Well. I knew.”
“How did you know?”
“The door was closed.”
There was a low snigger from the gallery which the judge silenced with a furious grunt. Ray looked up in surprise, swallowing loudly and then lowering his eyes. A woman upstairs tutted loudly at the judge and muttered, “Poor lad,” to her neighbour. The judge grunted a second time and was rewarded by a conspiratorial sigh and shake of the head from Arkwright. Judith continued unperturbed.
“Did you knock at the door?”
“No.”
“Did you see who was inside?”
“No, but I could hear voices.”
“You could hear voices inside Mr Davis’ room?”
“Yes.”
“How many voices?”
“I don’t know. I think two.”
“Including Mr Davis.”
“Yes.”
“Who was inside with Mr Davis?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can’t you guess? It might have been someone else from your house.”
“There are 52 boys in Radcliff.”
“But you know them all?”
“I know who they are, their names, but not their voices and not through two doors.”
“Can you tell me their names?”
“What, the boys in Radcliff?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Abbott, Brown, Davies, Davis, Edwards, Field, Freeman, French...”
“Thank you. You can stop there. You appear to have perfect recall?”
“I just remember things, that’s all.”
“The two people in Mr Davis’ rooms. Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“No.”
Arkwright muttered something inaudible under his breath.
“Raymond. Mr Arkwright will put it to you that you cannot identify the voices because you never heard anyone in the room.”
“I did.”
“He will say that there was no one there.”
“There was.”
“He will say that it is a figment of your imagination.”
“No.” Ray’s eyes flashed with indignation as he asserted himself for the first time, with a resounding but controlled response. Judith’s eyes glanced past Arkwright, seeking out the Pinocchio operator, wondering if she might see its response or glean from his demeanour whether Raymond was convincing the machine. The man stood, inscrutable, headphones on, fingers moving lightly over the keyboard from time to time, eyes directed only at the screen.
“What happened then?”
“I went back to my room.”
“So at 2.52 you went to Mr Davis’ room, he wasn’t there and you returned to your room. Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone was at the rugby.”
“Ah, the big match. Why weren’t you there?”
“I don’t like rugby.”
“Was it not your headmaster’s express instruction to every boy to attend?”
Ray bit his lip and appeared the most downcast he had since he took the stand.
“Raymond, can you answer the question please?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Judith was now enthralled but also discomfited. This was a performance worthy of an Oscar, but from this boy?
“So why did you stay behind?” She forced herself to continue as before.
“I said. I don’t like rugby.”
“You disobeyed a direct instruction of your headmaster?”
Again, Ray turned towards Judge Blake, who was watching him closely throughout.
“Yes, sir. I did.”
Arkwright linked his thumbs into his braces and grinned at this innocuous confession. He was not sufficiently sensitive to appreciate that contriteness from Ray, despite his admission, could, perversely, engender support. Judith turned around to see if Constance was in sight but she had not yet returned. She took a deep breath, consulted her notes, located her place and continued.
“So you returned to your room and then what happened?”
“I waited for a bit, maybe 20 minutes, and then I went back.”
“What happened then?”
“It was quiet and the door, the first door, was open. But it was wide open, not like usual. So I knocked once and there was no answer. I knocked again and I called out something like ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr Davis, it’s Raymond’. I waited but I didn’t hear anything. Then I went in.”
Judith watched Raymond very closely as he spoke. Despite his lengthy response, he didn’t move his torso or his head or his shoulders at all; he remained incredibly still. She screwed up her eyes so as to view him better. Again, she wished Constance were there. She really needed to focus on her questions rather than watching Raymond’s body language.
“What happened then?”
“I knew something was wrong straight away.”
“How?”
“Well, the armchair was on its side.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, there were some books on the floor.”
“And what did you do?”
“I went in but, well, slowly because it was really quiet and, like I said, there was stuff on the floor.”
Judith gave a small gasp. At the end of his response, something in Ray’s face twitched. It was over so quickly that by the time Judith saw it she could not determine where the movement came from, be it eyes, nose or mouth.
“Did you notice anything else unusual?”
“No
.”
“And then what happened?”
Pause.
Ray stared at Judith for a full 10 seconds before replying. When he spoke, his voice was trembling.
“I went forward and I was calling ‘Mr Davis’, ‘Sir’, and I heard something, something really faint, like a tiny noise so I went into the kitchen and…”
“Go on.”
“Mr Davis was lying there on the floor and there was blood everywhere.”
Judith swallowed hard. She had seen another awkward movement flit across Raymond’s face. At first, she thought it might have been a line in his forehead which pulsated unnaturally. But then she wondered if, instead, it was the skin across the bridge of his nose, which had puckered in a tiny constriction.
“And what did you do?” she asked.
Pause.
“Take your time.”
“I think I just stood and looked. And then I heard the noise again and I looked up and the window above the sink was open and it was banging in the wind. Bang, bang, bang.”
“And what did you do?”
Silence.
“Raymond. Did you touch Mr Davis?”
“Yes.” It was almost inaudible.
“Why did you touch him?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to see if he was warm so I would know he was still alive, and he was – warm, that is. And then I thought I would pull out the knife. But then sometimes they say you shouldn’t.”
Judith saw Raymond’s right cheek withdraw and then inflate. She coughed again and forced herself to ignore these convulsions or to think too much about their significance; she had to focus on this crucial part of his testimony.
“Who is ‘they’?” she asked.
“On TV. On those programmes. When people have miraculous recoveries. They say only the doctors should take out the knife.”
“Oh, I see. What did you do next?”
“I let go and I ran out and I shouted for help.”
“And what happened?”
“Mrs Taylor came and then she screamed and then she called someone and then lots of people came.”
Ray stood motionless, tears streaming down his cheeks. He gulped twice before wiping them away and biting his lip to recover control of his emotions.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell us?”
Ray swallowed once, raised his hands to shoulder height and turned them palm upwards. Then he lowered them slowly to his sides. When he lifted his head, his eyes were brimming with tears once more.