“My learned colleague, Miss Revell, would have you believe Gareth Dawson then struck Robert Wainwright again, and again.” I could hear Paul’s hands hitting the table, punctuating his words, and I flinched at the sound. “Struck him so hard that he killed him, murdered him. And that is the alleged crime for which my client, Gareth Dawson, was found guilty here in this very courtroom and sentenced to life in prison.
One of the things I spoke to you about last Monday morning was the concept of ‘beyond all reasonable doubt’. In order for the conviction to stand, you must be one hundred percent certain that Gareth Dawson carried out those fatal blows. He has admitted striking Robert Wainwright once, hard enough to knock him to the floor and render him temporarily unconscious.” I risked a quick glance up at the jury and could see that several of them were looking at me. “But he denies striking him again. He says that he threw the bat to the floor and fled, disgusted with himself, after rolling him onto his side so he wouldn’t swallow his tongue.”
Paul reminded the jury of the evidence that showed me leaving the scene. The CCTV footage with no time or date stamp. He then went through the other CCTV footage that was taken from the taxi driver’s dash-cam and the camera in The Heartsease.
“The police didn’t bother to try to find the dash-cam footage, so certain they were that they already had their man, and they discounted the footage in the pub stating that the camera’s time could have been altered when Gareth Dawson installed the camera. But they were not able to offer any proof either way that the camera’s time had been changed. Their analysts couldn’t say. So, it’s just as likely that this time was accurate as it is that it was inaccurate.”
He turned to the map on the easel, pointing at the red stickers with the times written on them. “These timelines don’t work, ladies and gentlemen.” Paul jabbed at the sticker over The Heartsease with his finger. “If he was here at 10:26 pm, and then here…” Another jab at the map, this time over the sticker at the junction of Thunder Lane and St William’s Way. “If he was here at 10:20 pm, then he couldn’t have killed Robert Wainwright at 10:22 pm, which is the time that the police have ascertained was the time of the fatal blows from the victim’s broken phone.” He left his index finger over the sticker covering the location of The Griffin pub and paused for a few seconds, taking a sip of water from a glass on the table. I watched from under my eyelids as Laura filled the glass back up as soon as Paul had put it down. “A phone which Gareth Dawson reports as being intact, and not smashed, when he left the scene. He even checked the victim’s phone as he left to make sure he could call for help when he came round.” Paul paused again, looking at each of the jurors in turn.
“Now, what about the medical evidence?” he said, picking up a few sheets of paper from the table and studying them for a few seconds. “This, ladies and gentlemen,” Paul said as he waved the papers in the air. “This is crucial in terms of reasonable doubt. Dr Klein, a well respected academic in the field of trauma, has demonstrated that Robert Wainwright was struck and sustained a head injury. Then, perhaps longer than ten minutes later, he sustained further serious injuries which killed him. These injuries were inflicted — probably by a left-handed person — at 10:22 pm when according to the evidence my client would have been somewhere between the road junction and a pub over a mile away. The prosecution has offered no evidence to the contrary.”
Paul was really getting into his stride by now, and he had let a hint of indignation creep into his voice. I forgot all about not looking up and studied him, fascinated. He was staring at the jury, and although I couldn’t see his expression I could see his head going from side to side as he looked up and down the row. “So if Gareth Dawson didn’t kill Robert Wainwright, the obvious question is who did?” Several of the jurors looked across at me, but I couldn’t read their faces. “I don’t know,” Paul said, exhaling as he did so. Several of the jurors frowned as he carried on. “There are no other suspects in the case. What there is is plenty of evidence to suggest, and I emphasise the word suggest, that Robert Wainwright was in trouble with some quite serious people. He was heavily in debt to a criminal organisation and he was being threatened by them.” Paul picked the papers back up from the table where he’d put them when he was taking a drink. “The medical evidence shows that Robert Wainwright was the victim of a sustained beating some days before he was killed, which my client himself witnessed. It’s not unreasonable to suggest that perhaps this beating is related to Mr Wainwright’s murder. As a suggestion, it cannot be disproved.” Paul paused again before bringing his hand back down on the table with a thump. This time, I wasn’t the only one who flinched at the noise. “So, why did the police not investigate this angle?”
I looked up at the public gallery to see if Malcolm was up there. It was fairly obvious where Paul would go next, at least it was to me, and I didn’t think Malcolm would come out of it particularly well. I could see Andy and Jacob sitting at one end of the public gallery, and Tommy and David were huddled together at the other end, but I couldn’t see Malcolm anywhere. Why would he attend though, I asked myself as Paul’s indignation rose a notch.
“Why did the police not investigate this angle?” he repeated his question before turning back to point in my direction. “Why should they? They had already found their prime suspect. A man who, by his own admission, had planned for and carried out an attack on the man who he considered had murdered his wife.” I waited for an objection from Miss Revell, but she stayed silent. I looked down, feeling not just the jury’s but every set of eyes in the courtroom focus on me. “Why would the police look for anyone else when they had what amounted to a confession already? Why would the police look for anyone else when all the facts pointed toward my client?” I looked at Laura who stared back at me with a pained expression. Paul’s voice dropped, and the next words were spoken with an air of resignation, not indignation.
“Except the police didn’t have all the facts. They only had one or two of them. But their absolute focus on my client as the sole suspect meant that they didn’t look for any more. They only looked for information that incriminated my client for the murder of Robert Wainwright, and then they adjusted that information into so-called facts at the exclusion of a full investigation.” Paul drew himself up to his full height, and I sensed that he was reaching his conclusion. The indignation was starting to creep back into his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, my client could not have murdered Robert Wainwright. Yes, he struck him. But did he kill him? No. He couldn’t have. Because at the exact moment that Robert Wainwright died, at the exact moment those killing blows were delivered, my client was well on his way to a pub over a mile away.”
Paul stopped speaking, picking up the glass that Laura had refilled and taking a sip. His hand was rock steady, not a hint of nerves at all.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me put to you an alternate theory. One which I believe has just as much, if not more, credibility as a chronology of events. I put to you that Gareth Dawson’s version of events is a true one, as every shred of evidence which my team has uncovered points to. Evidence which the police did not even begin to look for, as they were so focused on my client as the guilty party. Was Robert Wainwright being followed by the thugs who had beaten him up the previous week? Perhaps they saw my client leaving the alleyway and entered it after he had left. We will never know as the camera that captured my client crossing the road didn’t cover the entrance to the alleyway.” Paul paused, taking a deep breath which I unconsciously mirrored. “Perhaps, as Gareth Dawson was approaching The Heartsease to meet his friends, these unknown assailants were in the alleyway with Robert Wainwright as he lay there slowly bleeding into his brain? Perhaps they were delivering the fatal blows that overlaid the damage that my client had done?” Paul paused again, taking his time. The silence in the courtroom was almost palpable.
“I don’t think there’s any ‘perhaps’ about it, ladies and gentlemen. I can’t produce a suspect, or suspects, in this case. But I don’t nee
d to. The evidence speaks for itself. If you have any doubt whatsoever that Gareth Dawson didn’t kill Robert Wainwright, then it is your civic duty to overturn this wrongful conviction.” Paul remained on his feet for a few seconds, looking at the jury, before he sat back down in his chair and reached for the glass of water. Laura put her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him, whispering something in his ear. Paul nodded in response, and turned back to look at me. As he did so, I saw a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead reflected in the harsh fluorescent light of the courtroom.
Miss Revell got to her feet and clasped her hands in front of her as though she was about to say grace before a meal.
“Your Honour,” she said in a voice so quiet I had to strain to hear her. “May I approach the bench?” Judge Watling’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he looked at her over the top of his half-moon glasses.
“Of course,” he replied, taking his glasses off and folding them as she made her way over to him. I watched as she leaned forward and talked to the judge. Keeping her hands clasped in front of her, she looked as if she was pleading with him, almost begging. The judge frowned, then his frown became deeper, and then he just nodded. The only words I could make out were his final words to her, which could be lipread from where I was sitting. He said ‘thank you’ to Miss Revell before she turned and walked back toward her table with a brief sideways glance at Paul. I looked at Paul, but couldn’t see his expression. The only thing I saw was Laura looking at him and shrugging her shoulders when she caught his eye.
Judge Watling cleared his throat to silence the conversations that had burst into life as Miss Revell was walking back to her table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that I must adjourn the court for a period of time.” He looked up at the large clock on the wall which read just before ten o’clock. “We will reconvene at eleven o’clock sharp.”
With that, he got to his feet and disappeared into his inner chambers before the usher had a chance to open the door for him.
Mr Jackson led me back down to the cells underneath the courtroom as his colleague peeled off to the smoking area. I had thought at one point that we were just going to sit in the courtroom for an hour, but after a heated whispered argument about smoking, Mr Jackson had appeared to give in. I was deposited in the cell and Mr Jackson sat at the table and opened up a newspaper. I declined the offer of a cup of tea from the cell assistant or whatever he was called. My stomach was churning, and I wasn’t sure I could keep a cup of tea down.
The door to the cell area opened and Laura rushed in, heading straight across to my cell. She looked flustered and had her lips pressed together into a thin line.
“What’s going on?” I asked her. “Why has it stopped?” I couldn’t remember what the proper word for stopping court proceedings was, and to be honest I didn’t care. Laura waited as the cell assistant brought over a chair for her to sit on and declined his offer of a cup of tea. With a disappointed look, he made his way back to the table and sat down opposite Mr Jackson who just ignored him. At least it wasn’t just me, then.
“I don’t know,” Laura said. “I haven’t got a clue.” Her words were spoken like a machine gun. “I tried to speak to Paul about it, but he disappeared to call someone.” She was speaking so quickly that I had to concentrate to understand her.
“Have you seen this before?” I asked.
“No,” she shot back. “I mean, yes, I’ve seen adjournments before.” That was the word I’d been looking for. “But never at this stage of the trial.” Laura took a few deep breaths, puffing the air out of her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m a bit wound up.”
I had to stop myself laughing at her words. She was wound up? How did she think I felt? I had to fight the urge to try to reassure her, reach through the bars and take her hand to tell her that everything would be okay. Although I didn’t laugh, I couldn’t help but smile. She looked at me, and returned the smile complete with dimples.
“Sorry,” she repeated herself. “That was a stupid thing to say.” This time I did laugh.
We passed the time making small talk about everything but the trial. I was grateful for that, at least. Laura kept checking her phone, explaining that she was waiting for something from Paul. I didn’t think that she’d be able to get a phone signal in an underground room, but after a few minutes, the phone buzzed when she was halfway through telling me a story about going shopping at the weekend. She looked at the screen, her face lit up by the blue light, and frowned.
“Paul’s gone back to the office,” she said. “He’s not said why. Just that he’s had to nip back to check something.” She paused for a moment before slipping the phone back into her jacket pocket and carrying on with the story. I laughed dutifully at the punchline of what turned out to be a not very funny story, but I was still grateful to her for taking my mind off what was going on upstairs in the judge’s chambers.
After a few minutes, we ran out of small talk. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her, but despite her best efforts to take my mind off it, I kept thinking about what was happening. I didn’t really have any recent funny stories either, and the stitches in my buttock were itching like mad.
“So, what do you think’s going on?” I asked her. She shrugged her shoulders in the same way as she had done earlier at Paul.
“I honestly don’t know. The last time I saw a court adjourned like that was for the judge to check on a point of law, but it was raised in open court, not a sidebar.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“There was a legal point I saw raised in a case I went to while I was still in law school. It started out as an objection, then it became a sidebar, then it became an adjournment. Legal arguments don’t normally happen in front of the courtroom, especially if it means that someone ends up looking stupid,” Laura explained. “The judge in that case wasn’t sure, so she adjourned the court to check the law books.”
“But what point of law could they be checking?”
“I don’t know. It might not be that. It could be something else entirely.” Laura sighed, looking as frustrated as I felt.
The next thirty minutes or so dragged by. Laura had excused herself. It was a few seconds after her mobile had buzzed on the table, so I figured Paul had texted her. I jumped as the phone on the wall rang, breaking the silence. Mr Jackson answered it, grunted a couple of times, and lumbered over to my cell. We made our way back up the steps leading to the courtroom. I sat back in my appointed spot and tried to make myself comfortable as he did the same thing next to me.
While we waited for the jury to come back in, I looked up at the public gallery. Andy gave me a broad smile and a thumbs up as I caught his eye. Jacob was sitting next to him, his eyes downcast. It looked as if he was scribbling something in a notebook, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing. Tommy and David were sitting in the back row, deep in discussion about something and not paying any attention at all to their surroundings, and Robert’s parents were still nowhere to be seen. I was just wondering where they were when the door behind the gallery opened and Robert’s father shuffled through, taking the last available seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologise for the unexpected adjournment,” the judge said, looking up and down the line of the jury. “There has been a most unexpected development in the case, one which I have not experienced before in over thirty years of sitting in courtrooms. I had to refresh my memory of what to do in such cases.” The silence in the courtroom was absolute. You could have not only heard a pin drop, but it would have been deafening. “The prosecution has stated that there is no evidence upon which a reasonable jury could uphold the conviction, given the additional evidence presented by the defence counsel.” Judge Watling looked over his glasses directly at me. There was a pause of perhaps ten seconds, the longest time he had ever concentrated on me. His eyebrows went up as he refocused his attention on the jury. “What this means ladies and gentlemen, is that you are no longer required to r
each a verdict in this case. I am taking that responsibility away from you and directing a verdict.” His gaze returned to me. I sat up straighter in my chair.
“Gareth Dawson, on the charge of murder which you have been convicted of, I hereby declare that conviction null and void and overturn both the conviction and sentence. Furthermore,” he paused as a collective gasp echoed around the courtroom, followed by hushed conversations. I closed my mouth, realising that I had opened it as the judge had spoken, and looked at Laura. She stared back at me, not open mouthed, but with a broad grin on her face. I expected the judge to bang his fist on the table to silence the courtroom or something like that, but he just waited for the hubbub to die down. I think most people in the room realised he had more to say, and quietened down to hear it. “Furthermore,” he continued, “on the advice of the Crown Prosecution Service who have been in attendance during these proceedings, they do not consider that there is a case to answer for in relation to the original offence for which you pled guilty, namely that of manslaughter.” It took me a few seconds to work out exactly what he was saying. No case to answer for manslaughter? My heart thumped as I realised what that meant.
“Given the time you have already served for what was, in effect, a wrongful conviction, they also do not think that pressing charges for a lesser offence such as assault would be in the public interest. You are as of this moment a free and innocent man.” There was a loud gasp in the courtroom, and as the noise in the courtroom increased I realised that it was from me. What the fuck? The judge rose his voice as several people in the public gallery pushed their way to the door. “Ladies, gentlemen, silence please.” He spent the next ten minutes talking to the jury, reminding them of what they could or couldn’t do after the trial, and thanking them for their service. I wasn’t listening to what he was saying, I was just numb. I didn’t know what to do, where to look. I didn’t want to look up at the public gallery out of respect for Robert’s father, but at the same time, I wanted to jump to my feet and pump my fists in the air. Point at Andy and Jacob, wave at Tommy and David. Maybe even give anyone from the press who was still there a two fingered salute. I did none of those, I just sat there with my hands in my lap, trying to process what had just happened.
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