A Game of Proof (The trials of Sarah Newby)

by Vicary, Tim

  But unlike newspaper readers, the police and lawyers get to see the real photos, of the naked strangled corpse with the wounds and swollen eyes and the purple tongue hanging out.

  That’s not going to happen to Emily, Sarah thought. It can’t. It won’t. This is all a bad dream.

  It might.

  At 11.05 p.m. the police rang to say the phone number was from a public call box in Blossom Street, and had Sarah and Bob been in touch with Emily’s grandparents? Might she have gone there?

  They hadn’t. Sarah and Bob each rang their parents, spreading the ripples of anxiety further. No, of course Emily wasn’t with them. Bob rang the police and asked testily what they were doing now? At 1.00 a second police car with a uniformed sergeant arrived to ask many of the same questions, and probe further. Which were her closest friends? When had Bob spoken to them? Had Emily ever been out longer than expected, or with someone they didn’t know? Where exactly did she like to go for walks?

  The man was serious, concerned, avuncular. They would make some enquiries of her friends, he said, and if she still hadn’t turned up by morning a proper search would be considered.

  ‘Considered?’ Bob asked. ‘Meaning what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, sir, we need to know where to look, really. I mean if you said she had gone out to a particular place we could start from there, but it’s not as simple in this case, is it? But we’ll do our best. Her description’s already been circulated.’

  Then he, too, left. Neither Bob nor Sarah smoked so they were reduced to pacing up and down, arguing, drinking coffee. Then at two o’clock Sarah remembered Simon! That was it of course - it had to be! Emily and Simon weren’t particularly close but surely Emily had said something about him that morning. What was it now? ‘I’ll be like Simon - he’s happy, at least!’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention that before?’ Bob asked, aghast.

  ‘I don’t know, I just ... didn’t,’ she faltered.

  ‘Didn’t think, more like,’ said Bob angrily. ‘OK, I’ll give him a ring.’

  ‘No, Bob, I’ll do it. He’s my son!’

  ‘And she’s my daughter! You’ve done enough damage today already!’ He walked out to the phone in the hall. ‘If she is there I’ll give that boy a piece of my mind. This is the very last time he’s going to screw up our lives, I promise you that!’

  Sarah sat down and thought, how could we be so stupid? Of course it must be Simon - why was I blocking it out? Is he so very distant from me as well as Bob now, that we don’t think of him at all in a situation like this? At least I know where she is now. She’s with Simon, she’s not a bloody corpse in some field somewhere. The relief was so great it flooded through her. Prize idiots we’re going to look when we tell the police!

  She slumped on the sofa, listening for Bob’s voice in the hall. Why does he blame me for all this - it’s not just my fault, surely? If this is what they call a bad patch in your marriage I hope it doesn’t get any worse. Then she heard Bob talking.

  ‘You’re quite sure ... you’re telling me the truth now, Simon ... if I come round there and find she’s been with you I’ll ... yes, okay ... no, I don’t think you need to do that ...’

  He stood in the doorway with a wild expression on his face and said: ‘She’s not there.’

  ‘What? You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Unless he’s lying, but I don’t think he is. He swears he hasn’t seen her, in fact he seemed quite upset when he got over the shock. He wanted to come over here but I said not to bother.’

  ‘Whyever not? He might help.’

  ‘I don’t see how. Anyway she’s not with him, Sarah - he hasn’t seen her.’

  ‘Oh God, no.’ She moaned as the full realisation hit her.

  ‘Yes. Yes I’m afraid so. Where the hell can she be?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did but I don’t.’

  And so the nightmare continued. When Terry Bateson arrived just before 9 a.m. Sergeant Hendry was already there. He had sent two officers along the river bank behind the house, and four more were making enquiries round the village. Bob had just come in from the riverbank wearing an anorak and rubber boots. He was pale and unshaven. He gazed bitterly at Terry.

  ‘And who the hell might you be?’

  Terry showed his card. ‘We’ve met before, actually, Mr Newby. At the judge’s ball.’

  ‘Have we? Well, that doesn’t matter now. What I need is someone to find my daughter.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Terry followed him into the living room where Sarah sat, her hands clasped round a cup of coffee. To his surprise she was wearing black motorcyclist’s trousers, jacket and boots. Her face was pale, with dark bruises of sleeplessness round her eyes. She didn’t appear to notice him.

  ‘Hello, Sarah. I’m sorry to hear about all this.’

  She looked up, startled. ‘Oh, it’s you. Hello, Terry.’

  He glanced at Bob. ‘Your wife and I work together sometimes at the courts, Mr Newby.’ Where she shows the world how useless I am. Well, the boot’s on the other foot now.

  ‘Yes, no doubt. Well, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ve only just come on duty, sir, I’m afraid. I need to know all the facts.’

  ‘For God’s sake! She’s been missing nearly twenty four hours and they send a complete newcomer on the case!’

  Sergeant Hendry intervened. ‘DI Bateson is the most senior officer to be involved so far, sir. If we set up a full scale search he’ll be the man to co-ordinate it.’

  ‘Yes, all right. Let’s get on with it then. For all we know every minute counts.’ As Hendry explained the details Terry scrutinized Bob and decided that a display of anger and nervous energy was the only way he had of coping with the situation. A cocktail of fear and despair drove him to constantly interrupt the sergeant, creating more confusion rather than less. Sarah, on the other hand, sipped her coffee in silence, apparently withdrawn into herself.

  The basic rule in child disappearances was: first look for the child, then look for the problem. If the child hasn’t simply had an accident or got lost then there must be a reason for its running away, and very often the reason had something to do with family conflicts.

  Was there a conflict here? The father pacing up and down manically, the wife silent. Neither offering the other any comfort, hardly looking at each other. Probably. After all, he knew from personal experience what a bitch the wife could be.

  ‘You’re quite sure, Mr Newby, there’s nothing else your daughter might have said or done to indicate where she might be now?’

  ‘I’ve told you that - no! Not that I can think of.’

  ‘And there was no unusual quarrel or family row yesterday?’

  ‘Not with me, anyway. Emily was worried about her exams, and I asked Sarah to talk to her before she went to work. She was supposed to comfort her but I don’t know what she said.’

  ‘I told her to stick to her revision plan and she’d be all right. I promised to ring her at lunchtime, which I did.’ In comparison to her husband’s voice Sarah’s was perfectly calm and controlled. But that was the danger of it, Terry thought, wryly. It was the same controlled, deadly voice she had deployed against him in the witness box yesterday, when his friendly lunch companion had transformed herself into a razor-tongued witch. If that was how she behaved as a mother, God knows how many emotional wounds her daughter had.

  Terry shut his notebook. ‘All right. I think I’ve got the picture. It seems sergeant Hendry has done all the correct things so far. When your men come back from the river, Tom, we’ll put them on house to house enquiries with the others - it’s not a big village, someone must have seen her if she was about yesterday. Get onto the bus company too, see which drivers came here yesterday and show them her photo. Then I want to check that phone box where the call came from ...’

  ‘How on earth will that help?’ Bob interrupted irritably. ‘If it’s a public phone anyone could have used it.’

  ‘Yes, sir, o
f course. But it’s our only real clue so far, and unless it’s at the station or in the city centre it probably has its own group of regular users. Most public phones do. So I’ll check that, and then I’ll need to talk to that son of yours, Sa ... Mrs Newby.’

  It didn’t seem right to use her first name, in front of her husband. But the surname felt awkward too.

  She picked up her motorcycle helmet with a faint, strained smile. ‘All right. I go near his house on my way to work. If you follow me I can take you right to his door.’

  Bob exploded. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Sarah? You can’t go to work! For Christ’s sake - Emily’s missing!’

  Sarah’s voice remained quiet and dry; exhausted but determined. ‘I know that, Bob. I’ve already been out on the bike to look for her but it does no good. I don’t know where she is and neither do you. And now we’ve got the police to search for us. I’ve got a job to do.’

  ‘Defending a bloody rapist - when your own daughter might be lying dead somewhere! You’re out of your mind!’

  ‘It’s you that’s out of your mind, Bob. You’ve been shouting nonstop for four hours, and I can’t take any more. I think Emily will come back when she’s good and ready. In the meantime I’ve got one speech to make in court and that’s it. I’ll ring when I can. Do you want to follow me, Terry?’

  Terry, like Bob, was aghast. ‘I ... don’t need to do that, Sarah. Just give me your son’s address and I’ll find it.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Bob knows it.’ She turned for the door. Terry had the impression she was sleep-walking. Her husband tried to block her path.

  ‘For God’s sake, Sarah - I need you here! Just ring the court and explain - the judge’ll adjourn the trial!’

  To Terry’s amazement, she walked right past him, out of the door. ‘Don’t stop me, Bob. I have to do this. Nothing I do here will make any difference this morning, anyway.’

  And then she was gone. The three men heard the motorbike engine start up, cough to a crescendo as she roared out of the short drive, and gradually fade into the distance. Terry had a sense that something was wrong here, something surreal. That woman had just put the defence of a brutal rapist before the search for her own daughter.

  Chapter Twelve

  IT WAS, ironically, a sunny day. The sky was a brilliant blue as Sarah rode into York, and sunlight slanted diagonally across her desk to light up the brief, tied with faded red tape. Beside it were the handwritten notes for her speech, prepared last night before going home.

  Last night. So long ago it seemed. A decade past.

  She tried to recall what the speech was about. That was why she was here, why she had come in. Wasn’t that what she had learned over the years? Never be distracted by the accidents of daily life; identify your main goal, focus all your efforts on achieving it. The other things will sort themselves out on their own.

  Emily will come back. Of course she will.

  So how was she going to present this case? Sarah bent over her notes, and tried to concentrate.

  Anyway Bob’s at home and the police are the professionals, not us.

  Concentrate. The main thing is to destroy the identification evidence. Without that there’s no case. Accept the jury’s sympathy for Sharon as a victim but insist it wasn’t Gary who did it. Get them to accept the possibility that the brutal rapist is still out there, wandering free. Looking for another victim.

  A teenage girl perhaps.

  Shut up. Focus. Concentrate. The police found no hood, no watch, no witnesses apart from Keith Somers. He’s damaging, but his evidence is circumstantial - how exactly did I plan to deal with him ...?

  Emily, dragged by the hair into some grotty bedroom, forced to her knees, punched in the face, her legs dragged apart ...

  God no! Stop it!

  ‘Hi there, sunshine!’

  ‘What?’ She looked up, took her hands away from her eyes.

  ‘Are you OK?’ It was Savendra, his cheerful face suddenly registering concern.

  ‘Not really, Savvy. No.’

  ‘What is it? Family row?’

  ‘Worse than that. Family’s vanished. Emily’s gone walkabout.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ He sat down in front of the desk. Sarah explained, briefly, trying to make light of it. ‘Of course she’ll come back, it’s just a mega teenage tantrum aimed at causing us all maximum embarrassment, that’s all ...’

  ‘The police are searching, and you’re still here?’

  ‘Of course I’m here. I’ve got a case to defend, haven’t I? Last day, speeches, summing up, verdict. You remember verdicts?’

  ‘Yes, but ... you could get it adjourned. These are exceptional circumstances beyond your control, surely. The judge - who is it, Gray - he’ll understand.’

  ‘Will he? Perhaps - but what will he understand? That I can’t be a mother and a barrister at the same time? That the courts have to make special allowances for women? That everything gets slowed up because of my daughter’s stupid tantrum? No, Savvy ...’

  ‘He won’t see it like that ...’

  ‘He will, Savvy, he will, because he’s an unreconstructed chauvinist who thinks women should be at home doing the dishes and not in court at all. And even if he doesn’t think it others will. It’ll go the rounds, you know it will. “That Sarah Newby, she knows her stuff but she’s not reliable. Family problems, likely to take a day off to look after the kids. Better off with a man.” That’s what they’ll say.’

  Savendra shook his head. ‘There’s world of difference between looking after the kids and looking for them, Sarah. The courts aren’t completely full of sharks and jackals, you know.’

  ‘Aren’t they, Savvy? Which courts do you work in?’ A wry, bitter smile dispelled the tears that had been threatening.

  ‘Well ...’ Savendra saw the point. All barristers needed good cases to build up their reputation. Of all those who took law degrees less than 10% took bar exams; of those called to the bar only 50% found a place in chambers; of those who found a place in chambers only a tiny fraction made a living in their first years. If a colleague dropped a case for whatever reason, there was a feeding frenzy of others to snap it up.

  ‘Anyway, Bob’s there. They don’t sack headmasters for taking a day off. It’s called role reversal, Savvy, it’s the new idea for twenty-first century woman. And man.’

  ‘Well.’ He reached across to pat her gently on the arm. ‘Where do you think she is?’

  ‘If I knew that don’t you think I’d be there now?’ Sarah’s eyes would have shrivelled him to a burnt crisp on the seat of his chair, if they hadn’t been suddenly softened by tears. ‘Anyway Emily’s just trying to get at me, Savvy. To criticise my success. I won’t let her.’

  The contrasting sentiments were so harsh and shocking Savendra could find no response. He decided to step back from this emotional quicksand onto safer ground.

  ‘So do you think you’ll get the rapist off?’

  ‘Rapist?’ Emily dragged into the back of a van, driven hundreds of miles to the south of England, sealed in a cellar to die of abuse and starvation ... ‘Oh, you mean Harker?’

  ‘Of course. Who else?’

  ‘Do my best.’ She indicated the notes on her desk. ‘He claims he’s innocent, Savvy.’

  ‘So you have to defend him.’

  ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘Mine too.’

  The two barristers smiled at each other, knowing how seldom it was that they really believed in the innocence of the clients they defended. Savendra got to his feet. ‘I wish you luck, then. But if you want me to take over ...’

  ‘No chance.’

  He shut the door softly behind him, leaving her alone with her notes.

  After Sarah’s dramatic departure Terry looked at Bob Newby with concern. The man seemed unable to keep still. He paced up and down the room anxiously..

  ‘What now, Mr - Inspector Bates, isn’t it?’

  ‘Bateson, sir. Well, I think you should s
tay here, sir, in case your daughter rings or simply turns up ...’

  ‘You think she’ll turn up, just like that?’

  ‘Quite often that’s exactly what happens, sir. And it’s important that someone’s here to meet her or she might just go off again.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. But I’d feel better out there doing something, not just sitting still. That’s why Sarah should be here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Terry agreed, but it was not his place to do anything about it.

  ‘Bitch.’

  The word was spoken softly, so Terry pretended not to hear. He turned to sergeant Hendry. ‘Tom, have you got a constable to stay with Mr Newby? In case ...’

  ‘I’m not a child, you know!’ Bob snapped. ‘You get your men out searching - I may be upset but I do see the sense in what you’re saying.’

  ‘All right, sir, thanks. But Tom’ll call in regularly, keep you in the picture. Here’s my mobile number, if you need it. Now, er, can I have the address of that son of yours?’

  Bob took a deep breath, trying to regain self control. As he wrote the address he muttered: ‘He’s my stepson, really. Sarah had him before we met. He’s a brickie - works here there and everywhere.’

  ‘All right, sir, I’ll find out. And we’ll check that phone box too.’

  As Terry turned to go, Bob clutched his arm. ‘You’ve run this sort of search before, haven’t you? What are the chances?’

  Terry saw fear in the man’s eyes, a barely suppressed panic that could quickly break through. ‘Well, in two cases out of three the child just turns up of its own accord. So the chances are good, if you look at it that way. But we’ll do our best to find her even if she doesn’t.’

  Outside he said: ‘Keep an eye on him, Tom. He’s likely to crack any time.’

  And as he left he wondered: would I go to pieces like that if Jessica or Esther vanished? Perhaps - who knows.