by Vicary, Tim
‘But on that day when you argued at the protest, Tuesday 11th May, she told you she was leaving, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but ... she’d said that before. I didn’t believe her. I knew she’d come back - it was on her way back that he killed her!’ The court was hushed, completely silent now.
‘You say my son killed her, but you have no evidence to prove that, do you, David? It could have been someone else, who also had also had a motive. Couldn’t it?’
‘Well, who else could it be?’ He looked around, desperate, astonished. ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re not suggesting me, surely? That’s crazy! I mean, he hit her, remember? I never did that.’
And so he’d said it himself, without her having to accuse him. The atmosphere in court was electric. She felt the crackle of attention all round her.
‘On the morning she died, where did she say she was going?’
‘To the protest. But it wasn’t true. I went there myself to check.’
Sarah smiled grimly. ‘So what did you do then, David? Did you go to Bramham Street to spy on her, as you’d done before?’
‘No! I didn’t. I wanted to, but I thought ... there’s no point. I went straight to work.’
‘Really?’ Sarah shook her head, disbelievingly. ‘And while you were at work, you forgot all about Jasmine, did you?’
‘No!’ Once again, tears filled his eyes and he fumbled for a tissue. ‘I was upset, of course I was.’ Sarah thought of the pain she was inflicting, then instantly hardened her heart.
‘So you were upset about Jasmine. What time did you leave work that night?’
‘At the end of the shift. Ten o’clock.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I cycled home.’ He watched her warily again.
‘But you’d been thinking about Jasmine all evening at work, you say. Did you go to Bramham Street on your way home?’
‘No.’
‘Didn’t you, David? Why not? How could you resist the urge to stand outside, see if the bedroom light was on, see if you could hear her laughing with him?’
‘I told you, I didn’t go. Anyway I thought she might have come home.’
‘But she hadn’t, had she? Did you go out again, to look for her?’
‘No. Of course not. There was no point.’
‘Because you knew where she was?’
‘I thought I did, yes.’
‘You didn’t go back along the cyclepath by the river, where Jasmine’s body was found?’
A soft indrawing of breath ruffled the air as the point of Sarah’s question became clear.
‘No! I wish I had, I might have saved her!’
‘Did you cycle home that way?’
‘No. Not that day.’
‘Why not?’
‘It was dark. I don’t go that way when it’s dark.’
‘But it’s a route you know well?’
‘I use it sometimes, yes.’
‘And Jasmine used it too?’
‘She did, but I told her not to use it after dark, for that exact reason. Anyone could be hiding in the bushes. A monster like him!’ He glared at Simon.
‘I see. So you knew that this was a route that Jasmine used, and you thought it was exactly the sort of place where a murderer or rapist might attack her. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
Sarah drew a deep breath. Almost there. ‘So if the idea had come into your head to murder Jasmine, you’d have known exactly the right place to choose. Wouldn’t you, David?’
His face paled in horror. ‘You’re mad! I didn’t kill her! Simon did!’
‘So you say. But there was no one with you that night, was there, David? No one who can support this story that you didn’t use the cycle path, or go out again to look for Jasmine late that night?’
‘No. But it’s all true. For Christ’s sake!’
Turner was back on his feet. ‘My lord, I really feel that this has gone far enough. My learned friend is badgering this witness without a shred of evidence to support these allegations. She is causing great distress to no purpose.’
Resolutely, Sarah faced the judge, on whose face was a clear expression of distaste. ‘I have made no allegations, my lord, none. I have accused this witness of nothing: he has accused himself. I have merely sought to establish that he has the motive, the opportunity, and the lack of alibi, precisely that which is alleged against my son.’
Judge Mookerjee contemplated her, considering the situation before him. But before he could decide, Sarah resumed. ‘Anyway, my lord, I have no more questions for this witness. So if I am causing distress, it is ended.’
The judge nodded, relieved. ‘In that case, Mr Brodie, you may stand down.’
David Brodie stood there, irresolute, shaking. He half turned to go, then changed his mind and faced Sarah again. His hurt, bitter voice carried clear across the court.
‘I loved Jasmine, and your son killed her. You know it, too, don’t you? Bitch!’
Amid the excited buzz of conversation, Sarah turned to look at Simon. Directly above him, watching from the public gallery, was her husband, Bob.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SINCE THE start of the trial Sarah had felt stared at. It was not just the cameras outside - everywhere within the building people were aware of her, either watching her openly or from the corners of their eyes. She was on public view. But today was worse than ever. As the court emptied for the lunchtime recess, she could feel the eyes feeding on her, hundreds of them. As though they all belonged to one single organism.
She shivered as she came into the crowded lobby, where journalists, security guards, students, police and witnesses were milling around indiscriminately. Lucy squeezed her arm.
‘That was a tough thing to do.’
‘Tell me about it. Oh Christ, look out. Left turn, quick.’
David Brodie was a yard away, speaking indignantly to the prosecution solicitor. When he saw Sarah he stepped impulsively forward. ‘You’re a bitch, you know that? A rotten stinking cow! I never killed her and you know damn well I didn’t ...’
‘David, David, come on. You’ll make things worse ...’ The solicitor caught his arm, while Sarah and Lucy slipped past them out of the front door straight into the huge black eye of a TV camera. A smartly dressed young woman thrust a microphone in Sarah’s face.
‘Mrs Newby, how did the trial go this morning?’
‘No, sorry, not today.’ Lucy dragged Sarah down the steps and away, the camera filming them but making no attempt to follow. It was then that Bob appeared.
‘Sarah, can I have a word?’ His face under the beard looked grim.
‘We’re just off to lunch, Bob.’
‘Fine, I’ll come too.’
‘This is a surprise, Bob.’ Sarah kept walking briskly. ‘How will the school manage?’
‘For a day, it’ll have to. Sarah, what the hell were you doing in there?’
‘Defending Simon, of course. How can you ask?’
They stopped by a bench on the quay. Lucy watched awkwardly.
‘You were destroying that young man’s reputation!’
‘I’ll do whatever it takes, Bob. That’s the name of the game.’
‘But he didn’t kill her. You know he didn’t. Christ, you could see how upset he was.’
‘Guilty people get upset too, you know.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘You don’t believe it, though, Sarah, do you? Not for a minute.’
She faced him grimly. ‘Don’t I, Bob? How many more times? It’s not a question of what I believe, it’s what I can do for Simon that counts. How much doubt I can raise in the minds of the jury. That’s what this morning was about.’
‘Well, it’s a filthy business, in my opinion. Not a game.’
‘Is it, Bob? I’m sorry. But it’s what has to be done.’
‘Well, you may as well know that you didn’t raise any doubts in my mind with that performance. Just the opposite. If I were on the jury I’d be more lik
ely to think Simon’s guilty, if that’s the best defence you can offer.’
And he was gone, striding swiftly away without a backward glance. Leaving Sarah and Lucy alone, with a couple of ducks waddling hopefully towards them.
‘Would you, Bob?’ Sarah murmured, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Well that’s a great pity, isn’t it? Really a very great pity indeed.’
She leaned her head on Lucy’s shoulder, and cried. For a marriage, for a husband who was gone. Then she straightened up, brushed the tears away, and smiled ‘Come on. I don’t know about you, but I need a good lunch. To give me strength for this afternoon. What do you say?’
‘It’s on me,’ said Lucy loyally, falling into step beside her. Thinking, the woman is as strong as a samurai sword. But even that can shatter, on stone.
Phil Turner’s last witness was Miranda Hurst, Jasmine’s mother. The court fell silent as she made her way quietly to the witness stand. A tall blonde woman in a plain black suit and gloves, she took the oath in a soft voice with one hand on the testament. Despite her make-up there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. Turner began gently.
‘Mrs Hurst, I realise how painful this is for you. I will ask as few questions as possible.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Would you say you had a close relationship with your daughter, when she was alive?’
‘Fairly close, yes.’
‘She was twenty three, wasn’t she? She’d left home some years before. Did she still visit you and discuss things from time to time?’
‘Oh yes. She was a good girl that way. She came every week or so. Sometimes we’d meet for a swim and have lunch or go shopping after.’
As Sarah watched, she wondered why she had never met this woman while Jasmine was alive, and whether it might have made a difference, if they’d been able to talk. But then, she’d never really liked Jasmine, and she doubted if this woman had ever had much time for Simon.
‘Did you talk about her boyfriends sometimes?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Did you meet them?’
‘Yes. I met him.’ She pointed at Simon, in the dock. ‘And David. Both of them.’
‘What was your attitude to Simon Newby? Did you like him?’
Here we go. Conscious of the eyes watching her, Sarah made her face a neutral mask.
‘Bit of a layabout I thought. Nice to look at but no guts.’
‘Did you tell Jasmine what you thought?’
‘Yes. But she wouldn’t listen, would she? Girls that age, they do what they want.’
‘Indeed.’ Turner smiled sympathetically. ‘As you got to know Simon better, did your opinion about him change?’
‘Changed for the worse, yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, his house for one thing. It was a tip. I’d brought Jasmine up proper, I didn’t want to see her in a pigsty with beer cans all over the floor. But worst thing was he beat her. I should have stopped it then.’
‘When?’
‘When I saw the bruises. We went swimming one day and she had a great black bruise on her arm. I asked her why and she said they’d had a fight. Simon had done it.’
A murmur, a vast collective intake of breath, passed through the court. There’s another serious blow, Sarah thought.
‘What did you do?’
‘I said she should come home to me. But she just laughed. She wouldn’t listen.’ Until now Mrs Hurst’s voice had been quiet, but it suddenly rose to a shout. She pointed at Sarah. ‘It’s her fault! His mother sitting there all prissy in her wig! If she’d spent more time at home bringing up her son decent instead of sticking her nose in law books, none of this would have happened!’
Another murmur, louder than before. This is a massacre, Sarah thought. She kept her face perfectly still, expressionless. Phil Turner glanced sideways at her, then continued.
‘Were you afraid for your daughter, when you saw these bruises?’
‘Of course I was. What mother wouldn’t be?’
But did you ring me? Sarah thought. Did you tell me about all this when I might have stopped it? No. Did I see the bruises myself? No again.
‘Very well. Her other boyfriend, David Brodie. What’s your attitude to him?’
‘A decent lad. A sight better than Simon. Better for Jasmine too, if she’d stuck by him.’
‘To your knowledge, was he ever violent towards your daughter?’
‘Who, David? No, never. He’s not that sort.’
So there goes this morning’s effort, Sarah thought. Wrecked in a single confident remark.
‘Jasmine wasn’t afraid of him, was she?’
‘Her? No. She could twist him round her little finger.’
Now there’s a true saying.
‘To your knowledge, was Jasmine ever afraid of Simon?’
‘Well, when she left him to move in with David, he was very angry. He came round, in a filthy rage, to see if she was with me. She hid upstairs and I told him she wasn’t there.’
‘What did Simon do?’
‘He didn’t believe me. He wanted to go upstairs but I wouldn’t let him. I had a fair job to get him out the house, but he went in the end.’
‘Were you afraid?’
‘Angry, more like. I told him I’d clatter him with the broom if he stayed in my kitchen. I would have too!’
A woman in the jury nodded furious agreement.
‘What about Jasmine? Was she afraid of him then?’
‘She must have been, mustn’t she, or she wouldn’t have hid. But she wouldn’t let on, she’s not that sort. Wasn’t, I mean ...’ For the first time, her voice broke, and she fumbled in her bag for a tissue. Turner waited while she blew her nose loudly.
‘She had a good laugh about it after, the silly girl. If only she’d had more sense ...’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hurst. I do understand how you feel. I have no more questions, My Lord.’
Judge Mookerjee nodded. ‘Very well. Would you like a break, Mrs Hurst? I think fifteen minutes would do us all a lot of good, don’t you? Then Mrs Newby may have some questions.’
Of all the witnesses Sarah had to cross-examine, this was the one she dreaded most.
Whatever Jasmine’s failings - and there had been many - she had been this woman’s daughter, and now she was dead. Sarah remembered her own feelings in the mortuary, expecting to find Emily under that sheet. It had been the worst horror of her life, but she had been rescued from it. This woman had not. She had gone to the same place, been confronted with the same body on a trolley, and when the sheet had been pulled back there had been the cold face of the child she had carried, nurtured and loved for twenty-three years.
And she believed Sarah’s son had killed her.
As the court reassembled, Sarah stood up. There were no butterflies now; just a grey feeling of dread. I can’t offer her sympathy, she thought. She would just spit it back in my face. I must be as quick and clinical as I can. Across the courtroom, she met Jasmine’s mother’s eyes.
‘Mrs Hurst, when did you last see your daughter alive?’
‘Two - no three days before.’
‘Before she died?’
‘Yes.’
‘What were the circumstances of this meeting?’
‘She came to my house for a cup of tea and a chat. She often did that. Kept in touch.’
As Simon didn’t. Sarah understood the implied message.
‘Was she there long?’
‘An hour. An hour and a half maybe.’
‘Time for a good chat then. In this conversation, did she say anything about Simon?’
‘About your son? Yes.’ Mrs Hurst’s mouth closed shut.
‘What did she say?’
‘That she were still seeing him.’
‘Did she say that she intended to move back in with him?’
‘No. Thank God. Just that she were seeing him.’
‘And did you approve of this?’
‘You ask me that? You’ve got a nerve.�
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The venom in the reply shook Sarah. For a moment she was lost for words. While she floundered, Judge Mookerjee leaned forward to speak to the witness.
‘I appreciate how difficult this is for you, Mrs Hurst, truly. But please confine yourself to answering the questions, as straightforwardly as you can. You don’t have to look at Mrs Newby. You can look at me if you prefer.’
Mrs Hurst nodded bitterly. ‘Of course I didn’t approve. I wish she’d never met him.’
‘Very well.’ Never had Sarah been more grateful for the gift of controlling her voice. Her knees were trembling like jelly and her feet wanted to run but her voice stayed calm. ‘And did you give her that advice?’
‘I’d told her before. She knew what I thought. It made no difference.’
‘She was going to see him anyway?’
‘She was. Sadly.’
‘Did she seem anxious about this? Worried in any way?’
‘About going to see him? No, not particularly.’
‘Very well. Now you’ve told the court about bruises you once saw on her arm. Did she have any bruises on this occasion?’
‘She had a jacket on. I wouldn’t have seen, would I?’
‘Did she tell you about any bruises she’d received?’
‘No. But then she never had done. I only saw them by chance, like.’
‘But that was only once, wasn’t it?’
‘So? Once is enough, in my opinion.’
‘When was it exactly, that you saw these bruises?’
‘Oh, three or four months before, maybe. When she lived with him, then she had them.’
‘All right.’ Sarah drew a deep breath. The first part of this ordeal was nearly over. ‘Would it be fair to say, then, that when you last saw Jasmine, you saw no signs of bruising on her body; she didn’t talk about being hit or beaten in any way; and she told you she was seeing Simon regularly, of her own free will. She didn’t say she was afraid of him at all.’
Miranda Hurst glared at Sarah bitterly, then looked away, as she’d been advised, towards the judge. ‘If you want to twist things you can put it like that, I suppose.’
‘Is any part of it untrue?’
‘Not in so many words, no.’
‘Very well. The only other thing I want to ask you about is David Brodie. Did she talk about him on the last day you saw her?’