by Vicary, Tim
‘Sir, are you okay?’ the face asked anxiously, in the voice of Harry, whom it resembled.
‘Yes, I ... what happened?’ Terry heaved himself up on his elbows. The road pitched and heaved like a ship out at sea. He staggered to his feet and clung onto a parked car whose windscreen was, for some reason, shattered. There was blood on his hands where he had grazed himself and the sleeve of his jacket was torn. He remembered.
‘Get after them, Harry. Call a squad car. Get their number.’
‘Tracy’s doing it now, sir. She’s phoned in. I think ... we should go into the house.’
As the ringing in his ears faded and the road settled down to something like normal behaviour Terry noticed a crying, a screaming like that of a child in distress. It seemed to be coming from Sharon’s house. He walked as steadily as he could towards the front door.
The crying came from the top of the stairs. As Terry climbed them, following Harry, he saw a little girl inside a bedroom to the right. She was howling, her mouth wide open, tears streaming down her face, pointing with her pudgy right hand at something further inside the room. Harry walked straight past her. Terry stopped to pick her up.
Inside the room there were clothes strewn across the floor and on the bed, sideways across the pillows at the top end, lay a naked woman. It was Sharon. She lay face up, her long blonde hair spread out, her breasts flopping sideways, blood streaming from a wound in her stomach just below her ribs. One hand twitched and fluttered feebly near the wound, as though trying to find the blood to staunch it and take away the pain.
‘Sharon?’ Harry bent over her, swept the hair from her face, looked in her eyes and felt her wrist. ‘There’s still a pulse, sir.’
‘Stop that bleeding, then.’
Terry fumbled for the phone in his pocket, but with the child on his hip, clinging to him with all the ferocious strength of utter terror, he couldn’t reach it. Then he noticed a phone by the bed near Sharon’s feet, only the receiver was off the hook, on the floor somewhere. He bent to pick it up and to his surprise heard a voice on the other end.
‘Caller? Caller, are you there? Answer me if you can. Do you need police, fire, or ambulance?’
‘The police are here already,’ said Terry. ‘Send an ambulance. Quick!’
Chapter Forty-Three
‘I THOUGHT it was unfair. After all, Turner talked about Brodie in his own speech, didn’t he? That was what he closed with.’
Lucy’s voice echoed strangely from the concrete walls of the corridors below the court. This place, which she knew so well, today seemed weird to Sarah, almost dreamlike. Perhaps they were taking her to be locked away, she thought. She was sure she deserved it.
‘You’re right,’ she replied, with the part of her mind which was still functioning. ‘I should have noticed that.’
‘He took you unawares, that’s all.’
‘He did. But I should be ready for ambushes, damn it! That’s my job.’
‘Never mind. You did your best.’
‘No!’ Sarah stopped, while the warder opened the door of Simon’s cell. ‘That’s just it! On this one occasion when it really mattered, I didn’t do my best, Lucy! I let him down!’
As they went inside, Sarah saw that Simon had heard. He stood, pale and dismayed, as the door clanged shut behind them. ‘What do you mean, Mum? How did you let me down?’
‘I ... didn’t end as well as I could, Simon, that’s all. You must have noticed.’
‘Your speech, you mean?’ She saw fear in his face as the blow hit home. ‘You said everything, didn’t you? I thought you did.’
‘I said everything, yes. It was just ... he tripped me up at the end with that reference to Brodie. I should never have made it. The rest was fine.’
She touched his arm and felt the tension in it. He shook her off abruptly and sat, head cradled in his hands. Then he looked up, eyes wild.
‘But you had to talk about Brodie, didn’t you? I mean, if I didn’t kill her, who did?’
‘That’s what I wish we knew, Simon,’ said Lucy softly, sitting quietly beside him. They watched Sarah, pacing the cell like a trapped cat. ‘That’s what we all wish we knew.’
The paramedics eased the stretcher gently into the ambulance. There was a small crowd on the pavement outside the house. A policewoman tried to comfort the little girl in the doorway.
‘You go with her, Harry,’ Terry said. ‘Anything she says ...’
A paramedic frowned disapprovingly. ‘She’s not likely to say anything for a while, sir. And we’ll be very busy ...’
‘All the same,’ Terry insisted. ‘This is a major murder enquiry. We have to know.’
Cautiously, Harry climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat near Sharon’s head. The paramedic fitted an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose and busied himself with a drip to her arm. Despite the pads he had strapped tightly across her stomach the blood was oozing into the blanket. Her face, what he could he could see of it, was as pale as the sheet and her hair was flecked with blood.
The paramedic handed him a bottle. ‘Here, make yourself useful and hold this. Up in the air, make sure no bubbles get into the line. I’ll try some adrenaline.’
The ambulance lurched into movement and Harry heard the crackle of the radio as the driver called in. ‘ ... serious stab wounds to stomach ... major haemorrhage ... a full crash team ... ETA seven minutes, with luck ...’
The siren began to howl and the ambulance moved off. The paramedic was giving an injection into Sharon’s leg. Nothing happened. He felt for a pulse, then lifted an eyelid, and bent his mouth close to her ear. ‘Sharon? Come on, love, don’t give up. Open your eyes, honey.’
Shocked, Harry watched as the eyelid flopped back; then, ten long seconds later, it began to flutter. Her eyes opened and gazed around her, confused.
‘Sharon, are you with us? There’s a good girl. You’re in an ambulance, love, you’ll be in hospital soon. Now what I want you to do, is take deep breaths from this mask on your face, all right? Fill your lungs, really good, slow, deep breaths.’
The eyes closed again. After a moment, he saw her chest rise and fall. Once, twice, three times. He heard her breathing inside the mask. Her eyes opened.
‘That’s great, Sharon, just great. You’re doing fine. More deep breaths, now.’
She breathed deeply while they watched. The paramedic took her pulse again.
‘That’s brilliant, Sharon, brilliant. Now you just lie there and take deep breaths and we’ll have you in hospital in no time. I’m going to give you another injection. You just look up at the ugly policeman who’s come to protect you.’
As Sharon turned her head the oxygen mask slipped. ‘Harry?’
‘Don’t worry, Sharon, you’re going to be OK. We know who did it.’
‘Sean?’
‘Yeah. We’ll get him, don’t worry. Here, breathe this.’
Holding the bottle with his left hand, he replaced the oxygen mask with his right. She took a few more deep breaths, then pulled it away herself.
‘Harry ... my kid. Did he ...?’
‘No, she’s fine, Sharon. Just fine. She’s with a policewoman now. He never touched her.’
‘Thank God. And ... Wayne?’
‘He’s at school, isn’t he? We’ll send someone to pick him up.’
She nodded, put the mask back and took several long, shaky breaths. Harry swayed precariously on his seat as the ambulance, siren wailing, zigzagged through a set of red lights. She took off the mask again and tried a faint smile, her lips almost as pale as her teeth.
‘You should try this, Harry. Good stuff.’
‘Don’t talk too much now, Sharon,’ the paramedic warned. ‘Save your strength.’
But the adrenaline injections seemed to have revived her. She breathed from the mask a couple more times, then said: ‘He was the one who raped me before. Not Gary. He told me.’
‘What, Sean? He was wearing the hood?’
She closed her eyes
, then nodded faintly. ‘That’s not all ... he did ... other things ...’
The effort seemed to be weakening her. She closed her eyes. The paramedic replaced the mask firmly over her face. ‘Come on now, Sharon. You can tell him all this later, when you’re better. You just lie still and save your strength, okay? Breathe in, there’s a good girl ...’
Harry glanced out of the window. They were crossing Lendal Bridge, weaving down the centre of the road through the traffic which was climbing the pavements to get out of their way. They should reach the hospital in three or four minutes. Sharon’s eyes were closed. She seemed paler than before.
He glanced questioningly at the paramedic. The man shook his head and began to unwrap a third pre-packed needle, larger than the others. He jabbed it into her chest, underneath the heart. She shuddered, then opened her eyes.
‘That’s a girl, Sharon. Come on now, love. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.’
She took two shuddering breaths, her eyes wide and shocked. Then she turned to Harry and said something. ‘Hiiklljjasssminhurshtooo.’
‘What’s that? Sharon, I can’t hear.’
Harry reached to take off the mask but the paramedic held his arm. ‘She can’t talk now. You’ll kill her.’
Sharon’s eyes stared at his, wide and pleading. Harry shoved the man’s arm aside.
‘Just a couple of words. What is it, Sharon?’
‘He killed ... Jasmine ... Hurst too.’
The words were like a whisper, scarcely louder than a breath. Her eyes closed abruptly. The paramedic clamped the mask over her face. ‘Come on, Sharon, keep breathing. You can do it, Sharon, breathe deeply now. We’re nearly there. You’re doing great.’
The breaths came fainter and fainter and seemed to Harry to stop altogether. The ambulance drew up outside Accident and Emergency and in an instant the driver was round opening the back doors. They got the wheels of the stretcher down and hurried Sharon along the corridor into the emergency theatre, Harry running alongside still holding the bottle for the drip until a nurse took it from him.
He waited outside with the paramedics for a while, thinking of what he should tell Terry. Then a doctor came out. There was blood on his white coat. He shook his head sadly.
‘Dead on arrival, I’m afraid. If she’d lasted a few minutes longer, perhaps ...’
The paramedic glared at Harry. ‘I told you,’ he said.
‘How long does it take?’ Simon asked.
Sitting on the bench in the cell beside him, Lucy shrugged. ‘How long is a piece of string? Half an hour, if they all agree at the start. Three hours, four - a day even, if they don’t.’
‘If they don’t agree I’m free, aren’t I?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Sarah paused from her pacing. ‘If they can’t agree after what the judge thinks is a reasonable time, he’ll ask for a majority verdict. Eleven to one or ten to two. So if only three people think you’re innocent ...’ She gave him a small, tight smile.
‘You think we’ve lost, don’t you?’ Simon muttered, avoiding her eyes.
‘The truth is I don’t know, Simon. I really don’t. Anyway what I think doesn’t matter any more. There’s nothing we can do about it now.’
‘Christ!’ Simon strode to the door, and banged his forehead against it, softly. ‘This is the worst part of all, this waiting. They’re deciding about my life, in there!’
‘A lot of them were following your mother’s speech closely, Simon,’ Lucy said helpfully. ‘Especially the younger ones ...’
‘And what about the old bat with the necklace? She hates me, you could see it in her eyes!’ Simon swung round to face them. ‘And those two old farts next to her. They’d have me shot, if they could!’
‘You can’t always tell from looks, Simon. Sometimes ...’
There was a rattle of keys in the door. The three of them froze. A warder came in.
‘Are they back?’ Sarah asked.
‘No, not yet madam. It’s the judge - he’s called for you. Urgent, he says.’
‘Oh? Right.’ She glanced at the others apologetically. ‘I’ll be back.’
When Harry walked into the Crown Court he wondered if Churchill would be there. He’d phoned Terry half an hour ago and learned that Sean and Gary had escaped. The patrol car had lost sight of them and they could be anywhere. Terry had put out an all car alert.
‘How’s Sharon?’ Terry had asked.
‘Dead on arrival, sir, I’m afraid. But she said something, in the ambulance.’
When Harry had explained what he had heard, Terry had insisted he go straight to the court to tell the judge. Harry was worried - this was direct interference in DCI Churchill’s case. Shouldn’t they consult him first?
‘Just tell the judge, Harry,’ Terry had insisted. ‘That’s an order. If it’s wrong, it’s my head on the block, not yours.’
Nonetheless, Harry did not relish bumping into Churchill on his way. He imagined how the conversation might go.
‘Hi, Harry, what are you doing here today, old son?’
‘Just come to wreck your case, sir, that’s all. Won’t take a minute.’
‘Oh, okay, fine, go ahead. Use my name when you apply for promotion, okay?’
Outside court he saw Churchill in conversation with a tall, rustic-looking barrister in wig and gown and a fat, middle-aged solicitor, whom Harry took to be the prosecution team. Luckily, Churchill had his back to the entrance. Harry strode swiftly past, located the court clerk, and a few minutes later was telling his story to the judge in chambers.
Judge Mookerjee sat back in his leather chair, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. ‘You’re quite sure of this, detective constable?’
‘Perfectly, sir. It happened less than an hour ago. My superior officer ordered me to bring you the information immediately.’
‘Quite so, quite so. Then I suppose I must disclose this to counsel. Though whether it can make a difference, at this stage ... Wait there, detective constable, will you?’
He picked up the phone and dialled.
‘It seems to me that it makes all the difference in the world, my lord,’ Sarah insisted. We all know there’s been a series of unexplained rapes and murders in York, and now we have evidence that a man who has murdered again, this very day, has admitted to them all. Including the murder of which my son stands accused. You must stop this trial now. Any conviction in these new circumstances would be unsafe.’
‘Hm. I see your point, of course. But there are difficulties.’ Judge Mookerjee leaned forward. ‘Mr Turner?’
Turner seemed reluctant to speak. He rubbed his ear thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t see how this evidence can be admissible. It’s hearsay. Hearsay at second hand, in fact, since DC Easby is telling us that he heard Sharon Gilbert tell him what she heard another person say. If, of course, he heard her words clearly at all. You were in an ambulance, constable, you say?’
‘Yes, sir. Approaching York District Hospital.’
‘Anyone else with you at the time?’
‘Yes, sir. The paramedic. And the driver, of course.’
‘Did the paramedic hear the words as well?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I haven’t asked him. He was called away on another emergency shortly after we arrived.’
‘Well, what do you think? Were the words clear enough for him to hear?’
Harry hesitated. This was not what he’d anticipated. As usual the lawyers were screwing things up. ‘It was a whisper, sir. But he may have heard, I don’t know. It was quite clear to me.’
‘Was the siren sounding?’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
‘Well, there we are then.’ Turner turned back to the judge. ‘Hearsay, at second hand, whispered in an emergency ambulance with the siren on. Another witness present who may well have heard nothing at all. It has to be inadmissible.’
‘But there are clear exceptions to the hearsay rule,’ Sarah intervened desperately. ‘In homicide cases exactl
y like this. The law assumes that when a person is dying, as this woman was, what she says must be treated as truth. After all, what could she gain by lying?’
‘If she said it at all,’ Turner said, picking up a book from a row on the judge’s desk.
‘But she did. You heard him, didn’t you, constable? There’s no doubt in your mind?’
‘No doubt at all,’ Harry confirmed. ‘He killed Jasmine Hurst too. That’s what she said.’
‘Here it is. Article 39.’ Turner began to read from the law book in his hands. ‘The oral or written declaration of the deceased is admissible evidence of the cause of his death ...’ he paused significantly. ‘... at a trial for his murder or manslaughter, provided he was under a settled hopeless expectation of death when the statement was made, and provided he would have been a competent witness if called to give evidence at that time. It seems to me that Ms Gilbert’s statement fails on at least three grounds. Firstly, this is not a trial for her murder. Secondly, I doubt if she was under a ‘settled hopeless expectation of death’ - do you think she knew she was dying, detective constable?’
‘It’s hard to say, sir,’ Harry admitted hopelessly. ‘It was all very sudden.’
‘Exactly. And thirdly, would she have been a competent witness if called to give evidence in this trial? No, presumably, because it’s still hearsay.’
‘But this is a clear statement that my son is not guilty. Made by a woman who has just been murdered,’ Sarah insisted. ‘We know that this man - what’s his name?’
‘Sean Murphy,’ Harry said. ‘We think, anyway.’
‘You think, exactly,’ Turner interrupted. ‘That’s another element of doubt here.’
‘But there’s no element of doubt about the fact that he killed her, surely? So whatever his name is, we know he is a murderer. And he made this statement knowing that he was going to kill Sharon Gilbert, and therefore thinking that no one else would hear about it. So there was no reason why he shouldn’t tell the truth. So surely, if this evidence was put before the jury, they would have to conclude that my son is innocent.’
Turner shook his head sadly. He seemed convinced by his argument, but embarrassed to meet her eyes. The judge peered at her reproachfully over his reading glasses, as though she were a student who’d handed in a sub-standard essay.