The Better Woman

by Ber Carroll

  Who is Jodi Tyler? A killer? Or a victim?

  The mirror showed a young girl, defenceless and scared.

  Grandma, Shirley and Jodi all piled into Marlene’s station wagon. They set off to the city, a dead silence in the car. What was there to say? Knuckles white, Marlene gripped the steering wheel; she wasn’t used to rush-hour traffic. She scratched the wing of the car as she parked in the high-rise car park across from the barrister’s chambers. Grandma offered to pay for the repairs.

  Jeremy Horton, the barrister, and Prue were waiting in the chambers. Jodi had met Jeremy a number of times. He was a nice man, albeit a little abrupt. Today he wore a black gown and an imposing grey wig. He looked like someone from another era, more like a foe than a friend. Jodi was reassured to see that Prue wasn’t wearing a wig and looked the same as ever in her customary short skirt and high heels.

  Jodi walked alongside Prue in the short stroll to the court, unaware of how naive she looked next to the streetwise lawyer. Jeremy and his offsider walked immediately behind them. Grandma, Shirley and Marlene, three abreast, were next in the procession. Prue’s assistant was last, arms full of files, struggling to keep up.

  There was a crowd gathered on the steps of the court, many of them holding microphones or TV cameras.

  Prue’s plum lips pursed together. ‘It’s like a circus. Hold your head high, Jodi. Show them that you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Prue’s fingers pressed into Jodi’s arm as she steered a path through the rapid-fire questions. ‘No comment,’ was the only answer she gave.

  Once inside the court, they went through the security gate and waited at the other side for Grandma, Shirley and Marlene. It didn’t help Jodi to see that her family were shaken by the scale of the media attention. Just like her, they were clearly out of their depth. And the trial had not even begun!

  In the courtroom Jodi was seated in the dock. She, along with everybody else, rose when the judge made his entrance. He sat down, his long face stern as his eyes swept across the courtroom. His gaze stopped at Jodi. It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat.

  Grandma, Shirley and Marlene were seated at the rear and she had to turn her head to make eye contact with them. She turned once and caught sight of a familiar face in the back row. Was it the dean? No! He was a busy man, far too busy to have time to sit through the trial of an unfortunate student. She risked another glance. The man’s lips moved in a slight curve. It was a smile of recognition, support and encouragement. It was him.

  The judge began to address the jury panel. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m shortly going to ask the Crown prosecutor to briefly outline what this case is about and to give you a list of the names of the persons who are likely to be mentioned during the course of the trial or who may be called to give evidence. Please indicate to me if any of these people are known to you.’ He paused and turned his head to emit a small cough. ‘I have been informed by the parties that this trial is expected to last three to four weeks. If you think that you have a problem with sitting on the trial for that length of time, or if you have health or hearing issues, then please indicate them to me.’

  About half of the panel asked to be excused at this point. Jodi watched them go, wondering if they would have been on her side. Jeremy and the Crown began to haggle over the remaining jurors. Prue had already explained that Jeremy would challenge any males of about Bob’s age who might sympathise with him.

  Finally, the jury box was complete, with seven females and five males. Three of them were of pensioner age, two looked like students, and the rest were aged somewhere in between. Jodi did as Prue directed and glanced their way every now and then. They all had the same reaction: they looked away.

  The judge began to speak again, his tone grave. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I don’t know whether any of you have ever sat on a jury before. Possibly some of you have. But in any event, it is appropriate at this point of time that I explain some things to you. I am the judge presiding over this trial. The barrister sitting closest to you at the bar table is the Crown prosecutor and she will be presenting evidence which she hopes will persuade you that the accused, who is sitting in the dock, has committed the offence for which she is accused. This is a criminal trial. It is alleged by the Crown that Miss Tyler murdered Mr Bob Jones, her stepfather . . .’

  The jury sat straighter in their seats. Twelve pairs of curious, condemning eyes swung in Jodi’s direction and crushed the little confidence she had left.

  ‘Your role in these proceedings and my role are quite different,’ the judge continued. ‘I’m here to deal with the legal matters that occur during the course of the trial. However, you are the judges of the facts of the case. You are going to hear evidence from a number of witnesses about various factual matters over the next three weeks or so. When a person comes into the witness box, you are faced with the difficult task of making an assessment of that person and determining whether they are reliable, whether they are accurate, whether they are consistent, whether you think they are being truthful . . .’

  Suddenly it became a massive burden to prove to these twelve strangers that Bob’s death hadn’t been intentional. The strain of the morning, of the whole year, began to take its toll. Jodi felt faint. Black spots dotted her vision. The judge droned on, telling the jurors not to discuss the case with husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. The spots before Jodi’s eyes enlarged as the judge warned the jurors to be wary of the TV and newspaper reporters outside the building. Jodi willed Prue to look in her direction, to help her. But Prue was looking at the judge, just as everyone else was. From far away, Jodi heard him call a recess. That was the last she remembered.

  Court was suspended for the rest of the day. Jodi was angry with herself. She shouldn’t have fainted; everyone would be annoyed by the inconvenience: not a good start.

  Grandma blamed lack of food and on the second morning she insisted that Jodi eat a big breakfast. Jodi did her best to force down the eggs and bacon, but it didn’t make her feel any stronger.

  ‘How is Jodi feeling?’ asked the reporters outside the court.

  ‘My client feels well today,’ Prue answered abruptly.

  Court began with the Crown making her opening address to the jurors.

  ‘Members of the jury, just returning again to the charge . . .’ She paused dramatically. ‘The charge is one of murder. The event took place on 8 July last year at 23 Lewis Street, Dee Why. I’d like to outline the sequence of events as they occurred, starting with Miss Tyler’s eighteenth birthday party the night before . . .’

  The jurors listened intently to the Crown. Jodi could see that they were in awe of the young woman wearing the old-fashioned wig. Once again she felt that the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against her. Only one thing kept her going: the dean was sitting at the back of the courtroom again. For some reason, that mattered more than anything.

  *

  ‘What’s your full name?’ asked the Crown.

  ‘David Anthony Thompson,’ replied the man in the witness box.

  ‘And what is your occupation?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant of Police in New South Wales.’

  ‘Did you visit number 23 Lewis Street on 8 July 1986?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘I arrived at the house shortly after two-thirty in the morning.’

  ‘Can you please describe to the court what you found on your arrival?’

  ‘Bob Jones was dead on the kitchen floor with a stab wound on his neck. Miss Tyler was in her pyjamas, covered in blood. The weapon, a carving knife, was on the floor . . .’

  ‘Can you please describe Miss Tyler’s injuries?’

  ‘Her lips were bleeding, she had bruising on her left arm, and some of her nails were broken.’

  ‘What kind of mental state was she in?’

  ‘She was emotional, but she was coherent and quite aware of what was going on . . .’

  ‘Your
full name, please.’

  ‘Richard William Franklin.’

  ‘And your profession.’

  ‘Forensic psychiatrist – I was asked by the Crown to assess Miss Tyler.’

  ‘For the benefit of the jury, can you please summarise the findings of your report?’

  ‘I found Miss Tyler to be clear-headed and logical in all aspects of her life.’

  ‘So, on the basis of your assessment, would you assume that at the time of the crime Miss Tyler was aware that her life was not at risk?’

  ‘Your Honour, I object to this line of questioning.’

  ‘I’ll allow it, Mr Horton. Please answer the Crown’s question, Dr Franklin.’

  ‘Yes, I would say that Miss Tyler was aware that her life was not at risk.’

  ‘And would you say that she was aware she was inflicting a potentially fatal wound?’

  ‘Yes, I would say that Miss Tyler was aware that she was inflicting a potentially fatal wound.’

  ‘Please state your full name.’

  ‘Janine Jones.’

  ‘And your occupation . . .’

  ‘I’m on a disability pension.’

  ‘And your relationship to the victim, Mr Jones.’

  ‘His sister.’

  ‘When did you last speak to your brother?’

  ‘March 1986 on the phone.’

  ‘Can you please tell the court what Mr Jones said during that particular telephone conversation?’

  ‘Bob said that Jodi was a handful.’

  ‘Was anything else said?’

  ‘He said that she was very possessive of her mother – she wanted Shirley all to herself and became jealous whenever she showed any intimacy towards Bob. Well, she got what she wanted in the end, didn’t she? Her mother all to herself and my poor brother in a grave –’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Jones.’

  *

  The witnesses were questioned exhaustively, the process slowed further by the large number of objections made by both sides. Matters of admissibility were hotly debated and on a few occasions the jurors were asked to leave the room. The trial entered its third week. The jurors looked fed up and anxious to get back to their normal lives.

  Once the first few days were behind her, Jodi became stronger and progressively more interested in the theatre that unfolded each day in the courtroom. She listened intently to the witnesses. She familiarised herself with all the evidence. She asked if she could read the court transcripts.

  ‘Why?’ Prue queried.

  ‘Because the more I know, the more control I feel I have.’

  ‘There’s nothing in this process that you can control,’ Prue replied plainly.

  ‘I know that. But let me have the illusion.’

  Jodi read the transcripts late into the night. She highlighted the parts she considered important. She kept a tally of what strengthened her case and what weakened it: neat bullet points listed on large sheets of paper stuck to her bedroom wall. Her court case: her project. It surrounded her. It consumed her. She allowed it to do so. She didn’t know how else to get through it.

  Grandma, Shirley and Marlene came to the court every day. The trips to and fro in the car were no longer silent. They talked about the weather, the family, what was on TV that night. They fussed. They bickered. Sometimes they even laughed.

  When they got home from court, Grandma would make tea and they would sit around the table and analyse what had happened in the day. They would recap on the witnesses, the evidence, and surmise about various members of the jury. They sounded more like a group of lawyers than a family.

  Sometimes Sue came to the court to show her support. She looked like a fish out of water with her tan and beachy clothes. The dean also made regular appearances. Jodi’s heart always did a little skip when she saw him. It seemed a bit abnormal to still have a crush on him when she was going through something so awful. But what was normal any more?

  ‘Please state your full name.’

  ‘Shirley Jane Tyler Jones.’

  ‘Please state your relationship to the accused.’

  ‘I’m her mother.’

  ‘And Bob Jones was your husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please tell the court what happened in the early hours of the morning in question.’

  ‘I was woken by a noise.’

  ‘What kind of noise?’

  ‘My husband shouting. My daughter screaming.’

  ‘What did you see when you went into the kitchen?’

  ‘My husband kneeling on the floor, blood everywhere . . .’

  ‘Did your daughter say anything to you?’

  ‘She kept on saying sorry . . . over and over . . .’

  ‘Your full name, please.’

  ‘Alison Hobs.’

  ‘Your occupation?’

  ‘A student at the University of Sydney.’

  ‘How do you know the accused?’

  ‘Jodi is my friend.’

  ‘Did she ever talk to you about her stepfather, Bob Jones?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That he was in love with her. That he’d kill her if she told anyone.’

  ‘Did she say anything specific on the night of the party?’

  ‘She was worried about his drinking. I told her she could stay the night at my bedsit.’

  ‘Did she often stay with you?’

  ‘Yes, a few nights a week – as often as she could.’

  ‘Why didn’t she stay on that specific night?’

  ‘She wanted to help her mother tidy up.’

  ‘State your full name, please.’

  ‘Jodi Ann Tyler.’

  ‘And your occupation.’

  ‘A student of Economics and Business.’

  ‘Can you please describe to the court the events that occurred at 23 Lewis Street on the 7th and 8th July last year?’

  ‘We had a party for my eighteenth birthday. The guests left around midnight. I helped my mother clean up, then we both went to bed. I woke an hour later, thirsty, and got up to get a drink. I was at the kitchen sink when my stepfather put his hand over my mouth. He started to pull me towards the back door . . .’

  ‘What were you thinking at that time?’

  ‘That he would rape me.’

  ‘Can you explain to the court why you thought this?’

  ‘He’d been sending me letters. They were very graphic.’

  ‘You destroyed his letters. Can you please explain why?’

  ‘I was afraid my mother would find them. He’d told me he’d kill us both if she ever found out . . .’

  ‘So, when you were being dragged from the kitchen, you believed that you were about to be raped and you also had a genuine fear that your stepfather might carry out his previous threat to kill you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you warn him before using the knife?’

  ‘His hand was over my mouth. I couldn’t speak.’

  ‘Did you know in advance of stabbing him where the knife would penetrate?’

  ‘No. I didn’t have time to think that far ahead. I just grabbed the knife and used all my strength . . .’

  ‘You told both Dr Franklin and Dr Barrett that you hated your stepfather. Are you sure you didn’t wish him dead?’

  ‘I only wished to be away from him. My mother had agreed earlier in the night that I could move out of home. I was happy with that. I didn’t wish him dead.’

  The truth was that she had wished him dead. Many, many times. But not in the way it had happened. Not at her hand.

  At the end of the fifth week, the jury were sent out to see if they could reach a decision.

  ‘It may take an hour, it may take a week,’ said Prue.

  As it transpired, it took only two hours. Jodi didn’t feel good about how quickly they had come to their decision, and she knew Prue well enough by now to tell that she was also worried.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict
?’ asked the judge.

  The jury’s representative was an elderly man who seemed quite at ease with being in the spotlight.

  ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

  ‘On the count of murder, what do you find?’

  ‘We find the defendant not guilty.’

  ‘Is this a decision with which you are all in agreement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The room erupted. Shirley, Grandma and Marlene cried and hugged one another. Bob’s sister shouted that it was a disgrace. The dean nodded his head in approval. Sue beamed.

  Prue shook hands with her legal team before crossing to Jodi in the dock. ‘It’s all over, Jodi. You can put it behind you now.’ Her eyes, the hardest part of her, were soft with emotion.

  It was all over. The Crown couldn’t appeal a jury verdict of acquittal.

  ‘Thanks, Prue. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Euphoric.’ Tears glittered Jodi’s vision but she was determined they wouldn’t fall; she’d shed far too many tears as it was. ‘I’ve made it through. Anything is possible now.’

  ‘That’s the right attitude,’ Prue smiled. ‘This is the start for you, not the end.’

  Outside the court, Prue stopped to address the reporters.

  ‘Miss Tyler and her family are very pleased with today’s outcome . . .’

  The cameras focused on Jodi.

  ‘Any comments, Jodi?’

  ‘As of today, I want to look forward, not back,’ she told them. ‘And I want to make the very best of my life from here on in.’

  As she stood on the steps of the courthouse, Jodi experienced a surge of determination and ambition. She was going to study very hard and get the best degree that she could. Then she would get a job and work her way up until she was an executive of the highest level. She would earn a lot of money: enough money to be able to repay the legal fees to her mother, plus interest. She would have so much respect that this court case would cease to matter to her, or anyone else.