by Demelza Hart
I forced myself not to smile back, but I still didn’t look away. He stayed like it, just smiling at me, and I was happy again for the first time in months.
‘Callie?’
Someone behind me was speaking my name. I ignored it.
‘Callie?’ It grew insistent and a hand was placed on my shoulder. I had no option but to look around at the voice.
It was Anna. ‘Oh!’ I gasped, at once furious with her but pleased it was no one I couldn’t cope with. ‘Hello.’
I stood up, half looking back at Paul. He was being accompanied from the dock, still staring up at me. He soon disappeared from view. I had no choice but to turn back to Anna. I managed to smile weakly.
She embraced me. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, you know …’
‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch but I knew you’d contact me if you needed me. This is all rather …’ She couldn’t finish. She ended with a concerned frown.
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t believe he’d do it.’
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want anyone else’s opinion. I resented her having an opinion. This was all too complex for that. Only Paul knew the truth and only I was able to understand it, whatever it was. For no matter what the truth was, I did understand it, even if I couldn’t live with it.
‘Have you spoken to him recently?’ Anna asked.
‘Not really.’
‘But he’s all right? He won’t answer my calls and emails.’
‘He’s on trial, but he’s Paul. He’s a survivor.’
She smiled, then, sensing my reluctance to talk, patted me on the arm and took paces away. ‘You know where I am. I’ll probably see you around here.’
‘Probably.’ Would I come back? Probably.
Thirty-one
I did go back. The prosecution was in full flow and I found myself sitting in the same place in court. It was time for Natalie Sunley to give evidence. She approached the witness box with her head up, her hair tied neatly back, a dark blue suit fitting trimly to her slim figure. She had a slight limp as she took the stand and the scar on her neck was more prominent today, probably on direction from her lawyer. I liked her, as much as it surprised me. The jury would like her too.
She was sworn in and the prosecution lawyer, Mr Thirle, an indomitable man with thick grey hair, stood up.
‘Miss Sunley, could you tell us in your own words what happened after ten p.m. on Saturday, June 16th 2007?’
She swallowed. She was clasping her hands tightly, but apart from that she showed no sign of stress. She spoke clearly and calmly.
‘I had stayed on late as we were stock-taking. I didn’t usually, but I was getting overtime and needed some extra money. It was my niece’s birthday and I’d promised her a day out to a pony sanctuary.’ The jury would like that. I glanced at them. Several were smiling.
‘The owner had been working late with me and had intended to stay. He didn’t like me working on my own.’
‘This is Mr Caton?’
‘Yes.’
‘He has since passed away, is that right?’
‘That’s right, yes. Anyway, he had set the security screens to close, but we’d been having some problems with the electrics. The CCTV wasn’t working properly and the screens hadn’t closed fully. I told him not to worry about it. His wife wanted him home. I told him I’d close them by hand, which was possible, after I’d finished the last few items. The front doors were locked, and I thought it was almost impossible for people to get in. I could pull down and lock the screens by hand when I left. I didn’t want Mr Caton to be troubled with it.’
‘He left you alone?’
‘Yes, reluctantly, but he’d just taken a phone call from his wife. She was insistent, let’s say. I stayed on the shop floor, sorting out the last few items. It happened suddenly, almost immediately. There was a rustling noise at the door. At first I thought it was an animal – a fox, maybe – they sometimes sniff around outside. But then there was this tumultuous banging. Someone was barging into the shop. It opened remarkably easily. I stood there at first, just watching it happen. I was waiting for the alarms to go off, but they didn’t.’
The barrister turned to address the judge briefly. ‘Your honour, as we understand it, the alarms were disabled before entry. Continue, Miss Sunley.’
‘He came in. I reached under the counter for the panic alarm but that didn’t sound either, although I hoped it was still connected to the police directly.’
‘Did you get a good look at the perpetrator?’
‘Good enough. He was wearing a dark top with the hood pulled up. He had dark hair. I was trying to summon help and lock away some of the goods.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He had a gun. I couldn’t look away. He rushed up to the counter and pointed it right at me. He told me to put as much as I could – the most expensive items – into his bag. I tried. I got as many as I could but I was shaking so much, I could hardly get a grip on anything. He yelled out and started smashing the cases with the handle of the gun. I screamed, I couldn’t help it. He told me to shut up and pointed the gun at me again. I think that made it worse. I must have done something he didn’t like, I don’t remember what, but he reached over the counter and took hold of my shoulders. It hurt so much. His fingers dug in like claws. He took hold of me and pulled me. He actually dragged me over the counter top. My stomach scraped over it and I thought something inside had ruptured, it hurt so much.’ She paused, as did the whole court.
I couldn’t look at Paul. I didn’t want to try to read him in case I saw something I didn’t like. My heart bled for Natalie. She had been so composed, but now her resolve wavered and her voice quivered.
‘Do you want to take a moment, Miss Sunley?’ asked the judge.
She looked up at him and shook her head. He asked Thirle to continue.
‘Can you tell us what happened after you’d been dragged over the counter?’ questioned the barrister.
‘He held me against the counter, pointing in my face, telling me I was being stupid. I opened my mouth to scream and he hit me, a punch, right across my jaw. Blood came pouring out. At first I couldn’t believe it was mine. It knocked the wind from me. He said something about having to shut me up. He got out this cloth and tied it round my mouth, gagging me, then turned me around, grabbed my wrists, and bound them. I struggled. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. I had so much anger inside me, so much hate. I tried to fight back, kicking and thrashing. I don’t know if it did any good. Every time I struggled, he grew stronger. He hit me again and then again. I realised I couldn’t see out of my left eye; it had swollen shut. There was so much pain that it sorted of felt like I was floating. He was so angry. And then I … I don’t know. I think I passed out. I don’t remember exactly.’
‘But you remember coming to in the shop?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long do you think you were out for?’
‘Not long. A few seconds, a minute perhaps.’
‘But not longer?’
‘Objection, your honour, there is no way Miss Sunley could know this.’ Paul’s barrister had interjected. He was certainly a dynamic man but his youth worried me.
The judge was nodding. ‘That is true, Mr Aston. You do not need to answer that, Miss Sunley. Counsel, please ask questions that Miss Sunley could reasonably know the answer to.’
‘Yes, your honour. Miss Sunley, when you came to, what do you remember?’
‘He was there, leaning over me.’
‘The same man who had beaten and threatened you?’
She hesitated and looked down.
‘The same man, Miss Sunley?’
She nodded.
‘Miss Sunley? You must give a verbal response,’ prompted the judge.
At first she didn’t. But then her voice came, remarkably clearly. ‘Yes. The same man. He had the dark clothes with the hood up.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He wa
s leaning over me, his hands were on my arms. I thought he was going to hit me again. I screamed and screamed. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight him anymore. And then there was some commotion and other people were there and he wasn’t on me anymore and … that’s all I remember. The next thing I knew, I was in hospital.’
‘This man, the one you remember, I know it’s hard, but … can you see him here today?’
She kept her head down and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Miss Sunley. I’m sorry to ask this, but I need you to point to him.’
She raised her head and pointed straight at Paul. There was a murmur from the gallery.
‘Please note that Miss Sunley has pointed directly at Mr Mason.’
I looked at Paul. He was leaning forward. It had been hard for him hearing her testimony.
It was time for Paul’s young barrister to cross-examine her. I couldn’t stand it. How could anyone not feel sympathy for this girl? I hoped he would go easy on her.
‘Miss Sunley, I realise you had an ordeal that day, but could you please clear some things up for me? The man who entered the shop, the man who beat you and bound you, what was he wearing?’
‘Jeans. I remember the denim faded on his knees a little.’
‘What about his hands?’
‘He was wearing gloves, thin latex gloves. I remember that. I remember the feel of them on me.’
‘He was wearing gloves, thank you. And what else?’
‘A dark hoodie of some kind.’
‘Of some kind? Could you be more specific?’
‘I think it was a sweatshirt material.’
‘Jersey?’
‘Yes.’
Aston turned to the judge. ‘My client doesn’t own and never has owned any jersey hoodies, your honour. When you regained consciousness, Miss Sunley, what do you remember the man leaning over you wearing?’
‘A dark item of clothing with a hood.’
‘Was the hood up?’
‘I don’t think it was then but I remember it bunched around the shoulders and neck.’
‘A jersey hoodie?’
‘I think so.’
‘But you’re not certain?’
‘It looked the same.’
‘But it could have been, say, a cagoule or rain coat of some kind. It was raining that night, after all.’
‘I thought it was the same. It looked the same.’
‘But, I ask again, you’re not certain?’
‘No.’
‘Did you get a good look at the man who first entered the building? The man who you remember beating you before you blacked out?’
‘I … Yes.’
‘What colour eyes did he have?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you said you got a good look at him?’
‘With the hood up I couldn’t make out his eyes.’
‘And the colour of his hair?’
‘Dark.’
‘Dark? Under a hoodie? How could you tell?’
‘There was some sticking out.’
‘Brown hair? Black?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘As you can see, Mr Mason clearly has black hair. It’s fairly obvious – thick, black hair. And blue eyes. As you know, the commentators on TV pointed out his blue eyes often. Would you not have remembered this?’
‘I did remember it. When I woke up and he was leaning over me with the hood back, I remember that face, the eyes.’
‘But that was when you regained consciousness, Miss Sunley.’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know it was the same man? According to Mr Mason, he chased the perpetrator off and then came to see if you were all right.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘When you saw Mr Mason over you after regaining consciousness, you said he was holding you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he hurting you?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘But previously, when the man had first entered the shop and attacked you, you said he held you so hard it felt like claws. Surely if it was the same man he would have gripped you as hard again? Did Mr Mason hold you strongly?’
‘I … don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight. Everywhere hurt. I was in so much pain. I wanted it to end.’
‘But did it not occur to you that Mr Mason was trying to help you?’
‘But he’d hurt me before. He’d beaten me and tied me up. He’d gagged me.’
‘Which brings me to my next point, Miss Sunley. Your attacker had gagged you, but you said that when you came to you “screamed and screamed”. How can you scream if you’re gagged?’
She frowned a little, as if trying to dredge up the memory. ‘I … wasn’t gagged at that point.’
‘When you regained consciousness?’
‘That’s right.’
‘When Mr Mason was holding you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So … how did the gag come off?’
‘I don’t know. He must have taken it off.’
‘Exactly. Mr Mason took the gag off. Hardly the actions of a man wanting to keep you silenced and under control.’
‘He could have done it for any number of reasons.’
‘But the man who took off your gag wasn’t the same man who’d put it on, Miss Sunley.’ Aston paused, giving the jury a chance to absorb this. ‘I’m sorry for your pain, Miss Sunley. I know that when I’m in pain my judgement is often clouded. Oh, one more question, Miss Sunley. When you saw Mr Mason after you came to, you said he was holding onto you. Was he wearing gloves then?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘You said clearly that the man who first attacked you was wearing latex gloves. Surely you would remember the feel of them on you later?’
‘I was hurting too much by then. I can’t remember.’
‘Mr Mason’s fingerprints were found throughout the shop from his attempts to stop your attacker. Mr Mason clearly was not wearing gloves. You admit it is quite possible the man with you when you came to was not wearing gloves?’
She couldn’t look up but answered clearly. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Thank you, Miss Sunley. No further questions, your honour.’
Aston had done well. He had planted doubt in the minds of everyone that the attacker was actually Paul.
The prosecution wrapped up their case. The evidence of blood samples and fingerprints was analysed and evaluated. It hardly filled me with optimism. Paul’s blood was found in many parts of the shop, along with that of Miss Sunley and a few other samples which could have been from any number of sources over several months: workmen, cleaners, customers. I was relieved they had not matched Paul’s blood sooner with evidence from his military trial. But with no other links, the pool of samples had been overwhelmingly vast and he had remained untraced for years.
Soon, it was the turn of the defence; Paul would give evidence the next day. I glanced down at him before I left the court. He was looking up at me again, but this time there was no smile.
Thirty-two
The media interest in me had been rejuvenated since the trial. I was followed along the street towards court and out afterwards. Again, speculation was rife about the true nature of my relationship with Paul. Now, it was merely tiresome and annoying.
On the day of Paul’s testimony, I was sick to the stomach. He didn’t look at me when he entered the dock and the leaden ache inside felt like it would stay forever and rot me away.
He rose for his evidence. I glanced around, fearing the relentless beating of my heart would be heard by everyone, but their eyes were trained on the tall man with black hair and blue eyes standing below.
‘Paul Mason, place your hand on the Holy Bible and state the oath.’
‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
What struck me at that moment was that he had c
hosen the religious oath. Even Paul Mason relied on God at times.
He looked at me. The thudding inside slowed, the lead weight melted. Again, even now, he settled me.
His barrister rose. ‘Mr Mason, could you please recount the events of the night of 16th June 2007.’
Paul took a steadying breath and began.
‘I had been out with my mates. They were staying out but I didn’t fancy it. But I wasn’t in the mood to go home neither. I went for a walk. I just walked and walked through London. I love walking through the streets, especially when it’s quieter. I ended up in Kensington. I’d done a few jobs there when I was younger. I knew the area. It was raining a bit. I pulled up the hood on my raincoat.’
‘What kind of raincoat was it?’
‘North Face.’
‘Colour?’
‘Black. I don’t have it anymore. Gave it to Oxfam. I walked down a side street, a little one with boutique shops. It was dead quiet, bit weird for a Saturday. But I heard muffled crying. It was coming from this jeweller’s shop, Caton’s. Top end stuff. I knew it from doing work nearby. The shutters weren’t down completely and I could see through. There was a girl inside, crouched down, and a guy, black hoodie on. Didn’t stop to think. I rushed in, squeezing under the shutters and through the door. It was open, I remember that. He turned and saw me. I saw his gun and ducked down behind the counter. I could see the girl, beaten and bruised. She was unconscious and I thought at first she were dead. I called to her to ask if she were all right. Got no response but I said out loud that I were there to help. Then the guy came for me, trying to shut me up. Threatened me with the gun, didn’t fire it though. I managed to get hold of him. Hit him a few times, got him to his knees, and turned to see to the girl, but he was on me again. I managed to get the gun off him but we fell against the shop displays. Things got broken. I hit my head on a glass shelf and it cut me badly. I hadn’t broken his skin but I’d knocked him about a bit. I heard the cop car. So did he. He ran then, just ran out the back. I wanted to go after him, to make him pay, to make him face up to what he’d done. But the girl moaned and I rushed to help her. I helped support her, held her up, took off her gag, and looked at her. She opened her eyes and she just started screaming, screaming and screaming.