House of Correction

by French, Nicci

  There he was at the counter, gesticulating angrily, his face broken into myriad tiny grey squares so it was hard to make out his expression.

  And there she was, entering the shop, in her jacket and her pyjama trousers, her face a briefly glimpsed pinch of distress.

  The bus driver came and stood behind her.

  Rob Coombe was still talking. He took his newspaper and a packet of cigarettes that Terry had to open the little cupboard for. For a few moments he turned and Tabitha saw the back of his head and her own face, pale with tiredness, and her slumped shoulders. She could recognise her own wretchedness as if it was in the court beside her.

  Rob Coombe shouldered past her, out of the shop.

  She gestured at the clerk and the CCTV was halted.

  ‘Right,’ she said to the farmer. ‘I don’t know what you just saw, but I saw you doing all the talking.’

  ‘Ask a question, Ms Hardy,’ said Judge Munday.

  ‘OK. Wasn’t that you doing all the talking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? We just saw you and you looked really grumpy and you were waving your hands and talking.’

  ‘You talked as well. I heard you.’

  ‘But you were facing the other direction.’

  ‘I didn’t say I saw you, I said I heard you. I heard you say Stuart Rees was a bastard. Definitely.’ He gave a firm nod.

  ‘The camera doesn’t show that.’

  ‘Just because we can’t see you talking doesn’t mean you weren’t talking.’

  ‘You have a loud voice.’

  ‘Ask a question,’ said the judge warningly.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree you have a loud voice?’

  ‘Sometimes. Like everyone else.’

  ‘Booming, even.’ He shrugged. ‘And do I?’ she asked.

  ‘What? I don’t get you.’

  ‘Do I have a loud voice too?’

  ‘It’s a bit scratchy,’ he said. ‘Like you’ve had a cold or something.’

  ‘So how could you have heard me while you were booming away there and I was apparently saying something in my scratchy little voice?’

  He looked at her. She could imagine him hitting her. She could imagine him doing worse things than that.

  ‘I just did,’ he said sullenly. He pointed his finger at her. ‘I heard you abusing Stuart Rees and a few hours later he was dead.’

  ‘Maybe it was you who said it.’ She shot a look at Judge Munday. ‘I mean, didn’t you say it yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It looked like you were saying something angry.’

  ‘It was you. End of story.’

  ‘Because isn’t it true that you were angry with Stuart?’

  ‘No. We got on fine.’

  ‘That’s very noble of you,’ said Tabitha, ‘considering he’d blocked your application to build holiday homes on your land.’

  Rob Coombe glared at her. His face was flushed. ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  ‘But it’s OK now,’ said Tabitha. ‘It’s all going ahead, isn’t it? Now he’s dead.’

  ‘Ms Hardy,’ came the warning voice of the judge.

  ‘You watch out,’ said Rob Coombe in a nasty growl.

  ‘It’s OK, you would never hit a lady, would you?’

  She was about to sit down when Michaela hissed: ‘Ask him where he was.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ask about that day. Like you said you were going to.’

  ‘Oh yes, I nearly forgot,’ Tabitha said to the court. ‘You dropped your daughter off at the bus stop at about ten past eight so why didn’t you go back to your farm?’

  ‘I had a few things to do.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I went for a wander, had a cigarette, read my paper in peace, stuff like that. What?’ He glowered at her. ‘You’re in a great big hole and you want to smear other people in the muck that’s covering you.’

  ‘Until the tree came down.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So you were there all day?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So where were you?’

  She knew of course where he was. He had been with Shona – for some of the time at least. For a moment, she thought she would say it out loud, but she stopped herself, and not just because she couldn’t see how it would help her case. The events of the past months had shone a bright and unforgiving spotlight on how people saw her: as plain or even ugly, as mannish, weird, ridiculous, dysfunctional, angry, pathetic, capable of killing someone. But Shona and Andy didn’t see her like that.

  ‘Here and there,’ he said. And then he added, ‘But nowhere near the Rees’s, and if you don’t believe me, watch the CCTV, why don’t you, and it’ll show you I never went in that direction and whatever you’re trying to suggest is crap.’

  And it was true, thought Tabitha, as she sat down, feeling like everything was askew. He might be a sleazy, lying lecher, but the CCTV showed that he hadn’t gone beyond the village shop during the day. The jury might not like him much after his time in the witness box, they might not entirely believe that she had called Stuart Rees a bastard, but it didn’t alter the solid, unshakeable fact that he couldn’t have done the murder. And she could have.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Tabitha entered the court, but she didn’t even get a chance to sit down. An usher came across and touched her on the arm.

  ‘You’re to come with me,’ she said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just follow me.’

  Still handcuffed to the police officer, Tabitha followed the usher across the court and through the door that was usually reserved for the judge. It felt like going backstage. They entered a corridor that was notably smarter than the one she generally used. There was a carpet, the wall was painted a smooth, smoky blue and there were watercolours on the walls with elegant frames. They reached a brown wooden door with a brass handle. The usher rapped on it softly. There was a murmur from inside which Tabitha couldn’t make out, but the usher seemed to understand because she turned the handle and pushed the door inwards. She leaned into the gap.

  ‘She’s here,’ she said, stepped aside and gestured to Tabitha to enter.

  Tabitha and the officer walked into a room that was so different from anything else Tabitha had seen in the court that it was difficult to believe it was in the same building. Tabitha just saw it in fragments: a richly decorated carpet, heavy furniture, oil paintings on the wall, dark wooden panels, a large window. Through it she could see the branches of a tree. Three faces looked round at her and she didn’t recognise them at first. It was only when one of them spoke that she realised it was Judge Munday, not wearing her wig. For the first time, Tabitha thought of her as a real person, eating a boiled egg for breakfast, going on holiday, having friends, having fun, maybe having a family.

  ‘I think we can lose the handcuffs,’ the judge said.

  The officer removed them.

  ‘And perhaps you can wait outside,’ Judge Munday continued.

  The officer looked puzzled by the request. She glanced at Tabitha.

  ‘Behave yourself,’ she said and left the room, closing the door behind her. Tabitha looked around and saw that the other two people were Simon Brockbank and Elinor Ackroyd, also without their wigs.

  ‘Please sit,’ said Judge Munday, gesturing at a large armchair.

  Tabitha sat and almost sank into it. It felt like they were in a sort of gentleman’s club that she had only ever seen in films and that they ought to be smoking cigars and drinking brandy. But she didn’t feel relaxed, not at all. Something was up. She could see it in the three faces that were looking at her.

  ‘The prosecution have a new witness,’ the judge said.

  ‘You mean someone who hasn’t been mentioned before?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I thought they weren’t allowed to do that.’

  ‘It’s allowed in exceptional circumstances,’ said Simon Brockbank. Elinor Ackroyd was sitting in another armchair, right on
the edge, looking tense, but Brockbank was standing, hands in pockets. ‘Apparently this witness has only just come forward. It’s very regrettable.’

  He didn’t sound as if he really felt it was regrettable.

  ‘Who is it?’ said Tabitha, her mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘A woman called Ingrid Bennet. Someone you know apparently.’

  Tabitha was about to say that she’d never heard of this woman and then she remembered.

  ‘Ingrid,’ she said. ‘She was my friend. She helped me, gave me advice. I don’t think I’d have got by without her. What’s she doing here?’

  ‘I think she’s just talking about certain conversations you had.’

  Tabitha turned to the judge. ‘I’m sorry, could I have some water?’

  Judge Munday filled a glass from a jug on her desk and handed it to Tabitha, who gulped it down so quickly that she had to wipe her chin with the back of her hand.

  ‘So you can keep ambushing me with different kinds of evidence,’ said Tabitha. ‘Is that how it goes?’

  There was a pause. Judge Munday looked at Simon Brockbank.

  ‘That seems a fair point to me,’ she said. ‘What do you say to that?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s unfortunate. But if new, relevant evidence is given to me, it is my duty to put it to the court.’

  ‘Can I object to it?’ said Tabitha.

  Judge Munday took a deep breath. Tabitha could see that she was angry. There was a steeliness in her expression that was almost frightening.

  ‘Mr Brockbank is correct,’ she began slowly. ‘As far as it goes. But this is the second time this has happened in this trial and I am not pleased about that. I want no suggestion that the prosecution is playing games in my court.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Simon Brockbank soothingly.

  Judge Munday didn’t seem to be soothed. ‘I’ll allow this witness. But I’m going to make sure that Ms Hardy is not unfairly disadvantaged by this.’ She turned to Tabitha. ‘If you want a day to prepare for this, I’ll give you one. This witness can always appear later.’

  Judge Munday was still obviously furious. If something bad was coming, then it might be useful to have her slightly on Tabitha’s side.

  ‘What would I prepare for?’ she said.

  * * *

  Back in court, she sat down next to Michaela and told her what had happened.

  ‘What the fuck,’ said Michaela rather too loudly and Tabitha saw various officers of the court looking round. ‘Do you know what she’s going to say?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Tabitha. ‘I guess she’ll talk about meeting me in prison. I don’t know why that’s relevant.’

  Michaela thought for a moment. ‘I know what she’s going to say,’ she said.

  She started frantically writing notes on her pad. Tabitha couldn’t make out what they were.

  Suddenly it was like opening time. The public gallery and the press gallery filled up, the jury walked in, looking sullen. Tabitha gave them what she hoped was a friendly nod, but none of them responded. They all rose, the judge entered and they sat down. The new witness was announced and everyone looked round, including Tabitha. She was genuinely curious.

  As Ingrid entered the court and was led by an usher to the witness box, Tabitha was impressed, despite herself. She was dressed in a dark suit with a white blouse and a coral brooch at her throat. Her hair was immaculately styled. She seemed as much at home in a courtroom as the lawyers. As she passed the desk where Tabitha and Michaela were seated, she turned and gave a smile and a little twitch of her shoulders as if there was a shared understanding of how comic this was, how slightly absurd. Tabitha started to smile back and then stopped herself, remembering that Ingrid was appearing for the prosecution, not the defence. What was this about?

  Ingrid swore her oath on a Bible and she did so with a furrowed brow and an expression of concentration as if she was considering every word as she spoke it.

  ‘I swear that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’

  Tabitha looked across at the jury. Would the mention of God strengthen their belief in this woman? Probably.

  Elinor Ackroyd stood up. So she was going to take the examination. Woman to woman, like with Laura, Tabitha thought. Maybe that was also meant to be more convincing somehow.

  ‘How do you know the accused?’

  ‘We were in Crow Grange prison together. I was there when she arrived. She was in a distressed state and I think I was someone she could turn to.’

  Other people giving evidence had seemed nervous, intimidated by the setting. Tabitha was struck by Ingrid’s confidence and clarity. She seemed strong, the sort of woman a vulnerable person might lean on.

  ‘So you had personal, private conversations with the accused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you talk about the crime she’s accused of here, in this trial?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  Up to this point Ingrid had been looking towards Elinor Ackroyd. Now she turned her face directly to the jury.

  ‘She confessed to it.’

  ‘What?’ said Tabitha in a loud, angry tone.

  Judge Munday rebuked her sharply. ‘Please, Ms Hardy. You will have your own opportunity to question the witness. But you must keep quiet.’

  Elinor Ackroyd turned to the jury with a wide-eyed expression as if Ingrid’s statement had come to her as a total surprise.

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Could you remember exactly what the accused said?’

  ‘I remember every word.’

  ‘Please. Can you tell the jury?’

  Ingrid paused for a moment as if she were trying to gather her thoughts. ‘She told me that she had had a sexual relationship with the victim when she was a teenager.’

  Oh, Tabitha thought to herself. Oh right. I can see what’s coming.

  ‘She said it had ruined her life,’ Ingrid continued. ‘She came back to her home village with the idea of punishing him for what he had done. She said she had planned it all. She said she had confronted the man and threatened to make it all public, go to the police. She arranged to meet him at her house and she stabbed him there. She had a plan to get rid of the body but before she could do it, a friend of hers found the body by chance.’

  ‘Was that all?’

  Ingrid thought for a moment. Or, as Tabitha bitterly saw it, pretended to think for a moment.

  ‘She also said that her lawyer didn’t believe that she was innocent. She said that she had no choice but to defend herself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elinor Ackroyd. ‘I have no further questions.’

  Tabitha stayed seated for a few moments. She felt like she was in a fever. How was she going to think? How was she going to ask questions? She looked helplessly at Michaela. Michaela put her hand on Tabitha’s. It made her feel just a little bit better. She forced herself to stand up but still her legs felt shaky and she had to steady herself by leaning forward against the edge of the desk.

  ‘This is a bit of a surprise,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘I can see it must be difficult for you.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Tabitha sarcastically. ‘That’s really kind of you.’

  ‘Please, Ms Hardy,’ said Judge Munday. ‘You’re to ask questions not to make vague statements.’

  Tabitha had so many thoughts. She just didn’t know how to formulate them into a question.

  ‘That was quite damaging, what you just said.’ Still no question, Tabitha told herself angrily. ‘Didn’t you miss something out?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I said a version of what you just said, but you missed out the important bit, the bit where I said that this is what the prosecution case against me is.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Because you didn’t say that.’

  ‘I thought that if I were going to defend myself, I needed to be clear about what the prosecution case again
st me was. And I thought it would be useful to think aloud with a friend. Someone I thought was my friend.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not true,’ said Ingrid, glancing at the jury.

  ‘Look,’ said Tabitha, ‘if I really had committed this crime, why on earth would I confess it all to you? What would be the point?’

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, she silently cursed herself. What a stupid, stupid question. A question that was so easy to answer.

  Ingrid gave a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s strange, I know. But I think people sometimes feel a need to confess to someone. It lightens the burden somehow.’

  Tabitha felt a sense of humiliation and knew that it must be visible to everyone, including the jury. Her face had probably gone red. She could feel it. She turned towards Michaela and saw that she was gesturing at her notes. She saw the word ‘parole’ written in capital letters. Right, she thought. Right. And even in her confusion, she understood how competent and how clever Michaela was. She turned back to Ingrid. She had an idea of what she wanted to say but she knew it had to be phrased as a question and she didn’t know how to do it.

  ‘When I was talking to you, as a friend, you were waiting for your parole hearing, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was there a connection?’ said Tabitha. ‘I mean: give the authorities something they want and they’ll give you something you want.’

  Ingrid shook her head. ‘No, not at all.’

  Tabitha tried to gather her thoughts. ‘All right. Can I put it like this? When you went to whoever you went to with this made-up story about me—’

  ‘It wasn’t made up,’ Ingrid interrupted with a new edge in her voice.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Tabitha. ‘When you told your story, was it before you were given parole or after?’

  She noticed a hesitation in Ingrid’s manner.

  ‘Before you answer,’ Tabitha continued, ‘you should know that this is something that can be checked.’

  Ingrid looked at Simon Brockbank and at the judge and back at Tabitha.

  ‘Before,’ she said slowly. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘That’s really interesting,’ said Tabitha, ‘because I was told that the prosecution had only just learned about this.’