She Said, Three Said

by David B Lyons

  Sabrina was – understandably – stressed about her cross-examination. In rape trials, it can often seem as if it is the victim who’s on trial. She felt her whole life was being examined. Sabrina was accused of stalking Jason Kenny on the night in question, accused of heavy drinking, accused of being fame hungry and accused of being a nude glamour model desperate for attention. One tabloid ran with the headline ‘Ms X is Ms XXX’ after Patrick Clavin’s testimony. And yet Sabrina is supposed to be the victim in this case. No wonder a large number of rape victims are reluctant to report their attackers.

  Jason, Zach and Li’s defence lawyers did all they could to paint Sabrina in a negative light. They also aimed to make her appear hesitant on the stand. If defence lawyers are successful in making a complainant seem hesitant, then it can go a long way to breathing a feeling of reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds.

  Although the defence team are considered to be among the best in their field, they were disappointed overall with their cross examination of Sabrina Doyle. Perhaps they thought she would be an easy target, but she somehow, from somewhere, found an inner-strength when she was on the stand.

  When Gerd Bracken — the defence team’s lead lawyer — ended his interrogation of Sabrina by whipping off his glasses and moving intimidatingly towards the stand, raising his voice: ‘I suggest to you, Sabrina Doyle, that this is not a case of non-consensual sexual relations, but a case of consensual sexual relations with three men that you subsequently regretted, isn’t that right?’ she looked him square in the eye and replied ‘I said no, I said no, I said no — not subsequently, but while I was being raped.’

  Although she gripped a handful of tissues throughout the two days the defence lawyers cross-examined her, she didn’t have to use them to wipe away any tears. She was impressive up there; had a steely determination to get through the test without giving the three defendants — or indeed their legal team who she had grown to despise — any satisfaction whatsoever. She wanted to portray herself as a strong woman when she was up there. And she did.

  ‘Well that’s true,’ Number Ten says, ‘you can look at it both ways.’ She was agreeing with a point Number One had just raised about Jason’s character. Discussions were heating up; the secret ballot result changing the gears of the conversation. ‘Jason Kenny is far from squeaky clean. He may have made a success of himself, but he’s no saint.’

  The jurors had moved on, were now at the beginning stages of a discussion about the three character witnesses that were called to give testimony about Jason Kenny.

  Clara Groves, a sixty-three-year-old founder of a charity called YouKnight — set up in in Dublin in 1978 to support disabled people — testified that Jason was not only generous with his money, but with his time too.

  ‘For the purposes of this trial, I actually went through all of my notes and counted up the hours Jason has given to us over the years,’ she testified. ‘He became an ambassador for YouKnight in December 2009, still is to this day. He has, according to my calculations, given up almost six hundred hours to help us. He’s over and back to Dublin as much as he can be to offer support. Has travelled to America with us too, just to see some of our beneficiaries live out their dreams. And that’s on top of the seventy-eight thousand pounds he has personally donated within that time frame too. He’s an amazing, caring man. We have a couple of celebrities who are ambassadors of YouKnight, but nobody gives more than Jason.’

  Former Ireland international coach Mick Dempsey also backed up Jason’s character on the stand, the highlight of his testimony suggesting ‘Jason is the kindest footballer of all of the footballers I’ve worked with — over three hundred of them. He’s deeply religious, and it shows in his character. He’s very humble, very caring.’

  It had been reported in the newspapers that former Ireland captains Robbie Keane and Richard Dunne would also act as character witnesses for the high-profile accused, but while the defence did certainly make initial plans to contact these famous names, this route was never going to be taken. It wouldn’t have been wise for Keane and Dunne to put themselves on display like that. Their reputations would have been damaged by a guilty verdict had they testified.

  The truth is, they were never officially approached. The newspapers caught wind of something small and blew it all out of proportion. They splashed with ‘Keane and Dunne to give evidence’ headlines. It was sensationalised bullshit. And the journalists who reported it knew it.

  Despite Clara Groves’s and Mick Dempsey’s positive accounts of their dealings with Jason Kenny, it was the testimony of a prosecution witness — a Mr Frank Keville — that made the biggest impact on the jury.

  Keville is a freelance crime journalist, courted by all major newspapers in Ireland. He never considers any of the contracts offered to him though, preferring freelancing. He makes much more money that way, selling to the highest bidder. His bravery as a journalist and a photographer has been lauded by those in the Dail on occasions. He’s been in a wheelchair for six years after one gang’s assassination attempt on him failed. And even since then, he has proven he has no fear inside his bones. Keville makes his money trying to expose Dublin gangland criminals, stalking them in an attempt to catch them in precarious situations. The tabloids love to run a story about criminals partying it up; living a luxurious life on money made underground. These stories both intrigue and disgust readers in equal measure. Keville knows what the mass population wants; certainly knows what editors want.

  ‘I have no doubt whatsoever that Jason Kenny and indeed Zach Brophy are good friends —associates, I would say — of Alan Keating,’ Keville said on the stand.

  Alan Keating is one of — if not the — most notorious gangsters in Ireland. It was fully explained to the jurors who Keating is, not that they needed telling or reminding.

  Keville had photographed Jason and Zach with Keating and other members of his gang on five separate occasions. These pictures appeared in both the Irish Daily Star and Sunday World over a four-year period. Not much was made of them at the time. Jason was from Drimnagh; same place a lot of gangland members are from. Painting Jason as a criminal, or as a criminal by proxy, didn’t ring true with the population of Ireland. They just figured Jason and Keating had friends in common, that the newspapers were just sensationalising. But Keville’s testimony didn’t seem sensationalised at all. The jury hung on his every word.

  ‘Jason and Zach have not only been good friends with Keating for a few years, they both knew this man from a very young age. They grew up in Keating’s shadow. Some in Drimnagh say Jason would have been a gangster had it not been for football. I don’t believe being a footballer took him away from gangland crime — it’s still a part of his life.’

  Keville wasn’t making things up for the sake of it. He genuinely believed Jason was involved with Keating’s racketing and smuggling; had been told this by a few insiders. It was the insiders feeding him the information who were wrong. They sensationalised the story. They said Jason was part of Keating’s gang because they knew it would make a good article, and that — as a result — they would get more money from Keville for passing on such juicy information.

  ‘Frank Keville is a very decent man,’ says Number One. ‘Somebody we should believe. He has nothing to lose; is hardly making stories up for the sake of it. And look, he has photographs to prove his testimony.’

  ‘Yep, this guy has evidence,’ Number Five follows up.

  ‘Hold on,’ says Brian. ‘A photograph is not evidensh that Jason Kenny is a gangster. And it certainly isn’t evidensh that he is a rapist.’

  ‘No, but it proves that he hangs around with gangsters, that he probably hangs around with rapists,’ Number Five retorts.

  ‘Ah for crying out loud! Who said Keating and these gangland criminal are rapists? Surely they’re just into trafficking drugs, laundering money,’ Number Twelve argues, his face turning red.

  ‘Criminals are criminals. Probably into every sort of crime,’ Number Five says.r />
  ‘That makes no fuckin’ sense—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Number One says, standing up. ‘Can we calm things a bit?’ He sits back down, bumps his paperwork off the table again.

  ‘Frank Keville is a character witness,’ he says, steadying his tone. ‘His job on the stand was to give us an understanding of Jason Kenny and Zach Brophy’s personalities. I think it’s fair that we can deduce Jason and Zach are no saints, given Keville’s testimony. No, it doesn’t confirm to us that Jason and Zach and Li raped Sabrina, but it does confirm to us that Jason and Zach can’t be fully trusted. Remember… the police statements say that Jason denied all involvement with Keating, yet Keville was able to provide us with proof that they — at the very least — socialise with each other.’

  One photograph that appeared on the front page of the Sunday World in 2011 — when Jason Kenny was at the peak of his career — portrayed Jason laughing with his left arm wrapped around Alan Keating in an inner-city Dublin pub. Zach was also in the photo. It had a huge impact on some jurors, particularly those who felt the three men were guilty of rape. It gave their verdict validation; painting Jason and Zach as scumbags. Not even Clara Groves’ or Mick Dempsey’s glowing testimonies about Jason — which followed Keville’s testimony — could smooth over that massive bump.

  ‘I, one hundred per cent, believe Frank Keville,’ says Number Five.

  ‘Me too,’ Number Six follows up.

  ‘And me,’ Number Three says, readjusting her wheelchair so she can be more face on with Number One — the juror she was aiming her feelings at. Number Three was now being swung back towards a guilty verdict having changed her initial ‘guilty’ call in the first vote to ‘undecided’ in the secret ballot.

  ‘I believe him too,’ says Number Four, speaking on this subject for the first time. ‘And I know he’s just a character witness; he wasn’t talking about the rape or anything like that, just giving us details on Jason and Zach’s background… what sort of shit they’re into. But… I don’t know how to say this without sounding a bit stupid. I kinda forgot about his testimony a bit until we brought it up in this room. Now that we’re talking about it, it seems like one of the most intriguing parts of the trial, yet twenty minutes ago, it barely registered with me.’

  ‘Well that’s why we are given this time in the jury room — to thrash out everything we heard, to highlight it all,’ says Number Ten. ‘And I agree with you. Keville’s testimony has rung more true in this jury room, on reflection. I guess reading it in black and white has had a bit more impact. It’s really making me question Jason Kenny’s character.’

  ‘Agreed. I have to admit, I don’t like Zach and I’m not really sure about Jason,’ says Number Four. Maybe there’s something really dark about him. He’s holding secrets. Probably feels entitled because he’s both a footballer and a gangster. He might even think he’s invincible, certainly will if he’s found not guilty by us.’

  Number Four’s mind was racing. He was never quite sure what way he was leaning, every new discussion pulling him in a different direction.

  Number Four’s real name is Clive Suttie, a thirty-nine-year-old from Donabate in north Dublin. He’s a manger for a finance and insurance firm called Fullams. He’s likable, but has the maturity levels of somebody ten years his junior. It’s why he keeps following Number Seven to the water dispenser; still has a tendency to believe that stalking a girl is the best way to get her into bed. He is really starting to get bored by the deliberations, but is still intrigued and is enjoying the responsibility he has been handed. Though he is slightly growing annoyed by the fact that his mind seems to be changing on a whim. Overall, he’s undecided; is not sure how this is all going to pan out. He has an inkling the jury may be hung after a few days of deliberating. He can’t see how Brian and Number One, for starters, are ever going to agree on a verdict, let alone everyone else in the room.

  And if he’s right — if the jury are still hung after the judge’s patience wears thin — the case will be dismissed. Jason, Zach and Li will walk out of the court free men. Even if the vast majority of jurors think they’re guilty.

  22:10

  Zach

  She’s still laughing – hasn’t stopped – as the rickshaw guy races off Grafton Street, turning right at Stephen’s Green to make his way back towards Coppers.

  I’ve used a couple of cheesy lines – not my normal approach – but they seemed to have worked. Though I’m still not sure if she’s into me or into Jason more. I decide to stop with the cheesiness; cut to the chase.

  ‘Your eyes are amazin’,’ I say. She doesn’t answer. Just stares at me, purses her lips in mock embarrassment before turning away. I’m sure she’s heard that line a million times before.

  ‘I’ve a feelin’ me and you are gonna hook up tonight,’ I say.

  ‘What?’ she says, turning to me again.

  ‘Yeah… I’m not saying that we’re gonna hook up right now, but at some stage tonight.’

  I smile. Her mouth just falls open. Then she looks the other way again.

  I’m not sure how to take that. Maybe she’s thinkin’ about telling me that my prediction is not gonna happen in any way shape or form. Or maybe she’s contemplating it; wondering if she should be pursuing me now, not Jason.

  I allow the silence to remain between us. I’ve done most of the talkin’ anyway for the past ten or fifteen minutes. All she’s done is laugh. We’re about five minutes away from the club. I needed to let her know what I was thinking. Needed to do it before we got back, before she ran into Jason’s arms. I did the right thing, no matter how awkward I feel right now.

  Tina’s face threatens to pop into my head but I don’t let it. Fuck that. She bores me. We’re just set in our ways. Our relationship is a necessity, because we have two kids, but it’s boring. I know it and she knows it. She doesn’t mind me going to the pub all the time, doesn’t mind me going to clubs. She’s probably aware I cheat on her, but she’s willing to turn a blind eye, just to keep the family together.

  I don’t like being a parent. Have never been afraid to admit that. Once the kids came along, all the doors to my life closed. It meant I could never follow my brothers to other corners of the world; could never make life choices that I’d like to have had the option to make. Freedom becomes a thing of the past once you become a parent. It sucks. Plus, kids are annoying as hell. Who the fuck wants a poxy little six-year-old snotty-nosed high-pitched idiot running around their house anyway?

  I’m pretty certain that lads only have kids because women talk them into it. And women only have kids because they feel that’s what they’re supposed to do. If anyone thinks it through properly, like really thinks the whole thing through, the world’s population would be a helluva lot smaller.

  ‘You got any kids?’ I ask. The silence has been going on too long.

  ‘Me? No!’ she says. ‘You?’

  I shake my head. Stare up at the night sky as our rickshaw guy approaches Harcourt Street.

  ‘Y’know what… you can leave us here,’ I say, handing a twenty euro note to him over his shoulder. Poor fella. I can’t believe he cycled around town with us two on his back for a quarter of an hour for the sake of a bloody score. I help Sabrina off the rickshaw by taking her hand. I almost pull her into me as she gets off, but I’m not quite getting the vibe that that’s what she wants. She’s hard to read. Maybe I came on too strong by suggesting we were gonna get it on tonight. I should have just continued with the cheesy lines. She was enjoying them.

  It’s starting to get cold. If I had a jacket I’d take it off, throw it around her shoulders, start playing the gentleman card. I can change my game up depending on the circumstances. I initially thought this bird was just up for a laugh, but maybe she needs a bit more maturity.

  ‘My eh… my mam’s unwell,’ I say as we slowly walk towards Coppers.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah – Alzheimer’s. Barely knows who I am
anymore. Sometimes she thinks I’m her husband… once she thought I was her father.’

  I notice her stare at me as I slump my hands into my jeans pocket. I probably should have been an actor. My ma’s fine. Nothing wrong with her. Has the sharpest mind I know.

  ‘Once… when I visited her in the hospital, she jumped out of the bed, wrapped her arms around me and tried to kiss me on the mouth. Started calling me Frank – my dad’s name. I had to leave the room, didn’t stop crying for about half-an-hour. It’s tough going. I’m all she has. And I’m there every day for her. I go up to have lunch with her in the hospital and stay for about three hours at a time.’

  ‘That’s so sweet,’ she says. ‘And is your boss okay with that? What is it you do for work?’

  ‘I eh… I run my own business. A digital tech company. We’re doin’ very well. Well, we were doin’ very well. With me taking time off work, the business has suffered. But family before profit right?’

  She purses her lips at me again but this time in a sweet way, not in the pitiful way she pursed her lips at me ten minutes ago. I pause when we get to the entrance of Coppers, swirling my foot in a circular motion around the pathway.

  ‘It’s tough, y’know. It was always me and Mam. The two of us together. Now I just feel like I’m on my own. I’d never known what loneliness was until my mam started to forget who I was.’

  She reaches out with both her hands, grabs me in for a hug. I can feel her tits press against my chest. I’m a fuckin’ genius. I always know how to play it with birds. Always know how to read the game. Just like I did as a footballer.

  ‘I’m really sorry you’re going through this,’ she says. ‘But… y’know what? It doesn’t mean you have to stop living your own life, right? Your mother would want you to get on with it; would want you to be happy.’ She leans off me. Stares into my eyes. ‘C’mon, let’s go back inside. Let’s get you back on that dance floor.’