“Sustained,” says the judge. “Although there’s many cases of the police getting involved.”
“OK. I’ll rephrase my question,” Margaret continues. “Have you attended many stabbings where the victim has fatally stabbed themselves?”
He pauses. “I can think of one or two occasions. But usually the person who has stabbed themselves has injured others first, often within their family. Possibly, upon realising the gravity and consequences of their actions, they then turn the knife to themselves. I would imagine the adrenaline has a part to play. I can’t imagine, if she was there alone that…”
“Again, I object to this line of questioning.” Simon’s voice rings out across the quiet court room. “The witness is merely speculating.”
“Sustained.” Judge Lakin nods.
“In your experience as a senior police officer,” Margaret clasps her hands in front of her chest, “do you believe Michelle Jackson could have inflicted this horrific injury upon herself?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“No further questions.”
It is Simon’s turn to question him. “Your honour.” He is unrecognisable in his wig and robes. “My name is Simon Booth, Queen’s Counsel. I act in this case for the defendant, Paul Jackson.” He turns to the witness box.
“DC Calvert, can you affirm Mrs Jackson’s state of mind before this incident happened?”
“Of course not! How could I? As you said yourself, I’m no psychiatrist. Nor was I there prior to the incident.”
“Quite. Can you confirm the first time you met Mrs Jackson was on the night we are ascertaining the facts around?”
“Yes.”
“How are you able to say then, with any conviction, that a person capable of stabbing themselves would only be inclined if they had killed somebody else first?”
“In my years of police service, I have attended many cases of suicide. People have hung themselves, taken a drugs overdose or rigged up a hosepipe. Usually, methods are chosen that are as painless and peaceful as possible.”
“Usually. So, in view of your experience, you’re saying painful methods are never selected? People never decide to end it all, by methods such as leaping from a cliff or hurling themselves in front of a train or perhaps by fatally stabbing themselves?”
“No. I’m just saying…”
“No further questions.”
Paul is mildly jubilant. If the rest of the witnesses follow suit, it will not be long until he is back with his daughter. He still has a long way to go though.
“The prosecution would like to call the next witness, Mr James Falen, Senior Surgeon at York District Hospital.”
A silver-haired man approaches the witness box and repeats his oath in a velvety voice. The familiar sadness tugs at Paul as he realises this man was probably one of the last people to see Michelle alive.
Margaret addresses him. “Mr Falen, you worked on Mrs Jackson when she was admitted to hospital on the night of Monday 11th June.”
“That’s correct; she was brought in at about 11:50 pm. It had been necessary for the ambulance crew to stabilise her first. They had radioed ahead, requesting a surgeon be ready for her. I was on call that night.”
“Can you describe her condition after she arrived at the hospital? Was she able to converse? Had she spoken to any members of the ambulance crew?”
“No. She was unconscious throughout her admission and had lost a dangerous amount of blood. My colleagues took her straight into theatre to transfuse her whilst we worked on the injury.”
“The jury have a photograph of the injury.” There are several repulsed expressions as their attention is drawn to it. “Can you tell us about it?”
Paul senses the strength of their distaste and is certain it is directed towards him.
“Yes, it would have been inflicted by a single plunge of a four-inch by one-inch blade; its point of laceration at the centre of her sternum.” As he speaks, he gestures towards his chest. “It had caused an internal laceration to one of the major blood vessels surrounding her heart, and of equal severity, it had caused a puncture to a lung, therefore her breathing and heart rate were overtly rapid.” Speaking quickly, he runs out of breath himself.
“After surgery, Mrs Jackson was placed on advanced life support to ensure her other organs didn’t shut down. We knew she only had a slim chance when she was taken up to ICU. I’m amazed she hung on for another four days after surgery. After an injury like that, the odds aren’t good.”
Paul listens, desolately. If only he had been there, willing her to pull through. He hopes she didn’t die on her own.
“Did you think she may have inflicted the injury upon herself?”
“I heard mention of it, but it isn’t likely. The blade had entered her chest deeply, with some considerable force behind it. It’s more plausible she had been injured by someone else.” Pausing, he glances back at the photograph as he refers to it. “The wound lacerations inside appeared inconsistent with one thrust and looked as though the blade had been pushed in further whilst inside her. I would be surprised if she’d been able to do that herself, given the agony she would have been suffering.”
Margaret smiles. “Thank you. No further questions.”
The judge speaks into the ear of the usher.
“We will adjourn for lunch,” the usher calls. “The court will reconvene at 2pm.
For a moment no one moves. Then the courts’ occupants collectively stretch and yawn in their places before dispersing.
Paul aches to talk with someone about how things are progressing. Alana waves again then turns to speak to David. He is returned to the dank cell, where he is presented with a limp ham sandwich and a cup of tea.
Chapter Twenty Nine
The judge looks at Simon. “Does the defence barrister require the opportunity to cross examine Mr Falen?”
“I have one or two questions,” replies Simon with an air of authority, as he stands. “Mr Falen. We have established you and your staff received and worked on Michelle Jackson prior to pronouncing her dead four days later. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you will have had the opportunity to study the results of the post mortem examination and the coroner’s report?”
“Yes.”
“How are you able to state conclusively that she would not have caused the injury to herself?”
“I said it was unlikely.”
“But not impossible?”
“Of course not.”
“That will be all. Thank you. Before we go on with the next witness,” Simon continues. “I would like to draw attention to the coroner’s report, exhibit 9b, which forms part of the bundle of evidence.” There’s a rustle of paper around the room as Simon pauses. “You will see from it that the cause of death was conclusively stated. Mrs Jackson had died as a result of lacerations and a lung puncture injury. There was no need for an inquest to be held.”
As Simon previously suggested, so far all the evidence against him is circumstantial. They need more than this. Again, his gaze sweeps over the jury as he silently pleads with them to set him free.
“I would like to call on Mrs Barbara Fawcett.” says Margaret.
Silly woman from across the road. What the hell will she say? She can’t add any weight to the prosecution’s case. He watches as she holds the bible aloft.
“Mrs Fawcett,” begins Margaret, giving her a smile. “How long have you been a neighbour of the Jacksons?”
“Oh, about a year. They moved into our cul-de-sac over the summer, last year.”
“How close do you live to them?”
“My house directly faces theirs.”
“Can you describe the distance between your homes?”
“Yes. There’s my house, which has a short drive running up to it, there’s the road, then there’s their drive leading to their house.” With her hands, she attempts to demonstrate the distances as she explains. “I have a clear view of thei
r house.”
“And how well would you say you know the family?”
“Michelle, I knew well. She was at home a couple of days each week. She liked to be around to take and collect Emily from school on those days. She was a wonderful mother. I had a lot of respect for her. I don’t know how she managed to juggle it all.”
“How often did you talk?”
“Several times a week. I’m retired so I’m at home. Often, I’m out in the garden. Michelle seemed to enjoy our chats. Now and again I invited her in for coffee.”
“Did she ever talk about her husband?”
“Oh yes. All the time. It was obvious she adored him. Her world revolved around him, and the little girl, of course.” Her smile fades as she discusses Paul. “He was hardly ever at home. I was sorry for her. Like I said, she was a busy, working mum and deserved someone who would be around to help support her.”
“How well did you know her husband, Paul Jackson?”
“He was aloof.” Mrs Fawcett keeps her eyes fastened on Margaret as she speaks. She doesn’t look at Paul once. “As though he didn’t approve of her having anything to do with me. I think he was afraid of what she might say about him.”
“What do you mean, Mrs Fawcett?”
“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?” As she spoke, she wrung her hands like a dirty dishcloth. “You hear about it all the time, don’t you? Controlling men. Cowering wives. Women, watching clocks, waiting for husbands to return from the pub, never knowing what mood they’re likely to be in or when they’ll be back. No woman should be living like that.” A mutter rose up from the public gallery.
“Did she confide in you often?”
“Sometimes. I knew she wasn’t happy. She’d convinced herself he was going to leave her. She might have appeared confident in her everyday dealings but deep down she was very insecure, and it’s no wonder.”
“Living so close, did you ever witness them arguing?”
“Often. I felt sorry for Emily, poor little mite. Especially towards the end. Both her and Michelle looked miserable.” Mrs Fawcett momentarily closed her eyes as if disturbed by the memory. “I could tell it was a matter of time before something had to give. I never dreamt it would be anything like this. I thought they might split up but not…”
“You state you heard them argue. What did you hear? How did you know they were arguing?”
“Mr Jackson, shouting. He was forever shouting. The poor woman was probably terrified out of her wits. He frightened me and I was all the way across the road. I’ve never heard a man shout like it.”
“Thank you, Mrs Fawcett. That will be all.”
Liar! Paul bellows inside his head. What in God’s name is this woman doing in the witness box. They had barely known her! Attention seeking liar.
Margaret sits down.
“Your testimony,” Simon asks, standing quickly, “is based on assumptions that Michelle and Emily appeared, how did you put it? Miserable?”
“Yes. But there’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe you can enlighten us.” Simon’s voice oozes authority but has a mocking edge. “How many times did you witness Paul Jackson controlling Michelle Jackson?”
“I didn’t actually see it. I could, you know, tell what was going on.” She’s sounding less sure of herself now, Paul thinks.
“I see. How many times did you hear Mr Jackson shout at his wife?” Simon moves closer to the witness box.
“A few times. The police were always outside their house.”
Simon shuffles through several of the papers in his hands. “My notes say something different, Mrs Fawcett. The police were not always outside their house. Maybe twice? But moving on from that, did you ever witness Mr Jackson being violent towards his wife?”
“No.” Barbara Fawcett’s voice has faded to the point of being inaudible.
“Can you repeat that so the entire court can hear you please?” He steps back from her. “Did you ever witness Mr Jackson being violent towards his wife?”
“No,” her voice trembles.
“I have no more questions for this witness.” Even though she’s been brought down, Paul’s fury is at melting point. He doesn’t want to imagine what he will say to her the next time their paths cross.
Paul recognises the next witness as the officer who came to their house after Michelle had battered herself with the telephone. It had been his morning at the gym which had caused all the trouble on that occasion.
I swear by Almighty God that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He turns expectantly towards Margaret.
“Sergeant Dodsworth, you were summonsed on a three nines call, to attend a domestic incident at 42 Bracken Bank, Osbaldwick on the afternoon of Sunday 16th March of this year. Is that correct?”
“It is.” His helmet balances precariously on the ledge in front of him.
“For the benefit of the jury, can you describe the circumstances you found upon arrival at the Jackson’s house.
“Certainly. Our response was to an emergency situation. Mrs Jackson had requested help. Mr Jackson was alleged to have assaulted her.”
Simon jumps from his seat. “This evidence is ‘hearsay,’ no charges were ever brought.”
“Overruled,” says Judge Lakin. “The officer is merely outlining his version of events.”
“As I was saying,” Sergeant Dodsworth continues. “Mrs Jackson had endured substantial facial injuries, for which we advised medical attention. She claimed she and her husband had rowed and consequently, he had lost his temper with her. There was no one else at the property apart from their daughter.”
“Who answered the door when you arrived?” Margaret paces in front of the witness box as she speaks.
“Mr Jackson. He was calm, as though he was expecting us.”
“So you arrested him because of the allegations?” Margaret tips her head slightly, watching for jury reaction.
“Yes, and because of her injuries, we would not have let him remain at the house. We always act on suspected situations of domestic abuse. Our force has a zero-tolerance policy whenever it occurs. Given the fact a young girl was present and had possibly witnessed the attack, we were more concerned.”
“Thank you Sergeant Dodsworth. I have no further questions at this time.”
Simon shoots to his feet. “Can you tell me what charges were instigated against my client as the result of the arrest on this particular occasion?”
“I don’t believe there were any at this time. It is often the case that wives…”
“No charges brought. Because Mr Jackson hadn’t done anything to his wife, had he?” He steadies his voice for the next question. “For the benefit of the jury, can you please confirm Paul Jackson was released without any charges whatsoever?”
“He was, but only because his wife changed her story, to say she’d caused her own injuries. It happens all the time. We subsequently advised her that if a similar incident was to occur, there would be no opportunity to retract her claims. Mr Jackson would be prosecuted with or without her backing.” His voice lowers then, as though he is divulging a secret. “We would have normally made a referral to the domestic violence unit but as it was Mr Jackson’s first arrest, we were unable to involve them.”
“Sorry?” Simon sounds victorious. “Did you state this was indeed the first occasion Mr Paul Jackson had ever been arrested?”
“That is correct.”
“Can you clarify that other than on the night of his wife’s death, the aforementioned incident was indeed the only time Mr Paul Jackson has ever been arrested in his life?”
“I would have to double check our records,” he replies hesitantly. “But yes, I believe that to be the case.”
“That will be all.”
Paul listens in dismay as Judge Lakin announces they will adjourn for the day. He had expected they would hear from at least all the prosecution witnesses that day. There is still one to go. Here we go then, he thinks. Back to the h
ell hole.
Chapter Thirty
A hush has descended on the courtroom. “Has the jury reached a verdict upon which they are unanimously agreed?”
“Your honour. We have.”
“On the charge of murder, do you find the defendant, Paul Jackson, guilty or not guilty?”
“We find him…” There is an expectant pause as the court looks tentatively at the spokesperson who appears to be basking in his own glory. He is relishing his momentary power like an ‘X-Factor’ host.
“Guilty,” he declares, finally.
“No!” shrieks Alana from the public gallery.
“I’m not guilty. I didn’t kill my wife!” cries Paul.
“Silence in court!” Judge Lakin shouts.
“But I’m innocent! I’m totally innocent! You can’t do this to me!”
“You will refrain from shouting out, or this will be reflected in your sentence,” bellows Judge Lakin. “You will be returned to the prison where you have been held on remand whilst you await sentencing.” He turns to the clerk. “Can we allocate a date for this?”
“Your honour,” she flicks through some pages. “The next available sentencing date is not until February.”
“No! No! Please don’t make me go back there! I can’t do it! I’d rather you shot me.” Twenty years or whatever they are going to give him, hangs ahead like a noose. “Please! Don’t make me go back!” Two dock officers are battling to pin him down in order to cuff him as he flails about. “Take your hands off me!” His attempts at kicking out at one of them are responded to by a deafening siren, which reverberates around the court, to signal additional help is required in his restraint.
Forcing himself into consciousness, he realises with relief, that the alarm is wailing within the wing.
“Cell C7,” cries an urgent voice above the commotion. “In here quick. He’s losing a lot of blood.”
“Stay away from me! I don’t want to be here anymore. Leave me alone.”
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 16