Cath Staincliffe: Dead Wrong

Where was Mrs Wallace in all this? Was there one? I’d ask later.

At five he was woken by a phone call from the duty solicitor at the police station. Luke was being held for questioning in connection with an affray.

They didn’t tell him any more over the phone.

‘I thought it was a mix-up – you know, some horseplay got out of hand – though frankly, even that surprised me.’

‘Why?’

‘Luke’s not like that. He’s never been in a fight in his life, hates practical jokes,’ he smiled. ‘It wasn’t cool, you see. At that age, it’s all image, isn’t it, and Luke and Ahktar, they were into being grown-up. They’d no time for kids’ stuff.’

He’d waited for two and half hours at the police station before he’d found out that Ahktar was dead as a result of an assault with a knife, and that Luke was being questioned about the incident.

‘I couldn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘He was a lovely boy – bright, friendly – he and my son were inseparable. It seemed ludicrous that he was dead.’ He paused, remembering something else, shifted on the sofa. ‘And I thought: Thank God, it’s not Luke. I hated myself for thinking that.’ He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans.

‘So, I waited and waited, hours on end. It was so difficult to find out what was happening. They kept telling me to go home, they expected me to walk away and leave him there. I couldn’t understand why they were being so brutal. His friend was dead – surely it wouldn’t take all day to establish what Luke had seen! I thought he was a witness, you see,’ he still spoke quickly, his voice tight with frustration and pent-up energy. ‘In the end I blew up at the guy on the desk. Finally they sent someone to talk to me. He tells me that Luke is a suspect, that they think he may have killed Ahktar. I laughed, it was so preposterous. I told them no way, there was some horrific mistake, they were best friends.’

There was a knock at the door and Megan came in with a tray, coffee in a little cafetière, milk and sugar, shortbread biscuits. She set it down on the table near to me. As Mr Wallace thanked her, something in the way he said it told me that they weren’t friends or relatives but that she worked for him.

‘They said he hadn’t been fit to interview when they’d brought him in and they were waiting to question him in the morning. It must have been mid-morning by then, you lose all track of time. They held him all that day, and the next. They kept going to the magistrates to get another twenty-four hours. I saw him for ten minutes, twice in all that time. Then they charged him.’ He covered his mouth and looked away.

I occupied myself pouring the coffee. The bitter aroma filled the room. I ate a biscuit. He got to his feet and crossed to the blinds, pressed a switch at the side; they glided back.

‘Oh,’ I said softly. Beyond lay a stunning garden, shaped by clumps of bamboo and various conifers. There were two apple trees at one corner, an alpine rockery and a large pool. Old York flagstone paths connected the different areas and the lush grass was dotted with daisies and clover. I got to my feet for a better look. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. It was so unlike the traditional clipped lawns and standard roses I’d seen in the neighbours’ front gardens. Most of the planting was green or architectural, and there was little of the annual colour with which I stuffed my own pots and window-boxes. The colours in the rockery were muted – white, soft pink, here and there a tiny flash of a stronger red or purple, but there was a restraint to it all. Beside the pool a boulder had been placed. It was perfect.

‘Yes, it is beautiful,’ Mr Wallace replied. ‘Do you garden?’

‘A bit,’ I said, overawed by the comparison.

‘Glenda, my wife, designed it. Place was full of hydrangeas and gladioli when we moved in. She died,’ he carried on, ‘six years ago now. We keep it just as she made it. We could sit outside if you…’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll get the key.’ He strode over to his desk and came back with a bunch of keys. He unlocked the French windows. I gathered up my tray and book and we settled on seats on the patio immediately next to the house.

‘So,’ he resumed his story, ‘I asked to see the person in charge. They made me wait, of course. I told him they’d got the wrong person. I explained how close the boys were, that neither of them got into fights. That Luke would never hurt Ahktar. The man listened, he thanked me, he said nothing. As far as I can see, they’ve got a suspect and they want to make it fit.’

‘But without proof…’

‘Apparently they have two witnesses.’

Bad news. I underlined the word witnesses in my notes.

‘People who saw something that incriminates Luke. How could they?’ he demanded. ‘He didn’t do it; they’ve got him mixed up with someone else.’ His tone was hectoring. In any other situation it would have put me right off, but I made allowances for his desperation.

‘What did Luke say?’

He sighed. ‘Luke can’t remember anything.’ I could hear the despair in his voice. ‘He was pissed, he says he’d taken some tablets, he can’t remember anything. He doesn’t know what happened. Just a blank. He was devastated when they told him Ahktar was dead but he can’t remember a thing.’

My heart sank. With witnesses for the prosecution and a suspect who was out of his head on drugs, it wouldn’t be hard to secure a conviction. Obviously it would depend on what the witnesses actually saw and whether there was any other interpretation of that. But all Mr Wallace could offer in Luke’s defence was his trust, his faith that his son hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t have killed his friend. And I’m sure most parents faced with that accusation would say the same.

‘Mr Wallace-’ My uncertainty must have come through because he interrupted me before I could say more.

‘Please,’ he said, gripping the edge of the seat. ‘Please.’ He implored me but there was strength, not weakness in his plea.

Objections leapfrogged over each other in my mind. A hopeless case, I’d be going over the same old ground, I can’t do anything your lawyer can’t do, the trail will be stone cold, it’s months ago, they’ve got a witness, he may be guilty, these tragedies happen. But I couldn’t turn him down. His conviction, his passion about his son’s innocence was too powerful.

‘All right,’ I said, ‘but these are my terms.’

Driving back through the city centre was even slower than getting there. I felt exhausted by meeting Mr Wallace and the intensity of his emotional state. I had an image I couldn’t shift of the knife in Ahktar’s chest. I don’t like knives. I was stabbed once. Please don‘t , I’d begged. He raised his arm…the knife shining… No. I shook the memories away.

My shoulder was stiff and aching. I rolled it back round and round as I queued up to get onto Princess Street. We inched forward a couple of cars at a time when the lights changed, but the traffic ahead was hardly moving. There’d been a crash. I crawled past wanting to avert my eyes, needing to look. A woman in one of the cars had a neck brace on. She was being lifted out by two ambulance men. I sighed with relief; no blood, no dead bodies or worse, no decapitated driver or twitching limbs imprinted on my mind for the rest of my life.

If Ahktar had been stabbed outside the club as everyone was coming out, surely there would have been more than two witnesses? There’d have been blood, a skirmish; people would have glanced, looked, stared. There would have been the unmistakable atmosphere of violence, the scent of danger and death that we all recognise instinctively, that speeds up our heartbeat and raises the hairs on the back of our neck. I needed to find some of those witnesses. Six months after the event it wouldn’t be easy, and acting for the defence we could hardly get a slot on Crimewatch to pull people in. I’d start with the list Mr Wallace had given me, but from what he’d said none of the witnesses had come up with anything substantial the defence could use. Before I talked to anyone though, I’d book a visit to Golborne and meet Luke, assess for myself whether I thought he was wrongly accused. As an independent operator I had the freedom to choose who I worked for and what the terms were, and I’d said to Mr Wallace that I would only take the case if I felt comfortable working for Luke’s release.