Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

‘I did nothing!’ Conrad Quinn objected.

‘Is there a question?’ Mr Sweeney had risen to his feet.

‘Did you stab Jason Barnes?’ Mrs Patel had her eyes pinned on him.

‘No. I never. I never.’ Andrew didn’t know whether to believe him or not. And if he didn’t, how would the jury know? He continued to watch the boy falter and bluster and struggle with Mrs Patel and then with the girl’s barrister. Any decorum or composure long gone.

Mr Floyd finished with a flourish, ‘It might be easier for this court to believe your account if you had gone to the police in the weeks between the murder and the date of your arrest. Yet you only saw fit to assist in the investigation once you were yourself at risk of being charged with murder. I put it to you that the account you have given was invented afterwards to fit the facts and save your skin. To make Thomas Garrington and Nicola Healy pay for the murder that you actually committed. Isn’t that the truth?’

‘No. That’s a lie. That’s a lie!’

‘I’d say you know a fair bit about lies,’ Mr Floyd said, ‘and I put it to you that you are lying to this court.’

‘No.’ Conrad Quinn swiped at his face.

Andrew rubbed his own forehead. Closed his eyes while the final thrusts and parries were made. It felt like he was watching someone poke a caged animal.

They made their way through the clot of reporters outside in the square, past the cameras and the news vans. Mr Sweeney had advised them not to answer any questions. They would be able to give a statement to the press at the end of the trial, once the verdicts were in. Andrew couldn’t second-guess the result any more.

When they reached the car park, he stopped Val and handed her the car keys; he’d go and pay. She didn’t even look at him as she took them, didn’t speak. Everything about her remote, withdrawn.

Colin shuffled from foot to foot as they waited in line by the pay-station machine. ‘You and Val…’ he began.

‘Don’t,’ Andrew said.

‘It’s not just the trial, is it?’

Andrew sighed.

The queue moved closer.

‘Mum and Dad are-’

‘Val’s depressed, they know that. And she doesn’t want my help.’ Andrew realized he sounded churlish, self-serving.

‘She was phenomenal in there,’ Colin said. ‘Just watching her go through that. She was so strong, and it was… everybody was moved. It must have been so hard for her.’

Andrew could imagine it. That grit inside Val, that unbending determination to do what had to be done, to bear witness, to cleave to the truth, to defy any challenge. He closed his eyes. ‘She thinks I’ve betrayed her,’ he said.

Colin’s eyes widened.

‘Not like that. Not exactly. Val blames Luke Murray for everything that happened.’

Colin nodded. ‘It’s fair to say he provoked the guy.’

‘Six weeks prior to the attack. C’mon, Colin. Not exactly provocation. Anyway, I ran into Luke’s mother, Louise. We met up.’

Colin stared.

‘Just friends,’ said Andrew. They moved closer to the machine.

‘You idiot.’ Colin shook his head and exhaled noisily. He put his ticket in the slot, fed the machine coins.

‘There was nothing in it.’ Andrew put his ticket in. ‘Just for coffee,’ he said.

‘That hardly matters,’ Colin said. ‘She’s still going to see it as a betrayal, isn’t she?’

‘Let’s just leave it,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s nobody’s business but ours.’ He could feel Colin’s disapproval, great waves of it. But he didn’t feel guilty about his friendship with Louise and he wasn’t going to pretend to for Colin’s sake.

‘She’s your wife,’ Colin said sharply as they climbed the concrete stairwell. Andrew could smell the damp stone, and the fumes of petrol and oil from the cars.

He stopped on the landing and turned to his brother. ‘We sit next to each other in court, we sleep under the same roof, we have a joint bank account. That’s all there is now. That’s the extent of my marriage.’

‘Well, a tragedy like this-’

‘Don’t you bloody dare.’ Anger crackled through him, a surge of static. ‘Don’t you dare lecture me about what a tragedy like this does or doesn’t do.’ He wanted to hit Colin, shove him down the stairs. Colin was always bossing him about, big brother knows best. Well this was one time when Andrew knew better. He walked quickly up the stairs and pushed through the door to the cars. Colin caught up with him, put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Andrew.’

‘Just fuck off.’ Andrew wheeled away, raising his hands, palms open. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said curtly.

He got in the car. He thought Val might ask him what was up with Colin, but she said nothing. He was shattered, his bones and muscles aching as though he’d been beaten up. He hadn’t the energy to try and communicate with her. They travelled home in silence, through the mild evening air.

Emma

Emma had been to Gavin to ask for the rest of the week off work to attend the trial. She had not expected him to agree, but when she told him she had some annual leave left and she could use that, he said yes.

On the third day, most of the evidence was from doctors of one sort or another. There was a doctor who had been on duty at the A&E department describing what efforts had been made to revive Jason Barnes. Then the pathologist who performed the post-mortem. He explained Jason’s injury and that the massive loss of blood had led to his death. After him they heard from the doctor who had treated Luke Murray and the consultant neurologist who had overseen his care while he was in the infirmary. There were only a couple of points where either of the defence lawyers cross-examined. Mrs Patel asked the pathologist whether he had recorded Jason’s blood alcohol level. At this Emma heard a sharp gasp from Mrs Barnes, who was sitting with her husband. The pathologist told them that Jason’s blood alcohol level was raised. He gave a figure and explained that it was just over the drink-drive limit.

‘So Jason would have been intoxicated?’

‘It’s impossible to know what his tolerance level was,’ the pathologist said. ‘Individuals are affected very differently.’

‘But he’d be unfit to drive?’

‘Legally, yes.’

And the same barrister asked if the position of the wound gave any indication as to who had used the weapon, whether for example it was someone left-handed or right-handed.

Emma glanced at the defendants in the box, wondering if this was an important issue. But the pathologist said no such thing could be inferred, not even whether the person had struck from behind, or had been facing Jason and reached around him.

There was a sense of disappointment in the courtroom. Emma knew that if this had been on television, the person on the stand would have been able to tell all sorts of things just from the wound that would help them identify the culprit once and for all.

When she was listening to the evidence, Emma didn’t feel so awkward, but in between, when there were breaks and everyone went out, she could feel the girl, Luke’s sister, glaring at her. Despising her. She imagined other people sharing the same thoughts, whispering about it: She’s the one from the bus. Just sat there. Could see them getting violent, did nothing.

The last witness for the prosecution was the police inspector in charge of the investigation. He described the sequence of events up to arresting the defendants. He explained that there was no forensic evidence to prove who had used the knife and the weapon had never been recovered in spite of exhaustive searches of the suspects’ homes. He also described how Conrad Quinn had confessed and pleaded guilty to a lesser charge.