Lisa Ballantyne - Guilty One

‘Good to meet you, Daniel,’ said Sebastian’s father, striding across the room to squeeze his hand. He was an inch or so taller than Daniel and so he stretched his spine and pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the older man’s hand. The hand was dry and warm and yet the strength of it caused Daniel to inhale slightly.

Kenneth King Croll was a powerful man. He was heavy: stomach and jowls, reddened brown skin and thick, dark hair. He stood with his hands on his hips, allowing his pelvis to tilt, as if to assert he was a better man than Daniel. The spider veins on his cheeks had been formed by the best wines and whisky. He possessed a seismic arrogance and wealth. All the energy in the room was drawn to him, like a whirlpool. Charlotte sat near him, eyes always finding him whenever he spoke or lifted his hands. Daniel took the lid from his fountain pen and slid his business card across the table. Kenneth studied it with a slight curl in his full lips.

Charlotte brought watery coffee from the machine. She was still immaculate; her long nails a different colour every time Daniel saw her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed each cup on the table.

‘I just hate him being in here,’ she said. ‘This place is quite vile. One of the kids committed suicide in here last week, did you hear? Hanged himself. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Did you know about that, Daniel?’

Daniel nodded. His own client, Tyrel, had tried to kill himself soon after sentence. At seventeen, the boy had just been moved to a new young offenders institution and Daniel worried that he would try again. Even secure units didn’t provide the kind of care that Daniel felt juveniles needed.

Charlotte’s trembling fingers touched her lips as she thought about it.

‘He’ll survive,’ said Kenneth. ‘Daniel, go on, what’s the score now?’

‘I just don’t want him to be here,’ Charlotte whispered as Daniel flicked through his notes. Kenneth tutted at her.

Before the Crolls, Daniel’s muscles contracted with tension. He sensed that beneath the coloured lacquer, silk and fine Italian wool there was something wrong with this family.

‘I just wanted to go over a few things with you before we see Sebastian. I wanted to … warn you, I suppose, that there might be substantial media attention. We need to be careful of that, work out a strategy and try to stick to it so that we can keep that intrusion to a minimum. It will, of course, be automatic that his identity is not disclosed … We’re still waiting on the indictment bundle from the CPS and when we get that, probably in the next day or so, we can properly instruct counsel. There will be a chance for you and Sebastian to meet the barrister – Irene Clarke, QC. She came to the youth court hearing but I don’t think you saw her.’

‘How old are you, son?’ said Kenneth Croll. He was holding Daniel’s business card between finger and thumb and tapping it on the table.

‘Is that relevant?’

‘You’ll forgive me, but you look like you’re just out of university.’

‘I’m a partner in my firm. I’ve been working in criminal law for nearly fifteen years.’

Croll blinked at him to indicate that he understood. He began to tap the card on the table again.

‘As I said, we expect to get the bundle from the CPS in the next few days. From what we know so far, the case is based on the blood found on Sebastian’s clothes, coupled with the witness who allegedly saw the boys fighting both before and after the time when Charlotte says Seb was home. We know they also have neighbour and teacher witnesses … These are less important. There is also the fact that the body was found in the playground which Sebastian has admitted visiting with Ben on the day of the murder.’

‘He’s an eleven-year-old,’ boomed Croll. ‘Where else would he go except a bloody playground? This is a joke.’

‘I think there’s a strong case to be made for the defence. Most of the evidence is circumstantial. It rests on the forensics but Sebastian has a legitimate reason for having the victim’s blood on his clothes. We’ll know more after speaking to the pathologist and forensic scientists, but right now it looks like the kids fought, and the victim subsequently had a nosebleed which caused blood transferral on to Sebastian’s clothes. Sebastian has an alibi – you, Charlotte – from 3 p.m. that afternoon and the later sighting of the boys is questionable. The police didn’t find any CCTV images to back up their case against him. This was a bloody murder, but Sebastian didn’t come home covered in blood. He didn’t do it.’

‘It’s all just a mistake, you see,’ Charlotte offered, her voice cracking. ‘Even with forensic things, the police often make mistakes.’

‘What would you know?’ said Croll, his voice a whisper. ‘Leave the country for two weeks and you let him get arrested. I think you’d best stay out of it, don’t you?’

Charlotte exhaled suddenly, her fragile shoulders rising almost to her ears. She reddened under her brown foundation at Croll’s criticism. Daniel caught her eyes.

‘Daniel,’ said Croll, his voice now so loud that Daniel could almost feel its vibrations in the table on which they leaned, ‘you’ve done a fine job and we thank you for stepping in like this. Thank you for your help at the police station and for taking things this far, but I’ve got some contacts of my own. I think we’ll want the case passed to another defence team. We don’t want to take any chances. I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel the need to cut to the chase here. I don’t think you’ve got the experience we need … You understand?’

Daniel opened his mouth to speak. He thought about telling Croll that Harvey, Hunter and Steele was one of London’s leading law practices. Instead he said nothing. He stood up. ‘That’s your decision,’ he said quietly, trying to smile. ‘It is entirely up to you. You’re entitled to choose the defence team best suited to you. Good luck. You know where I am if you need anything.’

Back out on the street, Daniel took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, squinting in the sunshine. He hadn’t been let go for years and tried to remember if he had ever been let go so quickly. He felt injured by Kenneth Croll’s dismissal, but he didn’t know if it was his pride or the lost chance to defend the boy that hurt. Daniel stood in the street and looked up at Parklands House. It was a cruel name for a prison.

He started to walk towards the train, telling himself that the case would have been difficult, especially with the media attention it was bound to generate, but he was reeling. It was hard to walk away. The day was still and warm and yet it felt like walking into the wind. He felt the tug and pull at his body again, taking him off course. He had not felt like this in a while, but it was familiar; it felt like leaving and losing.

6

After school he made his way back to Minnie’s house. He walked slowly, his satchel hanging off his shoulders and his tie loose. He picked up a stick to beat the grass on either side of his path. He was tired and thinking about his mam. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror in her bedroom and putting her eyeliner on and asking him if he thought she looked like Debbie Harry. She looked pretty with her make-up on.

He blinked twice as he remembered the eyeliner running down her cheek and the lop-sided smile when she injected. She didn’t look pretty then.

He looked up and saw the kestrel again, hovering over the moor. Daniel stood and watched as it snatched a field mouse from the grass and carried it off.

He didn’t hear them come up behind him, but someone pushed his right shoulder, hard, and he lurched forward. He turned and there were three boys.