Lisa Ballantyne - Guilty One

Daniel had arranged to meet Charlotte at the Croll family home and take her to the police station. It seemed strange that she had slept through her young son being picked up by the police and he wanted to take this opportunity to speak to her.

Richmond Crescent was resplendent in the August sunshine: smart sash windows gleaming above stark white ledges. Daniel climbed the steps to their door and loosened his tie. The bell was embedded in porcelain, decorated with painted flowers. Daniel pressed once, and cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at an antique Bentley parked on the kerb. He was about to press again when the door opened to reveal an older woman in an overall, holding a duster.

‘Please come in,’ she said with an accent that could have been Polish. She dipped her head and moved towards the living room, pointing with her duster to the stairs. ‘Mrs Croll in kitchen.’

Alone in the hall, Daniel took in the fresh flag irises, the Chinese vases and silks, the dark antique furniture. He put one hand in his pocket, not sure where the kitchen was. He followed the smell of toast down a staircase covered in thick cream carpet, worrying that his shoes would mark it.

Charlotte was wearing sunglasses. She was slumped over a coffee and the paper. Sun streamed into the basement kitchen and reflected off its white surfaces.

‘Daniel,’ exclaimed Charlotte, turning round. ‘Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be ready in a minute. Forgive me, I have a headache and it’s just so bloody bright in here even at this God-awful hour!’

‘It’s gonna be a hot one today,’ Daniel nodded, standing in the middle of the kitchen and holding his briefcase in both hands.

‘Sit down, have a coffee.’

‘Thanks. I just had one.’

‘My husband called at the crack of dawn. It was two in the afternoon in Hong Kong.’ She put two fingers to her temples as she sipped her orange juice. ‘He was asking me if Sebastian had actually been arrested or not? He got terribly annoyed with me. I told him I didn’t think so. Is that correct? I mean … it’s just because Sebastian knew Ben … but then they do seem to be terribly serious …’

‘He has been arrested, but he’s not been charged. He’s been formally cautioned, and he’s being questioned for murder, and this might go on for a few days. Better prepare yourself. At this stage, I think you’re right to be helpful. We’ll see how today goes.’

Charlotte’s face froze for a second. In the bright sunlight, Daniel noticed the heavy make-up clogged in the wrinkles around her mouth.

‘We just have to help him deal with this in the right way. We don’t want him to incriminate himself, but we want to make sure he answers the questions as fully as he can. If he doesn’t say something now that’s relevant later, it can go against him in court,’ Daniel said.

‘God, how utterly ridiculous … the poor child being put through all this. The case won’t go to court, will it?’

‘Only if the police have enough evidence to charge him. He’s a suspect at the moment, nothing else. They don’t have any evidence, really, but the forensic evidence is key. We might get that report back today, and hopefully that will discount him.’ Daniel cleared his throat. He wanted to believe his own comforting words.

‘Sebastian’s never been in any trouble like this before?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not. This is all just a terrible mistake.’

‘And he gets on fine at school – no problems with the other kids, or … academic issues?’

‘Well, I mean, he doesn’t adore school. My husband says it’s because he’s too bright. They don’t challenge him enough, you know.’

‘So he does have problems, then?’ said Daniel, raising one eyebrow at Charlotte and noticing the strain on her throat as she defended her son.

‘He gets frustrated. He really is quite brilliant. He takes after his father, or so Ken keeps telling me. They just don’t know how to deal with him at school, how to … release his potential.

‘Do you …’ Charlotte paused, removing her sunglasses. Daniel saw that her eyes were suddenly bright with expectation. ‘Shall I show you some of the work he’s done? He really is quite an exceptional child. I really don’t know how I produced him.’

Charlotte wiped her palms on her trousers and skipped up the stairs. Daniel followed. He made an effort to keep up with her, up to the ground floor and then up again to Sebastian’s bedroom.

On the first floor, Charlotte turned the brass handle and opened Sebastian’s bedroom door. Daniel felt wary about entering, but Charlotte beckoned him inside.

The room was small. Daniel took in the Spider-Man bedspread and the powder-blue walls. It seemed quieter than the kitchen and was darker, the window facing north. It was a private space disturbed, and Daniel felt as if he were intruding.

‘Look at that picture,’ said Charlotte, pointing to a charcoal drawing pinned to the wall. Daniel saw an old woman, with a hooked nose. The charcoal had smudged in places, and the woman’s eyes seemed full of warning. ‘Possibly you can tell that it’s me. He did that for me at Christmas. One of our artist friends says it displays a quite precocious talent. I don’t think there’s much of a likeness, but apparently it conveys a sense of character …’

Daniel nodded. There were stuffed toys lined up on the bed. Charlotte bent and picked up Sebastian’s school bag, pulling jotters from the satchel and leafing through the pages where the boy had been commended before thrusting them at Daniel. He glanced at the pages before putting the jotters down on the chest of drawers.

Charlotte stooped, then, to pick up some colouring pens that were scattered on the floor. As Daniel watched her he noticed the neat position of Sebastian’s slippers by his bedside, and the way that his books were stacked with the largest on the bottom and the smallest on the top.

‘He’s an exceptional boy,’ said Charlotte. ‘In maths, he almost never gets anything wrong, and he plays the piano already very well. It is just that his fingers are too small.’

Daniel took a breath, remembering his own childhood and being shown how to play the piano. He remembered the almost painful stretch of his small, young hands to find the chords.

In the hall, getting ready to leave, Charlotte took time to tie a silk scarf around her neck. Again, Daniel was aware of how fragile she was. He watched the beads of her spine appear as she bent to pick up her bag.

He thought of Sebastian waiting in the cell for Charlotte. Again, he was reminded of his own mother: he remembered waiting for her in social work offices and police stations, wondering when she would appear. Only as an adult had he managed any bitterness about those years. As a child he had been grateful that she came at all.

They walked to Islington Police Station, on the opposite side of the road from Barnard Park. It was an exposed stretch of park, with paths and a football field. The only place to hide violence was the adventure playground that ran alongside Copenhagen Street, rimmed by bushes and trees. Daniel knew that the police had already obtained CCTV footage from Islington Borough Council. He wondered what that would reveal. The corner of Copenhagen Street, just past the incident van, was strewn with flower tributes to Ben. Daniel had stopped to read some of the messages on his way to the Crolls’ house.

The warmth and brightness of the morning was forbidden in the interview room. Sebastian sat at the top of the table, with Daniel and his mother facing the police officers. Sergeant Turner was accompanied this time by PC Hudson, a thin expectant man whose knees banged against the desk when he moved. Daniel knew that there was another roomful of police officers listening to the conversation. The interview was being video recorded and watched from another room.