Lisa Ballantyne - Guilty One

‘I don’t think I was actually lying. I was just scared and confused and got things a bit mixed up and forgot some things. I just wanted to see my mum.’

‘Sebastian,’ Gordon Jones continued, ‘Benjamin Stokes’s blood was found on your T-shirt, jeans and trainers; your skin was found underneath Ben Stokes’s fingernails and fibres from your jeans were found on the waistband of Ben’s trousers, as if – and I am sure you have heard the pathologist suggest just that – you had straddled him. I ask you, did you strike Ben Stokes in the face with a brick at the playground?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you hit him in the face causing his eye socket to fracture and inflicting a severe head injury that would result in his death?’

‘No, sir.’ Sebastian’s voice was louder now, insistent. His eyes were wide and round.

‘I think you are a liar. You admit lying to the police?’

‘I was confused. I didn’t lie.’

‘And you are lying to us now, are you not?’

‘No, sir, no,’ said Sebastian. His head bowed. A tiny hand covered his face. He pushed the knuckle of his forefinger into his eye, as if to stop a tear.

The court listened for a few moments as the boy sniffed, before the judge addressed the social worker sitting with Sebastian, to ask if a break would be required.

Daniel watched as the social worker leaned into Sebastian, her face close to his. Sebastian shook his head and drew away from her.

Jones continued. He leafed through his ring binder and Daniel wondered if he was going to produce more police transcripts.

He paused longer than seemed necessary. Jones was an actor: poised, holding the moment in the spotlight for as long as possible, drawing all the attention towards him.

‘Are you a clever boy, Sebastian?’

‘I think so.’

‘Do a lot of people think so?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do your teachers think so?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Your parents?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you’re clever too, Sebastian. I think you’re a very clever little boy …’

Sebastian smiled at the praise, with lips closed.

‘You understand very well what’s going on in court here today, don’t you?’ Jones’s voice was sinister. ‘You understood the doctor talking about Benjamin Stokes’s injuries and about the blood and DNA that was found on your clothes, did you not?’

Sebastian nodded, carefully, and then said, ‘Yes.’

‘Do you watch television, Sebastian?’

‘Yes.’

‘Every day?’

‘Almost every day, yes.’

‘How many hours of television do you watch every day?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe two or three.’

‘What kind of things do you like to watch?’

‘Most things.’

‘Do you like watching police dramas?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Crime programmes where they try to find the murderer?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I see. Are you interested in murder, Sebastian?’

‘Everyone’s interested in murder,’ said Sebastian. Daniel held his breath. ‘I mean, there are a lot of TV programmes about it. There wouldn’t be so many if people weren’t interested in it.’

Daniel exhaled.

‘Did you hear the doctor earlier, saying that you had an unhealthy interest … a morbid curiosity, in fact … about blood, death and injury?’

Jones said each of the words slowly, enjoying the drama as their vowels bludgeoned the room.

‘Yes, I did hear, but I didn’t think he knew anything about me. He met me just twice. He doesn’t know what I’m interested in, or what I like or don’t like, or anything.’

‘I see,’ said Jones, almost to himself. ‘The expert witness didn’t know anything … yet he did comment on your previous diagnosis with Asperger’s syndrome. Do you have Asperger’s, Sebastian?’

‘No!’ A scowl appeared on the small boy’s face. The green eyes darkened as his brows lowered.

‘Do you know what Asperger’s is?’

Sebastian sat dumb, frowning, as Irene jumped to her feet. ‘My lord, with your leave, the expert witness asserted that Sebastian did not have Asperger’s syndrome, as previously diagnosed.’

Baron shrugged and turned his mouth downwards. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could rephrase.’

‘Let me ask you, Sebastian, is it true that you have no friends?’

‘I do have friends.’

‘I see. Not according to your teachers. Who are your friends … Ben Stokes?’

‘I have friends.’

‘I see. We have your school records here. They tell us that you are a bully; that nobody wants to be your friend because you’re mean to them.’

‘That’s not true.’

Sebastian spat quiet but distinct rage into not and true. Under his breath, Daniel began to whisper, It’s all right, calm down. You’re all right, just calm down.

Irene turned round in her seat slightly and shot a look at Daniel. He nodded to assure her that things would be OK. Inside, he was no longer sure.

‘Is it true that when you do make friends it is only for a very short time?’

‘No.’

‘Other children don’t want to be with you, Sebastian, is that not correct?’

‘No.’ The boy was not shouting, but his lower teeth appeared. They were tiny and white, like the teeth of a pike.

‘Is it not true that as soon as other children get to know you, they do not want to be friends with you?’

‘No!’

The court was spellbound. On the screen, Sebastian’s cheeks were pink with rage.

‘I have here care notes from the secure unit where you are currently on remand. The warden has specifically mentioned your inability to get on with the other children and to form friendships …’

Irene stood up. ‘My lord, I must protest. My client is an innocent boy on remand in a secure unit where he is by far the youngest child among a number of severely disturbed teenagers. I should think it obvious, and to my client’s credit, that he would find it difficult to form friendships in these circumstances.’

There was a small pause and Daniel relaxed as both Jones and Baron conceded Irene’s point.

‘Let’s get back to the subject of Ben’s murder … Murder, after all, is what interests you. You had Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and your shoes: how did that feel?’

‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian’s temper left him for a moment, as he was drawn into Jones’s abstraction.

‘Well, when Ben supposedly burst his nose and his blood got on to your clothes and your shoes, how did it feel?’

‘All right. It’s just blood. Everybody has blood.’

‘I see, so you felt quite good with Ben’s blood on you, when you walked home?’

‘I felt OK. It was just a natural thing.’ Sebastian was looking up in the corner of the screen, as if remembering. His thin smile had returned.

‘What about when Ben was hurt, how did you feel then?’

‘Well, he was hurting. I wasn’t. I didn’t feel anything.’

‘What do you suppose Ben was feeling?’

‘Well, he fell down and he was bleeding, but that is sometimes what happens when your nose gets banged. Sometimes … you don’t have to hit someone very hard … sometimes they can just get slapped and their nose starts bleeding. Noses are quite sensitive.’

Daniel felt pain in his diaphragm. Sebastian seemed so far away. Behind the screen, it was as if he was in another dimension, lost to all their efforts to save him. He was irreclaimable, gone. The court heard a boy who lacked empathy discussing random violence, but Daniel knew that Sebastian was specifically referring to King Kong hitting his mother.

‘Did you hit Ben, Sebastian, to make his nose bleed?’ Gordon Jones was almost whispering.