Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘This harassment of you and Jasmine — did that continue?’

‘Yes, it happened several times. I think because …’

‘Yes, Mr Brodie? Because …?’

‘Because she gave in and went back to see him sometimes. Just to talk, she said. I didn’t like it but there wasn’t much I could do. She seemed to think it was amusing. She said he was just a lovesick kid and she could handle him. Just shows how wrong you can be. I should have done something. But it’s too late now.’

This time there really were tears. He struggled with a pack of tissues. This will impress the jury, Sarah thought gloomily. He loved her too, poor wimp.

‘I know this is distressing, Mr Brodie,’ Turner persisted. ‘But could you tell the court, please, exactly when you last saw Jasmine alive.’

‘It was on the Thursday, 13th May. She left about ten; she said … she was going to the protest. But I knew she wasn’t. She was going to see him.’

‘She was going to see Simon, you say?’

‘Yes. I asked her not to go. But she went anyway.’ He blew his nose.

‘And was that the last time you saw her?’

‘Yes. I worked from two till ten. When I got home, she wasn’t there. I thought she was still with him, but she wasn’t, was she? She was out there, dead on the riverbank.’ He pointed at Simon in the dock. ‘Where he killed her!’

Phil Turner waited, allowing the moment its full effect.

‘Thank you. Just wait there, please. Mrs Newby may have some questions.’

Too right I have, Sarah thought. And you’re going to hate me for them.

As Harry came in, Terry glanced pointedly at his watch. 9.37.

‘Yeah, okay sir, I’m sorry.’ Harry grinned. ‘But I was out late last night on the job, to coin a phrase. And it was worth it, believe you me.’

‘Oh yes? Tell me then.’

Harry spun a chair round and straddled it, eyes gleaming with triumph.

‘Well, I saw Sharon yesterday, after her meeting with the journalist.’

‘Oh yes. How did that go?’

Harry shrugged. ‘She didn’t talk much about it. But get this, boss. I showed her these.’ He flung the photofits of Sean on Terry’s desk. ‘And she knows him.’

‘She does?’ Terry remembered Gary’s question. Who helped you with these? That bitch Sharon? ‘How?’

Harry laughed. ‘As a man knows a woman, in the biblical sense. Only there’s just one small and stunning difference, you see.’

Dwelling with great relish on the detail, Harry described what Sharon had told him, about Sean’s behaviour and his unusual sexual difficulty. Terry listened, astonished.

‘Is that possible? I’ve never heard of it.’

‘I rang my doctor this morning. Apparently it’s a one in ten thousand thing, the sort of weird example they put in medical textbooks to cheer everyone else up.’

‘But … the poor bugger. It would drive you wild, wouldn’t it?’

Harry nodded. ‘That’s what Sharon said too. She said he scared her shitless.’

‘So what did he go to her for, if he knew that would happen?’

‘Maybe he hoped it would work this time. I dunno. But what struck me, sir, you see — in the middle of the night I was thinking about this and I remembered. This lad, Sean, he’s a possible suspect for Maria Clayton’s murder, right? And one of the main problems in the Clayton case is that she was raped, but there was no sign of any semen. Well, if this guy did it …’

‘He wouldn’t have left any. Quite.’ Terry stood up suddenly. ‘And when it didn’t work of course he’d be in a blind rage and might kill her for it. Where’s that damn book?’

He scrabbled through the heap of files on his desk to unearth Maria Clayton’s battered diary. The page he wanted was marked with a yellow sticker.

‘Here it is. Look!’ He held it out for Harry to see. S big promise, no result. Gets it up but can’t get it out. V. frust for him, poor lamb, blames me. Outside? No way, Jose, I say.

Harry grinned triumphantly. ‘By, it’s got to be him, sir! Big promise, no result. Blames me, she wrote — that’s exactly what Sharon said — and his name begins with S. We’ve got him!’

‘Yes, but … where is he? That’s the million dollar question now, Harry lad!’

The trembling began just before Sarah stood up. She often felt nervous before cross-examination; the adrenaline sharpened her performance. But this time it was different. Huge South American butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach. She clasped her shaking hands behind her back, under her gown.

She had thought long and hard about this plan. Without real proof it could easily backfire. But if it worked, she could sow enough doubt to save her son. And that was how the game was played. Not to be fair or decent, but to win. She smiled briefly at her victim.

‘Good morning, David. Now, you’ve told the court how Jasmine left Simon and came to live with you. When you first met her, did you have another girlfriend?’

‘Not really. I’d been out with some nurses, but I didn’t have a proper girlfriend, no.’

‘No girlfriend living with you?’

‘Oh no.’ He shook his head vehemently.

‘In fact, had you ever lived with a girl before Jasmine Hurst?’

‘Well, no … not actually lived with anyone before, no.’

‘So this was something really rather special for you?’

‘Special? Oh yes, very special indeed. I loved her.’

‘She was very beautiful, wasn’t she?’

‘Oh yes, she … could have been a film star, easily.’

‘And she was a little older than you, I think?’

‘A couple of years older, yes.’

She was surprised how comfortable he seemed with these personal questions. If she hadn’t been his enemy, she might have felt sympathy for him. She pressed a little harder.

‘Did you want to marry her?’

‘If she wanted.. yes, sure … I’d have been happy …’ His eyes filled with tears. Hard to fake, Sarah thought. But it happens; fathers kill their own children and weep afterwards.

‘You were deeply in love with her, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘In fact you’d have done anything, anything at all, to keep her?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So when she said she was going to leave you, you must have been deeply upset.’

‘Yes, I … what do you mean?’ For the first time a frown crossed his brow, as if he guessed where the questions might lead.

‘You didn’t only quarrel with Jasmine that Thursday morning, did you? You quarreled two days before.’

‘No, we … not really a quarrel, no.’

‘You quarreled at the protest camp. Isn’t that right? You were screaming at each other.’

‘It …we …’ It struck him that she would only say this if she had witnesses. ‘We did shout a bit, yes. But it was just a silly quarrel. Only words.’

‘Only words.’ Sarah let the implication sink in. ‘I see. What was it about?’

‘About? Oh, silly things … I’m a very tidy person, and sometimes that annoyed her. I don’t see why, really, I mean that was something she liked about me at first. She said it was better than the filth in his — your son’s house.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, of course I’m not as big as him, as crude. She said she liked strong guys, but she didn’t really, she was just winding me up …’

‘Did it make you angry when she said those things?’

‘Well, more hurt than angry, I suppose. But it wasn’t true. She loved me really …’

‘But in this quarrel, she said she was tired of you and was going to leave. Isn’t that right?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Well, that’s what other people heard. Are you saying they’re wrong?’