Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Miles Beelby, employment clerk at MacFarlane’s. You remember, you spoke to me the other day. About that Irish lad who once worked here.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, I was talking to a mate of mine at TransPennine, you know, the contractors for the designer outlet. He said a lad like that came in to him earlier this morning, asking for work.’

‘What?’ Terry sat up gripping the phone tightly. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, your luck’s in. They need a bit of extra labour. So he’s starting tomorrow.’

‘Tremendous!’ A smile began to spread across Terry’s face. ‘He didn’t leave an address or phone number, anything like that?’

‘No, sorry, usual caper. But if you ring this mate of mine he’ll be able to tell you more. Frank Carrow, at TransPennine.’

‘Right, Mr Beelby. Thanks for your help. I’ll ring him straight away.’

The usher took the paper from Phil Turner, and handed it to Simon.

‘Do you recognize that, Mr Newby?’

‘Yes.’ Simon shrugged. ‘It’s something the police asked me to sign. In the station.’

‘Would you read the last two sentences for me, please.’

Simon had never been a great reader. Somewhat laboriously, he read out: ‘After being cautioned, Mr Newby stated that he had not killed Jasmine Hurst, and that he had not seen her for weeks. He repeated this statement several times. ’

‘Is that true?’

It was an ambiguous question, Sarah saw at once. Presumably Turner intended it to confuse the witness and make him appear deceitful, whatever answer he gave.

‘It, er … well, part of it’s true. It’s true that I didn’t kill Jasmine. But the other part, no, that’s not true. That’s why I didn’t sign it.’

Simon looked at Sarah, who nodded approval. Well done, you avoided the trap.

‘So it’s a lie?’ Turner persisted.

‘Part of it is, yes.’

Turner sighed ostentatiously, as though he were already weary of being deceived. ‘To be clear, the part which you claim is a lie is where you say you hadn’t seen her for weeks. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘All right, Simon. But I’m still not quite sure I understand. Are you saying those words are a lie because you didn’t say them, or because you did say them but when you got into the police station you realized they were untrue. Which is it?’

‘I … I’m not sure.’ The questions were like dogs running rings round a bull, Sarah thought, snapping at its heels to confuse and irritate it.

‘Let me help you. You see, both detectives agree that you did say those words, but that in the police station you changed your mind and admitted that you had seen Jasmine on the day she died, after all. Is that what happened?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Thank you. So your first response after you had been cautioned was to tell the policemen this lie. Then when you met your lawyer you changed your mind.’

‘No, look, you’re twisting things. I don’t know what I said in the car, I was too scared. I don’t know if I said those words or not.’

Simon flushed. Turner was deliberately trying to provoke him, Sarah thought.

‘I think you did say them, Simon. I suggest that your very first response when the police arrested you was to tell them this lie. It was only when you met your lawyer that you realized that no one would believe it, so you changed your story. Only that story’s a lie too, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s the truth.’

Turner was scarcely looking at Simon, Sarah realized. Much of the time he was watching the jury, or gazing above Simon’s head, as though her son was beneath contempt. She felt his anger building, as Turner intended.

‘All right, let’s examine your second story, shall we? You say you went for a run by the river on the morning of the 13th, and that’s why your trainers were stained with mud and grass. Did you meet anyone on your run?’

‘Not before I met Jasmine, no.’

‘So no one can confirm that part of your story. All right. Then you say you had a meal with Jasmine and went to bed together. There were no witnesses to this either, I suppose.’

‘Of course not, no. We were alone, for fuck’s sake.’

‘For fuck’s sake. Quite.’ Turner smiled. ‘And of course the only witness to this is dead. You say you made love and she enjoyed it. But that’s just your word against hers, too, isn’t it?’

‘What?’ Simon looked confused and angry.

‘Well, you say she enjoyed it. But her body cries out that you’re lying, doesn’t it, Simon? Because her poor, murdered body has a bruised vagina. How did that happen, do you think?’

‘How should I know?’

Turner shrugged. ‘Well, you say you made love to her. Are you a brutal lover?’

‘Bloody hell …’ His face flushed, Simon gripped the stand in front of him. Turner waited, hoping that he would do something violent or stupid. Sarah searched for a reason to intervene, but could think of nothing.

‘What does that mean? Yes or no?’

‘It means … I don’t know. I just made love to her, that’s all.’

‘‘ I shagged her’ — I think that’s what you said.’

‘Yeah, well, whatever.’

‘It sounds brutal to me. Do you mean you raped her?’

‘No. I shagged her like I always did. It’s what she came for — what we always did.’

‘I suggest that you raped her. Either there in your house, or later beside the river path.’

‘I’ve told you. I didn’t rape her .’

‘All right, that’s your story.’ Turner sighed, and paused for nearly half a minute, letting the jury think. ‘But there was only one other person present, and her body tells a different story. ‘I have a bruised vagina,’ her dead body cries out to us, ‘that shows you someone raped me.’ Is Jasmine lying, then, Simon? Is that your story now? It’s the evidence of her dead body that’s lying, is it? Not you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you? Well, I think the jury do. They know that dead bodies can’t lie. And they know that you can, because you lied to the police when they arrested you. The evidence from Jasmine’s body says two things. It says you had sexual intercourse with her, and it says that she was raped. You’re not claiming another man raped her, are you, Simon? Another man who mysteriously left no body samples, no pubic hair, no semen, no DNA? A man from Mars perhaps, who left bruises, and nothing else?’

‘I don’t know how she got the bruises.’

Sarah caught Simon’s eye and smiled encouragement. Despite the incessant goading, he was doing better than she’d expected. He hadn’t lost his temper, he hadn’t shouted or screamed or taken refuge in some newly invented lie, which would have been the worst thing of all.

None of which altered the fact that Turner was doing very well indeed.

‘All right. Let’s look at another part of your story, shall we? You claim that the reason Jasmine’s blood was on your trainers and your breadknife was that she cut her finger in your kitchen. Is that right?’

‘Yeah. I think that’s why it’s there.’

‘Were there any other witnesses to this accident? Apart from yourself and Jasmine?’

‘No, of course not. We were alone in the house.’

‘Again.’

‘Yeah, so?’ Simon sneered. ‘That’s just where it happened.’

‘Very conveniently, the jury may think. You didn’t mention this to the police when they interviewed you, did you? Although you’re relying on it for your defence now.’

‘No, well, I didn’t think of it then. It was only a tiny cut. I didn’t think it was important.’