Tim Vicary: A Game of Proof

She touched his arm and felt the tension in it. He shook her off abruptly and sat, head cradled in his hands. Then he looked up, eyes wild.

‘But you had to talk about Brodie, didn’t you? I mean, if I didn’t kill her, who did?’

‘That’s what I wish we knew, Simon,’ said Lucy softly, sitting quietly beside him. They watched Sarah, pacing the cell like a trapped cat. ‘That’s what we all wish we knew.’

The paramedics eased the stretcher gently into the ambulance. There was a small crowd on the pavement outside the house. A policewoman tried to comfort the little girl in the doorway.

‘You go with her, Harry,’ Terry said. ‘Anything she says …’

A paramedic frowned disapprovingly. ‘She’s not likely to say anything for a while, sir. And we’ll be very busy …’

‘All the same,’ Terry insisted. ‘This is a major murder enquiry. We have to know.’

Cautiously, Harry climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat near Sharon’s head. The paramedic fitted an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose and busied himself with a drip to her arm. Despite the pads he had strapped tightly across her stomach the blood was oozing into the blanket. Her face, what he could he could see of it, was as pale as the sheet and her hair was flecked with blood.

The paramedic handed him a bottle. ‘Here, make yourself useful and hold this. Up in the air, make sure no bubbles get into the line. I’ll try some adrenaline.’

The ambulance lurched into movement and Harry heard the crackle of the radio as the driver called in. ‘ … serious stab wounds to stomach … major haemorrhage … a full crash team … ETA seven minutes, with luck …’

The siren began to howl and the ambulance moved off. The paramedic was giving an injection into Sharon’s leg. Nothing happened. He felt for a pulse, then lifted an eyelid, and bent his mouth close to her ear. ‘Sharon? Come on, love, don’t give up. Open your eyes, honey.’

Shocked, Harry watched as the eyelid flopped back; then, ten long seconds later, it began to flutter. Her eyes opened and gazed around her, confused.

‘Sharon, are you with us? There’s a good girl. You’re in an ambulance, love, you’ll be in hospital soon. Now what I want you to do, is take deep breaths from this mask on your face, all right? Fill your lungs, really good, slow, deep breaths.’

The eyes closed again. After a moment, he saw her chest rise and fall. Once, twice, three times. He heard her breathing inside the mask. Her eyes opened.

‘That’s great, Sharon, just great. You’re doing fine. More deep breaths, now.’

She breathed deeply while they watched. The paramedic took her pulse again.

‘That’s brilliant, Sharon, brilliant. Now you just lie there and take deep breaths and we’ll have you in hospital in no time. I’m going to give you another injection. You just look up at the ugly policeman who’s come to protect you.’

As Sharon turned her head the oxygen mask slipped. ‘Harry?’

‘Don’t worry, Sharon, you’re going to be OK. We know who did it.’

‘Sean?’

‘Yeah. We’ll get him, don’t worry. Here, breathe this.’

Holding the bottle with his left hand, he replaced the oxygen mask with his right. She took a few more deep breaths, then pulled it away herself.

‘Harry … my kid. Did he …?’

‘No, she’s fine, Sharon. Just fine. She’s with a policewoman now. He never touched her.’

‘Thank God. And … Wayne?’

‘He’s at school, isn’t he? We’ll send someone to pick him up.’

She nodded, put the mask back and took several long, shaky breaths. Harry swayed precariously on his seat as the ambulance, siren wailing, zigzagged through a set of red lights. She took off the mask again and tried a faint smile, her lips almost as pale as her teeth.

‘You should try this, Harry. Good stuff.’

‘Don’t talk too much now, Sharon,’ the paramedic warned. ‘Save your strength.’

But the adrenaline injections seemed to have revived her. She breathed from the mask a couple more times, then said: ‘He was the one who raped me before. Not Gary. He told me.’

‘What, Sean? He was wearing the hood?’

She closed her eyes, then nodded faintly. ‘That’s not all … he did … other things …’

The effort seemed to be weakening her. She closed her eyes. The paramedic replaced the mask firmly over her face. ‘Come on now, Sharon. You can tell him all this later, when you’re better. You just lie still and save your strength, okay? Breathe in, there’s a good girl …’

Harry glanced out of the window. They were crossing Lendal Bridge, weaving down the centre of the road through the traffic which was climbing the pavements to get out of their way. They should reach the hospital in three or four minutes. Sharon’s eyes were closed. She seemed paler than before.

He glanced questioningly at the paramedic. The man shook his head and began to unwrap a third pre-packed needle, larger than the others. He jabbed it into her chest, underneath the heart. She shuddered, then opened her eyes.

‘That’s a girl, Sharon. Come on now, love. Keep breathing. You’re doing great.’

She took two shuddering breaths, her eyes wide and shocked. Then she turned to Harry and said something. ‘Hiiklljjasssminhurshtooo.’

‘What’s that? Sharon, I can’t hear.’

Harry reached to take off the mask but the paramedic held his arm. ‘She can’t talk now. You’ll kill her.’

Sharon’s eyes stared at his, wide and pleading. Harry shoved the man’s arm aside.

‘Just a couple of words. What is it, Sharon?’

‘He killed … Jasmine … Hurst too.’

The words were like a whisper, scarcely louder than a breath. Her eyes closed abruptly. The paramedic clamped the mask over her face. ‘Come on, Sharon, keep breathing. You can do it, Sharon, breathe deeply now. We’re nearly there. You’re doing great.’

The breaths came fainter and fainter and seemed to Harry to stop altogether. The ambulance drew up outside Accident and Emergency and in an instant the driver was round opening the back doors. They got the wheels of the stretcher down and hurried Sharon along the corridor into the emergency theatre, Harry running alongside still holding the bottle for the drip until a nurse took it from him.

He waited outside with the paramedics for a while, thinking of what he should tell Terry. Then a doctor came out. There was blood on his white coat. He shook his head sadly.

‘Dead on arrival, I’m afraid. If she’d lasted a few minutes longer, perhaps …’

The paramedic glared at Harry. ‘I told you,’ he said.

‘How long does it take?’ Simon asked.

Sitting on the bench in the cell beside him, Lucy shrugged. ‘How long is a piece of string? Half an hour, if they all agree at the start. Three hours, four — a day even, if they don’t.’

‘If they don’t agree I’m free, aren’t I?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Sarah paused from her pacing. ‘If they can’t agree after what the judge thinks is a reasonable time, he’ll ask for a majority verdict. Eleven to one or ten to two. So if only three people think you’re innocent …’ She gave him a small, tight smile.

‘You think we’ve lost, don’t you?’ Simon muttered, avoiding her eyes.

‘The truth is I don’t know, Simon. I really don’t. Anyway what I think doesn’t matter any more. There’s nothing we can do about it now.’

‘Christ!’ Simon strode to the door, and banged his forehead against it, softly. ‘This is the worst part of all, this waiting. They’re deciding about my life , in there!’

‘A lot of them were following your mother’s speech closely, Simon,’ Lucy said helpfully. ‘Especially the younger ones …’