Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Yes I bloody well was! It was him — Gary Harker! He broke in and raped me, damn you — how would you like it!’

I wouldn’t like it at all, Sarah thought. I’d be scared witless and it might ruin my life for ever. She noticed accusing frowns from two jury women who were probably thinking the same. Be careful, she thought. This is a battle for the jury’s sympathy as well as to establish the facts. She kept her voice calm and reasonable.

‘Please understand me, Ms Gilbert. I’m not suggesting for a second that you weren’t raped. What I am suggesting is that you were far too drunk to be sure that the man who raped you was Gary Harker. It could have been somebody else, you see, not Gary at all!’

‘No. It was Gary,’ Sharon insisted stubbornly.

‘All right then.’ Sarah sighed, and began a new tack. ‘Let’s go back to the party at the hotel where you met Gary earlier. What sort of things did you talk about?’

‘This and that. Where he was living, jobs he’d had. Whether he’d been in jail again. ’ Sharon brought this last remark out with vindictive spite, no doubt remembering the effect her reference to Gary’s record had had yesterday.

It was a good hit, but Sarah moved quickly on. ‘He asked about his watch, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah. He said he knew where I kept it, it was in my bottom drawer with all my rings and things, and if I didn’t give it back he was going to get it himself.’

‘All right, Ms Gilbert. Now I want you to think carefully.’ Sarah thought carefully herself. The next point had to be built up step by step if it was to work. For the next few questions Sarah carefully established that the hotel had been crowded, and yes, Sharon and Gary had argued quite loudly enough about the watch for other people to overhear them talking about the watch and where it was kept. And after all, she had had this watch for six months, a man’s watch, not one she would wear herself. Had she shown it to a few friends, perhaps, men who might be interested in buying it? Sharon shrugged, not seeing the relevance.

‘I may have shown it to a few people, perhaps. So what?’

Sarah smiled inwardly. ‘The point I am putting to you, Ms Gilbert, is that plenty of people other than Gary must have known that you kept that watch in your bottom drawer. So even if the rapist did go straight to your bottom drawer, that doesn’t prove it was Gary, does it?’

‘Yes it bloody well does!’ Sharon saw the point now, and was angry. ‘He knew it was there and he took it, and anyway I recognised him by his voice, and the fact that he knew Wayne’s name, and …’

‘…and his penis, Ms Gilbert. Yes, we heard about that this morning. But we have also just established that you were terrified out of your wits and drunk at the time. Are you quite sure that you’re telling the truth about this watch? It was there in your bottom drawer, wasn’t it? And the rapist definitely took it?’

‘Yes. I told you. How many times?’

‘All right. So how do you account for the fact that when the police arrested Gary next morning, they didn’t find the watch. He hadn’t got it. Surely if he was so fond of this watch he would have put it on his wrist, wouldn’t he? That would be the natural thing to do.’

‘He must have hidden it. Like the rings and the hood that might incriminate him.’

‘Yes, the balaclava hood.’ Sarah shook her head slowly. ‘The police didn’t find that in Gary’s flat either, did they? Well, you may be right, Ms Gilbert, he may have planned things carefully and hidden the watch and the hood and the rings before going home. But isn’t it equally possible — much more likely, in fact — that the reason the police didn’t find these things in Gary’s flat is because he didn’t rape you? You made a mistake, and identified Gary when it was someone else !’

‘No! It was him. I told you!’

‘Was it?’ Sarah paused, and as she did so she was suddenly aware of herself from outside, as though she were looking down from the gallery on this woman in a wig and gown, the focus of attention of everyone in the courtroom. It was a weird sensation, lasting only a second, but she delighted in it. This was exactly where she had wanted to get to in her cross-examination and she had done so without mishap. She felt like an actress on centre stage who is about to launch into her main soliloquy. Her voice was clear, resonant, persuasive.

‘You see, Ms Gilbert, you had two big shocks that night, didn’t you? The second one was the rape, which was a terrifying, awful thing; but the first one came earlier, when you met Gary Harker in the hotel. Gary, the man who’d betrayed you. It wasn’t a particularly nice surprise meeting him again, was it? You felt bitter towards him because of the way you’d broken up. Then you had an argument about this watch. You were angry with him, weren’t you?’

‘Angry? I was sick of him. Still am!’

‘Yes.’ The more shrill and angry Sharon’s voice became, the more Sarah tried to keep her own calm, reasonable, understanding. ‘So there you are, going out for a nice evening, when Gary turns up. You have a quarrel and it spoils your evening. You’re angry — sick of him, as you say. And you’ve had a lot to drink, too, we’ve established that. So on the way home, these feelings of anger towards Gary are still there in your mind; you can’t get rid of them. He’s nothing but trouble, you think — the last thing you want is to see him again. He spoils everything. It’s perfectly natural to think that, of course — nothing wrong with it. But then, in the middle of this, a masked man, a stranger, breaks into your house and rapes you. You’re confused, drunk, and terrified. So when he’s gone and the police start asking you questions, you put the two things together in your mind and think ‘that man must have been Gary.’

‘It was Gary! I recognised him!’

‘What I’m putting to you, Ms Gilbert, is that in your drunken, terrified state you imagined it was him, when in fact you didn’t recognise him at all, did you?’

‘I did! I told you! It was Gary — I know it was!’

‘But you have no real proof, Ms Gilbert, do you? You’re just imagining these things about recognising his voice and his penis because you’re angry with Gary and you want to get your own back on him, but the truth is that you don’t really know who raped you, do you? That’s the terrible truth. You were raped by a man who you simply didn’t recognise at all!’

‘No … no … I don’t know. I’ve told you it was Gary. It had to be.’

‘You don’t know . Exactly; you say it yourself. It’s much more terrifying to be raped by a complete stranger but that’s the real truth of the matter, isn’t it? You don’t know . You really don’t know who the man was, do you?’

Sarah had expected another instant denial but to her surprise there was a pause. Sharon looked down, fiddling distractedly with a ring. Every second the pause went on Sarah felt a rising thrill, a rush of adrenalin along her bloodstream as she thought I’ve done it! I’ve got her! In reality the pause only lasted perhaps fifteen seconds but it seemed to go on forever. Everyone in court watched Sharon intently, fascinated, waiting.

When Sharon finally raised her head there were tears in her eyes but she made no attempt to wipe them away. She looked directly past Sarah at the man in the dock, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse, quieter than before, almost a whisper.

‘It was Gary Harker who raped me.’

And so she had not broken. Sarah stood for a moment, irresolute, wondering what to do next. Part of her wanted to go on, to worry the woman like a bitch who has wounded her prey but not killed it, but she doubted now if this woman would ever surrender. Anyway she had no new questions and if she simply repeated the old ones the judge would stop her for bullying the witness. She remembered a point from her training — if you can’t break your witness, stop when the doubt is uppermost in the jury’s mind. She had reached that moment now.