Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘And what if the jury listens to him, eh? What am I looking at?’

‘For a violent rape like this? Fifteen years, maybe. Minimum of eight.’

‘Fifteen fucking years! But it only lasted ten minutes, for fuck’s sake!’

Gary stood, his huge hands clenching and unclenching by his side. Sarah said nothing. This is what I came to work for, she thought. Bob’s right. I should be at home looking for Emily. Leave this tosser to rot. She saw the great vein swelling in his thick neck six inches from her face, as he shouted. ‘Fifteen years, and you don’t want me to speak? It’s me that’s going down, not you, you know, Mrs pretty barrister! For a ten minute shag.’

‘Are you admitting your guilt, Mr Harker? If you do that I can no longer represent you.’ And you can rot in hell, she thought. Where you belong. She turned to go, but the man grabbed her shoulder.

‘No I am not admitting no fucking guilt, not to you nor any other twat with a pile of horseshit on her head. But I’m not staying silent, neither. I’m going in that box to tell the truth, so you’d best sharpen up your fancy brain too, because if you don’t, I’ll be looking for you after those fifteen years and it won’t be no ten minutes’ revenge I have in mind, neither.’

She put her hand on his to push it away, but realised she could no more move it than pull a brick from the wall. As her fingers scrabbled on his she met his eyes and to her horror he smiled. Then he let go.

I’m losing control of this, she thought. Get out now. But she had to preserve some dignity. ‘Very well,’ she said shakily. ‘If you insist on giving evidence, that’s your right. I’ll see you in court.’

Outside in the corridor she saw that Lucy, too, was shaking. The two women leaned against opposite walls and gazed at each other. ‘Not your day really, is it?’ Lucy said.

‘No.’ Sarah pressed her trembling hands against the wall behind her. ‘What am I doing here, for God’s sake?’

Lucy fumbled in her bag for cigarettes. ‘It’s not your fault. You told the wanker what to do. His future’s in his own hands now.’

‘Yes. And with a temper like his he’ll probably yank it right off.’

For a moment, in relief after the shock of Gary’s rage, this remark struck the two women as hopelessly, hysterically funny. A warder, passing on the stairs, glanced at them curiously. They were still giggling together when they came up into the main entrance of the court and bumped into Sharon Gilbert.

Oh God, Sarah thought. How much worse can this day get?

I’m not going to try very hard, Sarah thought. There’s no point. Even if he hasn’t actually admitted it the bastard’s guilty and deserves to go down. Anyway I’m too tired. She stood up.

‘My lord, I call Gary Harker.’

Gary took the oath in a strong, loud voice, stumbling slightly over the words as he read them.

‘Mr Harker, you have heard all the evidence brought by the prosecution. Did you rape Sharon Gilbert?’

‘No.’

‘Did you go to her house on the night of Saturday 14th October last year?’

‘No.’

‘Very well. Let me take you through the events of that night. Did you meet Ms Gilbert earlier that evening, at a party at the Station Hotel?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘Why did you go to that party?’

‘Why not? I knew some lads there.’

‘Did you expect to meet Ms Gilbert?’

‘No. I hadn’t seen her for … six months, mebbe.’

‘What were your feelings when you met her?’

‘Well, I weren’t bothered really. I mean, I bought her a drink, asked her to dance, like. That were it, really.’ To Sarah’s surprise Gary seemed quite calm, almost respectable in the way he spoke. The jury were listening intently, no sign of disgust on their faces as yet.

‘Did she seem pleased to see you?’

‘Not really. She’s a stroppy cow at times.’

Here we go, Sarah thought. Sink yourself if you want to. I don’t care.

‘Did you have an argument?’

‘I asked her for me watch back. She said she hadn’t got it.’

‘And how did you react to that?’

‘I said she were, er …’ Gary paused, glanced at the jury, seemed to take a grip on himself. ‘I said it weren’t true. I reckon she’d sold it and she owed me t’brass.’

‘Were your voices raised when you had this argument?’

‘A bit. You had to speak up to be heard.’

‘All right. Did you threaten her in this argument, say you might come to her house and take the watch back, perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘Did you go to her house to get the watch back?’

‘No.’

‘So when did you last see this watch?’

‘When she slung me out of her home, last year.’

The bastard’s really trying, she thought. So far so good. For him, anyway. But now the silly lies start. The fake alibi.

‘Tell the jury in your own words, what happened when you left the Station Hotel that night.’

‘Well, I met a lad called Sean and we went to the Dog and Whistle. Cruising.’

‘Cruising?’

‘Yeah. Looking for lasses, like. Girls.’

‘Did you find any?’

‘Yeah. Two.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Well, they were tarts, like. Prostitutes. So we shagged ‘em.’

‘Did you pay them?’

‘I paid mine. Tenner. Too bloody much.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I went home to bed.’

‘Did Sean go with you?’

‘No. We split up when we met t’lasses. I didn’t see him again.’

‘What about the girl? Did she come home with you?’

‘No.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Can’t remember, sorry.’

‘You’ve never seen her before or since?’

‘No, I haven’t. Couldn’t afford her again, any road.’

‘Now, you’ve heard Keith Somers say he saw you in Albert Street just after one a.m. that night. Were you in Albert Street at that time?’

‘Yeah. Probably. I could have been.’

‘Is it on your way home from where you met the girls?’

‘It’s one way home, yes.’

‘Keith Somers says you waved to him. Is that right?’

‘Could be. Can’t remember.’

‘Very well. Albert Street runs parallel to Thorpe Street, which is where Sharon Gilbert lives. So I ask you again, did you go to Sharon Gilbert’s house at any time that night?’

‘No.’

‘Did you rape her?’

‘No.’

‘So you say you are totally innocent of this crime that you are charged with?’

‘Innocent? Yeah, that’s right. I am.’

‘Very well, then. Wait there.’

There had been a smile on Julian Lloyd-Davies’ face ever since he’d learned that Sarah was calling Gary Harker to give evidence. Now he rose with what appeared to be a weary sigh, some sheets of notes in his hand. He peered at the notes intently for a few seconds, then tossed them aside in disgust.

‘Mr Harker, this is all a pack of lies, isn’t it?’

‘What? No.’

‘You don’t have a friend called Sean, do you?’

‘’course I do. I thought I did any road.’

‘Where does he live then?’

‘I don’t know. He’s left York. Must have done.’

‘You were just wasting police time, weren’t you?’

‘I bloody weren’t. They were wasting my time, more like!’

Here we go, Sarah thought. Score one to Lloyd-Davies. Or two, if we count the way he threw his notes away. The jury loved that.

‘Oh I see. You think it’s a waste of police time to investigate a brutal rape, do you?’

‘I never said that.’

‘Oh? Forgive me, I thought you did.’ Lloyd-Davies peered at Gary contemptuously over his reading glasses, deliberately affecting a superior, educated tone, and Sarah thought: that’s it. He’s got beneath his skin. Wait for the explosion.