Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Right,’ Bob said quietly. And put the phone down.

There was a bicycle in the hallway, and Terry caught his foot twice in the stair carpet. As he knocked he could hear the sound of the TV inside. No one answered. He knocked again, louder this time, and the door jerked suddenly open.

‘Not now, for Chrissake! It’s two thirty five!’

The door slammed shut and the volume of the TV inside reached a crescendo. An angry voice yelled something like ‘nitwit dettori.’ Then the door opened.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘Police.’ Terry showed his warrant card. ‘Can we come in?’

‘Christ, it never rains but it pours! I ain’t done nothing.’

‘We’re investigating a missing girl …’

Inside there was an armchair, and a bed with The Racing Post on it. The man, about forty, balding, in a shiny grey suit, glared at them defensively. Terry explained why he had come.

‘Yeah, all right, so I did phone from there yesterday morning. It don’t make me a child snatcher, does it?’

‘No sir, of course not, but we have to investigate, that’s all. Would you mind telling us who you were telephoning?’

‘Who I always phone, o’course.’ The man jerked his thumb at the TV. The sound was off but Terry could see a racehorse loping nonchalantly into the winner’s enclosure, surrounded by an ecstatic crowd of owners, trainer, jockey and stable lad, all delighted at their good luck.

‘Blasted 33-1 rag gets up to the favourite on the line. I had twenty quid on at 4–1. Sounds pathetic, don’t it, but that’s a big bet for me nowadays. Sodding Dettori got in front too soon!’

‘You were ringing your bookie, you mean?’

‘Got it in one, my son. I used to make money at it. And will again, I promise you. OK?’

A dejected Terry was already leaving when Harry Easby asked: ‘You didn’t happen to notice anyone in the phone box before you, did you, sir?’

The man frowned. ‘Dunno. Yeah, wait a mo, I think there was, matter of fact. Student, probably — lots of ‘em round here. Music on all bloody night, sometimes. Thump, thump, thump.’

‘You couldn’t describe him, could you?’

‘Long hair, pony tail, ring in one ear. I think I’ve seen him before, in that house over there.’ He pointed out of the window. ‘I could be wrong, though.’

Outside, Terry looked at the list from this morning’s search. The house the man had indicated contained eight bedsits. There had been no one at home in three of them that morning.

Sarah tried, but failed, to find anything unfair in the judge’s summing up. He gave reasonable weight to all aspects of the evidence, asking the jury to focus their minds particularly on the question of identification, and the impressions they had formed of the truthfulness of the two key witnesses, Sharon Gilbert and Gary Harker.

Which if they have any sense will send Gary down, Sarah thought.

He repeated that they should ignore anything they had read in the press, and disregard the remarks Sharon had made about Gary having attacked other women.

‘He is charged with one crime only before this court, and that is the only matter you are to consider, members of the jury. And in view of what Ms Gilbert alleged, I must emphasize that the defendant is charged with no other crimes against women at all, apart from this one. It is fair that you should know that.’

It is indeed, Sarah thought, surprised. He must be very confident of a conviction to say that. It probably dishes my chance of an appeal, too. My presentation must have been awful.

But she cared less than she once had. As soon as the jury were out she phoned home again.

‘Bob? Any news?’

‘They rang to ask if she knows any students living off Blossom Street. Does she?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘That’s what I said too. Where would she meet students? She’s only a kid.’

‘Clubs. Parties. She’s been to a few, you know.’

‘She’s not old enough, Sarah!’

‘She’s fifteen. I was her age when I met Kevin.’

‘Christ! Don’t remind me!’

But you weren’t there, Bob, Sarah thought. You don’t know what it was like. When I first met Kevin it was magic, for a while. As though the world had been black and white and then someone switched the colour on. Maybe it’s like that for Emily now.

‘When are you coming home?’ Bob asked.

‘After the verdict. I’ve got to stay for that.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Mustn’t let your rapist down, must you?’

I don’t think I’ve ever really hated Bob before now, Sarah thought as she put the phone down. Why does he keep slipping this needle under my nails? To make me feel guilty for going to work? Or because he knows there’s a part of me that doesn’t think Emily’s in danger at all, but is having the time of her life with some boy just as I did with Kevin? And he can’t stand that because he’s not half the lover Kevin was. Never could be.

Even though Kev was a brutal selfish arrogant cocky little git, and not intelligent or hardworking or sensitive as we always wanted our daughter to be. Of course Bob’s right this is a disaster but … oh Emily, what sort of a man have you chosen to run away with?

If you had any choice at all.

It was always a tense moment, but today, for once in her career, Sarah couldn’t feel it. She walked into court isolated, anaesthetized inside her own bubble of indifference.

‘Members of the jury, have you chosen a foreman to speak for you?’

‘We have, yes.’ A young man, in a smart suit and tie, stood up.

‘Mr Foreman, answer these questions yes or no. On count one of the indictment, the unlawful rape of Sharon Gilbert, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’

‘We have, yes.’

‘And on that charge, do you find the defendant Gary Harker guilty or not guilty?’

‘Not guilty.’

‘Yeessss!’ The shout came from behind her. Sarah turned, as everyone did, to see Gary standing in the dock, a triumphant grin on his face. The judge contemplated him coldly.

‘In that case, Mr Harker, you are free to go.’

As Gary left the dock, Sarah rose to her feet to demand costs from public funds. Then she gathered up her papers as the judge turned to thank the jury.

‘Congratulations. A feather in your cap, no doubt.’ With stiff politeness, Julian Lloyd-Davies essayed the smile of the gallant loser.

‘Thanks.’ Sarah thought how in other circumstances she would have been proud — cock-a-hoop with bubbling delight at having achieved such a triumph in the teeth of fierce pre-trial publicity, a prosecution headed by a QC, and firm control of the trial itself by a judge who clearly believed in Gary’s guilt. But with Emily missing, it was ashes in her mouth.

In the foyer, she saw Sharon Gilbert sobbing, supported by her friend. Gary saw Sharon too. He laughed, and jerked his forearm upwards in the traditional footballer’s gesture of triumph — shafted!

‘So what do they say?’

‘Who? The police? Nothing much.’ Bob’s eyes met hers — dark accusing eyes in a face pale with exhaustion. ‘Do you really care?’

‘Oh come on, Bob, of course I care. What did they say?’

He took a deep breath. ‘The only one who’s said anything of any consequence is that Inspector — Bateson I think his name is, the one who was here this morning. According to him someone saw a young man use that phone box around 10.27 yesterday. But it could have been one of three possible young men who live in Blossom Street. The snag is, none of them are at home. So, as far as I can make out, they’re just sitting outside watching.’

‘Watching?’