Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof
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- Название:A Game of Proof
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Churchill looked at Harry and laughed. ‘That’s not what you said in the car, is it?’
‘No, well I was scared. I didn’t even know she was dead until you told me. What am I supposed to say?’
‘The truth, son.’
‘Well, I have now. That’s it, there on that paper.’
‘So if you have no evidence against my client,’ said Lucy, ‘I would ask you to drop this mistaken charge and release him now.’
‘Oh, you would, would you?’ Churchill put a plastic evidence bag on the table. Inside it were a pair of muddy trainers. ‘Well, we do have evidence, Mrs Sampson.’ He spoke clearly so the tape would catch his every word. ‘I’m showing Mr Newby a pair of men’s Nike trainers, size 9. Do you recognize these, Simon?’
‘No.’
‘They were found in your house. They’re yours, aren’t they?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Maybe. Lots of people have trainers like that.’
‘Well, these trainers were found in your house, and they have mud and grass on them similar to the mud and grass found near Jasmine’s body. There were also footprints there which appear to fit these trainers.’
‘So? Like I said, thousands of people have trainers like that.’
‘And the mud and grass?’
‘I go running. That’s what they’re for.’
‘Yes, sure.’ Churchill leaned forward, watching Simon intently. ‘And the blood?’
‘What blood?’ Simon’s face paled. ‘Where?’
Churchill pointed, to a group of faint, unremarkable brown stains on the toe just below the laces on the left shoe. Then he turned the shoe over and pointed with a pen at the indentations on the sole. ‘Here, and here. They don’t look much, but they’re going to send you to prison for a long time, my son. Because the forensic scientists have examined these stains, and they’re group AB negative, which is the same group as Jasmine Hurst. It’s her blood, Simon, isn’t it? You got it on your shoes when you killed her.’
‘But I didn’t kill her!’ Simon half rose to his feet, shouting. ‘Give me those shoes! They’re not mine!’
Churchill held the shoes away from him, smiling. ‘They are yours, Simon. They’re the shoes the murderer wore, and they were found in your house, in your bedroom, with her blood on. Does anyone else live in your house?’
‘No.’ Simon sat down slowly.
‘Anyone else keep their training shoes there?’
‘No. But …’
‘Well then. What about this?’ Churchill produced another evidence bag. ‘I’m showing Mr Newby a breadknife with a black handle. We found this in your house too. Is this yours?’
‘No. How should I know?’
‘There are fingerprints on here, Simon. We’ll be matching them with yours later.’ He paused, savouring the moment, staring intently into the eyes of the boy and his silent solicitor. ‘This knife’s got Jasmine Hurst’s blood on, too!’
‘It can’t have! You’re lying! Look, the blade’s clean anyhow!’
‘I didn’t say it was on the blade, did I? No doubt you cleaned the blade after you killed her, and thought that was enough. But our cunning scientists have looked here, in the crack where the blade joins the handle, and they’ve found blood there, you see. Same blood group, AB negative. Jasmine Hurst’s blood group. Blood from when you cut her throat.’
‘I didn’t! Say that again, you bastard …’ Once again Simon half rose, but Lucy put her hand on his arm and, to her great relief, he sat down.
‘Just listen to them, Simon,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.’
‘But it can’t be her blood! I didn’t kill her, I tell you!’
‘Well, we’ll see.’ Churchill smiled patronizingly. ‘Ever heard of DNA, Simon? We’ve sent samples of this blood away for DNA analysis and then we’ll see for certain whose it is. That’ll prove it one way or the other.’
‘It’ll prove it’s not hers, then.’
‘Will it? We’ll see. You didn’t rape her either, I suppose?’
‘What? Of course not.’
Churchill gave a cold wolfish grin. ‘So you won’t mind giving a DNA sample, will you?’
Lucy could feel cold sweat trickling under her dress. ‘I’d like to consult with my client again …’ she began, falteringly. But Churchill overrode her. ‘In a minute, in a minute. First let me tell your client what we need the sample for, OK? You see, Simon, the man who killed Jasmine — the man who wore these trainers and used that knife — he didn’t just kill her, he raped her first. And when he raped her, he left certain intimate body samples which will help us identify him. So if you don’t mind, we need to take a DNA sample from you to compare with the DNA that the murderer left in her body. If you’re innocent it may help to prove it. But if not …’
Will Churchill paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the room. Simon had his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. In a quiet, relentless voice Churchill continued. ‘This means taking a swap from your mouth and a few hairs from your head. It won’t hurt. But I must warn you that if you don’t offer these samples voluntarily I can obtain them forcibly. Do you understand?’
Simon nodded, still weeping. The interview had lasted scarcely ten minutes but Churchill was sure the damage had been done. If the boy was going to confess, now was the time. Lucy Sampson tried to catch his eye. ‘I really must insist, Chief Inspector …’
Simon muttered something which Churchill couldn’t hear. ‘What was that, lad?’
Simon looked up, his face, red, tear-stained. ‘I said the semen will be mine!’
‘Yours?’ Yes! Churchill thought. We’ve got him!
‘Simon, wait.’ Lucy touched his hand but he ignored her, looking directly at Churchill.
‘You heard. That’s what I said.’
Churchill tried to hide the surge of triumph singing through his veins. ‘All right. Do want to tell me about it, lad?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
This is where he convicts himself, Lucy thought. If he really wants to confess, nothing I can say will stop him. But what will I tell his mother, waiting outside?
When Lucy came out Sarah thought she looked shattered, as though she had walked into a wall in the dark. But when the big woman came closer she realized that the familiar fighting spirit, the determination, were still there beneath her exhaustion.
‘Well, what is it? Can I see him?’
‘No. They won’t let you, Sarah, I’m sorry. He’s been charged and remanded to Hull. You can see him there.’
‘But … charged? They think he did it then?’
‘Obviously.’ Lucy looked at her friend and thought, what a question for a barrister! But this woman in front of her was no high-powered lawyer, she was a mother, anxious for news of her son. She took Sarah gently by the arm.
‘Come on, it’ll be easier outside. We’ll talk in my car.’
In the car Lucy went through the evidence slowly. First the footprints, the Nike trainers, the knife and the tiny stains of blood. ‘AB negative. That’s not Simon’s group, is it? He might have cut himself.’
‘I don’t think so. I think he’s O, like me. I’ll ring the doctor to check.’
‘They’re sending it for DNA analysis anyway, so that’ll prove it one way or the other. But Sarah, that’s not the worst thing.’ She looked at her friend sadly. ‘The big thing is the semen. That’s what we spent most of the time talking about.’
‘What? She was raped, you mean?’
Lucy nodded. ‘You didn’t know?’
Sarah shook her head, and groaned. ‘No. No, they never told me that. Trying to spare my feelings, I suppose. Dear God! Is there no end to this?’
‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I thought you knew.’
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