Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘It’s nothing to do with Simon, this …’

‘Isn’t it? Then why were you there? He’s at the root of this somehow. I know he is.’

‘It wasn’t Simon, Bob!’ Sarah screamed, then stopped, checked by the pain. More quietly, but with equal intensity, she continued. ‘It was Gary Harker. I defended the bastard, remember? Laugh at that if you like.’

‘For God’s sake, I’m not laughing, Sarah. Come on, let’s get you home. Tuck this round you.’ He stretched out his left arm to adjust the blanket which a policewoman had wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders. She shrugged it off irritably.

‘I’m not an invalid.’

‘You’re a victim, though. Let’s get you home to a warm bath and a whisky.’

‘That sounds more like it.’ Sarah gazed idly out of the window as the car swung over the river Ouse, with the lights of the Archbishop’s Palace on their left. So peaceful it looked, so far removed from the cramped violence of Simon’s back yard. Or was it? Down to her left, in the bushes by the footpath fifty yards south of the road, Jasmine’s body had lain all night, with a fox gnawing at her throat. Sarah groaned.

‘Not far now,’ Bob murmured encouragingly. ‘Did they give you any painkillers?’

‘An injection, I think. Bob?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t tell Emily.’

‘What? She’ll have to know sometime.’

‘Yes, but not tonight. She’s got exams tomorrow, hasn’t she?’

‘Exams! True, but …’ Bob shook his head in silent wonder. ‘You never change, Sarah, do you? Super Student to the last.’

‘Bob, please. Why should she be hurt?’

‘She won’t be. I’ll keep it quiet.’

‘Thanks.’

He drove on for a while in silence, round the ring road to their country home. On the edge of the village he spoke again, as though the conversation hadn’t stopped.

‘The only one who should be hurt is that swine Harker. I hope they clamp his balls in a vice and tighten it every half hour.’

He pulled into their drive, and — a first for him — got out and opened the passenger door for her while she was still fumbling with the blanket. She thanked him with a faint, ironic smile. ‘I should be raped more often.’

‘Never again.’ He put his arm round her and she leaned against him gratefully. ‘Now, inside with you. Come on. What do you want first — a bath?’

‘Oh God, yes please.’ Only now as she walked through her own front door, did the trembling begin. Her knees started shaking and her legs felt like jelly. She collapsed into an armchair. ‘Go upstairs and run it for me, would you, Bob? A deep hot one with bath salts if you can find any. Then bring a whisky and some candles, too.’

‘Candles?’ At the foot of the stairs, Bob hesitated. ‘Why?’

‘For the bathroom. I want it to be warm and comfortable and womb-like. Bring up a CD with some Mozart as well.’

‘Anything you say.’

I don’t want to see anything clearly tonight, she thought as he went upstairs. Tomorrow will be a day for decisions, rows of them waiting for me in the sun. Tonight I want to close my eyes, lie there and get clean.

Clean . The word formed like a pearl on her lips, perfect and pure. She leaned her head back and whispered it again. That’s what I want to be.

Clean.

When she returned the following morning Sarah was met, to her great relief, by Terry and Tracy Litherland. ‘Where’s your famous male chauvinist, then,’ she asked. ‘DCI Churchill?’

‘Senior management meeting,’ Tracy shrugged. ‘I thought if DI Bateson …?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. Thank you,’ Sarah twitched her sore mouth, hoping it looked like a grateful smile. All the muscles of her jaw were stiff.

Terry sat down opposite her. ‘I hope you got some sleep.’

‘Yes, thanks.’ She experimented with a second smile, which hurt less. She had no idea what it looked like. She had tried to cover her bruised jaw with make-up, but she could do nothing about her half-closed eye.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re well enough to come in.’ Terry slid a pad of paper across the desk. This shouldn’t take long. We just need your statement, to confirm what you said last night.’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that.’ Sarah bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to press charges.’

‘What?’ Terry stared at her. ‘But Sarah, this was a serious assault.’

‘I know. But I’m still alive.’ Sarah was so glad it was this man, not the bumptious fool who had insulted her last night. She tried to speak as clearly and persuasively as she could. ‘Look, Terry, I’m grateful to you all for rescuing me, of course — very. But because you came, nothing really bad happened. I mean, I wasn’t raped and in fact I’m hardly hurt at all apart from this eye and my jaw, and that’s just bruised, not broken. It’s my pride that’s hurt most, and a trial won’t help that. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

‘But …’ Terry was bewildered. ‘We caught him in the act! I was there; four police officers saw what happened. It’s an open and shut case!’

‘So he’s admitted it, has he?’

‘Well, no, not yet. But he’ll have to, he’s got no choice.’

‘He can still plead not guilty, Terry. And that’s what he’ll do, just to humiliate me. Believe me, I know this man. I defended him. Remember?’

There was a stunned silence. Neither detective had expected this. Unpleasant questions stirred in Terry’s mind. He liked this woman, but what was all this about? Had she known Gary was guilty in that trial, and been able to live with it? Why had she gone to her son’s house last night?

Sarah broke the silence. ‘So what did he say? You might as well tell me.’

‘He … claimed it was consensual. He said you’d arranged to meet him there and you liked … rough sex.’ Terry was embarrassed, but the words did not seem to shock her. Was there anything in Gary’s story, after all?

‘And you said?’

‘That I didn’t believe him, of course. I saw what was happening, Sarah! We all did.’

‘Yes. And I’m very — deeply — grateful that you came when you did.’ Sarah studied him thoughtfully. ‘But there’s that tiny doubt in your mind, isn’t there, Terry?’ She turned to Tracy. ‘Maybe in yours too. You don’t want to admit it, because you’re decent people, but when a man says that sort of thing you wonder, don’t you?’

‘Not me, Mrs Newby,’ Tracy Litherland insisted. ‘I can see the bruises on your face. He hasn’t got a hope. No one’s going to believe a daft story like that!’

‘Aren’t they?’ Sarah sighed. ‘Look, if he pleads not guilty I have to go in the box and give evidence, which is hard enough for any woman in a case of sexual assault. But this isn’t just any case, it’s a sensation! I was his barrister, remember! Normally a rape victim’s name can’t be published but in this case no one could hide it from the newspapers: after all, I previously defended this man on a rape charge in open court. And his counsel is going to ask me if it’s true that I had secret meetings with him for — what did you call it? — rough sex! Jesus , Terry! It’ll be like dropping meat in a shark pool; the press will have a feeding frenzy. And then they’ll find out that my son is charged with rape and murder as well. It’ll be the crime story of the millennium! I’ll be all over the tabloids, they’ll be camped outside my front door twenty deep asking me to pose in a wig and gown and my underwear! Do you really think that’s what I want?’

‘Do you want Harker to go free? Again?’

‘Right now, Terry, I’d like to chop his balls off. But the fact is I have to think of myself in this situation. I’m the victim, remember? In cases of sexual assault the police are supposed to consider the victim’s feelings. So I’m telling you now I don’t want to press charges . OK? Just forget it.’