Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘The forensic scientists will tell you, members of the jury, exactly how poor Jasmine was killed. But in simple layman’s terms, she died because her throat was cut. Her throat was cut with a large, serrated knife by someone who was standing behind her, probably pulling her head back by her hair to expose her neck. Naturally, once her throat was cut, she died very swiftly.

‘But her ordeal was not swift, ladies and gentlemen. The cuts on her arms, the bruising to her face and genital area show that before she was killed she was beaten and raped. This young woman suffered a prolonged, brutal attack in which her death was only the final stage.’

The jury watched him, riveted. He looked at each of them briefly, then resumed his story.

‘So, how do we know who did it? Well, firstly, there were a number of footprints near the body. Footprints, in particular, of a man’s training shoe, size 9. You will know that all training shoes have different patterns on the sole, and you will hear that there are forensic experts who make a study of these. You will hear, too, that in Simon Newby’s house the police found a pair of training shoes whose size and make exactly matched these footprints by the body. And you will hear that one of those training shoes, the shoes found in Simon Newby’s house, was stained with the blood of Jasmine Hurst.

‘Secondly, you will hear evidence that Jasmine Hurst was raped, and that semen was found in her vagina. You will hear forensic evidence that the DNA in that semen matches exactly the DNA found in a sample taken from the accused, Simon Newby. Proof conclusive, you may think. Her blood on his training shoe, his semen in her body. That is what the prosecution believe.’

He paused, and looked down thoughtfully at Sarah. Long enough for the jury to examine her too. Sarah willed her face to show no emotion whatsoever.

‘But Mr Newby pleads not guilty, as is his legal right, and so it is my duty to call all this detailed evidence before you so that his defence can question it.’

Which makes it my fault, Sarah thought. Well done, Phil. None of us would have to go through any of this excruciating torture if only I’d told my son to own up and plead guilty. That’s what he wants them to think. That’s what they are thinking, now.

Phil Turner’s calm, reassuring voice continued, inviting the jury to trust him to lead them through this maze of guilt and evil.

‘But why, you may ask, would anyone do such a dreadful thing? Was this a random attack or was there a motive? This is something the police always ask. Well, yes, there certainly was a motive — a very basic motive, jealousy. It’s a simple, age old story. You will hear that Simon Newby was a former boyfriend of Jasmine Hurst. They had lived together for several months. Then Jasmine met another young man, David Brodie, and went to live with him. No crime in that; it happens all the time. But it made young Simon jealous. A quite natural, understandable emotion. Except that, unfortunately, his jealousy got out of hand. He couldn’t take no for an answer. You will hear evidence that he followed Jasmine around, pestering her to come back to him; and that he threatened her new boyfriend with violence.

‘Then, the very day before she died, Simon met her again, and persuaded her to come to his home. But they didn’t make up, as he probably hoped: they quarreled, violently. You will hear a witness who saw them arguing bitterly in the street outside his home; a quarrel in which Simon punched his former girlfriend in the face.

‘And finally you will hear what Simon did the day after this quarrel, after he had punched her in the face. Was he at home when the police came to question him about the body they had found? No, members of the jury, he wasn’t. He had run away in the middle of the night — the same night that Jasmine was killed. No one knew where he’d had gone or if he ever intended to come back. It was only by good detective work that the police found him, a fortnight later, in Scarborough. And you will hear that when he was arrested and interviewed about Jasmine’s death, the first thing he told the police was that he hadn’t seen Jasmine for weeks. When in fact, a witness saw him hit her on the day of her death.

‘So that, in brief, is the evidence I shall lay before you, members of the jury. Evidence of a terrible crime motivated by sexual jealousy. Evidence that Simon Newby was the last person known to see Jasmine Hurst alive, and that he was using violence towards her then. Evidence that he disappeared on the night she was murdered, and lied when the police interviewed him about her death. And most conclusive of all, forensic evidence that his training shoe, with her blood on it, matched the footprints found at the scene of the crime; and his semen was found in her bruised vagina.

‘It’s a terrible, damning story. However, you must not simply take my word for it. It’s my task to prove that all this is true, and it is for you to judge, after listening to all the evidence, if I have succeeded. If I have not — if there is still any doubt in your minds about Simon Newby’s guilt — then he gets the benefit of that doubt. Simon Newby does not have to prove anything. He says he is not guilty and that is all he is required to say. It is for me, representing the prosecution, to prove to you that he is.’

He paused, surveying each of the jurors in turn, drawing them into his confidence.

‘And so now I would like to call my first witness.’

Why bother? Sarah thought gloomily, watching the jury. As far as they’re concerned you could take him out and hang him now. You may say he’s innocent until proven guilty but none of them listened to that. It’s all over in the first half hour. The rest is just going to be a charade.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Terry took the photofits of the Irishman, Sean, to Helen Steersby. To his delight, the girl said, yes, her attacker had looked something like that. Then he played her a set of tapes of men all speaking in different accents. She picked one from southern Ireland as nearest to the voice of her attacker. Hardly a positive identification, but a satisfying morning’s work nonetheless.

If Sean had been in York during Gary’s trial, then he was a suspect for all three remaining assaults on women — Clayton, Whitaker, and Steersby. And, intriguingly, when his mate Gary had raped Sharon Gilbert, he’d claimed he’d spent the evening with Sean. What was all that about, Terry wondered. A competition to see which of them could treat women worst?

On his way to lunch, he heard a commotion around the custody sergeant’s desk..

‘He fucking raped me, he did! You all know that but you don’t do nowt, do yer?’

‘Ah, shut your trap, you daft cow! I want her prosecuted, I do, for assault.’

‘All right, stow it, the pair of you. You’ll get your turn …’

‘Him bloody sue me? Come over here, shitface, I’ll rip your fucking eyes out!’

It was not the beauty of the language that attracted his attention, but the voices. He recognized them both. Turning swiftly along the corridor, he saw two uniformed constables struggling to hold Gary Harker, while a WPC kept a firm grip on Sharon Gilbert. Sergeant Chisholm was booking her in.

‘What’s up, Nick?’ he asked a constable holding Gary.

‘Brawl in a pub, sir. She claims he hit her …’

‘Oh yeah, right,’ said Gary belligerently. ‘And I did this to myself too, did I?’

Terry noted several trails of blood below Gary’s left eye. The sight filled him with sadistic glee. ‘Cut yourself shaving, Gary, did you?’ he enquired.

The question enraged Gary, who elbowed one constable in the face, broke loose from the other, and was halfway to Terry before the two constables tripped him, smashed him face down on the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back.