Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Certainly.’ This pathologist was a supremely confident young man, Sarah thought; not the sort who would react kindly to any questioning of his conclusions. ‘It was a single cut, severing nearly half of the neck in one go. So it would have to be a relatively large and sharp instrument to do that. With a serrated edge.’

‘How can you tell that? About the serrated edge?’

‘Well, because of the marks made on her vertebrae. You can see that in photograph 15.’

Sarah studied the photograph carefully. It showed a number of small irregular marks which the pathologist identified as typical of a serrated blade.

‘Dr Jones, did you find any other knife wounds on Miss Hurst’s body?’

‘Yes. Four cuts on the inside of her left forearm. You’ll see them in photograph 17.’

‘And how, in your opinion, were those cuts inflicted?’

‘They are the typical wound that we see in a person trying to defend themselves from a knife attack. You naturally raise your arms up like this …’ Dr Jones went into a defensive crouch in the witness stand. ‘ … and as you see, the inside of your forearm is exposed. If the victim was attacked from behind, the cuts would go across the arm and slightly upwards, as these do.’

‘And were these cuts also inflicted by a weapon with a serrated edge?’

‘One appears to be. The knife marked the ulna — the smaller bone in the forearm. You can see that in photograph 18.’

Phil Turner picked up a knife in a plastic bag. ‘My Lord, could I ask the witness to examine this breadknife. Exhibit One for the prosecution.’ The usher passed it forward. ‘Do you recognize this knife, Dr Jones?’

‘Yes. It’s a breadknife given to me by the police to examine in connection with the wounds inflicted on the deceased.’

‘And what was the result of your examination?’

‘I tried to establish whether or not this knife could have caused these wounds. I did that in two ways. Firstly, I made quite careful measurements of the blade and serrations, and compared these measurements to the marks on the victim’s vertebrae and ulna.’

‘And what was the result of that experiment?’

‘The distances were compatible, to within a quarter of a millimetre or less.’

‘So according to those measurements, it was quite possible that this knife could have caused these wounds?’

‘Yes.’

‘And for your second experiment?’

‘I used the knife on the bones of a pig. A dead pig, of course.’

‘And what results did that show?’

‘You can see it in photographs 26 and 27, I believe. The marks are almost identical to those on the dead girl.’

The jury, Sarah noticed, were fascinated, examining the photographs and Dr Jones intently, with expressions which varied from open revulsion to excitement and even awe. Certainly he had captured their interest; perhaps if he allowed his scientific enthusiasm to go too far he might also repulse them, which would be a small advantage. But more likely, that repulsion would fall upon Simon.

And the gruesome, intimate details were far from over.

‘Now, Dr Jones, let me take you to another subject. In your report, you claim that the victim was raped …’

‘So we’re not preferring charges, Sharon,’ said Terry, as emolliently as he could.

‘I should bloody well think not. It’s him should be locked up, not me.’

‘I know,’ Terry sighed. ‘But the law …’

‘You can stick the bloody law up your backside. What good’s it done me, eh? Sod all. But for brutes like him it’s different. Not enough evidence to convict, my arse! Can I go?’

‘Yes. Just try to stay out of trouble, if you can.’

‘Me? Oh thanks very much. You’ve not heard the last of this, Mr smarmy Bateson. There’s telly as well as courts, you know.’ She fished a cigarette out of her bag and lit up, trying to recover her dignity. ‘I don’t know how you lads can face yourselves in the morning, doing a shit job like yours. No one’s so much as mentioned my kids, the whole time I’ve been in here.’

‘How are they, Sharon?’ Terry ventured feebly, remembering the brave little boy who had given evidence in court. A fine story for the cameras, that would be.

‘With Mary, I sincerely hope. I should’ve fetched them hours ago. Don’t I even get a lift home? Me a single mum, and a rape victim!’

‘I’m going that way, sir,’ Harry broke in. ‘I’ll see you find your kids all right.’

She took a long drag on her cigarette, and blew the smoke out, straight at him. ‘Yeah, and that’s all you’re going to see, too, sunshine. All right, then. See you on telly, Inspector. They’ll grind you into sewage, they will. You and Gary both.’

Terry accompanied her and Harry to the front door. It was nearly four o’clock, the end of his shift. He wondered what his children would be up to, and how the first day of Simon’s trial had gone. There’d be reporters and TV journalists there too. But Churchill wouldn’t mess his case up — he had too much luck. Unlike Terry. Or was he simply a better detective?

Terry watched Harry cross the car park with Sharon, and blinked. Had Harry squeezed her buttock as he opened the passenger door? Surely he must have imagined it. The mood she was in she would have raked his face with her nails and run screaming back for a complaint form. Anyway the lad would never be so daft. My eyes are playing me tricks.

The evidence which Dr Jones presented to prove that Jasmine had been raped seemed as clear and convincing as his evidence about the way she had died. He had found bruising to the walls of her vagina, and traces of semen within it. There were cuts and scratches on the backs and sides of her legs which were also consistent with a violent sexual attack.

As Sarah rose to cross-examine, she noted looks of pity and irritation from the jury. We’ve made up our minds already, the expressions said; Dr Jones has told us the truth. Going through it all again will be a pointless waste of everyone’s time.

A few looked less hostile, though. She focused her hopes on a man at the back, and began.

‘Dr Jones, I’d like to return to these cuts on Miss Hurst’s arms. They were quite severe, noticeable cuts, I think you said?’

‘It would have been very hard to miss them,’ Dr Jones agreed smoothly. Sarah noticed once again how unusually well dressed he was, in an expensive charcoal suit, pale lemon shirt, light blue tie — quite a fop, really; proud of himself. Maybe she could provoke him into showing off, and lose some of the jury’s sympathy that way.

‘Yes. Just so that we’re clear about these cuts, Dr Jones, how big were they? How deep and wide, and so on?’

‘They varied. The shortest was about an inch, the longest about three inches long, on the inside of her left arm. As for depth, one went in to the bone.’

‘And from these marks on the victim’s bones, you deduce that all the cuts were inflicted by a weapon with a serrated edge, like the breadknife Mr Turner showed you?’

‘Exactly, yes.’

‘Yes. But that doesn’t prove that these wounds were inflicted by that particular breadknife, does it? I mean, there must be hundreds, probably thousands, of breadknives of the same model manufactured by the same company as the knife Mr Turner showed you, and every one of those knives could have inflicted exactly the same injuries, couldn’t it?’

‘Obviously.’ Dr Jones shrugged. ‘But none of those other knives were found in the defendant’s home, were they?’

‘Weren’t they?’ Sarah stared at him witheringly. ‘You visited my son’s home then, did you, Dr Jones?’

Dr Jones blushed, seeing his mistake at once. ‘No, no, of course not. I was simply given the knife by the police. I have no first hand knowledge of where it was found.’