Simon Lelic - The Child Who

Still Stephanie said nothing.

‘Daniel? Did you understand what it meant?’

Daniel, too, avoided Leo’s eye.

‘It meant he’s not getting out. Right? It means they’re keeping him locked up.’ Blake, as he spoke, seemed to smirk.

‘You’re to be transferred, Daniel,’ said Leo. ‘ To a… facility. A place like this but closer to home. You’ll be able to visit,’ Leo added, turning to the boy’s mother.

Stephanie swallowed. She took a breath, seemed to taste the words that were forming on her tongue. ‘What about…’ She cast a glance towards her son that did not quite reach. ‘What about bail? Is it not worth trying? I know you advised not to but… later, maybe? Will they… will they let Daniel come home?’

The boy made a sound, something between a murmur and a moan.

Leo nodded, in understanding rather than affirmation. ‘It would not, I think, be wise. Daniel’s well-being has to be the priority and he’ll be safest, I’m certain, where they’re taking him. Also,’ he added, ‘in view of the alleged offence, of the publicity surrounding the case… It is doubtful that an application would be granted, at any stage.’ More than doubtful: it was certain, though he did not say so.

‘The court visits,’ said Leo, shifting. ‘They will become a regular occurrence, I’m afraid – at least in the short term.’

Stephanie’s eyes drew wider and Leo raised a hand.

‘Things will settle down. There’ll not be the… trouble… there was last time. It’s just routine, I promise you. Part of the remand process, that’s all. And soon Daniel will be…’ committed, he was about to say ‘… referred to the Crown Court. He’ll be arraigned, formally, and depending on what plea we enter, the judge will set a trial date. For the autumn, I expect. Late summer at the earliest.’

‘That long?’ said Stephanie, her expression aggrieved once again. ‘Why so long?’

Leo made a face: there was nothing he could do. ‘We’ll push for sooner, naturally. It won’t be in anyone’s interests to drag this out.’

Daniel’s stepfather parked his hands on the surface of the table. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘A trial date, you said. As in, for a trial?’ He bent upright and jabbed a thumb towards his stepson. ‘He did it. He’s said he did it. What the hell do they need a trial for?’

Leo, for a moment, struggled with whether it should be necessary for him to answer. ‘ To present the case, Mr Blake. To allow us to mount our defence.’

Blake sniffed. ‘Sounds like a waste of money if you ask me: taxpayers’ money, my money. Sounds like a bloody publicity stunt too. They want a show trial, is that it? They want to string the boy up and make sure the newspapers are there to take pictures.’

‘Vince!’

‘Just tell them. Can’t you? He’s nuts, insane, Looney Tunes: whatever term you want to use. He did it but he didn’t mean it and he’s sorry. Case closed, just like you said.’

Leo was transfixed. He sensed Daniel squirming beside him. ‘That’s not what I…’ He shook his head. ‘Diminished responsibility. That’s the term, Mr Blake. And I can’t just tell them. The Crown, probably, will dispute any defence we present. If we argue for diminished responsibility, we would have to enter a plea of not guilty. And Daniel will need to be evaluated. He’ll need to talk to a psychiatrist and they, in turn, will—’

‘Wait a minute. You can stop right there. There’s no way Daniel’s talking to a shrink.’ Blake looked to his wife. Stephanie, at the prospect, seemed terrified, appalled – ashamed?

‘He would have to, Mr Blake. The psychiatrist’s findings would be the basis of the entire defence. Really, there’s no disgrace in it.’

‘I said, no.’ Again Blake turned to his wife and she gave a twitch of something like affirmation. ‘No means no, Curtice. End of discussion.’

‘With respect, Mr Blake, I’m afraid it’s not your decision to make. It would be up to Daniel.’

‘What? What are you talking about? I’m his stepfather. Steph’s his mother.’

‘And Daniel is my client. I work for him.’

Blake belched out a laugh. ‘He’s twelve years old!’

‘He is. You’re right. But he’s old enough to be charged with murder, which means the law considers him old enough to instruct his solicitor. If it is Daniel’s decision to plead not guilty, to argue for diminished responsibility, then the first step would be to—’

‘I’m not mental!’ The boy, all of a sudden, was on his feet. ‘I’m not and I’m not saying it!’ He slid behind his chair and backed away, dragging the seat with him as a ward. His eyes were blooded and his cheeks damp.

Blake saw Daniel’s hands on the chair and braced himself as though readying for it to swing. ‘What the hell do you think you’re… Put that down!’

‘Mr Blake, I don’t think…’ But Daniel had indeed raised the chair slightly, if only to keep his stepfather at bay. Blake lunged and ripped the chair from the boy’s grip. Daniel staggered backwards, into the corner of the room, sobbing now but snarling at his stepfather too.

‘Get away! Get away from me!’

Blake held the chair, posturing like some circus lion-tamer. ‘Calm down! Do you hear? Calm down or so help me I’ll…’ Blake glanced at his wife. He shifted the chair in his grip but did not seem at all sure about what it was, actually, that he might do.

‘Leave me alone!’ Daniel swiped at the tears in his eyes. He looked from Blake to his mother to Leo. ‘All of you!’

Daniel’s mother gave a wail.

‘Sit down, Daniel,’ said Leo. ‘Please.’ Like the others, he was now on his feet. It felt like there was something in his throat, squatting on his voice box and preventing him from swallowing. ‘Please,’ he said again and he held out a hand. The boy, in response, batted at the air.

‘Get off me! Don’t touch me!’

There was the sound of a latch and the door to the cell swung open. The guard appeared in the doorway and at the sight of him Daniel reared. He squealed and, as the man started to advance, backed himself further into the corner.

‘Settle down!’ The guard had one hand on his holstered truncheon and the other splayed in front of him. ‘Okay? Just settle down.’

‘Leave me alone! Please!’ Daniel threw a glance towards Leo. ‘Make him leave me alone!’

Leo took a step. ‘Officer. It’s all right. It’s just a misunder—’

‘Grab him!’ said Blake. ‘For Christ’s sake just grab him!’ Daniel’s mother started forwards but Blake barricaded her with his arms.

‘No,’ said Leo. ‘Don’t!’ He reached to the guard’s shoulder but the man just shoved him away. Leo tried again. He stepped forwards. He came between the boy and the guard, facing the man’s fury and conscious of Daniel’s terror at his back. ‘He’s fine. Leave him be.’

The guard lunged. Daniel howled. Leo spun, stumbled and grabbed instinctively to still the baton. He held it, briefly, and hung his weight on the guard’s arm. The man was stronger, though, and Leo staggered. He reached once more, flailing now, but just as he made to grab again he spotted something on an arc towards his face. And then he felt it: a searing, slashing pain – followed by the cold of the concrete floor.

It was glorious. There was a fragility to the light and a preciousness about the warmth. Here, behind the building and beyond the wind, it might have been spring. A sample exclusively for him. An atonement.

He had his eyes closed and his chin high. To catch the sun. Also, to slow the bleeding. He had a paper towel pressed to his cheek and he dared not take it away because it would stick and the anticipation of the pain was worse, almost, than the pain itself. A proper gouge, the guard with the first-aid kit had said, with a kind of awestruck revulsion that had stung as much as the antiseptic. His nails? he had asked, angling his head. The boy did this just with his nails? Then, little shit. What a proper little shit.