Guilty One

5

Daniel felt cold after his run. He appreciated the rare chill, knowing that the Tube would be stifling on a day like this. Fixing his tie, he viewed the room behind him in the mirror, early sun streaming through the bedroom window. He had to be at the police station by eight thirty so that questioning could begin again, but took time, as he always did, to get the knot just right. He bit down on a yawn.

Last night, with a beer after midnight, he had checked the number for City General Hospital in Carlisle. He had decided not to call, but had taken note of the number anyway. If Minnie really was sick, he knew she would have been taken there. Just the thought of her being ill and dying brought a pain to his breastbone, causing him to take a deep breath. Then it would be replaced with the burn of his anger for her, dry in his gullet – still there after all this time. He would not call her. She had been dead to him for years anyway.

Back in the interview room, Daniel inhaled the stale air of yesterday’s questions as he waited for Sebastian. Sergeant Turner’s eyes were bleary. The older man pulled gently at his collar and straightened his cuffs. Daniel knew that the police had been given a verbal report from forensics confirming blood on Sebastian’s clothes, which had been positively identified as belonging to Ben Stokes. The CCTV film had been scrutinised by police who had yet to confirm a sighting of the boys.

Sebastian was tired when the officer brought him in. Charlotte followed, removing her shades only when she sat down, her fingertips trembling.

Sergeant Turner went through the routine of identifying himself, stating the date and the time. Daniel took the lid off his pen and waited for questioning to begin.

‘How do you feel this morning, Sebastian?’ said Sergeant Turner.

‘Fine, thanks,’ said Sebastian. ‘I had French toast for breakfast. It wasn’t as good as Olga’s though.’

‘Olga will make you some when you come home,’ said Charlotte, her voice rough, almost hoarse.

‘You remember we took your clothes, Sebastian, to send them to the lab for testing?’

‘Of course I remember.’

‘Well, we have a verbal report from the lab which says that the red marks on your shirt were actually blood.’

Sebastian pursed his lips, as if he might kiss someone. He sat back in his chair with one eyebrow raised.

‘Do you know whose blood might have been on your shirt, Sebastian?’

‘A bird’s.’

‘Why, did you hurt a bird?’

‘No, but I saw a dead one once and I picked it up. It was still warm and its blood was all sticky.’

‘Did you see the dead bird on the day that Ben was killed?’

‘I can’t remember exactly.’

‘Well, as it turns out, the blood that was on your shirt didn’t belong to a bird. It was human blood. It was Ben Stokes’s blood.’

Sebastian surveyed the corners of the room and Daniel was sure he saw the boy smile. It wasn’t a large smile, more a small curving of his lips. Daniel could feel his heart beating.

‘Do you know how Ben’s blood might’ve got on to your shirt, Sebastian?’

‘Maybe he had cut himself, and when we were playing it kind of rubbed on to me.’

‘Well, the special doctors that looked at your shirt are able to tell a lot of things about the kind of blood that’s on your shirt. It turns out that the blood that is on your shirt is what’s called expirated blood. That’s blood that was blown out of Ben’s mouth or nose …’

Charlotte covered her face with her hands. Her long nails reached up her forehead into the roots of her hair.

‘There’s also an aerial spatter of blood on your trousers and your shoes. That’s blood that’s been dispersed as a result of force …’

Now both of Sebastian’s eyebrows were raised. He looked up into the camera. For a moment, Daniel was transfixed. It was the sight of the pretty young boy looking upwards into the eye of authority; all the unseen people watching him, upstairs, looking at his childlike expressions and trying to find cause to blame. Daniel remembered the saints that Minnie had prayed to, her soft, full fingers fervently twirling the beads of her rosary. There had been arrows to assail St Sebastian, yet he had lived. Daniel could not remember how he had died, but it had been a violent death. Even as the police officers produced further evidence of Sebastian’s guilt, Daniel felt a stronger need to defend him. The witness had come forward to say that he had also seen Sebastian fighting with Ben much later in the day, in the adventure playground, after Sebastian’s mother said he returned home, although the sighting was not confirmed on CCTV. Daniel was not intimidated by this, or the forensics. He had undermined such evidence often enough.

Daniel could sense the police officers’ excitement as they persisted with their questions. He was waiting for them to step over the line – almost wanting them to go too far so that he could put a stop to it.

‘Can you explain how Ben’s blood might’ve got on to your clothes, Seb?’ Turner asked again, his jowls heavy. ‘The scientists tell us that this kind of blood on your clothes might suggest that you had hurt Ben and made him bleed in this way.’

‘Might suggest,’ said Sebastian.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The blood might suggest that I had hurt him. Suggest means you don’t know for sure …’

Daniel watched a ripple of anger cross Turner’s face. They wanted to break the boy – that was the point of the lengthy questioning – but Sebastian was proving stronger than they were.

‘You know for sure, don’t you, Sebastian. Tell us what you did to Ben.’

‘I told you,’ Sebastian said, lower teeth protruding above his lower lip. ‘I didn’t hurt him. He hurt himself.’

‘How did he hurt himself, Sebastian?’

‘He wanted to impress me, so he jumped off the climbing frame and hurt himself. He banged his head and his nose was bleeding. I went to see if he was all right, so I suppose that would have been when his blood got on to me.’

Despite the temper, this new information seemed to please Sebastian. He sat up straighter and nodded a little, as if to confirm its authenticity.

At seven o’clock on Wednesday, they brought dinner to Sebastian and his mother, which they ate in the cells. It depressed Daniel to watch them. Charlotte ate little. Daniel followed her when she stepped outside for a cigarette. It was raining again. He turned up the collar on his jacket and put his hands in his pockets. The smell of her cigarette smoke turned his stomach.

‘They just said they’re going to charge him,’ said Daniel.

‘He’s innocent, you know.’ Her large eyes were imploring.

‘But they’re going to charge him.’

Charlotte turned from him slightly and he could see her shoulders shaking. Only when she sniffed did he realise that she was crying.

‘C’mon,’ said Daniel, feeling almost protective of her, ‘shall we tell him together? He needs you to be strong right now.’ Daniel was not sure why he said that – he kept a distance from his clients – but part of him kept on remembering being a young boy in trouble with a mother who was unable to protect him.

Charlotte was still shaking but Daniel watched her straighten her shoulders and take a deep breath. Her ribcage became visible through the V of her sweater. She turned and smiled at him, the skin around her eyes still wet with tears.

‘How old are you?’ she said, her long nails on Daniel’s forearm suddenly.

‘Thirty-five.’

‘You look younger. I’m not trying to flatter you, but I thought you were in your twenties still. You look good; I wondered if you were old enough for this … to know your stuff, I mean.’

Daniel laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at his feet. When he looked up he saw that her cigarette was getting damp. Warm raindrops clung to the stoic lacquered curls of her hair.

‘I like a man who looks after himself.’ She wrinkled her nose at the rain. ‘So they charge him and then what?’ She sucked hard on her cigarette and her cheeks hollowed. Her words were harsh but Daniel could still see her trembling. He wondered about the husband in Hong Kong, and how he could leave her to deal with this on her own.

‘He’ll appear in youth court first thing tomorrow morning. The case itself’ll probably go to the Crown Court so there’ll be a plea and case management hearing in about two weeks …’

‘Plea hearing? Well, he’s not guilty of course.’

‘The only thing is that they’ll ask for him to be taken into custody through all of this, probably a secure unit. It will be a few months until trial. We’ll obviously ask that he be granted bail, but in murder cases the judge tends to rule for custody, even for a child.’

‘Murder. Cases. Murder. We can pay, you know? Whatever it costs.’

‘Like I said, I’ll get a good barrister for you and they’ll argue, but we have to prepare ourselves for him being in custody for some time before the trial.’

‘When will the trial be?’

‘It all depends. I would think by November …’

Charlotte covered her mouth as she gulped. ‘And his defence?’

‘We’ll be contacting potential witnesses for the defence, and instructing expert witnesses, in this case psychiatrists, psychologists …’

‘Why on earth?’

‘Well, they’ll assess Sebastian – whether he’s fit or sane enough to stand trial.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s perfectly sane.’

‘But they will also talk about the crime itself and assess whether Sebastian is mature enough to understand the offence he is charged with committing.’

She sucked hard at the last of her cigarette. It was a stub tweezered in her manicured nails and yet she sucked at it. Daniel saw the lipstick stains on the butt and the cigarette stains on her fingertips. He remembered his own mother’s yellow fingertips and the line of her skull appearing when she inhaled. He remembered the bite of hunger, watching as she swapped a tenner for drugs. He remembered lollipops for dinner: crunching them too fast.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. It was the letter, he knew, not Charlotte, which had provoked these memories. He shook his head as if to release them.

It was seven o’clock in the evening. The interview room was calmed by the sweet smell wafting from Sebastian’s hot chocolate.

Sergeant Turner cleared his throat. Written notice of the charge was given to Charlotte and Daniel, as Sebastian’s appropriate adult representatives.

‘Sebastian Croll, you are charged with the offence stated below: murdering Benjamin Tyler Stokes on Sunday 8 August 2010.’

‘Fine,’ Sebastian answered. He held his breath, as if he was about to take a dive.

Daniel felt his throat tighten as he watched the boy. Part of him admired the boy’s gall but another part of him wondered what it was masking. He glanced at Charlotte and she was rocking gently, holding on to her elbows. It was as if she was to be charged instead of her son.

Turner faltered for a moment at the boy’s response. The boy turned to his mother. ‘I didn’t do it, Mummy!’

Charlotte put a hand on his leg to calm him. He began to pick at his fingernails, his lower lip out.

‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘I didn’t do it, you know. Mum, I didn’t,’ said Sebastian.

He began to cry.

Daniel was there at 08:55 the next morning when the Reliance van drew up and opened its doors to receive Sebastian. Daniel stood with his arms folded as the boy was led from his cell, his thin wrists cuffed, into the cage in the back of the van. Shades on, Charlotte cried. She gripped Daniel’s forearm as the cage doors were closed and locked.

‘Mummy,’ Sebastian called from inside. ‘Mummy!’ His screams were like a nail coursing along the metal casing of the van. Daniel held his breath. He had watched this happen to so many clients: people he was willing to fight for, people he admired; people he despised. This moment had always been calm for him. It signalled the beginning. The beginning of his case; the beginning of the defence.

Watching the doors close on Sebastian, Daniel heard his own childhood cries in the boy’s desperate pleas. He remembered being Sebastian’s age. He had been troubled. He had been capable of violence. What was it that had saved him from this fate?

When the doors were locked, Daniel and Charlotte could still hear Sebastian crying inside. Daniel didn’t know if the little boy was innocent or guilty. Part of him believed that Sebastian had told him the truth, another part of him was concerned about the boy’s strange interest in blood and his tantrums that seemed worthy of a younger child. But Sebastian’s innocence or guilt was inconsequential. Daniel did not judge his clients. They were all entitled to a defence and he worked as hard for those he disliked as those he admired. But juveniles were always difficult. Even when they were guilty, as Tyrel had been, he wanted to keep them out of the prison system. He had seen what happened to juveniles inside – drug dependency and re-offending. The help that Daniel felt they needed was considered too expensive; politicians used the criminal justice system to win political points.

Daniel sat in his office overlooking Liverpool Street. He had the radio on low as he made notes on Sebastian’s case.

He had placed the letter in the front pocket of his briefcase; the paper was crumpled now, from being read and reread. He took it out and read it again. He still had not called the hospital. He refused to believe Minnie was dead, but read the letter again as if he had missed something. It was a cruel ploy, he decided. All her phone calls over the years asking for forgiveness, and then tiring of that and just asking to see him one more time.

Daniel wondered if the letter was another attempt to have him back in her life. She might well be sick, but trying to manipulate. He folded the letter and pushed it away from him. Just thinking about her made his stomach tight with anger.

The office was warm, delicate rays of sunshine shot through the sash windows and illuminated dust. He picked up the telephone.

After all the things he had said to her, she would still call every year on his birthday and sometimes at Christmas. He would avoid her calls, but then lie awake at night arguing with her in his head. It seemed that the years did nothing to calm the anger he felt towards her. The few times that they had spoken, Daniel had been clipped and distant, not allowing her to tempt him into conversation, when she asked how he was enjoying work or if he had a girlfriend. He had mastered detachment long ago, but Minnie had helped him to perfect it. It was because of her that he didn’t want to let anyone in. She would talk to him about the farm and the animals, as if to remind him of home. He was only reminded of how she had let him down. Sometimes she would say again that she was sorry, and he would cut her off. He would hang up the phone. He hated her justifications even more than what she had done. She said it had been for his own good. He didn’t like to remember, and mostly he did not, but the pain of that still took his breath away.

He had not called her for over fifteen years.

Not since their disagreement when he told her that he wished she was dead.

It hadn’t seemed enough. He remembered wanting to hurt her more.

Nevertheless, he dialled without checking her number or struggling to recall it. The phone rang and Daniel took a deep breath. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the desk, eye on the door of his office.

He imagined her prising herself out of the chair in the living room, as her latest pound-mongrel raised its eyebrows at her. He could almost smell her gin and hear her sighs. Hold yer horses, I’m comin’, I’m comin’, she would say. The phone switched to answer-phone. Daniel put the receiver to his chin for a moment, thinking. He didn’t have time for this. He hung up.

Outside the window, he saw a runner, lean and wiry. Daniel watched him navigating the traffic and the pedestrians. He could see from his style and the length of his stride that he was making a good pace but from this distance it seemed as if the man was running slowly. The trees shimmered at Daniel from behind the glass. He had been at the office since early morning and had not stepped outside since to feel the grace of the sun on his skin.

‘You busy?’ said Veronica Steele, Daniel’s senior partner, popping her head round the door.

‘What’s up?’

Veronica sat on the arm of the couch, facing him. ‘Just wondering how you’re holding up.’

Daniel threw a pencil down on to a pad that was covered with scribbles. He spun to face her, hands behind his head.

‘I’m all right.’ Daniel sat back in his chair.

‘You’ve decided to stay with it?’

‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Not the best career decision, I’m sure. I know it’ll get messy. Half of me feels totally out of my depth and the other half wants to try and … save him?’

‘He’s pleading not guilty?’

‘Yes, sticking hard to his story. The mother is backing him up.’

‘Was it Highbury Corner you were at on Thursday?’

‘Yup, bail refused as predicted, so he’s been sent to Parklands House secure unit.’

‘God, that’s bleak. He’ll be the youngest one in there.’

Daniel nodded, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

‘Who’s your silk – Irene’s a QC now, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she got the nod. Made the silk list in March.’

‘I remember I wrote to congratulate her.’

‘I was surprised she took this on, but she was even at the youth court. I’m so glad she did, though. We have a chance.’

The telephone rang and Daniel picked it up, hand over the receiver, apologising to Veronica.

‘Steph,’ he said, ‘I asked you not to put through any calls.’

‘I know, Danny, I’m sorry. It’s just it’s a personal call for you. He says it’s urgent. I thought I’d ask if you wanted to take it?’

‘Who is it?’

‘A lawyer from the north. He said it’s about a family member.’

‘Put him through.’ Daniel sighed and shrugged at Veronica, who smiled and left the room.

Daniel cleared his throat again. The muscles in his body were suddenly sprung.

‘Hello, is that Daniel Hunter? My name’s John Cunningham, solicitor for Mrs Flynn. Daniel, I’m sorry. I have some bad news for you. Your mother has passed away. I don’t know if you’ve heard … but she has left instructions …’

‘She’s not my mother.’

Daniel couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

There was silence on the line for a minute. Daniel could only hear his heart beating.

‘I understand Minnie … adopted you in 1988.’

‘Look, what is it? I’m actually about to go into a meeting.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Possibly I could call another time? It’s just about the funeral and then there’s the matter of the will.’

‘I don’t want anything of hers.’

‘She has left you her entire estate.’

‘Her estate.’ Daniel stood up. He tried to laugh, but he only managed to open his mouth.

‘A simple funeral is being held on Tuesday the seventeenth, if you wish to attend.’

The breath almost didn’t carry his words, but he said: ‘I don’t have time.’

‘I see, but the inheritance …’

‘Like I said, I don’t want anything.’

‘All right, well, there’s no rush. I expect it’ll take a while to settle the house. I’ll be in touch again when—’

‘Look, I really don’t have time just now.’

‘Fine. Shall I call again on Wednesday, after the funeral? I have left my details with your colleague, should you wish to get in touch.’

‘Very well. Goodbye.’

Daniel hung up. He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb then took a deep breath.

Daniel had to change at Whitechapel and take the London Overground to Parklands House. When he emerged at Anerley, the street smelled of exhaust fumes and evaporated rain. Daniel could feel the sweat forming at his hairline and between his shoulder blades. The sky was low, pressing on him. It was Friday morning, just a day since the first hearing at Highbury Corner, and he was going to see Sebastian and his parents. Sebastian’s father had returned from Hong Kong and this was the first time Daniel would meet him.

He felt strangely apprehensive about seeing the boy again, and meeting his family. Daniel had not slept well. His morning run had been slow because he had been tired before he began. Two nights in a row he had woken up dreaming of Brampton, her house with the dirty floors and the chickens in the run outside.

Her funeral would be held in a few days, but he did not yet feel her loss.

When he arrived at the secure unit, the Crolls were waiting. Daniel had asked to meet with them first before he spoke to Sebastian. They sat at a table in a bright room with high, small windows.

‘Good to meet you, Daniel,’ said Sebastian’s father, striding across the room to squeeze his hand. He was an inch or so taller than Daniel and so he stretched his spine and pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the older man’s hand. The hand was dry and warm and yet the strength of it caused Daniel to inhale slightly.

Kenneth King Croll was a powerful man. He was heavy: stomach and jowls, reddened brown skin and thick, dark hair. He stood with his hands on his hips, allowing his pelvis to tilt, as if to assert he was a better man than Daniel. The spider veins on his cheeks had been formed by the best wines and whisky. He possessed a seismic arrogance and wealth. All the energy in the room was drawn to him, like a whirlpool. Charlotte sat near him, eyes always finding him whenever he spoke or lifted his hands. Daniel took the lid from his fountain pen and slid his business card across the table. Kenneth studied it with a slight curl in his full lips.

Charlotte brought watery coffee from the machine. She was still immaculate; her long nails a different colour every time Daniel saw her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed each cup on the table.

‘I just hate him being in here,’ she said. ‘This place is quite vile. One of the kids committed suicide in here last week, did you hear? Hanged himself. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Did you know about that, Daniel?’

Daniel nodded. His own client, Tyrel, had tried to kill himself soon after sentence. At seventeen, the boy had just been moved to a new young offenders institution and Daniel worried that he would try again. Even secure units didn’t provide the kind of care that Daniel felt juveniles needed.

Charlotte’s trembling fingers touched her lips as she thought about it.

‘He’ll survive,’ said Kenneth. ‘Daniel, go on, what’s the score now?’

‘I just don’t want him to be here,’ Charlotte whispered as Daniel flicked through his notes. Kenneth tutted at her.

Before the Crolls, Daniel’s muscles contracted with tension. He sensed that beneath the coloured lacquer, silk and fine Italian wool there was something wrong with this family.

‘I just wanted to go over a few things with you before we see Sebastian. I wanted to … warn you, I suppose, that there might be substantial media attention. We need to be careful of that, work out a strategy and try to stick to it so that we can keep that intrusion to a minimum. It will, of course, be automatic that his identity is not disclosed … We’re still waiting on the indictment bundle from the CPS and when we get that, probably in the next day or so, we can properly instruct counsel. There will be a chance for you and Sebastian to meet the barrister – Irene Clarke, QC. She came to the youth court hearing but I don’t think you saw her.’

‘How old are you, son?’ said Kenneth Croll. He was holding Daniel’s business card between finger and thumb and tapping it on the table.

‘Is that relevant?’

‘You’ll forgive me, but you look like you’re just out of university.’

‘I’m a partner in my firm. I’ve been working in criminal law for nearly fifteen years.’

Croll blinked at him to indicate that he understood. He began to tap the card on the table again.

‘As I said, we expect to get the bundle from the CPS in the next few days. From what we know so far, the case is based on the blood found on Sebastian’s clothes, coupled with the witness who allegedly saw the boys fighting both before and after the time when Charlotte says Seb was home. We know they also have neighbour and teacher witnesses … These are less important. There is also the fact that the body was found in the playground which Sebastian has admitted visiting with Ben on the day of the murder.’

‘He’s an eleven-year-old,’ boomed Croll. ‘Where else would he go except a bloody playground? This is a joke.’

‘I think there’s a strong case to be made for the defence. Most of the evidence is circumstantial. It rests on the forensics but Sebastian has a legitimate reason for having the victim’s blood on his clothes. We’ll know more after speaking to the pathologist and forensic scientists, but right now it looks like the kids fought, and the victim subsequently had a nosebleed which caused blood transferral on to Sebastian’s clothes. Sebastian has an alibi – you, Charlotte – from 3 p.m. that afternoon and the later sighting of the boys is questionable. The police didn’t find any CCTV images to back up their case against him. This was a bloody murder, but Sebastian didn’t come home covered in blood. He didn’t do it.’

‘It’s all just a mistake, you see,’ Charlotte offered, her voice cracking. ‘Even with forensic things, the police often make mistakes.’

‘What would you know?’ said Croll, his voice a whisper. ‘Leave the country for two weeks and you let him get arrested. I think you’d best stay out of it, don’t you?’

Charlotte exhaled suddenly, her fragile shoulders rising almost to her ears. She reddened under her brown foundation at Croll’s criticism. Daniel caught her eyes.

‘Daniel,’ said Croll, his voice now so loud that Daniel could almost feel its vibrations in the table on which they leaned, ‘you’ve done a fine job and we thank you for stepping in like this. Thank you for your help at the police station and for taking things this far, but I’ve got some contacts of my own. I think we’ll want the case passed to another defence team. We don’t want to take any chances. I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel the need to cut to the chase here. I don’t think you’ve got the experience we need … You understand?’

Daniel opened his mouth to speak. He thought about telling Croll that Harvey, Hunter and Steele was one of London’s leading law practices. Instead he said nothing. He stood up. ‘That’s your decision,’ he said quietly, trying to smile. ‘It is entirely up to you. You’re entitled to choose the defence team best suited to you. Good luck. You know where I am if you need anything.’

Back out on the street, Daniel took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, squinting in the sunshine. He hadn’t been let go for years and tried to remember if he had ever been let go so quickly. He felt injured by Kenneth Croll’s dismissal, but he didn’t know if it was his pride or the lost chance to defend the boy that hurt. Daniel stood in the street and looked up at Parklands House. It was a cruel name for a prison.

He started to walk towards the train, telling himself that the case would have been difficult, especially with the media attention it was bound to generate, but he was reeling. It was hard to walk away. The day was still and warm and yet it felt like walking into the wind. He felt the tug and pull at his body again, taking him off course. He had not felt like this in a while, but it was familiar; it felt like leaving and losing.