Guilty One

21

Sebastian’s trial was to be held at The Old Bailey.

Daniel woke up early for his run, but even after his shower his stomach was still tight with tension. He didn’t know why the trial should make him feel so apprehensive. He was used to Old Bailey trials, and murder trials, but today he felt different: as if he himself would be on trial.

The entrance to the Old Bailey was now a throng of angry public and hungry press. He didn’t expect the photographers would know who he was and thought Irene would get the attention, but as soon as he approached there was a cry of ‘That’s one of the solicitors’ and then a flash.

‘Child killer,’ someone from the crowd screamed. ‘You’re defending a child killer. The little bastard should fry. Go to hell.’

As a defence lawyer, he had become accustomed to enmity. In the past he had been verbally abused in the street and sent hate mail threatening his life. Such things only made Daniel more determined to see the case through. Everyone deserved a defence, no matter what they had done. But the fury of the crowd here seemed exceptional. He understood anger at the loss of innocent life, but he could not understand why people seemed so ready to vilify a child. The loss of a child was cruel because it was promise stolen, but Daniel felt the criminalisation of another child was just as cruel. Daniel remembered his foster father calling him evil. Even if Sebastian was guilty, he needed help, not condemnation. He watched the surge of the crowd – jeering faces asking for punishment. Protesters railed on the streets, waving placards that read Life for a Life. They screamed bas-tard whenever they saw someone related to Sebastian and jostled against a makeshift barrier and yellow-vested police officers.

A police officer pulled at his elbow, urging him forward, and Daniel jogged the last few steps until he was inside the court. Sebastian had been brought to court in a security van and was waiting in an observation cell downstairs.

When Daniel entered the cell, Sebastian was sitting on a concrete bunk covered with a blue plastic mat. He looked pale. He was wearing a navy suit that was a little big on the shoulders and a striped tie. The outfit made the boy seem even younger than his eleven years.

‘How’s it going, Seb?’ Daniel asked.

‘OK, thanks,’ Sebastian said, looking away.

‘Sharp suit.’

‘My dad wanted me to wear it.’

It was nearly an hour before the trial would begin and Daniel felt sorry for Sebastian – the time he would have to spend in the harsh concrete cell, just waiting. It was hard enough on adults. Sebastian had been shown round the courtroom the day before and proceedings had been explained to him, but nothing could really prepare a child for this.

Daniel sat on the bunk beside Sebastian. They both looked straight ahead at the wall opposite, which was marked with graffiti: obscenities and devotions side by side. Daniel noticed one phrase which had been cut into the concrete with a knife: I love you Mum.

‘Did you go for a run this morning?’ Sebastian asked.

‘I did. Did you get any breakfast?’

‘Yeah.’ Sebastian sighed, looking away again, uninterested.

‘I better go,’ said Daniel, standing up.

‘Daniel?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m scared.’

‘You’ll be all right. They showed you where you’ll be sitting? You get to sit next to me, just like we said. Keep your chin up, eh?’

Sebastian nodded and Daniel knocked to be let out.

When the door was closed, Daniel placed a palm against it, and then made his way upstairs to the court.

The judge and barristers wore their gowns, but no wigs, as they were considered too intimidating for children. The public gallery was almost full of journalists and Daniel knew there were many more outside, who had not been able to get in. Arrangements had been made to restrict the number of journalists to ten. The courtroom hummed with anticipation. Daniel took his seat, where he would sit with Sebastian. Irene Clarke and Sebastian’s junior counsel, Mark Gibbons, sat in front.

Sucking his lip, Sebastian was brought in by two police officers. Daniel leaned down and held his shoulder in reassurance. They were all a strange family then, waiting for it to begin.

Sebastian’s mother and father were sitting behind them. Charlotte was wearing a well-cut suit. Kenneth was leaning very far back in his seat, hands folded across his belly. He kept looking at his watch, while Charlotte examined her make-up in a small round mirror and reapplied her lipstick. There was a murmur from the press section of the gallery, but no one else seemed to be talking.

Daniel could hear Sebastian swallow.

The judge entered. Daniel nudged Sebastian’s elbow, prompting him to stand. The court rose and then sat.

Jurors were selected and then sworn in. The chosen ones stared without restraint at Sebastian from across the room. They had read so much about him, but now they could see his face, and would decide his fate.

Benjamin Stokes’s parents were visible in the gallery: Madeline and Paul. They sat side by side, still and heavy, neither offering each other comfort nor watching Sebastian. They also waited, laden with grief, for it to begin.

The judge leaned on the podium and looked over his glasses in the direction of the public gallery.

‘Members of the press, I would like to remind you that until further notice the defendant, Sebastian Croll, will not be referred to by name in all reporting of the trial.’

The consonants in Sebastian’s name seemed to assault the rapt room. Daniel frowned.

The judge slid his glasses further down his nose and directed his gaze at Sebastian.

‘Sebastian, I won’t ask you to stand when I address you, as is our practice in court. You are also seated in the main courtroom, beside your solicitor and with your parents nearby, instead of the dock. Many of our court processes are protracted and may seem confusing to you. I remind you that you have your solicitors and barristers to talk to if there is anything you do not understand.’

Sebastian looked up at Daniel, who put a hand on his back briefly to indicate that he should face the front. Sebastian had already been counselled on how to behave in court.

Irene Clarke stood up, hand on her hip underneath her gown.

‘My lord, there is a point of law I have to raise …’

She had an air of easy authority, speaking the language of the court in received pronunciation.

The court waited as the jury shuffled out: eight men and four women, two young, but the remainder middle-aged. Daniel watched them go.

‘My lord, we would like to make an application for a stay on the grounds that pre-trial publicity has been prejudicial to my client’s case. I present before the court a selection of newspaper cuttings which show the highly emotive language in which the case has been discussed in the press. The saturation coverage of this case has more than likely influenced the jury.’

The judge sighed as he considered the bundle of articles which was passed to him. Daniel had seen this judge before: Philip Baron was one of the oldest remaining on the bench. He had featured in the tabloids himself, following unpopular rulings. He had made headlines for his use of prejudicial language when presiding over rape cases. He looked every bit his sixty-nine years.

The QC for the Crown, Gordon Jones, argued that the jury would not have been prejudiced by the coverage because the defendant had not been named and the main details of the case were not known to the press. The morning disappeared as the articles were considered and discussed. Daniel’s stomach rumbled and he tightened his muscles to suppress it. There was a sense that the whole room was fatigued now. So much anticipation stymied in the wake of bureaucracy. Daniel was used to it, but as Irene fought for Sebastian, he could see that the boy was already bored. He had been drawing pictures: tiny little conjoined wheels on the corner of the notepad. Daniel could hear him sighing and shifting in his chair.

The judge cleared his throat.

‘Thank you, I have considered these points and will rule that the trial will proceed, but I will remind the jury of their duty to consider the facts of the case as presented here in court only. I am, however, mindful of the time, and think this might be a convenient moment to adjourn. We’ll resume after lunch …’

The court session ended and Sebastian was taken back down to his cell.

Irene left court before Daniel could speak to her, so he went down to the cells to see Sebastian. The guard slid back the shutter on the observation window to check on Sebastian’s position before Daniel was allowed in.

‘You all right, Seb?’ he asked. Sebastian was sitting on the edge of the bunk, looking down at his shoes, which were turned toe-inwards. ‘You’ll get your lunch in a minute.’

Sebastian nodded, not looking up at Daniel.

‘I know it’s boring … probably the worst thing about court.’

‘I wasn’t bored. I just wish I didn’t have to hear …’

‘Hear what? What do you mean?’

‘All the bad things about me.’

Daniel took a deep breath, unsure how to respond, and settled down on the bunk next to him. ‘That’ll get worse, you know, Seb,’ he said finally, leaning forward on his elbows so that his head was level with the boy’s.

‘We lost the first argument,’ he said.

‘True,’ said Daniel, ‘but it was an argument we expected to lose.’

‘Why argue if you know you’re not going to win?’

‘Well, for one thing because it’s a valid argument and in court, remember, even if one judge disagrees with you, on appeal another judge may think you’re right.’

Sebastian was silent again, looking at the floor. Daniel was not sure if he had understood. He thought about explaining more to him, but did not want to burden the boy. He imagined what he would have felt like, alone in this cell, as a boy of eleven. He had been close to it. The Thorntons could easily have reported him.

‘Are you my friend?’ said Sebastian.

‘I’m your lawyer.’

‘People don’t like me,’ said Sebastian. ‘I don’t think the jury will like me either.’

‘The jury are there to consider the facts put before them. It doesn’t matter if they like you or not,’ said Daniel. He wanted this to be true, but did not completely believe it.

‘Do you like me?’ said Sebastian, looking up. Daniel’s first instinct was to look away from the green eyes that found his own, but he maintained eye contact.

‘’Course,’ he said, feeling as if he were crossing a boundary again.

There was not much time left before court resumed. Daniel bought a sandwich near St Paul’s and ate it looking out on to Cannon Street. Sebastian’s low mood was upon him and the boy’s questions turned in his mind.

He felt a sense of foreboding: he was not sure if it was fear of the outcome of the trial, or empathy for the boy and what he faced. He felt heavy with responsibility. A crow landed suddenly on the ledge outside the diner. Daniel stopped eating and watched as it choked back a chip it had snatched from the pavement. The bird cocked its head and looked at Daniel, its beak slick. Then the bird was gone, swooping up to the heights of the buildings where baroque fantasies had been cut from the Portland stone. Daniel watched the ascent until the bird was out of sight.

Flight: the control of opposing forces, weight versus lift, gravity and the pull of the great beyond.

Fight or flight: the body facilitates both at the same time; there is the choice to attack that which threatens, or to run from it.

It had been years since Daniel had felt the need to run, but he felt it now. He felt afraid of the outcome and responsible for his part in it.

Irene was pacing outside the courtroom, mobile pressed to her ear, her gown trailing behind her, when Daniel returned to the Old Bailey. Daniel winked at her as he passed and she raised her eyes at him.

Court Thirteen was nearly full. Sebastian was brought in and took his seat. He looked around for his mother. The Crolls were there behind, but not looking at their son. Charlotte was wearing sunglasses, which she kept pushing higher up her nose. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Kenneth was looking at his watch and then at the prosecution’s QC, Gordon Jones, who, Daniel thought – even without his wig – managed to look like a public-school headmaster. Thin and always leaning forward slightly at the hip, Jones was a person of indeterminate age. He could easily be thirty-five, or he could be near retirement. The skin of Jones’s face was pulled tight over his skull.

‘What you have for lunch?’ said Sebastian.

‘Sandwich. How ’bout you?’

‘Spaghetti hoops, but they didn’t taste right. They tasted plastic or something.’

‘That’s not good.’

‘I only had a little. They were nasty.’

‘You’ll be hungry. Do you want a sweet? You’ve got another while to go.’

Sebastian popped one of Daniel’s mints into his mouth. Daniel noticed one of the journalists pointing as he offered the sweets to Sebastian, then making notes on his pad.

Sebastian seemed pleased with himself. The judge entered. Irene was not yet back, so her junior was standing in. But this afternoon was for the Crown.

Gordon Jones stood up and supported himself with two fingers pressed against his lectern.

‘Members of the jury, I appear on behalf of the Crown. The defendant is represented by my learned colleague, Miss Clarke.’

He took a deep breath and exhaled. It might have been a breath to calm him before he began, but Daniel knew it was meant as a sigh.

‘William Butler Yeats once wrote that the innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time. Ben Stokes was innocent and he was beautiful. He was a beautiful eight-year-old little boy. He was just so tall …’ Gordon Jones held out a flat hand to indicate Ben’s height.

In the gallery, Ben Stokes’s mother snorted suddenly. The whole court looked up at her as her husband put his arm around her. Jones waited for a few seconds until silence fell again.

‘He should have had the world ahead of him: school, girlfriends, university, a career and a family. But Ben unfortunately had another enemy, other than time itself. We will show that he was bludgeoned to death in a violent attack by someone he knew as a neighbour and a playmate, but who we will show was in fact a sadistic bully.

‘Ben was just riding his bike near his home in Islington on Sunday 8 August this year. He was known as a quiet child, well behaved but shy. He liked riding his bicycle very much, as those of you with children in the family will appreciate, yet he left his bike abandoned in the road and the next day was found dead, having been beaten to death with a brick that lay in the corner of the playground where he was found.

‘We will show that the defendant, Sebastian Croll, persuaded Ben to leave his home and his bicycle, before taking him to Barnard Park where he was later witnessed bullying and physically assaulting the smaller and younger boy. Finally, when Ben refused to stay out and accept this abuse any longer, it is our contention that Sebastian became enraged and began a sustained and fatal attack on Ben in an area of the park playground which was hidden by trees.

‘We will demonstrate that Sebastian Croll wielded the murder weapon in a savage manner.

‘This is an unspeakable crime, but one which is still very rare. The newspapers would have you believe that our society is decaying and that grave violence by children against other children is more common than it was in the past. This is not the case. Murder of this kind is mercifully rare, but its rarity does not discount its gravity. The defendant’s age should not deflect you from the facts of the case: that this small child, Ben Stokes, was robbed of his life before his ninth birthday.

‘The task before the prosecution is straightforward – to show beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant a) carried out the actions which killed the deceased, Ben Stokes, and b) that when he did this, he did so with the intention of killing or seriously injuring him. We will show beyond doubt that the defendant fought violently with Ben Stokes, choosing a secluded and leafy area of the park to launch a savage attack. We will show that the defendant sat on the deceased and wielded a brick at the face of the small boy with the clear intention of killing him. What followed … and let us be clear, this fact is in no way diminished by the defendant’s young age … What followed … was a premeditated act of murder.

‘Ben Stokes was beautiful and innocent indeed, but we will show that the defendant committed the ugliest of crimes, and is guilty beyond any reasonable doubt.’

The whole room seemed to have suspended its breath and so Daniel held his. The oak panels and the green leather seemed to creak and rub with impatience in the lengthening silence. Daniel glanced behind at the Crolls. Charlotte sat upright, her mouth just turning down at the corners. Kenneth was frowning at Gordon Jones.

Sebastian was rapt. His boredom had passed. Daniel had watched him lean forward as he listened to Jones’s story, as if it was a story, created for his amusement with Sebastian as the protagonist.

Irene silently re-entered the court.

When the Crown finished outlining the case for the prosecution, Daniel felt a chill. He himself did not know for a fact whether Sebastian was innocent or guilty; he only knew the boy was out of place here in the adult court – even with the tables rearranged and the wigs off and only ten reporters in the gallery.

Gordon Jones finally sat down, and Sebastian leaned into Daniel: ‘He’s got it all wrong. Maybe I should tell them?’ His clear, well-spoken voice was loud even in a whisper.

‘Not now,’ Daniel said, aware of Irene clearing her throat and glancing in his direction. ‘We’ll get our turn.’

It was the second day of the trial and Daniel arrived at court at nine thirty. He jogged past the rows of press photographers who were three deep behind the makeshift barriers. When he entered the Central Criminal Court it felt dark and humid. Each entrance to this court always felt portentous. It was like being swallowed: entering the ribcage of a beast. The marble statues reproached him.

Again, Daniel felt nervous, as if he was a younger, less experienced lawyer. He had been involved in countless criminal trials but today his palms were moist, as if it were his own trial.

Before Sebastian arrived in the courtroom, Daniel took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He knew what the day held and knew that it could only be hard on the boy.

‘The Crown calls Mrs Madeline Stokes.’

Ben Stokes’s mother entered and made her way to the witness box. She walked as if shackled. She wore her hair tied back. It was uneven, as if she had tied it back in a hurry. The hairstyle accentuated the hollows of her cheeks and her dark eyes. Daniel was at least twenty feet from her, and yet he was sure that he could see her tremble. She leaned on the witness box when she arrived and her breaths were audible in the microphone.

The heating made the room dry and hot. Daniel felt his armpits become wet with sweat.

Seconds passed, as Gordon Jones leafed through his notes. Everyone in the court was waiting for him to speak.

‘Mrs Stokes,’ he said after a long pause, ‘I know this is difficult for you, but I’d like to ask you to cast your mind back to the afternoon of Sunday 8 August. Can you tell the court about the last time that you saw your son alive?’

‘Well … it was a nice day. He asked if he could go out to play on his bike, and I said that he could but that he had to … had to stay in our road.’

She was obviously nervous, broken by a deep sadness, yet her voice was clear and genteel. It reminded Daniel of ice in a glass. When she became emotional, her voice deepened.

‘Did you watch your son as he played outside?’

‘Yes, I did for a while. I was washing the dishes in the kitchen and I could see him going back and forth along the pavement.’

‘What time was it, do you think, the last time you saw him?’ Jones was softly spoken, deferential.

‘It was about one. He had been outside for half an hour or so after lunch and I asked him if he wanted to put a jacket on or come inside. I thought it might rain. He said he was fine. I wish I’d made him now. I wish I had insisted. I wish …’

‘So you allowed Ben to continue to play outside? At what time did you discover he was no longer playing in the road?’

‘Not long after that. It was maybe fifteen, twenty minutes – that was all. I was working upstairs and I looked out of the window. I kept checking on him. I … You can pretty much see the whole of our road from up there but when I looked out … I just couldn’t see him at all.’

When she said at all, Madeline Stokes’s eyes became very wide.

‘What did you do?’

‘I ran out into the street. I ran up and down the road and then found his bike, lying on its side, abandoned around the corner. I knew right away something terrible had happened to him. I don’t know why, but I did. At first I thought he might have been hit by a car, but everything was completely quiet. He had just … vanished.’

Madeline Stokes was crying now. Daniel was moved by her, and he knew that the jury would be too. Her left hand was now red against the witness box, but her face was still white. When she cried she put a hand over her mouth. Daniel remembered what Harriet had said to him about Minnie losing her daughter. He remembered the day at the market with Minnie’s hands cold on his and her sad, watery-blue eyes begging him not to mention her little girl. Like Minnie, Madeline Stokes had only one child. She had lost everything that mattered and the world was now a dark place.

‘I shouted for him down some of the other streets and stood at the gate to the park, but I couldn’t see him in there. I called his friends, then his father and we … called the hospital and the police.’

‘Did you call your neighbours, the Crolls?’

‘No.’ She wiped her face with flat hands. Her eyes were rueful, red pebbles. They turned and shone – watching the scene again, reliving the panic. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Did Ben occasionally play with Sebastian?’

‘Yes, not at school really, but sometimes at weekends. At first I had been fine about it, but then I found out that Sebastian was bullying Ben, getting him into trouble, and I stopped them seeing each other.’

‘Can you explain what you mean by “bullying and getting into trouble”?’

‘Well, when we first moved to Richmond Crescent, Sebastian asked if Ben could come out to play. I was pleased that there was a little boy so close, even if he was a bit older, but then I decided he wasn’t really … suitable.’

‘And why, may I ask, was that?’

‘After playing with Sebastian, Ben started to use some very vulgar swearwords – words that he didn’t know before. I told him off and stopped him playing with Sebastian for a few days, but still at weekends they would occasionally play together. Then I noticed that Ben would have bruises after playing with Sebastian. Ben told me that Sebastian would hit him when he didn’t do as he asked. I complained to Sebastian’s mother and told Ben he was never to play with Sebastian again.’

‘When you complained to Sebastian’s mother, did you receive a satisfactory response?’

‘No, Sebastian is a law unto himself in that house, or so I gather. His own mother has no control over him and his father’s often away. I don’t think she keeps well.’

Mrs Stokes wiped her nose and spoke down into her handkerchief. Daniel watched Charlotte out of the corner of his eye. She was impassive, but there was a shine on her make-up now. Neither woman looked at the other. Sebastian was sitting up straight, staring at Madeline. He blinked often.

‘So, you didn’t contact the Crolls about Ben’s disappearance because you had forbidden your son to play with Sebastian and so did not suspect that the two boys would be together. But you think that Ben would have disobeyed you …’

Mrs Croll began to weep silently. Her shoulders shook and she pinched her nose with the tissue. Her voice was deeper when she spoke again.

‘Ben was in thrall to Sebastian, I suppose. He was the stronger, older boy. He hadn’t played with Sebastian for months and I just didn’t think. Now, it … it seems obvious.’

‘What happened after you called the hospital and the police?’

‘My husband came home. The police were fantastic. I didn’t expect them to do anything so soon, but they were right there taking details, and they helped us to look around the area and put out a description of Ben.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Stokes,’ said Gordon Jones.

Irene Clarke stood up. Daniel watched her as she smiled encouragingly and folded her hands on the lectern. She was sombre, almost penitent before Mrs Stokes.

‘Mrs Stokes, I am sorry for the great tragedy that you and your family have experienced. I only want to ask you a few brief questions. Please take your time.’

Madeline gave a small strangled cough, and nodded.

‘Had your son ever disappeared for a long period of time before?’

‘No.’

‘You said that there was a time when he played regularly with Sebastian. On any of these occasions did the boys wander outside their normal play area or go missing for any period?’

Mrs Stokes coughed and appeared to have some trouble regaining composure.

‘Mrs Stokes?’

‘No.’

‘And is it not the case that until you knew that your neighbour’s child had been arrested you did not suspect that Sebastian could have been involved in your son’s disappearance?’

Madeline looked up into the corners of the court. Fraught in the witness box, she seemed exalted, and the room a hallowed space. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

‘I didn’t think of him,’ she said quietly.

‘You testified that you had to stop Ben seeing Sebastian. Is it then true that Ben enjoyed playing with Sebastian?’

‘No, he was a bully, he was …’ Mrs Stokes’s fingers tightened on the lip of the witness box.

‘You didn’t like Sebastian, Mrs Stokes, that much is apparent, but did your son not ask to play with him? You described him as being in thrall to Sebastian. Was it not the case that, despite your disapproval, Ben and Sebastian were actually friends who enjoyed each other’s company?’

Mrs Stokes blew her nose and took small breaths. The judge asked if she wanted a glass of water. She shook her head and looked up at Irene.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Stokes,’ said Irene, ‘I know this is very hard. Was this not the case?’

Madeline sighed and nodded.

‘Mrs Stokes, can I ask you to speak your answers out loud?’

‘Maybe they were friends.’

Irene glanced at Daniel and then sat down. She could have gone further, he knew, but the jury were tense with sympathy for the young boy’s mother. This too Daniel respected about Irene; she could turn a witness when she had to, but she always remained kind.

The breaks were regular because of rules put in place since the Bulger trial. Daniel went to the gents as soon as court adjourned. He felt heavy and tired. His heels sounded on the marble floors. The gents were familiar to him, with their blue walls and gold taps, but they smelled of ingrained urine and futile bleach.

There was a free urinal in the far corner. Daniel exhaled as he urinated into its white porcelain.

‘All right, Danny?’

It was Detective Superintendent McCrum. His shoulder nudged Daniel’s slightly as he unzipped.

‘Sometimes you wonder …’ McCrum said, his northern accent strangely warm and welcome in the cold Victorian toilet, ‘is there no other way? I can see this trial is going to be barbaric. It’s wrong to put them through all this.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Daniel. He shook and zipped and began to wash his hands. He didn’t know how Sebastian would cope with the long days ahead and the worst still to come. ‘And we’ve only just started …’

‘I know – that poor woman,’ said McCrum.

Daniel turned away. He left without saying another word, nodding at McCrum slightly as he passed. The older man watched him go.