Guilty One

25

It was the second week of Sebastian’s trial. Daniel was deliberately not reading the newspapers, but he was distracted by a story that he glimpsed over someone’s shoulder on the Tube. When he reached St Paul’s he ran into a newsagent’s where he picked up a copy of the Mail and flicked through it. On page six there was his photograph. He was frowning; it was a shot taken at the entrance to the Old Bailey. The headline read: THE MAN WHO WANTS TO FREE THE ANGEL KILLER. The report also mentioned Irene.

Daniel put the paper back on the rack. When he arrived at court, it was just before nine. The crowds outside the Old Bailey had not lessened since the trial began. A policeman shielded Daniel as he tried to enter the court, a cup of coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

‘Mr Hunter, what’s the defence going to be?’ a journalist shouted, and Daniel turned in case he recognised the man, but it was not the journalist who had called at his flat. ‘Would you say the Crown’s winning?’

The crowd jostled around the reporter.

*

Inside the Old Bailey, Daniel straightened his shoulders and walked towards Court Thirteen, looking up at the ornate, painted walls of the court. He saw Irene minutes before the judge came in. She tapped his shoulder as she passed, and bent down to whisper, ‘Bastards,’ so close that her voice tickled his ear. He knew she had seen the article.

‘They don’t know how they pervert justice,’ she said. ‘How dare they be judge and jury?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Daniel whispered back. ‘Good luck.’

‘The Crown calls John Cairns.’

John Cairns was a man uncomfortable in a suit. Daniel could see from the way the suit pulled at the shoulders that Cairns felt constricted. The man stepped into the witness box and took a sip of water before looking at the jury, at the judge and then at Gordon Jones with his sharp upturned jaw, who was addressing him.

‘Mr Cairns, you work at the Barnard Park Adventure Playground, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please can you state your role, and how long you have been employed there?’

‘I am one of the play managers, and I’ve worked there for the last three years.’ His voice was thick, as if he were nervous or recovering from a cold.

The court was freshly convened and rapt.

‘Mr Cairns, can you tell us about the morning of Monday 9 August this year?’

Mr Cairns sniffed, and leaned on the witness box for support. ‘I was first in. I’m always first. I opened up as usual and then made a cup of coffee. I always check the yard on Monday, in case any of the ropes are loose or … usually I need to tidy up some litter, so I did that next. It was while I was doing that that I found … the child’s body.’

‘The body was later identified as that of the victim, Benjamin Stokes. Can you confirm for us the exact location of the body when you found it?’

‘It was partially hidden under the small wooden playhouse that we have in the playground, in the far corner near Barnsbury Road and Copenhagen Street.’

‘At this point I would direct you to page fifty-three in the jury bundle. You will see here a map of the playground with the areas identified by numbered and lettered squares. Please can you tell us the approximate location on this map?’

‘E3.’

‘Thank you. Was the body immediately obvious to you?’

‘No, not at all. I saw there was something there, but to be honest I just thought it was a plastic carrier bag or something, litter that had got caught by the trees near the fence …’

There was a gasp from the gallery. Daniel glanced up to see Mrs Stokes lean forward, a hand over her mouth. Her husband pulled her into him, but she was now inconsolable and had to be taken out. Sebastian sat up straight with his hands folded in his lap. He seemed interested in the evidence of the play manager and also strangely pleased by Mrs Stokes’s breakdown. Daniel put a hand on his back to ask him to turn round, when he turned to watch Mrs Stokes go.

Kenneth Croll was in court, and he leaned forward then, rising out of his seat to do so, and poked Sebastian in the back. The thick finger was enough to send Sebastian jolting forward in his seat. Daniel glanced at Croll out of the corner of his eye. Sebastian began scrunching up his eyes again, and rocking slightly, back and forth.

The scribblers in the gallery had noticed. As had the jury.

‘Please continue, Mr Cairns,’ Jones prompted.

‘Well, as I drew nearer, I saw the boy’s trainers and again … my first thought was that they were discarded shoes and trousers that had possibly been thrown over the fence. You get that kind of thing … But as I drew near …’

‘We have photographs of the body as it was when you discovered it. If the jury could refer to page three in their bundle.’

Daniel watched as the jury viewed the photograph, hands over their mouths in distaste, although there was worse to come. Sebastian watched their faces. At the same time he was drawing in biro – a picture of trees.

‘Mr Cairns, I am sorry to press you on this, I know it must be disturbing for you to recall, but if you could continue telling us what you saw.’

‘Well, as I drew near, I saw that it wasn’t a pile of clothes, but rather a small boy, underneath the wooden house.’

‘Immediately you could see that it was a boy?’

‘No, I could see his legs sticking out. His face was well hidden, under the house, but I realised it was a child.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I crawled under the trees and then down on my belly to pull him out from under the wooden house, but as I drew near I realized …’

‘Yes, Mr Cairns?’

‘Well, I realised that he was dead and so I daren’t touch him. I went inside immediately and called the police.’

‘Were you aware that a little boy had gone missing?’

‘Well, I don’t live in the area, but when I came to work in the morning I saw the pictures and I saw the incident van. I hadn’t watched the news. I didn’t know what it was all about …’

‘You just described to us how you accessed the body …’ Jones placed his glasses over his nose and held his notes at arm’s length to read, ‘“crawling … on your belly”.’ He removed his glasses and leaned forward on his lectern. ‘So would it be correct to say that the area where the body was found was difficult for an adult to access?’

‘Very much so, it’s totally overgrown. I think that’s why the body wasn’t spotted. I’m only glad it was me and not one of the kids that found him.’

‘Indeed. When the little boy was identified, did you recognise him?’

‘No. He wasn’t a regular at the playground.’

‘Thank you, Mr Cairns.’

There was the usual hush as Gordon Jones turned towards Irene Clarke. Daniel bit his lip as he waited for her question. He watched her consulting her notes, noticing the tendon defining her long neck.

Jones looked pleased with himself. By trying to show that the murder site was inaccessible to an adult, he had pre-empted the defence’s assertion that the injuries inflicted on Ben required strength difficult to attribute to a child.

Irene leaned on the lectern with both hands and smiled at Mr Cairns with closed lips. Daniel admired her poise.

‘Mr Cairns, you describe the structure under which the victim was found as a wooden house. Could you tell us a little more about it, please?’

‘Well, it’s a small hut or house, raised off the ground on stilts … I suppose you might call it a tree house, but … it’s only a couple of feet off the ground. It’s still surrounded by trees so it gives the kids that kind of feeling. I suppose that’s the idea.’

‘Is this a popular part of the playground for children to play?’

‘Well, sometimes they do play there, but I wouldn’t say it’s popular, no. Because it’s so overgrown, it’s a bit too wild for some of the kids. Quite often there are insects and nettles and such …’

‘My goodness, it sounds to me like a difficult area to reach, even if you were a child?’

‘To some extent. You have to push branches out of the way, maybe get yourself a bit dirty. Most kids don’t mind that though.’

‘So would you say it took you, what … ten minutes to reach the tree house and the victim’s body?’

‘No, less than a minute.’

‘Less than a minute? For a grown man to push through all this greenery?’

‘Yes, I would say so.’

‘So it is not the case that this area of the park is accessible only to children?’

‘No, we couldn’t have that. We supervise all the play and so we need to be able to get into all the corners, in case kids are in trouble.’

‘Might it even be the case that some children would have difficulty reaching the house, possibly if they lacked the strength to hold the branches back?’

‘Well, yes, that might be the case, but most of the children just crawl in under the trees. An adult would have to push the trees back.’

‘Thank you, Mr Cairns, nothing further.’

After the break, Daniel noted Kenneth Croll sitting far back in his chair, glaring at Sebastian. The boy turned away from his father, looking down at the table, as if shamed. Daniel had found a word-search in one of the newspapers that had been left in the common room. He placed it in front of Sebastian, turning to glance and nod at Croll.

Sebastian dipped his head and took the lid off his pen and began to circle the words, intent. Daniel observed the boy’s fragile neck: the nape with its tapering baby hairs. He had watched grown men weep at their trials and wondered what strength allowed Sebastian to maintain such concentration and composure.

The video screens were being checked. Madeline Stokes was in tears. Her face was white and twisted, and Daniel had to look away. He had seen their family liaison officer explaining something to them during the break. Mr Stokes had been nodding, his face dark. Daniel could guess what they were being told. The pathologist, police witnesses and forensic scientists were next to be called. The solicitor would have explained that the photographs of the body were all necessary and that they needed to be projected in order to highlight details, but that the parents did not have to remain in court. Possibly Mr Stokes had identified his son’s body: confirming a birthmark on the shoulder, or the shape of Ben’s feet.

Now he did not turn to comfort his wife as she cried, or pass her a handkerchief when she opened her handbag in search of a tissue. Only his eyes belied his pain; they searched the courtroom, every corner, every face, as if silently asking why.

‘Are they going to show a movie?’ asked Sebastian.

‘No, they’ll be showing some pictures of …’ Daniel stopped himself from saying the body, remembering Sebastian’s fascination. ‘The other side’s lawyers will have some experts to explain what they think happened to the victim. I expect they’ll want to point things out on the screen …’

Sebastian smiled and nodded, put the lid on his pen and clasped his hands. It was as if a show was about to begin.

The afternoon began with police evidence: photographs of the child’s body, found flat on his back, arms at his sides. Sergeant Turner, who had interviewed Sebastian, went into the witness box. Footage was shown of Sebastian being questioned – refusing to admit that he had hurt Ben in any way. Jones took the rest of the afternoon to question Sergeant Turner, while playing footage of Sebastian talking about the blood on his clothes, and breaking down in tears. Jones also lingered over Sebastian’s bravado in the face of questioning and his logical explanations for the forensic evidence being on his person. The jury seemed to be left with the impression that Sebastian was clever and manipulative beyond his years.

It was the next morning before Irene was able to properly cross-examine the police sergeant. The court seemed heavier and more quiet than usual, as if everyone was still shocked by the sight of the young boy sobbing in police custody from the day before. He had seemed so small on the tapes.

‘Sergeant, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr Rankine’s statement, if that’s OK?’ Irene began.

‘Of course,’ said the sergeant. Under the bright courtroom lighting, his face seemed red, almost angry, yet he smiled at Irene.

‘We have heard from the pathologist that the victim could have been attacked any time on the afternoon of 8 August … four, five, even nearer six o’clock. Mr Rankine stated that he saw a person in a pale blue or white top seemingly attacking the victim around three thirty or four in the afternoon. What did you do to confirm the identity of this white attacker?’

‘A white top belonging to the defendant has been submitted into evidence. The witness seemed confident that he saw a boy matching the description of the defendant earlier in the day – which the defendant admits – and then later on.’

‘I see,’ said Irene, turning and raising her hand to the jury. ‘But of course!’ She turned to face the sergeant. ‘Your defendant had a white top and admits squabbling with the victim around two. No need for you to do anything further. No need to investigate whether or not there was another attacker, possibly an adult in a pale blue top …’

‘Miss Clarke,’ said Baron, with another crumpled smile, ‘do you intend to pose a question to the witness?’

‘Yes, m’lord. Sergeant, did the witness become convinced he saw a child in a white top because your colleagues suggested that you had someone of that description in custody?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Miss Clarke, I would have expected better from a young QC,’ chastised the judge.

Daniel glanced at Irene but she was undaunted. She had a tilt to her chin as if in challenge.

‘Sergeant Turner,’ she continued, ‘Mr Rankine has admitted in court that he may in fact have seen an adult wearing a blue or white top. Regardless of whether the defendant owned a white top, can you tell us what you did to trace this sighting of someone attacking the victim late in the afternoon at a time when my client has an alibi?’

‘We did examine CCTV footage, but could not confirm anyone in the playground at the time … in fact for the entire afternoon and early evening.’

‘Does that mean that a pale-blue-shirted adult did not attack the victim that afternoon?’

‘No, nor does it prove that your client did not attack the victim that afternoon.’

‘And why is that?’

Sergeant Turner coughed. ‘Well, the TV cameras were mainly aimed at the surrounding streets during the afternoon and not turned on the park for sufficient time to allow a sighting … Basically the attack was not on camera, neither was the fight the boys had earlier, to which the defendant has already admitted.’

‘How convenient.’ Again Irene turned to the jury. ‘The cameras were not pointed at the park in the afternoon, a witness spots a white- or pale-blue-shirted person attacking the victim, you have a child in custody who owns a white shirt, so that’s that …’

‘A white shirt marked with the victim’s blood,’ said Sergeant Turner, interrupting her, raising his voice.

Daniel felt the courtroom bristle as Irene again tilted her chin to the attack.

‘When the CCTV footage proved useless, what else did you do to find the late afternoon attacker?’

‘As I said, forensic evidence convinced us that we had our man.’ Turner paused and seemed to blush, as if in recognition of the inappropriateness of his language.

‘You had your man,’ repeated Irene. ‘I see. You had a very small boy in custody, and a witness who told you that he saw someone in a pale blue or white top attacking the victim around four o’clock …’

Again Turner interrupted Irene. ‘The witness said he saw a boy … the same boy from the afternoon.’

Daniel could sense that the jury were displeased by the sergeant shouting at Irene.

‘I see, so you had a match …’ Irene turned to the witness and paused.

‘We didn’t fit him up, he fitted the description.’ Turner’s face was now very red.

‘What if I was to tell you that Mr Rankine testified to being myopic, and that he now considers he may have seen an adult that afternoon, would you still consider that you had a match?’

‘Yes, the forensic evidence speaks for itself.’

‘I would say your lack of police work speaks for itself. If there is a chance that the witness did see an adult attack the victim, do you not consider it reasonable to do everything in your powers to locate this person?’

‘We conducted a thorough investigation. The defendant matched the description given by the witness, and was later found to have the victim’s blood on his clothes.’

‘Job done, I see,’ said Irene, raising her eyes to the jury and sitting down.

Baron lowered his glasses on his nose to stare critically at Irene before excusing the witness, but said nothing.

Daniel noticed that she was breathing hard when she sat down. He watched the gentle swell of her chest. He stared at her for a few moments hoping that she would turn to him, but she did not.

In the afternoon, scenes of crime officers then testified to the evidence that had been recovered from the crime scene: the brick and blood-soaked foliage.

‘Let us be very clear,’ Irene said in cross-examination. ‘You did not find a single fingerprint at the crime scene?’

‘Well, we found some partial prints but these were not identifiable.’

‘To clarify, you did not find a single viable fingerprint at the crime scene?’

‘Correct.’

‘What about on the murder weapon? Did you get a print from the brick?’

‘No, but that is not surprising considering the nature of the surface …’

‘I will thank you to answer yes or no.’

‘No.’

After the scenes of crime officer left the stand, there was a break and then the Crown’s expert forensic scientist was called: Harry Watson.

Jones stood up and asked Watson to confirm his name and title and state his qualifications. Watson listed them: Bachelor of Arts from Nottingham, a chartered biologist and a member of the Institute of Biology. He had attended basic and advanced bloodstain pattern analysis courses held in the United States of America and was a member of the International Association of Bloodstain Pattern Analysts. Watson described his experience as being mainly in the area of biological aspects of forensic science, such as body fluids, hairs and fibres.

Daniel could sense that Sebastian was bored. It had been a long afternoon, but this evidence was key to the Crown’s case and Daniel was hoping that Irene would be able to undermine it.

‘Which particular items did you analyse?’ Jones asked.

‘Mainly the clothes of the victim and the clothes of the defendant.’ Watson was about fifty and filled out his suit. He sat rigid, with tight lips as he waited on the next question.

‘And what did you find?’

‘The defendant’s jeans were taken into evidence on a search of the home. A concentration of fibres was found on the inner thigh area of the jeans. The fibres were positively matched with fibres from the trousers of the victim. Blood spatter was also identified on the defendant’s shoes, jeans and T-shirt. This blood was positively identified as belonging to the victim.’

‘How would you describe the blood pattern found on the defendant’s clothes?’

‘The stains found on the T-shirt were expirated blood – that’s blood blown out of the nose, mouth or a wound as a result of air pressure which is the propelling force.’

‘What sort of injuries to a victim would cause this kind of blood spatter on the defendant?’

‘The blood spatter is consistent with facial trauma – a violent assault to the face or nose, with the victim then blowing blood on to the attacker.’

Shocked murmurs rippled through the courtroom.

‘So Sebastian Croll was spattered with the victim’s expirated blood. Was there anything else about the blood on the defendant’s clothes which indicated that he had been involved in a violent incident with the deceased?’

‘In addition to the expirated blood found on the defendant’s T-shirt there was contact staining on the jeans and shoes, which suggested that the defendant had been in close proximity to the deceased at the time of the fatal assault. There was also a small amount of blood on the sole of the defendant’s shoe.’

‘What might the blood on the sole indicate?’

‘Well, this may have occurred as a result of standing in the victim’s blood, after the assault had taken place.’

‘Was there any forensic evidence which suggested that the violent incident had taken place where the body was discovered?’

‘Yes, the soiling on the knees of the defendant’s jeans and the bottom area of the victim’s trousers was consistent with the leaves and dirt found at the crime scene.’

‘Was any other biological material from the victim recovered from the defendant?’

‘Well, yes, the defendant’s skin was found under the victim’s fingernails and there were scratches on the defendant’s arms and neck.’

‘So Ben had tried to fight Sebastian off and scratched him in the process?’

‘That is how it appeared.’

Gordon Jones took his seat, as Irene Clarke rose.

‘Mr Watson,’ said Irene, not looking at the witness but instead consulting her notes, ‘when did you join the Home Office Forensic Science Service?’

Mr Watson straightened his tie then replied: ‘Just over thirty years ago.’

‘Thirty years. My! Quite a wealth of experience. You joined in 1979, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘And in those thirty-one years of service, can you tell us how many cases you worked on?’

‘I have no way to tell without checking my records.’

‘Estimate for us – what would it be: thirty, a hundred, more than five hundred – how many, roughly?’

Irene was leaning forward on her lectern, shoulders near her ears. Daniel thought she looked like a girl leaning out of a window watching a parade.

‘In thirty-one years, I would say I have been directly involved in hundreds of cases, maybe less but maybe more than five hundred.’

‘And how many trials have you given evidence at in your thirty-one years of service?’

‘Over a hundred, I’m sure.’

‘Two hundred and seventy three, to be exact. You are indeed an expert witness. Tell me, in those two hundred and seventy-three cases, how many times have you given evidence for the defence?’

‘My evidence is impartial and I have no bias towards defence or prosecution.’

‘Of course. Let me clarify: in how many of your two hundred and seventy-three trials have you given evidence as a witness called by the prosecution?’

‘Most.’

‘Most. Would you hazard a guess at how many?’

‘Maybe two thirds?’

‘Not quite, Mr Watson. In two hundred and seventy three trials you have been cited as a witness for the defence only three times. Three times in thirty years. Do you find that surprising?’

‘A little, I would have expected a few more.’

‘I see. A few more. Regarding your qualifications, I see that you have a Bachelor of Arts from Nottingham … Economics. Do you find economics useful in your current field?’

‘I have since become a chartered biologist.’

‘I see. You have testified that there were fibres from Ben Stokes’s jeans on the defendant’s clothing. Tell me, would we not expect that two boys – neighbours – who played together might have fibres of each other’s clothes on their person as a result of normal play?’

‘It is possible, yes.’

‘Similarly, the defensive scratches on the defendant and the skin under the victim’s nails – these could have been the result of normal rough-and-tumble play between two schoolboys, could it not?’

‘It is possible.’

‘And you have also stated that the blood on Sebastian’s clothing was expirated. You testified that this was consistent with a blow to the nose or the face. Correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘The defendant made a statement to the effect that the victim fell and hit his nose while they were together, causing it to bleed severely. My client has stated that he leaned over the victim to inspect the injury. Tell us, is it possible that transfer of the identified expirated blood could have occurred under these more benign circumstances?’

‘The blood spatter is consistent with force, and I consider this to be the more likely cause, but it is possible that the expirated blood transfer could have been the result of the accidental injury you describe.’

‘One more thing,’ said Irene. ‘The blood on the defendant’s clothing – expirated, contact staining and otherwise – is minimal, would you say?’

‘There is a modest amount of blood on the clothes.’

‘The blood transfer was clearly evident on forensic examination – but referring to the photographs on page twenty-three of the bundle, it is not clearly apparent to the naked eye.’

Sebastian watched, eyes wide. Daniel remembered watching friends’ children viewing video games: their stillness unnatural in ones so young. Now Sebastian’s attention was also unnatural. He pored over the photographs of the blood spatter on the soiled clothing.

‘The blood spots were apparent to the naked eye, but they were not so large or significant as to be clearly identified as blood.’

‘I see. Thank you for that clarification, Mr Watson … With a severe injury of this type – blunt force trauma to the face – obviously carried out with the assailant in close proximity to the victim, would we not expect the attacker to be … covered in blood?’

Watson shifted in his seat. Daniel watched him. His ruddy facial colouring suggested that he was quick to anger.

The witness cleared his throat. ‘The type of injury would be consistent with significant loss of blood and we would expect significant transfer of blood on to the attacker.’

‘Typically, with this type of blunt force trauma, would you have expected the expirated blood and contact staining to be significantly more than the localised staining found on the defendant’s clothing?’

‘We have to remember the position of the body and the fact that most of the damage was done by internal bleeding … ’

‘I see,’ said Irene. ‘But you did just say that you would expect significant transfer of blood, nevertheless?’

Again Watson cleared his throat. He looked around the courtroom as if for help. Jones was staring at him, his chin pinched between two fingers.

‘Mr Watson, is it not the case that we would have expected the attacker’s clothes to be covered in blood with this type of injury?’

‘Typically, we would have expected a greater amount of contact staining, or airborne transfer of blood.’

‘Thank you, Mr Watson.’

The cross-examination had gone so well that Irene decided not to call the defence’s forensic scientist when the defence began. This turning of the Crown scientist to the defence’s benefit was more powerful.

The week closed with the Crown’s pathologist, Jill Gault. When she took the witness box, she was as warm and reassuring as she had seemed to Daniel in her office overlooking St James’s Park. She was tall, in boots and a grey suit. She looked like the kind of person who went rowing on weekends, untroubled by the knowledge of how – exactly – a child’s skull had been crushed.

‘Dr Gault, you conducted a post-mortem on the victim, Benjamin Stokes?’ Jones began.

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘Can you tell us the conclusion that you came to about the cause of death?’

‘Cause of death was acute subdural haematoma, consistent with blunt force trauma – caused by a blow to the front right side of the skull.’

‘And, in layman’s terms, Dr Gault, how would you describe a subdural haematoma?’

‘Well, it is basically bleeding in the brain, causing increasing pressure on the brain which, if not treated, will result in brain death.’

A model of the brain and the injury described was projected for the jury, to show the exact location of the wound. There was a photograph in the jury bundle of Ben Stokes’s face. Sebastian studied it, then leaned to whisper into Daniel’s ear: ‘Why is his other eye not shut? When you’re dead, don’t your eyes close?’ Daniel felt the boy’s balmy fingers on his hand. He leaned down to hush him.

‘Dr Gault, did you determine the instrument that caused this fatal blow to the head?’

‘The injury was consistent with blunt force – the murder weapon would therefore have been a blunt, heavy object. A brick was recovered from the scene and small pieces of brick were retrieved from the facial injury.’

The clerk brought an exhibit bag and a brick enclosed in cellophane was shown to the jury.

‘This brick was found at the crime scene and we have heard evidence to confirm that the victim’s blood, brain matter, skin and hair were identified on its surface. Did you find the shape and size of this brick consistent with the injuries sustained by the victim?’

‘Yes, the contours of the brick match those of the wound exactly.’

Again, a model was used to show the fit of the brick in the wound.

Sebastian turned to Daniel and smiled. ‘That’s the actual brick,’ he whispered with honeyed breath.

Daniel nodded, a hand held out to hush him.

The pictures of Ben Stokes’s mutilated face flashed on the screens, which were provided for judge, jurors and counsel but invisible to the gallery. The child’s left eye was open – as Sebastian had noted – white and clear; the right reminded Daniel of a smashed bird’s egg. Jurors recoiled. Judge Philip Baron considered his screen impassively. Daniel studied the older man’s face, the weight of his skin pulling his mouth down. Jill Gault used a laser to indicate the point of impact and spoke of the force necessary to create such damage to skull and cheek-bone.

‘And were you able to establish the time of death, Dr Gault?’ Gordon Jones continued, his pen stabbing into his folder.

‘Yes, approximately six forty-five in the evening on Sunday 8 August.’

‘And would that rule out an attack earlier in the day, for example, in the afternoon at either two or even four o’clock, when the defendant was last seen fighting with the victim?’

‘Not at all. With acute subdural haematoma, it is possible only to approximate the time of death, not time of injury. The nature of this injury is such that death may occur shortly after injury, or following a period of hours. Haemorrhaging causes pressure on the brain but it can be anything from minutes to hours before it becomes fatal.’

‘So, Ben may have died some hours after he was struck in the face with the brick, is that correct?’

‘Yes, that is correct.’

‘Might he have been conscious during this period?’

‘It is highly unlikely … but possible.’

‘Possible. Thank you, Dr Gault.’

Judge Baron cleared his throat noisily and leaned into his microphone.

‘In view of the hour, I think this may be a convenient time for a break.’ He turned at the hip, swivelling his robes and jowly face towards the jury. ‘Time to slope off and get a cup of coffee. I remind you not to discuss this case outside your number.’

All rise.

Daniel stayed until Sebastian was escorted downstairs, then stepped outside. He put his hands in his pockets as he watched the people in the ornate, painted hallways of the Central Criminal Court: shoals of lost souls shuffling with grief and poverty and ill fortune. Happiness and misery were decided here, not found. He felt desolate, another of the lost souls that reeled in its spaces, and took his phone out and called Cunningham. He was with a client, so Daniel left a message asking for information on the sale of Minnie’s house.

He felt a touch on his shoulder. It was Irene.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Sure – why do you ask?’

‘Every time I looked at you in there, you were frowning.’

‘Looking at me a lot, were you?’ he flirted, although he realised the mood wasn’t right.

She tapped him punitively on the arm with her pen. ‘What’s worrying you?’

‘Did you see the jury’s faces when those pictures were shown?’

‘I know, but we’re going to prove that Sebastian is not responsible.’

‘And Jones asking if Ben could still have been conscious for the possible hours before he died. God.’ Daniel shook his head but Irene placed a hand on his forearm. He felt the warmth of her.

‘Don’t lose faith,’ she whispered.

‘Not in you,’ he said as she turned from him and headed back to court.

‘Dr Gault, you described subdural haematoma as “bleeding in the brain”,’ Irene asked in cross-examination. ‘So we would expect the blood loss to be substantial?’

‘Well, blood collects in the brain as a result of trauma. With any subdural haematoma, tiny veins between the surface of the brain and its outer covering, the dura, stretch and tear, allowing blood to collect. It is this pressure that causes death.’

‘Thank you for that clarification, Doctor. But tell us, with this type of blunt force facial trauma, would you expect that an attacker would be … spattered with the blood of the victim as a result of the assault?’

‘Yes, it is likely that a facial trauma of this nature would have caused significant blood spatter on to the perpetrator.’

Irene paused and nodded. Daniel watched her melon-seed face tilt, considering.

‘One final question – how much does a brick weigh, Dr Gault?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘A brick, your average brick, like the brick in evidence, how much does it weigh?’

‘I would say about four pounds.’

‘So tell us, Doctor, in your opinion what kind of strength or force would be needed in order to inflict the injuries which Benjamin Stokes sustained, bearing in mind the weight of the murder weapon?’

‘Quite significant force.’

‘Would you imagine that the necessary force could have been produced by an eleven-year-old boy – particularly one of the defendant’s small stature?’

Dr Gault shifted in her seat. She glanced in Sebastian’s direction and Daniel noticed that Sebastian met her gaze.

‘No, I would have imagined that the necessary force was more consistent with an adult assailant … but having said that … Someone of smaller stature, or indeed a child, might have been able to inflict these injuries if the victim was below the assailant, allowing the force of gravity to compensate for lack of physical force.’

‘I see.’ Judge Baron nodded. ‘I see. Do you have any further questions, Miss Clarke?’

‘It is your expert medical opinion, Dr Gault, that a child would have difficulty in inflicting these injuries because of the weight of the murder weapon?’

‘The witness has been asked and has answered, Miss Clarke,’ said Baron. Irene sat down, a brief flush on her cheeks. ‘Mr Jones?’

‘If I may, my lord, a point of clarification … ’

Judge Baron fluttered his fingers in agreement. Irene shot a glance at Daniel.

Gordon Jones once more assumed the lectern. ‘Dr Gault, very briefly, if the fatal blow was delivered with the aid of gravity, would this be consistent with the position of the body when it was found – face up, hands by the side?’

‘… yes,’ said Dr Gault, with some hesitation. ‘Several positions might have been possible, but certainly if the victim had been somewhat stunned or afraid, it might have been possible to deliver the blow while he was on the ground, either from a standing position or sitting … astride, as it were. This would have been easier for a … weaker assailant.’

‘Thank you, Dr Gault.’

Daniel brought home several newspapers and flicked through each until he found reports from the trial. Several of the stories focused on his and Sebastian’s relationship: the boy huddled close to his solicitor. One wrote of Dr Gault’s evidence: ‘The Crown pathologist, Dr Jillian Gault, speculated that the Angel Killer may have sat astride his victim in order to wield sufficient force to bludgeon him to death, face to face.’

Daniel washed a hand across his eyes. The flat was dark, but he could not bear to turn on the lights. The kitchen table was covered in his work files. He stood at the window and watched the park in the vacillating moonlight. The lake turned like a penny in the changing light. He felt tired but it was a restless weariness and he knew he would not be able to sleep.

He noticed the answerphone flashing. Cunningham had left a message. The line was bad and Daniel could not hear every word: ‘Danny, hi, I got your message … The house is cleared and I have a buyer lined up. Young couple from the city, who’ve been looking for a smallholding like this for a while. I sent you an email. It’s a good offer, so give me a call and let me know if we can proceed to sale.’

Daniel exhaled. Automatically, he deleted the message. He wasn’t ready for this now. He needed time to prepare. He lay down fully clothed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, unblinking. He remembered going to Minnie’s house for the first time as a child. He remembered his tantrums and his rage. But after all that had happened between them and all that she had done for him, what he remembered most clearly were the last words that he had said to her face: I wish you were dead.

Now that she was dead, he wanted to say he was sorry. The trial of the boy only forced him to think about her more. The trial made him realise how close he had come to being in Sebastian’s position. She had hurt him, but she had saved him too.

He ran the palm of his hand across his chest, feeling the bones of his ribcage. He remembered Charlotte’s inappropriate advances at the back door of the cells. He was uncertain why he so pitied her. Daniel felt cheated on Sebastian’s behalf by Charlotte’s weakness and desperation, although the child showed her nothing but love.

He put a hand underneath his head. He could understand Sebastian’s passion for his mother. As a child he had been willing to die to protect his own. He remembered standing barefoot, in his pyjamas, between her and the boyfriend. He remembered feeling the slow, hot vein of the urine down his leg, and yet still being prepared to take what was coming, if it would save her.

After that he had been taken into care.

He thought of his mother: the marks on her arms and her mood swings, the unclean smell of her breath. He pitied her now, as he pitied Charlotte. His desperate, childish love for her had been eclipsed long ago. He had been a grown man before he realised the harm that she had done him.

Daniel sat up and ran a hand across his jaw. He changed out of his work clothes and then picked up the phone in the hall. He stood with the receiver in his hand, undecided, before dialling the number. It was Harriet’s husband who answered this time. Daniel stammered slightly, explaining who he was.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said the man, ‘I’ll just get her.’

Daniel stood with a palm pressed against the wall as he waited. There was the sound of the television in the background, and the older man clearing his throat. Daniel bit his lip.

‘Hello again.’ Her voice was tired. ‘Lovely, but I’m surprised to hear from you again so soon.’

‘I know, it was just something that you said the other day. I’ve been thinking about it. Do you have time right now?’

‘Of course, love, what is it?’

The sound of her voice reminded him of Minnie. He closed his eyes.

‘I spoke to Norman’s sister. She told me more about the crash … ’

Harriet said nothing, but he could hear her breathing.

‘It’s just that I don’t think I ever fully understood what Minnie went through, and now I do and … I was thinking about something that you said … ’

He could feel his heart beating. He paused to allow her to speak but still she remained silent. He wondered if he had angered her again.

‘What, love?’ she said finally. ‘What did I say?’

He took a deep breath. ‘About her torturing herself by taking in all the foster kids.’

‘I know, God love her.’

Daniel made a fist with his hand and punched it lightly into the wall. ‘Why me, do you think? Why did she adopt me, and none of the others?’

Harriet sighed.

‘Was it because I asked her to? Or … because I was scared of being sent away? Had she considered adopting any of the others?’

He waited for Harriet to speak but she did not. The silence lingered gravely, like the low note of a piano with the pedal pressed.

‘Don’t you know, pet?’ she said, finally. ‘She loved you like her own. You were special to her, so you were. I remember the first year you went to stay with her. She had a lot of trouble with you at first, I remember. You were a wild one. But she saw something inyou …

‘I mean, she wanted the best for you, of course. She would have given you up for your own good, like she gave up the others. She was on her own and she kept telling me how children needed families – brothers and sisters … a man around. I remember her trying to find a proper home for you, all the while desperate to have you stay.’

‘She was family enough for anyone … for me anyway.’

‘That day she adopted you, she called me after you were asleep. I hadn’t heard her so happy since before Delia died.’

Daniel cleared his throat. Harriet began to cough: a rasping cough so severe that she had to put down the phone for a second. Daniel waited.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I can’t shift this cough. Mother of God … But you have to know, Danny … She wanted nothing more than for you to be her son. You were so important to her.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, almost whispering.

‘Don’t think of these things now, son. It does nobody any good. Put it behind you.’

Harriet began to cough again.

‘You should go to a doctor,’ he said.

‘I’ll be grand. Are you all right? I thought I saw you on the news the other day. Are you on that Angel Killer case, now? Was that really you? What a terrible business that is.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ said Daniel. He stood up straight; mention of the case shook him from the morose claw of his memory.

‘What is the world coming to? Have you ever heard the like – bairns killing each other like that?’

Daniel slipped a hand into his pocket and said that he would need to go.

‘Right you are, love. You always did work so hard. You go and put your feet up now. Stop thinking about all this.’

Daniel hung up. He went to bed, regret chiming inside him.

When he woke, it was six thirty and he was late for his run. A dream was still fresh in his mind. He had dreamed of the house in Brampton. The walls of the house had been open, like a model nativity scene or a doll’s house. The animals had walked freely inside and out. Daniel was grown in the dream, but still living there, caring for the animals. Minnie was outside somewhere, but he couldn’t see or hear her.

In her kitchen, he had found a lamb: asleep, breathing audible contented snores, its abdomen rising and falling, and a gentle smile on its lips. Daniel had bent and carried the lamb outside, where bright sunshine was splitting the trees.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Daniel could still remember the tangible weight of the lamb in his hands and the warmth of its thin fleece.

After breakfast he checked his emails, then returned Cunningham’s call and agreed that the farm could be sold. Daniel spoke very quietly when he said the words, in case he changed his mind. It was time to sell the house, he decided. He needed to move on. Perhaps when the house was gone, he would be free of regret. He would think about her no more.