Guilty One

29

Back from his run, Daniel showered and stood with a towel around his waist, shaving. Normally he would be in a rush, and would smooth the shaver over his jaw before eating breakfast standing up in the kitchen. This morning he had plenty of time, and so he soaped up. Irene’s application to the judge had been successful. Today Sebastian would give evidence. It was possible that by the end of the week there would be a verdict.

Daniel finished shaving and wiped his face dry. He stood with his hands on the sink staring at his reflection. He saw the line of muscle on his upper arms and, when he held his breath and tensed, the rows of muscle on his abdomen appeared. His chest was hairless apart from one or two hairs around his breastbone, and a sparse triangle below his navel. He ran a hand over his now-smooth jawline. He felt relaxed after his run, but his mind was still troubled.

Cunningham was proceeding with the sale of the farmhouse. Daniel didn’t want the farm, yet whenever he thought of it, he felt a sharp pang of grief.

He stared at his face again. He remembered Minnie taking his chin between her forefinger and thumb and telling him he was good-looking. He remembered sweeping all her photographs off the mantelpiece. He remembered her face, twisted with the pain of thinking that she would lose him after all that they had been through together. He missed her, he admitted now. He had missed her even as he stood before her promising that she would never see him again. He had taken out loans and worked in bars in Sheffield at night, determined to finish university without her; determined to prove that he didn’t need her. He had missed her then and he missed her now.

She had wanted to come to his graduation, but he wouldn’t let her. He had never admitted it to himself before, but he had missed her that day too. He remembered looking anxiously around in case she had come nevertheless. All the other parents were there, brothers, sisters. He had drunk champagne on his own and then snogged one of the waitresses.

And then he had been working, and Minnie was off his mind. Success came quickly and he paid off his loans and bought the flat in Bow.

He put both hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward until his brown eyes came into focus. It seemed incomprehensible to him now that he had sustained so much anger towards her, for so long. He had always wanted more from her – repentance had never been enough. He hadn’t considered what she had already lost, before he forced her to lose him too.

Daniel took a deep breath. With regret so heavy on his mind, he didn’t want to face the day, but he was ready for it.

In the cell, Sebastian was playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ with the police officer. He was kneeling on his bunk in his jacket and tie, giggling. The jury should see this, Daniel thought: no monster, but a child who still takes delight in childish things.

‘Do you want to play, Danny?’ Sebastian asked.

‘No, we need to go soon.’

The judge agreed that Sebastian could give evidence, but there was no question that this would be other than via video link. There was no way to gauge how the child would perform on the day, plus there were practical considerations, such as his stature being too short for the witness box, and the necessity of the court to see his facial expressions. The criminal justice system had been criticised enough over the years for its indifference to young people accused of serious crimes and Justice Baron would not open the proceedings to further criticism. The video would be shown in open court but out of view of the gallery.

Walking to Court Thirteen, Daniel checked his phone. There was a text from Cunningham:

House contracts to be exchanged end of week. Call me later.

Daniel stopped on the flagstoned hallway, the stone arches of the old court stretching overhead. Not now. Not now. He breathed out and pressed his lips together. Irene appeared at his side.

Daniel switched off his phone and put it in his pocket.

‘Listen, I want you to keep a close eye on him this morning. If you get any feeling that he’s not coping, we can stop it. He seems to talk to you,’ she said.

‘I’m not with him. They have a social worker …’

‘I know, but we’ll take regular breaks. Check on him.’

‘Will do … Good luck,’ said Daniel.

*

‘My lord, I now call … Sebastian Croll.’

The screen flickered and then Sebastian’s face appeared. He was sitting up straight and wore a thin smile.

‘Sebastian?’ said Philip Baron, turning himself round to face the screen.

‘Yes, sir?’

Daniel sat back in his chair. Yes, sir. During rehearsal, Sebastian had not been told to address the judge that way. Daniel glanced up at the gallery. It was full today, but restless. Daniel could sense the journalists’ frustration at being unable to see the screen: necks craned and fingers appeared on the edge of the balcony.

‘I want to ask you a question. Do you know what it means to tell the truth?’

‘Yes, sir, it means you don’t tell any lies.’

‘And do you know the difference between the truth and a lie?’

‘Yes, the truth is what really happened and a lie is what didn’t.’

‘And if you promise today to tell the truth, what do you think

that means?’

‘I must tell the truth.’

‘Very well,’ said Baron, to the court. ‘He may be sworn.’

Irene stood up, ‘I want you to tell us, first of all, about your relationship with Ben Stokes. How long had you known Ben?’

‘For about three or four years.’

‘And how would you describe Ben, would you describe him as a friend?’

‘He was my friend and my neighbour and my schoolmate,’ said Sebastian clearly.

‘And did you play with him regularly?’

‘I played with him sometimes.’

‘How often would you say that was?’

The projected image of Sebastian was pensive, the large green eyes, turned up to one side, considering the question. ‘Probably about three times a month.’

‘And what kind of things would you do together?’

‘Well, if we were at school, we might play with a ball or play tig. If we were at home, sometimes he would come to my house or I would go to his, but normally we would play outside.’

‘On the day that Ben went missing, Sebastian, did you see him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you tell us what happened?’

‘Well, like I told the police, he was out playing on his bike and I asked him if he wanted to play. We played by our houses for a while, but then we decided to go to the adventure playground.’

‘Whose decision was that?’

‘Well, it was really a joint decision, I suppose.’

The judge interrupted, his heavy cheeks colouring with temper. ‘You must slow down, Miss Clarke. You forget I have to note this down!’

‘Yes, my lord, getting somewhat carried away … Now, Sebastian, a little slower, did you tell your mother where you were going?’

‘No.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Well, we were just going to the park. It’s only over there, and we would be back before she knew it.’

Daniel exhaled down his nose. Sebastian had changed the pace of his speech, pausing after every phrase, to allow the judge to take notes.

‘What happened when you got to the park?’

‘Well, we were running about and chasing each other and then we started to have a play fight, which turned into a bit of a real fight … Ben started calling me names and shoving me … At first I told him to stop it, but he wouldn’t stop at all. So I pushed him back. It was then that the tall man with the dog called over … Mr Rankine.’

Irene faltered for a moment. Sebastian had remembered the name of the witness.

‘He told us to cut it out, and so we did for a little bit – we ran over the crest of the hill.’

‘What happened then?’ prompted Irene, clearing her throat.

‘Well, we ran into the playground. It was closed, but there’s still a way in. When we got there, we climbed up to the highest part of the climbing frame, but then I started to wonder about my mum. She was having a lie-down ’cause she had a headache. I thought I would go back and check on her …’

Daniel saw Irene’s shoulders relax. Sebastian was on track.

‘But … Ben didn’t want me to go home. He started pushing and shoving me again. I was scared that he was going to shove me off the climbing frame. He was punching me in the stomach and pulling my hair and wrestling me. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t so after a while I told him it wasn’t fun any more and I was definitely going home.’

‘And then?’ prompted Irene.

‘Well, I was about to climb down, but Ben seemed really sad that I was going home. He wanted to stay out. He told me he was going to jump off the climbing frame. I told him to go on then, but I didn’t really think he would do it. I think he wanted to impress me. I’m older than he is,’ Sebastian said, smiling. ‘He wanted to stop me going home …’

‘Did Ben jump off?’

‘Yes, he jumped down and landed in a bad way. He hit his nose and his forehead and there was some blood. He rolled over on to his back, and I climbed down to help him.’

‘How did you help him?’

‘Well, I didn’t really. I know a bit of first aid, but not much. I leaned over him, and I tried to stop the blood. His nose was bleeding a lot. It was making his face red … But he was angry with me. He was calling me names again. I didn’t know why because it had been his idea to jump off.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I left him in the playground. I told him I was going to tell his mum that he had hit me and called me names, but I didn’t. I thought I might get into trouble for hitting him back while we were in the park. I feel bad now for leaving him there. I don’t know who hurt him, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t left him like that. I think that I could’ve done something …’

‘Why is that?’ asked Irene. Daniel could tell from the tone of her voice that she was almost afraid of hearing the answer.

He’s using the evidence he has heard, thought Daniel. He wants to explain the expirated blood on his shirt. Daniel also wondered if the boy was copying the other witnesses who had expressed regret at doing nothing that day – like Rankine.

‘I didn’t know someone would hurt him. If we’d made up and gone home together, maybe he would still be all right.’

Once again Sebastian looked straight into the camera. Daniel held his breath. The tiny smile had gone, and the green eyes seemed to brim with tears.

‘And what time was it when you left Ben in the playground and returned home?’

‘I was home about three o’clock.’

‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ said Irene.

When she took her seat, she gave a reassuring look to Mark, her junior, who sat behind, and then raised an eyebrow at Daniel.

After the break, Gordon Jones stood up to question Sebastian. The boy’s thin smile returned. Daniel leaned forward, transfixed.

‘Sebastian, did you hear the police recordings that were played earlier in the trial – recordings of your interviews while you were in custody?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I read now from your statement: We went to the adventure playground and climbed up to the highest parts, but then I had to get home. I thought I would check on my mum, see if she needed her head rubbed. Do you remember telling the police that?’

On the big screen, Sebastian nodded, unblinking.

‘Sebastian?’ said Judge Baron, interrupting again, ‘I know it is probably strange for you to be … on television, so to speak … but if you could enunciate your answers, that would help us greatly. By that I mean …’

‘It’s all right, I understand. I can’t nod, I have to say yes.’

‘That’s correct,’ said Baron. The judge gave a small, crumpled smile of appreciation, which he directed at his notes.

‘You do remember making that statement to the police, Sebastian?’ prompted Jones.

‘Yes.’

‘And it was only later, when the police advised you that they had found Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and shoes, and also advised you that this was expirated blood, that you changed your story, to incorporate the fall and the nosebleed. Is that not correct?’

‘I was very frightened at the police station,’ said Sebastian. His eyes were huge, and Daniel stared into them. ‘They took away all my clothes and put me in a white paper suit … They said I couldn’t see my mum – they wouldn’t tell her to come back in – until I had answered all their questions. I got very confused. I just felt really scared.’ Again, the magnified eyes seemed to mist with tears.

Daniel smiled again to himself. He had great faith in Sebastian to overcome Gordon Jones. The darts of accusation would wound, but they would not take him down. Sebastian had remembered Daniel’s anger when the detectives delayed bringing his mother to the interview room, and was using it to his advantage now in court. Damage had been done by Baird, the psychologist who had been turned by the Crown, but Sebastian was turning his own case around. Daniel had defended adults who lacked the boy’s adroitness.

‘Scared or not, you do appreciate that you told the police one thing and then when you realised your story wasn’t holding up, you changed your story … You lied. Is that not true, Sebastian?’

‘I don’t think I was actually lying. I was just scared and confused and got things a bit mixed up and forgot some things. I just wanted to see my mum.’

‘Sebastian,’ Gordon Jones continued, ‘Benjamin Stokes’s blood was found on your T-shirt, jeans and trainers; your skin was found underneath Ben Stokes’s fingernails and fibres from your jeans were found on the waistband of Ben’s trousers, as if – and I am sure you have heard the pathologist suggest just that – you had straddled him. I ask you, did you strike Ben Stokes in the face with a brick at the playground?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you hit him in the face causing his eye socket to fracture and inflicting a severe head injury that would result in his death?’

‘No, sir.’ Sebastian’s voice was louder now, insistent. His eyes were wide and round.

‘I think you are a liar. You admit lying to the police?’

‘I was confused. I didn’t lie.’

‘And you are lying to us now, are you not?’

‘No, sir, no,’ said Sebastian. His head bowed. A tiny hand covered his face. He pushed the knuckle of his forefinger into his eye, as if to stop a tear.

The court listened for a few moments as the boy sniffed, before the judge addressed the social worker sitting with Sebastian, to ask if a break would be required.

Daniel watched as the social worker leaned into Sebastian, her face close to his. Sebastian shook his head and drew away from her.

Jones continued. He leafed through his ring binder and Daniel wondered if he was going to produce more police transcripts.

He paused longer than seemed necessary. Jones was an actor: poised, holding the moment in the spotlight for as long as possible, drawing all the attention towards him.

‘Are you a clever boy, Sebastian?’

‘I think so.’

‘Do a lot of people think so?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do your teachers think so?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Your parents?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you’re clever too, Sebastian. I think you’re a very clever little boy …’

Sebastian smiled at the praise, with lips closed.

‘You understand very well what’s going on in court here today, don’t you?’ Jones’s voice was sinister. ‘You understood the doctor talking about Benjamin Stokes’s injuries and about the blood and DNA that was found on your clothes, did you not?’

Sebastian nodded, carefully, and then said, ‘Yes.’

‘Do you watch television, Sebastian?’

‘Yes.’

‘Every day?’

‘Almost every day, yes.’

‘How many hours of television do you watch every day?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe two or three.’

‘What kind of things do you like to watch?’

‘Most things.’

‘Do you like watching police dramas?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Crime programmes where they try to find the murderer?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I see. Are you interested in murder, Sebastian?’

‘Everyone’s interested in murder,’ said Sebastian. Daniel held his breath. ‘I mean, there are a lot of TV programmes about it. There wouldn’t be so many if people weren’t interested in it.’

Daniel exhaled.

‘Did you hear the doctor earlier, saying that you had an unhealthy interest … a morbid curiosity, in fact … about blood, death and injury?’

Jones said each of the words slowly, enjoying the drama as their vowels bludgeoned the room.

‘Yes, I did hear, but I didn’t think he knew anything about me. He met me just twice. He doesn’t know what I’m interested in, or what I like or don’t like, or anything.’

‘I see,’ said Jones, almost to himself. ‘The expert witness didn’t know anything … yet he did comment on your previous diagnosis with Asperger’s syndrome. Do you have Asperger’s, Sebastian?’

‘No!’ A scowl appeared on the small boy’s face. The green eyes darkened as his brows lowered.

‘Do you know what Asperger’s is?’

Sebastian sat dumb, frowning, as Irene jumped to her feet. ‘My lord, with your leave, the expert witness asserted that Sebastian did not have Asperger’s syndrome, as previously diagnosed.’

Baron shrugged and turned his mouth downwards. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could rephrase.’

‘Let me ask you, Sebastian, is it true that you have no friends?’

‘I do have friends.’

‘I see. Not according to your teachers. Who are your friends … Ben Stokes?’

‘I have friends.’

‘I see. We have your school records here. They tell us that you are a bully; that nobody wants to be your friend because you’re mean to them.’

‘That’s not true.’

Sebastian spat quiet but distinct rage into not and true. Under his breath, Daniel began to whisper, It’s all right, calm down. You’re all right, just calm down.

Irene turned round in her seat slightly and shot a look at Daniel. He nodded to assure her that things would be OK. Inside, he was no longer sure.

‘Is it true that when you do make friends it is only for a very short time?’

‘No.’

‘Other children don’t want to be with you, Sebastian, is that not correct?’

‘No.’ The boy was not shouting, but his lower teeth appeared. They were tiny and white, like the teeth of a pike.

‘Is it not true that as soon as other children get to know you, they do not want to be friends with you?’

‘No!’

The court was spellbound. On the screen, Sebastian’s cheeks were pink with rage.

‘I have here care notes from the secure unit where you are currently on remand. The warden has specifically mentioned your inability to get on with the other children and to form friendships …’

Irene stood up. ‘My lord, I must protest. My client is an innocent boy on remand in a secure unit where he is by far the youngest child among a number of severely disturbed teenagers. I should think it obvious, and to my client’s credit, that he would find it difficult to form friendships in these circumstances.’

There was a small pause and Daniel relaxed as both Jones and Baron conceded Irene’s point.

‘Let’s get back to the subject of Ben’s murder … Murder, after all, is what interests you. You had Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and your shoes: how did that feel?’

‘What do you mean?’ Sebastian’s temper left him for a moment, as he was drawn into Jones’s abstraction.

‘Well, when Ben supposedly burst his nose and his blood got on to your clothes and your shoes, how did it feel?’

‘All right. It’s just blood. Everybody has blood.’

‘I see, so you felt quite good with Ben’s blood on you, when you walked home?’

‘I felt OK. It was just a natural thing.’ Sebastian was looking up in the corner of the screen, as if remembering. His thin smile had returned.

‘What about when Ben was hurt, how did you feel then?’

‘Well, he was hurting. I wasn’t. I didn’t feel anything.’

‘What do you suppose Ben was feeling?’

‘Well, he fell down and he was bleeding, but that is sometimes what happens when your nose gets banged. Sometimes … you don’t have to hit someone very hard … sometimes they can just get slapped and their nose starts bleeding. Noses are quite sensitive.’

Daniel felt pain in his diaphragm. Sebastian seemed so far away. Behind the screen, it was as if he was in another dimension, lost to all their efforts to save him. He was irreclaimable, gone. The court heard a boy who lacked empathy discussing random violence, but Daniel knew that Sebastian was specifically referring to King Kong hitting his mother.

‘Did you hit Ben, Sebastian, to make his nose bleed?’ Gordon Jones was almost whispering.

Daniel was surprised that Sebastian could hear. If it had been in open court, Jones would have had to speak louder.

Sebastian shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Blood … is natural,’ repeated Jones. ‘Everyone has blood … When you had Ben’s blood on you, you felt fine. Had you ever had anyone else’s blood on you, Sebastian?’

‘Well … my own … if I got hurt.’

‘I see, anyone else?’

Sebastian was pensive for a moment, green eyes to the side and looking upwards, remembering. ‘My mum’s blood … I don’t mean when I was born, because being born there is a lot of blood, and it gets on to the baby, but afterwards if she got hurt and she touched me, sometimes it would get on to me.’

‘I see. Have you ever caused another to bleed?’

Irene rose to her feet. ‘My lord, I must question the relevance of this line of questioning.’

Baron nodded and cleared his throat loudly. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could try to stick to the point.’

‘Very well, my lord. Sebastian – did you tell the police – and I read now from the transcripts of your interview:

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

‘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.’

Again Irene rose to her feet. ‘My lord,’ she began, but Baron silenced her with a hand.

‘I will hear the answer,’ he said. ‘But Mr Jones, Miss Clarke is correct, you must make your question clear.’

‘Yes, m’lord.’ Irene sat down.

‘You remember telling the police that, Sebastian?’ said Jones.

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you think the blood on your clothes belonged to the bird and not to Ben?’

‘I got confused. The bird was another day.’

‘I see, another day. Did you hurt this bird?’

‘No,’ said Sebastian, but then he paused. His eyes turned up and to the left of the screen as he considered. Daniel thought he looked like a young boy saint, persecuted. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth and sucked it. He released it with a sound that was almost like a kiss. ‘I helped it …’

‘Tell me about the bird, Sebastian. What did you do to it, to cause its blood to transfer on to your clothes?’

Again, Sebastian’s eyes rolled upwards as he remembered. The eyes of the boy seemed enormous on the big screen.

‘Well … there was a bird I found in the park one day. It had a broken wing. It was a pigeon or something. It was turning round and round because it couldn’t fly. It was going to die, you see. It would get eaten by a fox or dog or a cat, or it would just starve to death …’

‘I see, so what did you do?’ Jones had his body turned towards the jury, but each time he addressed Sebastian he would look in the direction of the camera.

‘I stamped on its head; I had to put it out of its misery, but it didn’t die. Its claws were still moving.’ As if the words were not enough, Sebastian raised both hands up before his face. He held his hands like claws and made them twitch. ‘So I had to end it.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Jones.

‘I pulled its head away from its body, and then … it was still.’ Again Sebastian looked upwards and to the left, remembering. ‘But I had the bird’s blood on me then.’ Sebastian turned to look into the camera again. He rubbed his hands together, as if washing them.

Daniel clasped his hands tightly together, under the table. They were damp with sweat.

‘Why did you decide you needed to kill the bird, Sebastian?’ whispered Gordon Jones, still turned from the boy.

‘I told you. It would have died anyway. I had to put it out of its misery.’

‘You could have taken it to the vet. Why did you not want to help the bird? Why did you decide to murder it?’

‘I don’t think vets help pigeons with broken wings,’ said Sebastian. His tone was authoritative, condescending. ‘The vet would have killed it too, only with a needle.’

The word needle seemed to pierce the skin of silence in the room. There was a rustle, as the people in the court shifted in their seats.

‘How did you feel when the bird was dead?’ asked Jones.

‘Well, it was only little and it had to die, so that was a shame. But it was better that it didn’t suffer.’

‘Ben Stokes was only little. Were you upset when he died?’

Sebastian blinked, twice or maybe three times; he turned his head to the side, as if in anticipation of Charlotte’s fingers coursing through his hair.

‘Well … I’m only little too,’ he said. ‘Why is everyone so interested in Ben? He’s dead now, but I’m still here.’

The room was unnaturally silent.

‘No more questions for this witness, m’lord,’ said Jones.

‘Miss Clarke?’ Baron asked.

Daniel almost could not breathe, but he watched Irene stand up. Despite the evidence, she seemed strong, valiant.

‘Sebastian,’ Irene called.

Her voice was clear and awakened the room. Sebastian turned anew to the camera, blinking.

‘Ben Stokes was your friend. What did you like about him?’

‘He was funny and … he could do very good backward rolls. I can’t do them. They hurt my neck.’

‘You had known Ben for nearly four years. In all that time had you fought physically, so that either of you had to visit the hospital or even have first aid?’

‘No, but we sometimes played wrestling and we had a few fights, but we didn’t really get hurt.’

‘I see. Did you kill Ben Stokes on 8 August this year?’

‘No.’ Sebastian was quiet, chin down to his chest.

‘Did you hit your friend Ben Stokes in the face with a brick in the adventure playground on 8 August?’

‘No!’ Sebastian’s mouth was round, his eyes turned down in distress.

Daniel could feel the energy in the room change. The jury, even the gallery, seemed shocked that Irene should confront the child in this way. But Daniel was proud of her for it. The bird might now be forgotten.

‘No further questions, m’lord.’

Without voice, the video buzzed. Sebastian stared at the camera, his eyes shining and a slight smile on his still-pink lips. Sebastian wiped each eye in turn and then looked upwards. His white face captivated the court one last time, and then the monitor was switched off.

Daniel stepped outside because he needed air. He would have to go down and see the child before court convened again.

It had been hard for Daniel to watch Sebastian testify. He turned up his collar and looked at the clouds which pressed down on the buildings. His mind was a confusion of recent and distant memories. He saw Sebastian’s face enlarged on the screen; heard the clatter of the pail and the spade in Minnie’s yard; he watched Minnie fall again – losing her footing and falling on her bad hip when he pulled away from her.

He had hurt her, he saw that now.

His own pain over the lie she had told now seemed less important than the pain that he had caused to her. She had always known what was best for him. He had not understood it at the time, but she had protected him. He thought of her dying, wanting to see him one more time but knowing that he would not come. She was the only person that he truly believed had loved him. He closed his eyes, remembering the warm weight of her hand on his head when she said goodnight. Even during the years of anger, he had not doubted that she loved him. He hoped she had known that he had loved her too. Years he had denied her, but now he acknowledged all that she had done for him.

Daniel went to check on Sebastian, who was again playing games with the police officer in his cell. He was talkative and energetic, standing up on his bunk and reaching for the ceiling. He seemed unaffected by cross-examination, unaware of how he had done badly and how he had done well.

‘Did I do OK?’ asked Sebastian, eyes blinking up at Daniel.

Daniel put his hands in his pockets. ‘You did fine.’

Upstairs, Daniel called Cunningham.

‘You’ll be relieved this is all over,’ Cunningham said. ‘I know you thought it would take ages to sell, but this is quicker than I ever thought it would be. Will you come up, or do you want me to handle it?’

‘You handle it,’ said Daniel quickly. He ran a hand through his hair and turned in the corridor. ‘Or … can you wait? I might come up at the weekend. I want to see the place one more time – I just … Can you just wait, actually?’

‘Of course. I’m sorry this has happened at a … difficult time for you.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I saw you on TV. The Angel Killer. You’re on the case.’

Daniel took a breath. Everyone else had made up their mind about Sebastian. He wondered what the jury would decide.