Guilty One

30

Jones looked triumphant as he glanced over his notes. Closing speeches were scheduled for the morning, with the judge’s summing up to follow that afternoon. The judge arrived and the gallery filled up. Daniel tried not to look up into the journalists’ faces.

Jones placed his papers on the podium and turned towards the jury, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Daniel thought he looked pleased with himself.

‘Cast your mind back to everything you have heard relating to the events of 8 August this year … You have heard the defendant admit that he was playing with little Ben Stokes on that day. A witness saw the defendant fighting with Ben in the open park and then later identified him fighting in the adventure playground where Ben was found dead.

‘The type of injury which Ben sustained means that we cannot pinpoint the time of the attack, only the time of death, around six in the evening. This means that Ben could have sustained his fatal wounds at any point that afternoon and evening, since he was last seen alive about 2 p.m. The defendant claims to have an alibi – his mother – from 3 p.m. onwards, but you have heard the cocktail of drugs which the boy’s mother ingested that day and you are therefore correct to wonder if she is reliable.

‘You have heard from forensic scientists who explained to you how the victim’s blood was transferred on to his attacker’s clothing. I remind you that the defendant had defensive scratches on his arms and also fibres from the victim’s clothes on his jeans, suggesting that he had straddled the victim. From this position, it would have been possible for the defendant to use the force of gravity to help him cause the significant, brutal facial injuries which resulted in young Ben literally bleeding to death.

‘You heard the forensic expert attest to the fact that the bloodstains on the defendant’s clothes were a result of a “violent assault to the face or nose, with the victim then blowing blood on to the attacker”.

‘Make no mistake.’ Jones paused and stabbed the lectern with his forefinger. He leaned forward on to his finger for emphasis, staring unblinking at the jury. ‘This was not an easy murder to carry out. There was no accident here, no sleight of hand or loss of footing. This was violent bloody murder, carried out face to face.

‘You have heard the defendant himself tell of his fascination for murder and death. You have heard experts testify that the defendant has a mild disorder on the Asperger’s spectrum: a disorder which makes him prone to violence, which makes it difficult for him to form friendships, but a disorder which would not prevent him from lying about his actions. And lie he has done, when, testifying, he told you that he did not murder the defendant. We have heard from neighbours of the victim, whose children were terrorised by the defendant before he took this one stage further, when he brutally murdered Benjamin Stokes. The defendant threatened neighbours’ children with broken glass, and indeed bullied and physically injured the victim before he finally murdered him on 8 August.

‘Boys may be boys, but this boy was a known danger in the neighbourhood. He is proven to be capable of this ghastly crime. Forensic evidence puts him at the scene of the crime. We know that the defendant and the victim fought, and the victim’s blood was transferred on to the defendant’s clothing.

‘Sebastian Croll is a proven bully with a sick interest in murder, and murder he did on 8 August this year.

‘I know that when you stop to consider the facts of the case, you will find the defendant, Sebastian Croll … guilty.’

Daniel could see the headlines already: A BULLY WITH A SICK INTEREST IN MURDER. He thought of Tyrel’s trial and how the verdict had seemed another violence.

At the break Daniel followed the Crolls out of the courtroom. Even the skin on Charlotte’s face was trembling. He accompanied the family to the public waiting room. Kenneth Croll manoeuvred his wife by her elbow into the room. He demanded coffee but Charlotte was shaking too much to get the coins into the slot. Daniel helped her and carried the cups over to where Kenneth was reclining in a chair, legs akimbo and hands clasped behind his head.

‘We can appeal?’ said Kenneth.

‘We talk about appeals if he’s found guilty,’ returned Daniel.

Croll’s eyes seemed to flash with anger. Daniel met his gaze.

*

Back in court, Daniel thought that Irene looked nervous. He had never seen her nervous before. She was fidgety, twirling her watch on her wrist. He had not had a chance to speak to her, but she looked over at him. Daniel mouthed good luck. She smiled and looked away.

When called, Irene stood up and rested her open notebook on the lectern. There was silence as she glanced at her notes and reminded herself of her arguments. When they were defending Tyrel, Irene had rehearsed her closing speech to Daniel the night before. He remembered her pacing back and forth before him, in her stocking feet.

Now she turned to face the jury.

‘Sebastian … is a little boy,’ she began. She no longer looked nervous: shoulders back, chin raised. ‘Sebastian … is eleven years old. If he were eighteen months younger, he would not be before you today. Sebastian is a child on trial for murder. He is accused of killing another little boy, a child even younger than he is now.

‘That Ben was murdered is a tragedy and something that we should all feel devastated by … but we won’t get justice for little Ben by convicting the wrong person, and certainly not by convicting another innocent little boy.

‘The papers all love a good story, and I know you read about this case in the newspapers, before you even got to court, before you knew that you would sit on this jury. The papers have talked about societal decay, about the failure of the family … The papers have used words like evil, wicked and depraved.

‘But, ladies and gentlemen, I have to remind you that this … is not a story. This trial is not about societal decay and it is not your task to address it. It is your job to consider the facts, as they have been presented to you in this courtroom, and not in the press. It is your job to consider the evidence and only the evidence before you decide if the defendant is guilty or not guilty.

‘You’ve seen some terrible images and heard some disturbing evidence during this trial. It’s natural when presented with shocking acts of violence to want to blame, to want to find … someone responsible. But this little boy is not responsible for the violence that you have had described to you in the course of this trial.

‘So what is the evidence?

‘There were no witnesses to this terrible crime. No one saw Ben being harmed. A witness did claim to see Sebastian and Ben fighting late on the afternoon of the murder but the witness’s account was unreliable. There is a murder weapon in evidence; but it cannot be tied to any one suspect. No fingerprint or DNA was found on the brick which was used to kill little Ben Stokes. He suffered a cerebral haematoma, which means that we know approximately what time he died – around six o’clock in the evening – but we don’t know when he was attacked and suffered the fatal blow. Sebastian was home in his house from three o’clock in the afternoon, well before Ben was reported missing.

‘Sebastian admits fighting with Ben earlier that day and he told us how Ben jumped from the climbing frame, causing his nose to bleed. Spots of Ben’s blood and fibres from his clothes were transferred on to Sebastian’s clothing, but no more than you might expect in the course of a few hours’ play outside where there was a childish disagreement and an accident. The prosecution’s own scientists told you that they would have expected much more blood to be on Sebastian’s clothes if he had in fact killed Ben in this very violent way. Those of you with children will know that the small amounts of fibres and blood found on Sebastian’s clothing are entirely consistent with normal rough-and-tumble play.

‘Ben’s murder was brutal, but it also required considerable strength and I know that you will question the ludicrousness of the prosecution’s suggestion that the small boy before you today would have been able to wield such force. We know that the witness, Mr Rankine, is short-sighted. He didn’t see Sebastian with Ben that afternoon, but did he see someone else trying to hurt that little boy? He has told you that it was possible he saw a small adult attacking Ben.’

Irene turned a page in her notebook. She took a deep breath and swallowed, nodding gently at the jury. Daniel watched them. They were rapt, watching Irene, believing her.

‘You have heard that Sebastian suffers from a very mild disorder known as PDD-NOS – a disorder on the Asperger’s spectrum – and this may make Sebastian seem more … intense than other eleven-year-olds you may know, but … however unusual you may find him, you must not let that distract you from the evidence of the case. Sebastian … was brave enough to tell you his story. He didn’t need to, but he wanted to speak so that you could hear the truth about what happened that day, in his own words. Sebastian may be intense, but he is not a murderer. He may be a bully at school, but he is not a murderer.

‘The facts: if Sebastian had killed Ben, he would have gone home that day covered in blood. He would not have arrived home at three o’clock and watched television with his mum. Sebastian is a small boy and could never have wielded the murder weapon with the force required to kill Ben. But more significantly, there is no evidence tying the brick to Sebastian, and no one saw Sebastian hurt Ben. He was seen chasing and fighting Ben in the park, but this fight was so unconcerning to the man who witnessed it that he did not even feel the need to physically separate the boys, or to report the incident to the police. The prosecution’s witness went home and watched television because what he had seen was not an act of violence preceding murder but a very normal argument between two little boys, and the boys, when called on by an adult to stop, did exactly that.

‘More importantly, what role have the police played in ensuring justice was done in this case? Mr Rankine admitted that he may have seen an adult in a pale blue or white top attacking Ben. What did the police do about this? They checked the council’s CCTV tapes and found nothing, so what else did they do …?’

Irene raised both hands up to the jury, as if asking them to contribute.

‘Not a thing.’ She shrugged her shoulders and leaned on the lectern, as if resigned to such faineance.

‘By all accounts there could be an adult assailant – someone who had a white or pale blue top, who attacked and killed Benjamin after Sebastian left the playground. This important possibility, highlighted to us by the Crown’s witness, was not properly followed up, as it should have been. Are we sure that this boy committed this crime, or is there indeed the chance that someone else did?

‘And so you must ask yourselves, is it safe to convict this boy on this evidence? Once you set aside the newspapers, the terrible images you have seen, and the things you have heard; once you consider that there is absolutely no evidence that directly proves Sebastian killed Ben: no forensic evidence consistent with an injury of this type, no fingerprints on the murder weapon, no witnesses to the actual attack – you have to come to the only rational conclusion that is left.

‘The prosecution has to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty. The burden of proof lies with the prosecution, not with the defence. You must now consider whether that has been achieved, or if you indeed doubt the circumstantial evidence that has been presented to you. This is no hardened criminal who stands before you, with a string of convictions in his past. This … is a little boy.

‘When you come back from your jury room, I want you to be very sure … very sure that you have made the right decision. I know that you will see the facts as they are and realise that Sebastian … is not guilty.

‘If you believe that Sebastian is innocent, you must acquit. If you believe that Sebastian is probably innocent you must acquit. Even if you think that Sebastian might be innocent, you must acquit.’

Irene gathered up her notes. ‘Thank you for listening.’

The judge’s summing up lasted all afternoon as expected and then the jury were excused to consider the verdict.

Daniel worked late at the office and then went to the Crown for last orders. He texted Irene when he was halfway through his pint: ‘Thinking about tomorrow. Not sure I am ready for it. Hope u r ok.’ There was no reply.

The next day was Friday, and Daniel worked through the morning before he got the call to say that the jury had reached a verdict.

In the courtroom, everyone assembled again: lawyers, family, journalists and public. Sebastian sat beside Daniel, waiting for the decision that would define the rest of his life.

Daniel looked around when court was in session. Minutes passed dizzily, a flutter of processes. He glanced down at the small boy beside him, noticing again the valiant tilt of his chin, the young green eyes expectant, wary.

He put a hand on Sebastian’s back. The little boy seemed so smart today in a fresh shirt that was too big on the collar and a striped tie. He looked up at Daniel and smiled.

Baron raised himself in his chair, and peered over his glasses at Sebastian and Daniel. ‘The child need not stand.’

The clerk stood up and addressed the jury. ‘Will the foreman please stand?’

The foreman was a woman. She rose to her feet and folded her hands in front of her.

‘Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’

‘Yes,’ said the woman, who was middle-aged, clearly spoken.

‘Do you find the defendant, Sebastian Croll, guilty or not guilty of the murder of Benjamin Stokes?’

Daniel couldn’t breathe. The air was thick. Each pair of eyes in the crowded court was focused on the woman’s lips, waiting for her to speak. Daniel could feel the tension emanating from the young boy beside him.

When Tyrel had been in the dock, Daniel had felt separate from him and powerless. Yet now it felt worse having Sebastian at his side, feeling the brush of the boy’s arm, watching the almost imperceptible rock of his body, smelling his clean hair. With his little client right beside him, he was no more able to protect Sebastian than he had been with Tyrel.

If Sebastian was convicted of murder, the judge would have no discretion and would have to sentence him to detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Even after sentencing, the length of Sebastian’s incarceration would be decided not by legal professionals but by the Home Secretary. The boy’s life would then be subject to political expediency, with the likelihood of the Home Secretary lengthening his sentence to assuage public and media outrage.

Daniel thought about the years the child would spend in secure units and then adult prisons; the drugs he would be introduced to, the relationships he would form and learn to lose; the estrangement he would feel from society and from the future itself. The future would always imply some kind of imprisonment. The foreman of the jury raised her eyes to look at the clerk who addressed her.

Sebastian exhaled and, at the same time, slipped his hand into Daniel’s. Daniel coursed his thumb across the back of the boy’s hand, as Minnie might have done. Daniel remembered the roughness of her thumb on his young skin. It was an instinct of care and, after all, she had taught him to care.

Irene’s spine was completely straight. Daniel wished he could take her hand too.

‘Not guilty.’

‘And is that the verdict of you all?’

‘Yes.’

There were no cries of rapture. The courtroom reeled in shock. There was a gulf of silence before the voices came, hushed and insistent, like a wave crashing on to the shore. A choke of sobs rose from the victim’s family, angry voices of protest.

Baron silenced the courtroom. ‘I will remind you that this is not a football ground.’

‘What does it mean?’ asked Sebastian when the jury had been excused, the judge had left and the gallery cleared. He was still holding on to Daniel’s hand.

‘It means you can come home, darling,’ said Charlotte, turning her son towards her. Her eyelids trembled as they rose above her large eyes. Sebastian leaned, weary and willowy, into his mother. She curled around him and tousled his hair.

The court began to clear. Daniel followed Irene and Mark out into the great hall of the Old Bailey.

As he made his way towards the exit, Daniel felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder and turn him round. Before he could say a word Kenneth King Croll was shaking his hand and slapping him on the back. Kenneth then reached out to Mark and shook his hand before taking Irene by the shoulders, shaking her lightly and planting a kiss on each cheek.

Released from Kenneth’s grasp, Irene turned to Daniel and smiled. Daniel wanted to hold her, but felt inhibited with their clients nearby.

‘Where are you going now?’ Daniel said, looking down at her, trying to find her eyes.

‘Back to the office, I suppose. I don’t know. I’m exhausted. Go home, maybe. What about you? You’ll have to meet the Great British Press.’

‘Face the music.’

‘Shall I wait for you, then?’ she said.

‘Yeah, wait and we can go get a drink or something. I might be a little while. I’ll be done as soon as I can.’

*

When Irene left, Daniel turned back towards the court to see Ben Stokes’s parents leaving with the family liaison officer. He felt a sudden flush of empathy for them. Paul was holding Madeline by the shoulders. He seemed to be half carrying her. Her feet moved with tiny steps, her head down, hair over her face. Just before she reached Daniel she pushed her hair back and Daniel saw the red eyes and nose, the sunken cheeks. Her eyes flashed for a moment and she pulled away from her husband. Daniel stood back, sure that she was going to attack him. But it was Charlotte whom Madeline targeted. The vast hall echoed as Madeline screamed and reached out – fingers like claws – towards Charlotte’s shoulder.

‘He’s a monster,’ Madeline Stokes screamed. ‘He killed my little boy …’

Daniel was about to call security, but Paul Stokes pulled his wife away. As she passed she became passive again, allowing her husband to lead her away.

‘Are you all right, Charlotte?’ said Daniel.

Charlotte had opened up her handbag. She was searching through it fervently. Objects fell out on to the floor: a hairbrush, a vanity mirror, eyeliners and pens. Deftly, bending at the knees each time, Sebastian stooped to pick them up.

‘I need, I need …’ she said.

‘For God’s sake, woman, calm down,’ Kenneth hissed.

Daniel reached out to her, but it was too late. Charlotte’s knees buckled and she fell on to the floor, letting her handbag fall. The pills she had been searching for rolled out. Sebastian held them up to his father.

‘Here,’ the boy said, presenting them.

Kenneth’s face was almost purple, and Daniel was not sure if it was embarrassment or the strain as he helped Charlotte to her feet.

A security officer came up and asked them if they needed assistance.

‘Look, we’re fine,’ Croll boomed. He turned to Daniel. ‘Could I ask you to stay with Seb for a moment? I need to calm her down before we go out.’

Daniel nodded, watching them go. Sebastian looked up at him, hands by his side, chin tilted so that his entire round face was turned towards Daniel.

‘We’ll be in that conference room,’ Daniel shouted after Croll.

‘Give us twenty minutes.’

Daniel looked at his watch. The boy was still staring at him.

‘She’s having a panic attack. She can’t breathe and her face goes all white and she starts to breathe like this …’ Sebastian began to mime hyperventilation, until Daniel put a hand on his shoulder. Already the boy was red and coughing.

‘Come on,’ said Daniel, opening the door to one of the conference rooms and saluting the security guard who stood nearby. ‘Let’s go in here and sit for a while until your mum’s feeling better.’

The door closed behind them, sealing them in its insulated space. There were no windows in this room. Daniel was reminded of the placer where Minnie had been cremated. The sounds of the Old Bailey – heels on the flagstones, lawyers talking over each other into mobile phones, solicitors whispering to clients – were all excluded.

There was a warm, germinating silence. The boy’s eyes were dry and his pale face pensive. It reminded Daniel of the first time they’d met, in the police station in Islington.

‘Do you think most people are sad that I was found not guilty?’ said Sebastian, looking up at Daniel.

‘It doesn’t matter what other people think; you had a good defence and the jury found you not guilty. You can go back to your life now.’

Sebastian got up and walked around the table to Daniel. He stood by the side of Daniel’s chair.

‘I didn’t want to go back to Parklands House.’

‘No,’ said Daniel. He was leaning forward on his elbows, so that his face was level with the boy’s. ‘I didn’t want you to have to go back there either.’

The little boy sighed and then leaned into Daniel. He rested his head on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel had watched him being comforted by his mother often enough and knew what to do. After a moment’s pause, he raised his hand and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair.

‘It’ll be OK,’ Daniel whispered. ‘It’s all over now.’

‘Do you think I’ll go to hell?’

‘No, Seb.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because hell doesn’t exist. I don’t believe in it, anyway.’

‘But you don’t actually know. Nobody actually knows. Believe means you just think something is so.’

‘Well, call me stubborn but I think I do know. All sounds like rubbish to me.’

‘Will Ben be in heaven? Everyone says he’s an angel.’

‘Seb, listen, I know this has been really hard on you – the case has been on TV and in the papers and all the other kids at Parklands House have been talking about you, but you have to try not to pay attention to all the newspapers and stuff. They only do that to sell papers, not because there’s a shred of truth …’

‘Truth,’ said Sebastian, calmly. ‘Do you like me, Daniel?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel, exhaling.

‘If I tell you something, will you still like me?’

Daniel considered, then nodded.

‘I put the brick on Ben’s face.’

Daniel held his breath and watched the small boy. The light was catching his green eyes. He had an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

‘You told me you just went home …’

‘It’s all right,’ said Sebastian, smiling properly now. ‘I’ll be OK. You don’t need to worry about me.’

Daniel nodded. He felt his stomach muscles tighten.

‘I like you too,’ said Sebastian. ‘I think you’re my friend. I’m glad you were my lawyer …’

Daniel nodded again. His collar was tight at his throat.

‘What do you mean … you put the … brick on Ben’s face?’

‘I didn’t like Ben’s face. I just wanted to cover it up, so I wouldn’t see it any more. He was all cry-baby and snot and wanting to go home. I told him he had to stop crying. I told him that if he tried to go, I’d give him something to cry about … and then after I put the brick on his face, he didn’t cry at all. He didn’t make a sound. Not any more.’

Daniel let his shoulders fall. He exhaled and loosened his tie. He leaned forward and put both hands through his hair.

‘You should’ve told me, Sebastian.’ His voice was loud in the room. ‘You should’ve told me at the beginning. We would have done things differently.’

Sebastian smiled, and sat down again, opposite Daniel. He was all innocence: all eyelashes and freckles and neatly parted hair. ‘I thought you wouldn’t like me if I told you. I wanted you to like me.’

‘It’s not about like, Sebastian. I told you at the beginning, you needed to tell me everything, the truth, pure and simple. I’m your lawyer … You should have told me.’

‘Well, you know now,’ said Sebastian. He tilted his head to one side.

Daniel felt sick, a chill sweat on his back. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, controlling himself.

‘I have to go now,’ said Daniel. ‘Let’s … find your parents.’ The boy looked up at him, and Daniel took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say to the child.

Outside Charlotte was on her feet again, wavering like a sunflower, large black shades over her eyes. Ken was still holding on to her elbow.

‘Thanks, Dan,’ said Kenneth as he returned the boy to their care. Daniel winced at Croll’s out-of-place informality.

‘All right, young man?’ Kenneth boomed at his son.

Sebastian slipped between his parents and took their hands. The sight of the family like this sickened Daniel. He wanted to look away.

But then they were gone, all hand in hand, walking out the doors of the Old Bailey, Sebastian looking over his shoulder at Daniel as he was tugged gently outside.

Daniel undid the top button of his shirt, pulled his tie off and put it in his pocket. His legs felt unsteady. It felt like walking away from Minnie for the last time. It wasn’t the first time a client had lied to him. Daniel didn’t understand why, this time, he felt so shorn.

He stood in the ornate hall of the Central Criminal Court and looked around him. His loss was draped in a strange relief. One way or another, it was all over now.

Daniel walked out into the swarm of journalists. It was cold and threatening to rain, but he felt the heat of the camera flashes. He was blinded by them and couldn’t see the faces that addressed him, only the foam-encased microphones that were thrust towards him.

‘We are pleased with the outcome of the trial; my client and his family are looking forward to the return of normal family life. Our thoughts are with the family of the victim at this difficult time.’

Daniel pushed his way through the crowd as one of the journalists shouted: ‘How did it feel when you won? Were you surprised?’

Daniel turned and faced the man who had addressed him, knowing that he was now too close to the camera. The emotion apparent in his face would be broadcast, and commented on, in news feeds later: ‘Nobody won today. A little boy lost his life, but we are grateful that justice has been done for my client.’

There were more questions, but then the Stokeses came out. Madeline was recovered but brittle; Paul with a resolute turn to his lips. Daniel and the CPS solicitor were abandoned in favour of the victim’s parents.

Daniel looked around for Irene but couldn’t see her. He started to walk towards the Tube, then saw her ahead of him. She seemed dejected, eyes to the ground.

‘I thought you said you were going to wait for me,’ he called, running to catch up with her.

‘God, there you are. I didn’t know where you’d got to.’ She brushed a strand of hair from her face.

‘Are you all right?’ Daniel asked as he looked into her tired eyes.

‘I dunno,’ she said with a strange smile. ‘I feel weird. Probably just exhausted.’

‘You won,’ he said.

‘We won,’ she said, putting a hand on his lapel. He enjoyed the weight of her hand on his chest. For a second he thought about pulling her to him, kissing her.

He inhaled, preparing to tell her what Sebastian had told him, but stopped himself. She was the only person he wanted to tell; the only person who would understand. He would tell her, but not now; they had both been through enough for one day.

‘How did you get on?’ she said, motioning towards the crowd of journalists in the distance.

‘Fine. You know how it is – they’ve moved on to the Stokeses already.’

Irene looked away. ‘My heart breaks for them. They have absolutely no resolution now. Their son’s dead and no one has been blamed.’

Daniel shuddered in the damp cold, trying to shake off the memory of Sebastian’s whispered words. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the dark sky.

‘We’re a good team, though,’ she said.

He met her eye and nodded. She put a hand on his lapel again.

Suddenly he felt the weight of her tilt towards him. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

Her lips were cold. He felt the first drops of rain on his head. He was too jolted to return the kiss, but he stayed close to her, until she backed away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, turning from him, a flush on her cheek, allowing her hair to fall over her eyes.

He ran his hand up her neck and his thumb across her chin. He didn’t know what would happen now, but it felt significant.