Guilty One

3

Daniel got up at half past five in the morning and ran a ten-mile circuit of Victoria Park and South Hackney. Normally he wouldn’t do a long run like this during the week, but today he needed it. The run used to take him an hour and twelve, but now he could do it in an hour and five if he pushed himself. He strove to get at least a minute faster every year. There was something death-defying in that achievement.

Running came more naturally to Daniel than most other things; flight often seemed the most logical course.

He had not slept, but he pushed himself to keep to time. As he ran, he concentrated on different muscles. He tightened his torso and felt it twist from side to side. As he ran uphill, he concentrated on his thighs and the push in them as he maintained the pace. He had lived in this area of the East End for nearly eight years and now knew every inch of the park, which he could see from his bedroom window. He knew every tree root that prised bumps in the paths, like fingers awaking from the dead. He knew the places that would be cool in summer and the parts that could be icy in winter. He knew the areas which flooded when the rains came.

Every now and again thoughts came to him. When he brushed them aside Daniel realised that they had slowed him down.

Now, as he turned towards home, his thoughts returned to the letter. He couldn’t believe that she was really dead.

Dead. His foot caught a rock and he lunged forward. Unable to catch himself, he fell his full length, scraping the skin off his knee and grazing his forearm and the heel of his hand, drawing blood.

‘Fuck,’ he said out loud, picking himself up.

An old man, with an overweight Labrador, tipped his cap at him. ‘You all right, son? You fell hard. The light’s always funny at this time.’

He was breathing too hard to reply, but he tried to smile at the man and held up one hand to let him know that he was fine. He tried to continue with the run, but blood from his hand was running down his arm. Reluctantly, he jogged along Old Ford Road and up the cream stone steps in front of his flat.

Daniel showered and bandaged his hand, then dressed in a pink shirt with white collar and cuffs. The wound on his hand throbbed when he fastened his cufflinks. He took a deep breath. Since meeting the boy and receiving the letter, the hours had been assaulting him. Looking at himself in the mirror, he pulled his shoulders back in an attempt to clear his mind. He didn’t want to think about the letter today. He felt the way he had when he was a child: confused, forgetful, not sure how it had all started or why it had fallen apart.

Daniel had arranged to meet Charlotte at the Croll family home and take her to the police station. It seemed strange that she had slept through her young son being picked up by the police and he wanted to take this opportunity to speak to her.

Richmond Crescent was resplendent in the August sunshine: smart sash windows gleaming above stark white ledges. Daniel climbed the steps to their door and loosened his tie. The bell was embedded in porcelain, decorated with painted flowers. Daniel pressed once, and cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at an antique Bentley parked on the kerb. He was about to press again when the door opened to reveal an older woman in an overall, holding a duster.

‘Please come in,’ she said with an accent that could have been Polish. She dipped her head and moved towards the living room, pointing with her duster to the stairs. ‘Mrs Croll in kitchen.’

Alone in the hall, Daniel took in the fresh flag irises, the Chinese vases and silks, the dark antique furniture. He put one hand in his pocket, not sure where the kitchen was. He followed the smell of toast down a staircase covered in thick cream carpet, worrying that his shoes would mark it.

Charlotte was wearing sunglasses. She was slumped over a coffee and the paper. Sun streamed into the basement kitchen and reflected off its white surfaces.

‘Daniel,’ exclaimed Charlotte, turning round. ‘Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be ready in a minute. Forgive me, I have a headache and it’s just so bloody bright in here even at this God-awful hour!’

‘It’s gonna be a hot one today,’ Daniel nodded, standing in the middle of the kitchen and holding his briefcase in both hands.

‘Sit down, have a coffee.’

‘Thanks. I just had one.’

‘My husband called at the crack of dawn. It was two in the afternoon in Hong Kong.’ She put two fingers to her temples as she sipped her orange juice. ‘He was asking me if Sebastian had actually been arrested or not? He got terribly annoyed with me. I told him I didn’t think so. Is that correct? I mean … it’s just because Sebastian knew Ben … but then they do seem to be terribly serious …’

‘He has been arrested, but he’s not been charged. He’s been formally cautioned, and he’s being questioned for murder, and this might go on for a few days. Better prepare yourself. At this stage, I think you’re right to be helpful. We’ll see how today goes.’

Charlotte’s face froze for a second. In the bright sunlight, Daniel noticed the heavy make-up clogged in the wrinkles around her mouth.

‘We just have to help him deal with this in the right way. We don’t want him to incriminate himself, but we want to make sure he answers the questions as fully as he can. If he doesn’t say something now that’s relevant later, it can go against him in court,’ Daniel said.

‘God, how utterly ridiculous … the poor child being put through all this. The case won’t go to court, will it?’

‘Only if the police have enough evidence to charge him. He’s a suspect at the moment, nothing else. They don’t have any evidence, really, but the forensic evidence is key. We might get that report back today, and hopefully that will discount him.’ Daniel cleared his throat. He wanted to believe his own comforting words.

‘Sebastian’s never been in any trouble like this before?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not. This is all just a terrible mistake.’

‘And he gets on fine at school – no problems with the other kids, or … academic issues?’

‘Well, I mean, he doesn’t adore school. My husband says it’s because he’s too bright. They don’t challenge him enough, you know.’

‘So he does have problems, then?’ said Daniel, raising one eyebrow at Charlotte and noticing the strain on her throat as she defended her son.

‘He gets frustrated. He really is quite brilliant. He takes after his father, or so Ken keeps telling me. They just don’t know how to deal with him at school, how to … release his potential.

‘Do you …’ Charlotte paused, removing her sunglasses. Daniel saw that her eyes were suddenly bright with expectation. ‘Shall I show you some of the work he’s done? He really is quite an exceptional child. I really don’t know how I produced him.’

Charlotte wiped her palms on her trousers and skipped up the stairs. Daniel followed. He made an effort to keep up with her, up to the ground floor and then up again to Sebastian’s bedroom.

On the first floor, Charlotte turned the brass handle and opened Sebastian’s bedroom door. Daniel felt wary about entering, but Charlotte beckoned him inside.

The room was small. Daniel took in the Spider-Man bedspread and the powder-blue walls. It seemed quieter than the kitchen and was darker, the window facing north. It was a private space disturbed, and Daniel felt as if he were intruding.

‘Look at that picture,’ said Charlotte, pointing to a charcoal drawing pinned to the wall. Daniel saw an old woman, with a hooked nose. The charcoal had smudged in places, and the woman’s eyes seemed full of warning. ‘Possibly you can tell that it’s me. He did that for me at Christmas. One of our artist friends says it displays a quite precocious talent. I don’t think there’s much of a likeness, but apparently it conveys a sense of character …’

Daniel nodded. There were stuffed toys lined up on the bed. Charlotte bent and picked up Sebastian’s school bag, pulling jotters from the satchel and leafing through the pages where the boy had been commended before thrusting them at Daniel. He glanced at the pages before putting the jotters down on the chest of drawers.

Charlotte stooped, then, to pick up some colouring pens that were scattered on the floor. As Daniel watched her he noticed the neat position of Sebastian’s slippers by his bedside, and the way that his books were stacked with the largest on the bottom and the smallest on the top.

‘He’s an exceptional boy,’ said Charlotte. ‘In maths, he almost never gets anything wrong, and he plays the piano already very well. It is just that his fingers are too small.’

Daniel took a breath, remembering his own childhood and being shown how to play the piano. He remembered the almost painful stretch of his small, young hands to find the chords.

In the hall, getting ready to leave, Charlotte took time to tie a silk scarf around her neck. Again, Daniel was aware of how fragile she was. He watched the beads of her spine appear as she bent to pick up her bag.

He thought of Sebastian waiting in the cell for Charlotte. Again, he was reminded of his own mother: he remembered waiting for her in social work offices and police stations, wondering when she would appear. Only as an adult had he managed any bitterness about those years. As a child he had been grateful that she came at all.

They walked to Islington Police Station, on the opposite side of the road from Barnard Park. It was an exposed stretch of park, with paths and a football field. The only place to hide violence was the adventure playground that ran alongside Copenhagen Street, rimmed by bushes and trees. Daniel knew that the police had already obtained CCTV footage from Islington Borough Council. He wondered what that would reveal. The corner of Copenhagen Street, just past the incident van, was strewn with flower tributes to Ben. Daniel had stopped to read some of the messages on his way to the Crolls’ house.

The warmth and brightness of the morning was forbidden in the interview room. Sebastian sat at the top of the table, with Daniel and his mother facing the police officers. Sergeant Turner was accompanied this time by PC Hudson, a thin expectant man whose knees banged against the desk when he moved. Daniel knew that there was another roomful of police officers listening to the conversation. The interview was being video recorded and watched from another room.

‘OK, Sebastian,’ said Sergeant Turner, ‘what time do you think it was when you saw Ben out playing on his bike?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can you remember if it was before your lunch or after?’

‘It was after lunch.’

‘It was definitely after lunch,’ Charlotte commented. ‘I made him lunch before he went out.’

The police officer frowned at Charlotte’s interruption and made notes.

‘Whose idea was it to go to the park?’

Sebastian put four fingers into his mouth. He turned his mint eyes up to the ceiling and rolled them back and forth. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Surely you can remember whose idea it was. He was on his bike and you didn’t have a bike. Was it your idea?’

‘I just said I don’t remember.’

Daniel watched the smallest spasm of rage flame in the boy’s lips. He wondered if it was this which he understood when he looked at Sebastian. Anger was what Daniel remembered most from his childhood: anger and fear. Daniel had never owned Sebastian’s confidence, but there was still something about the boy which made Daniel remember himself as a child.

‘What happened to your hand?’ Sebastian asked Daniel suddenly.

At first Daniel wondered if the boy was seeking refuge from the police officer’s questioning. Daniel shot a look at the police sergeant, then answered, ‘I fell … running.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Not much.’

‘OK, Seb, so to get back to your story,’ said Sergeant Turner, ‘one of you decided to go to the park, then what happened?’

Sebastian slumped down in his chair, chin into his chest.

Charlotte began to stroke Sebastian’s leg. ‘He’s very sorry, Sergeant, he’s just tired. This is all so intense, isn’t it, darling? I think it’s just the detail that’s a bit wearing …’

‘Forgive me, Mrs Croll, but detail is my job. Can I ask you to be quiet and try not to answer for him?’

Mrs Croll nodded.

‘So how did you get into the park, Seb?’

‘From the top gate …’

‘I see. Did you start having an argument with Ben when you were inside the park?’

Sebastian shook his head violently, as if to shake away a fly.

‘You’re shaking your head, but there was a witness who said he saw two boys of your age fighting at the top of the park. Did anyone speak to you when you were with Ben – tell you to stop fighting?’

‘I’m so sorry, Sergeant,’ said Charlotte. ‘He just said that he and Ben didn’t have a falling-out. Seb’s just not the type for fighting, are you?’

The sergeant took a deep breath then asked Sebastian if he wanted a break and a drink of juice. When the boy left to go to the bathroom, accompanied by PC Hudson, the sergeant folded his arms on the table. Daniel noticed the fleshy softness of the man’s hands.

‘I know it’s hard, Mrs Croll, but if you could try not to answer for him?’

‘I know, I will – I can, I suppose it’s just second nature. I can see he’s not being as articulate as he could be and I just want to help clear things up.’

‘That’s what we all want – to clear things up. Do you think you might step out for a little bit – have a cup of coffee maybe, just while I go through the rest of the questions?’

Charlotte sat up in her seat and looked at Daniel.

‘It’s up to you,’ said Daniel. ‘Or you could agree to stay, but remain silent. You’re entitled to be here.’

‘You’ll make sure he’s OK?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Of course.’

When Sebastian was brought back in, without his mother, he chose to sit closer to Daniel. He seemed fidgety and Daniel felt the occasional brush of the boy’s arm against his; a foot against his trouser leg.

‘So, you say there was no argument between you and Ben?’

‘No, we were play-fighting for a little bit. We were playing hide-and-seek and chasing each other then when he caught up with me we were rolling in the grass and play-fighting.’

‘Sometimes play-fighting can get out of hand. Is that what happened? Did you take it too far?’

Again, Sebastian’s cheeks coloured with anger. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t, but Ben hit me a couple of times and it hurt – maybe he didn’t mean to – and so I shoved him off me.’

‘I see. You shoved Ben. What were you doing when the man with the dog called on you to stop? Were you hitting him?’

‘No.’ Sebastian was beginning to look pained.

‘Sergeant, this is getting very repetitive,’ said Daniel. ‘I think you’ll find he’s answered these questions already. Can we move on?’

Sebastian sighed deeply and Daniel caught his eye and winked at him. The boy smiled broadly and then tried to wink back, scrunching up both his eyes.

‘I can’t do that, look,’ he said, his eyes tightly shut. ‘I need to practise.’

‘Never mind that now,’ said the sergeant. ‘After your fight, did you go to the adventure playground?’

Sebastian was grinning with his eyes tight shut and the sergeant gave Daniel a look of exasperation. Daniel cleared his throat and then gently touched Sebastian’s arm.

‘I know it’s hard, but just a little longer, OK, Seb?’

‘Is your hand sore?’

‘Not any more, thanks, it’s getting better.’

‘Was it bleeding?’

‘Not any more.’

‘Was it gushing with blood?’ Again the mint eyes were wide.

Daniel was surprised to feel his heart beating faster. He shook his head once – straightening his shoulders – and watched the police officers wetting their lips as they studied the boy.

‘What happened once you were at the adventure playground?’

‘We climbed up high and played on the tyres, then I said I wanted to go home ’cause I was hungry.’

‘I’ve got a picture here of the playground. Where were you climbing?’

‘I want to see my mum,’ said Sebastian.

‘Just a little longer, Sebastian. We’ve asked your mum to wait outside and you can see her as soon as you’re able to tell us what happened,’ said the sergeant.

Daniel understood being a boy Sebastian’s age and being denied his mother – the desperation he’d felt at the forced distance between them. He imagined that Sebastian too felt this.

‘If you can, point out to me where you were climbing,’ said the sergeant.

‘I don’t know,’ Sebastian whimpered. ‘I want my mum …’

Daniel exhaled and placed the palm of his hand gently on to the table. ‘It’s clear my client wants his mother to be asked back.’

‘She agreed to step out to let us talk to him without her.’

‘He’s entitled to have his mum here if he wants her to be. Unless she comes back in, he won’t be answering any more questions.’

The interview was paused while an officer went to fetch Sebastian’s mother. Daniel stepped out to use the bathroom, and the sergeant joined him in the corridor. ‘Look, son, I know you have a job to do, but we both know what the score is here. I won’t tell you your job. I know you want to show him in the best light – get the best angle on whatever he did – but the kid wants to tell the truth. He’s a little boy and he wants to tell the truth about what he did – you have to let him. He did it; he just has to say he did it. You didn’t see that little battered body in the flesh, I did. You didn’t have to console the …’

‘Can I stop you right there? Bring his mum in and then we can continue questioning. If it means all this takes longer then it’s just going to have to take longer.’

‘The super has just agreed to another twelve hours.’

Daniel nodded and put his hands in his pockets.

‘That’ll take us to four a.m. on Tuesday, but we’re also applying to the magistrates’ court for more time. We have all the time in the world, you mark my words on that.’

Daniel entered the interview room and turned another leaf in his pad. The eye of the camera stared at them from the corner of the room.

‘They’re sendin’ your mum in.’

‘Did you tell them off? You’re a good lawyer, I think.’

‘You’ve got a right to see your mum if you want to. My job is to make sure you know your rights.’

Charlotte’s perfume assumed the room before she did. She sat on the other side of Sergeant Turner. Daniel felt sure she had been asked to sit apart from her son and to keep quiet.

As the sergeant continued to question Sebastian she said nothing, seldom even looking at him. She fixed her attention on her bracelet and then her skirt and then her cuticles and then Daniel. He felt her watching as he noted down the sergeant’s questions and Sebastian’s taciturn replies.

Sergeant Turner crossed out something on his own notepad and underlined something else. ‘Right. Let’s get back to where we were. Let’s go back to the adventure playground. Tell me again about the argument you were having with Ben.’

‘I told you already,’ said Sebastian, his lower teeth showing again. ‘It wasn’t an argument; it was a discussion. I said I wanted to go home, but he didn’t want me to.’

‘Tell me again about your discussion.’

Daniel nodded at Sebastian, to urge him to answer the questions. He wanted the boy to calm down. Losing his temper made him seem guilty, and Daniel didn’t want him to incriminate himself. Like the police, he too wondered about the boy’s sudden temper, yet he wanted Sebastian to remain consistent in his story. Daniel decided to ask for a break if the boy became more upset.

‘We climbed up the tyres right to the very top of the wooden climbing frame,’ Sebastian continued. ‘It’s really high up there. I was getting tired and I was thinking about my mum and her headache. I said I wanted to go home, but Ben didn’t want me to. He tried to make me stay out. Then he got annoyed and he was shoving me and I told him to stop it.’

‘He was shoving you?’

‘Yes, he wanted me to stay out and play.’

‘Did that annoy you when he pushed you? Did you push him back?’

‘No.’

‘Did you maybe push him off the climbing frame?’

‘You had your answer, Sergeant,’ said Daniel, his voice sounding loud in the small interview room.

‘I didn’t push him off, but Ben said he was going to jump. He wanted to impress me, you see. I was going home and he wanted me to stay and watch him jump.’

‘Ben was a little boy, not a big boy like you. You were really high up. You sure he decided to jump?’

‘Where are we going with this, Sergeant?’ said Daniel.

The sergeant cleared his throat and put down his pen.

‘Is that what really happened, Sebastian?’

‘Yes, it is.’ He was petulant now, slumped in the chair.

‘Are you sure you didn’t push him off? Did you push him off and then maybe start fighting with him?’

‘No!’ Again rage seemed to flash in the boy’s lips and cheeks.

‘Are you getting angry, Seb?’

Sebastian folded his arms and narrowed his eyes.

‘Are you angry at me because I figured it out? Did you push Ben down?’

‘I never.’

‘Sometimes, when people get angry, it’s because they’re trying to cover something up. Do you understand?’

Sebastian slid off his chair and dropped to the ground suddenly. He lay on his back on the interview-room floor and started to scream. It made Daniel jump. Sebastian cried and wailed and when he turned his face towards Daniel, it was contorted and streaked with tears.

‘I didn’t push him. I didn’t push him.’

‘How do you think he got down there then?’

‘I don’t know, I didn’t hurt him. I … I didn’t … ’ Sebastian’s screams were so sharp that Turner put a hand to his ear.

It was a few moments before Daniel realised that his mouth was open, staring at the boy. He felt suddenly very cold in the airless room – out of his depth, despite his experience.

Turner paused the interview so that Sebastian could compose himself. Charlotte approached her son gingerly, her elbows sticking out. The boy’s face was red with rage and streaked with tears.

‘Darling, please,’ said Charlotte, her nails hovering above her son. Her hands were red, the capillaries showing, and her fingers trembled. ‘Darling, what on earth? Please can you calm down? Mummy doesn’t like to see you so upset. Please don’t let yourself get so upset.’

Daniel wanted to run, to lengthen his muscles and dispel the taut screams of the boy and the cramped solemnity of the interrogation room. He went to the gents again and splashed cold water on to his face and studied himself in the small mirror, leaning on the sink.

He wanted to give the case up, not because of what it was but because of what it promised to be. He guessed from the way the police were hounding Sebastian that they had some positive results from the lab. If the boy was charged, the media would be all over it. Daniel didn’t feel ready. A year ago he had taken on a juvenile case – a boy accused of shooting another gang member. It had gone to the Old Bailey and the boy had been sent down. He had been a vulnerable client, softly spoken with bitten-down nails. Even now Daniel hated to think of him being inside. And now here was another child about to enter the system, only he was even younger.

Daniel was standing at the front desk when the detective superintendent came up and took him by the elbow. He was a tall man, heavy set, with grey cropped hair and despairing hazel eyes.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, slapping Daniel on the shoulder. ‘We all feel it.’

‘M’all right,’ he said. His breaths were there in his throat, like butterflies. He coughed as they escaped him.

‘Are you a Geordie?’

Daniel nodded. ‘You?’

‘Hull. Can’t tell with you sometimes, yer accent’s got London through it, hasn’t it?’

‘Been here a while.’

Sergeant Turner said that Superintendent McCrum wanted to see Daniel. He was shown into the office, which was cramped and dark, the light of the day splashing down from a small window above.

‘Bit tense in there,’ said the Superintendent as he came into the room.

Daniel didn’t mean to sigh, but when McCrum heard it, he laughed quietly in acknowledgement.

‘All we go through, but still we’re not used to this.’

Daniel coughed and nodded. For the first time he felt an affinity with the man.

‘The hardest thing I ever had to do. Watch that poor woman when she saw that little ’un – murdered in that way. Hard … Do you have children, Daniel?’

He shook his head.

‘I have two. Doesn’t bloody bear thinkin’ about, does it?’

‘The situation …’

‘The situation has changed. We’re probably going to charge him with little Ben’s murder.’

‘On what grounds? From what I have—’

‘He was witnessed fighting Ben, and we found him dead the next morning. We now have an oral report from forensics confirming little Ben’s blood on Sebastian’s shoes and clothes that were taken from the house. We’ll be asking him about this over the next few hours. We’ll be applying to a magistrate for more time if we don’t get a confession by two. We got the warrant for the family home this morning and the forensics team are still there … Who knows what else they’ll throw up?’

‘What about the CCTV footage?’

‘We’re still going through it.’