Split Second

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Andrew

Nicola Healy’s testimony was almost word for word the same as Thomas Garrington’s. She accused Conrad Quinn of carrying the knife and of using it. She kept her answers short and shorn of detail or elaboration until she got agitated. She blinked with nerves and often bit her thumbnail, a habit that made her appear even younger than seventeen. When Mr Sweeney began cross-examination, he challenged her about her comments on the bus. ‘You said, “He’ll cut you.” Referring to Thomas Garrington.’

‘No, that was Conrad I meant.’

‘Not according to an independent witness.’

‘Yeah, but she didn’t know, did she? I know what I said.’

‘Had Gazza told you he was not carrying a knife?’

‘No.’

‘But you knew he often did carry one?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘So it would be fair to assume that Thomas Garrington did have the knife on him that evening?’

‘But he didn’t.’

‘You didn’t know that, though, did you?’ She stalled, her mouth working. ‘You’re mixing me up,’ she complained. She bit at her thumb.

‘Both Conrad Quinn and Thomas Garrington could have been carrying knives that evening. They were both habitual carriers of knives. Yet you claim only Conrad had one?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why wasn’t Thomas Garrington carrying his?’

‘I don’t know. That’s just how it was.’

‘Do you deny that Thomas Garrington said, “I’ll do you. I’ll have you. I’ve got a knife”?’

‘Conrad said that.’

‘Did Conrad say, “He’ll shank you”?’

‘No, he said, “I’ll shank you.”’

‘I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful, Miss Healy. In fact I don’t think you’re being truthful at all. I think you’ve twisted the truth to point blame at Conrad Quinn, haven’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Had you met Luke Murray before?’

‘No.’

‘You knew Thomas Garrington had a score to settle with Luke?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘So the brutal way you attacked him, that was done on Thomas Garrington’s behalf, was it?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why then?’

‘He was disrespecting us, wasn’t he?’ Andrew saw Louise shift in her seat. He imagined her anger at the warped justification.

‘How exactly?’

‘He told us to fuck off,’ she said.

‘After you began intimidating him?’

‘He should have had more respect, but we never meant for him to get hurt bad, he just needed a bit of a slap.’

‘How many times did you kick Luke Murray?’ said Mr Sweeney.

‘A couple.’

‘Mrs Barnes described it as a frenzied attack. Isn’t that the truth?’

‘No. Just kicked him to scare him a bit. Just a couple of kicks. I never meant to hurt him, but Conrad went mental. Kicking his head over and over.’

‘And you say you saw Conrad Quinn stab Jason Barnes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Jason was facing Conrad at the time?’ said Mr Sweeney.

‘Yes, and Conrad had the knife out,’ she said.

‘Could Jason see the knife?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her answer chimed with an objection of ‘Speculation!’ from Mr Floyd.

‘Was the knife you allege Conrad Quinn to have produced visible to you before Jason touched Conrad?’

‘Yes.’

‘There was a space between them, and Conrad had the knife?’

‘Yes.’ She sniffed.

‘Jason reached Conrad and grabbed him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s be completely clear about this. Jason Barnes, an unarmed man, advanced towards Conrad Quinn, who had a knife pointed at him?’

‘Yeah, I said so.’ She sounded defensive, petulant.

‘And you’re telling us that as Jason moved towards him, Conrad just stood there, did not raise the knife to strike at an open target?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And then as Jason got close enough, Conrad Quinn reached around and stabbed him in the back?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Which hand did Conrad use?’

Nicola Healy faltered, opened her mouth and closed it again. Blinked several times. ‘I can’t remember,’ she said. Andrew thought she sensed a trap.

‘Everything else is crystal clear, but this particular detail is gone?’

‘I don’t know, I can’t remember,’ she said.

‘Luke was prone on the floor; you were by his side, his stomach, facing the house. Conrad and Jason would have been just to your right. Just the other side of Luke, a couple of feet away, if that. Was it his left hand, the hand nearest to you, or his right, the one furthest away, that Conrad had the knife in?’

‘I can’t remember,’ she said. Her eyes darting about.

Andrew felt a glow of hope. She was lying. And the last exchange made it clear. He leant forward and rubbed his face, caught movement from along the row, Louise catching Ruby’s hand and squeezing it. She knew it too.

Louise

After lunch came the closing speeches. Louise watched the jury as Mr Sweeney began. Most of the jurors were impassive, though one or two nodded on occasion and she thought it was a hopeful sign that almost all of them looked at Mr Sweeney as he spoke, rather than avoiding him. They were prepared to consider what he was telling them. Eye contact mattered; for truth, for lying.

When Luke had told her fibs, she had often been able to tell: the way his eyes slid away, or his elaborate blinking and scratching at the back of his neck. Distraction techniques.

‘Look at me,’ she’d say. Able to discern in the flicker of his eyes and the expression there whether he was being honest. He got wise to that eventually, would stare at her, eyes bold and bare, unblinking. A mask to fake the truth – at least some of the time. What she’d give for a look like that from him now. For those sweet brown eyes to fly open and brim with life.

She caught up with what Mr Sweeney was saying. ‘Two young men with their lives before them, loved by their families and full of promise, cut down by the vicious unprovoked attacks carried out by the defendants. At the beginning of this trial you heard from an independent witness, Emma Curtis. Miss Curtis told you clearly that it was Thomas Garrington who led the attack on Luke Murray and Thomas Garrington who boasted about using his knife. Conrad Quinn witnessed that fatal knife attack on Jason Barnes and has told you what he saw. Make no mistake: in pleading guilty to Section 18 wounding, Conrad Quinn may yet face a life sentence. That was not an easy option; it was an honest option. It was not a selfish choice but a moral choice. In giving evidence, Conrad Quinn has helped those here today who grieve for Jason Barnes, those who face a life sentence caring for Luke Murray; he has helped them pursue justice. Luke Murray did not provoke his attackers on that December night. Luke Murray, an apprentice electrician…’

Louise remembered the first thing he had fixed, when he’d replaced an overloaded extension cable with a pair of new wall sockets and she’d dared to hope that he’d stick to the training.

‘… had completed his end-of-year modules. He had been out to celebrate with his classmates. Luke had discovered his vocation. He was sitting quietly on the bus when he was terrorized by Thomas Garrington, Conrad Quinn and Nicola Healy. Just a few days before Christmas, Luke Murray was kicked so badly that he suffered a fractured skull and serious brain damage. He will never recover.’

Louise tensed at the stark finality of the pronouncement.

‘His family will never recover. All three of his attackers are culpable. Only Conrad Quinn has had the guts to own up to his part in this most savage attack.’

He was right, she thought: for all that she hated the boy because of what he had done to Luke, he had confessed. That was brave of him.

‘Jason Barnes had started university in September; he was a promising student and a popular one. Home for the holidays, he was on the same bus as Luke. He’d been out for couple of drinks with his friends from school. When Jason saw Luke being racially abused and physically threatened, he did not hesitate. Without thought for his own safety, he tried to defend Luke Murray. Not just on the bus, but afterwards as the trio chased Luke into Jason’s own front garden, as they set about their cowardly attack.

‘We have heard conflicting accounts of how Jason Barnes was stabbed. I ask you to consider the evidence. On the one hand we have the testimony about the threats on the bus from Emma Curtis, a witness who has no vested interest in the outcome of this trial and who clearly heard Thomas Garrington threaten to use a knife. This is supported by the statement sworn by Conrad Quinn, who stated fully his role in the dreadful attack on Luke Murray and went on to describe the murder. Conrad Quinn described how Thomas Garrington, already crazed with seeking revenge on Luke Murray, his rage fuelled by a cocktail of cocaine and liquor, drew his knife immediately after Jason Barnes hit him with the garden lantern. Thomas Garrington rose up behind Jason and stabbed him. Then weigh that against the bizarre claims of the defendants and ask yourselves these questions. Is it credible that Thomas Garrington did not have a knife on that night of all nights? Is it credible that Emma Curtis did not hear those threats on the bus, made by people only inches from where she was sitting? Is it credible that Jason Barnes launched himself forward towards someone holding a knife? Is it credible that rather than thrust that knife into Jason from the front, the attacker then grabbed him in some sort of bear hug and stabbed him in his back?

‘Thomas Garrington and Nicola Healy have attempted to mislead this court, fabricating an account that is not borne out by independent witnesses. Nicola Healy, less than two feet away from Jason, could not even tell you which hand Conrad supposedly held the knife in. There is a simple explanation as to why she could not remember – because Conrad Quinn did not draw a knife and attack Jason Barnes that night; that was the work of Thomas Garrington. Thomas Garrington was at the gate. Ask yourselves why – because he had already used the knife and wanted to make good his escape. It was Thomas Garrington who had the grudge against Luke Murray, it was Thomas Garrington who led the cowardly attack on the bus and it was Thomas Garrington who murdered Jason Barnes. That, members of the jury, is what the evidence tells us.

‘Luke Murray did not deserve to be beaten senseless, confined to being fed by a tube for the rest of his days. Jason Barnes, the only child of his loving parents, did not deserve to have his life cut short for trying to help someone in distress. What they both do deserve is justice. They deserve the truth. They and their families deserve to see these callous perpetrators convicted of the charges before you: murder and attempted murder.

Jason Barnes stood up for Luke Murray; members of the jury, I ask you to honour his name by standing up for him in turn.’

Someone was weeping. Ruby too. Louise swallowed, breathed hard, her pulse choppy. There was a moment’s silence, then the judge invited Mrs Patel to close for the defence on behalf of Thomas Garrington.

Andrew

Andrew sat tight, though a thousand objections came to him as Mrs Patel’s speech unfolded. Her performance was electrifying. Her delivery crisp, perfectly timed.

‘Members of the jury, the charges against the defendant are the most grave in the land. Murder and attempted murder. In evidence we have heard confusing, indeed conflicting, accounts of the events of that December night: an altercation that got out of hand and ended in an appalling tragedy. But Thomas Garrington was not the person responsible for kicking Luke Murray in the head. That was Conrad Quinn, a fact confirmed by Conrad Quinn himself and by Mr and Mrs Barnes. It was Conrad Quinn who delivered those brutal blows, Conrad Quinn who left Luke Murray with a fractured skull and serious head injuries that mean he still lies in a coma today.

‘Thomas Garrington was not carrying a weapon of any sort that night, but Conrad Quinn was. And when Jason Barnes, rightly incensed by the attack on Luke Murray, and remember, under the influence of alcohol, first battered my client, with such force that he broke one of his ribs, then lunged at Conrad Quinn, it was Conrad Quinn who drew a knife. Conrad Quinn used that knife. He ignored police appeals to come forward and threatened Thomas Garrington and Nicola Healy, warning them not to speak out.’

Battered! Lunged! Andrew felt a swell of rage. Beside him Val twitched, made a little plosive sound of outrage. Jason had had a few beers at the pub and the barrister was implying he was drunk and violent.

‘You have heard Conrad Quinn admit to throwing his knife in the river. Is that the action of an innocent man? We have heard no plausible explanation for this action. But if you accept, as I put it to you, that his knife was the murder weapon, then his actions make perfect sense. Conrad Quinn is attempting to fool you, ladies and gentlemen, pleading to a lesser charge – and it is a lesser charge – and falsely accusing my client Thomas Garrington of murder. Don’t be fooled. Trust the evidence.’

Why had he thrown his knife away? Andrew thought. If only he’d kept it, he might have been exonerated; they could have proved it was not the weapon that had killed Jason.

‘There is no forensic evidence to support Conrad Quinn’s reckless allegations. The only witnesses to the knife attack were the defendants and Conrad Quinn. Conrad Quinn blames Thomas Garrington, but both Thomas Garrington and his co-defendant Nicola Healy have told you repeatedly, under oath, that it was Conrad Quinn himself who stabbed Jason Barnes. The burden is on the prosecution to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendants committed the crimes as charged. I say to you that there are many serious doubts about the prosecution case. It falls far, far short of the unshakeable evidence that would be required to convict. The evidence is flimsy, circumstantial, unsound, paltry. Remember, there is not one shred of forensic evidence to support the prosecution case.’

Andrew thought of the snow on the lawn, footprints smeared in the mêlée, obscured by a fresh fall, the snow near Luke sorbet pink.

‘The case for the prosecution turns on a few shouted comments heard by a traumatized young woman on a bus and the self-serving account given by the witness who was the most vicious assailant on Luke Murray. A witness who, I caution you, has every reason to evade the full force of the law. I ask you to use your minds as much as your hearts, ladies and gentlemen, and you will find Thomas Garrington not guilty on all counts.’

Andrew ached again for Jason. Even after so many months. In fact it grew harder. How would he cope if they got off? He understood obsession now, tales of campaigning parents, stuck forever in the mire of appeals and hearings. Life limited and defined by the quest for justice. Could he and Val get the authorities to pursue a civil case if a criminal one failed? What if there weren’t strong enough grounds? There had to be a reckoning; he had to know who had taken Jason’s life. Otherwise he would go mad.

Emma

It was the turn of Mr Floyd, Nicola Healy’s lawyer. ‘On the seventeenth of December, my client got caught up in events that will haunt her for the rest of her days. She had no idea that a spat between teenagers on a bus would spiral out of control.’

A spat? Emma recalled the atmosphere, the ugly menace. But to be fair, she had tried to persuade herself at the time that it was just kids messing about, hadn’t she? Though her gut, the tension in the air, told a different truth.

‘Nicola Healy has sworn on oath to tell the whole truth here today, and that is what she has done.’

Emma could see the girl in the dock, her head bent over, a tremor across her shoulders. Was she crying?

‘She has sworn on oath that it was Conrad Quinn who threatened Luke with a knife, Conrad Quinn who dealt the most devastating blows once Luke Murray was defenceless on the ground and Conrad Quinn who, drunk on bloodlust, drew his weapon and stabbed Jason Barnes. My client is not guilty. And she chose to fight her case here in court so you might judge her. She has nothing to hide. Nicola Healy never touched Jason Barnes. She did not lay a finger on him. Nor did she encourage anyone else to. The murder of Jason Barnes was an appalling crime, but it was a crime in which Nicola Healy played no part.

‘On the charge of attempted murder, my client pleads not guilty too. There is a whole world of difference between a kick that splits someone’s skull, as admitted by Conrad Quinn, and one that barely marks the skin. Nicola was horrified to see Conrad Quinn begin the assault with such ferocity. There had been no plan to the events of that evening, no plot to find and hurt Luke Murray. A random encounter on a bus escalated beyond all proportion and spiralled out of control, driven by the savagery of Conrad Quinn. My learned colleague is correct: these are the most serious charges in the land, and the prosecution must prove their case beyond all reasonable doubt. In the case of my client, they have singularly failed to do so. Nicola Healy found herself in a nightmare that still plagues her. But she is innocent, innocent of murder and of attempted murder. Please consider all the evidence you have heard, and if you do so, ladies and gentlemen, I am assured that you will find that you can reach only one conclusion: Nicola Healy is innocent.’

The judge summed up after the break. He told the jury they must decide whether the prosecution had proved that the defendants were guilty as charged. Any uncertainty and a guilty charge could not be agreed. He began to define the laws of murder, and Emma’s concentration drifted. She made her way out of the court as quietly as she could. Thomas Garrington’s mother gave her an acid look, quick so that no one else could see, and Emma felt sick inside. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Luke’s mother had said: ‘It’s what you do now that matters.’

She thought of her life, her job, Laura and the Kims, her flat – less lonely since the holiday. She had the girls round for nights now and again. She thought of the bingeing and the cutting. Her mum and dad. Luke’s mum was right. She had been brave, but that was like penance really. Most of the time she wasn’t brave and she wasn’t happy and it just went on and on. She let it go on and on. Like she was stuck on a travelator going nowhere. Or a luggage carousel, the last bag that no one claimed, going round and round for ever. And she was sick of it all.

Andrew

When they failed to reach agreement in the couple of hours left at the end of the afternoon, the jury was sent home for the night. Andrew’s parents had invited him and Val to eat with them that evening. Colin and Izzie would be there, and the kids.

Andrew was ready to leave; he called up to Val, ‘We should go.’

She came to the top of the stairs. ‘My head’s killing me. I’m going to go to bed.’

‘Do you want me to stay?’ he said.

‘No, I’m going to try and sleep.’

‘Val, if this is about Louise Murray, I’m so sorry…’ He began to climb the stairs.

‘It’s not,’ she said.

‘What then?’

‘I told you, I’ve got a headache.’

He reached the top step, leant against the railing on the landing. ‘No. You’re still freezing me out. I want to help. Tell me what’s going on.’

‘I can’t do this now, Andrew. I can’t even think about it. Not while twelve people out there are deciding on the verdict. I haven’t got space in my head.’ She looked harrowed, her eyes burning. ‘That’s all I can cope with at the moment.’

‘Okay.’ He understood. ‘But afterwards.’ He looked at her. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘You know, everybody said you were amazing on the stand. I wish I could have seen you. And they’ll remember that, the jury.’

‘You weren’t so bad yourself.’ She choked off a little sob.

He put his palm against her cheek. ‘We’ll be all right,’ he told her. ‘It’s nearly over.’ He gave her a hug.

‘Tell them I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I really just need to lie down.’

‘Okay.’

They drew apart and he went back downstairs. He accepted that all the energy she had was focused on the outcome of the trial. Once they’d got beyond that, then there’d be a chance to pick up the pieces. To work out how they could salvage their relationship. He wanted her back. He would listen to what she needed, and do all he could to make things right between them. She was weakened by the depression and it had felt like she was holding out on him deliberately, being cold and unresponsive, pushing him away almost as if she was forcing him to give up on her. Well, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t throw away twenty-five years. He would be stronger than that, strong enough for both of them if necessary. And his resolution would give them firm ground on which to build their future.

His mother had made a chicken casserole and creamy mashed potatoes. Comfort food, he thought. They were all eager to discuss the court case, the minutiae of replies and rejoinders. The manoeuvrings of the defence. Speculating on who had been lying, who they believed. The spirited debate was a complete contrast to the absence of interaction in his own house. We’re living in a mausoleum, he thought, buried alive with our dead son.

He told them what he thought of doing if they lost the case, and they all agreed to back him. Colin said he’d need legal advice about whether they had grounds to bring a civil suit.

‘I can ask Mr Sweeney,’ said Andrew.

‘You won’t need to,’ his mother said, setting down a cut-glass bowl of fruit salad in the middle of the table. ‘Any fool could tell they were guilty as sin.’

‘But they can only convict on the evidence,’ Andrew pointed out. ‘Gut feelings, instinct – they don’t count.’

‘The evidence is there,’ Izzie insisted. ‘The girl on the bus for a start.’ The chatter went on, and Andrew thought back to the haze of days after it had happened, to the numbness that had enveloped him. The way he had felt there was a veil between himself and the rest of them.

On his way out, his mother contrived to catch him on his own. ‘You and Val are having problems?’

‘Colin been shooting his mouth off, has he?’ He felt a scratch of irritation.

‘I have eyes in my head, Andrew,’ she said wryly.

‘I have tried to help. It’s tough. And please don’t quote “in sickness and in health” at me.’

‘She’s still off work?’

‘Yes.’ He pulled his coat on, grabbed his scarf from the hook on the wall.

‘Does she still see her friends?’

‘Yes, not as much, but yes.’ He paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘I know losing Jason, the strain, something’s bound to give, but I don’t want to lose her too.’ His eyes ached.

If he lost Val, he would lose so much more. The joint experiences they had shared, not just with Jason, but everything that had come before: the lost babies, the hardware store, burying her parents, her brother’s sudden departure for a monastic life. And their marriage: how they’d discovered each other’s charms and irritants, the way they had grown together, the intimacies no one else had knowledge of. And their love: the way his heart used to leap at the sight of her, his senses quicken at her scent. Then at last the wonder of parenthood: the ins and outs of vaccinations, parents’ evening, holidays, as well as all the little domestic rituals the three of them developed, the familiarities, like bedtimes spent checking the room for moths. Learning Jason’s foibles: the way he got carsick, his inability to sit through a meal without knocking something over, the sound of him singing, his voice fluting like clear water. And always Jason, at the centre, the sun they orbited.

His mother moved to hug him. ‘We’re here,’ she said, ‘always.’

‘I know,’ he said. Moved by her understanding. Grateful to her for not coming out with advice or platitudes.

It was late, but Andrew wasn’t ready to go straight home. He rang Louise. ‘You okay?’

‘Not really,’ she said.

‘Fancy some company?’

‘I don’t think so – Ruby’s here. It’s not a great time.’

‘Of course, another day then.’ He was disappointed.

‘Yeah, thanks for ringing. Andrew?’ she said quickly, before he could finish the call. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

He assumed she meant the verdicts. ‘You think?’

‘I do. We just have to wait.’