The Child Who

13

The lobby smelt of leather and centuries-old tomes, and was infused with a luxurious hush. There was artwork on the walls and copies of Country Life and Vanity Fair fanned meticulously on the side tables. Leo, doing his best not to slump on a deep-tan, button-backed Chesterfield, felt obliged every so often to straighten his tie. His suit, wrinkled from the train journey, seemed tattier than he remembered and shapeless. Nothing like those that drifted past once in a while atop handmade, leather-soled shoes. Leo looked, he imagined, like a wide-eyed yokel, which was exactly the way he felt. Out of his depth: that was the phrase. And it was apposite in so many ways.

‘Leo!’

Leo, tapping his fingertips on his knees, had not even realised the lobby housed a lift. He raised his head and saw the wooden panels across from him had drawn stealthily apart. Beyond them was a sparkling brass interior, out of which stepped the man Leo had come to see.

‘Dale.’ Leo got quickly to his feet. He buttoned his jacket and aimed his hand at the one being propelled towards him.

Dale Baldwin-Tovey should, by rights, have been a tosser. It was the word Terry had used to describe him the last time the barrister had been engaged by their practice but, unsurprisingly perhaps, Leo had felt obliged to demur. Dale was younger than Leo and Terry both. In financial terms he was considerably more successful. He had more hair than they did in the places it mattered and less where the lack of it mattered double. His teeth were almost as impressive as Howard’s but his grin was less ostentatious. The man seemed embarrassed by his good looks and was openly so of his double-barrelled surname. Leo found him humble, engaging and almost disconcertingly bright. A tosser then, as Terry would have it, precisely because he was not.

‘You found us okay? How was the journey?’ With his hand on Leo’s shoulder, Dale guided him back towards the lift. The barrister pressed the call button and kept pressing it, as though unwilling for his guest to be kept waiting.

‘It was fine. Thank you.’

‘Good. Great. Thanks again for coming up. Sorry you had to bother but there was just no way I could leave London this week.’

Leo made a face. ‘It’s fine. Really.’ Although the truth was, he had almost cancelled. Ellie was refusing to return to school and Meg had asked Leo to speak with her. Not only had Leo not had the chance, he had barely spent more than a few snatched seconds this past week talking to Megan. His wife, he knew, was less than happy. But the case – Daniel – could not wait, which was something Megan did not seem to understand. Plus, of course, there were the notes. Leo did not trust himself not to show them to his wife and doing so, given her obvious anxiety, would not be fair, at least until Leo could decide for himself whether they were worth worrying about. Which, actually, was another reason why Leo had decided in the end to make the trip.

The lift arrived and Dale gestured Leo inside. The doors closed and Leo found himself surrounded by an army in his own likeness. The floor, a dark-wood parquet, was the only surface that did not gleam. It was Leo’s first visit to a set of London chambers and his astonishment must have shown on his face.

‘Don’t be fooled,’ said Dale. ‘The decor’s as contrived as the whiskey barrels in your local Irish pub. They want you to like coming here, that’s all – they want you to enjoy spending your money.’

Leo did his best to return Dale’s roguish grin.

They got out on the fifth floor and Dale led Leo along a corridor that did nothing to undermine the impact of the lobby. Elegant wall lights and walnut panelling channelled them into a meeting room and they sat across from each other at a table worth more, probably, than Leo’s car. There was coffee and a tray of pastries and Dale offered Leo both. When Leo declined, Dale slid the trays to one side. He clicked his pen.

‘So.’

It sounded ill-considered. More than that, it sounded naive. Arguing with his colleagues back in Exeter, a presumption of rectitude had allowed him to skirt the obvious flaws in his thinking. Dale, though, was not hostile. He clearly sympathised with Leo’s intent. Which meant Leo could not resort to bluster, nor hide behind a moralism that was beside the point. And so he fidgeted. He cleared his throat, for the fourth or fifth time it felt like – even though it was Dale he was willing to speak.

‘What about his IQ?’ the barrister said at last.

‘Ninety. He was tested last week.’

Dale responded by twisting his lips. Low, he did not have to say – but not low enough.

‘And the psychiatrist…’

‘Karen.’

‘Karen. She doesn’t feel there’s anything compelling we might use?’

The ‘we’ was reassuring, until Leo considered the context.

‘Nothing obvious. He’s of sound mind, capable of rational judgement. He knows right from wrong. He has post-traumatic stress disorder but no sign of anything underlying. She has her concerns, though.’

Dale raised an eyebrow but Leo could only disappoint.

‘They’re just concerns,’ he said. ‘Nothing concrete. He’s clearly damaged in some way but… Well. We knew that already.’

Dale clicked his pen again: a double beat, followed by another, and then another in a metronomic rhythm. ‘You could use someone else, you know.’ He held still as he spoke, as though wary of Leo’s reaction. ‘Assuming Karen left us room for manoeuvre in her report, we could always find someone who would be more… sympathetic.’

Leo shifted. He had considered it, of course he had. But, ‘He’s on legal aid. We wouldn’t get the funding. And it was hard enough convincing him to see Karen in the first place, let alone someone new.’ Again Leo shuffled in his seat. ‘Besides. This is about doing what’s right for the boy. It’s not about fabricating a lie.’

‘No one’s suggesting we lie, Leo. But truth, in this field, is hardly absolute.’

‘Of course not. But there’s the matter of consensus. And I trust Karen’s judgement. She’s not wrong. She was never wrong. For every expert we find who disagrees with her findings, the Crown will find ten who concur.’

Dale shrugged an eyebrow. There was quiet for a moment.

‘Let’s go back to the victim.’ Dale moved his weight to the opposite armrest, set his legs at a different angle. ‘What was the boy’s connection with her?’

‘They went to the same school. They lived in the same city.’

‘That’s it?’

‘It seems to be. The first time I spoke to Daniel, he could barely recall her name.’

‘She didn’t bully him? Taunt him? She didn’t provoke him in any way?’

‘Not that anyone has suggested. Not even Daniel. And to be honest, she didn’t seem the type.’ An image of Felicity’s hands, bloodless and bound in fairy lights, flickered in Leo’s mind. ‘She was in the wrong place,’ he said, forcing himself to focus on Dale. ‘At the wrong time. Or Daniel was: physically, mentally.’

‘So provocation, self-defence… ?’

Leo shook his head.

‘And he’s not an alcoholic? A drug addict? He wasn’t drunk or anything at the time?’

‘He’s twelve years old, Dale.’

Again Dale twitched his eyebrows. ‘You’d be surprised.’ He frowned at his leather-bound notepad. His pen, between his fingers, seemed to whirl of its own accord. Leo watched it spin, grateful on the one hand that a man with such dexterity was on his side; terrified, on the other, that having Dale as an ally might not make the slightest bit of difference.

‘I think you’re right,’ Dale said. ‘Diminished responsibility, if Daniel decides to plead not guilty, would be about his only option.’

Leo tensed. He sensed a but.

‘But, with the evidence we have, I just don’t see how we could make the case.’

The ‘we’, now, seemed generous. A consolation, that was all. Leo waited for something more.

‘When’s the arraignment?’ said Dale, after a pause. ‘A month, you said?’

‘Just over.’

‘And your client. Daniel. He’s insisting on this, regardless of your advice?’

Leo had been waiting for this. Waiting – but not ready. ‘He’s not insisting on anything in particular.’

The pen in Dale’s hand came to a stop.

‘He trusts me.’ Leo spoke to the table but realised as he uttered the words that they yielded a certain pride. He looked up. ‘Daniel’s instructed me to do what I think is best.’ He paused but the silence that followed felt like a condemnation. ‘He’s a boy, Dale. How can he be expected to understand the complexities of—’

Dale nodded, held up a hand. ‘What about the boy’s parents? What do they say?’

‘They seemed in favour of diminished responsibility until they realised what it would involve. Now they think Daniel should plead guilty. Throw himself on the mercy of the court.’ Tell them Daniel did it and say he’s sorry – isn’t that how Blake had put it? As though sorry was the magic word; as though uttering it would be enough to salvage a future for his stepson.

‘The boy has a record. Doesn’t he?’

‘He does but the infractions are minor. Just kid stuff, really, and some time ago. They might even help us. Mightn’t they? If we paint them as cries for help. Like his school record. Couldn’t we use that too?’

Dale gave Leo a weary smile. ‘You don’t believe that, Leo.’

And it was true. Leo did not.

‘What about the schools?’ Dale said. ‘Daniel’s teachers? Might their testimony help us in any way?’

Leo thought of Ms Bridgwater, Daniel’s former – and Ellie’s current – head teacher. He thought of the younger teacher Daniel had attacked. ‘What could they say?’

Dale considered. He shook his head. ‘You’re right. It would hardly matter.’

Leo straightened. ‘There’s plenty to show Daniel was troubled. His father’s in prison, walked out on the family when Daniel was eight. And Daniel must have been to, what? Four? Five schools in the past three years? All his life he’s been shunted from one place to the next. He needed help but he was never offered any. I mean, he’s not stupid, his IQ tells us that, but he’s a year behind where he should be.’

‘They kept him down a year?’

Leo nodded. ‘And he’s bottom of his current class too.’

‘Any learning difficulties?’

‘None that have been diagnosed. One of the schools made a tentative diagnosis of hyperactivity. If you ask me, though, it was just a guess. A dismissal, rather. The only label that seems to have stuck is that Daniel was a troublemaker. A “low achiever” – isn’t that the term they use?’

‘What about social services? Was he on any lists?’

‘Not at the time. There was an investigation when he was a toddler because he kept showing up in A & E. It didn’t come to anything, though. Accident prone, was the verdict. One of those kids who’d find a knife in a drawer full of spoons.’

Dale resumed his pen spinning. He nodded his head as though to a beat. ‘Useful background,’ he muttered. Leo could not quite tell if he was talking to himself or offering some half-hearted encouragement. Either way, background would not be enough. Leo felt his posture deflate. He looked at his hands and, glancing up, realised that Dale was watching him. The barrister, caught, looked away. Then he set down his pen and tested the air with a cough.

‘Have you considered,’ he said, ‘mitigation?’

Leo felt his expression harden.

‘There’s no reason you can’t make the argument you’re making now in the pre-sentence report,’ said Dale. ‘Plus, if he pleads guilty, Daniel could benefit from a reduction in his tally.’

Leo was shaking his head. ‘But then he’s guilty. It’s not just about the sentence, Dale. If he’s guilty, he’s guilty for the rest of his life: on registers, databases, lists. And anyway, there’s no guarantee that he’ll be any better off. Not given the attention on the case.’

‘Possibly not. But it seems to me it’s the boy’s best option. I mean, his parents… Something tells me you don’t think much of them but… well… they might, in this case, be right.’

‘It’s not right. How can it be right? Someone needs to consider why. Don’t they? Whoever judges him needs to understand what led Daniel to do what he did. They owe the boy that much. We do. At least my way he has a chance.’

‘He took a life, Leo. An innocent child’s life.’

‘He took two lives. He took his own at the same time.’

‘Not in the sense that matters. And anyway it’s not about why. It’s never about why. We need to condemn a little more and understand a little less. John Major – remember? This is England, Leo, not Scandinavia.’

‘So we leave it to the newspapers. Is that what you’re saying? We let the Sun and the Mirror and the Mail take care of why?’

‘I’m saying that it’s not our job. That’s all.’ Dale paused, then added, ‘Especially when we don’t even know the answer.’

Leo opened his mouth, then clamped it tight. He was leaning forwards, he realised, reaching towards the centre of the table. He slid his hands into his lap and sat back.

Dale sighed. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m on your side. But you should consider as well the effect the trial would have on Daniel. Whether dragging this thing out is really, from his perspective, the right thing to do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Think about it. Think about what would be involved. You’ve been to a murder trial, I’m sure.’

Leo had. Two of them. One as an observer, the other as part of the defence team. Neither had been as dramatic as he had expected but they had been long, gruelling, even for someone just watching from the sidelines. ‘It would be different, though. Wouldn’t it? Given Daniel’s age.’

Dale shrugged. ‘The barristers might take off their wigs. The judge might sit a little lower. But no, actually – it would be exactly the same. A little slower. A little more drawn out. It would be an ordeal, Leo. There’s no getting away from that.’

Leo moved in his chair. ‘Well. As you say. There’s no getting away from that.’

Dale, charitably, ignored Leo’s tone. ‘Would Daniel be up to it, do you think? If he had to testify, how would he come across? Would he stay calm? Would he seem contrite? Would he remain quiet, pay attention, sit straight: all those things he seems so rarely to have managed at school?’ The barrister’s gaze seemed to have settled on the scratches on Leo’s cheek.

Leo turned away, dropped his chin. ‘I think,’ he said. ‘I think maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.’

Dale said nothing. He watched Leo for a moment, then smiled and pulled himself straight. ‘Perhaps we are. I’m sorry, Leo. It wasn’t my intention to make this harder.’

‘No,’ said Leo. He looked up and said it again, this time displaying a brightness he did not feel. ‘Really,’ he added, ‘it’s fine. You’ve been a huge help. You really have.’

Dale smiled, in a way that said they both knew that was not true. He closed his folder. Leo, for a moment, stared at the table. Then he set about gathering his belongings.

‘How much youth work have you done, Leo?’ said Dale, after a moment. He was tucking his pen into his jacket pocket, not looking at Leo as he spoke.

Leo had, once, attended a seminar. He rescued himself from saying so. ‘Some,’ he said instead. ‘Not a lot.’ He had a daughter, too. That was the other reason, as Leo recalled, that Howard had appointed him their practice specialist.

‘It’s tough,’ Dale said. ‘Isn’t it? It can get to you. Affect your judgement.’ He was standing now, facing Leo across the table. ‘It can be hard, sometimes, to remain objective, to distinguish what we need to do from what we feel we should.’

Leo focused on fastening his briefcase.

They were almost at the lift. Leo cleared his throat and Dale glanced. ‘Do you…’ Leo said. ‘Have you ever…’ And now Dale was smiling and frowning both. ‘Have you ever been threatened?’ Leo spoke quickly. ‘Because of work?’

They stopped at the elevator. Dale pushed the call button and gave a puff. He folded his arms. He looked suspiciously at Leo. ‘You mean by a client? Are you talking about Dan—’

‘No, no, no. Not at all. I mean generally. By someone else. Because of a case you were involved with.’

Again Dale considered. ‘Well, I… Yes. I suppose I have.’

Leo, ludicrously, felt a surge of relief.

‘More than threatened, actually,’ said Dale and he seemed to brighten at whatever recollection was forming in his mind. ‘I was attacked. When I was a pupil. By the girlfriend of this bloke I was defending.’ Dale grinned. ‘She didn’t like my advice. She wanted to testify, you see, tell the judge what an upstanding man my client was, when the whole point was this bloke, my client, was married – twice, concurrently – and charged with bigamy. We were in chambers, just downstairs in fact, and what happened was…’ Dale fell silent. He had noticed the expression on Leo’s face. ‘It didn’t end well,’ he said, dismissing the story with a gesture. ‘I had scratch marks for a while, just… er… just like yours.’ He twitched a smile, then coughed and looked down. He reached once more for the call button.

Leo raised his fingers to his cheek. ‘I was thinking more about… you know.’ He let his fingers fall. ‘Members of the public. People not directly involved.’

‘Like protesters, you mean? Like that mob outside the Magistrates’ I saw on the news?’

‘Well. Yes. Sort of, I suppose.’

‘I’ve battled my way through a few crowds in my time. Dodged the odd egg; even got hit by one or two. The dry-cleaning bills, I would say, come with the gown. Should really be tax deductible.’

Leo smiled politely. He nodded, as though that was the sort of thing he had in mind. ‘What about letters. Notes. Things like that.’

‘Letters?’

‘Like, um… poison-pen letters.’

‘Hate mail, you mean?’ Dale, incongruously, grinned. ‘We get it by the sackload, my friend. Human-rights protesters, environmentalists, animal-rights campaigners, you name it. When they’re not writing to the Guardian, they’re writing to us.’ Dale glanced across his shoulder, made a show of leaning in close. ‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he said. Then, in a whisper: ‘Lawyers, in this country, aren’t very popular.’ He held up his hands, backed away. ‘It’s crazy, I know. I, for one, feel misunderstood.’

Leo mimicked the barrister’s grin. There you had it. Exactly as Leo had suspected.

Dale turned and reached again for the call button but almost as he pressed it the lift arrived. There was a ping and whisper of wood and Leo, facing inwards, was greeted by an image of his smiling self. He stepped to meet it, his briefcase a little lighter in his grip.