Guilty One (20 page)

Daniel remembered Minnie’s sister, Harriet, standing on her tiptoes to reach up to him.
You should be ashamed of yourself, lad,
and
then the sight of her stabbing her way across the noisy shingle of the funeral-home yard.

Harriet.

Daniel remembered her coming to visit, and the tense drive to pick her up in Carlisle: Minnie’s knuckles white on the steering wheel as she drove, the roar of the Renault as she belted up the motorway in third gear.

Harriet was Minnie’s younger sister, also a nurse, also a laugh, and also fond of the drink. Daniel remembered the taste of her sweet ginger-ale kisses when she visited, once a year, or every two years, bringing hand-knitted jumpers and jars of hard sweets.

He finished his curry and pushed the plate away. Wiping his mouth, he found Minnie’s box in the living room and pulled out the address book. The book was full of Brampton farmers, but then he found Harriet –
Harriet MacBryde –
listed under her maiden name, although Harriet had married, had a family in Cork – he had seen the pictures. Daniel continued flicking through the book, pausing at the end, at another name he recognised: Tricia Stern.

Tricia.
Daniel could still remember riding in the car with her to Minnie’s farm for the first time. There was the phone number and address for Newcastle Children’s Social Care Services and another number for Carlisle Social Services.

Daniel started from the beginning and went through the book more slowly this time.
Jane Flynn –
a London number, the address somewhere in Hounslow. Flynn had been Minnie’s married name: Minnie Flynn, Norman Flynn and Delia Flynn – the Flynns of Flynn Farm. Norman must have had family, Daniel reasoned, although Minnie had never spoken of them. She wouldn’t have – she could barely mention her husband without her eyes glassing with tears.

It
was late and Daniel didn’t have time. He had too much work to do and would be up until two as it was, but so many questions whirred in his mind. Years he had tried to keep her from his thoughts, but now that she was dead he found himself drawn to her. He wanted to know why she had hurt him as she had, and why she had hurt so much. But it was too late.

Daniel took a deep breath. He flipped back through the address book, leaning forward with the heel of his hand on his forehead, so that his hair fell over his fingers.

He picked up the telephone and dialled with his thumb the number of Harriet MacBryde, Middleton, Cork, beer bottle in his other hand. He dialled all but the last number and then hung up. Harriet wouldn’t want to speak to him, he reasoned. She thought he was shameful, someone who should be sorry, the guilty one. What was it he wanted to know from Harriet? He wanted to know Minnie, he realised, wanted to know who she was, apart from the big-hipped woman who had mothered him and saved him from himself.

Daniel ran both hands through his hair and sighed deeply. He put the telephone down and got back to his work, steeling himself for a long night.

The prosecution had hired a psychiatrist to assess Sebastian. The report showed that he was sane and fit to plead. Daniel had also arranged a psychological assessment. The psychologist had visited Parklands House to meet with Sebastian and the report was sent to Harvey, Hunter and Steele one week later. Daniel bit his lip as he slipped the report into his briefcase. He didn’t know what he had been expecting from the psychologist. Sometimes when he was with Sebastian he felt a strange affinity with him. Other times he too
felt uneasy around the boy whom Irene described as
unsettling.

In the gents, Daniel fixed his tie and ran a hand through his hair. He was alone and he looked at himself for a second longer than he would normally, not smiling, watching his face as he imagined others saw it. He looked tired, he thought, his dark eyes shadowed underneath and his cheeks thinner than normal. He remembered his wildness as a child. He knew where it had come from, but not where it had gone. He leaned closer to the mirror and ran a finger along the bridge of his nose, feeling for the small bump that he attributed to having his nose broken when he was little.

Daniel had to be at the Old Bailey for a brief pre-trial hearing and afterwards he had an appointment with the psychologist. He was late and so he jogged to the Tube, running down the escalators and up again – apologising when his briefcase nudged a woman’s hip. He surfaced at St Paul’s and walked to the Old Bailey.

It was after four when he escaped the Central Criminal Court and headed to Fulham to meet the psychologist, Dr Baird. Irene had been delayed, and so only Mark Gibbons, her junior counsel, made the meeting.

Baird was younger than Daniel had imagined him. His skin was pale and freckles from his nose spread up his face and on to his scalp where his strawberry blond hair was thinning. He seemed nervous.

‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’ said Dr Baird, arching his thin pale eyebrows as if one of them had made an interesting remark.

Daniel refused but Mark cleared this throat and asked for a tea.

*

His
report had been detached, professional, yet offering personal insights into Sebastian’s character. In terms of the defence, it could help to win sympathy for Sebastian, but Daniel and Irene had not decided how or if to use it. Dr Baird had assessed Sebastian’s suitability to stand trial in adult court, yet Daniel had wanted it to show Sebastian as the young boy he was, with minimum readiness for the rigours of the courtroom. The psychologist had described Sebastian as intelligent and articulate and all Daniel could hope was that these positive professional opinions would help to counteract the prosecution’s witnesses’ statements – that Sebastian was a cruel bully – and enable the jury to sympathise with him. Of course Daniel hoped that sympathy would not be needed and that facts alone would prove the boy innocent.

Dr Baird had visited Sebastian at Parklands House, armed with dolls and felt-tipped pens. Daniel had been absorbed by his report, not only because of its possible relevance for the trial but because of what it revealed about Sebastian.

While Mark sipped his tea – cup trembling on its saucer – Baird sat back in his chair, hands folded over his compact stomach, and expounded on Sebastian.

‘He’s highly intelligent, as I note in the report – IQ of 140, and he was certainly well aware of who I was and what I was about …’

Daniel thought that Baird sounded peeved.

‘So, do you know why I am here?’ the doctor asked.

‘Yes,’ said Sebastian. ‘You want to get inside my head.’

‘He certainly displayed an … uncanny maturity for a boy his age, and
he was quite certain that he was innocent.’ Baird opened his eyes wide as he said the word. Daniel was not sure what the man intended by the expression: was he impressed or disbelieving?

‘Do you know what crime you’ve been charged with, Sebastian?’

‘Murder.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’

‘I’m innocent.’

The boy knew the difference, Baird told Daniel and Mark. He was clear about the difference between right and wrong, and knew that murder – indeed violence – was wrong.

Daniel wondered if Sebastian really understood the difference, or if he had responded according to the doctor’s expectations. Daniel thought about his own childhood and his own wrongdoings – some of them criminal. He remembered no awareness of the immorality of these acts, only expediency, protection and revenge. Minnie had helped him to understand the difference.

Daniel leafed through the report to the sections he had highlighted before the meeting. ‘Dr Baird, you’ve written that you have no way of knowing how Sebastian would react in a state of emotional distress, but you think that even in that state he would know what he was doing and its moral implications – forgive me for paraphrasing. What exactly does that mean?’

‘Well, it means that I have met Sebastian twice and feel confident to give this assessment of him – that he knows the difference between right and wrong – but I am aware that a longer study of his behaviour would be necessary in order to be conclusive about his understanding of morality and his behaviour changes when under great emotional pressure.’

‘I
see – you say that he is …’ Daniel turned the page and read: ‘…
unable to deal with and understand strong emotions and is prone to tantrums and emotional outbursts.
What does that mean in terms of his ability to perpetrate a violent crime?’

‘Well, very little – I found him to be intellectually mature, precocious even, but as I have stated he did seem emotionally immature. We touched on some troubling subjects and he did become visibly upset, but certainly not aggressive in any way.’

Daniel scanned the report again, frowning. ‘You ascertained there was an indication of abuse?’

‘Why yes,’ said Baird, picking up his file and referring to his notes. ‘Certainly of spousal abuse in the home. We did some role play with dolls, which at first Sebastian was not open to engage with … but eventually he did interact with the dolls. He didn’t verbalise it – again an indication of emotional immaturity – but he seemed to act out scenes where his father punched and kicked his mother.’

‘There’s been no social work engagement with the family,’ said Mark, finishing his tea.

‘Correct,’ said Dr Baird, ‘but medical reports do corroborate some of Sebastian’s statements.

‘I’m an only child. There was a baby but it died. I put my hand on my mum’s stomach and I felt it moving. But then she fell and she gave birth to a dead thing.’

‘Sebastian described a stillbirth – quite vividly so – and Mrs Croll did indeed suffer a third trimester miscarriage as a result of an accident in the home,’ confirmed Baird.

Daniel had read in the doctor’s report that Sebastian’s expression had been ‘blank’ when he provided this information, and Baird
had noted that the boy made ‘a short sucking sound with his mouth’.

Daniel cleared his throat and glanced at Mark, who was making notes.

‘Finally,’ said Daniel, ‘you dismiss the previous diagnosis of Asperger’s by Sebastian’s educational psychologist? This was in his school reports.’

‘Yes, I didn’t find any evidence that he had Asperger’s, although he may have some traits related to the spectrum.’

‘And you are recommending regular court breaks?’ said Daniel. ‘I think that will happen as standard, but I think we should have you testify to that effect – do you agree, Mark?’

Mark nodded eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing nobly above his shirt collar.

‘But of course – court proceedings should be geared to take account of Sebastian’s age and emotional state. His high intelligence means that proceedings may be understood well if properly explained, but regular breaks should be arranged so as to limit emotional strain.’

Daniel said goodbye to Mark and made his way home. He closed his eyes and sat back in his seat, feeling the rock and reel of the Tube. He remembered his own powerlessness as his mother was beaten then imagined Kenneth King Croll causing Charlotte to fall and lose her baby.

Back in Bow, he unpacked his briefcase in the kitchen, scattering the Croll evidence bundle on to the table, and opened a beer. He would go through it one more time after dinner. He saw his notepad from the night before, with numbers for Harriet MacBryde and Jane Flynn, and sat staring at them, wondering what
to do. Harriet was furious with him and Jane had probably never heard of him. He was family to neither.

He had a shower and changed into T-shirt and jeans. He padded barefoot to the living room where he lifted the photograph of Minnie’s first family from the mantelpiece. He carried it through to the kitchen and finished his beer staring at Minnie’s face. It was gleaming with happiness, skin still unruddied by the years outdoors that were to come.

Daniel took a deep breath and picked up the telephone. He dialled Harriet’s number; listening to the unusual long ring and feeling his chest tighten in expectation. He drummed his fingers gently on the table, having not thought what he was going to say. The phone rang out and he was just about to hang up when she answered.

‘Hello?’ Heavy breathing, as if she had been running to the phone.

‘Hi, is it … Harriet?’

‘Yes, can I help you?’ She was calm now, steeled, trying to place his voice.

‘It … it’s Danny, I saw you at …’

There was a long pause and then Harriet said, ‘What do you want?’

Daniel leaned forward on the kitchen table and reached for Minnie’s photo. He spoke quietly, unaccustomed to asking for help. The room was warm and the veins on his hands were raised as he held the photo frame.

‘I’m sorry about … when I saw you at the funeral. I was … anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Minnie. I’ve been thinking about her a lot and realise there’s so much about her that I don’t know – that she never told me. I wondered if you would …’

‘Like I
said to you at the funeral, Danny, this sudden interest is long overdue. She was heartbroken when you didn’t speak to her or visit.
Heartbroken,
do you understand? And now she’s dead, you want to find out more about the fine person that she was? I’m grieving for a sister that I loved dearly, but you said goodbye to Minnie long ago. Now, for the love of God,
leave me alone.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel whispered, but Harriet had already hung up.

16

Daniel
was looking at the comics in Brampton News on Front Street. He was aware of being watched and turned quickly to catch a woman in maroon overalls staring at him. When he met her gaze she smiled at him and went back to the cash desk. Daniel felt a hot flush rise on his cheek. He knew the woman as Florence MacGregor, who everyone called Flo-Mac. She bought eggs and sometimes a chicken from Minnie, and always quibbled over the price. She had very black hair and Minnie had told him that she dyed it;
some people just can’t take getting older, even though there’s nothing more certain in life than dying itself,
she had told Daniel.