Guilty One (38 page)

Abandoned.

When it was his turn, Daniel stepped up to the desk. Suddenly he felt abnegated, cast out. He remembered his mother’s long nails, tack, tack, tack on the table.

‘Yes, can I help you?’

The
registrar was young. She leaned on the desk with both her elbows and smiled up at Daniel.

‘Yes, I wanted to get a copy of my mother’s death certificate.’

Forms were filled in and Daniel had to wait, but then he was given the certificate, folded into a clean white envelope. He thanked the young registrar and left, not daring to open the envelope until he was outside, and even then he felt inhibited, as people pushed by him on the busy street.

There was an old-fashioned teashop off Pinstone Street and Daniel slipped inside and ordered a coffee and a bacon roll. There was an overweight man with purpled cheeks eating a pie and beans and two women with the same dyed-blonde spiky hairstyle sharing a cigarette.

Daniel carefully opened the folds of the paper. He could taste the smoke from the women’s cigarettes in his mouth. His heart was beating but he didn’t know why. He knew she was dead and he could guess how, but still there was a feeling that he was uncovering something hidden. The typeface swarmed at him. His fingers were trembling and the paper shook.

She
had
died of a drug overdose, as Minnie had told him. Daniel stared at the paper, imagining the syringe rising valiantly from his mother’s arm and her blue rubber tourniquet releasing, as one hand releases another over a cliff.

His eyes scanned and then re-scanned the dates: born 1956, died 1993, aged thirty-seven years.

He pushed his roll away, left his coffee and ran back to the register office, where he skipped up the steps just as they were closing for lunch.

He
pushed his way to the desk. The young woman who had served him called over. ‘I’m sorry, we close for lunch. If you can come back later?’

‘I just wanted to ask … one question, just one, I swear.’

She smiled and came to the desk again. ‘I’ll get in trouble,’ she said, her eyes sparkling at him.

Daniel did his best to play along, although he wanted to shake her. ‘Thanks so much; you’re great.’ The registrar’s lids lowered and lifted. ‘I just wanted to check, like … This certificate says 1993 on it, but me mam died in 1988 at the latest.’

‘Really? That’s strange.’

‘Could you have made a mistake?’ Daniel asked, feeling his eyes wide from the panic, but still trying to relax in front of her.

‘Well no, I mean … that’s your mother’s official death certificate. Are you sure she died in 1988?’

‘Yeah … ’ he said, and then, ‘no … ’

‘Well, I expect it’s right then.’

‘How do I find out if she’s got a memorial?’

‘You need to talk to the council, remember.’

The girl smiled, pursing her lips in apology. Daniel turned and left. When he was outside the certificate was creased in his hand, although he hadn’t meant to crush it.

Daniel waited for the council offices to open. His stomach rumbled and cramped, but he paid no attention to it. He sat on the steps for ten minutes then walked around the block before returning. Three times he read the sign which said it was closed between one and two o’clock.

When it opened, he was directed to Bereavement Services, where
he had to wait for twenty minutes despite being the first person in line.

‘I want to find out if my mother has a memorial – I think she was cremated … I have her death certificate.’

‘What’s her name?’

Daniel waited in a plastic chair, his stomach muscles so tight that they began to ache. He had forgotten about university. This was all he cared about.

He expected to have to fill in more forms, to show his identification or to part with money. The woman returned within a few minutes. She told him that his mother’s name was not on any of the cremation lists. She had double-checked and found that his mother had been buried at the Jesmond Road Cemetery.

Daniel thought that he had thanked her, but then she asked him loudly if he was all right. He was standing with his fingers holding on to the desk and the death certificate crushed in his hand.

Off the Jesmond Road, Daniel saw the graveyard. He had bought carnations as an afterthought and carried them in a plastic bag, petals facing the ground.

The entrance reared up in front of him: a red sandstone arch which was at once beautiful and terrifying. He stood outside for a moment, kicking small stones out of his path. He found himself drawn into the red arch and once inside the need to go deeper was powerful. He didn’t know where she lay or if he would find her, but as soon as he entered he felt a hard peace fall on him. His heart was quiet. He moved from grave to grave looking for her name. He searched methodically, carefully, without frustration when
another row of graves passed without finding her name inscribed, and without pre-emptive relief when he found graves on which were carved similar names.

Finally, just after four o’clock, he found her:
Samantha Geraldine Hunter 1956–1993. May You Rest in Peace.

Already, the black-painted letters were beginning to flake. Daniel tried to imagine her, with her thin shoulders and her long nails. She was a child in his imagination. He thought how young she had been when he saw her last.

He stood for a moment, and then knelt, feeling the grass wet through his jeans. He wiped some new raindrops from the marble, imagining her small bones beneath. He laid the carnations at the foot of the cross.

1993.
She had died only months before. He would have been less than an hour from her, when her time came. He could have come to her; he could have helped her, but she had died without knowing that he was near. She had got clean the year that she lost him. He wondered if she had been getting clean so that she could have him back. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone. Maybe she had lost hope. Maybe she had thought he had another family and no longer remembered her.

Someone must have paid for her headstone; someone must have chosen the white marble and decided on the words. He remembered the name on the death certificate:
Informant – Michael Parsons.
Daniel recalled all the names and faces that had surrounded his mother’s life. He hung his head. The breath was uneven in his throat yet he couldn’t weep. The grief he felt for her was small and fragile. It was grief confused with so much else. Invisible birds sang with a noise that seemed deafening.

Daniel stood up. He was aware of a sharp pain in his head. He turned
and walked out of the graveyard, his feet crunching on the red chips with purpose after his slow and patient discovery. The sun was bright and in his eyes. His muscles were tight and he could feel a cold tear of sweat making its way between his shoulder blades.

He remembered the day Minnie told him his mother was dead and pressed his lips together. His jaw ached.

He was going back to Brampton, and he was going to kill her.

27

Daniel
flashed his pass to the Old Bailey guards as he entered the courthouse. Today was the first day of the defence. He held his chin up as he walked to Court Thirteen, reminding himself of the reprieve implicit in reasonable doubt. He realised that this was the first time in his career he had actually felt real fear about the prospect of losing. He hated Sebastian’s family and worried about the child returning to that world of material privilege and emotional deprivation, but the thought of Sebastian inside, in the system, was worse. Bright as the child was, he didn’t realise how the press had already demonised him and how difficult it would be for him, for the rest of his life, if he was found guilty. Daniel tried not to think about it. He believed in Irene’s abilities. She had not lost a single case since their defeat together on Tyrel’s case last year.

‘My lord, I call Dr Alexander Baird.’

Baird seemed as nervous as when Daniel had visited the psychologist in his office. He leaned in too close to the microphone as he was sworn in and was startled by the feedback.
Irene was matter-of-fact, beginning her examination in chief. She smiled broadly at Baird, making large sweeping gestures to the court, as she asked him to share his thoughts on Sebastian.

‘Dr Baird, you examined Sebastian Croll twice in September 2010. Is that correct?’

‘Correct.’

‘I would ask you to summarise for the court how you found Sebastian.’

Baird moved close in to the microphone, his smooth hands loosely gripping the lip of the witness box. ‘In terms of intellectual function, I found him to be highly intelligent. His IQ was measured at 140 which certainly suggests very superior intelligence, or indeed borderline genius – but certainly highly gifted.’

‘What did you find about Sebastian’s emotional maturity and his understanding of complex processes, for example, court proceedings?’

‘Well, Sebastian seems to have quite a short attention span, which may in itself be due to his high intelligence, but I did find him prone to emotional outbursts more typical of a younger child.’

‘You questioned him about the alleged offence. What was your opinion about Sebastian in relation to the charge?’

‘Sebastian knew the difference between right and wrong. He understood the nature of the alleged offence and stated convincingly that he believed himself to be innocent.’

‘Did you discuss the happenings on the day of the alleged offence?’

‘Yes, we did and we attempted some role play around the events
of that day. On the whole I found him to be entirely consistent. His concept of morality was clear and he stated several times that he was innocent.’

‘Considering his intellectual ability, did you feel he understood the gravity of the crime he was charged with?’

‘Without a doubt. He was clear that he understood the penalties for such a crime, but felt he had been misunderstood. We discussed the events of 8 August several times in a variety of different ways: telling a story, using dolls or question and answer sessions, but each time he was entirely consistent.’

‘Thank you, Dr Baird.’

Irene nodded at Daniel before she sat down. Gordon Jones rose and stood for a moment as the court watched him opening ring binders and balancing them on his lectern. The room was airless and Daniel loosened his tie slightly. The defence had begun well and Irene seemed relaxed, but Daniel had an explicable feeling of unease about the evidence to come. Sebastian was losing interest. He was swinging his feet and occasionally making contact with Daniel’s legs.

‘Just a few questions, Dr Baird,’ said Jones, on cross-examination. ‘In your report you mention Sebastian’s earlier diagnosis, by his school educational psychologist, of Asperger’s?’

Sebastian leaned in to whisper something but Daniel held out a hand to silence him.

‘Yes, Sebastian’s school reports show an earlier diagnosis by an educational psychologist. I disagreed with the diagnosis.’

‘But you do consider him as having … ’ Jones made a show of pushing his glasses to the end of his nose, wrinkling his nose and turning down his lips as he read: ‘Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified?’

Baird
smiled and nodded. ‘Indeed, otherwise PDD-NOS – essentially a catch-all diagnosis for those who demonstrate atypical symptomatology for Asperger’s, or indeed autism.’

‘I see. Well, in layman’s terms please, what is this exactly … eh … PDD-NOS and how does it relate to the earlier diagnosis?’

‘Well, it simply means that Sebastian does show a range of Asperger’s traits, but not all … and indeed is highly functional in areas we would expect him to have trouble with, if he had Asperger’s syndrome proper.’

‘I see. Asperger’s is a kind of high-functioning autism, is that correct?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And what symptoms are typical of a child with Asperger’s syndrome?’

‘Well, typically they will display problems in three main areas: social communication, social interaction and social imagination.’

Irene stood up. ‘My lord, I question the relevance of this. Does my learned colleague have a point to this questioning?’

Baron leaned forward and raised his eyebrows at Jones in expectation of a response.

‘My lord, we are legitimately exploring the implications of disorders from which the boy may suffer that may be related to the offence.’

‘Continue,’ said Baron. ‘I consider this to be relevant.’

‘You just listed three areas which typical Asperger’s sufferers would have difficulty with – can you elaborate on this?’ Jones prompted Baird.

‘Well, typical sufferers will display a range of behaviours, such as difficulty in social situations. This often manifests in a desire for
friendships but a difficulty in maintaining them. Often there is a hyper-focused interest in a single topic … They tend to have difficulty in reading emotional responses in others. Another thing is that they often have problems with sensory integration – they can overreact to loud noises, for example.’

Irene stood up again. ‘My lord, I really must protest. The witness has stated my client
does not have
Asperger’s so again I question the relevance of exploring the typical symptomatology.’

‘Miss Clarke, the witness has stated that the defendant shows a range of Asperger’s traits so we will hear this out as explanation of the traits in question.’

Irene sat down. Daniel watched her. Her shoulders were raised with tension.

‘Thank you, m’lord,’ said Jones. ‘So, tell us, Dr Baird, does Sebastian display
any
of these typical Asperger’s behaviours and problems?’

‘Yes, he displays some, but not all.’

‘What about hyper-focus on one topic. Did you find Sebastian to be deeply interested in a particular subject … ?’

Baird flushed. He glanced at Irene.

‘Dr Baird?’

‘Well, I did note a preoccupation … but I was not sure if this qualified as hyper-focused interest. I would need to study him over a longer period.’

‘I see … What, exactly, did you find preoccupies Sebastian?’

Hearing his name spoken in such a momentous tone, Sebastian sat up. He looked up at Daniel and smiled.