A Fatal Verdict (16 page)

20. Silent Mother

On Friday evening, Sarah Newby rode out into the countryside towards Wetherby. There had been a storm that morning, and the newly washed trees and fields glistened in the sparkling evening sunlight. Through her polarized helmet visor the clouds were so beautiful that it was difficult to keep her attention on the road. But at last she found the gate and turned down a track towards the river, the wheels of her bike splashing through puddles as she approached the Walters’ house.

A small black and white collie ran out barking hysterically as she pulled up outside the front door, and Miranda Walters came hurrying after it. ‘Down, Tess, down! Come here, you wretched dog! I’m sorry, she’s not used to motorbikes, you see.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Sarah took off her helmet and bent down to make friends with the suspicious animal, which crept forwards with its belly low on the ground to lick her hand. It was an old, grey-muzzled dog, but still quite fit. ‘There. I’m not a burglar after all.’ She smiled up at Miranda, whom she had only met briefly in court. ‘This is a fine place.’

‘Yes. We grew up here, Shelley and I.’ Beyond the old stone farmhouse was a paddock, where two old ponies stood nose to tail in the shade of a horsechestnut tree, swishing their tails against the flies. Beyond the paddock was the river, meandering through a valley of low hills and isolated farmhouses.

‘It looks idyllic.’

‘Yes, well. It was a great place to grow up, but now ...’ The wind blew a strand of Miranda’s long brown hair across her face, and she tossed her head impatiently. ‘I shall be glad to get back to the States. It’s painful coming back, with all these memories of what we did.’

‘Were you very close, you and your sister?’

‘Pretty close, yes.’

Sarah studied the young woman carefully for the first time. She was about five foot eight, with brown eyes and a face bronzed and slightly freckled by the sun. She wore jeans, an old teeshirt and a pair of black trainers which looked like she had lived in them for years. She had a trim, healthy figure very like her mother’s but, Sarah thought ruefully, probably bursting with twice as much energy.

‘You don’t look much like her.’

‘Oh no. Shelley was the beauty. Not that it’s much good to her now.’

Kathryn came out of the house, still in the black dress which she had been wearing earlier. ‘Welcome. I didn’t really believe it when you said you’d come on a motorbike, but that’s certainly the real thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Sarah glanced at the Kawasaki, resting on its stand behind her. ‘Is there somewhere I could change, perhaps? Slip out of these leathers?’

‘Sure. In here.’ Miranda showed her into a utility room, where a washing machine, dryer and freezer rubbed shoulders with racks of coats, boots, and a dog basket. She left her motorcycle gear on the freezer and emerged in a slightly rumpled black trouser suit.

‘Tea?’ Kathryn asked, as Miranda had disappeared, leaving them alone together.

‘Please. I’d love one.’

While Kathryn put the kettle on Sarah took in the large farm kitchen. It had low wooden beams, a red tiled floor, and a large window over the sink which looked out across a paddock to the river. There were oak cupboards around the walls, and a nondescript armchair in an alcove near the Aga, with a pile of newspapers and magazines beside it.

‘This is our main room, really. We mostly eat and read in here, especially in the winter. Andrew’s even taken to falling asleep in that chair since Shelley died, like an old man.’

‘Yes.’ Sarah sat at the table, folding her hands gratefully around a mug of tea. ‘He’s taken her death very hard, you said.’

‘We’ve both taken it hard, Mrs Newby. Miranda as well, of course, they were very close. But it’s had a dreadful effect on Andrew. He seems to have given up, almost. That’s why I think I should give evidence, not him.’

‘Hm.’ Sarah sipped her tea thoughtfully before answering. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here, as you know. To run through what that’s likely to mean.’

‘It’s my chance to tell the world exactly what sort of a swine that bastard Kidd really is. Someone’s got to stand up and do that. So it had better be me.’

This was why Sarah had come. Since their lunch together on the first day, Kathryn had assumed that she would be giving evidence. But the more Sarah had considered this idea, the less she had come to like it. She was taking a risk coming here; there were strict rules against coaching a witness. But her intention was the opposite of that - to keep Kathryn Walters out of the witness box. So long as she succeeded in that, there was no problem. She spoke softly.

‘Yes, well, that’s just it, really. What counts in this trial - any trial - are the facts.’

‘Such as that he murdered my daughter,’ Kathryn said sharply.

‘Exactly. That’s what we have to prove. And to do that I have to focus the jury’s minds exclusively on the key facts, which are ...’ She counted the points off on her fingers. ‘... that he was alone with her in the flat; his fingerprints were on the knife; there were bruises on her neck; the artery was severed in her right wrist not her left - all these terrible, distressing things.’

‘But they need to know what a swine he was too - the way he lied and boasted from the moment he met Shelley, the way he took over her whole life, kept her under his thumb like a little slave, away from her friends and family and all the people who’d ever wished her well. That’s what I can tell them.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sarah nodded cautiously, worried at the tide of emotion she might unleash, yet determined to do it if necessary. At least Kathryn was safe here, in her own home. ‘But before we decide that, listen to me. You’re her mother, and I’m a mother too. My daughter’s not dead, thank God, but I thought she was once. I can’t imagine anything worse. And I’ve had to defend my own son in court, so I know what that’s like. The problem is, everyone knows that a mother’s on the side of her children; we don’t really have a choice. And so people can use that against us. Even when we’re telling the truth, they don’t always hear what we say.’

‘You mean, the jury won’t believe me?’ Kathryn looked dazed, as though the thought had not occurred to her. Sarah tried again.

‘No, not exactly; it’s subtler than that. They’ll believe what you say, but turn your words against you. Look at it this way; we, the prosecution, have to prove this case beyond reasonable doubt. Savendra - Mr Bhose, the defence counsel - he doesn’t have to prove David Kidd is innocent. He just has to create that reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. And in this case his tactics are obvious: to stop them thinking about the incriminating facts like the fingerprints and the knife and the cuts, and make them speculate about the possibility of suicide instead. Now he’s going to call her psychiatrist. I can’t stop that ...’

Kathryn shook her head miserably. ‘Why? Shelley hadn’t seen the man for months. What can he possibly know about what happened?’

‘That’s just it. Nothing, if she was murdered. Nothing at all. But if, as the defence say, Shelley committed suicide, then he can shed light on her state of mind, and get the jury interested in that. She had bi-polar disorder, did you say?’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean she killed herself!’

‘Of course not, but that’s what they’ll try to imply. I wish I could stop it, but I can’t. It’s a distraction from the facts, really. Now, if I call you to give evidence, what hard facts can you add? About the day of her death, I mean?’

‘Well, only that he was rude to me at the hospital ...’

‘That doesn’t help. It shows that he hated you and you hated him. Which helps the defence, not us. What else can you say?’

Kathryn thought for a while, puzzled. ‘Well, that Shelley told me two days before she died, that she had dumped him. She sat in that chair where you’re sitting ...’

Sarah nodded gently. ‘Yes, you can say that, certainly.’

‘And like I said, I can tell them how nasty he was. How he took her away from home, how he corrupted her mind, and ...’

‘All right. Let’s try that out, shall we?’ Sarah’s tone sharpened. She got to her feet.

‘What?’

‘Let’s try some questions out, as if we’re in court, and see how it goes. All right?’ She stood in front of the Aga, her fingers touching the warm rail behind her back. ‘For instance, let’s start with this.’ Her voice changed slightly, became more formal. ‘Shelley had bi-polar disorder, you say. Did she have treatment for that?’

‘Yes. She was on a low dose of medication to keep her stable.’ Kathryn clasped her hands in front of her on the table, surprised by the sudden transformation into roleplay. But she seemed prepared to enter into the spirit of it. After all, she had been imagining scenes like this in her mind for weeks. And Sarah was her advocate, not an enemy.

‘What effect did this condition have on her schoolwork?’

‘Well, her schoolwork was like her character, really. Some of it was quite brilliant, but other parts - the more boring, mundane parts of study - she found very difficult. She needed a lot of help and support with those.’

‘Did you and your husband give her that support?’

‘We tried, yes. Both of us did, but especially me, I suppose. It was hard work, but we succeeded. She got the grades she needed, she went to York to study English.’

‘How did she settle in at the university?’ The easy, predictable questions were giving Kathryn confidence, as Sarah intended.

‘Well, it was difficult at first, because she was dumped - that’s the awful word they use, isn’t it? - by a boyfriend she’d had for years, Graham. So that didn’t help. But she made friends and was doing well, until she met him, that is.’

As Kathryn was speaking the door opened and Miranda came in and sat down. Sarah wondered for a moment what to do. But it was their house, not hers; and Kathryn might need some moral support in a moment, if things went the way she expected. So she smiled at the girl, saying: ‘we’re just trying a few questions,’ then turned back to her mother again.

‘You don’t feel her relationship with David Kidd was good for her?’

‘No, not at all. He was the worst boy she could have met. Like a monster from the swamp.’

Here we go, Sarah thought. This is the problem, exactly. ‘Why do you call him that?’

‘Well, from the very beginning, he tried to take control of her. He’s a very controlling character: always had his arm round her, always spoke before she did, always decided what she was going to do. It was terrible to see. She was like his little slave, a ventriloquist’s dummy, almost.’

‘Was there anything else that you felt was wrong with their relationship?’

‘Well, yes. The things he wanted her to do. I mean, he has no education, has he? If you gave him a book he wouldn’t know which way up to hold it. He wanted her to leave the university and go with him to Africa. After all the work we’d done with her!’

‘So it’s fair to say that there was a great tension between you and David Kidd, isn’t it? With your daughter Shelley in the middle?’

‘Well, yes, but she’d seen the light at last. When she found him in bed with that girl, she decided to drop him for good. She came home and told me that.’

‘And yet two days later, she went back to see him.’

‘Not to see him,’ Kathryn protested. ‘To collect her things.’

Sarah raised her eyebrows theatrically. ‘A nightdress, a few books, and some used tights? Do you really think she went back for things like that?’ Their eyes locked across the table. Sarah could see the pain in Kathryn’s face as the roleplay became uncomfortably real. ‘They were just an excuse, weren’t they? An excuse to meet David again, and give their relationship one last try?’

‘I .. I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose. But then he murdered her.’

‘Did he, Mrs Walters? We know they had a quarrel soon after she arrived, and he claims they made love. You’ve told us how much you disapproved of David, how much pressure you put on Shelley to leave him. And she had decided to leave him, you say. She knew that was the right thing to do, and yet still she went back. And did the wrong thing.’

‘Yes, well, she was confused ...’ Kathryn’s voice broke; she looked near to tears. Miranda reached across the table for her mother’s hand. But Sarah hadn’t finished.

‘It’s worse than that, though, isn’t it? She was bi-polar, you’ve told us that. She needed constant love and support. And now the two sources of love and support, you and your husband on one side, and David Kidd on the other, were tearing her apart. Isn’t it highly likely that in a situation like that, when she sat alone in that bath after making love to the man she’d promised to leave, that the pressures all got too much for her and ...’

Kathryn was crying openly now. Miranda glared indignantly at Sarah, who relented and sat down. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t distress you further. But you see, that’s the way it will go, Kathryn, if I put you on the stand. And Mr Bhose’s questions will be harder than that, they’re bound to be if he wants to win. Which he does.’

‘That’s not the point!’ Kathryn grabbed a tissue from a box. ‘You think it too, though, don’t you? You think she killed herself and it was my fault?’

‘No.’ Oh God, Sarah thought, I’ve got this completely wrong.  ‘No, as a matter of fact I don’t. I really don’t.’ The reassurance didn’t seem to be working. She tried again. ‘Look, this is an absurd thing to say to anyone for comfort, but it seems crystal clear to me that your daughter was murdered, all right? All the hard facts point that way. It’s just unfortunate that she had this history of mental illness which allows the defence to put up this smoke screen of suicide.’