A Fatal Verdict (22 page)

28. Devil’s Advocate

As Savendra got to his feet he swayed slightly with exhaustion. He had spent the night wrestling with a speech which had become a nightmare. Always before, the ethics of the Bar had seemed clear: every client was entitled to a defence, and it was his job to provide it. But never before had he defended someone quite so reprehensible, on such a serious charge. It was a vital week for him - his first murder defence, his wedding next week - and yet he was consumed by horror at the thought that the words he was about to speak might save the man who, he was convinced, was morally responsible for Shelley Walters’ death.

Morally, and perhaps legally too. That was the dilemma he had wrestled with throughout the night. Did the fact that Shelley had been doped with rohypnol make it impossible for her to have killed herself, or just highly unlikely? Savendra didn’t know. It depended, he supposed, on the strength of the dose, her size and bodyweight, and exactly how long before her death she had taken the drug. All of these things could have been debated in open court, if the wretched pathologist had done his job properly and discovered the traces of the drug in her bloodstream. But he hadn’t; and so Savendra was burdened with the weight of knowledge which the ethics of client confidentiality forbade him to disclose. He was trapped; all he could do was lay his client’s defence before the jury, and hope they were blessed with wisdom. He stood now and faced them - two elderly women, four middle aged men, two with beer bellies, four young men with shaven heads, two vacant looking girls, one surreptitiously chewing gum - and began.

Grimly, he told them that they should convict only if they were sure, beyond reasonable doubt, of David Kidd’s guilt. Otherwise, they must acquit. He explained how the bruises might have been caused by David’s clumsy attempts at first aid, the fingerprints on the knife by David’s picking it up when he found it beside the bath, his lies by panic and distress. He reiterated his theory that Shelley had made a tentative attempt to cut her left wrist first, and then stabbed her right wrist more strongly, causing the fatal injury. The cleverness of this idea no longer impressed him; the words tasted sour in his mouth.

But he had better arguments to make. ‘Now that Mr Patel has changed his mind, the whole prosecution case collapses. It is, quite simply, not plausible that she would remain alive, in that bath, more than twenty minutes after her artery was pierced.

‘So for all four points of the prosecution’s evidence - the bruises, the fingerprints, the cuts, and the timing - there is an alternative explanation, a doubt. And the benefit of that doubt must go to the defendant.’

He glanced at the jurors, several of whom, to his dismay, looked reasonably impressed. Now came the really cruel part of his task. He could feel the eyes of Shelley’s family boring into the back of his head. This is why we get paid so much, he thought; to say really nasty things clearly. To tell a lie for a fee.

‘Well, members of the jury, if this wasn’t murder, there’s only one alternative, isn’t there? It must have been suicide. But why should Shelley Walters, a healthy young girl with all her life ahead of her, commit such a terrible act? It gives me no pleasure to say this, but here too there is an alternative explanation. One which, if you accept it, doesn’t lead to murder at all.’

‘This is a tragic love affair. Shelley Walters, in her first year at university, meets David Kidd, and falls in love with him.’ He glanced over his shoulder, surveying his client in the dock with distaste. ‘You have seen Mr Kidd; you may not like him very much. You may even think like Mrs Newby, that Mr Kidd is a monster - a cold, selfish sexual predator. You may be right. But that does not make him a murderer.’

He ploughed grimly on, going through the psychiatrist’s evidence, the stress that Shelley had suffered, with her mother pulling one way, and David Kidd pulling the other. Her discovery of him in bed with another girl.

‘Enough to drive anyone mad, wouldn’t you say? Certainly enough to trigger depression. And that seems to be what happened. During the week before she died she was happy, highly excited - a symptom, unfortunately, of her illness. She told her mother that she would never see David again, and yet she went to his flat on her own.

‘So why did she go? To collect her things - the nightdress, the underwear, the tights, the books, the magazine? Surely not. It seems obvious, doesn’t it? They were just an excuse. Her friends offered to come with her, but she turned them down. She went alone because she wanted to meet her boyfriend again.  Despite all the ways that Mr Kidd had betrayed her, there was still a part of Shelley that loved him. Part of her that did not believe that he was as bad as people said. She was hovering between hope and despair.’

Savendra paused for another sip of water. The speech, he thought, was going depressingly well. If only he didn’t know what he did, he could almost believe it himself.

‘So what happened when she got there? Well, they quarrelled, we know that. Then, according to him, he gave her a glass of wine and they had sex. I put that bluntly, members of the jury, because we have only Mr Kidd’s word for it. He says it was an act of love, a reconciliation. Well, perhaps it was. Or perhaps, on her part, it was less voluntary. We cannot know.’

Sarah and the judge stared at him in surprise. It was the broadest hint Savendra felt able to give without betraying his client, and the lawyers, he saw, had caught it. Savendra believes this was rape, Sarah thought. But he’s not charged with rape, just murder.

Savendra ploughed on. ‘The sad truth is that none of us wants to believe that this young girl committed suicide, do we? Because suicide is not something we like to face up to. But we have to face up to it, members of the jury. Because sadly, it is perfectly easy to understand how it happened.

‘Shelley went to that flat in two minds - intending to leave, hoping to stay. At some point that afternoon, something stripped the scales from her eyes. We may never know what that was for certain,’ he said, glancing gloomily at Sarah and the judge, ‘but we can imagine. Against her own better judgement, she allowed him to have sex with her, and then - perhaps when he’d finished - he said or did something which made her see him not as a lover but as a predator, a man who used her for sex, nothing else. And she had walked back into his trap. She felt ashamed, shocked, disgusted with herself.’

He looked up at the gallery, and saw Shelley’s sister, Miranda, listening intently. This
could
be true, he thought. It’s almost plausible. If only she hadn’t been so doped that she couldn’t move.

‘Isn’t it possible that Shelley, alone in that bath, was overcome by a self-disgust so sudden and strong that she decided to kill herself? A feeling combined with the terrible depression of her illness? And in the grip of this strong emotion, she saw death as her only escape, from a cruel, selfish man whom her family loathed. But not a man who’d tried to kill her.’

The more that girl in the tracksuit nodded, the less Savendra liked her, or any of the other jurors who hung on his words. There is another theory, he wanted to say, a perfectly good one put forward by Mrs Newby, supported by one extra piece of evidence that no-one else knows about. He doped her, the bastard, and killed her afterwards, when she didn’t know what was happening.

‘So she found a knife in the kitchen, took it back to the bath and cut her wrists with two swift, determined blows. She sat in the bath to keep the blood flowing, to die as swiftly and painlessly as possible. As the blood flowed out of her, her head slipped under water.

‘Then Mr Kidd came back and found her. He opened the bathroom door and saw this horrific sight, his girlfriend drowning in a pool of her own blood. But she was still alive, he says, so he phoned 999 and made desperate, hopeless attempts to save her.

‘Remember, you don’t have to like Mr Kidd to believe he’s not guilty. If he drove her to suicide, he has some moral responsibility, you may feel. But that doesn’t make him guilty of murder. After all, where’s his motive?’

He doesn’t need one, Savendra thought bitterly. He’s a psychopath - he’s been charged with rape and kidnap before. The jury should know that. But they won’t. They don’t know anything important.

‘What reason could he possibly have to murder Shelley? To control her, Mrs Newby says. Well, perhaps she’s right. Perhaps he really is the monster she describes.’ Savendra took a final sip of water, his hand shaking slightly. ‘It’s for you to decide, not me. But Shelley’s motive for suicide is at least as clear. I invite you to consider that too.’

Slowly, Savendra sat down, avoiding Sarah’s eyes. That, he thought miserably, was one of my worst ordeals so far. If it works, I’ll have enhanced my professional reputation. And set that piece of shit free.

29. Verdict

During the judge’s summing up, Kathryn clasped a photograph in her hands. It was a photo of Shelley, riding her pony bare-headed through a river with a freakish effect of the sun making tiny rainbows in the water that splashed around them. Miranda had found it last night, in a family album. The search had been very painful - she had only turned a few, leaden pages before dropping the book in despair. But Mark Wrass had warned them that the press would want photos after the verdict, and no one liked the photo which had appeared in the papers up to now. There was nothing wrong with it, exactly - it was an expensive professional portrait of Shelley on her first day at university - but Kathryn had come to loathe it, and had removed the framed original from her wall.

Once it had symbolized her triumph at getting her wayward daughter so far, to the gateway of higher education at last. But perhaps that was my greatest mistake, a voice nagged in Kathryn’s mind now when she saw it. Perhaps Shelley wasn’t really suited to study at all and these psychiatrists and teachers and that scum of the earth murderer down in the dock were right - I forced her into it against her will. If only I’d let her work in a bar or a racing stables or any of the other crazy things she wanted to do, she’d still be alive today.

The photo fed that suspicion somehow - the formal pose, the slight tension in the smile - it showed a girl doing what she ought to do, not what she loved. Whereas in the photo Miranda had found Shelley was truly alive - laughing, vibrant, sparkles of watery sunlight in her hair. This was the child Kathryn wanted to remember, this was how she’d be in heaven if the place existed. So she’d brought it for the press, to print with their reports of the punishment handed out to the monster in the dock below.

‘Soon it will be all over, darling,’ she whispered softly to the photo as the jury were led out. ‘Soon we’ll have justice at last.’

Sarah and Savendra sat at the leather-covered oak table in the middle of the court, listening to the room emptying around them. Sarah added her notes of the judge’s remarks to the rest of her papers, and tied the bundle with red ribbon. She glanced across at Savendra who was doing the same.

‘Well, that’s it, then. The old buzzard was fair, I thought.’

‘Yep. No Alzheimer’s there. How old do you think he is, anyway?’

‘About nine hundred and fifty, I think. He was a bencher when Moses was born. So he’s seen it all before.’

‘Yes.’ Savendra chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘Unlike the jurors, who just think they have. What do you make of them, Sarah?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘Usual mixture. Morons, wasters, and a few sober citizens. Rather fewer than normal, in fact. Which I suppose favours you.’

‘You think? True, three are clones of my client. Who isn’t a perfect angel. As I believe I mentioned in my speech.’

‘You did.’ Sarah sighed. ‘Several times.’ She glanced around the empty courtroom, then fixed her colleague with a beady eye. ‘Now that we’re all alone and private, Mr Bhose, tell me, how will you feel if your client walks free?’

‘
Oh no.
’ Savendra waved a finger between them, like a man warding off a witch’s curse. ‘I don’t answer questions like that. Not even to you.’ The cupola high above their heads picked up the echoes of distant conversations and footsteps on wooden stairs. He shook his head miserably. ‘Still, I sometimes wonder if there’s any other job like this. Where you argue as hard as you can for a version of the truth that you don’t ...’

He stopped abruptly, stuffing his brief into his case and clicking it shut. When he looked up, Sarah’s eyes were still on his face.

‘Don’t what, Savvy?’

He glanced theatrically round the empty court, then leaned forward and whispered, his mouth a few inches from her ear.

‘Don’t really believe.’

‘Is this really necessary?’ Andrew Walters asked irritably, in the conference room where they were waiting. ‘This isn’t show business, you know. It’s real life.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Mark Wrass sat back, his laptop open in front of him. ‘It’s just that, with the media outside, it seems best to have something prepared.’

‘It seems like tempting fate to me.’

‘We can do it afterwards, Mr Walters, of course we can.’

‘No, Dad.’ Miranda turned away from the window angrily. ‘Look, we talked about this on the way in. That’s why I found the photo last night. It’s best to have a few sentences ready, so we don’t burst into tears or ... whatever. So we do Shelley justice!’

‘That’s what the jury’s doing, I hope. But go ahead. I don’t mind, if you think it’s right.’ Her father waved his hand dismissively, and Miranda saw, as they all did, how his fingers shook with tension as he picked up his coffee afterwards.

‘How far have we got?’ Kathryn asked.

Mark Wrass had thought of this idea, to give them something to do in this terrible empty time. He read what they’d agreed so far.
‘Shelley was a lively, energetic, loving girl who we will miss for the rest of our lives. Nothing will ever bring her back or fill that hole in our family. But today ...’
He looked up, seeing tears welling in Kathryn’s eyes, and wishing the whole business was over and done with. ‘What about
“today justice has been done.”?’

‘Yes, put that,’ Kathryn nodded grimly.
‘and an evil man sent to prison
. Put that too.’

‘In bold capitals a foot high,’ Miranda added as the lawyer tapped at his keyboard. And then add:
“we hope he never comes out to put another family through the misery we’ve had to suffer.”
Something like that, to finish.’

‘Never comes out may be a bit strong,’ said the lawyer hesitantly. ‘He’ll be released one day, I’m afraid. Life never does mean life. Not for one murder, anyway.’

Miranda’s face, the solicitor noticed, had gone white with rage. Surely she knew that, he thought. But then of course, she’d been living in America.

‘I’ll kill him if he does,’ she said, staring sightlessly through the solid bars of the window. ‘If he comes out, I’ll kill him myself.’

‘Well, I ... don’t think we should say that, exactly.’ Normally jovial and avuncular, the solicitor felt ill at ease this morning. The trial, he feared, had gone less well than expected, and the bitterness of Shelley’s relatives could easily be about to get worse. He looked up hopefully as the door opened and Sarah Newby came in.

Two hours later, the hands of the clock seemed stuck. Sarah, like Mark, did her best, but she was nearly as anxious as the family. Butterflies were dancing in her stomach; the longer the jury were out, the more her doubts increased. The atmosphere in the room was rank with anxiety, like sweat. The mother and daughter looked worst, she thought. Pale, tense, fidgeting. How much longer ...  

‘Mrs Newby?’ The clerk poked her head round the door. ‘The jury are coming back.’

‘Thank you. This is it, then.’ Sarah stood up slowly. Kathryn touched her arm as they moved to the door.

‘Just a few words now. Then he’ll be locked away for life.’

‘Let’s hope so. Fingers crossed.’ The family went up to the gallery, while Sarah joined Savendra at the table in the court. Back on show again, she thought. All my life I’ve been coming on stage for a degree or a ceremony or the end of a trial, and mostly it’s praise but sometimes it’s blame. What will it be this time? Savendra looked glum, as though certain the outcome would be bad. She turned to smile encouragement at Kathryn, and nodded at Terry Bateson, who’d just appeared in court behind her.

Terry looked nervous, she thought, as well he might. She’d warned him this morning that the verdict was far from certain, and he wanted a conviction as much as anyone here. He’d trusted her to secure one for him, but she was far from certain that she’d managed it this time. Her gaze travelled away from Terry, across to David Kidd in the dock.

The customary arrogance had drained from the young man’s face, and she felt an unwelcome rush of sympathy. If she’d won, then his adult life would be over. No more sunshine or sex or safaris: just a festering life in a concrete box. Well, if he’d killed that girl he deserved it. She looked around, seeking his family. Did no one here care about this young man? It seemed not. He was on his own; if he had a family they’d abandoned him. Perhaps that was why he’d clung so cruelly to Shelley, ready to kill rather than let her go.

Sarah watched the jury intently as they filed back into court. She had never entirely believed the myth that if they looked at the accused, they had let him off; some jurors, she was sure, relished the punishment they were about to inflict. But this time four or five glanced David’s way. Not just the three young men and the girl in the tracksuit whom she’d disliked from the beginning; an older man in a suit and a middle-aged woman looked his way too, and their faces seemed anxious rather than vindictive, as if seeking reassurance that they had done the right thing and he was not the monster they feared.

A pulse started to beat in Sarah’s throat and her chest felt tight. I’ve lost, she thought desperately, it’s all gone wrong! They’re going to set the bastard free!

She bowed numbly as the judge came in, then sat as the clerk asked the jury foreman if they had reached a verdict.

‘We have, sir, yes.’

‘On count one of the indictment, the charge of murder, do you find the defendant, David Kidd, guilty or not guilty?’

Come on now, Sarah thought, there may be a doubt here but it’s not a reasonable one, not with those cuts and bruises and fingerprints on the knife! Of course he did it - how could she possibly have done it herself ...

‘Not guilty.’

‘Oh my God.’

The words, muttered low in despair, sounded so close that for a second Sarah wondered if she’d said them herself, and she put a hand to her lips before she realised they must have come from Savendra, who was the only one close enough for her to overhear. He did indeed look miserable, but before anyone else could notice, a scream shattered the silence of the court. All heads turned, like Sarah’s, to the public gallery.

‘No!
You can’t do this, that’s not right.
He killed her!
’

It was Kathryn Walters, on her feet, gripping the balcony rail with both hands, screaming down at the stunned jury foreman.

‘That’s not justice! He killed my daughter! That’s not justice! You’re wrong.’

Kathryn’s fury faded as she faced the dozens of eyes staring at her and realised that nothing was going to happen, whatever she said. She had no power here, none at all. Her husband Andrew had his hands on her shoulders but she brushed him away as she made one last desperate attempt, appealing directly to the judge.

‘This is a terrible mistake. Tell them, please, tell them to go back and think again.’

The judge shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t do that, madam, I’m sorry. I understand your grief, but there is nothing I can do.’ He turned to the jury foreman. ‘Is that the verdict of you all?’

‘It is, my lord, yes.’

‘Then stand up, Mr Kidd, if you will. This court has found you not guilty of the only charge against you, the charge of murder. You are free to go.’

‘Oh, right. Cheers.’ There was a click as the warder unlocked a door at the side of the dock, and David stepped down into the well of the court. He hesitated for a moment, then, as the warder indicated the way out, raised his thumb in a gesture of thanks to the jurors. ‘Thanks, guys.’ Then he was gone.

The judge turned slowly to the jury. When he had thanked them, he levered himself to his feet, bowed, and walked out through the door behind his throne. Sarah turned to Savendra, as the hubbub of the emptying courtroom burst around them. For once, she had nothing to say.

Both of them turned, and walked slowly out with the rest.