Noughts and Crosses (30 page)

‘You may be seated,’ Judge Anderson told me.

‘No,’ I said, adding as an afterthought. ‘Thank you. I’d rather stand.’

The judge turned away with just the slightest raising of one shoulder.

Shaun Pingule stood up. I held my breath.

‘Could you state your full name for the record, please?’

Nothing to catch me out there. Or was there? Think. Keep your answers short, Callum.

‘Callum Ryan McGregor.’

‘Do you belong to the Liberation Militia?’

Kelani Adams jumped to her feet. ‘I object, Your Honour. Callum McGregor is not on trial here.’

‘It goes to witness credibility, Your Honour,’ Pingule argued.

‘I’ll allow it,’ the judge replied.

Pingule repeated his question. ‘Do you belong to the Liberation Militia?’

‘No, I don’t,’ I replied before the last word had died away.

‘So you don’t?’

‘That’s right. I don’t.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Your Honour . . .’ Kelani was on her feet again.

‘Move on, Mr Pingule,’ Judge Anderson directed.

I stole a glance at the jury. Pingule had set me up and no mistake. By asking me the same question over and
over, he’d made it out without saying explicitly that I was lying. I could see the suspicion in the faces of the jury already and I’d only been asked one question – admittedly three different ways, but only one question.

‘Does your father belong to the Liberation Militia?’

I glanced across to where Dad sat. He was looking straight ahead, somewhere years ahead or years behind. ‘No, he doesn’t,’ I replied.

Had I waited too long to answer? Had the jury been aware of the slight pause before I spoke? I glanced at them again. Two of them were writing something down in their notepads.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because my father wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Whereas the Liberation Militia would?’ Pingule asked, dryly.

‘Objection, Your Honour!’

‘Sustained.’

‘My dad doesn’t belong to the
L.M
.,’ I repeated.

‘Callum, what’s your opinion of the
L.M
.?’

‘Your Honour, objection . . .’

‘Overruled.’ The judge didn’t even look at Dad’s lawyer this time. His eyes were on me.

My opinion of the
L.M.
. . .? What should I say to that? I looked around. The noughts in the public gallery waited for me to answer. So did Dad’s lawyer. So did the jury. So did Dad . . .

‘I . . . any organization which promotes equality between noughts and Crosses is . . .’ My mind went blank. I was starting to panic inside. What should I do now? ‘Noughts and Crosses should be equal,’ I tried
again. ‘I support anyone who tries to bring that about.’

‘I see. And the end justifies the means does it?’

Kelani jumped to her feet again. A yo-yo had nothing on her. ‘Your Honour …’

‘Withdrawn,’ Pingule said with an airy wave of his hand.

I glanced at the jury. The statement may have been withdrawn but it’d done its work.

‘Did your father ever mention belonging to or joining the
L.M
.?’

‘No.’

‘Did your brother Jude ever mention belonging to or joining the
L.M
.?’

‘No.’

‘So no-one in your family had anything to do with the planting of the bomb at the Dundale Shopping Centre?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you’re sure that no-one in your family knew anything about it?’

‘That’s correct.’ How many more times?

‘Including you?’

‘Including me,’ I agreed, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. My sweaty palms told me that I was being led into a trap but I had no idea what it was. My shirt was beginning to stick to my sweaty body. I wanted to wipe my forehead but I thought that would make it look too much like I was lying, so I clenched my fists to keep them by my sides.

‘Your Honour, my learned colleague has been asking the same question for the last ten minutes,’ Kelani snapped. ‘If he has a point, perhaps he could be
instructed to get to it some time soon.’

‘I have every intention of doing just that.’ The prosecutor’s smile was oily to say the least. ‘Your Honour, I call into evidence exhibit D19.’

What on earth was D19? I watched as a TV with a massive screen and a VCR were wheeled into the court. As two men set up the equipment opposite the jury, I risked a glance at my dad. He was watching me. And the moment I caught his eye, he almost imperceptibly shook his head. At first I wondered if I’d imagined it, but he continued to look at me, his eyes burning into mine, and I knew I hadn’t. I turned to Pingule, wondering what he was up to. And I swear he smirked back at me. One of the court clerks handed him a remote control handset. He turned to the TV. I did the same. If my heart was thumping before, it was dive-bombing now. The screen flickered to life. I don’t know what I’d been expecting but the Dundale Shopping Centre wasn’t it. The video had obviously been made from one of those closed-circuit TV cameras that were dotted all over the centre. And with a gasp of pure horror, it suddenly hit me what was coming.

‘Your Honour, this tape has been put together by the police, my office and two independent witnesses from prominent nought groups, to ensure that what we see today is exactly what was taped on the day of the infamous bombing,’ Pingule explained.

‘Your Honour, I strenuously object,’ Kelani began furiously. ‘I haven’t had a chance to preview these tapes and . . .’

‘I only acquired them yesterday evening and I and my colleagues have been working through the night to
assemble this footage . . .’ Pingule didn’t get very far.

‘Your Honour, I must insist on being allowed to view the tapes first before they are entered into evidence so that I have a chance to prepare my defence . . .’

‘Your Honour, there are precedents to presenting evidence in court not yet seen by the defence. If I can quote . . .’

‘No, you may not,’ Judge Anderson interrupted. ‘I am well aware of the precedents, Mr Pingule. You’re not the only one who went to law school.’

‘My apologies.’

‘Your Honour . . .’ Kelani tried to bring the judge back to the subject in hand.

‘No, Ms Adams. I’ll allow it,’ said Judge Anderson. ‘I will however allow the court a recess after this witness has been questioned to give you time to prepare your response.’

As Kelani sat down she gave the judge a look that was pure ice. He didn’t miss it either. I saw from the slight tightening of his lips that he was less than pleased. I glared at Kelani. How would antagonizing the judge help my father’s case?

‘Now then, Callum, please could you identify the person running out of Allan and Shepherds Fine Goods store?’ asked the prosecutor.

I stared at the screen. Then blinked and swallowed hard. There was no mistake.

‘It . . . it’s me,’ I whispered.

‘Could you speak up please?’ Pingule said.

‘
IT
’
S ME
.’ I didn’t mean to shout, but that’s how it came out.

‘Can you tell me what you were doing in the Dundale at this time, approximately ten minutes before the bomb went off?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Let’s see if I can refresh your memory,’ said Pingule.

He pointed the remote at the TV and pressed the fast forward button. The time code at the bottom of the video leapt ahead seven minutes before he stopped the tape.

‘Is this still you entering the Cuckoo’s Egg café?’

I nodded.

‘We need a verbal response for the court audio tape,’ the judge told me.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Pingule let the tape play. A few moments later I could be seen leaving the café and pulling Sephy behind me. Although you couldn’t hear what was being said, it was obvious that all I wanted to do was get her out of there. The alarm at the shopping centre must’ve gone off then because Sephy started looking around, puzzled. I pulled her towards the nearest exit and then we both started running. Once we were out of the exit, Pingule fast forwarded for a couple of minutes and, without warning, there was a white flash from the café and the tape went dark.

The silence was damning.

‘Do you still insist that neither you nor any member of your family knew anything about the Dundale bomb?’ Pingule asked, scathingly.

‘Yes.’

‘I see. In this film, who are you pulling from the Cuckoo’s Egg café?’

‘Sephy . . .’

‘Persephone Hadley? Kamal Hadley’s daughter?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your relationship with Persephone Hadley?’

‘She . . . she’s a friend . . .’

Someone up in the public gallery started to whisper at that.

‘Could you tell this court why you were in such a hurry to get Persephone out of there?’

‘I . . . er . . . I said I’d meet her and I was late.’

‘Really?’ Pingule raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘When you found her, why didn’t you sit down in the café with her or go for a stroll around the shops? What was the hurry?’

‘I was late and I was afraid her mum would appear at any second and . . . and I wanted to show her something.’

‘What?’ Pingule prompted.

‘I can’t remember.’

More murmurs from the public gallery.

‘With everything that’s happened, I can’t remember. It was something silly – a car or a plane or something.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes.’ I was sweating so much, I was going to have to swim away from the witness box.

‘No further questions,’ Pingule said, his voice ringing with contempt before he sat down.

I hung my head.

Forgive me, Dad
.

I couldn’t even look at him. I started to walk down the steps of the witness box.

‘Just a moment, Callum.’ Kelani’s voice brought me back to the present. I looked up. She waved me back into
the witness box. I did as directed.

‘Could you describe your relationship with Mrs Hadley, Persephone Hadley’s mother?’ Kelani asked gently.

‘Mrs Hadley doesn’t like me . . . much.’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘She told her secretary not to let me into her house.’

‘I see. D’you know why?’

I coughed nervously. ‘Sephy . . . Persephone was beaten up at school. Mrs Hadley blamed me.’

‘Why? Did you do it?’

‘No, of course not,’ I said, appalled. ‘Some girls from the year above her did it.’

Pingule rose to his feet. ‘Your Honour, I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning . . .’

‘Ms Adams?’ Judge Andersen prompted.

‘I’ll come directly to the point, Your Honour,’ Kelani smiled. ‘Callum, what would you have done if Persephone had been in the café with her mother?’

How should I answer that? Think! Think!

‘I . . . would’ve waited until Sephy was alone before trying to speak to her.’

‘But that might’ve taken a while.’

I faked a nonchalant shrug. ‘I wanted to show Sephy what was outside but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if I hadn’t. I would’ve waited until she was alone. I wasn’t in a hurry.’

‘Thank you, Callum,’ Kelani smiled at me. ‘That will be all.’

‘Miss Hadley, could you tell us what happened when you were in the Cuckoo’s Egg café on the day of the bombing?’ Mr Pingule, the prosecutor, smiled at me encouragingly, which helped a little. A very little. I hadn’t expected to be quite so nervous. I didn’t want to be here. The courtroom was too warm and too big. They should’ve just painted huge eyes all over the floor and the walls and the ceiling and had done with it. And even that would’ve been far less intimidating than the judge, the lawyers and the jury.

‘Take your time, Miss Hadley,’ the judge smiled.

I smiled back at him, gratefully. Maybe I could do this. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘I was having a drink in the café. Mother . . . my mother had gone back to our car to put away our shopping.’

‘Go on,’ Mr Pingule prompted gently.

‘Well, Callum came in and said we should leave …’

‘Why?’

I swallowed hard. I’d sworn on the Good Book not to lie. But the judge and the jury wouldn’t understand the truth. The truth was more than just a spoken sentence. It was a combination of the thoughts and feelings and the
history behind them. Was I making excuses? Dressing them up in reasons and justifications and deliberate evasions? Seven people died. No reasoning in the world would ever change that fact, or excuse it.

‘Miss Hadley, did Callum give you a reason why you should leave the café?’

‘He . . . he wanted to show me something . . . outside . . . I assumed he wanted to show me something outside. I mean . . .’ Did I assume it? I must’ve done. Until the bomb went off.

‘What?’

‘Pardon?’

‘What did he want to show you?’ Mr Pingule’s smile was wearing a little thin.

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember. I don’t think he said.’

‘Come now, Miss Hadley . . .’

‘He didn’t say,’ I insisted. ‘It was going to be a surprise but . . . but the bomb went off before he could tell me.’

‘And that’s the truth?’

‘Yes.’ The truth. But not the whole truth and nothing but. I remembered a saying of my mother’s. A wise person tells what she knows, but not
all
she knows. Did that apply in a court of law? Somehow I didn’t think so. I watched as Mr Pingule regarded me, a strange look on his face. At last he spoke.