A Game of Proof (30 page)

‘That’s what you were arguing about with Dad. Is that what you were going to say?’

‘Well, yes, in a way ...’

‘There you are then. That’s probably what the book means.’

‘We’re not living in a school textbook, Emily! This is your brother Simon, he’s remanded in custody charged with murder!’

‘I’m not a child, Mum. I don’t need a lecture!’ Emily snatched her hands away.

If I’m not careful I’ll wreck this too, Sarah thought. I’ve got to get something right today. ‘All  right, I’m
sorry,
Emily, OK? You’re right, this is a big strain for all of us. None of us needs it - especially not you with your exams.’

A sort of calm returned. Then Emily asked her big question. ‘Do you think he did it?’

Sarah tried not to avoid her daughter’s eyes. This was no time to lie. But how to answer?

‘I suppose there’s a difference between what I
think
and what I
believe
,’ she began slowly, wondering if she understood herself. ‘If I start out by
thinking
, as the police and their lawyers will, then yes, there’s plenty of evidence to make it seem he’s guilty. He was the last person to see her, he hit her, he ran away to Scarborough the night she was killed ... and other things.’

Including the contents of a plastic bag in the pannier of my bike,
she thought despairingly. I can’t tell Emily about those; they’re my burden.

‘But if you ask me what I
believe
, then that’s a different question. Do I believe that Simon - I mean we all know he has faults because we’ve lived with him, but ... do I
believe
that he could have killed that girl - raped her and cut her throat with a knife, then the answer has to be no. Doesn’t it, Emily? Whatever the evidence seems to say, there must be something wrong with it.’

Emily considered the answer she had been given. ‘You
have
to think - I mean, believe - that, don’t you, because you’re his mother?’

‘Yes. And you’re his sister.’ How often have I seen families in court, Sarah thought. With no idea how it must feel.

Emily nodded. ‘I don’t want him to be guilty either. But ...’

‘But there’s a lot of evidence. That’s what Lucy, his solicitor, is looking at right now. And when it comes to court he’ll have the best barrister we can find - a QC I hope. That’s what lawyers are for.’ They sat for a while in silence, then Sarah got up. ‘You get on with your revision, now. Be grateful these aren’t decisions you have to make.’

But as Sarah reached the door, Emily said: ‘If he
did
do it, though, I’d want him to be locked up for ever. He’d deserve that, even though he’s my brother. I wouldn’t want any clever lawyer to get him off when he’s guilty, like you do sometimes.’

Sarah went out and shut the door behind her. Outside in the corridor, she leant her back against the wall, and slid slowly to the floor, until her hands clasped her knees in a foetal position. I can’t cope with this, she thought, this isn’t supposed to happen to lawyers. This is the sort of things clients’ families go through. Now I know why so many of them go crazy. It hurts too much.

Much, much too much.

Bob showed no surprise to find her at home. She was slumped in an armchair, staring out at the weeping willow in the garden. There was a plastic bag on the carpet beside her. Classical music was playing softly, and she had a glass in her hand, as she occasionally did after a hard day at work. He crossed the room and poured a small whisky for himself.

‘Where’s Emily?’

‘Upstairs, working. She’s going out with Larry in half an hour.’

‘In the middle of her exams? Is that wise?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘She’s been working all afternoon, Bob. Anyway there’s something I need to talk to you about and it’d be better if she weren’t here.’

Bob frowned. ‘Sounds ominous.’

‘What isn’t, these days?’

‘I’ll go up and talk to her now, then. See how she got on.’

‘OK.’ As he went upstairs Sarah took her drink into the garden. At the end of the lawn was the gate leading into the field by the river. Only a few days ago, she thought, I was out there wondering if Emily’d thrown herself into the water. Now I can imagine doing the same myself.  How do people drown themselves, anyway? Do you just dive down and breathe water instead of air? It wouldn’t work. You might want to die, but your body would panic and resist. You have to fight on, however bad you feel. That’s just the way it is.

When Bob came down, she told him what she’d decided to say.

‘Emily said something earlier that made me think. She said that families often split up because of the pressure of some traumatic event from outside. She’d  read it in a book, poor kid, but it might be true for all that. The other day you told the police about Simon hitting Jasmine, and I said you’d betrayed him. But ...’ She paused; it was so hard to admit this. ‘You had to do it, I see that now. You had no choice.’

It was not what Bob had expected. All day he’d been thinking, this is how marriages end. First with a row about something fundamental in which both partners think they’re right, followed by a physical separation, then a fight for the affections of your children, ending if you’re unlucky with a complete loathing and hatred of the person you once loved. And it must be so lonely. So when he’d seen her there with a drink in her hand he’d been sure she had come to make a formal beginning of the process. Now this instead. He was hugely relieved.

‘What ... makes you say that?’

‘I’ve thought about it. And - something’s happened.’ She picked up the plastic bag, and told him - about the hood and ring in the shed, Simon’s response, and the decision she had made at the transport café. It was hard for him to take in at first.

‘And this is why you came back?’

‘Yes. Well, not the only reason. But you see, I thought the right thing to do - to protect Simon - was to chuck it in the bin, just as I thought the right thing for you to do was to keep quiet about that old man. But then when I tried ... I couldn’t do it. It’s harder than I thought; it must have been like that for you too. So one thing is - sorry.’

He hadn’t expected that either. It was not a word Sarah used often. And Simon, he knew, was very important to her indeed.

‘I’ve been thinking too,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t feel proud of what I did. I wish I’d never met the old sod.’

‘But you did. And once you know a thing like that, you can’t un-know it.’

‘True. Especially when a girl’s dead.’ He sighed, staring out of the window where the sunset lit the tops of the trees, and the birds were letting rip with a tumultuous evening chorus. ‘I suppose that’s why I did it, really. Because of Jasmine’s family. Suffering as we might have done if Emily had died.’

‘Yes,’ Sarah murmured. ‘And if it
had
been Emily, I’d kill anyone who covered things up. That’s all she has left now, Mrs Hurst - the right to know what happened.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ Bob looked at the plastic bag.

‘Talk to you about it, first. If this thing isn’t going to tear us apart, we’ve got to decide together. All right so far?’

‘So far, so good. Yes.’

‘Don’t mock me, Bob, this is deadly serious. Now, there are three possibilities.’

Here comes the lecture, Bob thought. It’s how her mind works.

‘
One
, I take them to Lucy. She’s Simon’s lawyer, she can decide. But wouldn’t I just be passing the buck to her, tempting her to conceal it as I was tempted myself?’

‘Maybe. What’s number two?’

‘
Two
, I put them back where they were, and say nothing. Then the police either find the things for themselves or they don’t. That way, if I’ve wiped my fingerprints off the ring, they don’t know I’ve ever seen them.’

‘And the third?’

‘The one that scares me to death. I ring up the police and hand these things over myself.’

‘I see.’ Bob scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘And which do you think is right?’

‘That’s what I hoped you’d tell me. What would you do?’

‘Well ...’ he hesitated. ‘You’ve tried getting rid of them yourself, and failed. And if you give them to Lucy, I can see you’re just passing the buck. Like you are with me.’

‘You’re my husband!
Bob!’

‘Yeah, okay, it’s different. But if he really did these things, Sarah, then haven’t we got a duty to tell the police? I mean, Jasmine’s dead - and there may be more girls. Kids like Emily.’

‘You don’t really believe he’s like that, Bob. Do you?’

‘We’re not talking about what I believe,’ he said desperately. ‘We’re talking about what to do with the evidence.’

‘True.’ She got up and strode distractedly round the room. ‘Look, Bob, I can’t hand this stuff over, I simply can’t. Any more than I could throw it away this afternoon.’

‘So you’re going to put it back. That’s all that’s left, isn’t it?’

Sarah ran a hand through her hair. ‘Well, I can’t just turn him in. He’s my son. On the other hand I’m not hiding or destroying anything, I’m just putting it back where the police can find it if they do their job properly. That’s all.’

‘And if it goes wrong, and they find out?’ Bob asked. ‘I can see the headlines now.
York Barrister Hides Evidence To Save Killer Son
. Is that what you want?’

‘It’s a risk I’ll have to run, that’s all. There are risks with all of this.’

‘So if that’s your decision, what do you want from me?’ Bob asked slowly. ‘After all, you’ve told me now.’

‘I want your love and support, Bob.’ Then she realized what was implied in his last words. ‘And your promise to say nothing. You couldn’t - you won’t ring them yourself?’

‘You said you wouldn’t burden Lucy with this knowledge. But you’ve burdened me.’

The comment terrified Sarah, like a cold hand round her heart. She had come here for support, and now this. She stared at him bleakly.

‘If you tell them, Bob, we really are finished. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do and it’s tearing me apart. I’m risking my whole career for this, everything I’ve worked for since I was a kid.
But he’s my son, Bob!
I need your support.’

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang and Emily came clattering down the stairs. They heard voices in the hall and then Emily came in with Larry, beaming happily. Emily looked pretty and flushed with excitement. Larry, in jeans, a black leather jacket and bootlace tie, had clearly made some attempt to improve his appearance. Sarah forced a smile.

‘Hello, you two. Where are you going?’

‘Out. To a meal at a place Larry knows.’

‘In Larry’s car?’ Sarah looked dubiously out at a small rusty hatchback in the drive.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Newby, I don’t drink and drive,’ Larry said. ‘And she won’t be back late either - I do know she’s got exams this week.’

‘But not tomorrow, so I’ve got all day to revise,’ Emily said. She kissed Sarah on the cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mum, I’m all right.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you are. And you can trust Larry, I hope.’ She glanced anxiously at Bob. ‘Actually, I’m going out for a while, too. So I’ll follow you down the road to check your driving, young man!’ She went out into the porch for her leathers and helmet.

‘Oh Mum!’ Emily protested at this humiliation. Then a more serious thought struck her. ‘You
are
coming back tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Just like you, young lady,
yes
.’ She met Bob’s eyes. ‘I’ll stay so long as we all trust each other. Okay?’

Emily looked puzzled, not sure what her mother was talking about. ‘If we have to trust each other why are you going to follow Larry down the road?’

‘It was a joke,’ Sarah said. ‘I won’t.’ She smiled at them all - a tense, rather frightening smile - and stepped out into the night, alone.

Chapter Twenty-One

I
T WAS dark by the time she got to Bramham Street. The sound of the motorbike echoed loudly from the terraced houses on either side. Sarah hadn’t noticed it before; perhaps guilt focused her attention on it now. When she cut the engine it was quiet - the sound of television through windows, curtains drawn, no one on the street. She glanced around but there was no one watching from a window that she could see.

Anyway I have a right to be here, she told herself. It’s my house, I have a key. I’ll come whenever I choose. But for all her brave words she felt like a burglar. 

She wheeled the bike through the alleyway into Simon’s back yard. It was dark, but the streetlights lit different angles of the passage, so that Sarah walked through a kaleidoscope of shadows. She settled the bike on its stand, stripped off her gauntlets and helmet, and fumbled in the pannier for the plastic bag. Then she pushed open the door of the shed and stepped inside.

As she did so something seized her arm and she stumbled forwards on her face. To her amazement she was on her hands and knees on the shed floor. She tried to get up but something hit her on the rump and she fell forwards again, face down. Her right hand slipped inside the bag and got tangled up in the balaclava hood. She gasped, struggled to her knees, looked behind her, and saw -

a man blocking the doorway.

She could only see him dimly in the orange glow of the streetlight but he was a large, well built man with thick arms and massive shoulders. She almost fell over a broken chair, recovered, and staggered to her feet. The intruder grabbed her arm, and slammed her against the wall. She pushed the balaclava hood into his face, blinding him for a second, her nails clawing at his cheeks. But a huge hand closed over hers, dragging the hood away from the side of his head and flinging it to the floor.

‘Right then, what’s this?’

The big, cruel  face grinned into hers from a few inches away. As her eyes adapted to the faint orange light from the street the features became clearer and the confidence in the man’s face leaked away. They stared at each other, bewildered.

‘Fancy knickers Newby!’

‘Gary Harker! Get off me!’ She tried to free herself but as she wriggled his grip tightened slightly. He must be twice her weight, with the strength of a gorilla. ‘What are you doing here?’