A Game of Proof (48 page)

Terry noted several trails of blood below Gary’s left eye. The sight filled him with sadistic glee. ‘Cut yourself shaving, Gary, did you?’ he enquired.

The question enraged Gary, who elbowed one constable in the face, broke loose from the other, and was halfway to Terry before the two constables tripped  him, smashed him face down on the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back.

‘See what he’s like?’ Sharon screamed. ‘You know what he did, Mr Bateson, don’t you?’

‘I know, Sharon, yes.’ He turned to the constables. ‘Book him for assault while resisting arrest. Then fill me in on this case, OK?  In my office upstairs.’

An hour later he interviewed Gary with Nick Burrows, one of the arresting constables, while Harry Easby interviewed Sharon with the other.

‘So how did this happen, Gary?’

‘She just sunk her nails in, didn’t she? Bitch!’

‘And you were doing nothing to her, of course?’

‘Have you seen them nails? You ought to do her for wearing offensive weapons.’

‘Let’s just take it from the beginning, Gary, shall we? Where did this argument start?’

The story in itself was simple. Gary claimed to have been in the
Lighthorseman
when Sharon came in with a girlfriend. Dressed, as Gary put it, ‘for a day’s work on her back.’ He had approached her, he said, in a friendly spirit to buy her a drink and make up for the past, whereupon she had tried to tear his eyes out with her dagger-like nails.

‘No excuse, she just went for me. I bet a dozen witnesses saw it. So do your job, Mr Bateson. I want that bitch charged with assault.’

Reluctantly, Terry ordered the constables to get witness statements. When they returned, Terry contemplated them gloomily. Two witnesses had seen Sharon scratch Gary’s face. Neither had seen him hit her.

‘It’s quite monstrous, sir, I agree,’ Nick Burrows said. ‘But if he persists with this complaint we’ll have to charge her with assault, won’t we? We’ve no choice.’

‘He assaulted you too, constable. I saw it.  We all did.’

‘Yes, but in a police station, sir. The lawyers will say we provoked him.’

Harry Easby had interviewed Sharon. He looked shattered by the whole experience; why, Terry could not at first understand.

‘She says he was making offensive remarks and tried to put his hand up her skirt,’ Harry said. ‘That’s as far as the physical stuff goes. She claims her girlfriend Cheryl will support her so I’ve sent a car to fetch her in now. But the real problem isn’t that, boss.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘She’s gone hysterical, she really has. What turned him up so much, was that she’s getting a reporter from some TV program -
Rough Justice,
I think - to interview her about her case. Apparently this reporter’s up here to cover the Newby trial and Sharon went to meet her in that pub for lunch. She claims because you’ve got new evidence the CPS ought to go for a second trial. You know there’s been talk about that in the papers recently - saying the prosecution ought to have a second go after an acquittal in serious cases where major evidence comes to light ...’

‘We should be so lucky.’ Terry laughed bitterly. ‘Hot air. It’ll never happen.’

‘Well, maybe not, but that’s what journalists love, talk, isn’t it? Anyway Sharon thinks hers could be a sort of test case on TV. You know - ‘ the law needs changing to prevent injustice’ - that kind of thing. Bad publicity for us.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Terry gloomily. ‘And guess who’s in the firing line. Did she scratch him on purpose, then, as a publicity stunt?’

‘Could be,’ Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Terry could see the embarrassment, the hours of paperwork and media interviews, stretching ahead of him. If the case ever did appear on TV he’d be the joke of the nation.

An awful thought struck him.

‘This reporter wasn’t there in the pub? Filming the fight while Sharon set it up?’

‘No, thank God. But she turned up soon after. She’s got the story by now, for sure. The whole pub was buzzing with it.’

‘Bloody hell fire.’ Terry gazed at Harry in despair. ‘And Harker wants us to charge her with assault, which makes me look dafter than ever. I’ll be on telly as the dumbo detective who not only failed to get a rape conviction, but prosecuted the victim for assault. Brilliant. Your caring sharing police force.’

 ‘And if you don’t, Harker puts in a complaint.’

 ‘Exactly. Well, let him. He assaulted you too, didn’t he? Keep him in overnight.’

‘And what about her, sir? She’s, er, got kids you know.’

‘Yes.’ Terry contemplated Harry curiously. It was unlike him to be so concerned. ‘Well, I can look stupid doing the right thing, at least. Get a statement from this Cheryl and send Sharon home. Will that persuade her to give up her chance of becoming a media superstar, Harry?’

‘Not likely, sir.’

Terry sighed. ‘Oh well. It was a good life while it lasted.’

Phil Turner began with the undisputed statement of the man who had found Jasmine’s body. The grim facts, read out in Turner’s calm, dependable voice, held the jury’s attention.

‘I was taking my dog for a walk at seven in the morning ... the dog started barking in the bushes ... a few yards off the track I saw the body of a young woman, the throat all covered with blood, and my dog barking hysterically at it ...’

Sarah saw a middle-aged juror fumble for a tissue in her handbag, and a younger man dart nervous, vengeful looks at Simon in the dock.

PC Wilson, who had responded to the 999 call, had felt for pulse and breathing but found none. In his opinion the young woman had been dead for some time. Nothing that PC Wilson said was controversial and Sarah had no questions.

Dr Jones, the forensic pathologist, was a different matter. Sarah shivered as he took the Bible in his right hand. She vividly recalled the last time she had seen that smooth, sharp face. The memory became worse as the usher distributed a book of photos of Jasmine’s injuries. Several jurors turned pale as they looked at them.

Sarah had seen these photos before but they still upset her. She remembered how she had been called to identify this very body - Emily’s body, as she had expected. The smell of formaldehyde came back to her, and that cold, clinical room. This pathologist had been watching her, waiting until she could screw her courage that last turn higher and say yes, I’m ready now, let me look. And see that it wasn’t Emily after all.

A hand touched her shoulder. Sarah turned to see Lucy watching her anxiously.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes ... yes, sure.’

‘Only you seemed upset.’

‘I’m fine. It’s OK. Thanks.’

The judge had noticed her distress too. God, how long did I lose it? A few seconds, a minute perhaps? To her relief she realised that Phil Turner was proceeding normally; her lapse had not upset him, at least. She sat up straight and focussed her mind on the matter in hand.

‘Dr Jones,’ Turner was saying. ‘What was the cause of Miss Hurst’s death?’

‘She died from a severe arterial haemorrhage caused when the carotid artery was severed by a sharp instrument. Death in such instances is fairly swift and always irreversible.’

‘And what can you tell us about how this fatal wound was inflicted?’

‘Well, I’m afraid the victim’s throat had suffered some subsequent damage - after death - due to possible gnawing by a fox or a dog ...’

Sweet Jesus, Sarah thought, I hope someone warned Jasmine’s mother to avoid  this.

‘ ... but there was enough of the original wound remaining to indicate that it was inflicted by a sharp instrument such as a knife, entering the throat just below the left ear and travelling across to the right, severing the artery and windpipe on the way. It’s the sort of wound that could easily be inflicted by a right-handed assailant standing behind the victim, holding her head back by her hair to expose her neck, while he cut her throat with the knife.’

‘I see.’ Phil Turner paused thoughtfully. ‘And from your examination of the wound, were you able to tell anything about the nature of this sharp instrument?’

‘Certainly.’ This pathologist was a supremely confident young man, Sarah thought; not the sort who would react kindly to any questioning of his conclusions. ‘It was a single cut, severing nearly half of the neck in one go. So it would have to be a relatively large and sharp instrument to do that. With a serrated edge.’

‘How can you tell that? About the serrated edge?’

‘Well, because of the marks made on her vertebrae. You can see that in photograph 15.’

Sarah studied the photograph carefully. It showed a number of small irregular marks which the pathologist identified as typical of a serrated blade.

‘Dr Jones, did you find any other knife wounds on Miss Hurst’s body?’

‘Yes. Four cuts on the inside of her left forearm. You’ll see them in photograph 17.’

‘And how, in your opinion, were those cuts inflicted?’

‘They are the typical wound that we see in a person trying to defend themselves from a knife attack. You naturally raise your arms up like this ...’ Dr Jones went into a defensive crouch in the witness stand. ‘ ... and as you see, the inside of your forearm is exposed. If the victim was attacked from behind, the cuts would go across the arm and slightly upwards, as these do.’

‘And were these cuts also inflicted by a weapon with a serrated edge?’

‘One appears to be. The knife marked the ulna - the smaller bone in the forearm. You can see that in photograph 18.’

Phil Turner picked up a knife in a plastic bag. ‘My Lord, could I ask the witness to examine this breadknife. Exhibit One for the prosecution.’ The usher passed it forward. ‘Do you recognize this knife, Dr Jones?’

‘Yes. It’s a breadknife given to me by the police to examine in connection with the wounds inflicted on the deceased.’

‘And what was the result of your examination?’

‘I tried to establish whether or not this knife could have caused these wounds. I did that in two ways. Firstly, I made quite careful measurements of the blade and serrations, and compared these measurements to the marks on the victim’s vertebrae and ulna.’

‘And what was the result of that experiment?’

‘The distances were compatible, to within a quarter of a millimetre or less.’

‘So according to those measurements, it was quite possible that this knife could have caused these wounds?’

‘Yes.’

‘And for your second experiment?’

‘I used the knife on the bones of a pig. A dead pig, of course.’

‘And what results did that show?’

‘You can see it in photographs 26 and 27, I believe. The marks are almost identical to those on the dead girl.’

The jury, Sarah noticed, were fascinated, examining the photographs and Dr Jones intently, with expressions which varied from open revulsion to excitement and even awe. Certainly he had captured their interest; perhaps if he allowed his scientific enthusiasm to go too far he might also repulse them, which would be a small advantage. But more likely, that repulsion would fall upon Simon.

And the gruesome, intimate details were far from over.

‘Now, Dr Jones, let me take you to another subject. In your report, you claim that the victim was raped ...’

‘So we’re not preferring charges, Sharon,’ said Terry, as emolliently as he could.

‘I should bloody well think not. It’s him should be locked up, not me.’

‘I know,’ Terry sighed. ‘But the law ...’

‘You can stick the bloody law up your backside. What good’s it done me, eh? Sod all. But for brutes like him it’s different. Not enough evidence to convict, my arse! Can I go?’

‘Yes. Just try to stay out of trouble, if you can.’

‘Me? Oh thanks very much. You’ve not heard the last of this, Mr smarmy Bateson. There’s telly as well as courts, you know.’ She fished a cigarette out of her bag and lit up, trying to recover her dignity. ‘I don’t know how you lads can face yourselves in the morning, doing a shit job like yours. No one’s so much as mentioned my kids, the whole time I’ve been in here.’

‘How are they, Sharon?’ Terry ventured feebly, remembering the brave little boy who had given evidence in court. A fine story for the cameras, that would be.

‘With Mary, I sincerely hope. I should’ve fetched them hours ago. Don’t I even get a lift home? Me a single mum,
and
a rape victim!’

‘I’m going that way, sir,’ Harry broke in. ‘I’ll see you find your kids all right.’

She took a long drag on her cigarette, and blew the smoke out, straight at him. ‘Yeah, and that’s all you’re going to see, too, sunshine. All right, then. See you on telly, Inspector. They’ll grind you into sewage, they will. You and Gary both.’

Terry accompanied her and Harry to the front door. It was nearly four o’clock, the end of his shift. He wondered what his children would be up to, and how the first day of Simon’s trial had gone. There’d be reporters and TV journalists there too. But Churchill wouldn’t mess
his
case up  - he had too much luck. Unlike Terry. Or was he simply a better detective?

Terry watched Harry cross the car park with Sharon, and blinked. Had Harry squeezed her buttock as he opened the passenger door? Surely he must have imagined it. The mood she was in she would have raked his face with her nails and run screaming back for a complaint form. Anyway the lad would never be so daft. My eyes are playing me tricks.

The evidence which Dr Jones presented to prove that Jasmine had been raped seemed as clear and convincing as his evidence about the way she had died.  He had found bruising to the walls of her vagina, and traces of semen within it. There were cuts and scratches on the backs and sides of her legs which were also consistent with a violent sexual attack.

As Sarah rose to cross-examine, she noted looks of pity and irritation from the jury. We’ve made up our minds already, the expressions said; Dr Jones has told us the truth. Going through it all again will be a pointless waste of everyone’s time.

A few looked less hostile, though. She focused her hopes on a man at the back, and began.

‘Dr Jones, I’d like to return to these cuts on Miss Hurst’s arms. They were quite severe, noticeable cuts, I think you said?’