Guilty One (27 page)

‘Nearly two thousand years. Imagine all that time ago, before there were cars or trains or electricity, or anything like that, people were able to build a wall like this.’

‘Why’s it called Hadrian’s Wall?’

‘I think he was the Roman emperor who asked for it to be built.’

‘Why did he want to build it, like?’

‘Maybe he wanted someone to remember him in two thousand years’ time!’ Minnie laughed. ‘That would be right. Bet he was an arrogant old bugger, excuse my language.’

Daniel touched
the stone bricks, stroking them with his fingertips. He clambered on hands and knees and pulled himself up on top. They were here to celebrate getting adopted and afterwards Minnie was going to take him out for dinner.

‘Careful, love,’ she called to him, one hand on her hip and another shielding her eyes. ‘Watch and don’t fall now.’

‘Come up.’

‘Don’t be silly. I can barely climb the stairs.’

They walked then, side by side, but Daniel high above. He turned and looked at the green hills which folded out before him. He opened his arms wide and spread his fingers. The space made him feel giddy.

‘You get a great view from up here, like,’ said Daniel, teasing her.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

At the end of one section he stood with toes over the edge, bending his knees.

‘Don’t jump, Danny.’

‘You could catch me, like.’

‘You’ll hurt your knees.’

‘I won’t. I’ve jumped off higher walls than this.’

‘OK, well reach for my hands and it’ll help break your fall.’

He jumped and felt her strong rough hands squeeze his; he fell into her, breathing hard from the thrill of it.

They walked up the hill to find a cup of tea. Daniel glanced up at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was smiling into the distance, her lips parted and her chest rising and falling.

Daniel swallowed then slipped his hand into hers. She looked down at him and smiled and he looked away, embarrassed but feeling a tightness in his abdomen, as if even his stomach was trying to smile.
He liked the rough feel of her hand. As she walked she rubbed her thumb across the back of his fingers.

This is what happiness is, he thought: this clear day and the smell of grass, and the wall that had been there for centuries, and the feel of her hand and his lips wet in the expectation of a cup of hot, sweet tea.

He thought of his mother. He wanted her to know this moment. As his hand warmed inside Minnie’s palm,
so he imagined that his mother would come and take his other hand. The day was almost perfect, but that would complete it.

Judgement

21

Sebastian’s trial
was to be held at
The Old Bailey.

Daniel woke up early for his run, but even after his shower his stomach was still tight with tension. He didn’t know why the trial should make him feel so apprehensive. He was used to Old Bailey trials, and murder trials, but today he felt different: as if he himself would be on trial.

The entrance to the Old Bailey was now a throng of angry public and hungry press. He didn’t expect the photographers would know who he was and thought Irene would get the attention, but as soon as he approached there was a cry of
‘That’s one of the solicitors’
and then a flash.

‘Child killer,’ someone from the crowd screamed. ‘You’re defending a child killer. The little bastard should fry. Go to hell.’

As a defence lawyer, he had become accustomed to enmity. In the past he had been verbally abused in the street and sent hate mail threatening his life. Such things only made Daniel more determined to see the case through. Everyone deserved a defence, no matter what they had done. But the fury of the crowd here seemed exceptional. He understood anger at the loss of innocent life, but he could not understand why people seemed so ready to vilify a child.
The loss of a child was cruel because it was promise stolen, but Daniel felt the criminalisation of another child was just as cruel. Daniel remembered his foster father calling him evil. Even if Sebastian was guilty, he needed help, not condemnation. He watched the surge of the crowd – jeering faces asking for punishment. Protesters railed on the streets, waving placards that read
Life for a Life.
They screamed
bas-tard
whenever they saw someone related to Sebastian and jostled against a makeshift barrier and yellow-vested police officers.

A police officer pulled at his elbow, urging him forward, and Daniel jogged the last few steps until he was inside the court. Sebastian had been brought to court in a security van and was waiting in an observation cell downstairs.

When Daniel entered the cell, Sebastian was sitting on a concrete bunk covered with a blue plastic mat. He looked pale. He was wearing a navy suit that was a little big on the shoulders and a striped tie. The outfit made the boy seem even younger than his eleven years.

‘How’s it going, Seb?’ Daniel asked.

‘OK, thanks,’ Sebastian said, looking away.

‘Sharp suit.’

‘My dad wanted me to wear it.’

It was nearly an hour before the trial would begin and Daniel felt sorry for Sebastian – the time he would have to spend in the harsh concrete cell, just waiting. It was hard enough on adults. Sebastian had been shown round the courtroom the day before and proceedings had been explained to him, but nothing could really prepare a child for this.

Daniel sat on the bunk beside Sebastian. They both looked straight ahead at the wall opposite, which was marked with graffiti: obscenities
and devotions side by side. Daniel noticed one phrase which had been cut into the concrete with a knife:
I love you Mum.

‘Did you go for a run this morning?’ Sebastian asked.

‘I did. Did you get any breakfast?’

‘Yeah.’ Sebastian sighed, looking away again, uninterested.

‘I better go,’ said Daniel, standing up.

‘Daniel?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m scared.’

‘You’ll be all right. They showed you where you’ll be sitting? You get to sit next to me, just like we said. Keep your chin up, eh?’

Sebastian nodded and Daniel knocked to be let out.

When the door was closed, Daniel placed a palm against it, and then made his way upstairs to the court.

The judge and barristers wore their gowns, but no wigs, as they were considered too intimidating for children. The public gallery was almost full of journalists and Daniel knew there were many more outside, who had not been able to get in. Arrangements had been made to restrict the number of journalists to ten. The courtroom hummed with anticipation. Daniel took his seat, where he would sit with Sebastian. Irene Clarke and Sebastian’s junior counsel, Mark Gibbons, sat in front.

Sucking his lip, Sebastian was brought in by two police officers. Daniel leaned down and held his shoulder in reassurance. They were all a strange family then, waiting for it to begin.

Sebastian’s mother and father were sitting behind them. Charlotte was wearing a well-cut suit. Kenneth was leaning very far back in his seat, hands folded across his belly. He kept looking at his watch, while Charlotte examined her make-up in a small round
mirror and reapplied her lipstick. There was a murmur from the press section of the gallery, but no one else seemed to be talking.

Daniel could hear Sebastian swallow.

The judge entered. Daniel nudged Sebastian’s elbow, prompting him to stand. The court rose and then sat.

Jurors were selected and then sworn in. The chosen ones stared without restraint at Sebastian from across the room. They had read so much about him, but now they could see his face, and would decide his fate.

Benjamin Stokes’s parents were visible in the gallery: Madeline and Paul. They sat side by side, still and heavy, neither offering each other comfort nor watching Sebastian. They also waited, laden with grief, for it to begin.

The judge leaned on the podium and looked over his glasses in the direction of the public gallery.

‘Members of the press, I would like to remind you that until further notice the defendant, Sebastian Croll, will not be referred to by name in all reporting of the trial.’

The consonants in Sebastian’s name seemed to assault the rapt room. Daniel frowned.

The judge slid his glasses further down his nose and directed his gaze at Sebastian.

‘Sebastian, I won’t ask you to stand when I address you, as is our practice in court. You are also seated in the main courtroom, beside your solicitor and with your parents nearby, instead of the dock. Many of our court processes are protracted and may seem confusing to you. I remind you that you have your solicitors and barristers to talk to if there is anything you do not understand.’

Sebastian looked up at Daniel, who put a hand on his back briefly to
indicate that he should face the front. Sebastian had already been counselled on how to behave in court.

Irene Clarke stood up, hand on her hip underneath her gown.

‘My lord, there is a point of law I have to raise …’

She had an air of easy authority, speaking the language of the court in received pronunciation.

The court waited as the jury shuffled out: eight men and four women, two young, but the remainder middle-aged. Daniel watched them go.

‘My lord, we would like to make an application for a stay on the grounds that pre-trial publicity has been prejudicial to my client’s case. I present before the court a selection of newspaper cuttings which show the highly emotive language in which the case has been discussed in the press. The saturation coverage of this case has more than likely influenced the jury.’

The judge sighed as he considered the bundle of articles which was passed to him. Daniel had seen this judge before: Philip Baron was one of the oldest remaining on the bench. He had featured in the tabloids himself, following unpopular rulings. He had made headlines for his use of prejudicial language when presiding over rape cases. He looked every bit his sixty-nine years.

The QC for the Crown, Gordon Jones, argued that the jury would not have been prejudiced by the coverage because the defendant had not been named and the main details of the case were not known to the press. The morning disappeared as the articles were considered and discussed. Daniel’s stomach rumbled and he tightened his muscles to suppress it. There was a sense that the whole room was fatigued now. So much anticipation stymied in the wake of bureaucracy. Daniel was used to it, but as Irene fought for
Sebastian, he could see that the boy was already bored. He had been drawing pictures: tiny little conjoined wheels on the corner of the notepad. Daniel could hear him sighing and shifting in his chair.

The judge cleared his throat.

‘Thank you, I have considered these points and will rule that the trial will proceed, but I will remind the jury of their duty to consider the facts of the case as presented here in court only. I am, however, mindful of the time, and think this might be a convenient moment to adjourn. We’ll resume after lunch …’

The court session ended and Sebastian was taken back down to his cell.

Irene left court before Daniel could speak to her, so he went down to the cells to see Sebastian. The guard slid back the shutter on the observation window to check on Sebastian’s position before Daniel was allowed in.

‘You all right, Seb?’ he asked. Sebastian was sitting on the edge of the bunk, looking down at his shoes, which were turned toe-inwards. ‘You’ll get your lunch in a minute.’

Sebastian nodded, not looking up at Daniel.

‘I know it’s boring … probably the worst thing about court.’

‘I wasn’t bored. I just wish I didn’t have to hear …’

‘Hear what? What do you mean?’

‘All the bad things about me.’

Daniel took a deep breath, unsure how to respond, and settled down on the bunk next to him. ‘That’ll get worse, you know, Seb,’ he said finally, leaning forward on his elbows so that his head was level with the boy’s.

‘We lost the first argument,’ he said.

‘True,’ said
Daniel, ‘but it was an argument we expected to lose.’

‘Why argue if you know you’re not going to win?’

‘Well, for one thing because it’s a valid argument and in court, remember, even if one judge disagrees with you, on appeal another judge may think you’re right.’

Sebastian was silent again, looking at the floor. Daniel was not sure if he had understood. He thought about explaining more to him, but did not want to burden the boy. He imagined what he would have felt like, alone in this cell, as a boy of eleven. He had been close to it. The Thorntons could easily have reported him.

‘Are you my friend?’ said Sebastian.

‘I’m your lawyer.’

‘People don’t like me,’ said Sebastian. ‘I don’t think the jury will like me either.’

‘The jury are there to consider the facts put before them. It doesn’t matter if they like you or not,’ said Daniel. He wanted this to be true, but did not completely believe it.

‘Do
you
like me?’ said Sebastian, looking up. Daniel’s first instinct was to look away from the green eyes that found his own, but he maintained eye contact.

‘’Course,’ he said, feeling as if he were crossing a boundary again.

There was not much time left before court resumed. Daniel bought a sandwich near St Paul’s and ate it looking out on to Cannon Street. Sebastian’s low mood was upon him and the boy’s questions turned in his mind.

He felt a sense of foreboding: he was not sure if it was fear of the outcome of the trial, or empathy for the boy and what he faced. He
felt heavy with responsibility. A crow landed suddenly on the ledge outside the diner. Daniel stopped eating and watched as it choked back a chip it had snatched from the pavement. The bird cocked its head and looked at Daniel, its beak slick. Then the bird was gone, swooping up to the heights of the buildings where baroque fantasies had been cut from the Portland stone. Daniel watched the ascent until the bird was out of sight.

Flight:
the control of opposing forces, weight versus lift, gravity and the pull of the great beyond.