The Sacrificial Man (21 page)

A man wearing a large poacher’s coat plonks himself down next to Krishna. He sits back with a gusty exhale of air, removing his misted glasses and polishing them on the jacket. Then he leans over to Krishna, who fights the urge to back away. The man has ruddy cheeks and is out of breath. “Have they started yet?”

“Not yet,” Krishna confirms, staring straight ahead. From the corner of his eye he sees his neighbour’s sausage-like fingers unzip his coat and slide under the flap, fumbling. He pulls out a sheaf of A5 flyers and slides one onto Krishna’s lap, then turns and hands them to the reporters. He reaches in front of Krishna, forcing him to lean back, and passes a flyer to the right. The old woman looks at the offered paper as if it’s a foreign object but her husband snatches one and reads it. From behind him, across his shoulder, comes a square hand, and Krishna sees that it is the person from the corner, with the military cropped hair. “I’ll have one of those, mate, if you don’t mind.” The man next to him is delighted to oblige.

The sound of the buzzer makes the man freeze then fumble to return his papers inside his jacket. In the courtroom below, two of the group have put on short white wigs and a woman has taken her place in front of a long wooden desk below the thronelike chair underneath a coat of arms with a Latin motto. The antiquated lessons from his Birmingham grammar days prove useful, as Krishna is able to translate the Latin: left and right. The promise to balance up both sides of the argument. What a lofty ambition.

A section of wooden panelling behind the chair opens and the judge steps forward like a character in a play, complete with long white wig and red cloak. He surveys the scene at his feet and then, taking his time, peers up at the public gallery. He slowly takes his seat, settling himself before saying, “Court, please sit.”

The woman at his feet remains standing, a plain creature with a centre parting and mousy hair. She turns to addresses the judge. “Your Honour, this is the case of Alice Mariani, who has pleaded guilty to assisted suicide. Would you like the crown prosecution service to recount the details?”

The prosecutor is already on his feet, adjusting his wig. “Your Honour, at a previous hearing Alice Mariani pleaded guilty to assisting David Jenkins to die on June 16th last year. David Jenkins had a cardiac arrest after ingesting a fatal dose of Gamma Hydroxybutyric acid, street name GHB. Mariani waited until Jenkins was dead before contacting the police. On their arrival she produced the suicide note.”

Feeling the fug of a headache beginning at the top of his neck, Krishna looked at his lap where he has the flyer handed to him by his neighbour.

The Hemlock Trust: Fighting for the Right to Die

The Hemlock Trust is an organisation that believes every individual has the right to choose his or her own death, that it is the most basic of all rights. We are supporting the case of Alice Mariani, who assisted her boyfriend with his suicide. We do not believe she should be prosecuted.

Morally, she is innocent.

Assisted suicide is lawful in some countries, and even where illegal it is rarely prosecuted. We believe that an example is being made of Alice Mariani, whose only crime was to follow her boyfriend’s wishes in not calling the ambulance after he took a fatal overdose.

If you wish to support our campaign to free her from a criminal conviction please contact Roy…

Then there was a telephone number and email address.

Krishna stole a sideways look at the man on his left, who was taking notes in a dog-eared jotter, and guessed that he was Roy. Stretching his neck to each side to relieve the tension, Krishna tuned in again to what was being said in the courtroom below.

“As Your Honour will recall, the case was adjourned for sentence and you requested a pre-sentence report to be completed by the probation service,” said the clerk.

“Indeed I did,” the judge acknowledged, “and I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Yes, sir. That’s because there has been a delay. We have a representative from the probation service. Would you like her to address you?”

“I would.”

The whole court looks to a place in the room, below the balcony, which Krishna can’t see from his seated position. He hears the tapping of heels on the wooden floor and there she is, standing at the front, facing the judge: the woman whose coffee he spilled. There was a determined set to her shoulders but he could see she was tense. Her hand was a fist at her side. The rest of the court watched her with a mixture of unfriendly curiosity or disdain. She smoothed the front of her jacket, touching the stained area self-consciously.

“Good Morning, Your Honour,” she began, a slight catch in her throat. “My name is Cate Austin and I am the probation officer responsible for writing the pre-sentence report on Alice Mariani.”

She was writing the report on Alice. Krishna now knew why he had bumped into her in the corridor. Karma was at work.

Alice Mariani sits straighter in her seat, the old man to Krishna’s right leaned over the balustrade so far that Krishna was worried he’d fall. Behind them reporters craned their necks for a view and there was the sound of pencil on paper.

“Your Honour, I would like to request a further adjournment, as I was unable to complete a full report for today’s hearing.” One of the reporters said a disappointed, ‘fuck’. The old woman turned to whisper something to her husband.

The judge sighed impatiently. “And why is that, Miss Austin?”

“Because, Your Honour, last Tuesday the defendant was sectioned under the Mental Health Act. She has since been detained at St Theresa’s secure unit. This change in circumstance means that I need more time to consider this new element in the case. I would request an adjournment of a further two weeks.”

The pencils scratch rapidly and Krishna could feel the reporters’ collective excitement that the woman in the dock is a lunatic. What a juicy story this is going to make. To his side the old woman leans towards her husband, holding a hand to her mouth.

“Indeed,” says the judge, rubbing one hand on his chin and peering down at the clerk who is scribbling madly. “Do we have the psychiatrist’s report?”

The clerk stands, proffers a clutch of papers. “We have a letter from Dr Gregg, Your Honour.”

The judge takes the letter and, seemingly unaware of all the people watching him, reads it slowly, then he sits back and looks at Cate Austin. Krishna can almost hear her exhale when he finally speaks, addressing the man in the black coat and white wig sitting nearest the defendant. “It seems that Dr Gregg would also like more time. Mr Thomas, any comments regarding an adjournment?”

“As Your Honour has heard, my client is currently in a secure hospital and is keen to be released. However, if a further adjournment is required for the probation service to consider her for the possibility of a community penalty, then she would of course comply with any interviews.” He nods at Cate Austin, as if to secure allegiance, but she does not respond.

“Very well,” says the judge. “Two weeks. We’ll adjourn until February 9th. And on that date, Ms Austin, I want a completed report with a clear recommendation. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Now, the subject of bail. Any directions, Mr Thomas?”

Again, the defence barrister jumps up. “Yes, Your Honour. I have spoken with Dr Gregg who confirms that my client has settled well in the last week and is now on appropriate medication. He’s in agreement with our request for her release back into the community, provided that she continues to take her medication and sees him for out-patient appointments.”

“Conditional bail, then? Does the Crown Prosecution Service have any objections?”

“No, Your Honour.”

“Alice Mariani, you will be conditionally bailed back to your home address for two weeks. You must continue to take your medication, and attend all appointments with your psychiatrist and your probation officer. Is that clear?” Then the judge rises and everyone mirrors him, standing to attention as he disappears behind the hidden door.

Krishna moves quickly to get past the reporters, down the stairs and into the corridor. He’s made his decision and there’s no time to hang around.

He thought Alice would be rushing from the courthouse, but she is stood in the middle of the large hallway, surrounded by the black gowns of ushers and her legal team. Her blonde hair is like a star in a dark sky. No doubt about it, Alice Mariani should be on TV, not in court. She glances over at him briefly, but then looks away. He’s a stranger to her. She has no idea how well he knows her.

Leaning against the wall, he wonders what he should do now. Seven months of procrastinating, and now that he’s finally made a decision he can’t see beyond the crowd. He watches the old couple struggle down the stairs and approach Alice, sees the woman place her gnarled hand on the cream sleeve, and the way Alice throws it off. They must be her parents then, despite their dull appearance. But he’s too late. The woman he really wants to see is gone. Krishna thinks of Dave and sadness aches his chest. He has let his friend down.

Just then the door to the ladies’ toilet opens and Cate Austin walks out. She shakes her hands dry and makes her way past him towards Alice, joining the small crowd around the film star figure. He’s not too late after all.

Krishna watches and waits. Eventually, Alice crosses to where the security officer guards the door, and leaves. Reporters, yelling at her and asking for comment, surround her as the security officer ushers her out the door and into the waiting taxi. The scrum of reporters watch as Alice Mariani is driven away. Cate Austin walks away. This is his chance.

She walks quickly, heels clicking on the pavement, her brown hair loosening on her neck. Sensing his closeness, or hearing his steps, she glances behind. A few more yards and she stops. Her voice is confident and steady, but her eyes dart around him.

“You can stop following me now or I’ll call the police.”

Krishna gasps at the mention of police. “I just wanted a word… ”

“I refuse to speak with any reporters. So you can leave me alone.” She turns back round and Krishna has to hurry to catch her. “I’m not a journalist. I worked with Dave. He was my friend.” Cate stops so suddenly that Krishna almost catches her heels.

“Then I’m sorry for your loss, Mr…?”

“Dasi. Krishna Dasi.”

“Mr Dasi.” Her voice hardens as she recognises him, “It was you who spilled coffee on me! You really shouldn’t be following me like this. I don’t believe there’s anything I can say to you.”

“Please,” he says, feeling every letter of the word in his throat, “I can’t speak with anyone else. I want to speak with you. I have something – something from Dave. And I think it’s you I’m meant to give it to.” He slides the memory stick from his pocket, holding it out like a gift. “I’m sure it is.”

“What is it?”

“Dave’s journal. Everything… it’s all there.” He feels the heat on his cheeks. He wants to say more. As her index finger touches the plastic, he blabs his planned monologue. “I didn’t know what Dave wanted me to do with it, even after I’d read it, but then I thought, shit, I can’t keep this to myself. It’s too big… ” He’s desperate, he knows that, hears his own voice an octave higher than normal as he rushes to explain how David sent it to him, posting it on the day he died, with no stamps on the envelope, in a rural post-box in Suffolk where the collection was only daily. From Suffolk to London, then via the collection office to Krishna’s desk. When it arrived David had been dead for sixteen days, the funeral already over. “And this,” he hands her a sheet of paper, “is the letter that came with it.”

Krishna has kept the USB stick and letter for seven months, waiting for a sign, some indication of whom he should hand them to. With the same certainty that he believes in karma, he knows that Cate Austin is the one.

“We know it happens behind closed doors, and we think euthanasia should be sanctioned in this country, as it is in Switzerland.”

“And how did you come to be involved in the Hemlock Trust?”

Roy paused, wiped the sweat from his lip. “My wife had a terminal brain tumour. We fought it for months. Chemotherapy, radiotherapy. She was exhausted. After the third cycle of treatment the doctors said there was nothing more they could do.”