A Game of Proof

‘For rape and murder, that’s what! Oh come on Gary, it was all over the Evening Press last week, and on the telly! Don’t tell me you didn’t know!’

‘All right. So what if I did?’

Gary was sweating, Terry saw. Harry was doing well, so far.

‘So what you’re saying is, you knocked on Simon Newby’s front door when you knew full well he was in Hull gaol. Is that it, Gary? Doesn’t make an awful lot of sense now, does it?’

Gary stared at them, bemused. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Terry thought. Harry laughed: ‘Or are you saying you went there to meet his mother, for a bit of rough sex?’

God no! Don’t put words in his mouth, Terry thought. Gary seized on the excuse eagerly.

‘Yeah, right. That’s it. She’d asked to meet me there. When she didn’t answer the door I thought I’d wait in the back yard. I knew she’d put her bike there, didn’t I?’

‘I see. So you thought you’d wait in the shed, in the dark, so you could spring out and rape this woman when she arrived?’

‘I told you, I didn’t rape her. When she came in the yard she was hot for it.’

‘Hot for sex with you, you mean?’ said Harry incredulously.

‘Yeah. Some women are like that, you know.’

‘Oh yes.’ Harry paused. ‘Talk to her at all first, did you? Or just go straight at it?’

‘We talked for a few minutes, yeah,’ Gary said cautiously.

‘And then she asked you for sex?’

‘Yeah.’

Harry laughed. ‘So we just spoiled a nice private party?’ Beneath the derision in Harry’s tone there was still that faint hint of admiration, as though for a good spicy story shared between boys. Gary responded to it.

‘You could’ve joined in, if you’d asked. She’d like that. Four big coppers and me.’

Terry was consumed with loathing. This was the man he was sure had raped Sharon Gilbert, and probably murdered Maria Clayton too. Now he was denying what they’d seen with their own eyes. It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t funny at all.

There was a knock at the door. A uniformed constable passed in a note. It read Interesting finds in the shed at Bramham Street. May be relevant to your interview.Mike Candor.

‘All right,’ Terry said. ‘Interview suspended at 11.35 p.m. We’ll resume in the morning.’

‘In that case,’ Gary said. ‘I want a lawyer.’

Sarah had hoped to be interviewed by Terry but Tracy Litherland ushered her into a room with Will Churchill. ‘Where’s… DI Bateson?’ she asked.

‘He’s interviewing your assailant,’ Churchill answered. ‘He knows a lot about him, as I’m sure you’ll understand. Whereas I have a particular interest in 23 Bramham Street.’

My son’s enemy, Sarah thought. And now this.

Tracy Litherland began. ‘Can you tell us exactly what happened tonight, from the moment you arrived at the house?’

Sarah told them, speaking slowly and carefully so that her bruised tongue and jaw did not slur the words. The doctor was right, the painkillers were beginning to do their stuff. But it was quite useful, having this temporary problem with speech. It meant that she could use a minimum of words without seeming evasive. But her mind was working slowly too and she knew there was something about being in that shed that she mustn’t tell them.

Churchill was persistent. ‘He didn’t try to rape you in the shed, then?’

‘No. He was surprised when he saw it was me, I think.’

‘I imagine the surprise was mutual.’ Churchill assessed her thoughtfully. As though I were more of a suspect than a victim, Sarah thought. But then in a way I am.

‘You didn’t expect to meet him there?’

‘No. Certainly not.’

‘Has he ever been there before, so far as you know?’

Sarah shook her head, to avoid using her jaw.

‘All right. So when you saw who it was, were you afraid, or did you feel reassured?’

It was a cruel question — almost a copy of one of her own questions to Sharon Gilbert during the trial, Sarah realized. Were you more or less afraid when you began to think the man in the hood was Gary? Perhaps this man was in court when I asked it and wants me to know how it feels. Well, it feels awful. She glanced at Tracy for female support.

‘I was frightened, of course. Any man who grabs me in a dark shed …’

‘But he let you go?’

‘Mm. But he grabbed me again outside. Then you lot came.’ However unwelcome these questions she was enormously grateful for the rescue. ‘Thanks.’

Churchill smiled. ‘Just doing our job, Mrs Newby. Protecting the public, you know.’

Sarah frowned, puzzled. ‘But why did you come just then?’

‘Ah well.’ He looked very smug now. ‘The old man across the road — the one who saw your son hit Jasmine Hurst? Well, he keeps an eye out — phones us several times a day. Told us how you stayed there last night, when you arrived, when you switched the light out, what time you came out in the morning …’

What time I went to the shed, Sarah thought — oh my God, did he see that bag?

‘… so when he told us Gary was there, and then you, I mobilised the troops and hared round pronto, to see what was going on. We hardly expected to find friend Gary demonstrating some of the finer details of the Gilbert case to his learned counsel, though, did we?’

Dear God, get me out of here, Sarah thought.

‘Sir!’ Tracy Litherland protested, shocked. But Churchill laughed, gripped by a manic desire to punish Sarah with mockery.

‘Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no one any good. It looks as though we’re going to have the pleasure of charging Mr Harker with sexually assaulting the barrister who got him off his rape charge, doesn’t it?’

Fuck you. Sarah glared at him without straining her jaw to answer. First you arrest Simon and now you bully me. She tried to think of a protest but for once no words came. Then suddenly she decided she was too tired to care. The doctor had been right, she realized, half an hour is quite enough. In a minute I’ll fall asleep in this chair.

She glanced despairingly at Tracy, who responded quickly.

‘Sir, the MO said just half an hour. I really think Mrs Newby’s had enough.’

Disappointed, Churchill pushed his chair back. ‘Yes, of course. Very well. We’ll take a full statement tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’ He got up and opened the door. ‘Your husband’s waiting outside.’

With a little sympathy and tender loving care, I hope, Sarah thought. Or has that gone out of fashion, too, these days?

‘So he didn’t actually …’

‘He didn’t actually rape me, no.’ Slumped in the passenger seat of the Volvo, Sarah studied Bob wearily. ‘Christ, is that all that matters to you?’

‘No, of course not.’ His left hand hovered in the air for a moment between them, as though to touch her, then landed instead on the gear stick as he changed down. ‘I’m just trying to understand, that’s all.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes. I mean, why was he there?’

‘I don’t know, Bob. He di … didn’t say.’ Her bruised jaw throbbed, and the precise articulation of some words hurt more than others.

Bob glanced at her thoughtfully. ‘God, I should have come with you, at least.’

‘Mmn.’

‘Though if you hadn’t gone into the wretched shed in the first place. If Simon hadn’t..’

‘It’s nothing to do with Simon, this …’

‘Isn’t it? Then why were you there? He’s at the root of this somehow. I know he is.’

‘It wasn’t Simon, Bob!’ Sarah screamed, then stopped, checked by the pain. More