A Game of Proof

thought, as he left? She’ll grow old like that, no career, no family, all alone.

And then a second thought, worse than the first. Had she known about this, when they met? Had she already known her son had lost a job for — what did this statement say? He touched my legs from behind when I was bent over picking something up, and when I protested he grabbed my wrists and asked if I’d let him fuck me.

Wonderful! And he’d told Sarah that in his — Terry’s — judgement her son couldn’t have committed these crimes, because he just wasn’t like that. How could his judgement be so wrong? Because — face it, Terry — you were infatuated by the boy’s mother, so you wanted it to be true. You were trying to please her. But if she knew about this, she must have been laughing up her sleeve as I spoke, taking me for a sucker all along.

Dear God, Terry thought. I can’t do this job any more. I’ve lost my touch.

With deep satisfaction, Churchill was watching Terry’s reaction. ‘Don’t take it personally, old son,’ he said, in his oiliest manner. ‘The world is full of surprises.’

‘I read about it in the paper, that’s all,’ said Simon firmly. ‘No more than that.’

‘You never met this woman, Maria Clayton, then?’ Lucy asked, patiently.

Simon shook his head. ‘Not that I remember, no.’

‘Never went to her house, worked on any buildings there?’

‘What’s the address again?’

‘47, Flaxton Gardens. It’s in Strensall.’

‘I’ve had that many jobs … but no. No, I never worked there.’

‘And Gary didn’t talk to you about her?’

‘No.’

‘All right.’ Lucy made a brief note on her pad. ‘Well, as far as we know, that’s the only possible connection between you and Maria Clayton — the fact that you know Gary who did some building work there. It’s not much, so let’s forget it. But then there’s Helen Steersby.’

‘Another one?’ Simon shook his head wearily. ‘It’s daft, all this.’

‘DCI Churchill doesn’t think so. It seems that a schoolgirl, Helen Steersby, was accosted by a man when she was riding her pony in the woods, not far from the shopping development. He tried to pull her off her pony, but she hit him with her riding crop and rode away.’

‘What’s this got to do with me?’ Simon asked wearily.

‘Nothing, I hope. But the girl made a photofit of what she thought the man looked like. And since they claim it looks a bit like you, they want you to go in for an identity parade.’

‘They’re screwy,’ said Simon, putting a finger to his forehead and turning it like a screwdriver. ‘Totally screwless. If they lose any more their heads’ll drop off.’ He laughed manically, gratified to draw a faint smile from Lucy.

‘So you didn’t attack a young girl on a pony? On…’ She checked her notes. ‘9th March?’

‘As it happens, no, I didn’t. It was only little lasses on elephants that day. And giraffes.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Look, can’t you just stop it, all of it? I didn’t even know any of these bloody women, let alone rape them or murder them or drag them off their stupid ponies. I didn’t hurt anyone except Jasmine. Christ!’

He got abruptly from his chair again and drummed his fists on the wall, hard, so that flakes of plaster floated down. Then he noticed that both women had fallen silent, staring at him.

‘What?’

Sarah drew a deep breath. ‘You said you hurt Jasmine, Simon.’

‘Oh. Yeah, well I mean I hit her, mum. In the street, you know that.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Of course that’s all! Jesus!’ He kicked the chair aside with a crash, and leaned forward, both hands on the table, glaring into his mother’s face. ‘You said you believed me, didn’t you?’

‘I’m trying to, Simon. You’re not making it easy.’

‘Well try harder, can’t you? I’ve got no one else.’

Once again their eyes locked. All Sarah could see was the face of an angry, hurt young man, thrust deliberately forward a few inches from her own. The smack of the chair hitting the wall still rang in her ears, and the sense of rage and injustice radiated from him so palpably that if she had not been his mother he would have terrified her.

She wondered how Jasmine would have coped with this level of fury from her lover. Was this why she left? Or had she — arrogant, beautiful, self-centred young woman that she was — actually enjoyed the reaction she could arouse? Maybe she even got a thrill out of his rage and the occasional slap or blow that she received, because it proved that she, not he, had emotional control. Was that why she had behaved as she did with David Brodie and Simon, playing games with the jealousy of both? Perhaps she enjoyed the game and wanted to see how much rage and jealousy she could provoke. That was very like the Jasmine Sarah remembered. Had she simply pushed the situation too far, tested Simon quite literally to destruction — the destruction of her own life?

Sarah had never articulated this fear to herself so clearly before. Now it came all at once. It was the best explanation so far. And his own words had led to it. She gazed back at him coldly.

Lucy tried again. ‘Sit down, Simon, please. We can’t discuss these things in a rage.’

‘I’m not in a bloody rage. I just want to be believed, that’s all.’ Slowly Simon withdrew from his aggressive crouch over the table, picked up the chair, and straddled it, still glowering at his mother.

‘Thank you. Now look, if we’re going to defend you, we have to do a number of things. Firstly, we have to be sure that you’re going to plead not guilty. Because if you did kill Jasmine, we can mount a completely different defence, claiming that she provoked you and you didn’t know what you were doing. You understand all that?’

‘What?’ Simon’s rage switched to Lucy. ‘I didn’t bloody kill her. How many times …’

‘OK, OK …’ Lucy raised her hands, but Simon was not propitiated.

‘No it’s not OK, Mrs Parsons! Either you accept that I didn’t kill her, understand? I didn’t bloody do it! Or you can piss off out that door and I’ll get someone else! Get it?’

‘OK, Simon …’

‘I’ll defend myself! I could do it a sight better than you, any road …’

‘Simon!’ Sarah didn’t move but there was something in her voice so sharp and hard that it stopped him short like a small boy. ‘If you want Lucy to help you you’ll keep a clean tongue in your head and listen to her, all right? Because you’ve got no one else, no one better. If you even try to defend yourself like that, they’ll give you life with a minimum tariff of twenty years, straight off. And make no mistake, that’s what you’re looking at, if this goes wrong. This is the most serious thing in your whole life. Believe me.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘Well, treat it seriously then. Listen to Lucy, think, and get a grip. Flying into a rage will get you nowhere at all.’

Except here, she told herself grimly. Maybe his rage was the cause of it all.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sarah was in court. Lucy had suggested that she take a holiday, but Sarah found work therapeutic; after all, whatever happened to Simon, she told herself grimly, she would have a life afterwards, a daughter to support, and a career that she had struggled to achieve; she wasn’t going to abandon that now. Not even for Simon.

She could accept sympathy, from her colleagues. But not pity, not from anyone.

This morning’s case, however, had hardly boosted her confidence. The accused, a well-known thug, had been seen eating a chicken sandwich in a supermarket without paying for it. When the police arrested him they found, to their delight, a replica gun in his pocket. He was charged with going to the supermarket armed, intending to commit