A Game of Proof

an offence. With his previous convictions for armed robbery, this was a serious matter.

Sarah, in defence, had argued that her client had been simply carrying the weapon, with no intention to use it. Her client had neither intended to commit armed robbery nor done so; he had simply eaten a chicken sandwich, and left the store peacefully. It was petty theft, no more.

The judge listened, smiled, and gave her client seven years for armed robbery.

She walked disconsolately back to her chambers, still in her gown, her wig in her hand. A group of foreign tourists photographed her as she waited to cross the road.

God help Simon if he gets a judge like that, she thought. Or a barrister like me. Seven years for stealing a sandwich! As she crossed the road she saw Terry coming towards her on the opposite pavement. She smiled as he approached.

‘Hello, Sarah. Can we talk?’

Something in his manner made her heart lurch unpleasantly. ‘What, here?’

He looked around. ‘Wherever. It won’t take long.’

‘There’s a bench free by the river. Let’s go there.’

They sat on the bench and watched a pleasure cruiser move upstream. Terry watched it briefly, then met her eyes. She saw no warmth, no sympathy.

‘Terry, what is it? What do you know?’

‘It’s more what I don’t know and what you do,’ he said harshly. ‘For instance about your son’s previous jobs and how he lost one of them.’

‘Terry, I don’t understand. What jobs?’

‘You really didn’t know, when you spoke to me the other night? That he worked as a delivery driver for Robsons, the builders’ merchants?’

‘So? He’s had dozens of jobs.’

‘He was sacked from this one.’ Terry studied her keenly. ‘You know why, don’t you?’

‘No! Terry, what is this?’

‘He stuck his hand up the secretary’s skirt.’

‘Oh my God.’ A mother with a toddler frowned disapprovingly. ‘How do you know this?’

‘Tracy found out. And what’s worse, he delivered two loads of building materials to Maria Clayton, the prostitute who was murdered. So he did have a connection with her, after all.’

‘It doesn’t mean he killed her.’ Sarah’s voice was faint, little above a whisper.

‘Of course not, yet. But Churchill thinks it will. His theory is that Simon had sex with her, it went wrong somehow, and snap, something broke in his head and the first of these killings started. With the balaclava and the knife.’

He flew into a rage, Sarah thought. Like yesterday in the prison.

‘All this because he delivered things to her house? Terry, really!’

‘I’m just telling you how he’s thinking.’ Terry heard the strain in her voice and saw her fingers shaking. ‘Sarah, are you really saying you didn’t know?’

‘I knew he had the job, yes, but not every delivery he made. Why should I?’ And why should did I believe what he told me yesterday? She gazed unseeing at some tourists feeding a swan. ‘And certainly not how he was sacked. Jesus, Terry!’

In profile, he thought he saw tears in her eye. He got up.

‘Well, that’s it. I really shouldn’t tell you any of this. I have to go.’

She stood to detain him. ‘Terry. I thought we were friends.’

‘I saw Maria’s body, Sarah.’

‘And I saw Jasmine’s. You know that, you were there.’

‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, there are still the DNA tests. I’ll let you know.’

Then he left, with that long, loping stride that would make it impossible for her to catch him without running and making herself look ridiculous.

She stood and stared after him while a tourist, an enormously fat man in blue shorts and orange teeshirt, took a photo of her with an expensive Japanese camera.

‘All right, let’s go through this again. You stuck your hand up this woman’s skirt.’

‘It was a joke, mum. She was a fat cow, she’d been giving everyone grief, and when she bent over she farted. The other drivers were pissing themselves.’

‘And so you got the sack for molesting her.’

‘She only had the job because she was the boss’s moron sister. She deserved it.’

‘Oh, Simon, Simon.’ Sarah shook her head in despair. ‘You realize what they’ll make of this, don’t you?’

‘Mum, the woman’s still alive …’

‘But Maria Clayton isn’t, is she? And you delivered building materials to her house.’

‘I never met the woman, mum. Honest. She wasn’t there.’

‘Two days ago you told us you’d never been there.’ Sarah jabbed her finger at Lucy’s notes. ‘Never worked there, you said. Never saw her.’

‘Yeah, well. There were that many deliveries …’

‘You lied to me, Simon. Again.’

‘I forgot, mum. That’s all.’

Sarah sighed, speechless. They had been in this dreary prison room for half an hour now. Simon gazed sulkily at the clouds outside the window. Sarah fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. After a pause, Lucy resumed.

‘All right. Let’s leave that and concentrate on the murder of Jasmine, which is the only thing you’ve been charged with so far. We’ve agreed that you’re pleading not guilty. So we have to establish several things. First, what exactly did happen on that day, the last day you saw her, and whether you have any witnesses to prove it. Second, we have to examine all the evidence that the police produce, and in particular why your trainers and breadknife have Jasmine’s blood on.’

‘I told you. She cut her thumb in the kitchen.’

‘Yes. The pathologist’s report confirms there was a small cut on her thumb …’

‘I put a plaster it,’ Simon said.

‘But he doesn’t mention a plaster. I’ll check that, though.’ Lucy frowned, and made a note. ‘Third — this is the least important but it would be wonderful if we could do it — we have to think about who did kill her if you didn’t.’

‘What do you mean, least important? It seems like the most important to me.’

‘Of course it’s important, Simon,’ Lucy explained patiently. ‘But it’s not strictly our job. It’s a matter for the police. All we have to demonstrate is that you didn’t kill her. Or in fact less than that — simply that there’s no evidence that you did. But believe me, even that’s going to be hard enough. Finding out who did do it is another matter altogether.’

‘Well, I can give you one name for a start. David Brodie. He should be locked up instead of me, the bastard! See how he likes it!’

‘Why do you say that, Simon?’

‘Well, isn’t it obvious?’ Simon snorted contemptuously. ‘She was living with him but he was no good at sex — she told me. That’s why she came back — treated me like a fucking stud! Well, he must have known that, mustn’t he? She needed it too much, she’d have told him. So that would have driven him mad, even a wimp like him. And where was her body found? Quarter of a mile from his house. So why aren’t they searching his place, eh? Looking for bloody knives in his cupboard?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lucy answered cautiously. ‘I can ask the police, though.’

‘Well, ask then, will you? Please?’ Simon glanced aside at his mother.

Sarah smiled faintly, encouraging his attempt at politeness. ‘We’ll ask, certainly. But while we’re on this, Simon, what about another possibility? Gary Harker?’

‘Gary?’ he said. His face paled slightly. ‘Why him?’

‘Well, he’s a violent man, as you know. He almost certainly raped Sharon Gilbert, and …’ Sarah hesitated. She hadn’t told Simon how Gary had attacked her, and she didn’t want to tell him now. Partly because she was ashamed