A Game of Proof

educational factories and workplaces of the exploiting classes, and how if anything was going to change this would have to change too, which was why it was vital that people on the tree protest came together to form new and ever-changing kaleidoscopic forms of social evolution which the pigs of fascist repression could never get their heads around or quite focus on, when …

Sarah finally interrupted her. ‘You came to tell me about Jasmine.’

Larry and Emily, who had brought this motormouth into her living room, watched from the sofa, nodding wisely as the diatribe continued. Had there been a twitch of amusement on Emily’s lips, Sarah wondered, or was she swallowing this tripe whole like medicine?

‘Yes, well I was coming to that, Sacha …’

‘Sarah.’ Or Mrs Newby to you, child, Sarah thought irritably, without saying it.

‘Sarah, sorry. Well, I mean, like that’s what Jasmine was after, attempting to liberate herself, I mean free her whole psyche from the socio-economic forces of repression. She was working on herself through direct action against the chains of how she’d been brought up, and the way men — I’m sorry to say this but probably your son too, Sach — I mean Sarah, sorry — had dumped it all on her.’

‘What I’m really interested in,’ Sarah insisted tediously. ‘Is who might have killed her.’

It had been a long day, and what she really wanted was a glass of whisky and the chance to put her feet up on the chair as this girl was doing. The difference being that it was her whisky and her furniture; and her legs weren’t stained with mud.

‘You said someone was following her,’ Larry prompted. It was kind of him and Emily to find this potential witness, Sarah thought; but surely they could have found someone a touch more focussed, less of a jargonaut.

‘Yeah, she said. It seemed like a joke at first, but in her case …’

‘Did she say who she thought was following her?’ Sarah asked.

‘Well again Sarah I’m sorry to say this but you’ve got to face that it might have been your own son. I mean like there were two of them but …’

‘I’ve only got one son,’ Sarah pointed out.

‘Two men in her life that were serving her, but I only met one, that Dave Brodie. He came to the protest but more to follow her, the way I saw it, and also because he thought the trees were pretty rather than understand them. I mean he was a typically repressed, anally retentive little shit, God knows what she saw in him but what she didn’t see was the real anger in him too, I mean he could easily have been on the other side of the barricade with a helmet and a chainsaw, I dunno what he was doing with us really, probably just trying to get into Jasmine’s knickers. Which he did, matter of fact.’ She laughed, and swung both feet over the arm of the chair.

‘You said he was angry?’

‘Yeah, sure, jealous of the other guy, your son. Basic male hang-up, ownership thing.’

‘Did he ever threaten her, anything like that?’

‘They had rows, sure. Screaming matches in the camp. We watched. Liberation theatre, let it all hang out.’

‘When?’

‘Couple of times. Once …’ she glanced at Emily. ‘The night before you came, it was.’

‘That would be what — the 11th?’ Sarah made a note. ‘What happened exactly?’

‘Just bitching and screaming. He asked her to come home and she wouldn’t. She said she was tired of him and the protest mattered more than his kitchen floor, and if she did go anywhere it’d be to her mum. He said he knew where she went because he followed her and it wasn’t to her mum, and if she ever went there again he’d do something.’

‘What do he say he’d do?’

‘That’s just it.’ The girl laughed. ‘She asked him straight out and he couldn’t say, could he? I mean he’s just a little nerd, really, a nice guy if you fancy that sort of thing but he couldn’t hurt anyone could he? He’s not big enough.’

‘So what happened?’

‘He went home and she stayed. Then next day you came, I think.’ The girl nodded at Emily. ‘You swapped coats with her, and … I think she took pity on him and went back. Probably thought he’d be all over her with gratitude, poor little prick.’

‘On the 12th?’ Sarah said. ‘The day before she died. Did you see her again on the 13th?’

‘No, sorry. Saw him though.’

‘You saw David Brodie that day?’

The young woman frowned, the studs along her eyebrow writhing grotesquely. ‘I think it was then — yeah, right. I was having a wash that morning when he came in — cheeky devil, must go with working as a nurse — and asked where she was, was she back in camp. Seems they’d had another row at breakfast. So I said no, she’d probably gone to look for a real man in town. He’s such a little jerk, I couldn’t resist. Well, he marched off with steam coming out of his ears. But I dunno if he ever found her …’

‘Did he say anything before he left?’

‘Just bullshit really — like he knew where she was, and if she wasn’t back that evening he’d sort her for good. It was a joke, really, macho crap like in the mouth of a wimp like him …’

Her voice trailed away as the implication of what she had said became clear. Sarah made a hurried note. ‘In that case we may need you, Ms — what was your name again?’

‘Mandy. Mandy Kite.’

When at last Mandy had gone Sarah sat with Larry and Emily. Bob, who had refused to have anything to do with the woman, was making a curry in the kitchen.

‘Well,’ Emily said. ‘What do you think?’

Sarah looked up from her notes. ‘I think,’ she said slowly. ‘That it’s promising, but it may mean nothing at all.’

‘Mum? Emily frowned, puzzled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Sarah chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘What you want it to mean, is that this David Brodie killed Jasmine, not Simon.’

Emily nodded energetically. ‘Yes, exactly. You heard her, Mum — he had a row with her, he was furious, he marched off to look for her and sort things out …’

‘But we don’t know if he found her, do we?’

‘Well, he was looking.’

‘According to Mandy. Not according to his statement to the police, though. I’ve seen it.’

‘So he’s lying!’ Emily burst out. ‘Of course he would if he killed her, wouldn’t he?’

Sarah studied her quietly. ‘It’s exactly what they say about Simon, isn’t it? That he killed her because he’s jealous, and then lied?’

Emily looked crestfallen. ‘Yes, but …’

‘But like me, you don’t want to believe it. You want to blame someone else. But to do that we need proof. Look, Emily, I’ve made notes and we’ll get a proper statement from her in Lucy’s office tomorrow. Then Simon’s barrister can decide what to do with it. It may be useful but an allegation like that can also be very cruel.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, just think, Emily. What if this David didn’t do it and a lawyer says he did, how would that feel?’

‘It’s what your mother calls the game of proof,’ said Bob tactlessly from the kitchen door. ‘Other people call it lying to save your skin.’

‘Dad!’ Emily flared angrily. ‘We’re trying to save Simon! ’

‘Which is all very well,’ said Bob gently. ‘If you don’t ruin other people’s lives in the process. We all want to save Simon if he’s innocent, but …’ He paused. A silence, electric with bitter unspoken arguments, crackled between them.

Carefully, to avoid an explosion, Sarah said: ‘There’s a lot of evidence which seems to suggest Simon’s guilt, but when it’s examined in court it may look rather different. And apart from this David Brodie, there’s at least one other possible suspect. A man called Gary Harker.’

‘The man you defended?’ Emily asked.