A Game of Proof

despite his education at St Peter’s School and Merton College, Oxford. He was a farmer’s son who had retained a Yorkshire accent, and it was easy to imagine him, with his powerful build, battered nose and cheerful grin, at the wheel of a tractor, the bottom of a rugby scrum, or supping a foaming jar of Sam Smith’s ale.

Juries, in short, liked Phil Turner and trusted him. So from Simon’s point of view, he was the most lethal prosecutor possible.

Judge Mookerjee, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. Sarah had never appeared before him. She had consulted Savendra, who’d said only ‘Decent enough chap, very sharp, Cambridge cricket blue, I believe. Rumoured to be a bit challenged in the sense of humour department, though.’

Sarah had grinned ruefully. ‘You think I’ll be cracking jokes, Savvy? With my son on trial for rape and murder?’

Thoughtfully, in his self-appointed role as Sarah’s therapist, Savendra had considered this. ‘Possibly not, no. But if a wisecracking routine suggests itself, remember — for punch lines, this Mookerjee fellow needs a fortnight’s notice.’

‘Well, that’s very useful, Savvy, thanks. Wish me luck?’

‘Oh, I do, Sarah. Most sincerely and without any cynicism whatsoever, I do.’ And for the first time in their cheerful, jokey, combative relationship, he’d enfolded her in a warm, comforting hug.

‘Your Belinda’s a lucky girl, Savvy.’

‘Isn’t she just? I told her that last night and she slapped my face. Now tell me, as a sophisticated woman of the world, is that the English form of caress?’

She smiled inwardly as she observed judge Mookerjee in his chambers. No flip jokes, remember. Not that any sprang to mind. This was far, far too important for that.

‘There are several issues, it seems to me,’ the judge began. ‘Firstly, the straightforward point of law. I, like you, Mrs Newby, have found no statute which prohibits a member of the Bar from representing a member of her own family. The choice of legal representative rests with the accused. Would you concur with that, Mr Turner?’

‘I agree, yes,’ said Phil Turner. ‘There’s nothing against it in law.’

‘Very well, then.’ The judge leaned forward on his desk, lacing his fingers under his chin. ‘First point, and perhaps the vital point, to you, Mrs Newby. However …’

Sarah’s heart sank. He’s thought of something I haven’t, she told herself.

‘ … there are other points to be considered. Most importantly, is this a wise choice, in the interests of justice and your client? It’s not difficult to find reasons why it might be against those interests. Several spring instantly to mind. Lack of objectivity, emotion getting in the way of reason, and so on. Have you considered it in that light, Mrs Newby?’

‘I have, My Lord, yes. As I said, I advised my son — my client — against this in the first instance. But he was insistent — very — about his right to choose.’

‘Which is enshrined in law, I agree. But just because he asks you to represent him does not mean you have to agree. You can decline a case, you know.’

‘I know, My Lord. But I now wish … I mean, I am happy to accept the brief.’

She remembered Simon’s earnest, desperate face in the prison room in Hull, and her own rush of strong, protective emotion when she had agreed.

The judge nodded. ‘Very well. But I have two conflicting responsibilities here, it seems to me. On the one hand, I will of course uphold your son’s rights in law. On the other hand, I must put it to you — I will say it no stronger than that — that your own emotional involvement in this case may — and I only say may, I have no experience of this — may mean that you quite inadvertently give a less good service to your client than would be given by a disinterested advocate. And therefore that your son would not receive as fair a trial, as in the interests of justice he is entitled to receive. Have you considered that too?’

‘I have, My Lord,’ said Sarah solemnly, ignoring the implied insult that she, as a mother, was not up to the job. ‘I put this point to my client and he strongly felt — he believes- that it will work the other way. Because I care so much about the case, he thinks I will do a better job.’

‘I see.’ Judge Mookerjee gazed at her silently for a moment. Sarah wondered about the expression on his face. Was it sympathy, or mere curiosity — the sort of detached curiosity that all lawyers feel from time to time at the parade of human oddities which pass before them? Was this how everyone would look at her, when the trial finally began? She felt an unwanted prickling of tears at the corner of her eyes.

‘Let us hope your son is right in his judgement,’ the judge said eventually. ‘I wish my children may trust me as much. But there is one other point; the reaction of the jury. On the one hand, they may feel sympathy for you, and therefore for your son. It’s a natural enough human reaction. On the other hand, and I feel bound to point this out, things might go the other way.’

‘How do you mean, exactly?’

‘Well, look at it this way. Were you merely a paid advocate, as you would be in any other case, then the jury may think that you retain, paradoxically, a certain independent reputation. In other words, if a defence barrister says something, we expect the jury to consider it seriously. But if you, as the accused’s mother, say something, the jury may not give it the same weight. Do you see my point? They may think, well, she’s the boy’s mother, she would say that, wouldn’t she? It’s not an independent barrister who’s saying that, it’s only the boy’s mother.’

Sarah hesitated, uncertain how to respond. This idea had not occurred to her. Then Phil Turner laughed.

‘I think, My Lord, that you attribute too sophisticated an understanding to the ordinary juror. They don’t have a very high opinion of us, you know. Specially not of defence lawyers. The public just see us as whores, paid to tell lies for a fee. So the fact that in this case someone may think Mrs Newby’s telling lies because she’s the lad’s mum …’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It makes no difference, in my view.’

He smiled at Sarah apologetically. ‘That’s how folk see me, anyhow.’

‘So I’m a liar whether I’m his mother or not?’ Sarah snapped. ‘Thanks for nothing, Phil.’

Turner looked hurt, but Sarah didn’t care. It was not his words that had irritated her. It was his bluff male self-confidence, the way he’d made his point appear such straightforward common sense. It terrified her. This man’s job was to send her son to prison for life. And if he spoke that way in court, everyone would be bound to trust him. They would know he had no reason to lie.

And then they would look at her.

Sarah shuddered. The judge was right. The jury would despise her because she was Simon’s mother. They’d wonder how any woman could bring such a monster into the world. They would feel pity, and scorn, and not listen to a single word she said.

Judge Mookerjee watched her. ‘Have you considered this, Mrs Newby?’

‘I have, My Lord, yes,’ she lied. I can’t back out now. I won’t.

‘Very well. Then this court has no objection to your representing your son, Mrs Newby. It is a matter entirely between you and him.’

Too right it is, Sarah thought grimly. ‘Thank you, My Lord.’

Phil Turner smiled politely. ‘I hope we can maintain a professional relationship, Sarah. Whatever I say in court, there’ll be nothing personal in it, believe me.’

Sarah glared at him. His bluff, honest looks must have been given him by the devil, she decided. She was going to have to learn to hate this man.

‘Oh yes, there is, Phil,’ she said firmly. ‘Every last bit of it’s personal, for me. Whatever you say in there, hurts my son. So don’t you ever forget that.’

She walked smartly out of the room, alone.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lucy had warned Sarah about the Press, but the message had not really sunk in. She had been too busy preparing her case. It was not until she left her chambers, and walked the short distance across Castle Street to the court, that she saw what Lucy had meant.