A Game of Proof

light, leaned back against the wall, and slid slowly down it to the floor. She fumbled for a cigarette and lighter and sat there smoking, hunched, her arms around her knees, outside her children’s bedroom door.

David Brodie placed his hands on the edge of the witness box nervously, terrified to find himself the focus of so many pairs of eyes. Phil Turner began gently.

‘Mr Brodie, how well did you know Jasmine Hurst?’

‘Very well.’ Brodie smiled at some inner memory. ‘I was her boyfriend. I loved her.’

‘How long had you known each other?’

‘About … three months, I suppose.’

‘And how did you meet?’

‘At a party. She looked lonely and we got talking. She’d had a quarrel with her boyfriend, and had nowhere to spend the night. I said she could use my spare room if she liked. So she did.’

Sarah watched intently. He was speaking to the gallery, she thought, like Hamlet on stage. He hardly looked at Phil Turner at all.

‘Who was the boyfriend she had quarreled with?’

‘Simon Newby.’

‘Did you see any evidence of this quarrel?’

‘She showed me a bruise on her arm where he’d hit her.’

‘How did you feel about this?’

‘Well, shocked. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hit her.’

‘So she stayed in your spare room?’

‘Yes.’ He blushed, aware of a possible misunderstanding. ‘I didn’t try anything on; I mean I wouldn’t. She just wanted someone to talk to, I think. I was a bit overawed, to tell the truth. She was a very beautiful girl.’

‘So how did your relationship develop?’

‘Well, next morning she went back to Simon to try to patch things up. I mean, they’d been living together for some time, and she had all her things there in his house. So I said fine, but if she needed to get away she was welcome to come back anytime. I showed her where I hide the key in case I wasn’t there. I’m a nurse, you see; I work late shifts at the hospital.’

‘And did she come back?’

‘Sure. One night, when I came home at 11 o’clock, there she was. She’d let herself in and had a meal ready for me in the oven, of all things. It was amazing. She said she’d quarreled with Simon again and was moving out, for good this time. She asked if she could stay for a few days till she found somewhere else to live.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘Too right I did. I said she could stay for as long as she liked and she did. She … she stayed for the rest of her life, in fact.’ His voice faltered, and his eyes strayed towards the jury to see if they understood what he meant. It’s all a performance, Sarah thought. He’s on stage.

‘And you became lovers?’

‘After a while, yes, we did.’ He looked down modestly.

‘Very well. Now during this time, did you ever meet the defendant, Simon Newby?’

‘Yes, I saw him several times. He found out where she lived, you see, and he used to spy on us and make our lives a misery. He hit me once.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘Well, Jasmine was going out of the house. I heard shouting, and when I came out he had his hand on her arm. So I told him to leave her alone and he yelled at me to, well, fuck off, he said. Then he hit me.’

‘How?’

‘Just punched me in the face. It was bloody hard. He’s strong, you know.’

Several jurors nodded, noting how much bigger and stronger Simon was than the witness.

‘So what happened then?’

‘Well, I fell over and Jasmine started screaming and kicking him. Then he ran off.’

‘Did you report this assault to the police?’

‘No. I wish I had now. If I had perhaps none of this would have happened.’

Again there was a slight, and to Sarah’s ear suspicious, catch in his voice. Or was she just persuading herself, screwing up her courage for action?

‘This harassment of you and Jasmine — did that continue?’

‘Yes, it happened several times. I think because …’

‘Yes, Mr Brodie? Because …?’

‘Because she gave in and went back to see him sometimes. Just to talk, she said. I didn’t like it but there wasn’t much I could do. She seemed to think it was amusing. She said he was just a lovesick kid and she could handle him. Just shows how wrong you can be. I should have done something. But it’s too late now.’

This time there really were tears. He struggled with a pack of tissues. This will impress the jury, Sarah thought gloomily. He loved her too, poor wimp.

‘I know this is distressing, Mr Brodie,’ Turner persisted. ‘But could you tell the court, please, exactly when you last saw Jasmine alive.’

‘It was on the Thursday, 13th May. She left about ten; she said … she was going to the protest. But I knew she wasn’t. She was going to see him.’

‘She was going to see Simon, you say?’

‘Yes. I asked her not to go. But she went anyway.’ He blew his nose.

‘And was that the last time you saw her?’

‘Yes. I worked from two till ten. When I got home, she wasn’t there. I thought she was still with him, but she wasn’t, was she? She was out there, dead on the riverbank.’ He pointed at Simon in the dock. ‘Where he killed her!’

Phil Turner waited, allowing the moment its full effect.

‘Thank you. Just wait there, please. Mrs Newby may have some questions.’

Too right I have, Sarah thought. And you’re going to hate me for them.

As Harry came in, Terry glanced pointedly at his watch. 9.37.

‘Yeah, okay sir, I’m sorry.’ Harry grinned. ‘But I was out late last night on the job, to coin a phrase. And it was worth it, believe you me.’

‘Oh yes? Tell me then.’

Harry spun a chair round and straddled it, eyes gleaming with triumph.

‘Well, I saw Sharon yesterday, after her meeting with the journalist.’

‘Oh yes. How did that go?’

Harry shrugged. ‘She didn’t talk much about it. But get this, boss. I showed her these.’ He flung the photofits of Sean on Terry’s desk. ‘And she knows him.’

‘She does?’ Terry remembered Gary’s question. Who helped you with these? That bitch Sharon? ‘How?’

Harry laughed. ‘As a man knows a woman, in the biblical sense. Only there’s just one small and stunning difference, you see.’

Dwelling with great relish on the detail, Harry described what Sharon had told him, about Sean’s behaviour and his unusual sexual difficulty. Terry listened, astonished.

‘Is that possible? I’ve never heard of it.’

‘I rang my doctor this morning. Apparently it’s a one in ten thousand thing, the sort of weird example they put in medical textbooks to cheer everyone else up.’

‘But … the poor bugger. It would drive you wild, wouldn’t it?’

Harry nodded. ‘That’s what Sharon said too. She said he scared her shitless.’

‘So what did he go to her for, if he knew that would happen?’

‘Maybe he hoped it would work this time. I dunno. But what struck me, sir, you see — in the middle of the night I was thinking about this and I remembered. This lad, Sean, he’s a possible suspect for Maria Clayton’s murder, right? And one of the main problems in the Clayton case is that she was raped, but there was no sign of any semen. Well, if this guy did it …’

‘He wouldn’t have left any. Quite.’ Terry stood up suddenly. ‘And when it didn’t work of course he’d be in a