“I see. And was it this same personal matter that led you to drink so much?”
“I didn’t drink a lot. I’ve already told you, I wasn’t drunk.”
“And led you to hide yourself away in the corner of a restaurant and mutter to yourself?”
Owen felt himself flush with embarrassment. “That’s just a habit, like when I’m adding up. I’ve always done it. Sometimes a thought just comes out loud, that’s all. I forget that there are people around. It doesn’t make me a maniac. Or a murderer.”
“Are you sure you weren’t muttering in the Peking Moon about what you’d just done? Murdered Deborah Harrison?”
“Of course not. That’s totally absurd. I was just reasoning with myself, to calm down.”
“Calm down?” There was no missing the verbal underlining in that repetition. “Why did you feel the need to calm down, Mr. Pierce? What made you so agitated in the first place.”
“I wasn’t agitated. There’s a difference between being a little melancholy and being agitated, isn’t there? I mean-”
“Would you please stick to answering my questions?” Lawrence butted in. “If I need lessons in the English language, believe me, I shall ask for them.”
“I’m the one in the dock, aren’t I? Why shouldn’t my opinion count? You’ve asked everyone else’s, haven’t you? Why should I let you get away with distorting the meaning-”
“Mr. Pierce,” Judge Simmonds grumbled. “Please answer Mr. Lawrence’s questions as directly and as clearly as you can.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” said Owen. He turned back to Lawrence. “The answer is no. I wasn’t agitated; I was melancholy.”
“Is it not true that you were upset and dejected about your break-up with a young lady some-”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Mr. Lawrence!”
“I apologize, Your Honor.”
What the hell was that little skirmish about? Owen wondered, his heart jumping. He glanced at Michelle again. Lawrence was trying it on; he knew damn well that evidence had been ruled inadmissible. The bastard was trying to slip it in regardless. He thanked his lucky stars Shirley Castle was so quick. Still, something had been lodged with the jury, no matter how much the judge might tell them to disregard it. He looked at “Minerva.” She seemed puzzled. Owen’s breath came a little quicker.
“Let us, then, move on to the scientific evidence,” Lawrence continued. “You don’t deny that Deborah Harrison’s hair and blood were found on your clothing?”
“It’s not for me to accept or deny,” Owen said. “I’m not a scientist. If your experts have identified these things, that’s their business.”
“And when faced with this fact by Detective Chief Inspector Banks, you gave him some story about bumping into the girl. Is this true?”
It was plain enough that Lawrence intended “cock and bull” to come before “story.”
“I didn’t bump into her,” Owen said. “She bumped into me as I was turning from the wall.”
“Answer the question.”
“I would answer it if it were correctly posed.”
Lawrence sighed and made a long-suffering gesture to the jury. “Very well, then, Mr. Pierce. You told the police that the girl bumped into you. Is this correct?”
“I told them exactly what happened.”
“Why didn’t you tell them earlier?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
“Come on, Mr. Pierce, the police had already told you how important everything that happened that day was the second time they interviewed you. You knew you were in a serious situation. Why didn’t you tell them earlier?”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t tell them about the time I had to bend down and refasten my left shoelace, either, or about stopping at the newsagent’s for an evening paper, which, by the way, they didn’t have. It just didn’t seem important.”
“Yet you remembered it well enough later. In fact, as soon as you were challenged with evidence of your physical contact with the victim, you suddenly came up with an explanation.” Lawrence laughed and flapped like a bat. “As if by magic. Really, Mr. Pierce. Do you expect the court to believe that?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. The witness’s opinion on such matters of what the court should or should not believe is not required, as you well know, Mr. Lawrence.”
“I am sorry, Your Honor. I submit to you, Mr. Pierce, that you saw Deborah Harrison part from her companion, that you followed her into the graveyard, and that you-”
“No! I did nothing of the kind,” Owen cut in.
“And that you strangled Deborah Harrison with her own school satchel strap!”
Owen clenched his fists and kept them out of sight. “I did not,” he said quietly, with as much dignity as he could muster.
Lawrence held him with his black, beady eyes, then breathed, “No more questions,” and sat down looking pleased with himself.
It was Friday afternoon, so Judge Simmonds adjourned for the weekend and Owen was escorted back to his cell.
II
Back in the dock on Monday, Owen tried to keep his eyes off Michelle and concentrate on Jerome Lawrence’s final address to the jury. From what he heard, it wasn’t much different from the opening remarks: Owen was a monster, hardly even human, who had brutally murdered a pure and innocent young girl. Most of the time he found himself looking towards Michelle. He sensed she knew he was staring at her, but she wouldn’t catch his eye.
Lawrence went on for the best part of the day, piling atrocity on atrocity, outrage upon outrage, and it wasn’t until Tuesday morning that Shirley Castle got to make her closing speech. Again, Owen found himself watching Michelle most of the time, and the next thing he knew, Shirley Castle was wrapping up.
“And, above all, remember the phrase beyond reasonable doubt,” she said. “It is the very foundation upon which our justice system is built. The burden of proof lies with the Crown. Ask yourselves, has the Crown proven its case beyond reasonable doubt? Are you yourselves sure, beyond reasonable doubt, that this man before you is anything other than an innocent victim? Do you not harbor doubts yourselves? I think you will find that you do, and that you can honestly do no other than agree with me, and say no, the Crown has not proven its case. For you see in front of you a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, a man confused, worried and anxious by a police investigation he could not understand and which was not explained to him. But more than anything, you see in front of you an innocent man who has already been punished more than enough for a crime he did not commit. Look into your hearts, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m sure you will find there the certain knowledge that my client is innocent of all charges laid against him. Thank you.”
After this carefully impassioned finale, Judge Simmonds’s summing up seemed perfunctory to Owen. At least he was fair, Owen had to admit. In a detached monologue, the judge reiterated the main points of the case, careful not to indicate any bias. As the old man talked, Owen kept switching his gaze between Michelle and “Minerva.”
“Minerva” was clearly listening, but Owen could not help getting the impression that this final speech was superfluous to her, that she had already made up her mind. Once, she caught him looking at her for a second and turned away quickly, blushing. He could have sworn, though, that her eyes held no trace of accusation, of condemnation. When Michelle finally decided to return Owen’s gaze, she smiled, and he couldn’t mistake the cold, malicious glint in her eyes; it made him shiver.
