The Child Who

‘Look, Karen, I—’

Karen held up a hand. Her jewellery jangled. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. But you asked me for first impressions and that’s the issue that made an impression first. If you wanted to avoid an earful, you should at least have let me finish my coffee.’

Leo smiled, looked down.

Karen, after a moment, smiled too. ‘But your case. You want to talk about your case.’

‘We need something, Karen. He did it; he said he did it. We’re not trying to get away from that. But you’ve met him now. You’ve seen him. He’s just a kid.’

Karen, slowly, nodded. ‘He is that. But he killed. He…’ She shifted. ‘He did more than kill. If you’re asking me to find something that will excuse it…’

‘Not excuse it. Explain it. He’s twelve, Karen. He has fifty, sixty, seventy years of life ahead of him.’

‘There you are then. He’s twelve. That’s an argument. Isn’t it?’

‘It’s an argument,’ Leo said. ‘It’s not a defence. It would have been, a year or so ago, but the law, now, is definitive. You only need to be ten. If you’re ten, you know right from wrong. That’s the line.’

‘The line. As in, the point of no return. If you weren’t yet ready to cross it, you shouldn’t have been reckless enough to celebrate another birthday.’

‘Something like that.’ Leo stared at the table, drummed with his fingertips. He looked up. ‘What about that, though? He’s twelve but could we argue, say, that his mental age was lower?’

‘Three years lower?’

‘It would have to be.’

Karen puffed. With a look, she showed her answer. ‘I’ve only met him once, Leo. And I’m on your side. But he’s bright, he’s emotionally developed. You should test his IQ but it will be there or thereabouts. He’s of his age. There’s not a psychiatrist I know who would go on record disputing that. None I respect, rather.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t?’

‘I couldn’t. How could I? I’m not going to lie for you, Leo. I mean, I hope that’s not why you asked me here because, really, you should know—’

‘Karen. Please. That’s not what I meant. I’m just…’

‘Thinking aloud?’

‘Exactly.’

There was a silence.

‘What about this…’ Leo rolled his hand. ‘This post-traumatic stress thing. Is there any chance he could have been suffering from that at the time of the attack?’

Karen was already shaking her head. ‘None.’

‘Why not?’

‘The clue is in the question, Leo.’

‘Yes, no, I realise that but could he not have been suffering from something else first? Something that led to whatever he has now?’

‘He killed a girl. That’s why he has post-traumatic stress disorder. You don’t just kill someone and not suffer some emotional backlash. Not unless you’re a psychopath.’

Leo raised his head.

‘Bloody hell, Leo. Don’t look so hopeful. He’s not a psychopath. You surely don’t need a shrink to tell you that.’

‘No.’ Leo slumped. ‘No, of course not.’ He slid his hands across his face. He exhaled again, audibly.

‘What about you, Leo?’

Leo blinked.

‘How are you? I mean, you look tired and I’m sure you are but apart from that. How are things?’ Karen’s mug was in front of her and she turned it. ‘I heard about your father,’ she added, tentatively. ‘It must have been hard for you.’

Leo felt the weight of her stare. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Honestly. I mean – ’ he laughed; he had to force it ‘ – is business that bad? Because even if you’re offering me mates’ rates, I’m not sure I could afford you.’ He laughed again, grinned – and felt a burn building in his jaw.

Karen, for a moment, made him suffer it. ‘You can’t fool me,’ she said. And then she smiled. ‘A celebrity lawyer like you?’ She gestured. ‘That tie,’ she said. ‘That suit. They’re just a disguise to throw off all the gold- diggers. Right?’

Leo looked down at what he was wearing.

‘What about Megan, though,’ Karen persisted. ‘And Eleanor. This whole thing must be quite a strain for you all.’

‘A strain?’ Leo, involuntarily, thought of the note. It was a prank, he had decided. Whoever wrote it: a crank. Which was the reason he had not yet mentioned it to his wife. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Come on, Leo. Don’t be disingenuous. This isn’t exactly a drunk and disorderly you’re dealing with here.’

No. Exactly. Karen, if no one else, understood. ‘That’s the thing, though,’ said Leo. ‘It was always going to be outside our comfort zone. We expected that from the start.’

‘We?’

Now Leo, in spite of himself, bridled. ‘It’s important, Karen. Daniel needs my help. I’m not going to forsake him just because everyone else seems to think he should be left to rot.’

‘No. Of course not. I understand that completely. I just…’ Karen seemed to contemplate saying something more. ‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ she said instead. ‘You looked tired, that’s all.’ She smiled until Leo mirrored it.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Meg, Ellie: we’re all fine.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear it.’ Karen slid her mug to the centre of the table. She smiled once more and she stood.

‘Wait,’ Leo said, standing too. ‘You’re not going? What about Daniel?’

‘We agreed, Leo: first impressions, that’s all.’

‘I know but there must be something. Mustn’t there?’

‘Something? You mean some reason why a boy of twelve murders a girl he barely knows?’ Karen, all of a sudden, looked weary. She sighed once more and her strength, with her breath, seemed to leave her. She propped herself against the table. ‘There’s always a reason, Leo. Sometimes there are a thousand reasons.’

‘I just need one. Just to start with. Diminished responsibility, Karen: it’s the only chance Daniel’s got.’

Karen made a face. ‘You’re looking at this backwards. Aren’t you? I thought the idea was to consider the evidence and then decide your plea.’

‘Maybe. Sometimes. But you said it yourself: there’s always a reason. Right?’

Karen regarded him. She stood straighter and buttoned her coat.

‘Daniel’s family,’ she said. ‘Is there any way I could meet with them?’

‘Maybe.’ Leo looked up. ‘Why? What did he say about them?’

Karen came close and kissed Leo’s cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, Leo. Try and catch up on some sleep.’

Leo tracked her progress towards the door. ‘Karen?’

She turned.

‘What did he say about them?’

Karen twitched a shoulder. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’

12

It had not worked. It always worked. Think of an outcome: the worst thing that could happen or the most unlikely or even, sometimes, the thing you most wanted to take place – and it would not. That was the rule. So sometimes it worked to spite you and sometimes it worked as a ward but it always, one way or another, worked.