“All right,” she said, starting a sentence that she didn’t know how to continue. Suddenly she had a thought and she felt herself clutching at it desperately. “Stuart Rees was quite big and strong, wasn’t he?”
“I’m really not sure.”
“You did the autopsy. Don’t you take measurements?”
Dr. Garner had an open laptop in front of him on the witness stand. He looked down at it and tapped at the keyboard.
“Stuart Rees was just over five feet ten inches tall. I can’t speak to his strength.”
“But he was bigger than me.”
“I can’t really see from here.”
“That’s because I’m stuck in this ridiculous thing. That’s why I have to shout.”
“You don’t have to shout,” said Judge Munday. “We can hear you perfectly well.”
“Sorry, My Lady. All right, I’m five foot one, if that. So he was much bigger than me, right?”
“Bigger, yes.”
“The stab wounds were all from the front, yes?”
“One of them was on the right side of the abdomen.”
“So doesn’t it seem unlikely that someone of my size could do that to someone of his size?”
“No.”
“No?” Tabitha hadn’t expected such a stark response. “Well, maybe other people won’t agree with that.”
Dr. Garner turned to the judge. “Is it all right if I expand on that?”
“Of course,” said Judge Munday.
Dr. Garner proceeded to give a detailed account of a recent autopsy he had conducted. In a gang-related incident, the victim, taller and stronger than Stuart Rees, had been stabbed multiple times by a young woman of about Tabitha’s size and build.
“If one person has a sharp knife,” he concluded, “and the other doesn’t, then size is of less importance.”
“Odd, though,” said Tabitha, a little desperately.
“I can’t comment on that,” said Dr. Garner in a dry tone.
Tabitha looked down at her scanty notes in search of inspiration.
“The knife,” she said. “The one you said fit the wound. Was it found by the body?”
Dr. Garner paused. “No.”
“Where was it found?”
“It was a kitchen knife. I believe it was found in the kitchen.”
“It was just a normal knife, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“There’s probably a knife like that in every kitchen, isn’t there?”
“In most kitchens, probably. Yes.”
Tabitha looked down at her notes again. She felt like there was something that needed asking but she didn’t know how to put it.
“I saw a documentary once.”
“What?” said Dr. Garner.
“It was about forensics. It was called ‘Myth Busting’ or something like that. One of the things it said was that all this estimated time of death stuff is all a bit, you know, dubious. Do you know what I mean? I mean, do you agree?”
“No.”
The witness box was on the far right of the courtroom, just below where the judge sat. Dr. Garner had been looking ahead of him, mainly addressing Judge Munday. But now he turned to look at Tabitha with an expression of distaste. Simon Brockbank had described him as “a leading figure in his field.” And now he was having to deal with this.
“You saw the body at about six, right?”
“I arrived at about a quarter past.”
“You knew that the police had arrived at about five, so that bit wasn’t very hard. But what about the earlier time? You said after one P.M. How did you come up with that time?”
When Dr. Garner replied he spoke slowly and evenly as if he were talking to a small child.
“As I have already explained, there is a formula for the drop in the core temperature of the body.”
“If there’s a formula, then why don’t you give an exact time of death? Two forty-three or something like that?”
“Different bodies cool at different rates. So I put forward a range of possibilities based on long experience.”
“Do other things affect it?”
“Affect what?” Dr. Garner was sounding tetchy now. He looked up at Judge Munday. “Is this really necessary?”
She tapped her pen on the desk. She didn’t look entirely satisfied with the situation.
“I’ll intervene if Ms. Hardy’s questions are improper.”
He gave another hum. “What was the question?” he said.
“Time of death,” said Tabitha. “What other things affect it?”
“Many factors. Surrounding temperatures, the way in which the body was kept.”
“You said between one and three-thirty. What about twelve o’clock? Would that be impossible?”
“Unlikely. On the information I was given. Or obtained.”
“Impossible?”
“Unlikely.”
“Eleven?”
“I’m just giving my expert testimony.”
“Ten?”
“Really,” said Dr. Garner, “this is absurd.”
“Absurd? I’m on trial for my fucking life,” said Tabitha.
“Ms. Hardy,” said Judge Munday in a raised tone. “You are not to use language like that in my court. And you are not to address a witness like that.”
“I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say that this is just guesswork.”
“You’re not meant to just say things,” said Judge Munday. “You’re meant to ask questions.”
Tabitha thought for a moment. “It’s guesswork, isn’t it?” she said.
“No,” said Dr. Garner.
She sat down. She didn’t feel pleased with her performance. She had done what she had promised not to do: she had created confusion for its own sake.
Fifty-Six
“Look what they let me in with,” said Michaela the next morning, shouldering her way into the cell with her files under one arm and her canvas bags slung over the other shoulder. She was wearing a pinstriped jacket and leopard-print leggings and her hair was tied back in complicated braids. She smelt of tobacco and a perfume that was musky and reminded Tabitha of dark basements.
“Real coffee!” said Tabitha, as Michaela held out a cardboard cup.
“And”—Michaela put down all her burdens and rustled in one of the bags—“cinnamon buns!”
“Amazing,” said Tabitha, though she had no appetite. Her stomach felt loose with the anticipation of the day ahead.
She took the coffee. It was strong and bitter and gave her a welcome jolt.
“There is a queue going all the way along the side of the building.”
“What do you mean?”
“People queuing up to get a seat in the public gallery.”
“Why?”
“I think you’ve made a bit of a stir the last time. Word must have got around. Someone told me they started queuing at six.”
“Christ, that’s all I need.”
“Are you ready for the
