“I’ve felt readier. Remind me of the schedule.”
Michaela opened the first file and took off the top page.
“I put everything in order last night,” she said. “It took ages; everything had got in a bit of a mess what with you dropping things. Here. First off, Pauline Leavitt, whoever she may be.”
“Someone who doesn’t like me,” said Tabitha.
“Oh.” Michaela held out a bun encouragingly. “And then it’s Laura Rees. Have you worked out what you want to ask them both?”
“No.”
“Playing it by ear?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Pauline Leavitt walked with a stick. It seemed to take a painfully long time for her to reach the witness box. Tabitha glanced at the jury: the serious woman looked even more serious; Blinky in her hippyish clothes was blinking more than ever and slightly nodding as if to encourage the old lady; the ponytail man was chewing his thumb reflectively; the smiley woman in the head scarf was gazing at Pauline Leavitt with an expression of intense sympathy, while beardy guy steepled his hands and rested his chin on them and looked sad. For the briefest moment, Tabitha’s eyes met those of Scary, whose expression was wrathful, the storm clouds gathering.
There was a lot of unnecessary fussing. Pauline Leavitt was asked if she was quite sure she was comfortable. She was handed a glass of water. She was thanked for being in court. She was told that if she needed a break at any point she should simply say. Tabitha felt her irritation growing: it wasn’t as if Pauline Leavitt had witnessed anything unpleasant or suffered some kind of trauma, and yet because she had white hair and limped—limped, what’s more, like she never did in Okeham—everyone was treating her with exaggerated deference and care. Tabitha realized that her face had become scrunched up in a scowl. She tried to soften her expression.
Pauline Leavitt took her oath on the Bible. She was led, with infinite gentleness, through the throat-clearing bit about who she was and where she lived and how she knew Tabitha.
“I wouldn’t say I know her really,” she said and gave a sweet smile that to Tabitha seemed a small curl of sheer malice. “She doesn’t exactly mix with the rest of us. We pride ourselves on being a welcoming community in Okeham, but she has never been very friendly.”
Tabitha stood up and rapped on the Plexiglas.
“Yes?” Judge Munday looked at her with her eyebrows arched.
“That’s not true, they’re not at all welcoming, or not to someone like me who doesn’t—”
“Please be quiet, Ms. Hardy. You will get your chance later, if you choose to cross-examine. If you feel that the witness’s remarks are prejudicial or irrelevant you may object.”
“I object.”
“Ms. Hardy, this isn’t an American courtroom. We don’t have objections and we don’t have gavels. If you want to raise a legal point, then you can stand up and make it courteously. But mainly you should wait until it’s your turn.”
“I always had only friendly feelings toward her,” Pauline Leavitt continued complacently. “I felt sorry for her.” Tabitha bunched her fists. “She was obviously lonely, but I’m afraid she was her own worst enemy.”
The comfy juror gave an understanding nod. The blotchy young man yawned.
“On the twenty-fourth of December you went of your own volition to the police station and made a statement. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Simon Brockbank made a great show of finding the statement. “Page twenty-three in your folder,” he said to the jury. He cleared his throat. “The relevant part is very short. I am going to read it out to you. ‘Sometime in the days before the twenty-first of December I saw Tabitha Hardy talking to Stuart Rees while I was out walking with my dog. They both seemed agitated. She was saying something like “I’ll get you. I promise that I’ll get you.” Do you remember making that statement?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you stand by it.”
“Most certainly. I remember it like it was yesterday. I am old but I have an excellent memory,” she added, addressing the jury.
“Thank you,” said Simon Brockbank. “So to be absolutely clear, you saw the accused talking to Stuart Rees in the days leading up to his murder, and you clearly heard her verbally threatening him.”
“That’s right.”
“‘I’ll get you, I promise that I’ll get you,’” he said, very slowly and very clearly.
“Yes.”
Tabitha rapped on the Plexiglas. The judge looked toward her.
“Or something like that,” said Tabitha. “That’s what the statement says: ‘or something like that.’”
“That’s right,” said Judge Munday, and Tabitha felt a surge of triumph: for the first time, she wasn’t disapproving.
“I was coming to that,” said Simon Brockbank smoothly. He turned back to Pauline Leavitt. “‘Or something like that’: I take it you meant that was the gist of the accused’s words?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What did you mean when you said ‘something like that’?” asked the barrister patiently.
Tabitha scribbled a note on her pad.
“I wanted to be very truthful and not say anything to the police that might not be completely accurate. I just meant that she might have used ever-so-slightly different words. Like, ‘I promise I will get you soon’ or ‘I swear I will get you’ or ‘I promise I will get you for what you did,’ or even—”
“Thank you,” said Simon Brockbank, cutting her off. “And what was the manner of the accused when she was saying these words?”
“She looked angry. And—” She stopped for a moment.
“Take your time.”
“A bit frightening, if I’m honest. Out of control.”
Tabitha lifted her hand to knock against the Plexiglas but let it drop.
“And what about Stuart Rees?” asked the barrister, after a pause to let Pauline Leavitt’s words sink in. “How did he respond?”
“I don’t know. His back was to me.”
“I see. So what did you take from the exchange?”
“I took from the exchange that she was angry and threatening him. But I never thought she would actually kill him.”
“And did you repeat what you had heard to anyone else? I mean, it must have been rather shocking for you to hear
