“What is your point?” asked Judge Munday.
“I’m just saying it’s a bit fishy,” said Tabitha. “And then your husband also had a meeting he didn’t get to.”
“I don’t understand what the question is.”
“Do you have any idea of where he was going that morning?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that a bit strange?”
“Not at all.”
“It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? That neither of you got to your meetings?”
Laura looked at her with something approaching pity. “A tree prevented him leaving the village, that’s all.”
There was a titter from the public gallery. Tabitha looked up and tried to see where it came from and met row upon row of faces gazing down at her, craning their necks to get a clearer view. She’d lost track of where she was heading.
She rifled uselessly through the papers in front of her. “Most of what you’ve told us is about what your husband told you.”
“I’m just answering questions,” said Laura Rees. “As best as I can.”
“But what if you can’t trust him?”
“I’ve warned you, Ms. Hardy.” This from the judge.
“It’s all right, I can ask this. It’s relevant. Did you trust your husband not to lie to you, or to tell you things that were important and that you had a right to know?”
There was a long silence. The fly buzzed. She could hear the faint, tacky sound of Michaela chewing her gum.
“I was married to him,” Laura said at last.
“I know, and I know you believe in duty and stuff. But was it a good marriage?” Vaguely, she heard the judge speaking sternly and Brockbank objecting, but she plowed on. “Or did he treat you badly too?”
“He was my husband,” said Laura. A single fat tear began to roll down her cheek.
“Sorry,” said Tabitha. “Sorry, but this is my life on the line.”
“No more questions,” said Judge Munday.
“I think he was a bully and cruel to you and you were unhappy; I think he was cruel to lots of people; I think lots of people wanted—”
“Stop right now!”
“Can I ask her one more question?”
“Certainly not.”
“Do you really think I did it?” she asked Laura.
Michaela was tugging on her jacket urgently again, trying to shut her up.
“Clear the court.”
Laura looked directly at Tabitha. “Didn’t you?”
“That was really stupid,” said Michaela grimly.
“What?”
“Asking if she thought you did it.”
“You’re probably right.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Promise me never to ask that question again.”
“OK.”
“No. I mean it. If you want me to do this, promise me.”
“I promise.”
Tabitha leaned over the toilet bowl and vomited, until she had nothing left in her stomach and was only retching. When she was done, she washed her hands and her face; she felt frail and used up and grimy all over.
The police officer stood by and watched, without saying anything. Then she took Tabitha out to the van and the van took her back through the gorgeous June day to her cell.
Fifty-Eight
When Tabitha saw Dr. Owen Mallon in the witness box, she realized that she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. It was almost touching. She was used to seeing him in his running clothes or a casual shirt and jacket. He’d been a friendly face and displayed a feeling of assurance that came from a doctor who knew people’s secrets, who looked beneath the surface. But now he was wearing a slightly ill-fitting suit and sober tie; his hair was brushed. He wasn’t sweating, but there was a stiffness about his expression that made him look different. And he was in court to give evidence for the prosecution.
He affirmed rather than taking an oath on a Bible and as he took the card, Tabitha noticed that his hand trembled slightly and he glanced round, caught her eye and looked back at the card.
“I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
He looked back at the card as if not sure what to do with it. The court usher took it from him. Then Simon Brockbank stood up and gently began questioning him and Tabitha learned things about Dr. Mallon she hadn’t known. He’d been trained in Nottingham, he had an extra degree in community medicine, and he’d taken a year off to work at a hospital in rural South Africa. She looked over at the jury. They looked blank, as usual, but surely they must be impressed. This prosecution witness was not just a doctor but a doctor who had spent a year treating the poor in Africa.
“Would you describe yourself as a friend of Ms. Hardy?” Brockbank asked.
Mallon looked doubtful. “An acquaintance, I suppose. We used to meet in the village. When I was out running and she was returning from a swim, that sort of thing.”
“How would you describe her normal demeanor during these meetings?”
“Objection!” shouted Tabitha.
“Please be quiet,” said Judge Munday. She looked at Mallon. “Please proceed.”
He seemed shaken by the interruption and the question had to be repeated.
“I would say that she seemed moody, agitated.”
“Could you be specific?”
He thought for a moment. “She’d only been there for a few weeks. We nodded at each other, the way you do in the village. But there was one particular conversation we had when I asked her how things were going. She said that things weren’t going well, so I asked why she’d come back and she said ‘unfinished business.’”
“Hmm,” said Brockbank. “Unfinished business. That’s an interesting phrase. What did you make of it?”
“I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”
“Did it make you feel concerned?”
“I was concerned for her.”
“Thanks very much,” said Tabitha in a sarcastic mutter that came out louder than she intended.
“Please, Ms. Hardy,” said Judge Munday. “You can address witnesses through me—when appropriate—or you may address the court, but must not make comments like that.”
“Sorry,” said Tabitha in a sulky tone.
She was about to raise herself up to start questioning, without any clear idea of what question she was
