Ingrid swore her oath on a Bible and she spoke it with a furrowed brow and an expression of concentration as if she was considering every word as she spoke it.
“I swear that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
Tabitha looked across at the jury. Would the mention of God strengthen their belief in this woman? Probably.
Elinor Ackroyd stood up. So she was going to take the examination. Woman to woman, like with Laura, Tabitha thought. Maybe that was also meant to be more convincing somehow.
“How do you know the accused?”
“We were in Crow Grange Prison together. I was there when she arrived. She was in a distressed state and I think I was someone she could turn to.”
Other people giving evidence had seemed nervous, intimidated by the setting. Tabitha was struck by Ingrid’s confidence and clarity. She seemed strong, the sort of woman a vulnerable person might lean on.
“So you had personal, private conversations with the accused?”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk about the crime she’s accused of here, in this trial?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Up to this point Ingrid had been looking toward Elinor Ackroyd. Now she turned her face directly to the jury.
“She confessed to it.”
“What?” said Tabitha in a loud, angry tone.
Judge Munday rebuked her sharply. “Please, Ms. Hardy. You will have your own opportunity to question the witness. But you must keep quiet.”
Elinor Ackroyd turned to the jury with a wide-eyed expression as if Ingrid’s statement had come to her as a total surprise.
“Really?” she said. “Could you remember exactly what the accused said?”
“I remember every word.”
“Please. Can you tell the jury?”
Ingrid paused for a moment as if she were trying to gather her thoughts. “She told me that she had had a sexual relationship with the victim when she was a teenager.”
Oh, Tabitha thought to herself. Oh right. I can see what’s coming.
“She said it had ruined her life,” Ingrid continued. “She came back to her home village with the idea of punishing him for what he had done. She said she had planned it all. She said she had confronted the man and threatened to make it all public, go to the police. She arranged to meet him at her house and she stabbed him there. She had a plan to get rid of the body but before she could do it, a friend of hers found the body by chance.”
“Was that all?”
Ingrid thought for a moment. Or, as Tabitha bitterly saw it, pretended to think for a moment.
“She also said that her lawyer didn’t believe that she was innocent. She said that she had no choice but to defend herself.”
“Thank you,” said Elinor Ackroyd. “I have no further questions.”
Tabitha stayed seated for a few moments. She felt like she was in a fever. How was she going to think? How was she going to ask questions? She looked helplessly at Michaela. Michaela put her hand on Tabitha’s. It made her feel just a little bit better. She forced herself to stand up and still her legs felt shaky and she had to steady herself by leaning forward against the edge of the desk.
“This is a bit of a surprise,” said Tabitha.
“I can see it must be difficult for you.”
“Do you?” said Tabitha sarcastically. “That’s really kind of you.”
“Please, Ms. Hardy,” said Judge Munday. “You’re to ask questions, not to make vague statements.”
Tabitha had so many thoughts. She just didn’t know how to formulate them into a question.
“That was quite damaging, what you just said.” Still no question, Tabitha told herself angrily. “Didn’t you miss something?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I said a version of what you just said, but you left out the important bit, the bit where I said that this is what the prosecution case against me is.”
“No, I didn’t. Because you didn’t say that.”
“I thought that if I were going to defend myself, I needed to be clear about what the prosecution case against me was. And I thought it would be useful to think aloud with a friend. Someone I thought was my friend.”
“I’m afraid that’s not true,” said Ingrid, glancing at the jury.
“Look,” said Tabitha, “if I really had committed this crime, why on earth would I confess it all to you? What would be the point?”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she silently cursed herself. What a stupid, stupid question. A question that was so easy to answer.
Ingrid gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s strange, I know. But I think people sometimes feel a need to confess to someone. It lightens the burden somehow.”
Tabitha felt a sense of humiliation and knew that it must be visible to everyone, including the jury. Her face had probably gone red. She could feel it. She turned toward Michaela and saw that she was gesturing at her notes. She saw the word “parole” written in capital letters. Right, she thought. Right. And even in her confusion, she understood how competent and how clever Michaela was. She turned back to Ingrid. She had an idea of what she wanted to say but she knew it had to be phrased as a question and she didn’t know how to do it.
“When I was talking to you, as a friend, you were waiting for your parole hearing, right?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a connection?” said Tabitha. “I mean: give the authorities something they want and they’ll give you something you want.”
Ingrid shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Tabitha tried to gather her thoughts. “All right. Can I put it like this? When you went to whoever you went to with this made-up story about me—”
“It wasn’t made up,” Ingrid interrupted with a new edge in her voice.
“Whatever,” said Tabitha. “When you told your story, was it before you were given parole or after?”
Tabitha noticed a hesitation in Ingrid’s manner.
“Before you answer,” Tabitha continued, “you should know that this is something that can be checked.”
Ingrid looked at Simon Brockbank and at
