“Before,” she said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“That’s really interesting,” said Tabitha, “because I was told that the prosecution had only just learned about this.”
Simon Brockbank sprang to his feet.
“I think Ms. Hardy should confine herself to asking questions.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tabitha said angrily.
“Stop that,” said Judge Munday in a stern voice. “Both of you. Ask questions, please, Ms. Hardy.” She turned to Simon Brockbank. “However, I have noted Ms. Hardy’s point.”
Brockbank went very red and sat down.
“Any more questions?” Judge Munday asked.
“One second,” said Tabitha.
She leaned down and whispered urgently to Michaela. “Can you think of anything?”
“Fucking grass,” Michaela hissed.
“I can’t say that,” said Tabitha, glancing round to see if anyone had overheard.
“Please, Ms. Hardy,” said Judge Munday. “The court is waiting.”
“Just a moment,” said Tabitha.
“Ask her about her crime,” said Michaela.
“What do you mean? She told me she got tangled up in her work’s financial difficulties and was made a scapegoat.”
“Just ask her.”
Tabitha straightened up and swallowed nervously and felt her heart beating. She didn’t know where this was going. She cleared her throat.
“You told me that your crime was taking money from your work? Is that right?”
Ingrid looked at the judge. “I’ve served my time. I’ve got parole. I shouldn’t have to talk about this.”
“You have to answer the question,” said Judge Munday.
“I had a cash flow problem,” Ingrid said. “I borrowed some money. I intended to pay it back as soon as I could. But it was wrong and I paid the penalty. Rightly. I’m truly sorry.”
Tabitha couldn’t think of anything more to say. She felt Michaela nudging her.
“Go on,” she mouthed.
“Erm,” Tabitha began helplessly. “Could you maybe say something more about it?”
“Like what?”
“What was your work?”
“I worked for an organization.”
“Just tell us what it was.”
Ingrid took a breath. “A charity making logistical arrangements for migrants.”
“Logistical arrangements?” said Tabitha. “What does that mean? Find them somewhere to live? Giving them money for food?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like a good thing. How much did you steal?”
“I didn’t keep an exact count.”
“Some figure must have been mentioned in court.”
Ingrid started to say something in a mumble that was barely intelligible.
“Sorry,” said Tabitha. “Could you speak so we can hear you?”
“They said three hundred and seventy thousand pounds, but I think it was an exaggeration.”
“Three hundred and seventy thousand pounds?” said Tabitha in a startled tone that was entirely genuine. “Did you have to pay it all back?”
There was no answer.
“You did pay it back?” said Tabitha.
“I couldn’t.”
“You mean you’d spent it all? Three hundred and seventy thousand pounds?”
“It was complicated.”
“So, stealing this money from a charity for refugees, you probably had to lie a lot, fake documents, that sort of thing, is that fair?”
“It was a difficult time.”
“Well, I’m having a difficult time at the moment,” Tabitha said. “That’s all.”
She sat down. As Ingrid was led back across the courtroom, Tabitha avoided meeting her eye. Instead she leaned across to Michaela and whispered in her ear:
“You should be a fucking lawyer.”
Sixty-Two
There followed three days of expert witnesses. They gave evidence on blood type and tire tread and fibers and much else, which Tabitha sat through without asking a single question.
Then came the psychiatrist, Dr. David Hartson. Tabitha heard her medical history being read out once again, and couldn’t object because it was all true. And she couldn’t object when he said that she had a problem with authority figures, because she reckoned that she’d shown that to be true as well, during these past weeks in court.
There was also a man with a long thin nose and high forehead who tapped on a computer in front of him, while large-scale maps and close-up photos of Okeham appeared on the large screen. He was there to establish that nobody could have got to Stuart’s house or Tabitha’s without passing in front of the CCTV camera outside the village shop.
Tabitha kept glancing at the jury. They all seemed staid and unremarkable, but she knew it went to the heart of the case, because when all was said and done, all the ugliness and rumor over with, the insinuations, bad feelings, suspicions and lies, it was still a fact that she had been in the right place on the day and she couldn’t see how anyone else could have been. The jury looked untroubled. The young man in the hoodie was obviously doodling on his pad, the smart woman had had her hair cut and highlighted. Her nails were painted orange. Tabitha opened her notebook and stared at her annotated, scribbled-over and amended timeline until her brain hurt. What was she missing? Something. Surely there was something.
On Friday, at the end of the third week of the trial, it was the vicar’s turn to take the stand. Tabitha, glancing up at the public gallery, was startled to see familiar faces in the front row. Terry from the village shop had come. Tabitha wondered who was covering for her. And Laura was there too, right at the edge and accompanied by Dr. Mallon. She sat very straight and her face was pale and stern. Tabitha felt her throat constrict so that she could barely swallow. Little beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She had almost become used to being in court, but now the terror she had felt during the first days of the trial surged back. She could feel the stuttering gallop of her heart, and her thoughts became a loose muddle of panic. She took a mouthful of water, holding the tumbler in both hands to hide her trembling, and tried to focus.
Mel took her oath on the Bible with a heartfelt sincerity. Her voice was strong and clear. She was wearing a blue blouse with a pattern of swallows on it, and of course, her dog collar. Her hair, tied back as always in a simple ponytail, was lighter, bleached by the June sunshine, and her freckles, which had been pale in winter, were coppery blotches. Tabitha thought of
