“I’ll try to be brief,” he said. “I don’t want to try everyone’s patience.” He put his hands in his trouser pockets. “I hoped we could just clear up a couple of points. You have just said in your testimony that the police learned of your intimate relationship with Stuart Rees because of an anonymous letter from a member of the public. We need to be clear about that. This letter was written because you hadn’t told the police yourself, is that right?”
“I don’t know why it was written.”
“But you didn’t tell the police yourself?”
“No.”
Brockbank’s face assumed a puzzled expression and he gave a slight sniff as if this was a damning admission. Perhaps it was, Tabitha thought. She was tempted to start protesting but she had discussed this with Michaela. They had agreed that she should answer any questions as briefly as possible. “Don’t give him anything,” Michaela had said.
“The jury have heard the tape of your police interview,” Brockbank continued. “We all remember that you said many things in response to police questions. However, the jury may be struck by what you didn’t say. You didn’t say that you were innocent. Why not?”
“You don’t know what it’s like.” Tabitha shook her head slowly, almost talking to herself. “Nobody can unless they’ve experienced it. I was in a state.”
“Because you’d killed Stuart Rees?”
“Because I’d just found a dead body in my house,” Tabitha said, more loudly. “Because I realized they thought I’d done it.”
“All it took was a clear, ringing statement of innocence. Why didn’t you make it?”
“I’ve said. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
“Indeed,” said Brockbank, savoring the word, running it over his tongue. He seemed to be pondering his next question, although Tabitha was nervously aware that everything about him was prepared in advance. “I have just one question about your testimony. You told us a lot that, quite frankly, we didn’t really need to know. But when you came to what we really did need to know, you were strangely silent.”
He paused and looked from Tabitha to the jury and then back to Tabitha. She felt a sudden lurching sensation in her stomach. What had she forgotten? What was the trap he was laying for her?
“You briefly mentioned Andrew Kane’s visit to your house, but you didn’t mention the crucial detail of his testimony. He told this court that when he announced his intention to go out to your shed in search of some building material, you tried to prevent him. The obvious explanation for that is that you knew that Stuart Rees’s body was lying on the floor in the shed and that if he went out there he would find it before you had the opportunity to dispose of it. That, as I say, is the obvious explanation. What’s your explanation?”
“I didn’t try to prevent him.”
Brockbank’s theatrical expression of puzzlement appeared once more.
“Are you saying that Mr. Kane was lying to this court and lying in his statement to the police?”
“I didn’t try to prevent him. I told him not to go.”
Brockbank gave a heavy, disapproving sigh. “Very well, Ms. Hardy, I stand corrected. Why did you tell him not to go?”
“Look,” said Tabitha desperately, “sometimes when I look back at it, it’s like looking at someone else and trying to work out why they’re doing what they’re doing. In all the stress, I’d forgotten saying that to Andy. It was in his statement, so I guess it happened. The fact is that I didn’t know the body was there, so I must have had some other reason.”
“Such as?”
“I didn’t want him to work on my house that day. I didn’t feel up to it. I wanted to be alone.”
“Why didn’t you tell him as soon as he arrived?”
“I don’t know,” said Tabitha. “I wasn’t in a good condition . . . I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Ah, yes, exactly,” said Brockbank, almost in a drawl, turning once more to the jury. “You weren’t thinking straight.” He said each word distinctly, then turned directly to Tabitha. “What else weren’t you thinking straight about on that day? Was it your meeting with Stuart Rees? Was it your wish to revenge yourself on him? Was it the problem of disposing of the body?”
Tabitha’s answer when it came sounded frail and defeated.
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t do any of those things. I’ve thought about it, over and over. I couldn’t.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Brockbank. “You can go now.”
Tabitha walked back across the court to her table. It felt a long way.
Sixty-Eight
“How long have we known each other?”
“How long? I’m not sure. I’m no good at dates. Did we start secondary school together?”
Tabitha was having difficulty remembering why she had thought calling Shona as a character witness was a good idea. Shona was obviously very nervous, and that was making her ricochet between different forms of communication: one minute she was monosyllabic and expressionless, the next gabbling. To make it worse, she would occasionally give a high, anxious giggle. She wouldn’t meet Tabitha’s gaze. Instead her eyes flickered around the courtroom.
“Yes,” said Tabitha shortly. “We did.”
“Well, so that would be, what?”
“Nineteen years.”
“Oh my God, that’s strange.” Shona put her hand to her mouth, like a surprised child. In spite of her makeup and her glamour, she did still look a bit like a child, thought Tabitha: wide-eyed and pretty. She was wearing an ivory-colored blouse that set off her tan; her hair gleamed softly. Facing her, Tabitha felt like a hobgoblin, small and grimy and pale. “Are we really that old?”
“Yes.”
Giggle.
She’s scared I’m going to tell the world about her affair with Rob Coombe, realized Tabitha. That’s why she’s being so jumpy.
“So,” she said, trying to meet Shona’s skittering gaze, “we’ve known each other for about nineteen years. How would you describe me?”
“What?”
“I want you to describe me,” said Tabitha.
“Really?”
“You’re my character witness. What did you think you’d be doing?”
She heard a bark of laughter from the public gallery.
Shona had
