“What?” said Tabitha. She felt a ringing in her ears. Her whole body was suddenly glowing with heat. She wasn’t sure of her surroundings. She couldn’t properly follow the meaning of what was being said. “What? What are you saying?”
“Wait,” said Judge Munday. “This is a matter for the prosecution. They are entitled to contest this.”
Tabitha turned once again to look at Brockbank. He and Elinor Ackroyd had leaned in together in muttered conversation. He looked back at the judge.
“You’ve heard all the evidence,” he said. “Nobody else could have committed this crime.”
“I have no need to tell you,” said Judge Munday sternly, “that Ms. Hardy has no need to prove her innocence. The prosecution has to prove her guilt and not just by a process of elimination.”
Brockbank turned to Tabitha, who suddenly felt like a small animal being observed by a fox.
“Have you looked at the jury?” he said.
“I’ve been staring at them for weeks,” said Tabitha. “I’ve even got names for them.”
“I mean really looked at them. After a bit, you can almost smell what they’re thinking. I’m not sure they like you very much.”
“I think a couple of them might,” said Tabitha. “A bit.”
“They saw that the police made some mistakes but these are people who think that if the detective believes you did it, then you probably did it. I think if this case goes before a jury, it could go either way.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Judge Munday. “They’d hear my direction first.”
Brockbank looked thoughtful. “I wonder what the police would have found if they had made a proper forensic search of Rees’s house and car.”
“But they didn’t,” said Tabitha.
Brockbank smiled. “You’re right. They didn’t.”
He held his hand out to her and, feeling like she was in a dream, Tabitha shook it and then almost recoiled.
“What does that mean?” she said.
“It means the prosecution won’t object. But I’m afraid the members of the jury will feel cheated.”
Judge Munday got up and walked to the far side of the room. She picked up a cut-glass decanter.
“Do you want a drink?” she said.
“It’s eleven in the morning,” said Tabitha.
“We’re about to go into court and I will make my announcement and you will walk straight out into the world with no preparation. You might want to take a moment. I’m certainly having a drink. You, Ms. Hardy, would drive anyone to it.”
Judge Munday poured whisky into four tumblers and handed them round. Brockbank raised his glass in Tabitha’s direction.
“I suppose I should offer you congratulations,” he said and took a sip.
“Like a game,” said Tabitha. She wasn’t feeling any sense of triumph. She wasn’t even feeling happy. “Some you win, some you lose, no hard feelings, you have a drink afterward. This is my life.”
“I think it is a sort of game,” said Brockbank. “I put my evidence, you put your evidence, see who wins. What would you prefer? Would you like it decided by people like Chief Inspector Dudley? He doesn’t think it’s a game. He goes by his professional experience and his gut feelings and both of them told him that you did it. If it was up to him, you’d be going down for fifteen years.”
“If it was up to my lawyer, I’d be going down for fifteen years as well. She wanted me to plead guilty.”
Brockbank laughed. “You should have had me as your lawyer.”
Tabitha drained her glass. It was the first alcohol she had drunk for months and it made her cough and then it made her feel dizzy. She looked at Judge Munday.
“So are you going to say something?” she said. “Give me some wise advice?”
Judge Munday shook her head. “If you’re expecting me to pat you on the head and say well done, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I don’t generally get patted on the head.”
“You got away with it,” said Judge Munday. “I don’t mean with the crime. That’s not our concern. Your defense was unruly, uncouth, chaotic and at times verging on the disgraceful, but you got by with it, just about.” She paused. “I will give you one piece of advice. When you get out there in the world, it will all be strange and new. A lot of people will want to talk to you. Be careful. Their interests are not your interests.” She finished her drink and stood up. “I think we should go.”
The four of them looked at each other, as if waiting for someone to make the first move.
“I’ve got something to say,” said Brockbank, “while we’re still here.” He looked at Tabitha with an expression of amused puzzlement. “Actually, two things. The first is that being found not guilty is not the same as being found innocent. And second and finally, if asked, I’ll stoutly deny ever having said this: well done, Tabitha, if I may call you Tabitha. I thought this was a piece of cake for us, but all on your own, you destroyed the case against you, you destroyed that detective, you single-handedly made the prosecution look ridiculous.”
Tabitha nodded. “I did more than destroy the detective and the case,” she said. “I destroyed everything. My relationships with everyone in the village, my possibility of a future there, of a home even, my friendship with Andy, my belief that at long last I could be accepted and even welcomed. Everything.”
“True,” said Brockbank cheerfully. “Life, eh? Win some, lose some.”
Tabitha and Michaela walked out of the front exit into the surge of a crowd. The buildings tipped toward her and the sky was a blue lid with a hole cut in it for the glaring eye of the sun.
Nobody noticed her at first; everyone was gathered round DCI Dudley and he was evidently at the end of making a statement.
“I deeply regret that mistakes were made
