The Coincidence (The Trial Trilogy)

by David B Lyons

  They didn’t say another word to each other as he escorted her around the maze of landings and into the bowels of the prison, eventually leading her into an office she had never been in before. Aidan had grown frustrated with Joy’s moping about and had long since started to treat her as just another prisoner. He had no idea she was constantly moping about because she was hungover from the effects of the meth she was smoking most nights.

  ‘Howaya, Mr Bracken?’ she said, entering the office with as much of a smile as she could muster.

  Like all of the offices in Mountjoy Prison, this one was freezing cold. The walls were bare concrete, as was the floor, and a cramped, cheap wooden white desk took up pretty much the entirety of the floor space.

  Bracken stretched a hand across the desk and gripped hers in it.

  ‘I’ve got some great news for you,’ he said.

  It had been a year since Gerd Bracken had first surprised Joy out of nowhere. They had sat then, for that first meeting, just as they were now – across a cramped white desk in a freezing cold office – where he explained to her that Bunny the dog, who had been a key cog in her original trial, had been exposed as a fake. Bracken promised Joy there and then that he was going to do all he could to get her conviction squashed. And she became fully convinced he would get her out, because he proved to her that he had a history of overturning convictions. None of them were murder convictions, of course, and none held the magnitude her case did. But she couldn’t help but get excited; especially as prison life had turned so unbearable for her – much, much worse than it had ever been. If it wasn’t for the crack of light that Bracken brought to her, Joy is sure she’d be contemplating suicide by now.

  ‘Remember I said to you that we’d need something more than the dog?’ Bracken said as Joy stared across the desk, heavy-eyed.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, what we’ve figured out is that we need to convince the judges in the Criminal Courts of Appeal that it’s feasible that when you claimed that a woman captured in the CCTV footage with the same unique pink hoodie that you owned was merely a coincidence, that you may very well have been telling the truth. You know this, right? Either the woman in that pink top is you and you murdered Oscar and Reese, or the woman in that pink top isn’t you, and the police have got this wrong from the start.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Joy said, nodding her head.

  ‘Well, we found an expert – he’s from France – who is willing to testify that the girl in the CCTV footage couldn’t have been you.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been me…’ Joy said, changing the direction of her head from nodding to shaking, ‘how?’

  ‘He invented some technology that can read a person’s exact height from camera footage. And he is insistent that the girl in that footage is too small to be you.’

  Joy’s mouth popped open and she held two fists up and shook them, as if the football team she supported had just bulged the back of the opposition’s net.

  ‘And this will seriously be enough to get me outta here?’

  ‘Well…’ Bracken cocked his head to the side, ‘I’m confident it’s enough to win us a retrial… and if we get a retrial, we’d certainly have a good shot of getting you out of here.’

  Joy leaned over the table and bear hugged Bracken’s tanned face, smothering it into her boney chest.

  ‘You look a little better,’ he said when he was finally released from the hug and was flattening down his hair with his hand. ‘Have you stopped using?’

  Joy nodded her head, then swallowed the lie. She hadn’t quite stayed off the meth as she’d promised Bracken she would, but she wasn’t taking it on such a regular occurrence as she had been months prior. Though only because Nancy couldn’t get the stuff into the prison as readily as she once could. The dodgy screw from Maple House who had been smuggling the meth in for her had left his post, and so they couldn’t get as many crystals into the prison as Nancy would have liked.

  Although Joy found it tough to wean herself off the drug, she also took solace in the silver lining not being able to get the meth inside afforded her. Not only did she no longer have to stress about prison officers finding the drugs sellotaped to the understem of her toilet bowl, but she had promised Bracken – the only person in the world who seemed as if he wanted to help her – that she would stay clean. Though it was still a prison she was residing in, of course, and so every now and then a prisoner would manage to smuggle some measurement of meth inside. And when that happened, Nancy would jump all over it. And Joy would be expected to join in.

  On the rare occasions that Nancy would get her fix, she was fine with Joy – as if they were in a happy coupling who would laugh and joke and smoke and orgasm together. But during her come downs, Nancy could be a nasty bitch. She would physically attack Joy; not in any extreme way, but she would often take her frustrations out on her by shoving her or slapping her or kicking her.

  Just two months prior, during a comedown and whilst she was judging Joy to be turning the pages of the newspaper too loudly, Nancy took two handfuls of Joy’s curls and pinned her against the cell wall. Then she grabbed at Joy’s throat and held a firm grip until Joy’s face turned puce and she eventually collapsed. Nancy ran, leaving Joy to be later found by Aidan who, in a panicked state, had to scream for medical attention before Joy eventually came back around. She claimed she fainted from low blood pressure, but Aidan was far from convinced.

  Although Joy was wary and constantly conscious of Nancy’s bi-polar episodes, she never really felt in fear of her life. She knew she’d be subjected to the odd shove or slap, and that a small cut on her lip or a bruised hip from crashing off the concrete walls would often appear on her skin. But trying to stay on Nancy’s good side was the best way for her to survive Elm House.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Bracken said. ‘You don’t seem very convinced, even if you do look a little more pink in the face.’

  Joy held her eyes closed for a second, and within those seconds she decided she couldn’t risk lying. Not to him.

  ‘Well, once or twice somebody has snuck some meth in and I’ve had a drag off a joint, but that’s it… it’s seriously only been once or twice since I last met with you and made a promise that I wouldn’t touch it again. Twice… maximum.’

  Bracken leaned his forearms onto the desk and pouted a sorrowful glare at his client.

  ‘You promised me you’d stay off the drugs if I was going to help you, Joy.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, grabbing his arm, ‘I won’t take another drag. I promise. I won’t. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do in order to get me out of here.’

  ‘Well,’ Bracken said, leaning back in his chair, ‘it may take a while, but I am certain we have enough new evidence to convince the Court of Criminal Appeals that you should be awarded a retrial.’

  ‘How does that work?’ Joy said, her eyes squinting, her curls shaking from side to side.

  ‘Well, three judges sit on the Court of Criminal Appeal and, in basic terms, the only way to convince them to order a retrial is to bring new evidence to the table. They really need two pieces of new evidence – two things that would pour doubt over the original trial that convicted you.’

  ‘And we have the fact that Bunny the dog is a fraud… and now this guy… the French guy… suggesting that whoever that was in the pink hoodie in that CCTV footage can’t be me…’

  ‘Exactly,’ Bracken said, grinning his veneers, ‘well, really what’s new is the technology this guy has come up with. That’s what the judges in the Court of Criminal Appeal will be swung by; something that’s been invented in the intervening years since your original trial that can further pour doubt on the original case built against you.’

  ‘I’m gonna get out!’ she told Aidan as he escorted her back to her cell.

  He stopped at the top of a set of stairs and turned to face her.

  ‘I’m happy for you, Joy. I am.’

  ‘Well… tell your face,’ she said, grinning.
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  He fake-smiled, then dropped it abruptly as he turned to continue down the steps.

  ‘Hey… what’s up with you?’ She grabbed his shoulder, ‘Didn’t you just hear me. I’m gonna get out. Why aren’t you happy for me?’

  ‘I am happy for you. I just wish… listen,’ he said, looking at her square in the eye as she now matched him for height what with her standing one step taller than him, ‘getting through the Courts of Criminal Appeal is as far from easy as you think it is. Very, very few get offered a retrial. And I mean very few. They don’t like to order retrials because it really is the justice system admitting that the justice system might have got something wrong. Then if… even if you get a retrial, there are still no guarantees.’

  ‘Jeez,’ Joy said, blowing out her cheeks, ‘way to piss on my Corn Flakes.’

  ‘I’m not pissing on your Corn Flakes.’ Aidan leaned into her to whisper, in fear of anyone overhearing them; his face inches from hers. ‘I’m happy you are getting this opportunity to get your case heard again. I am. It’s just… I know these things can go on for ages… years. And in the meantime, you’re still in here, and you’re still under her thumb. And you’re still vulnerable.’

  ‘Nancy?’

  ‘Shhh,’ Aidan said, before he turned around to continue declining the stairs. ‘Joy, when you first came in here, I was worried for you, but you seemed to fit in well. You were much nicer than you… than you’ve been the past couple of years. When Christy left, you seemed to wither right into the arms of Nancy Trott. I’ve seen the cuts and the bruises, and I hear stories about how she treats you. I found you flat out in your cell a few weeks ago, don’t forget.’

  ‘Wow… are you, eh… are you in love with me or something?’ Joy said, grinning again.

  ‘Shhh,’ Aidan hissed, then he paced down the landing as quickly as he could, her jogging behind to keep up, until they reached her cell without a further word said.

  Though Joy didn’t have to stay locked up in her cell for long. She, along with half of the prisoners from Elm House and half from Maple House, were due their hour in the yard.

  The yard didn’t offer much. It was a long rectangular tarred stretch, fenced off by sixteen-foot fences that were topped off with swirls of barbed wire. There were some cigarette packets and paper bags, likely filled with weed or other contraband, caught in the barbed wire that were too tricky for anybody, even the officers, to get to. There were also two basketball courts lined out on the ground, and two hoops at either end, minus the nets. Though nobody ever played basketball. In fact, Joy hadn’t remembered ever seeing a basketball in the five years she’d been inside. The prisoners would just stand around the yard, shooting the breeze as if they hadn’t spent much of the last few years doing exactly the same thing. Joy often found it odd that they could come up with new things to talk about. Though she rarely came up with anything, because she rarely talked anymore. She’d just stand around Nancy and her cohorts, nodding when she needed to nod, shaking her head when she needed to shake her head and laughing when she needed to laugh. But today she was bursting with an energy she hadn’t felt in years… not since way before she was an inmate.

  ‘I think I’m gonna get out!’ Joy excitedly spat out, holding up her fists and shaking them. ‘My lawyer says they have the cadaver dog and now another expert who is going to prove in court that it wasn’t me in the CCTV footage with the pink hoodie.’

  ‘Wow,’ Nancy said, exhaling her cigarette, ‘you’ve finally got somebody who’s gonna say it was a coincidence after all, huh?’

  ‘Huh-huh,’ Joy said as those around her laughed.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Whatcha mean ‘yeah right’?’

  ‘I mean, you seriously think anybody’s gonna believe that’s not you in that pink—’

  ‘Holy shit!’ Linda said, disrupting Nancy by tapping her on the shoulder. Then she stretched her arm over that shoulder and flexed her index finger into a point. ‘Look who’s coming this way.’

  Joy turned, but as she did, Nancy leaned into her.

  ‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare say anything to her, you hear me?’ she whispered with a snarl. ‘You’re mine now. If she tries to get pally-pally with you again, I will make your life miserable. Just tell her to fuck off, okay?’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Missus Joy Stapleton,’ a voice called out.

  And before Joy turned around, she knew that she was going to be greeted by beautiful brown skin, stained yellow teeth and heavy, red eyes.

  ‘She has nothing to say to you, Christy,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Huh… Me and Joy are best friends, ain’t we, Joy?’ Joy stared wide-eyed at Christy, the life she once lived inside the confines of this prison flashing before her eyes. ‘Joy?’

  Joy said nothing.

  ‘She ain’t talking to you, you crazy ass junkie hoe.’

  Christy tutted.

  ‘Nancy Trott, I will fuck you up. I will tear you to shreds in this very yard, you hear me, girl?’

  ‘We’re not surprised to see you back in here, Christy, whatcha rob this time?’

  ‘Bite me, Linda,’ Christy said. Then she put her arm around Joy and pulled her closer. ‘Was hoping we’d be on the same yard times… I’m in Maple House this time. Now let’s catch up, sista, huh? How you been getting on without me?’

  Joy’s heart stopped momentarily, then she shrugged Christy’s arm from her shoulder.

  ‘You heard Nancy,’ Joy said, her voice shaking ‘I don’t wanna have anything to do with you. So do one, Christy. Fuck off. And don’t ever come near me again.’

  1,119 days ago…

  Joy’s routine hadn’t changed in the five years she’d been inside, because the prison system’s routine hadn’t changed in those five years either. Her door would click open, as would the majority of them on the wing, for breakfast at eight-thirty a.m., then she’d be locked back in her cell from nine-thirty for an hour before she’d have to go for her first shift at work in the laundry room. Lunch would then be between one and one-thirty, before another hour-long lockdown after which there’d be an hour’s access to the games room or the TV room before another two-hour shift back at laundry. Dinner at her usual bench, and sat right next to Nancy, would follow for an hour before all of the prisoners were locked back up in their cells from seven p.m. until the doors clicked back open again the next morning, just for that whole routine to start up again.

  For the hours that she was locked in her cell, Joy really only ever did one of two things; she either read a fiction book which she would swap with the librarian who called by, cell to cell, each and every Thursday afternoon, or, when she didn’t feel like reading, she’d lie on her thin mattress in foetal position and stare at her photograph of Oscar and Reese. It was still hung in the exact same spot she had hung it on the very first evening she arrived here, after Aidan had gone to the trouble of finding her some sellotape.

  She felt bad about telling Christy to fuck off the day before. But that guilt was battling against the waves of optimism that were also swaying in the pit of her stomach. Gerd Bracken seemed rather confident he was going to put an end to this nightmare for her. And when she got out, she wouldn’t have to worry or stress about junkie criminals like Christy Jabefmei or Nancy Trott no more.

  ‘Psst,’ Nancy said, standing in the doorframe of Joy’s cell as Joy was laying there, staring at the smiling faces of her two sons. ‘C’mon, time for our shift… and time for us to celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate? Celebrate what?’

  ‘To celebrate whatever it is your lawyer said to you yesterday. Look…’ Nancy held a small plastic bag in the air and it twisted from her pinched fingers, making the crystals glisten. ‘Cost me a few quid, but I wanted to celebrate… with you.’

  Joy didn’t say anything, not until they were both hid at the back of the laundry room where Nancy was licking two rizla papers together.

  ‘I, eh… I’m not gonna have any,’ Joy said. ‘Not this time.’ Nancy gl
ared up at her as she lit the joint. ‘It’s just my lawyer made me promise I wouldn’t do it anymore… I don’t wanna ruin my chances of a retrial. You understand, don’t you, Nance?’

  Nancy took one step closer and lit the joint just inches from Joy’s face.

  ‘Don’t be fuckin’ ungrateful. Get some of this into ya. We’re celebrating. We’re celebrating you. I had to transfer a hundred quid for this. And I did it to spend some time with you. C’mon… it’s been ages since we had a little fumble. Linda’s keeping eyes out for the prison officers for us… Let’s enjoy ourselves.’

  Nancy exhaled a large cloud into Joy’s face.

  Joy gulped, then waved away the smoke before stiffly shaking her curls from side to side.

  ‘No, I’m not taking it… I don’t want any.’

  ‘Get it fuckin’ into you. I want a good high and a hell of a finger fuck from you this evening. It’s been way too long. C’mon, baby,’ Nancy said, softening her voice and rubbing a fingernail down Joy’s cheek, ‘I miss you. I miss us doing this together.’

  She pressed the joint to Joy’s lips, but Joy shook her curls even more fervently.

  ‘No.’

  The slap was loud, though not loud enough to be heard by the prisoners who were down the other end of the laundry room, overseeing the unloading of bed sheets with washing machines tumbling around them. Joy inhaled sharply through the gaps in her teeth, trying to rid the stinging sensation, but then Nancy’s fist struck her nose. Hard. And when Joy fell to the ground the kicks were plentiful. And painful. Very painful. Especially the kicks to the ribs.

  1,118 days ago…

  ‘C’mon. I love you. You’re my best friend. You’re more than a friend,’ Nancy said.

  She was sat, on the grated floor of the landing, her back against Joy’s cell door which Joy had requested be locked after her attack the previous evening. The prison officers agreed to her request, though Aidan was furious that she wouldn’t go on record as admitting it was Nancy who had beaten her up. She was well aware by now, used to prison life, that ratting would only cause her more harm. She had learned that was why the nastiest prisoners, like Nancy Trott, thrived inside; because snitching is seen as being a totally unforgiveable act in the eyes of every prisoner. It was the one trait that was frowned upon more than any others. Ratting was deemed worse than the most heinous of crimes; even murder – even the murder of your own sons.