The Coincidence (The Trial Trilogy)

by David B Lyons

  ‘We know it’s Joy.’

  ‘You don’t know it’s Joy. You can’t possibly know it was Joy. Besides, there was never any footage found of this figure going up the mountain. Only down. How do you explain that?’

  This argument irks me. Has always irked me.

  ‘She likely walked up on the other side of this street where the CCTV didn’t reach. Or maybe she even went up the mountain via a different way. Truth is, we’ve never quite known exactly how she got up there. How she got the boys up there. But we know she did it. Because we found film of her coming back down that mountain. On top of that, Mr Bracken, this argument was addressed in the original trial. We only found footage of Joy walking back down the mountain. But it is Joy. We know it’s Joy.’

  Bracken puffs out a small laugh.

  ‘You keep saying that, ex-Detective. But you can’t possibly know for sure that is Joy in that footage, can you? You can’t see more than the rest of us can see with all due respect. You’re not a superhero. You don’t have x-ray vision, do you, ex-Detective?’

  ‘Mr Bracken,’ I say, leaning towards the microphone, ‘don’t let the conspiracy theories fool you. A woman walking away from the scene of the crime wearing the only hooded top in the whole country which we know Joy owned, a woman of Joy’s height and description, on the exact night the crime took place… Let me tell you, Sir. There is no conspiracy to be had here. There is no coincidence. There has never been any such thing as a coincidence in this entire case.’

  349 days ago…

  ‘We don’t even have to prove it was a coincidence,’ Bracken says. ‘We just have to pour doubt on the case the state proved against you in the original trial. When Ray De Brun testified in that original trial, his expertise was given too much credence. The jury bowed down to him. They took him at his every word. But I’m gonna tell him out straight when we get him on the stand in the retrial that he’s not superhuman, that he doesn’t have X-Ray vision and he can’t possibly know that was you in that CCTV footage more than anybody else on this planet can. I’ll prick his ego a little bit.’

  Joy smiled, while both of her knees bounced up and down under the desk. She had been animated anyway; because the opportunity of freedom was now very much in sight. But after Bracken just informed her she could be set for millions in compensation if she got out, her elation has immeasurably elevated.

  She was still grinning, still bouncing her knees when Aidan knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open.

  ‘Time,’ he said.

  He winked at Joy when she joined him on the landing, and after she had said her goodbyes to Bracken, and she and Aidan were alone, she gripped onto his arm.

  ‘I’ve got a date. Eighth of December.’

  ‘Really? Less than a year away. You could be out for Christmas, huh?’

  She gripped his arm even firmer, but then he had to shrug her off when they heard the footsteps of another prison officer coming up the stairs behind them. So, they walked, as they were supposed to, the inmate in front of the prison officer and in total silence, until they arrived back at Elm House.

  She updated the prisoners she normally sits next to for meals, and while some were already excited by her court date, interest really began to inflame when she mentioned compensation.

  ‘He said it could be millions. I mean… if I get out in December that’ll mean I’ll have spent eight years in prison. Wrongfully. Think they’d give me a million for each year? I’d be super rich!’

  ‘You’d take that eight million over having your two sons, would ya?’ Nancy said, cutting right through the excitement that had just fizzled across both sides of the bench.

  Joy chose to ignore Nancy’s negativity, and turned away to stare down the line of women on her side of the bench.

  ‘He said the reason it took so long for them to agree to a court date was because they couldn’t figure out how to run a retrial for me. Some members of the judicial board wanted a jury, but they were overruled by the Chief Justice, because they don’t think they’d be able to find an unbiased jury. Too many people know about me, apparently. The Joy is Innocent campaign has lovers and haters in equal measure, my lawyer said.’

  ‘Well, if I was a juror on your retrial, I’d let you out,’ Linda said, pouting her lips and blowing a kiss across the bench. ‘So… what way are they gonna do it?’

  ‘One judge, and that’s it.’

  ‘So, all your lawyers have to do is convince one person, huh?’

  ‘That’s all,’ Joy said, ‘and my lawyer said I have a much better chance with somebody who knows law inside out rather than a jury of nobodies. He’s really confident I will be let out. Really confident.’ She made a screeching sound that cackled from the back of her throat and those sat around her, gripped by her excitement, squealed too. Nancy Trott didn’t, though. She just stood up, snatched at her tray, whispered something into Linda’s ear and then left them all to it to giddily celebrate Joy’s court date. Joy had noticed everybody around her was smiling just as wide as she was. Except for Linda. Linda’s smile had well and truly been wiped off her face by whatever it was Nancy had just leaned in to whisper to her.

  348 days ago…

  ‘Oh, hey,’ Joy said, pushing the door to her cell wide open.

  ‘Hey,’ Linda said.

  ‘Whatcha doin’ in my cell?’

  ‘Just lookin’ for you.’

  ‘Sure, you know I’d be in the laundry room now – it’s my shift time.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Linda said, her brow frowning. ‘So whatcha doing back so early then?’

  ‘I, eh… have a headache. Think it’s all the excitement of yesterday. Mathilda said I could come back to my cell and have a lie down.’

  ‘Oh…’ Linda said. ‘Well, eh…. Hope you feel better soon.’

  Then Linda pulled open Joy’s cell door and walked out.

  ‘Eh… well what did you want me for?’ Joy shouted after her.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll come back to you when you’re feeling better.’

  Joy scrunched up her face in confusion, then picked up the book she had loaned from the call-by librarian the previous Thursday and sat up on her mattress, her back resting against the cold concrete wall beside Reese and Oscar’s photograph.

  She was only three chapters in when she had another visitor. It was the fat red-headed prison officer who she remembered from her very first day who escorted her and Christy to the prison in the back of the van. She was never given his name, and had only ever seen him in passing when she was brought through Maple House on her way to her own private visitations.

  ‘Joy Stapleton, stand up!’ he ordered.

  She looked confused, but slammed her book closed before slowly getting to her feet.

  He pulled back the sheets on her bed before pivoting his head from side to side, his hands on his hips, whistling. Then he strolled towards the toilet seat in the back corner of her cell and immediately reached downwards.

  Her mouth popped open when he stood back upright and held out his hand, from which was hanging a rather large bag filled with glistening crystals.

  347 days ago…

  Joy was worried; stressed. But her overall feeling was one of sheer anger. She knew she’d been set up; knew who had set her up. So, as she sat on one of the uncomfortable office chairs – which reminded her of the chairs she used to sit on at school – in another cold office, she dug her fingernails into her palms to try to dilute the frustration erupting from within her.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Gov, I’d like to sit in on this meeting. I, eh… I was asked by the prisoner to be here, and with your agreement, I’d eh…’

  ‘Stop stuttering, Aidan,’ the Governor snapped. ‘Why on earth would a prison officer ask to sit in on a disciplinary hearing at the behest of a prisoner? I’ve been working here thirty-two years and I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

  ‘It’s just, eh…’ Aidan looked at Joy and swallowed, before turning back to the Governor. �
��Literally my first job as an officer here was to escort Joy to her cell. We’ve been in this prison the exact amount of time, only difference being that I get to go home every so often, though not that often, right?’ he said, puffing out a laugh. He paused to allow the Governor to catch up with the joke, but too much time passed and the Governor’s face remained stern and unflinching. He just glared at Aidan, waiting on him to explain himself. ‘And, eh… I guess what I’m saying is that I know the prisoner well. I have worked in Elm House since my first day, and I see first-hand what goes on down there. It’s not the worst House in this prison by any stretch, but I know who’s in control and who’s up to what. I firmly believe Joy was set up, Gov.’

  ‘No!’ the Governor said, and Aidan’s face dropped. ‘You can’t sit in on this hearing. Get your ass out of here and you,’ the Governor said pointing at Joy, ‘better explain yourself! Over three hundred euros worth of methamphetamine… what in the world are you playing at?’

  Joy dug her nails deeper into her palms as Aidan squirmed his way out of the office. She had never been intimidated by the man sitting in front of her. In fact, she always thought him to be fair and reasonable – as the majority of the prison staff had been. But this was different. The Governor wasn’t being his usual jovial self with her. He was pissed. Really pissed.

  ‘Please, please don’t tell my lawyer. Please don’t let this story get out to the newspapers. Please. I beg you. I’m only eleven months away from my retrial, Sir, and I… I promise.’ She held her hands up. ‘I was set up. Linda Wood and Nancy Trott set me up. I know they did. I saw Nancy whisper something into Linda’s ear yesterday. Then I found Linda lurking in my cell for no reason. Next thing I know that red-headed officer was calling by and searching my entire cell.’

  The Governor leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses and washed a hand across his jowls.

  ‘Oh, Joy, you haven’t given me an ounce of trouble in all the time you’ve been here…’

  ‘I know, Sir. Because I’m not one for trouble. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Stole a pencil off a friend of mine in primary school once… s’about all I can ever remember doing wrong. I didn’t kill my boys. I didn’t. And my lawyer will prove it in my retri—’

  ‘Enough!’ the Governor said, raising his voice and holding up his hand to signal that Joy should put a stop to her rambling defence.

  He sat more upright, hooked his glasses back over his ears and sighed.

  ‘I will keep this internal. Nobody else will know. I will ensure this story doesn’t leak. But I’m gonna remove you from Elm House and place you in isolation for two reasons: one, as punishment for holding contraband in your cell, and two, for your own protection.’

  ‘Eh… thank you,’ Joy said, unsure of herself. ‘How eh… how long will I need to spend in isolation, Sir?’

  ‘Eleven months.’

  ‘Eleven months! But, Sir, that’ll bring me up to my retrial.’

  ‘Exactly!’ he said.

  ❖

  Delia felt refreshed; as refreshed as a Criminal Court Judge could possibly feel at the tail end of a major trial. The uptake in her mood was somewhat influenced by the fact that the trial was coming to an end. But she was mostly feeling upbeat because she turned off her phone last night, poured herself a full bubble bath – as well as a full glass of Massolino Parussi Barola – and ordered Callum out of the house. She wanted, no, needed, an evening without distraction; does her best thinking when bubbles are hugging the cheeks of her face, and a glass of red is swirling in her one dry hand. The bubbles and the wine have proven, over time, to be the best lubricant to start the cogs of her mind filtering process.

  She lay there last night filtering out the fascinating new evidence brought by Mathieu Dupont, suggesting it simply can’t be Joy Stapleton in that infamous CCTV footage; filter-processing what was and what wasn’t significant about the fact that the cadaver dog, Bunny, from the original trial had since been exposed as a fraud; filter-processing the emotional pull of Shay Stapleton’s testimony – and that, in stark contrast, to Lavinia Kirwan’s; filter processing the alleged confession made to former inmate Christy Jabefemi, and then filter processing the rather convincing and direct testimony of lauded ex-Detective Ray De Brun.

  She circled through the entire trial and then back through it all again while she soaked. She even had to refill the bath with hot water when the temperature dipped too cool an hour and a half in. Yet she was still far from making up her mind. Which was fine. Because she wasn’t supposed to make up her mind. Not yet anyway. Not until final arguments were heard.

  There were times, during her filtering process, when images of her son’s erect penis would flash before her. Then arched bushy eyebrows would stain her thoughts further. But the warming serenity of the bath and wine saw to it that those flashes were kept to a minimum. She knew Eddie Taunton would have tried to reach her multiple times last night – which is the main reason she’d turned her phone off. So, it was no surprise when she arrived at her office just gone eight a.m. to find he’d left four voicemails on her desk phone. She didn’t listen to any of them though; didn’t need, nor want to. Whatever Eddie had to say for himself, Delia was going to judge this trial independent of his meddling. She’d get to his blackmailing in time.

  ‘Morning,’ Aisling calls out as she opens the door to Delia’s office, she too looking more relaxed than she has over the course of the retrial – most likely because she has a tendency to mirror her boss’s moods. Though Aisling was also aware that her workload and stress levels were about to dramatically reduce after today. And she needed a break… even more so than Delia did. She had two children at home; both under six years of age.

  ‘Final arguments, then we’re done, huh?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry about all the late hours you’ve been doing over the course of this trial. You can get back to seeing your children soon.’

  Aisling giggles.

  ‘Seeing them for bath time and putting them to bed is enough,’ she says.

  Then Aisling’s desk phone begins to ring outside and her assistant turns to rush towards it.

  ‘No need… I can pick it up here,’ her boss says.

  Delia stabs at a button, answering the call and placing it on speaker.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Oh, Judge McCormick herself,’ the familiar voice of Gerd Bracken says. ‘I, eh… we need to talk, Your Honour. As a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Well, we are talking, Mr Bracken. Used to be the only useful thing you could do on a phone in my day.’

  A silence breezes through the speaker, and in the time that it does, Delia creases her brow at her assistant, aware something intriguing was about to be said.

  ‘My client has had a rethink. She eh… she wants to go on the stand.’

  ‘What!?’ Delia replies, her voice high.

  ‘Joy Stapleton wants to testify, Your Honour.’

  ‘Is this your idea of a game, Mr Bracken?’

  ‘No… no, Your Honour. We’re being totally honest. Joy has shown more eagerness to put her own version of events across as this retrial has gone on, and especially so since Lavinia Kirwan’s testimony earlier this week.’

  Delia stretches both arms across her desk, spreading her fingers wide.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to have planned this out, Mr Bracken. The defence have had their time… Mrs Stapleton opted not to take the stand before her retrial.’

  ‘Your Honour, with all due respect… Joy Stapleton on the stand suits both the prosecution and the defence. I’m sure Jonathan Ryan has many a question he would like to ask her. And, personally, I’m glad I will have the opportunity to get her innocence across when she’s up there. Either way, two trials have now taken place over whether or not Joy killed her two sons back in November, 2008 and not once have we ever heard from the defendant herself. She was advised not to testify in her original trial by her defence team and – to be totally tr
ansparent with you, Your Honour – we also advised her not to testify during this retrial. But now she is insistent… she wants to go on record. Under oath. She told me last night that she feels she has to do this… that she has to stand up for herself. She can’t go back to prison, Your Honour. She wants to fight for the freedom and justice she is owed. She is entitled to fight for herself…’

  Delia stares up at her assistant to see Aisling squelching her lips before quietly leaving the office, pulling the door quietly behind herself.

  ‘Your Honour…’

  ‘I’m still thinking,’ Delia hisses. Then she swipes up the hand receiver of her phone and exhales heavily into it.

  ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’ll allow the witness.’

  25 days ago…

  Isolation had been long. And boring. Really boring. It was as if the days had lasted weeks and the weeks had lasted months.

  Joy had to keep reminding herself that the Governor had done her a good turn by not allowing the story to leak outside of the prison walls. But while her excitement for her retrial was growing, she still felt largely frustrated by the fact that she was punished so harshly when it was so clear and obvious that she had been set up.

  Initially she didn’t mind being sent to isolation, but that’s because she was comparing it to her time spent there in the early days of her incarceration. Back then, she was sent to isolation under caution, because her life was under threat. So, she was given all the luxuries protection prisoners get, such as multiple hours of yard time, and a TV in her cell. But this time, because she was there under the grounds of punishment, there was no TV – and she could only visit the yard once, on her own, for one hour a day. The first time she had been in isolation was also bearable because she often had Aidan for company. But this time it was Mathilda and a new female prison officer called Anya – who was tall, thin and beautiful, like an Eastern European model – who took shifts looking after her. And neither fancied much conversation with Joy, except to order her around.