Guilty One

by Lisa Ballantyne

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Possibly I could call another time? It’s just about the funeral and then there’s the matter of the will.’

  ‘I don’t want anything of hers.’

  ‘She has left you her entire estate.’

  ‘Her estate.’ Daniel stood up. He tried to laugh, but he only managed to open his mouth.

  ‘A simple funeral is being held on Tuesday the seventeenth, if you wish to attend.’

  The breath almost didn’t carry his words, but he said: ‘I don’t have time.’

  ‘I see, but the inheritance …’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t want anything.’

  ‘All right, well, there’s no rush. I expect it’ll take a while to settle the house. I’ll be in touch again when—’

  ‘Look, I really don’t have time just now.’

  ‘Fine. Shall I call again on Wednesday, after the funeral? I have left my details with your colleague, should you wish to get in touch.’

  ‘Very well. Goodbye.’

  Daniel hung up. He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb then took a deep breath.

  Daniel had to change at Whitechapel and take the London Overground to Parklands House. When he emerged at Anerley, the street smelled of exhaust fumes and evaporated rain. Daniel could feel the sweat forming at his hairline and between his shoulder blades. The sky was low, pressing on him. It was Friday morning, just a day since the first hearing at Highbury Corner, and he was going to see Sebastian and his parents. Sebastian’s father had returned from Hong Kong and this was the first time Daniel would meet him.

  He felt strangely apprehensive about seeing the boy again, and meeting his family. Daniel had not slept well. His morning run had been slow because he had been tired before he began. Two nights in a row he had woken up dreaming of Brampton, her house with the dirty floors and the chickens in the run outside.

  Her funeral would be held in a few days, but he did not yet feel her loss.

  When he arrived at the secure unit, the Crolls were waiting. Daniel had asked to meet with them first before he spoke to Sebastian. They sat at a table in a bright room with high, small windows.

  ‘Good to meet you, Daniel,’ said Sebastian’s father, striding across the room to squeeze his hand. He was an inch or so taller than Daniel and so he stretched his spine and pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the older man’s hand. The hand was dry and warm and yet the strength of it caused Daniel to inhale slightly.

  Kenneth King Croll was a powerful man. He was heavy: stomach and jowls, reddened brown skin and thick, dark hair. He stood with his hands on his hips, allowing his pelvis to tilt, as if to assert he was a better man than Daniel. The spider veins on his cheeks had been formed by the best wines and whisky. He possessed a seismic arrogance and wealth. All the energy in the room was drawn to him, like a whirlpool. Charlotte sat near him, eyes always finding him whenever he spoke or lifted his hands. Daniel took the lid from his fountain pen and slid his business card across the table. Kenneth studied it with a slight curl in his full lips.

  Charlotte brought watery coffee from the machine. She was still immaculate; her long nails a different colour every time Daniel saw her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed each cup on the table.

  ‘I just hate him being in here,’ she said. ‘This place is quite vile. One of the kids committed suicide in here last week, did you hear? Hanged himself. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Did you know about that, Daniel?’

  Daniel nodded. His own client, Tyrel, had tried to kill himself soon after sentence. At seventeen, the boy had just been moved to a new young offenders institution and Daniel worried that he would try again. Even secure units didn’t provide the kind of care that Daniel felt juveniles needed.

  Charlotte’s trembling fingers touched her lips as she thought about it.

  ‘He’ll survive,’ said Kenneth. ‘Daniel, go on, what’s the score now?’

  ‘I just don’t want him to be here,’ Charlotte whispered as Daniel flicked through his notes. Kenneth tutted at her.

  Before the Crolls, Daniel’s muscles contracted with tension. He sensed that beneath the coloured lacquer, silk and fine Italian wool there was something wrong with this family.

  ‘I just wanted to go over a few things with you before we see Sebastian. I wanted to … warn you, I suppose, that there might be substantial media attention. We need to be careful of that, work out a strategy and try to stick to it so that we can keep that intrusion to a minimum. It will, of course, be automatic that his identity is not disclosed … We’re still waiting on the indictment bundle from the CPS and when we get that, probably in the next day or so, we can properly instruct counsel. There will be a chance for you and Sebastian to meet the barrister – Irene Clarke, QC. She came to the youth court hearing but I don’t think you saw her.’

  ‘How old are you, son?’ said Kenneth Croll. He was holding Daniel’s business card between finger and thumb and tapping it on the table.

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘You’ll forgive me, but you look like you’re just out of university.’

  ‘I’m a partner in my firm. I’ve been working in criminal law for nearly fifteen years.’

  Croll blinked at him to indicate that he understood. He began to tap the card on the table again.

  ‘As I said, we expect to get the bundle from the CPS in the next few days. From what we know so far, the case is based on the blood found on Sebastian’s clothes, coupled with the witness who allegedly saw the boys fighting both before and after the time when Charlotte says Seb was home. We know they also have neighbour and teacher witnesses … These are less important. There is also the fact that the body was found in the playground which Sebastian has admitted visiting with Ben on the day of the murder.’

  ‘He’s an eleven-year-old,’ boomed Croll. ‘Where else would he go except a bloody playground? This is a joke.’

  ‘I think there’s a strong case to be made for the defence. Most of the evidence is circumstantial. It rests on the forensics but Sebastian has a legitimate reason for having the victim’s blood on his clothes. We’ll know more after speaking to the pathologist and forensic scientists, but right now it looks like the kids fought, and the victim subsequently had a nosebleed which caused blood transferral on to Sebastian’s clothes. Sebastian has an alibi – you, Charlotte – from 3 p.m. that afternoon and the later sighting of the boys is questionable. The police didn’t find any CCTV images to back up their case against him. This was a bloody murder, but Sebastian didn’t come home covered in blood. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘It’s all just a mistake, you see,’ Charlotte offered, her voice cracking. ‘Even with forensic things, the police often make mistakes.’

  ‘What would you know?’ said Croll, his voice a whisper. ‘Leave the country for two weeks and you let him get arrested. I think you’d best stay out of it, don’t you?’

  Charlotte exhaled suddenly, her fragile shoulders rising almost to her ears. She reddened under her brown foundation at Croll’s criticism. Daniel caught her eyes.

  ‘Daniel,’ said Croll, his voice now so loud that Daniel could almost feel its vibrations in the table on which they leaned, ‘you’ve done a fine job and we thank you for stepping in like this. Thank you for your help at the police station and for taking things this far, but I’ve got some contacts of my own. I think we’ll want the case passed to another defence team. We don’t want to take any chances. I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel the need to cut to the chase here. I don’t think you’ve got the experience we need … You understand?’

  Daniel opened his mouth to speak. He thought about telling Croll that Harvey, Hunter and Steele was one of London’s leading law practices. Instead he said nothing. He stood up. ‘That’s your decision,’ he said quietly, trying to smile. ‘It is entirely up to you. You’re entitled to choose the defence team best suited to you. Good luck. You know where I am if you need anything.’

  Back out on the street, Daniel took of
f his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, squinting in the sunshine. He hadn’t been let go for years and tried to remember if he had ever been let go so quickly. He felt injured by Kenneth Croll’s dismissal, but he didn’t know if it was his pride or the lost chance to defend the boy that hurt. Daniel stood in the street and looked up at Parklands House. It was a cruel name for a prison.

  He started to walk towards the train, telling himself that the case would have been difficult, especially with the media attention it was bound to generate, but he was reeling. It was hard to walk away. The day was still and warm and yet it felt like walking into the wind. He felt the tug and pull at his body again, taking him off course. He had not felt like this in a while, but it was familiar; it felt like leaving and losing.

  6

  After school he made his way back to Minnie’s house. He walked slowly, his satchel hanging off his shoulders and his tie loose. He picked up a stick to beat the grass on either side of his path. He was tired and thinking about his mam. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror in her bedroom and putting her eyeliner on and asking him if he thought she looked like Debbie Harry. She looked pretty with her make-up on.

  He blinked twice as he remembered the eyeliner running down her cheek and the lop-sided smile when she injected. She didn’t look pretty then.

  He looked up and saw the kestrel again, hovering over the moor. Daniel stood and watched as it snatched a field mouse from the grass and carried it off.

  He didn’t hear them come up behind him, but someone pushed his right shoulder, hard, and he lurched forward. He turned and there were three boys.

  ‘Oi, new lad!’

  ‘Fuck off an’ leave me alone.’

  He turned but they pushed him again. He tightened his fist but he knew he would get chinned if he went for them. There were too many of them. He stood still and let his satchel fall to the ground.

  ‘Like living with the old witch, do ya?’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘What you doin’ that for? You a poof? Oooo!’ The biggest lad wiggled his hips and rubbed his palms against his chest. Daniel’s knife was in his bag but there was no time to get it. He charged the big lad instead and hit him in the stomach with his head.

  He hurt him.

  The lad retched as if he might throw up, but the other two boys pulled Daniel down. They kicked his body, legs, arms and face. Daniel put his elbows over his face but the boy who had called him a poof grabbed his hair and pulled his head right back. Daniel felt his chin lifted and his neck stretch. The boy’s fist smashed into Daniel’s nose. Daniel heard the crack and tasted the blood.

  They left him bleeding in the grass.

  Daniel stayed curled up in a ball until he heard their voices fade. There was blood in his mouth and his body hurt all over. His arms started to tingle and itch. When he squinted at his forearm he saw that it was covered in white spots. He was lying in a bed of nettles. He rolled over and on to his knees. He wasn’t crying but his eyes were watering and he wiped them with the raised nettle sting on his forearm. The tears seemed to help the sting for a moment and then the itch returned.

  An older man walked past with his dog. It was a Rottweiler and it snarled at him, saliva and wrinkled nose. The bark and snap of its chain made Daniel jump. He got to his feet.

  ‘You all right there, lad?’ the man asked, looking backwards at Daniel as he walked on.

  Daniel turned and ran.

  He ran across the Dandy to Brampton station. He didn’t have money for the bus or the train, but he knew the way to Newcastle. He ran holding his side where he had been kicked, and then walked for a few strides before trying to run again.

  Cars growled past with such speed that it affected his balance. His mind was blank, reduced to the pain in his nose, the ache in his side, the blood in his throat, the angry sting on his arm and the lightness of himself, burnt out and lifted up like papers in a chimney. The blood from his nose had dried on his chin and he rubbed it off. He couldn’t breathe through his nose but he didn’t want to touch it in case it bled again. He was cold. He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and buttoned the cuffs. His nettle-skin rubbed, swollen, against the cotton of his shirt.

  Home. He wanted to be with her, wherever she was. The social worker had told him that she was out of hospital. He would be home when she welcomed him, when she took him into her arms. He almost turned back, but then he pictured her again. He forgot the cars and the hard road and the blood in his throat. He remembered his mam putting her make-up on and the smell of her, all talcum powder after her bath. It made him forget the cold.

  He was thirsty. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to forget his thirst and remember instead the tingle of her fingers through his hair. How long was it, he tried to remember, since she had done that? His hair had been cut several times. Had she even touched this hair that now grew on his head?

  He was walking along, counting months on his fingers, when a van drew up beside him.

  Daniel stood well back. The driver was a man with long hair and tattoos on his forearm. He rolled down the window and leaned over to shout to him.

  ‘Where you headed, lad?’

  ‘Newcastle.’

  ‘Hop in then.’

  Daniel knew the man could be a nutter but he climbed up beside him anyway. He wanted to see his mam again. The man was listening to the radio and it was loud enough that Daniel didn’t feel the need to talk. The man drove with his hands folded over the steering wheel. The muscles in his arms flexed when he turned the wheel. He smelled of old sweat and the van was dirty, full of crushed cans and empty cigarette packets.

  ‘Eeeh, man, better put your seatbelt on, eh?’

  Daniel did as he was asked.

  The man bit a cigarette out of the packet that was on the dashboard and asked Daniel to hand him the lighter that was by his feet. Daniel watched the man light his cigarette. He had a tattoo of a naked lady on his arm and a scar like a burn on his neck.

  The man rolled the window down and exhaled smoke out into the air that rushed behind them.

  ‘You want one?’

  Biting his lip, Daniel took a cigarette. He lit it and rolled his window down as the man had done. He put one foot up on the seat and let his left arm rest on the open window. Daniel smoked like that, feeling free and bitter and wild and alone. The cigarette made his eyes water. He laid his head back as the rush hit him. He felt sick, as he always did when he had a cigarette, but he knew he wouldn’t throw up.

  ‘What you up to in Newcastle, then?’

  ‘Just going to see me mam.’

  ‘Got yerself in a scrap, did ye?’

  Daniel shrugged and took another drag.

  ‘You’ll be able to clean yerself up when you get home, like.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘What would you’ve done if I hadn’t stopped?’

  ‘Just walk.’

  ‘Eeeh, that’s a long way, lad. Take you all night.’

  ‘I’m not bothered, but thanks for the lift all the same.’

  The man laughed and Daniel didn’t know why he was laughing. The man’s front teeth were broken. He finished his cigarette and then flicked it out of the window. Daniel watched the red sparks of the discarded cigarette leave them. He too wanted to toss his cigarette but it was only smoked halfway. Daniel thought he might get in trouble for wasting it. He took another few drags then flicked it out of the window when the man leaned out of his truck to hawk and spit.

  ‘Will yer mam have your tea on, then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘What does she make for you?’

  ‘She makes … roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.’

  His mother had only ever made him toast. She made good cheese on toast.

  ‘Roast beef on a Tuesday? My, I need to come live with you. That’s not bad, that is. Where am I dropping you?’

  ‘Just the centre. Wherever’s easier.’

  ‘I can take you home, like, man? I’m overni
ght in Newcastle. I want you home in time for your roast beef, don’t I? Where are you?’

  ‘The Cowgate, it’s …”

  The man laughed again, and Daniel frowned at him. ‘Yer a’right, man. I know the Cowgate, like. I’ll take you there.’

  Daniel felt cold when he was dropped off. The man left him at the roundabout and hooted his horn as he drove away.

  Daniel pulled his shoulders up against the cold and ran the rest of the way: down Ponteland Road and along Chestnut Avenue on to Whitethorn Crescent. His mam had been living there for the past two years. Social services had allowed him to spend a night with her there a few months ago. It was a white house on the end of a row, next to two red-brick houses that were boarded up. He ran towards it. His nose was starting to bleed again and it hurt when he ran, so he slowed down. He put his hand up to touch it. It felt too big, like someone else’s nose. Even with his nose blocked with blood, he could still smell the cigarette off his fingers. His satchel was jumping up and down on his shoulders, so he let it fall off and ran with it in one hand.

  He stopped at the path to the house. The glass was broken in all the windows, and the upstairs window was gone; everything inside was black. He frowned up at her window. It was getting dark, but the window looked blacker than all the other unlit windows. The grass in the garden was tall as his knees and growing all over the path. He took giant steps through the grass to the side door. The grass was littered with objects: a flattened traffic cone, an upturned baby’s pram, an old shoe. He could hear a dog barking. He was breathing hard.

  He paused at the door before he turned the handle. His heart was thudding and he bit his lip. There would be no roast beef. Still he thought about her throwing open the door and holding him. Maybe she didn’t have a boyfriend just now. Maybe her friends weren’t round. Maybe she was clean. Maybe she would make him toast and they would sit on the couch together watching Crown Court. He felt a strange burning in his chest. He held his breath.

  When he opened the door and stepped into the hall, it smelled damp and charred. He peered inside the living room but everything was black. He didn’t cry. He walked inside. The kitchen was gone. He placed a hand on the wall and then looked at his black palm. The air was still damp with smoke and it caught the back of his throat. In the living room, the couch was scorched to a spring skeleton. He climbed upstairs. The carpet squelched with water and the banister was charred. The bath and the sink were black with soot. In one of the bedrooms, the glass of the mirror wardrobe was broken, but he managed to slide the door open a little. Her clothes were still inside, unburnt. Daniel slipped inside the wardrobe and pressed her dresses against his face. He slid down to crouch among her shoes and sandals. He put his forehead against his knees.