Guilty One

by Lisa Ballantyne

‘That’s correct. I’ve been watching the news since, and thinking if only I’d done something … ’ Rankine’s voice was apathetic.

  ‘You mention two sightings of the boys fighting in your statement of 8 August. When did each of these occur?’

  ‘It was about two in the afternoon the first time I saw them. I always take the dog out about then, just for a quick walk after lunch, let him do his business.’

  ‘Can you describe the two boys you saw fighting?’

  ‘Well, it was like I said to the police: they both had short brown hair and there wasn’t much of a difference between them in height, but one was slightly smaller. One was in a long-sleeved white top and the other in a red T-shirt.’

  ‘My lord … if I may direct your lordship and the jury to page fifty-seven in your bundle, and the picture and description of Ben Stokes’s clothing on the day that he died, particularly the red T-shirt,’ said Gordon Jones, allowing his glasses to balance on the end of his nose as he viewed his own bundle. ‘And on page fifty-eight the clothing recovered by forensics and worn by the defendant on the date of the murder … Did you know either of the boys, Mr Rankine?’

  ‘No, not by name, but I had seen them both around. Their faces were familiar. We live not far from each other and I’m always out with the dog.’

  ‘Tell us about the first time you saw the boys that day.’

  ‘I was walking my dog, not in the park but along the pavement that runs down Barnsbury Road. He’s an old dog, you know, likes a good sniff around. I’m a keen walker and I get frustrated with him. That day was like all the others, he was possibly even slower than normal. It was sunny. The park was busy, I would say, and I knew some of the other dog walkers who I normally see, but then I became aware of two young boys fighting on the crest of the hill.’

  ‘How far away were you from the boys, would you say?’

  ‘Maybe twenty, thirty feet – no more.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Well, at first I wasn’t much concerned. It was just two young boys having a bit of a scrap, but one of the boys began to get the upper hand. I remember he grabbed the smaller boy by the hair and forced him down on to his knees. He was punching him in the kidneys and the stomach. I have two sons and boys will be boys, and normally I wouldn’t interfere, but this seemed rather excessive, somewhat dangerous or … violent.’

  ‘Which of the boys you described seemed to be “getting the upper hand”?’

  ‘The slightly taller boy, the one in white.’

  ‘You spoke to the boys – what did you say?’

  ‘Well, it just seemed they were getting a bit rough with each other, you know. I told them to cut it out.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, they stopped and one of the boys turned to me and smiled, and said they were only playing.’

  ‘Which boy was this?’

  ‘The defendant. I wasn’t entirely reassured, but boys will be boys as I say – I left them to it.’ Rankine’s cheeks became suddenly grey. He hung his head. ‘I keep reliving it. I shouldn’t have walked away, you see. I should have done something … If I had only guessed what would happen.’

  Rankine stood up straight suddenly. He looked up the centre of the court in the direction of the Stokeses. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Gordon Jones nodded understandingly, then continued: ‘You say they were being rough with each other? Did you regard it as rough play which was just getting out of hand, or would you say that one of the children was the aggressor?’

  ‘Maybe, yes, I think so. It was a while ago, but I think the boy in the white top … He was the one the police asked me about, after they found the … body.’ Mr Rankine shook his head and put a hand over his eyes.

  ‘What did the boys do after you spoke to them?’

  ‘Well, they went their way and I went mine.’

  ‘Which way did they head?’

  ‘Down the park towards the adventure playground … that youth club place.’

  ‘You described one of the boys as being “in distress”?’

  ‘Well, the police asked me about that, and I think that, yes, I think that was the case.’

  ‘Which boy did you perceive to be in distress?’

  ‘Well, I think I said the one in the red top … ’

  ‘And you still remember that to be the case?’

  ‘I think so, yes. Best I can recall.’

  ‘What features or aspects of the boy’s behaviour led you to think that he was distressed?’

  ‘Well, I think the boy in the red top might have been crying.’

  ‘Might have been?’

  ‘Well, I was further away by this time, a few metres. It looked like it.’

  ‘By that do you mean wailing, a red face, tears?’

  ‘Tears maybe, yes, maybe tears and a red face. I seem to recall him rubbing at his eyes.’

  Mr Rankine looked into the distance, his own watery eyes trying to see again what he had seen months before, and ignored.

  ‘The defendant in his interview confirmed that he did see you just after two that day, and that you called on him and the deceased to stop fighting. Did you see the boys fighting at another point that day?’

  ‘Yes, much later on, it must have been about three thirty, or maybe even four o’clock. I was just going to the shop. I looked over at the park and in the adventure playground I saw the same boys fighting again. I remember because I considered crossing the road and telling them off again … I wish I had … ’

  ‘Describe this second sighting.’

  ‘I looked over at the park as I walked to the shop. I saw them – the same white shirt and red T-shirt. I saw the boy in white swinging his fists at the boy in red.’

  ‘But this time you did nothing?’

  ‘No,’ said Rankine, seeming to crumple in the witness box. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He put a hand to his mouth and pressed his eyes shut.

  ‘What brought you to report the two sightings to the police, at the incident van set up on Barnsbury Road, the morning after Ben went missing?’

  ‘Well, the next day there was the picture of Ben. He had been missing all night. I knew instantly when I saw it that he had been the little boy being beaten – the one in the red T-shirt.’

  Sebastian had been following the evidence intently, watching Rankine with a thin frown between his brows. Sometimes he leaned into Daniel, peering over the crook in his arm at the notes he was making.

  Rankine shifted restlessly in the witness box as Irene stood up and placed her notes on the lectern. Journalists craned from the gallery.

  ‘Listening to your evidence, Mr Rankine, and comparing it with your police statement, it would appear that you are not terribly sure of what you saw on the afternoon of 8 August. I refer you to page twenty-three in your bundle. This is your sworn statement which you gave to the police. Please could you read from the second paragraph.’

  Rankine cleared his throat then began, ‘I saw two boys whom I recognised from the neighbourhood fighting on the crest of the hill in Barnard Park. Both boys were white. One of the boys was smaller, possibly younger, and dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans. He was being attacked violently by a larger boy, who was wearing a white or pale blue shirt.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Rankine. The fight between the two boys you describe as “a violent attack” on one boy, and then again as “a bit of rough fighting”, and note yourself that “boys will be boys”. Which was it, Mr Rankine? Did you witness a violent assault, or was it a bit of rough and tumble play between two young schoolboys?’

  ‘It was quite violent. One of the boys definitely had the upper hand …’

  ‘Quite violent? Was there any blood? Did either of the boys seem to be in any way injured as a result of the blows?’

  ‘Well, like I said, there were a few hard punches. The younger boy did seem to be distressed …’

  ‘What exact words did you use to stop the fight?’

  ‘I think I said, “Boys, sto
p that … that’s enough of that.”’

  ‘I see. Did you enter the park and try to pull them apart?’

  ‘No, like I said, they stopped as soon as I called over.’

  ‘I see, and at this time neither boy was obviously injured.’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘And so you went on your way and they ran down the hill towards the adventure playground?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t alert any authorities about the attack at this time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What in fact did you do?’

  ‘I went home.’

  ‘I see, and what did you do there?’

  ‘I … watched some television.’

  ‘So it is fair to say that after witnessing this initial “violent attack” you were unconcerned for the boy’s safety?’

  ‘Well, yes, but then, when I saw the boy was missing—’

  ‘To summarise your initial sighting of the boys, considering both your police statement and your evidence here today, it would be fair to say that the fight which you have described as somewhat violent was in fact a bit of normal rough and tumble, which did not merit reporting at the time, nor did it distract you from your other activities for the rest of the day, such as your afternoon television viewing. Would that be correct?’

  ‘Well, I … I suppose.’

  ‘As my learned colleague has reminded the court, my client stated on interview that he was play-fighting with the victim on the afternoon of his death and does remember an adult calling on them to stop. Let us now move to your supposed later sighting of the boys. You have testified that this second sighting was at about three thirty or four o’clock. Can you be more exact?’

  ‘No, but it was about that time.’

  ‘I refer to page thirty-six in the jury bundle, a map of Barnard Park and Barnsbury Road.’

  Mr Rankine’s exact position was located, on the far side of the Barnsbury Road at the time of the sighting. The witness agreed that he was probably fifty metres from the boys at the time of the second sighting. Mr Rankine’s optician’s records were placed into evidence, showing that he was short-sighted with a prescription of –2.50. Rankine then testified that he wore glasses only to watch television or to drive. After this was established, Irene launched her attack.

  ‘The boy you saw in the white or pale blue top could have been any number of young people in the area. Is that not so?’

  ‘I recognise him now to be the … defendant.’

  ‘Now, I see … now. Earlier you told us that the boys you saw were not “noticeably different” in height, but your original statement to the police suggested a large and a small boy fighting. Which was it?’

  ‘Well, one was slightly larger. There wasn’t much in it, but one was discernibly larger – taller, as I said before.’

  ‘I see, and the clothing worn by the larger boy was “white or blue” but now you seem sure that it was white?’

  ‘I remember it being white now.’

  ‘Now you do, I see. Was that because the police specifically questioned you about a “boy in a white shirt” whom they had already arrested?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I can’t say for sure.’

  ‘Indeed, I don’t think you are sure of much, Mr Rankine, are you?’

  Daniel tried not to smile. He felt a small swell of pride for her.

  ‘Well, I … ’

  ‘Let us go back to your original statement to the police. I refer you to page thirty-nine, paragraph two, in your bundle. Please could you read your statement, from some time later that afternoon …’

  Rankine cleared this throat and then began to read. ‘… some time later that afternoon, I saw the boys again, this time fighting in the adventure playground. The smaller boy in red was being attacked by a larger person …’

  ‘Let me stop you there, Mr Rankine. A larger person … a larger person. Are you sure this was the defendant?’

  ‘Yes, I had seen him earlier that day.’

  ‘Mr Rankine, I remind you that you are under oath. You did see Sebastian earlier that day, but did you see him fighting in the adventure playground hours later? The Crown and the defence concur that there is no CCTV evidence of this sighting. We know that you were not wearing your glasses and that you were on the far side of the road, looking through the bushes and railings that surround the adventure playground. I suggest that you assumed the person you saw was my client, whom you had seen earlier that day.’

  Judge Baron leaned forward. ‘Miss Clarke – will a question for the witness be coming any time soon?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  ‘I am so pleased,’ the judge replied, mouth turned down.

  ‘Mr Rankine, is it not true that you had no way of identifying my client from the distance stated, particularly considering your short-sightedness?’

  ‘I thought it was the boy from earlier.’

  ‘Really? What did you mean when you described the person you saw apparently attacking the deceased as a larger person? Can you tell us if you meant to indicate a person taller or heavier than the victim?’

  ‘I thought it was the boy from earlier,’ Rankine stammered. He seemed confused, pulling at his earlobe. ‘He was a good bit taller, a little heavier than the little boy …’

  ‘A good bit taller and heavier? We submit into evidence the height and weight of the victim, Benjamin Stokes, as four feet one inch and four and a half stone in weight. The defendant was just four feet three and four stone nine pounds when placed on remand. In fact the boys were of similar height and weight and one was not “a good bit taller and heavier”. I suggest, Mr Rankine, that the person you saw later that afternoon was not Sebastian Croll, whom you called out to earlier, but was in fact someone else entirely. Could that be so?’

  ‘Well, I was sure at the time …’

  ‘Mr Rankine, you are under oath. We know your eye prescription and we know the distance that you were away from the two people you claim to have witnessed at three thirty or four o’clock that day. Could you not have seen someone else, possibly even an adult, with the victim?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rankine said finally, seeming to slump in the witness box. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Irene. She was about to sit, but the witness stood, shaking his head.

  ‘I’d be glad to be wrong,’ said Rankine. ‘If I never saw him then I never could have stopped it happening. Glad to be wrong.’

  ‘Thank you, no further questions, m’lord.’ Irene swept her gown under her before she sat.

  ‘Irene’s quite a good barrister,’ Sebastian whispered to Daniel when the jury had been excused and he was about to be taken back down to the cells. ‘He never saw me at the playground. He saw someone else.’

  Daniel felt a chill. He put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder as the police officer approached. He felt sure that the boy fully comprehended everything that was going on.

  Irene rolled her eyebrows at Daniel as she left the room.

  Daniel worked late at the office and arrived home in Bow after eight. He closed the door of his flat and leaned his forehead against the frame. His home smelled unlived-in. He turned the heating on and made a cup of tea, changed out of his suit into jeans and a T-shirt and put a load of clothes into the washing machine.

  He called Cunningham, Minnie’s lawyer, to check progress on the house, but his mobile was turned to answerphone. It was just then that there was a knock at the door. Daniel assumed it was a neighbour, as there was a buzzer-entry system from the street. He opened the door to find a small, corpulent man with an iPhone held up like a microphone.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said Daniel, frowning, two fingers hooked into the back pocket of his jeans.

  ‘You’re Daniel Hunter, the Angel Killer’s lawyer,’ the man said. ‘I wondered if you wanted to talk to me. I’m from the Mail.’

  Daniel felt anger flood his muscles, hot and quick. He laughed in a single syllable, then stepped on to the doorstep. ‘How dar
e you. How did you find me … ?’

  ‘The electoral register,’ the man said blankly. Daniel noticed his crumpled shirt and nicotine-stained fingers.

  ‘Get off my property right now before I call the police.’

  ‘It’s a public stairwell …’

  ‘It’s my stairwell, get out,’ said Daniel, so loud that it echoed in the hall. He heard the northern lilt to his voice. His accent always thickened in anger.

  ‘We’re doing a story on you anyway. Might be better for you if you said something,’ said the man, again without expression, looking away to touch his phone and, Daniel presumed, record their conversation.

  The action seemed to release something in Daniel. It had been years since he had hit anyone or been physical in that way. He took the man by the collar and slammed him against the wall of the stairwell. The phone fell to the ground with a crack.

  ‘Do I have to tell you again?’ said Daniel, his face leaning down close to the man’s. He could smell damp raincoat and menthol gum.

  The man twisted from his grasp, bent in a hurry to pick up the phone and almost fell down the steps to the main door. Daniel waited on the landing until he heard the main door click shut.

  Inside he paced in the hall, running his hand through his hair. He slammed the wall with his open palm.

  He walked into the living room, cursing under his breath. He saw Minnie’s photograph on his mantelpiece and imagined what she would say to him now. What’s a bright boy like you needing to use your fists for anyway? He smiled despite himself.

  He tried to imagine her coming to visit him: struggling up the stairs, asking why he couldn’t find something on the ground floor. She would cook for him and they would drink gin together and laugh about the fights they had had.

  But she was dead and now he would never know what it would be like to be an adult with her. She had taken him in as a child and he had left her as a child – older but still a child – angry and embittered. He had missed the chance to share a gin and hear her story – hear it as an equal, not as someone who had saved him. It was that more than anything that he regretted now, the sense that he had missed out on knowing her properly.

  Daniel got up and went into the kitchen in search of gin. He kept his spirits in a box in a cupboard. There were all sorts left over from parties: Madeira, advocaat, Malibu, and Daniel rarely touched them. He lifted the box down and searched until he found a half-full bottle of Bombay Sapphire. It was better than she would have allowed herself, yet Daniel took care to make it up the way that she would have liked: a tall glass, ice in first and then the lemon (when she had one) squeezed over the top. He was sure she added the ice first so as to fool herself that the measure was not as large as it seemed. Tonic fizzed over the ice and gin and lemon and Daniel stirred it with the handle of a fork. He sipped in the kitchen, remembering her pink fist gripping the glass and her twinkling eyes.