Jill is stunned, she is staring right through me, devoid of any emotion. We stand facing each other in silence for what seems like an age. Slowly Jill’s expression changes and I can feel her staring at me, rather than through me. ‘I don’t believe it, no, not my Dad.’ She says.
She looks like she is going to vomit, she puts her right hand on her chest as she starts to hyperventilate and uses her left hand to steady herself on the wall. ‘Brother and Sister? Shit, shit, shit... we’ve been sharing the same room, the same bed... we nearly... we nearly had sex!’
Jill’s anxiety levels have now pushed her into a fight or flight response, unfortunately for me, it is fight. I’m not sure if it was a slap or a punch that contacted with my left cheek and ear; if it was a slap then it was delivered with the same force as a punch, my cheek is stinging and ear is ringing.
I grab Jill’s arms and hold her. ‘Listen to me’ I say as Jill fights to break free from my hold, in a raised, more aggressive tone I shout in her face, ‘THAT’S ENOUGH, now listen to me.’
Jill, sobbing, now breaks free from my hold and starts pounding my chest with her clenched fists.
The group of walkers look embarrassed to be present in the middle of a domestic altercation and take off, leaving Jill and me all alone again.
Chapter 16
Everything is black, I can hear muffled voices but I can’t open my eyes. Slowly I regain clarity in my hearing but I still have no sight.
I hear a female voice, ‘Right, that’s the end of the process, he should start to regain consciousness quite quickly now, you need to release one of his hands so we can turn him onto his side as he is likely to vomit once fully awake.’
A male voice responds, ‘Dave, come here lad...’ there’s a moment before Dave arrives.
‘Dave, release his hand then stand back, apparently, he could puke at any moment.’
My right hand is released and falls to the bed, I can feel and hear everything, but can’t see or move anything.
The male speaks again, ‘so how much damage is done?’
The female voice is calm, and authoritative, ‘very difficult to tell at this stage, when he first arrived his CT and MRI Scans had shown a fractured skull, bleed on the brain, major trauma to cervical spine and pelvis plus haemothorax. Basically, he has been smashed up internally hence the internal bleeding within the skull and chest. But, that said, he’s still here, he’s been drained and patched up. He’s been in an induced coma for a month so that will have helped with the recovery process, as to long term damage, I can’t tell you for another hour or so. He could be fine; he could be in a vegetative state.’
I hear the beep of the heart monitor quicken.
The female speaks again. ‘Here we go, he’s coming around, elevated heart rate, crash team ready?’
I hear a series of medical terms being used, instructions or drugs maybe? There seems to be more urgency in her voice now, she tells the male she was talking to, to leave the room immediately.
The female turns her attention to me. ‘Come on Joe, open those eyes, come on...’ she is gently slapping my face as she’s talking to me.
I’d love to open my eyes; I’m consciously telling myself to wake up but my thoughts are not at one with my body. I can hear the heart monitor beeps racing away.
She speaks again, not to me this time, but to her team. ‘Send him back under and let’s see if that stabilises him, Rachel take his bloods please let’s see if that gives us any clues, Jack- arrange a CT scan asap, I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything.’
After a couple of minutes, she speaks again, ‘Confirm VSS at 12:20 hours on his notes, turn him on to his side.’
I feel cold metal, first on my back, before being rolled flat again, then cold metal on my chest, a stethoscope possibly?
‘Well it all sounds good, let’s see how he copes on his own, pulse oximeter only please.’
I feel a clip being placed on my finger and the cold stethoscope on my chest again. From different parts of my body I can feel little pinches on my skin and the rip of plasters. At last my eyes start to open, I’ve been willing them to do so for what seems like forever, but finally they are responding.
‘There he is, afternoon Joe... blink if you can understand me.’
Everything is blurred, I’ve managed to open my eyes but conscious blinking on demand is still not happening.
‘Okay, maybe a little soon yet, all teams to stand down. My core team to remain, but take ten minutes.’
I feel a thumb under my eyebrow lifting my eyelid followed by a bright light first on the left eye, then on the right.
‘Excellent, pupils reacting, direct and consensual response both look good.’
The female moves away from me, everything is still blurred, there is a bright light to my right, possibly a window? Cold blood runs through my veins, pins and needles start - first in my arms, before spreading down throughout my whole body. I can hear small talk amongst the remaining staff in the room. Slowly the lights on the ceiling come into focus, I turn my head to the right and gaze out of the window, outside and across the road is the unmistakeable Town Hall. I’m in the Infirmary, my thoughts now turn to how I got here.
My stomach suddenly contracts and my throat fills with vomit, chairs in the room are quickly pushed back and staff appear on all sides of me.
‘To me... one, two, three...’
A grey cardboard disposable vomit bowl is thrust into my face... removed and replaced two more times before I’m allowed to rest on my back again.
‘Better?’
I nod my head.
‘Good, try talking...’
At first my words are jumbled and slurred, but slowly I start to make some sort of sense.
‘Can you tell me how you got here Joe?’
‘It’s a bit fuzzy.’
‘That’s okay, I’ll start you off and hopefully, it’ll prompt your memory back into action. You were found in the Peak District at the bottom of a ravine spread out over several large rocks in a stream after a forty, maybe fifty feet fall. Have a think about the events leading up to your fall. I don’t need to know the details it’s just an aid to getting your memory back.’
She turns and leaves me, slowly my memory returns. I remember hearing that I’ve been in an induced coma for a month as I started to come around.
My first thought was an urge to speak to Ana she’ll be worried that I haven’t contacted her; somehow that thought wasn’t sitting easy with me though. ‘Why?’ I asked myself out loud.
‘Why what?’ a male voice said. Two men and the woman who had brought me back out of the coma are stood by my bed.
‘Cuff him again Dave.’ Dave takes my right hand and handcuffs me to the bed frame.
‘Really, is that necessary?’ The female says sternly.
‘It certainly is Doc; we don’t want this one getting away.’
Assertively she responds... ‘I’m a Consultant... Constable.’
She gets an aggrieved reply... ‘actually I’m a Sergeant, not a Constable.’
The female Consultant raises her eyebrows as if to say, point proved.
‘Joe,’ she says, ‘I’m Ms Smith, your...’ she turns to the male stood to her left and emphasises the word, Consultant, here in the High Dependency Unit. This is Detective Walsh to my left and Myddlewood over to your right. Do you feel up to answering a few questions or do you need some more time?’
I reply somewhat hesitantly, ‘I should be okay.’
DS Walsh is the first to speak. ‘Right Joe, can you confirm your full name and date of birth?’
‘Joseph Joshua Ryebank, April the 11th 1974.’
DS Walsh looks across to DCI Myddlewood, ‘that’s sufficient to prove he is compos mentis.’
DS Walsh turns back to me. ‘Joseph Ryebank, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Jill Breathnach between 2 and 2:15 pm on Sunday the 23rd of April 2000. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mentio
n when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand the caution?’
My senses are overwhelmed, like being woken suddenly out of deep sleep. The hustle and bustle of a dozen medical staff, being brought out of a coma and being accused of murder are too much.
‘Yes, I do but...’ I try to finish my sentence, but can’t.
Ms Smith the Consultant takes hold of DS Walsh’s arm and turns him to face her. ‘Okay DS Walsh that’s enough, you’ve done what you have to do now my patient needs rest. Come back in the morning.’
DCI Myddlewood looks through the open door, catches DS Walsh’s attention. ‘Uniform has arrived.’
A young PC walks in, DS Walsh turns to address him. ‘Right lad, you know why you’re here, sit by the door, if he says anything to you note it down, he is under caution don’t let him forget it.’
DCI Myddlewood releases my hand from the handcuffs.
Everyone leaves the room and I now only have the lone PC sat at the door for company.
As I reach for a glass of water from the tray table at the side of my bed I notice my hand is trembling. Using both hands I take the glass, lifting it tentatively to my mouth and as I do I catch the young PC staring at me, he must be the same age as me if not younger. I sip the water, it’s warm but I’m grateful for it. Putting the glass back on the table I slump back into a stack of pillows and stare out of the window onto the white façade and clock tower of the Town Hall opposite.
The room is now quiet, offset with distant conversations down the corridor outside the open door.
I try to think back to the Easter Sunday and remember all the events that took place on that day down in the valley, as I do, the song Pure Shores by All Saints enters my head reminding me of the journey. Jill was driving and somehow, I knew when that song came on the radio that it was going to imprint on my brain and freeze that moment in time. Slowly but surely, I start to recall that very day - minute by minute, hour by hour.
Of all the songs in the world it had to be this one, not one with deep and meaningful lyrics, oh no and to make things worse it is on a loop in my head; ironically though, in some respect it is helping me remember.
Images from my memory suddenly flick from the car journey to me kneeling at what was once, the entrance door to the ruins of the old hall; to one side of the doorway is Jill, her body convulsing on the floor with a knife wound to the neck. I watch helplessly as her life slips away. It was only seconds but it felt like forever and as the images in my memory come back to me frame by frame, I realise my hands are covered in her blood and I’m holding the knife that has killed her.
In the here and now I feel tears running down my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I cried, I was taught early in my life that men don’t cry, and, as a child, that crying only attracted a beating, but here I am and the tears are still coming. I only feel numb, no other emotion just an empty numbness and yet the tears come, wave after wave like raindrops on a window each one joining the next to become a steady flow.
Delving back into my memories, I remember running in-between two rhododendron bushes directly opposite the front of the hall, I remember tripping on a raised root or a low branch, I remember my momentum taking me over the edge of the ravine my body twisting in mid-air and the thud as I land on my back on the rocks that littered the stream bed. Just before the darkness of unconsciousness consumes me, I can feel the stream slowly saturating my clothing weighing me down, I can feel the flow of cold water against the side of my head washing into in my ears and yet I feel no pain from the fall and that was that... until now.
‘Tears of regret?’
The PC that has been tasked with watching over me finally speaks after staring at me solidly for ten minutes.
He continues with a bold arrogant tone in his voice. ‘You’re the first murderer I’ve ever met, well, the only one I know about!’
I’m not sure if I should talk to him or not, considering I’m still under caution, but his arrogance is pushing my buttons. I decide to speak with carefully chosen words as I can tell he’s the sort that’ll manipulate what I say and twist words into what he wants to hear.
I turn my head so I’m now facing him. ‘New to the force, are you?’
‘What makes you ask that?’
I shrug. ‘You are though, aren’t you? Straight out of training at Bruche and you get the unenviable task of sitting in a hospital room. I bet when you joined the Police you thought the job would entail more than looking at four walls prejudging someone... prejudging someone you know absolutely nothing about? Well here’s three things you should know, two of them they should have taught you before letting you out of your basic training. One... there are always two sides to a story; Two... the Jury decides who’s guilty and who’s innocent - not you; Three... I’m sorry to disappoint you - actually I’m not sorry - but you’re going to have to wait a bit longer before you meet a murderer.’
He glares at me, ‘I don’t like your tone.’
I sink to his level with my response ‘...and I don’t like yours either,’ as the words leave my mouth, I realise just how childish this conversation sounds. I decide at this point to exercise my right to remain silent.
It doesn’t stop the PC from continuing. ‘My boss said he feels guilty taking his wage this month your case was that easy to solve, watertight like a ducks arse he said. I’d confess now if I were you, they might even go easy and send you to a lower category prison, after all, someone like you won’t last five minutes in Strangeways.’
To be honest, I’ve stopped listening and have returned to staring out of the window. I’ve now reached the ‘What if...’ stage.
What if... I’d never gone to America, what if... I’d ignored that email, what if... I hadn’t come back, what if... we never visited the valley, what if...’
Luckily, I didn’t have time to dwell on these thoughts, I hear Ms Smith the Consultant berating the young PC. I tune back into their conversation.
‘You can guard your suspect from outside the room; do you really think giving my patient such a hard time is conducive to his recovery?’
‘But the boss told me to keep my eyes on him all the time.’
‘I’m in charge here and I’m telling you to remain outside the room. It’s not as if he can go anywhere, he’s just been brought out of an induced coma, he hasn’t used any of his muscles for over a month and won’t be able to stand up without intense physiotherapy, on top of that we’re on the third floor so the only way...if he could... get out would be through this door which you’re sat next to, so move your chair into the corridor, I have work to do.’
Begrudgingly the young PC drags his chair through the open door and out into the corridor.
The consultant closes the door behind her. ‘Right Joe, let’s have a look at you.’
She performs a series of tests on me, all seems to be well, or at least as well as can be expected.
‘Excellent, not too bad at all considering the trauma your body has been through, now there are two things; one, do you feel up to starting physiotherapy and two are you up to talking to the police?’
‘I’m good for both.’
‘Are you sure I can put both off for a while if you want?’
‘No, thanks I’m okay, I need to get back on my feet again.’
‘I need to let you know Joe, that the police have asked for a psychiatric assessment to be carried out on you, are you okay with that?’
‘I am.’
‘Good, I’ll arrange that asap, would you like me to arrange counselling as well, after all you’ve been through.’
I shake my head and turn to look out of the window again. Ms Smith sits on the bed.
‘You know these are different times, there’s no need to be all macho about your feelings.’
I still find the events of that day too vivid, they are stored in a very dark part of my mind and visiting that dark part of me isn’t something I want to do at
the moment. I continue to stare out of the window. I feel nothing, just numb and empty. Ms Smith stands back up and starts to make her way to the door. Just before she opens it, she turns to me.
‘Just between the two of us Joe, and I mean this in all sincerity, it will stay just between the two of us... did you kill Jill?’
I like Ms Smith; she has a way about her. Given time I could tell her everything, but for now, I just turn over and try to focus on her, I hope she can see the truth in my eyes.
She stares at me trying to glean any sort of answer from my face before she turns around and leaves.
Chapter 17
The Trial
I stare straight ahead beyond the Prosecution and Defence Barristers, the Court Usher and Clerk. I raise my eyes to focus on the oak panelling and the Royal Coat of Arms over the Judge. I’d never realised just how much detail there is in the Royal Coat of Arms, the green grass, the thistle, rose and shamrock, the lion and the unicorn; why is the unicorn chained? ... The motto... I expected it to be Latin but it’s not, it’s French. It’s the same Coat of Arms on the front of my passport. What I’d give to have my passport... and my freedom.
My inquisitiveness is broken as sixteen members of the potential jury are led into the Court. The Clerk to the Court speaks. ‘Members of the jury in waiting, will you please answer to your names as I call them and take a seat in the jury box?’ One by one a name is read out until twelve have been selected from the sixteen. They take their seats, almost in unison they look around, weighing up who is who, before fixing their gaze directly on me.
I wonder if they have already made their mind up, after all, I have already been subjected to trial by media, I’ve been everything from a smarmy womanising business kid, cold-hearted sociopath or worse a murderous psychopath who has left a trail of emotional destruction in my quest to become a millionaire; to a misunderstood victim of domestic abuse who wouldn’t be capable of such a horrific crime as the one I have been charged with. I’ve read so much about myself that I don’t even know who I am anymore.
The Truth We Chase Page 12
