A Life to Kill

by M. R. Hall

  Another sound bite deftly delivered.

  Jenny had to accept that he had a point. The issue of how Private Green came to have ingested alcohol couldn’t be avoided, nor should it be. Nevertheless, she decided to fire a warning shot: ‘We will, of course, examine the possible sources of the alcohol. But we will do so forensically, Mr White. I am sure you appreciate what I mean by that.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am.’ He was the soul of reason.

  Jenny did her best to police scrappy and increasingly tetchy cross-examinations of Dr Kerr by both Robert Heaton and Claydon White. Heaton tried repeatedly to force him to accept that the alcohol in Private Green’s blood could have been derived from a purely innocent source such as medicine, fermented fruit or even vinegar, which he was assured was among some of the food items that soldiers from time to time obtained from local residents. Dr Kerr stood his ground: he was unable to rule such possibilities either in or out. Claydon White took the opposite tack and tried to force an admission that what Green had in his bloodstream was a morning-after residue. He was armed with charts that purported to show the rate of elimination of alcohol from the body of a man of Green’s weight and height. According to his calculations, it was obvious that Green had been drunk the night before and may have been nursing a hangover. Jenny began to see where he was going: if he could paint a picture of Major Norton having presided over an end-of-tour party that inadvertently led to two deaths, it would amount to negligence and a large cheque making its way into Claydon White’s bank account.

  ‘Mr White, can we just accept that there was alcohol in the body and that Dr Kerr is not able to tell us where it came from?’

  ‘I apologize, ma’am – for doing my best on behalf of my clients in difficult circumstances. It would have been nice to think that Major Norton and the other members of the platoon would have been able to assist on this point, but they have already wilfully obstructed justice by avoiding the tests that would prove whether any of them had taken drugs or not.’

  ‘Let’s not rehearse that now, Mr White.’

  He wasn’t to be deterred. ‘It’s hardly my or my clients’ fault, ma’am. The only reasonable inference we can draw from the evidence so far, is that apart from Private Lyons they all have something to hide.’

  ‘You will have your opportunity, Mr White,’ Jenny said wearily. ‘Now can we please let Dr Kerr go?’

  Jenny’s budget didn’t extend to high-tech fripperies such as the computers and large flat-screen monitors that had become commonplace in other courtrooms. The large-scale plan of the forward command post which had been the platoon’s home for six months was erected on a flip chart stand in front of the jury box. They had also been provided with several photographs of varying quality that showed the post from various angles, both inside and out.

  In truth, there wasn’t much to see: a rectangular compound roughly forty yards along its east–west axis, and twenty yards wide. Its thick walls were built from earth-filled Hesco bags. At each corner was a sangar tower: a metal framework protected from the outside by more Hesco bags, and with further bags on the tower’s roof providing protection from above. The post was located on a slightly raised area, which was the highest point in that part of the Shalan-Gar valley. It was surrounded by mines to a distance of approximately fifty yards, save for the dirt road which led directly from the north to the solid metal gates at its single entrance. Beyond the mined zone were fields and orchards, which in the wet months of the year were irrigated by a series of ditches connected with the naturally occurring wadis that channelled floodwater down from the surrounding mountains. The Shalan-Gar valley was a primitive but productive farming area that produced a wide variety of fruit and vegetables from its silty mineral-rich soil, but its principal product was the opium poppy.

  The statements that Alison and Sergeant Price had collected from the twenty-four members of the platoon who were now in the courtroom all had very little to say on the subject of how Private Lyons came to go missing overnight. Most of the men claimed not to have paid much, if any attention, to his whereabouts on the evening of the twenty-first. Those in his section, who slept under the same tarp, agreed that he was present shortly after midnight when Sergeant Bryant had ordered a routine kit inspection to take place early the following morning. They also agreed that he was missing when they woke at five forty-five a.m.

  Jenny had decided in advance to concentrate her attention on the four members of B Section still standing, Sergeant Bryant, Major Norton and the various soldiers who had been on sentry duty throughout the night. She began with the sentries.

  Sentries had been on duty in two shifts throughout the night: from ten p.m. until two a.m., and from two a.m. until six a.m. Private Kenny Green had been one of those on the earlier shift and had been manning the sangar at the south-west corner which overlooked an orchard of apricot and almond trees. The remaining seven had little to say for themselves and were in the witness box for only a few minutes each. They all repeated the same line: it had been a clear night, visibility was good, and except for the odd stray dog, nothing had stirred outside the post. Claydon White asked each of them if they had drunk alcohol or consumed cannabis at any time during the tour or if they had seen any other members of the platoon doing so. He was met with uniformly predictable responses: there was no alcohol at the FCP, and if anyone had been caught, there would have been hell to pay, not just from Sergeant Bryant or Major Norton, but from the other men. Their lives depended on one another staying sharp and alert. Claydon White didn’t force the point. For now, at least, his aim was to portray himself as a friend of the young soldiers.

  The seventh and last of the overnight sentries, Private Liam Todd, entered the witness box and had repeated, almost word for word, the testimony of those who had gone before. He had manned the south-east sangar from two a.m. until six a.m., and had remained alert at all times. His field of vision interlocked with the sentries on the north-east and south-west sangars, leaving no area of ground uncovered. Robert Heaton asked only a few questions intended to emphasize what each of the preceding sentries had confirmed: that it would have been close to impossible for Private Lyons to have been abducted from inside the compound without being seen or heard. It was incredible even to think that he could have left the post on his own, but if he had, the most likely moment would have been as the sentries changed over, when it was conceivable that, for a period of no more than a minute or two, the outlying ground might have gone unobserved.

  Jenny had become curious to know what, if anything, Heaton and his team of MOD lawyers were proposing to put forward as an explanation for Private Lyons’s disappearance. Two minutes before the lunch break, she got her answer.

  ‘You and Private Lyons were on friendly terms, were you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We weren’t in the same section, but I knew him well enough.’

  ‘How would you describe his state of mind in the final days of the tour?’

  ‘Same as always. Bit of a joker. Always had a smart reply.’

  ‘In good spirits?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Heaton gave another of the innocuous smiles that served as a pat on the head to the witness. ‘Cast your mind back to February and March, if you would – the start of the tour. The platoon contained a Lance Corporal Darren Foster, a medic. Can you tell us please what happened to him?’

  Private Todd shrugged. ‘He went back to Bastion after a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Because?’

  The soldier glanced towards Major Norton as if looking for a steer. Jenny sensed it was an unscripted moment, and purposefully so: Heaton intended it to make an impact.

  ‘I’m sure you remember what happened to Lance Corporal Foster, Private Todd.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I understand he froze while out on patrol. His party had come under fire. He refused to run across an area of open ground to where they intended to take cover.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘One of th
e lads had to give him a punch. Then they had to drag him. Could have got them all killed.’

  ‘He lost his nerve and panicked. And had he remained where he was, he would have been killed?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Todd said uncomfortably. ‘It doesn’t happen often.’

  ‘Had he exhibited such tendencies before that day?’

  Todd shook his head. ‘Not that I remember.’

  ‘In other words, he snapped?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  From the corner of her eye, Jenny spotted Lieutenant Gallagher giving her a look as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ In the row behind the lawyers Kathleen Lyons adamantly shook her head. It was the first gesture Jenny had seen her make since her return to the courtroom.

  As Heaton returned to his seat, Carrie Rhodes and Claydon White hurriedly conferred. It was she who stood to cross-examine.

  Blonde, slim and frankly beautiful in the effortless way that turned men to putty and made otherwise level-headed women furious with jealousy, she smiled sweetly at the young man in the witness box.

  ‘Private Todd, you said you were friendly with Pete Lyons, or “Skippy”, as you all called him?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘We’ve heard from the pathologist earlier this morning that he was a small lad – not much more than a boy. Did that ever concern you?’

  ‘He was tough. He could carry his kit, do everything everyone else did.’

  ‘Did he ever get picked on for being small?’

  Todd shrugged. ‘Only a bit of mickey-taking. We all get it for different things.’

  ‘There was no feeling that he was a liability to the rest of the platoon?’

  ‘No. He had it all up here.’ He tapped his temple with his finger. ‘When you’re in a tight spot, that’s where it counts.’

  ‘Of course.’ She flashed him another smile. Private Todd smiled back. He couldn’t have failed to. ‘The thing is, we know he had invested everything in the army, in being a soldier – a man. Whether he was mature enough to do the job that was asked of him is another issue, but what I’m interested in, is how you think he thought of himself. Did Private Lyons think he had done a good job?’

  Robert Heaton rose to protest, ‘Ma’am, this witness can’t be expected to have insight into Private Lyons’s state of mind . . .’

  It was a borderline call. Jenny decided to allow the question.

  ‘I think he was proud of himself, yeah . . .’ Todd said.

  Carrie Rhodes picked up on the lingering note of uncertainty in his voice. ‘You’re not sure about that, are you? What are you thinking of?’

  She was sharp. Todd had suddenly lost confidence and was glancing anxiously at the rest of the platoon. There was no doubt he was hiding something.

  ‘Please answer the question,’ Jenny prompted. ‘You really mustn’t hold anything back.’

  Todd shuffled uneasily, then, turning to Jenny to avoid the eyes looking at him from the court, said, ‘It’s nothing, really . . . It’s just there was one time when he got left behind out on patrol. His section had gone off across the valley and were going to be picked up by helicopter. He’d lagged a bit behind and they took off without him. They went back for him once one of the lads had spotted it, but it was a hairy moment for him.’

  ‘I can imagine. And whose responsibility was it to make sure he was counted on to the helicopter.’

  ‘Sergeant Bryant, I suppose.’

  ‘You suppose?’

  ‘It was a mistake – you know. It happens. He just had a bit of trouble living it down.’

  ‘What was the joke – that it had been deliberate? That the platoon would have been better off without him?’

  Todd shook his head. ‘Not like you’re saying it. It was a laugh. We all had the mickey taken out of us.’

  Claydon White tugged his colleague’s sleeve and whispered into her ear. Jenny sensed the atmosphere in the courtroom shift. The expressions on the soldiers’ faces told her that Carrie Rhodes was finally cutting through to something.

  ‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘did you get the impression that Private Lyons felt he had to prove himself after that humiliation?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well,’ Carrie Rhodes said patiently, ‘I think what you might be trying to say is “yes”. Am I right?’

  Jenny had to hand it to her, she was giving a masterclass in cross-examination technique.

  ‘I suppose . . . Yeah, I guess you could say Skip was trying to prove himself.’ He shrugged. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  Carrie Rhodes and Claydon White exchanged the briefest glance, as if they were considering a dangerous gamble. His subtle nod gave her the go-ahead.

  ‘Would you say that became his reputation – his source of esteem? A soldier who was constantly trying to prove himself, but who was nevertheless limited by his size and stature?’

  Todd looked startled, as if she had stumbled on a supposedly unknowable secret. What she was in fact doing was skilfully pursuing a theory which appeared to be skirting close to the truth.

  ‘I’m correct, aren’t I?’ Carrie Rhodes said when Todd failed to answer.

  He nodded mutely.

  ‘Think carefully – did anything happen in the days or hours before he went missing that might have dented his confidence further?’

  Backed into a corner, there was no way out. ‘I think he might have fainted on patrol.’

  ‘When did he faint while out on patrol?’

  ‘That morning – I mean the morning before he went missing.’

  ‘And were people having a laugh about it?’

  ‘It wasn’t anything serious. No harm done. It was forty degrees. Could have happened to any of us.’

  ‘And did it ever happen to anyone else?’

  Todd made a show of trawling his memory. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘So, not that you know of?’

  He had to agree.

  ‘In your opinion, was Private Lyons physically and mentally fit to go on patrol on the twenty-second of August?’

  ‘He seemed well enough, from what I remember.’

  Jenny glanced at the clock. It had gone past one. She would have expected a jury to be restless and ready for their lunch by now, but the exchange between Carrie Rhodes and the witness had their rapt attention. She decided to let the cross-examination run its course.

  ‘Tell the court, please, what would happen if a soldier declared that he wasn’t fit to go on patrol?’

  The question seemed to stump the witness. The expression on his face conveyed an answer with more instant clarity than words could have achieved: the possibility was unthinkable.

  ‘Did it ever happen, Private?’ Carrie Rhodes persisted, ‘or was that simply not an option in Major Norton’s platoon?’

  ‘If a man’s not fit, he’s not fit,’ was the best he could do.

  ‘Private Lyons had been nursing a painful fractured rib for several weeks. Were you aware of him ever having been excused duty because of that injury?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was injured.’

  ‘He didn’t let it show?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know how he came by that injury?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Carrie Rhodes was silent for a moment. She held Private Todd in a level gaze that was neither friendly nor hostile; it was one which simply expected the truth and nothing less.

  ‘I want you to answer this as honestly as you can, Private. Do you think it was possible that, having endured an injury which you hadn’t even noticed for a period of several weeks, that fainting on patrol during the penultimate day of the tour was something Private Lyons would have felt brought disgrace and the potential for ridicule down upon him? After all, there he was, the runt of the litter, so to speak, the one considered so insignificant he was even abandoned out on the field.’

  ‘Ma’am, I really must protest at this emotive speech making.’ The angry interjection came from Robert Heaton, whose simmering resen
tment at his opponents’ success had finally boiled over.

  His objection and Jenny’s censure came too late. Carrie Rhodes had deliberately taken the opportunity to impress her narrative into the jurors’ minds and had most likely succeeded.

  Jenny then rephrased the question herself: ‘Private, perhaps you can tell us what, if anything, you knew of Private Lyons’s state of mind following the last fainting incident on patrol?’

  ‘I didn’t notice him much that day. I guess that meant he was keeping himself to himself.’

  ‘Was that unusual?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘And when was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘When I went up on the sangar. He was still digging a latrine.’

  ‘Digging a latrine,’ Jenny repeated. In none of the statements of any of the platoon had there been any mention of Private Lyons digging a latrine late on the evening of his disappearance. She opted for the most open-ended question she could: ‘Tell me about that.’

  Not for the first time, Private Todd had the look of a man who felt he had said far too much already. He seemed a good-natured young man, well intentioned but not overendowed with intelligence. He looked over at the poker-faced Major Norton with a mixture of remorse and panic, but received no cue as to how to answer.

  ‘Tell us about this task,’ Jenny urged.

  ‘I think it was for what happened on patrol,’ Todd muttered eventually.

  ‘Digging the latrine was a punishment for fainting on patrol?’

  The soldier nodded.

  ‘If I may? Just a few more questions, ma’am . . .’

  Jenny gave way to Carrie Rhodes, already anticipating what was coming.

  ‘While Private Lyons was carrying out this humiliating punishment, what were the rest of the platoon doing?’

  ‘Just getting ready to bed down for the night.’

  ‘The second to last night on tour. Was alcohol being drunk?’

  ‘Yeah, we’d just been to Bargain Booze and picked up some cans.’