Unconvicted

by Olly Jarvis

  ‘Twitter!’

  ‘He’d been tweeting some very disparaging things about her, so we tracked him down, he’s from Ordsall.’

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘So he was revealing her identity online?’

  ‘Come on, he’s a private individual.’

  ‘You think the judge will see it like that? And don’t tell me – he’s a United fan through and through?’

  ‘You won’t even have to call them if she accepts it all in cross,’ snapped Statham.

  ‘Like that’s going to happen,’ Jack retorted.

  Statham lost his temper and got up: ‘No one said it was going to be easy. If you haven’t got the stomach for this, you’d better say so now.’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit. You instructed me, came here with all your condescension and arrogance, but truth is you’ve given me absolutely nothing to go on, and I know who you’ll blame when it all goes wrong.’

  ‘Who the hell do you think you—’

  A knock at the door – one of the junior clerks. ‘Mr Nowak, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack said, composing himself. ‘Show him in.’

  ‘Hello, Gustaw,’ said Statham, reaching out to shake his lay client’s hand, and oozing his familiar self-belief. ‘Please sit down, old chap. We’ve just been making a few last minute tweaks,’ he said, retaking his seat and shuffling his papers for effect.

  ‘Tweaks?’

  ‘A few details,’ explained Boswell. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Expensive designer clothes couldn’t hide the fact Nowak had lost weight since Jack had last seen him. There were heavy bags under his eyes. As expected, Nowak was feeling it.

  ‘How’ve you been coping?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he replied wistfully. ‘My parents have come to support. We have an apartment.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Nowak replied. ‘But sometimes I think they are more afraid than me.’

  ‘That’s parents.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nowak tried to smile but didn’t pull it off.

  ‘It’s probably not what you want to do right now,’ Jack said gently, ‘but we need to discuss what happened again.’

  ‘It’s no problem, whatever you need to do.’

  ‘Right.’ Jack opened a tab on his laptop. ‘There are four areas where we have problems with Lauren Riley’s statement, so that’s what I want to concentrate on.’

  Nowak leaned forward in anticipation.

  Jack reeled off the list: ‘Whose idea it was to tie her up, how she came to be tied up, what was said during intercourse and why she left. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘She says you were kissing, then you threw her onto the bed, rolled her onto her front, and sat on her whilst you tied her hands to the bed.’

  ‘No.’

  Jack was encouraged by Nowak’s emphatic response.

  ‘She got onto the bed and asked me to do it. She agrees she was naked, yes?’

  ‘That’s true,’ Jack replied.

  ‘So what does that tell you?’ interjected Boswell.

  ‘It tells us she was consenting before she was on the bed, but to what exactly, we don’t know. You do understand that, don’t you, Gustaw?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Don’t fall into that trap,’ said Statham. ‘Remember, consent can be withdrawn at any time – then it’s rape.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Nowak repeated, angry with himself on realizing how it would have sounded if he’d said that in the witness box.

  ‘She says you were being forceful as you tied her wrists to the bedposts. The prosecution expert describes bruising on her back which is consistent with her account.’

  Boswell waded in, ‘And with rough consensual sex.’

  Jack turned on him: ‘Are you going to answer for him when he’s in the box?’

  Boswell made a sheepish apology.

  ‘If you interrupt again, you can leave, understood?’

  Boswell looked to Statham for support, who said nothing. ‘Understood.’

  ‘Was it rough sex?’

  ‘It was… I’m thinking of the word… it was… passionate.’

  Jack pulled out a photo of the complainant’s back and thrust it under Nowak’s nose. ‘That’s your idea of passion?’

  Nowak didn’t know how to answer.

  Jack put the photo back in the brief.

  ‘Maybe passionate was the wrong word – my English.’

  ‘If the sex was rough, violent even, as long as it was consensual, then for God’s sake, say so.’

  Nowak sighed. ‘Giving evidence will not be easy, I think.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ said Boswell, then, on seeing Jack’s face: ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Maybe we should think about using an interpreter when he gives evidence?’ suggested Statham. ‘It would give him time to think about his answer, you know, when the question is being translated.’

  ‘No,’ said Jack firmly. ‘Not in a case like this. The language would be a barrier, the jury would never empathize. The only way they will connect with him is if he speaks English.’

  On reflection, Statham agreed.

  ‘The next issue is what was said.’ Jack turned up Lauren Riley’s witness statement. ‘Once you’ve tied her down, you pull her up onto her knees, penetrate her, and say: “You like this, don’t you?”.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She says “no” and you continue to thrust hard, calling her a bitch and slapping her bottom?’

  ‘It’s not true.’

  ‘She’s struggling all the time, repeating the word “no” and begging you to stop, which eventually you do, once you’ve ejaculated.’

  ‘None of this happened,’ Nowak protested. ‘She never said “no”, only “tighter”, “deeper” and “yes”. She’s lying.’ His bottom lip quivered.

  Boswell put a comforting hand on Nowak’s shoulder.

  ‘Gustaw,’ said Statham. ‘Save your tears for the jury.’

  The coldness of the advice caused Nowak to compose himself.

  ‘What he’s trying to say,’ said Jack, ‘is that in a rape trial, your performance in the box is everything.’

  ‘The jury have to like you,’ said Statham. ‘Even a hint of arrogance, you’re done for.’

  Nowak listened to these words of wisdom, then, switching his attention from barrister to solicitor and back: ‘You think we might lose?’

  Statham answered first: ‘All we’re saying, Gustaw, is don’t take anything for granted.’

  Jack knew that dwelling on this scenario was unhelpful. ‘OK, nearly done. The last area of challenge is why she left. She says that as soon as you untied her, she was straight out of there, nothing else said.’

  ‘No. I untied her, she went to the bathroom. I started to feel guilty about my girlfriend and that she was coming to UK, so I asked her to go. I was polite.’

  ‘What exactly did you say?’ Jack found it hard to disguise his concern about this area of the evidence.

  ‘I said, “I’m sorry, I like you very much but you have to go now.” She said, “Why?” I said, “because I have girlfriend and she is coming.” She spat in my face, and then she go.’

  ‘All right,’ said Jack, reflecting on the heartlessness of his client, even if his account were true. ‘Couple of other things – why go no comment in interview?’

  ‘That was my advice,’ said Statham. ‘They gave us very little disclosure, and we wanted to see what they had first.’

  ‘OK, last question. Condoms?’

  ‘Condoms?’ Nowak’s anxiety level seemed to increase.

  ‘Yes, try not to repeat the question,’ said Jack, staring at his client. ‘It looks like you’re buying time while you think of an answer.’

  ‘OK. I didn’t use a condom.’

  ‘I know. Why not? You were in a relationship. You’ve known this woman for less than an hour. STDs, pregnancy – you did ejaculate, after all. Didn’t that worry yo
u?’

  Nowak looked down, ashamed. Jack hoped he would react the same way in front of the jury.

  ‘I didn’t think about it like I should have..’ He paused. ‘I’m only eighteen years old, Mr Kowalski.’

  ‘Good answer,’ said Boswell.

  ‘And I asked her if she have a condom just before sex, and she say no.’

  ‘And you didn’t have any on you?’

  Nowak shook his head. ‘My girlfriend takes a pill.’

  ‘Your girlfriend?’ asked Jack. ‘Is she in Manchester?’

  Nowak shook his head. ‘No, it’s over.’

  ‘She found out about the allegation?’

  Nowak nodded. ‘On TV.’

  Jack leaned back in his chair to show that the grilling was over. ‘Let’s call it a day.’ Turning to Statham: ‘Is his character sorted?’

  ‘Yes,’ the solicitor replied. ‘We’ve got witnesses about his football, his charity work and general good guy stuff, a balance.’

  ‘OK, that’s it then, Gustaw. What are you wearing on Monday?’

  ‘A suit?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Best of luck, everyone,’ said Jack, bringing the conference to a close. ‘See you at trial.’

  Jack’s attempt to sound upbeat had just about masked his dread of what was to come.

  Chapter 32

  Arthur Ross was glad to be back. The place was a mess, but it was home.

  The first thing he noticed was the mud on the hall carpet. Hadn’t anyone thought to clean up? Oh well, he thought, the police did their best. He considered getting the Bissell out, but didn’t have the energy. A job for tomorrow, he promised himself.

  He put his coat on the peg, took off his shoes and pushed his feet into a pair of faux leather slippers with a tartan lining. They felt good. ‘A nice cup of tea,’ he said, shuffling through to the kitchen. He often talked to himself; it helped ease the loneliness. He didn’t have anyone, not really. A son in Australia, but he only heard from him at Christmas. Still, he was all right, had his routines, and the telly. But something was gnawing away at him. Deep down he knew it was fear. Fear that he would never have peace of mind again, never feel safe in his own home. ‘You silly old sod,’ he said. ‘Feeling sorry for yourself.’

  Arthur’s bony hand gripped the kettle as he moved slowly over to the sink. The pipes groaned as he turned on the tap. He gazed out of the window until he saw the paving. A pool of blood stained one of the slabs. He saw the hole. A gasp – he remembered.

  Distracted by the memory, Arthur hadn’t noticed the kettle overflowing. He turned off the tap and hunched over the sink, catching his breath. He must tell that police officer, the one that came to visit him in the hospital, but first a little kip. Coming home had taken more out of him than he’d realized, that cuppa would have to wait. He set off upstairs, clinging to the bannister. For some reason the climb seemed longer than before.

  Chapter 33

  For decades, the old Polish church in Moss Side had been at the epicentre of the social life of every Pole living in Manchester. The congregation had been gradually diminishing since the 1960s, as second generation immigrants turned their backs on the church, until 2004 when – with the church teetering on the edge of closure – Poland had joined the EU. The new wave of staunch Catholic Poles had a dramatic effect on Sunday Mass, and it was often standing room only.

  Jack helped his father into his usual pew, but today was different. Jack could feel everyone watching him.

  ‘You famous now,’ Mariusz whispered in his son’s ear. ‘You defend Poland’s best footballer.’

  ‘Shut up, Tatusz.’ Jack tutted at his father and blushed. He couldn’t help but be seduced by the adoration, but he also had a sense of foreboding. Would all these people blame him if Nowak was convicted? Would he be held responsible for the loss of Poland’s greatest chance of being a top team again?

  The chatter in the rows faded as the priest took his place in front of the altar and began his sermon.

  Jack concentrated on the Polish words, a welcome distraction from his trial the next day. The deeper meaning of the words meant nothing to him. Jack had been struggling with his faith since his mother’s death. It was only for Mariusz’s sake that he came at all. Jack wondered if it also had something to do with being a lawyer, whether it had made him more cynical. How could he believe in God when he’d never seen any evidence?

  Everyone stood up to sing a hymn, accompanied by a nun enthusiastically tapping out a tune on the organ.

  Jack’s mind wandered to Timothy Smart’s note again. He knew the words off by heart now: ‘But if you do that which is evil, be afraid; for he bears not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath on him that does evil. ’ Did Smart think Jack had done something evil? By getting him bail, did Smart think Jack was party to the murder? In a way, he was. He began to well up.

  Mariusz reached across, gripped his son’s hand and squeezed it to the sound of the organ droning, then echoing off the high ceiling. With his free hand, Jack wiped his eyes.

  The congregation began to file out of their rows and walk to the altar to take Holy Communion. When it came to Jack’s turn, he didn’t move. Mariusz gave him a nudge.

  ‘I haven’t been to confession,’ he said, not that his father was bothered by such archaic customs, but it was enough to prevent Mariusz from yanking him out of the pew. Jack couldn’t go up, not when he was questioning his beliefs so deeply, and not after what happened to the Smart family.

  Once Mass was over, they followed the crowd out onto the steps. Coming into the light gave Jack a familiar sense of relief. He helped his father weave through the chatting clusters of friends and families. ‘Mariusz, Janusz! Dzień dobry?’ people asked as the Kowalskis passed by.

  Mariusz half-raised an arm in polite response but didn’t stop to talk.

  A child’s voice: ‘Mr Kowalski? Excuse me, Mr Kowalski?’

  Mariusz turned around, but it was Jack they wanted.

  A crowd of boys circled around them, the older ones with pen and paper ready.

  ‘Can we have your autograph?’

  Mariusz, hunched over just a moment ago, now stood proudly, chest puffed out, realizing that his son was being addressed as Mr Kowalski. ‘You famous now. The lawyer defending the great Nowak.’

  There was no turning back.

  Chapter 34

  Arthur Ross woke up. Disorientated, it took him a moment to remember he was at home, in his own bed. His left shoulder ached; it always did when he slept on his side. His doctor had told him to lie on his back, but how could he change the habit of a lifetime?

  He opened his eyes. How long had he been asleep, hours or days? He reached for the back of his head and touched the stitches. An uneasy feeling began to take hold. ‘Hello?’ he shouted, then wondered why. Was there someone in the house? A shiver ran down his spine. He reached for his spectacles on the bedside table and fumbled them onto his nose.

  A few chinks of daylight poked through the curtains.

  In the corner of the room, he began to make out a silhouette.

  Trembling, Arthur sat up to get a better view.

  It moved out of the gloom towards the bed.

  His blood ran cold. ‘You?’

  A gloved hand covered his mouth, then pushed him back onto the bed. Panic. Helplessly, he wished for the rippling muscles of his navy days. He’d boxed for the ship’s company.

  Arthur was wrenched out of bed and onto his feet. With his mouth now uncovered, he managed to ask: ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ the intruder repeated as he pushed and pulled the old man out onto the landing.

  ‘Please, don’t do this,’ he said. That was enough; he wasn’t going to beg. Struggling with all his might, Arthur’s old limbs failed to respond. He was surprised at how profoundly he wanted to hang on, to keep living.

  They reached the top of the stairs. The intruder spun him around. This was it. For some reason he
thought it fitting that he should be wearing his favourite striped pyjamas.

  A last memory – his darling Evelyn.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ An almighty push in the back.

  Falling.

  Darkness.

  Chapter 35

  It was nine a.m. The tables outside Pret in Spinningfields were full of suits, solicitors and bankers grabbing a quick coffee before disappearing into the high-sided, glass-fronted buildings all around.

  Lara checked her watch. She had an early con and a hearing over at the Magistrates’ Court. She sipped a latte and pulled her jacket tight around her, the morning sun having failed to warm the night air. She could see a crowd of reporters and photographers setting up tripods outside the Crown Court. She wondered how Jack would cope when he saw the reception committee.

  ‘Hello, Lara.’ His Honour Judge Finlay was standing over her table. He was dressed in a double-breasted suit, raincoat and leather gloves, as befitting a man of the judiciary.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Don’t you think this has gone on long enough? It’s been months now. Why won’t you take my calls?’

  ‘Still speaking to me like I’m a child.’

  He ignored her animosity. ‘So, how’s Jack?’

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘He’s what this is all about, isn’t he?’

  ‘You haven’t changed, have you? It was nothing to do with Jack Kowalski, it was about who you really were… are.’

  ‘That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?’

  Lara took her phone off the table and got up to leave.

  ‘Hang on, I want to tell you something.’

  ‘Go on then, make it quick.’

  ‘I’ve got my murder ticket. They’ve given me the Smart case.’

  ‘OK, is that it?’ she replied.

  ‘I’ve been told that if I prove myself, an application for the High Court Bench would be encouraged.’

  Lara was unmoved. ‘Do you know how pathetic you sound?’ She tried to push past him.

  Finlay gripped her arm.

  ‘Get your hands off me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to be married to a red judge?’