by Olly Jarvis
He couldn’t help but feel ashamed.
‘Are you ready to call the complainant, Miss McVey?’ asked the judge.
‘I am, My Lord.’
‘Are there any special measures for this witness?’
‘No, My Lord,’ McVey announced triumphantly. ‘She will give live evidence from the witness box.’
‘Screens?’
‘She doesn’t require them, My Lord.’
Jack had hoped she might give her evidence via a live television link, which would depersonalize her testimony, but Gylda McVey QC knew the power of an account delivered in person, without TV monitors or screens.
‘Very well,’ said the judge, ‘jury in.’
The jury filed into court.
Jack checked out the press box – rammed to the rafters.
Once the jurors were seated, McVey said the words they had all been waiting for: ‘My Lord, I call Lauren Riley.
At last, the main event.
The complainant was led from the back of the courtroom, down past the dock and counsel’s row, then up into the witness box, facing the jury and, in her elevated position, visible to all.
She was smartly dressed, hair tied back and wearing only light makeup, not even any nail varnish. Jack knew stereotypes mattered to juries, and unfortunately for Nowak, she had the appearance of a victim, not a slut.
The usher passed her the Bible. ‘Hold the book in your right hand and repeat after me.’
Trembling, Lauren held it up.
‘I swear by Almighty God.’
In a whisper: ‘I swear by Almighty God.’
‘That the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
Stumbling over the words, Lauren repeated the oath.
‘Now, Miss Riley,’ said the judge, ‘you’re going to have to keep your voice up.’ A gentle smile. ‘It’s very important that the members of the jury can hear what you say.’
‘Sorry,’ she replied, slightly louder than before.
‘It’s quite all right,’ he said, an old hand at putting witnesses at their ease. ‘There’s some water there,’ he said, pointing to a plastic cup. ‘If you need any more, just signal to the usher.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, her eyes welling up.
All sympathies lay with the witness.
Jack felt sick.
‘Perhaps you could start by giving the court your full name?’ McVey asked in a loud, confident voice.
‘Lauren Riley,’ she replied, almost matching McVey’s confidence.
The judge gave a broad smile. The jurors followed suit.
‘Do you work, Miss Riley?’
‘Yes, I’m a model.’
Statham yanked at Kowalski’s gown. ‘She didn’t say it’s all porn,’ he whispered, ‘you’ll have to get that out in cross.’
‘That’s inadmissible,’ Jack replied in a loud whisper, half-turning his head. ‘Being a porn star doesn’t waive the need for consent,’ he added, unable to conceal his disdain.
‘Ask it anyway,’ Statham persisted. ‘By the time Skart objects the jury will have heard it.’
Appalled but not surprised at the suggestion, Jack leaned forward to put some distance between himself and the solicitor.
After asking a few more preliminary questions to settle the witness down, McVey moved on to the day in question. ‘Where did you go that night?’
‘Ambro’s.’
‘Anywhere before that?’
‘No, got a taxi straight from home. Didn’t go out til ten.’
‘And why Ambro’s?’
‘Dunno.’ Then, thinking about the question: ‘It’s hard to get in, unless you know the door, so it’s not full o’ drunken yobs trying to chat you up. Gotta be careful when you’re out on your own.’
‘And that’s what you wanted to avoid, drunken yobs?’ McVey asked, seeing her opportunity.
‘Yeah, I’d had a bad day. Just wanted a few drinks, good music. The staff know me in there.’
‘So how long were you in Ambro’s?’
‘Too long,’ she replied, her voice full of regret. ‘A few hours. Had too much to drink.’
‘Were you drunk?’
‘Getting there.’
Jack could see the jurors being drawn to the witness. Her frankness was robbing him of his best lines of cross-examination. How was he going to question the witness without being despised by the jury?
‘We can see from the CCTV that you found your way into the VIP area. How did that come about?’
Lauren’s hands began to fidget. Finding a job for them, she took a sip of water. ‘I got sick of people trying to talk to me at the bar and buy me drinks. Security always let me in,’ she explained, ‘being a model and what-not.’
‘And how did you meet the defendant?’
Her brow furrowed. ‘He just appeared from nowhere, soon as I went in.’
‘Bullshit,’ seethed Statham, sotto voce. ‘She made a beeline for him.’
Jack tried to ignore him.
‘Who started the conversation?’
‘He did. Said he was a footballer from somewhere in Europe, gonna play for United.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘Not much. I made fun of his accent.’ She reflected. ‘He seemed nice.’
‘How long did you talk for?’
‘Ten minutes, if that. Then we left.’
‘To go where?’
‘Back to his hotel,’ Lauren replied, failing to hide her embarrassment. ‘He said he was staying at the Hilton on Deansgate, you know, in that tower. I’d never been there before. He said you could see the whole of Manchester from his window. He only looked about eighteen, and ’coz he was a footballer, I went,’ she said.
‘My next question is going to sound very blunt and direct, but it’s important you answer it without fear of embarrassment.’
The witness nodded.
All Jack could do was sit back and admire the way McVey was expertly steering the witness through her evidence.
‘When you left with Mr Nowak, were you intending to have sex?’
The complainant winced and closed her eyes for a second. ‘No… yes… maybe.’ She looked across at the jury, then back to McVey. ‘I thought we might.’ Then, more forcefully: ‘But only if I decided I wanted to.’
Having secured the answer she wanted, McVey moved on: ‘Miss Riley, tell the jury how you got to the Hilton.’
‘We walked there, wasn’t far.’
‘What did you talk about?”
‘Can’t really remember. You know, chit-chat. We went up in the lift, then into his room. It was big, like a suite. I remember looking at the view, all the lights over Manchester.’ She stopped – the pain of recollection.
McVey gave her a moment. ‘And then what happened?’
Lauren’s voice was shaky: ‘He was standing behind me. He started kissing my neck. I liked it at first.’ An involuntary sob. ‘Then he got more aggressive.’
‘More aggressive?’
‘Yeah, he bit me, not badly, just like little nips, but then he yanked my head back by pulling my hair.’
‘How did you react?’
‘I told him to stop. I said: “what you doing?” It all seemed a bit daft, what with the drink, my head were mashed. Just wasn’t expecting it.’ She shook her head. ‘Then he pulled my dress up over my head.’ Another sob. ‘Happened so quick.’
‘Were you wearing any underwear?’
‘No. Would have ruined the cut o’ the dress. You know, it was tight-fitting.’
Some of the female jurors nodded, in the hope of saving her the embarrassment.
‘So you were naked?’
‘Apart from my shoes.’
‘What did you do after he pulled your dress off?’
‘I were shouting and screaming and trying to grab my dress, but he threw it on the floor.’ Tears began to flow freely down Lauren’s cheeks. ‘Then he gripped me and pulled me over to the bed.’
<
br /> ‘And what were you doing?’
‘Trying to get him off. I were all over the place, in me stilettos. I kept telling him to fuck off – sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologize,’ interjected the judge. ‘You tell us exactly what was said and done. This court has heard it all before.’
The witness acknowledged his guidance and wiped away some tears. ‘He weren’t listening, like he was possessed?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His eyes were poppin’ out ’is ’ead.’ She broke down.
‘Are you all right to continue, Miss Riley?’ asked Skart.
The usher held up a box of tissues. The complainant took one and dabbed it around her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she replied, the trauma of remembering deeply ingrained on her face.
‘You told the jury that he pulled you over to the bed?’ McVey asked, determined to get her through the last and most difficult part of her evidence-in-chief.
Lauren refocused on the advocate. ‘Yes. He threw me face down on the bed.’ She broke off, then took a deep breath. ‘There were some ties on the back of the chair. The next thing I knew he were sat on me, tying my hands to the bed. It had like, posts.’
The atmosphere in the courtroom was thick with horror at what was to come.
Lauren Riley looked down. ‘He pulled me up onto my knees, then… then he entered me.’
McVey waited a few moments, to give the evidence time to sink in. ‘Did you struggle?’
‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘Like I were fighting for me life.’
‘Did you say “no” or “stop”?’
Lauren raised her head and turned to the dock, her eyes boring into the defendant. Slowly and deliberately, she replied: ‘Yes, I did. Again and again. He knew I didn’t want it, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘How long was he inside you?’
‘A few minutes. After he came, he just untied me and went into the bathroom like it were nothing.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘No, not a thing.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Put my dress on and ran.’
‘I think you were seen by the police on Deansgate a few minutes later?’
Exhausted, Riley could only nod.
‘And you told them you’d been raped?’
‘Yeah.’
‘At any time that night, did you give your consent to sexual intercourse with Gustaw Nowak?’
‘No.’
‘Did you say or do anything that could have given him reason to believe you were consenting?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you, Miss Riley. If you wait there please, my learned friend will have some questions.’ McVey sat down, her job done.
Jack made sure his notes were laid out neatly, then got to his feet.
‘Mr Kowalski,’ said Skart. ‘The witness has been giving evidence for some time now. We’ll have a ten minute break.’
‘Of course,’ Jack replied.
‘All rise!’
Chapter 41
Jack caught sight of Nowak’s parents as he headed for the conference room. They made eye contact, willing him on. Then he noticed an elderly woman staring back at him, further along the concourse. Remembering Smart had a hearing that day, he knew instinctively it was Natasha Smart’s mother. Jack froze.
Her eyes bored into him as she crossed the concourse. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? Kowalski?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, almost in a whisper.
‘They said you were young. I’m Joyce Simpson, Natasha’s mother.’ She waited for her words to sink in. ‘You know, I had to go to the mortuary. They wanted me to identify the body.’
Jack was rooted to the spot.
‘I couldn’t. She was too badly burned. They had to do it from the dental records.’ She closed in on Jack before continuing. ‘I blame you. You killed her. Timothy, he’s just mad. But you? You’re evil.’
Jack felt as if he’d been turned to stone. He could hardly get a word out. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She sneered. ‘Sorry! Mr big-shot lawyer, defending rapists and murderers. Sorry? You must be really proud.’ She turned, and with the helplessness of a broken woman, doddered off.
‘Jack?’ Statham was holding the door open. ‘You coming?’
Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him, Jack went into the conference room.
‘You going to start with the sexual history, soften her up?’ Statham asked.
‘Err, sexual history? Jack repeated.
‘Her preference for bondage?’
‘I’m not sure about putting that,’ said Jack, trying to refocus on the case at hand. ‘There’s a major inconsistency I want to concentrate on.’
‘The dress?’ Statham asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Nowak.
‘She’s just said you ripped the dress off, that she never consented. But in her statement, she said the biting started after you’d taken the dress off.’
‘In other words,’ said Statham, ‘she’s shifted the case from withdrawal of consent to never having given it.’
‘That’s good, yes?’ Nowak replied.
‘It’s bloody brilliant,’ said Boswell.
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ said Jack. ‘It’s just one point.’
‘You must put the sexual history to her,’ Statham persisted.
‘I’m worried it’ll backfire. We should leave it.’
‘No, as your instructing solicitor, I’m telling you to do it. If you don’t and we lose I will report you to the BSB for not putting your client’s defence.’
Jack couldn’t believe Statham. Why had he accepted this case?
‘Nowak, what do you say?’ Jack asked, hoping his client would see sense.
‘I think maybe we should ask her about it.’
That sealed it. Jack went to the gents. His nerves were in shreds. He went over to the sink, cupped his hands under a tap and splashed his face. Seeing Natasha’s mother had brought everything flooding back. Nowak’s trial had been a distraction from his underlying guilt and despair.
‘Come on, Jack,’ he said to himself, trying to force the negative thoughts to the back of his mind. Then, looking into the mirror, he said: ‘Don’t mess this up.’
The courtroom was already assembled and waiting for the judge as Jack took his place on counsel’s row. Feeling sick, he flicked through his notes.
‘All rise!’
Mr Justice Skart sat down and signaled to Jack.
This was it. He got up and faced the witness, who was quivering with nerves. Jack wasn’t much better.
‘Miss Riley, why not go out with friends that night?’
Seemingly thrown by the question, she didn’t reply straight away. ‘I just wanted to be alone, have a few drinks.’
‘So why go to a crowded nightclub?’
‘Dunno, so I wouldn’t get noticed I suppose.’
‘So why not stay at home?’
‘I wanted to go out, all right?’
‘I see,’ said Jack. ‘Strangers were chatting you up all night, weren’t they?’
‘Suppose so.’
‘Well they were, weren’t they?’
She shrugged.
‘For the tape, Miss Riley.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were stood at the bar?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Well, it’s on the CCTV. Did you remain at the bar so it made it easy for people to buy you drinks?’
‘What you trying to say?’
‘Careful, Mr Kowalski,’ warned the judge.
‘Only that being alone was the last thing on your mind?’
‘If all I wanted was sex,’ Lauren replied angrily, ‘I could’ve pulled in five minutes. I was there ages, just wanted to get pissed.’
‘Why?’
‘What’s that gotta do with owt?’
‘If Mr Kowalski asks an improper question, I will tell him,’ said Skart in a kind b
ut authoritative tone.
‘Why did you want to get pissed?’ Jack repeated.
‘Work wasn’t going so well, not getting many jobs, and I’d had a row with my mum.’
‘What about?’
‘Can’t even remember, something and nothing. We’re always arguing.’ She looked around at the public gallery and gave her mother a conciliatory smile.
‘What made you go over to the VIP area?’
‘Dunno, change of scene.’
‘Did you know Gustaw Nowak was in there?’
‘No. Didn’t even know who he was.’
‘That’s not true, is it?’
‘Yes, it is actually.’
‘You spoke to him first, went straight over to him.’
‘No, he spoke to me.’
‘Does the CCTV assist with that, Mr Kowalski?’ asked the judge.
‘Unfortunately not, My Lord, Lauren Riley is out of shot prior to being seen with Mr Nowak,’ he replied, careful not to mislead the Court. ‘But I would like the witness to look at a different section of footage. I wonder if the usher would be so kind.’
The usher picked up the remote and pressed play, bringing the screens and monitors dotted around the courtroom to life.
‘Forward wind it please to 12:50 and 32 seconds, then pause it.’
The witness stared up at the large screen, suspended on a bracket above the jurors’ heads.
‘There’s you on the left, Miss Riley, do you see?’
‘Yeah, that’s me.’
‘The man leaning on the bar to your left, he appears to be talking to you?’
McVey intervened: ‘There’s no evidence they were in conversation, My Lord. There is no sound on this footage.’
‘I’ll rephrase the question. Do you recognize that man?’
She scrutinized the blurred, freeze-framed image.
‘No.’
‘Do you recall someone talking to you at the bar?’
‘Lots of people were.’
‘Madam Usher, please press play, and Miss Riley, please watch the right hand of the man in the footage.’
The jury leaned forward to view the screen above the witness’s head.
‘Can you see, he puts something in your purse?’
‘I can’t see that.’
‘Let’s watch it again.’
The usher replayed the footage.
‘He’s putting something in your purse?’
‘I can’t see anything,’ she repeated, less sure of herself than before. ‘And anyway, it’s a clutch bag.’
