by Olly Jarvis
‘Wait!’ she called out as they were almost outside. She disappeared through an internal door, then reappeared a few minutes later. ‘Take a seat, he’ll try and squeeze you in.’
‘Thank you,’ Lara replied.
Jack began to read through the witness statements, marking them up in red pen. He hadn’t appreciated the importance of Father Michael Bailey. His account put the defendant at the scene of the murder right at the time of the fire.
The secretary’s phone buzzed. Begrudgingly, she said: ‘You can go through now.’
Dr Iqbal took off his glasses and got up from behind his desk. Impeccably dressed and without a hair out of place, he shook their hands. ‘I’ve got ten minutes until my next appointment. I hope that’ll be enough?’
‘That’s great,’ Jack replied. ‘Thanks for seeing us so quickly.’
‘Please,’ said the psychiatrist, gesturing towards two armchairs in front of his desk. Once they had sat down, he asked: ‘How can I help?’
‘I want to know more about Timothy Smart.’ asked Jack.
‘It’s all in my report. I found that he was unfit to plead. He couldn’t engage at all, he couldn’t give instructions to his lawyers or participate meaningfully in the court proceedings.’
Jack flicked through the doctor’s report. ‘You said he’s schizophrenic and also has OCD?’
‘Yes.’
‘What caused him to be like this?’
Doctor Iqbal gave a wry smile. ‘Who knows? Lawyers always want answers to everything, but sometimes we just can’t say.’
‘But he functioned as an accountant for many years – was he ill then?’
‘Maybe. It’s difficult to say.’
‘So are you saying he could have been ill for a long time?’
‘It’s entirely possible there was an underlying problem, even going as far back as childhood. There could have been a more recent trigger that caused an explosion in symptoms.’
Jack and Lara considered the point.
‘It’s not unusual for there to be some kind of catalyst, but there are no rules with mental health.’
‘What about the praying and quoting from the Bible?’ asked Lara. ‘It’s the only way he speaks.’
‘Yes, my opinion is that it’s a specific form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Very rare.’
‘Does it have a name?’ asked Jack.
The doctor paused. ‘I’m not big on labels, but if pressed I would have to say scrupulosis. It’s a form of OCD.’
‘Scrupulosis?’ Jack and Lara repeated in unison.
‘Yes, common in deeply religious patients. An obsessive questioning of one’s own conduct, one’s piety.’
‘But why can he only talk this way?’
Doctor Iqbal used his tie to polish his glasses. ‘I really can’t say, and as I said, I don’t know his psychiatric history, or even if there is one.’ Clearly sensing they needed more: ‘There is a school of thought that suggests it’s a way of shutting out painful memories or feelings of guilt.’
‘About the murder?’ asked Jack.
‘I didn’t say that, Mr Kowalski. It could be anything.’
Jack leaned forward. ‘Do you think he did it?’
Iqbal laughed. ‘I have no idea. My job was to assess fitness.’
‘But you must have your own opinion?’
Iqbal wouldn’t be drawn.
‘All right. Was Smart capable of murdering his wife?’
Iqbal sighed. ‘Sadly, experience has taught me that anyone is capable of murder.’ He got up to show the lawyers out.
As he held the door open Jack said: ‘I can’t help but feel he’s been trying to tell me something.’ Wondering if the doctor would dismiss the theory, Jack added, ‘It’s as if this is the only way he can tell me.’
‘It’s possible,’ Iqbal replied. ‘His brain is impaired, but he can think.’
Jack thought about the note.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Kowalski, but…’ He hesitated.
‘I know,’ said Jack, ‘I can only test the evidence – so it doesn’t matter what he wants to tell me.’
‘You read my mind.’ The psychiatrist smiled at the young advocate. ‘But regardless, you have to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Human nature – our thirst for knowledge must be quenched.’
Chapter 80
Jack carried on reading the file while Lara drove them out of town to revisit the scene of the crime – this time as the instructed advocate. They cut through through Chorlton, avoiding the worst of the traffic on the Parkway and out on the M56.
Jack stole glimpses of Lara’s profile as she scowled at the other drivers weaving through the traffic.
‘What you looking at?’ she asked, wiping her cheek.
‘I’ve got it,’ he replied, brushing away the imaginary mark.
‘Everything OK?’ she asked. ‘You seem miles away.’
‘Yeah, just thinking about the case,’ he lied.
‘And?’
‘Of course Smart fits the profile,’ he replied. ‘And so the evidence appears strong – it all fits with Smart having torched the place – but if you look at it in isolation—’
‘You mean ignore the history?’
‘Yeah, then Father Michael’s statement is the only thing that puts him at the scene.’
‘Yeah, but they’ve got the ANPR of his vehicle coming home and his folks seeing him arrive back at the bail address. The timings fit perfectly.’
‘But take the priest out of the equation and it’s circumstantial at best.’
‘You think he’s lying?’
‘I dunno,’ Jack sighed. ‘No, I don’t. I’m just testing the evidence.’
‘What about the petrol in the boot?’
‘Well, there is that,’ he conceded.
They made the final leg of the journey in silence, down country lanes, enjoying the smells of freshly cut grass and spring flowers.
‘I need to get out of the city more often,’ Lara observed, lowering her window a little further.
Jack agreed ‘Lara?’ he heard himself ask.
‘Yeah?’ she replied, turning onto the driveway that led to Smart’s burnt-out home.
Silence.
‘Nothing.’
She gave him a quizzical look.
Avoiding her eyes, he looked out of the window. The garden had become more overgrown in the short time since their last visit. Bent double, the daffodils’ time was done.
Jack walked purposefully across the gravel to the bushes that separated Smart’s property from Father Michael’s. He looked down the drive towards the road, then after looking around said: ‘Come on.’ He ducked down and pushed his way through a hole in the greenery.
The priest’s dwelling was just as impressive as Smart’s had once been, with beautiful gardens. Jack walked across the lawn and pointed to the road. ‘I thought so.’ He held up his phone and took a photo.
Lara carefully picked a few leaves off her sleeve. ‘Thought what?’
‘Miss Panassai?’
They jumped.
‘Mr Kowalski?’
‘Hello Father,’ said Lara taking control of the encounter. ‘Hope you don’t mind us trespassing?’
Michael Bailey laughed. ‘Of course not. I’m sure you have your reasons.’ He turned to Jack. ‘It was great to hear you’re back on the case.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jack. ‘Not to be rude, but we’d better not speak – you know, with me defending now and you being a prosecution witness.’
‘Of course,’ the priest replied.
Feeling awkward, Jack and Lara made their way back to the hedge.
He called after them: ‘Please do your best.’
‘Of course,’ said Jack, looking back at the priest.
They stopped off at the Bar and Grill in Alderley Edge. Ensconced in a booth at the back of the restaurant, away from the late lunching Cheshire set, Lara asked: ‘So?’
‘What?’
&nb
sp; ‘What were you going to say before what’s-his-face showed up?’
‘Oh, that.’ Jack wondered if he was being too analytical. ‘Bailey says in his statement that he saw Smart park his car on the lane and walk up the drive to the house.’
‘That’s right,’ she agreed, pulling his statement from the file.
‘It’s a tiny point, but you can’t see the lane from Father Michael’s garden. His path bends around. If he saw what he claims, it couldn’t have been from his own garden.’
Lara read on. ‘Yeah, but he only says he was “outside” when he saw Smart.’
‘I know, but he gives the impression he was on his own property.’
Lara wasn’t convinced.
‘But if he was somewhere else, why wouldn’t he say so?’
Lara shrugged. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Test the evidence?’
‘Careful, Jack.’
Chapter 81
Jack told the cabbie to slow down. ‘That’s the one,’ he said, handing a tenner to the driver. ‘I won’t be long.’ He got out and took a deep breath. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t fully focus on Smart’s case until he’d done it. He hesitated, then knocked.
Losing his nerve, he turned around, but before he could get back in the taxi, Sharon Riley opened the door. It took her a few seconds to recognise the man without his wig and gown. ‘You?’
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Riley, is Lauren in?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got a nerve.’
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ said a voice from behind her.
Reluctantly, Sharon stepped away from the door.
‘What you doin ’ere?’
‘I wanted to see how you are, you know, and say thanks for going back to the police.’
She didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Thanks, but I can’t stop,’ he replied, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. ‘I just wanted to see how you were?’
Surprised by the question, she said: ‘I’m doing OK, thank you.’
‘Oh, and I brought you these,’ he said handing her some brochures. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
She gave them a cursory glance.
‘Access courses. You know, to study photography.’
She gawped at him.
‘I remember what you said, and—’
‘Mr Kowlaski?’ she said in mock surprise. ‘’Ave you got a crush on me?’
He laughed. ‘Maybe a little.’
They stood for a moment in silence.
‘Good luck, Lauren.’
She nodded. ‘Same to you. I reckon you’ll need it.’
Chapter 82
Jack had been up most of the night, obsessively reading the brief. He could sleep when the trial was over.
He kept coming back to Smart’s biblical quotes, sure there was some kind of underlying message. He’d put them all together on his laptop, and found the passage that had been underlined in Smart’s Bible: ‘And he said to them, why is it that you were looking for me?’ It made Jack shudder, just as it had when he’d read it at the burnt-out house, but why? What was Smart trying to say? Or was he just mad? Staring so long at the verses, was he seeing patterns that weren’t there?
He took a shower and got dressed for court, noticing his bloodshot eyes in the mirror as he fastened his collar onto the stud. Tiredness made his mind race. Smart, religion, Jack’s mother, death, Natasha, the girls without a mother: all whirring around inside his head.
He grabbed his stuff and made his way out onto the street. The warmth of the early morning sun on his face carried him down Shude Hill and through onto Deansgate. How would Katterman treat him today – and what about the judge? What had Lara seen in that man? Would Natasha’s grieving mother be there again? He stopped off at Essy’s, a greasy spoon on King Street West, and ordered a coffee and a full English. He looked around at the other customers, reading a Metro or playing with their phones, with no signs of anxiety about their working days.
Fortified, Jack set off again down Bridge Street to the courts.
The familiar gnawing in the pit of his stomach, but he was ready for battle.
Chapter 83
Lara was waiting for him outside the courtroom. ‘Your bands aren’t on right,’ she said, rotating the elastic slightly so that the tabs pointed downwards. ‘I’ve been down to see him, he isn’t communicating. How are you?’
‘Nervous,’ Jack replied, catching Joyce Simpson’s eye. She took a few steps towards him. ‘Read about you in the paper,’ she said, almost spitting her words. ‘Another life you destroyed.’
Jack remembered the article about Lauren Riley.
A few members of Joyce’s group came over and ushered the old woman away.
‘Stay focused,’ Lara coached. ‘Come on,’ she added, guiding Jack into the courtroom.
The gallery and the press box were rammed. It was a murder, after all.
Jack looked along the row at his opponent. Katterman grinned.
‘All rise!’
His Honour Judge Finlay came into court. ‘Timetable, Mr Katterman?’ he asked before his bottom had even hit the chair.
‘I’m confident we’ll finish the evidence today, Your Honour.’
‘Very good. Are you ready now, Mr Kowalski?’ he asked in a tone full of condescension.
‘I am,’ Jack replied.
‘Very well, jury in.’
Katterman stood up and with a supercilious air, began to call the prosecution case: ‘Your Honour, the first witness is Jeremy Smart.’
The father of the defendant was wearing a dark suit and tie with a V-neck jumper. He followed the usher to the witness box, eyes firmly on his feet and shame on his face. Hand trembling, he held the Bible and repeated the oath. He stole a quick glance at his son, who appeared not to register his presence.
‘Are you Jeremy Smart, father of the defendant?’
‘Yes,’ the witness replied. His agony was evident in the tension around his mouth.
‘I’m going straight to the day of the fire.’
The witness braced himself.
‘Were you at home at about 4:30 pm?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘Hilda – that’s my wife – and Timothy.’
‘The defendant?’
The witness instinctively looked towards the dock. ‘Yes.’
‘Did anyone leave the house at around that time?’
‘Yes, Timothy did.’ A resigned sigh. ‘He went out in his car for about an hour.’
‘Did you see him go?’
The witness gave a sombre nod. ‘Yes. He was on the sofa in one of his trances, then he just got up and left.’
‘Did you see him come back?’
‘Yes, he came home and went upstairs to his room.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘In a world of his own. He wasn’t right.’ He gazed over at Natasha’s mother in the gallery and said: ‘I’m so sorry, Joyce.’
She looked away.
‘One last matter, Mr Smart. The children – where were they that night?’
‘At Joyce’s house – Natasha’s mother.’
‘Was that a regular thing?’
‘Yes, she always had them that night.’
‘So your son would’ve known they wouldn’t be there?’
Jeremy grimaced. ‘I suppose so, but—’ he paused. ‘He’s… he’s not well.’
‘I have no more questions, but my learned friend may do,’ Katterman announced, daring Jack to put the old man through the ordeal of a cross-examination.
Jack knew the jury would hate him for it. Besides, he felt an affinity with the witness, understood his guilt, but he had a job to do. ‘So your son went out for about an hour, Mr Smart?’ Jack asked gently.
‘Yes.’
‘But you can’t say where he went?’
‘No.’
Jack sat down.
‘Your Honour,’ Katterman said, ‘Hilda Smart’s evidence doesn’t really add anything, and bearing in mind my learned friend appears to accept the defendant went out, I don’t propose to rely on her evidence.’
‘Mr Kowalski?’ asked the judge.
Jack could see the jurors smiling at Katterman. They clearly approved of his sensitivity in sparing the mother of a murderer from the public humiliation of a courtroom. ‘I have no objection.’
The court adjourned for a few minutes while the next witness was sent for.
Grateful for the respite, Jack turned to Lara. ‘I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I’m not helping.’
Lara rested a hand on his arm. ‘It’s not always about winning. You’re assisting the Court.’
She was right.
‘I don’t know why you think there’s more here,’ Lara asked.
Katterman swaggered along counsel’s row and broke up the discussion. ‘Not going too well, is it?’
The two young lawyers didn’t take the bait.
‘Hope you’ll cope, Jack. I know how fragile you are.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Jack replied. Then looking at Lara: ‘It’s not always about winning.’
She gave him an approving smile.
Katterman sneered. ‘Well, you certainly won’t win this one.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Lara, standing up to face him. ‘Sometimes even guilty people get off – you did.’
Katterman turned away.
Chapter 84
‘All rise!’
Katterman remained standing after the judge sat down. ‘I call fire expert, Andrew Close.’
A smartly dressed middle-aged man walked into the witness box, turned to the usher and took the Bible.
Katterman began his examination-in-chief. ‘I’ll take this fairly quickly, Mr Close. You compiled a report, which you may refer to if you wish.’
‘Thank you,’ Close replied, retrieving the document from his briefcase.
‘You are an expert in the forensic analysis of fire scenes?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Your task in this case was to assess the seat of the fire and its cause?’
‘Correct.’
‘Taking this part a little more slowly, what did you find?’
