by Olly Jarvis
‘He thought she was taking advantage?’
‘I suppose so. Seems silly now. Truth is, I think he blamed himself.’
‘Why?’
‘He had some problems when he was much younger, just after we got married.’
‘Problems?’
‘Hilda, that’s enough!’ Jeremy Smart was standing in the gallery. ‘These people don’t want to know about my problems,’ he ordered.
‘Sit down please, Mr Smart,’ said the judge firmly, for once allowing the cross-examination to continue.
‘He doesn’t like me talking about it,’ she explained. ‘Psychiatric problems. He was in hospital for a while, on and off – sectioned, I think you call it now. ’
‘Did they say what caused it?’
‘His father was a violent man, especially when he was drunk, spouting religion, and knocking seven bells out of Jeremy and his mum, God rest her soul. Poor Jeremy was very scarred by it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But we faced it together, and we got through it.’
‘So,’ Jack asked tentatively, ‘Did Jeremy treat Tim a little bit like his father had treated him?’
‘Oh no,’ she replied, failing to see it. ‘Jeremy is nothing like his dad. He helps the underprivileged, does a lot for the church, and he loves Tim.’ Confirmed in her opinion, she said: ‘He wanted to make Jeremy strong. He became an accountant, you know?’ Detaching from the reality of where she was and why: ‘He’s very successful.’
Then she sighed. ‘But I think Jeremy felt that was why Tim had a breakdown. We’d been told that children can have a predisposition to mental illness if their parents have been… you know, ill.’
‘I understand,’ said Jack.
‘Tim’s problems were having an effect on Jeremy. The stress was making him unwell – we were worried it would affect his mind.’
‘Unwell?’
‘Yes, mood swings, erratic… that’s how it started before.’
‘Yes, it must have been very difficult. How did he cope?’
‘With this,’ she said, pointing to the Bible left by the usher on the witness box. ‘The good book.’
‘You said you’d been having a nap?’
‘Oh yes,’ she remembered. ‘I heard the car start, so I went over to the window and saw him go. I went back to bed, must’ve drifted off, because next thing I knew the police were at the door.’
‘And Timothy was back home?’
‘Yes, I saw them arrest him.’
‘So you never actually saw him leave – you saw his car?’
‘Well, yes,’ she replied, seeing the question as foolish. ‘Who else could it have been?’
Jack didn’t reply. ‘Was Jeremy envious of his son’s life?’
‘No, of course not. It was just that Jeremy’s illness held him back. He wanted the best for Timothy – what he didn’t have.’
‘Is that why he wore his son’s clothes that night?’
Jack saw the realization spread across her face. ‘No.’
Her husband was still in the public gallery.
‘Jeremy?’ she pleaded.
Jeremy Smart stumbled along the row, tripping over people’s knees, then made for the door.
The courtroom was deathly quiet.
Something made Jack call after him: ‘Why do you not understand what I am saying?’
He stopped, like a rabbit caught in headlights, then put his hands over his ears.
‘Why?’ came a roar from the dock. Timothy Smart was on his feet. ‘Why do you not understand what I am saying?’
His composure lost, Jeremy Smart replied: ‘Because you are unable to accept my message.’
‘You belong to your father, the devil—’ said the defendant.
‘Silence!’ ordered the judge.
‘He can’t hear you, Your Honour,’ said Jack. ‘It’s from the book of John.’
Timothy Smart finished the verse. ‘You want to carry out his desires. He was a murderer from the beginning.’
Jeremy appeared to acknowledge the admonishment.
‘But I am,’ said his son, as if coming back from some heavenly place, ‘nothing like you.’
The court was transfixed.
It all made sense to Jack now. ‘Why is it that you were looking for me?’ he said under his breath, remembering the section underlined in Timothy Smart’s Bible.
‘Did you not know,’ Tim Smart replied, overhearing. ‘That I had to be in my father’s house?’
Lara was right. Jack had been looking at it the wrong way – looking at the wrong father.
‘Yes, it was my house!’ Jeremy shouted in some kind of mania. ‘And everything in it belonged to the Father.’
Finlay had lost control of his court. ‘Mr Kowalski, what is happening here?’
‘I gave her time to repent,’ Jeremy continued to shout. ‘But she did not want to turn away from her immorality.’
‘No!’ Hilda Smart cried out. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’
‘Mr Katterman?’
Prosecution counsel was busy taking instructions. ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, would you please rise for a few minutes?’
‘Very well, but I’m holding Jeremy Smart in contempt until I know what’s going on. Take the jury out.’
‘All rise!’
Chapter 90
Jeremy was led away by court security, preaching to himself. ‘The children also shall be dashed to pieces before their eyes,’ he ranted. ‘Their houses shall be spoiled and their wives ravished.’
Hilda Smart had to be almost carried out of the box. ‘Timothy?’ was all she was able to mutter as she was helped out of the courtroom.
Her son couldn’t hear her, again lost to the world.
‘How did you know?’ Lara asked.
‘I didn’t, until the end,’ Jack replied ruefully. ‘I got lazy, forgot my duty.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I agreed Hilda’s evidence could be read, remember? To spare her the trauma of giving evidence. It nearly cost our client everything.’
‘Jesus!’ she said. ‘Give yourself a break, Jack.’
Once the judge was seated, he wasted no time: ‘Was it a ruse? What do we know about Jeremy Smart? He all but confessed to murder from the gallery.’
‘We were aware of certain allegations made thirty years ago,’ Katterman admitted. ‘Of sexual abuse at a local church where he was a parishioner, but no charges followed, as was so common at the time. I should add that there was also a rape allegation and psychotic episodes linked to the alleged offending, but we don’t have his medical records.’
‘Why not?’ Finlay snapped.
‘They were never sought.’
Finlay shook his head at the prosecution’s sloppiness. ‘Were the defence aware of what you did have?’
‘No, Your Honour,’ Katterman replied. ‘We didn’t think it had any relevance.’
‘He was an important eyewitness, Mr Katterman.’
‘Yes, Your Honour,’ was all Katterman could say.
‘So where does the Crown intend to go from here?’
‘I’ve taken instructions from the CPS. The Crown would invite Your Honour to discharge the jury and I will offer no evidence against the defendant.’
‘So you are dropping all charges?’
Jack felt Lara prodding his back. Had he really won the case?
‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Katterman replied, embarrassed at the about-face.
‘And his father?’
‘He will be interviewed under caution.’
As the parties waited for the jury to be brought back, Katterman leaned across and said with a sneer: ‘You might’ve got lucky, Kowalski, but your time will come.’
Jack looked at him. Despite all his charm and charisma, Katterman was a cold man. Ruthless ambition and nothing else. ‘A lifetime in court,’ said Jack, ‘and you still don’t get it.’
Katterman frowned.
‘The truth is all that matters. An innocent man nearly got convicted – we eith
er both win, or both lose.’
Katterman scoffed, uninterested in concepts of justice.
As Jack looked away, he caught Finlay staring at him. He didn’t have to meet his gaze to know it was a look of surprise and newfound respect.
But Jack didn’t need or want his approval.
Chapter 91
Jack and Lara found their former client being ejected from the cells.
Without a flicker of emotion or understanding of his liberation, he stood by the steel door, holding his property bag in one hand.
‘What’s going to happen to him now?’ Lara asked. ‘He can’t look after himself.’
‘I suppose he may have to go into a psychiatric hospital. His mum won’t be in any fit state for the foreseeable.’
‘So what shall we do with him?’
‘I’ll take him,’ said a voice from behind them.
They turned around. It was Father Michael.
‘I’ll take care of him until we can work out what to do.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lara asked.
‘I’m sure,’ the priest replied. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘Father?’ said Jack. ‘What happened in court—’
‘Stop,’ he said, raising a hand. ‘You were just doing your job.’
‘It’s an ugly business,’ said Jack.
‘I guess we’re both good at getting confessions out of people.’ Father Michael smiled. ‘Must be the Catholic in you.’
‘Possibly,’ Jack replied. He started walking towards the robing room. ‘See you in five?’ he called back to Lara.
‘OK.’
Jack walked along the corridor with a spring in his step. As he put on his day collar and tie, he thought about Judge Beddingfield, how relieved she’d be. And Lara: she’d made him defend the case. It was thanks to her that he’d come back to the bar. He owed her so much. It was time to be honest, to man up and tell Lara how he felt. It couldn’t go on like this. He decided that he would tell her – now.
There was no time to waste. He didn’t bother with the lift, but ran down the stairs and along the concourse. Flushed with victory, he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had so much to say.
Jack came through the last set of fire doors on the ground floor that led to the exit, his heart pounding with excitement – he was going to do it.
He saw her.
‘Lara,’ he began.
‘You’re looking very serious,’ she said, ‘what’s happened?’
Before he could say anything else, Bob appeared. ‘Mr Kowalski, I’ve been looking for you – another victory, sir!’
‘What brings you over to court?’ Jack asked, desperate to bring the conversation to an end.
‘Wanted to tell you in person. Nowak’s just been done again.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, and they want you – times the last fee by three!’
‘Hold on,’ said Jack, trying to take it in. ‘Done for what?’
‘Rape, sir. Same facts. Tying up. Some girl came forward after he got off. Said he’d done the same to her.’
Jack shook his head.
‘Shame it’s too late for Lauren Riley,’ said Lara.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Jack. ‘They can get her evidence in as bad character – similar fact.’
‘But they can’t try him again for it?’ Lara asked.
‘No, but it can support the new rape allegation.
‘If she wants to go through it again?’
‘I’ve got a feeling she will.’
‘Well,’ interrupted Bob. ‘Glad to see you’re on the case already.’
‘Sorry, Bob,’ said Jack, placing a hand on his clerk’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For one thing, I’ve met Lauren Riley outside the courtroom – professionally embarrassed.’
Bob’s face dropped. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘’Fraid not. He’ll have to get someone else.’
Jack glanced at Lara. She understood.
‘Well, you’re gonna have to come back to chambers with me,’ said Bob, firmly. ‘I ain’t gonna break it to Miss Dale.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Lara.
‘But—’
Too late. She was gone.
‘I’ll call you later?’ he shouted out, but Lara didn’t hear.
‘Was I interrupting something, sir?’
Jack didn’t reply. He swung his wig bag over his shoulder and followed his clerk out into the Manchester afternoon.
Epilogue
It was a beautiful spring day. Jack helped his father walk through the gates of Manchester’s Southern Cemetery. He would need a stick before the year was out.
‘Hang on a sec, Tata,’ said Jack, detaching himself so he could buy two bunches of flowers from the stall. ‘Here,’ he said, handing a bunch to his father. ‘I’ll catch you up.’
Mariusz bestowed a smile on his only son before shuffling the remaining few metres to his wife’s grave.
Jack made his way through the cemetery, taking in the smell of freshly cut grass. He felt different, older. He appreciated everything more.
He reached Natasha’s grave and knelt down, placing the flowers carefully on the ground.
‘I thought you’d come,’ said a voice, as if from nowhere.
Joyce Simpson was sitting on a bench on the other side of the path. Natasha Smart’s daughters were sitting either side, swinging their legs up and down. ‘We come here and sit, sometimes for hours,’ she explained. ‘To remember her.’
Jack tried to smile through his anxiety.
Joyce got up and walked over, bending down to arrange the flowers. ‘I imagine you probably want me to forgive you?’ she said.
‘You owe me nothing.’
‘I went to church.’ She lowered her head. ‘He made me realize that I should seek your forgiveness.’
Jack didn’t know what to say.
She studied his face. ‘Channeling all my hate and anger into you – it was a terrible thing.’
‘It was grief.’ Jack noticed some purple flowers at her feet, pushing their way up to meet the spring. ‘Careful,’ he said, picking the one she had squashed. He lifted it to his nose, then to Joyce’s. ‘Mark Twain said “forgiveness is the fragrance that a violet sheds on the heel that crushed it.”’
Geraldine Smart joined them.
Jack handed the flower to her.
She smiled.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Olly Jarvis, 2018
The moral right of Olly Jarvis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911420309
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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