by Reah, Danuta
Sarah looked at Haynes and wondered if he knew or cared what women like Nadifa had survived before they became vulnerable to him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was hunched over with his arms resting on his knees.
‘You thought he could help you. Did he?’
Nadifa shook her head.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that.’
‘No.’
‘To whom else did you offer sexual favours in return for ”help”?’
Now Sarah could see the direction the barrister was heading. If Nadifa was willing to use her own body as currency, what might she have done with the far more valuable commodity of her daughter’s body? She saw the prosecution belatedly get the message and jump in with a series of objections. Even so, by the end of the session, Nadifa’s reputation as a loving mother who had lost her child was in rags.
Haynes was going to be acquitted.
The next person to take the stand was a forensic linguist. Sarah had little hope that this evidence would help the case. It was to establish that the voice recorded on a video showing Sagal imprisoned prior to her death was that of Derek Haynes. It would be useful, but Sarah already knew that voices could not be identified beyond reasonable doubt.
The expert witness was a woman, Dr Ania Milosz. She clearly understood the theatre of the court. She was wearing a dark grey suit that emphasised her professionalism. Her fair hair was cut in a short bob. She slipped reading glasses out of her pocket when she took the oath, and kept them on as she gave her evidence.
She was good. She explained what she did and how her analysis worked in clear, comprehensible terms. She played bits of comparison tape, talked about the features of Derek Haynes’ voice, showed how these appeared more than once in what was a relatively short recording. She matched acoustic profiles, saying that these were closer than any she had ever seen in her career as a forensic linguist. ‘I can find nothing that is inconsistent with the voice of the defendant,’ she concluded.
And that was the weak point. When he began his cross-examination, the defence barrister aimed straight at what must have looked like an open goal.
‘It is correct, is it not, Dr Milosz, that there is no such thing as a voice print?’
‘Yes.’
‘And therefore it is impossible to say with certainty that two voices come from one and the same person?’
‘But it is possible to say with certainty that a voice does not come from a specific person.’
‘Please answer my question: you cannot say with anything close to certainty the voice on that recording is the voice of my client?’
‘In this case, I can.’ Before the defence barrister could speak, she addressed the jury. ‘The computer in question was used by only a limited number of people. I can therefore say with certainty the voice was not that of any of these other users.’
The re-cross had allowed her to confirm again that she had not been able to eliminate Haynes. ‘There were a limited number of people with access to that computer. Of those people, the voice on the recording can only have belonged to one of them: Derek Haynes. There is nothing in that recording that is incompatible with his voice. In the course of my work, I have never come across a closer match.’
It wasn’t just the evidence, it was the calm certainty with which she gave it and the way in which she addressed the jury as intelligent people who could appreciate the issues. We all know what he’s trying to do had been the sub-text of her evidence. Don’t let him fool you. When she left the stand, Sarah followed her out and caught up with her in the square outside the court. ‘Dr Milosz?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Sarah Ludlow. I represent Nadifa Akindès. Sagal’s mother,’ she added, in the face of Ania Milosz’s polite incomprehension. ‘I was there as a friend today, much good it did her. I just wanted to say how impressed I was by your evidence.’
Ania Milosz pushed her sunglasses up from her eyes and studied Sarah. ‘I hope the jury felt the same way,’ she said after a moment.
‘You’re sure it was him?’
There was a satisfaction in her eyes that had not been there when she was being the professional witness in front of the jury. ‘I’ve never been so sure of an analysis in my life.’
Chapter 51
‘Now it seems there was a reason she was so certain.’ Sarah’s gaze searched his face. ‘I know you don’t trust me, but I want to know what you think. Did she fake that recording?’
‘I… think so. Yes, I’m pretty sure she did.’
‘Why? She must have known…’
‘She had strong reasons for believing that Haynes was guilty of another paedophile murder.’
Her teeth played with her bottom lip. ‘One that the police couldn’t touch him for?’
‘Yes.’
‘There was something she said… We didn’t know each other very well, but we kept in touch. We met for a drink one evening and she started talking about the case. She wanted to know about Nadifa, if what they’d said about her in court was true.’
‘Why did she want to know?’
‘She was worried about something. She kept asking me if I thought another person could have been involved.’
The recording. ‘And could they?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Some of the male staff at the centre were quick enough to take advantage of the women held there. Another paedophile? Why not.’
‘Did she tell you why she thought that?’
‘No. She just said she had a ”feeling” which was why I didn’t take it too seriously, not until…’ Not until the news about the fabrication came out. ‘If it wasn’t Haynes on that tape…’
‘She was worried that she’d let someone get off.’
‘Yes. And it was getting to her. She looked ill that night. She wasn’t eating, and there was something – forgive me – there was something dead in her. She wasn’t the woman I’d seen in court that day.’
Brown Jenkin. He knew the signs. From what Sarah was telling him, after the Haynes trial, something had made Ania deeply depressed. She hadn’t talked to him about it. During that time, they’d barely been in touch at all, now he came to think about it.
For God’s sake why didn’t you call?
There was no reply. Since Poland, since Lódź, she had gone.
He was aware of Sarah watching him with a slight frown. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about something. Is that all she said?’
‘Yes. After that, she changed the subject. I forgot about it – it wasn’t anything I could follow up. But when the news broke, I realised what she must have meant. I needed to talk to her because if she was prepared to admit that there was another abuser, someone who wasn’t part of the system, then maybe I could get Nadifa off the hook. Get her deportation stopped.’
So in the end, Sarah Ludlow’s concern had been for her client, for the woman who had apparently sold her daughter to a paedophile. He could remember Cathcart talking to him, the indifference in his voice as he spoke about the bereaved mother. That kid really drew the short straw. The dad was involved in terrorist shit. That’s why they deported him. The mum was a prostitute before the immigration people picked her up. The staff at the centre said she was a cold fish. She had this little lad as well as the girl, barely looked at him, called him ‘the changeling’ when she talked about him at all. What’s to feel sorry for? It’s those kids I care about.
It was as if she could see his thoughts on his face. ‘What happened in that court was a travesty. Nadifa would walk through fire for those children. She did, more or less. That barrister had to discredit her – the less sympathy she got, the more chance his client had. He couldn’t go after Sagal – the jury wouldn’t wear that – but Nadifa? She was an easy target.’
‘Maybe. But if she hadn’t gone into hiding, they would have given her somewhere to live. She wouldn’t have been in detention at all.’ And she wouldn’t have had to make a living as a prostitute, exposing her children to all that that entailed. He couldn’t
find it in himself to sympathise with her plight. If Nadifa Akindès had looked after her children, if she had been a half-competent mother, his daughter would still be alive.
‘If she’d taken the accommodation, she’d have been sent back. They’d all have been sent back. Anything she and the children suffered here was better than what was waiting for them at home. Let me show you something.’ She stood up and went to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. She flicked through some papers and pulled out a single sheet. ‘It’s part of the statement that Nadifa made when she claimed asylum. You should know that it’s supported by medical evidence.’
He looked at Sarah who was watching him, her face expressionless. He started reading.
…I was pregnant and I was almost about to give birth. We heard shots and ran inside. I was at my father’s house with my daughter. But the rebels came to our door. I hid Sagal in a cupboard. I kept her safe. They were looking for my husband. They said he was a traitor, but he wasn’t there. They made me undress. They shot my father when he tried to stop them. They made me parade in front of them. They were mocking me, insulting me, They kicked me so hard, it hurt so much. They started putting their hands in me, said they will take out the child. I was crying. And they raped me. I was so afraid. I thought they would find my daughter and do that to her. They weren’t men. They weren’t human.
They were all too human. This was what humans did. There were too many stories like this in the world. He thought about the youth who had run away from his men in fear that they were Borders and Immigration police come to send him back to a similar hell. Instead, they had killed him. He had nothing to say.
‘Nadifa was luckier than some. One of the village elders managed to bribe the soldiers. They were happy enough. She was just recreation to them. They had other business that day. They left her. She gave birth to her son a few days later. Her injuries were so bad she almost died. She’ll never be able to have another child. But she’d managed to keep Sagal hidden and later her husband managed to get them out. She was never going to let them send her children back there, especially not Sagal – if they’d found her that day...
‘It’s still happening – not so much, not so widespread, but she knows she’s a target and next time, they’ll kill her and her son. But she didn’t give Sagal to Haynes. She would have killed herself first.’
‘With a story like this, why was her claim refused?’
‘Because Côte d’Ivoire is supposed to be ”safe” now. It isn’t, not for someone like Nadifa. And there’s no life there for a woman who’s been raped. She’s unusual in that her husband stuck by her – the men there usually reject their wives if they’re raped. François Akindès is an exceptional man in many ways.’
He was a man who had put his political interests before the interests of his wife and children. ‘So where is he?’
‘In Côte d’Ivoire. He was arrested at the airport when he arrived back in Abidjan. There’s been no news of him since.’
‘What about her family?’
‘All dead.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘In Dungavel. That’s why I was in Scotland. She’s due for deportation any day.’
He had to make a decision. He had to decide if he could trust her. Her anger at the plight of her client was what had tipped the balance. He held out the package with the two letters. ‘Ania sent me this. I didn’t get it until I came back from Poland.’
She opened the envelope and took out the cassette. ‘The other man,’ she said.
He nodded, and their eyes met as if they were forming an alliance.
Chapter 52
Sarah pressed the button on the intercom on her desk. ‘Alice, can you get me Martin York at the university? And will you cancel my eleven o’clock meeting? Something’s come up. I’m going to need…’
Will let himself slump back in his seat. He was wearier that he ever remembered being. He could feel some of the weight lifting from his shoulders as Sarah Ludlow efficiently mustered her resources.
‘I’ve asked Alice to bring me Nadifa’s file and some of our audio equipment. Let’s have a look at what we’ve got here.’
‘You’re planning on playing the tape? What if it gets damaged?’
‘I’m planning on making a copy. There shouldn’t be any problem. Then I’ll know what we’ve got.’
‘Can you get it – what did Ania say – authenticated and analysed? Do you know someone who can do it? Not FLS.’
‘It can’t be FLS,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t use them anyway. I’ve got a contact at the university who does anything like this for me. Alice is getting in touch with him. Authenticated…? I’m not sure what she means. I don’t see how that could be done.’
‘What have you got against FLS?’
‘I don’t like the work they do for Borders and Immigration. They claim they can identify someone’s location from their language – if someone says he’s from Liberia, for example, they will listen to a recording and give a decision whether that’s true or not.’
He could see that there would be a clash of ideologies given the work she did, but lawyers were usually pragmatists. ‘I don’t see your problem.’
‘They get a lot of government money for the service and they always – or almost always – give the answer that Borders and Immigration want. You can’t be that specific. Take Côte d’Ivoire. There are eighty languages spoken there. It’s the same across Africa. They can’t do what they say they can do but they get a lot of money for doing it. It’s what keeps them afloat. It’s dishonest, so I don’t use them.’
As she was talking, her secretary came in loaded down with some kind of sound equipment, trailing wires as she went. She had a folder tucked under her arm. Will jumped up to give her a hand and she smiled her thanks to him. She had brought a large, old-fashioned cassette player with a double deck and various cables and extensions.
Will began sorting out the cables, moving the player across to a power outlet. Sarah ran a line to a pair of speakers that stood beside a CD player on a low table by her desk.
She straightened up, wiping the dust off her hands. ‘This hasn’t been used for ages. We keep it, because stuff still comes in on audio cassette sometimes. Right.’ She slipped the cassette into the first deck, put a blank tape into the machine to copy and pressed play.
The first thing Will heard was the fuzz and scratch of something recorded on poor equipment, then a click as the sound cut in. He could hear a child crying.
Not... Over here. Like that.
Please. Please. Listen. Please. I can’t…
Atta girl! That’s right.
I can’t…
Great. Great. You’re a star.
(Muffled crying)
Star.
(Crying)
Look you’d better be quiet. We’re going to get into trouble here. I’m not telling you again.
Please. Please. I’m sorry. I can’t…
Jesus. You don’t listen, do you?
Some music cut in and then the sound stopped. There was just the hiss and click of the machine. Sarah switched it off. Will felt his head pounding. As he listened, he had seen Louisa, seen the images the audio tape mercifully concealed. He had heard her voice imposed over the voice on the tape, heard his own daughter pleading with a monster. He could feel Sarah’s gaze on him but he couldn’t look at her. His mouth felt full of dust.
Chapter 53
It was two hours before the files came through from Strąk. Dariusz had drunk five cups of coffee and was aware of the café staff watching him with curiosity. Once he knew the files were there, he had to decide what to do next. He couldn’t play the video here, not in such a public place. He could download them onto a pen drive, but he couldn’t guarantee his watchers hadn’t found him. If they saw him downloading something, they would almost certainly search him. He couldn’t be caught with these files in his possession. He needed an hour’s privacy with a computer.
He had an idea. He check
ed the time. It was just four. He went to a phone booth and keyed in the number of Leslaw Mielek’s phone.
Mielek picked up immediately. ‘Mielek.’
‘It’s Dariusz Erland.’
‘Erland. What do you want?’ Mielek sounded hostile and suspicious.
‘I’m prepared to do a deal, OK?’
‘What deal? I don’t need to do a deal with you, Erland. You’re finished.’
‘Don’t be so sure of that. I want you to listen to me, hear me out. Then if you still want it, you’ll have my resignation on your desk, no arguments.’
‘It’s easier for you than getting sacked, I suppose.’
‘Easier for you as well.’
‘OK. I’m listening, but this had better be good.’
He would enjoy hearing Dariusz plead. And he would enjoy the slow deliberation before he said no.
‘I can’t talk on the phone. I’ll come in to the office.’
Most Tuesdays, Mielek went home early. Dariusz waited, barely breathing. ‘I’m not there now. I could…’
He’d go back in for this chance. Dariusz said quickly, ‘I’m not free this afternoon. Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow.’ They agreed to meet at midday.
‘Am I going to run the gauntlet when I get there?’
‘So far, all the staff know is that you’re on leave.’
That wouldn’t last. ‘OK. Thank you.’
He hung up. Now he had somewhere he could go to download the data. Mielek wasn’t there, and he was the only person who might try and stop him. He felt a moment’s unease about Krysia. If she saw him, he’d just have to tell her he was picking up some stuff. She’d understand.
He drove to his offices and parked in the road, some way from the building. He didn’t want anyone spotting his car in the car park. He went in, bracing himself for cold glances and overt hostility. Instead, the receptionist greeted him with a subdued but friendly Hi. ‘How are you?’ she said. ‘We weren’t expecting to see you today.’
It looked as though Mielek had told him the truth. At present, the staff didn’t know anything about his situation. The receptionist must be assuming his absence was to do with Ania’s death. He gave her a thin smile. ‘I’m OK. I’ve just come in to collect some stuff.’
