by Neil White
I started to read.
There is no one alive more unwilling to pronounce this woeful and heavy judgement than myself: but the blood of that innocent child, whom cruelly and barbarously I have murdered, has brought this heavy judgement upon me at this time.
Sarah
My skin crackled into goose-pimples. It seemed to confirm the obvious, that Sarah had gone mad and killed Luke – but the obvious seemed incredible.
I looked at Katie. She began to cry. ‘What does it all mean?’ she wailed through the tears.
Laura sat next to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder, although I saw the wariness in Laura's eyes.
‘It's okay,’ said Laura, her voice soft. ‘We'll take it to the police in the morning.’
I read the letter again, tried to work out a hidden meaning. But nothing jumped out at me.
‘I don't know what it means,’ I said, answering Katie's question. ‘Why so mysterious?’
I looked at the letter. I read again the reference to ‘the blood of that innocent child’. Was Sarah referring to Luke? Is that how she saw him? He was her child, and she was in control? Or, at least, so she thought. Or was Sarah that child, describing her own inner turmoil, battles between her good side and her bad side?
But she talked about ‘whom cruelly and barbarously I have murdered’. There couldn't be too many ways that it could be misinterpreted.
The language puzzled me. Was she trying to set up an insanity defence? If Sarah wrote the letter, had she recognised that she had done a bad thing and deserved to die? ‘There is no one alive more unwilling to pronounce this woeful and heavy judgement than myself.’
I pulled at my lip. Maybe I was reading too much into the syntax? But the words must be important, as why else would they be so strangely constructed, with the language old English in style?
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. I was puzzled, but I realised that the story was getting even better.
‘Well?’ Katie asked. ‘What do you think?’
I wasn't really sure what I thought. ‘It reads like a confession,’ I said, still looking at it. ‘But it's an odd one, which makes me wonder if it's something else.’
‘What, some kind of hint as to where she might be?’ asked Katie, her eyes wide now. ‘Can we find her, do you think?’
‘Leave that to the police,’ warned Laura.
I smiled. ‘But it would be a hell of a story if we could.’
‘No, Jack,’ repeated Laura, her voice sterner.
‘Even if I don't look for her,’ I said, ‘I'm going to write the story. There isn't much else I can do.’
Laura looked angry at that, but what else could I say? I knew that I wouldn't leave the story alone, not now. I thought of the murder squad. I imagined how angry it would make them. That made it all seem worthwhile, but it wasn't just that. I felt like I'd recovered some of my excitement in the job, that buzz of chasing a story that no one else had, my name as the byline.
‘It is her handwriting,’ added Katie, watching us both. The smile disappeared again. ‘Poor Sarah,’ she said sadly.
‘Why poor Sarah?’ asked Laura. ‘If she killed someone, she needs to be punished.’
‘But what drove her to it?’ replied Katie. ‘Whatever has been going on in her life to make her do this, it makes me feel sorry for her, that's all.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I know Sarah did it, that's what the police say, but it just isn't like her.’
‘From all the crime I've covered,’ I said, ‘it always seems that the obvious answer is the right one.’ But when Katie looked down and nodded her agreement, some sadness in her eyes, I added, ‘One thing bothers me though.’
Katie looked up. ‘What is it?’
‘Why did she tell you?’ I asked. ‘If she wants to confess, why not just do it? Go into a police station and tell them everything.’
‘It sounds like a cry for help,’ Laura said. ‘Maybe she wants to be found, and she is scared, not sure what to do.’
I shook my head. ‘If she's making a cry for help, she doesn't give away many clues. There is nothing here that would hint at her location.’ Then I thought of something. ‘What period of history do you study?’ I asked Katie.
‘The modern histories,’ Katie replied. ‘You know, the sixties, the Kennedys, that kind of thing. Why?’
‘Just because of the language used,’ I said. ‘It sounds antiquated. If you're a historian, maybe you are supposed to spot something, like a coded message.’
‘But I don't,’ replied Katie.
‘Let the police think about that,’ said Laura. ‘I want you to promise me that you'll take it to the police first thing tomorrow.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Katie, sounding offended.
‘At least let me photograph it,’ I said, ‘so I can use it in the feature.’
Laura looked sternly at me when I came back with my camera. As I took pictures, Katie said quietly, ‘I don't want to go home.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because Sarah has now hand-delivered three letters to me,’ she replied, ‘and the last person she spoke to in my house ended up with a knife in his chest.’
‘You can stay here, if you want,’ I blurted out, although when I caught Laura's angry look, I added, ‘just for tonight, though.’
Katie gave me a watery smile. ‘Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it.’
From the look Laura gave me, I realised that she wasn't as grateful.
Chapter Thirty-three
Sarah woke with a start. The speakers were back on, the heartbeat sound pumping out again. She wrapped the blanket around her head, tried to muffle the noise.
It was getting late, she could feel that from the way the end of her nose had gone cold. The glow from the food was still there, but she was getting hungry again. And she was tired. It came at her in waves, an overwhelming desire just to lie down and drift away, but the lights made it hard, and now the noise was back.
Sarah looked at the floor. She had worn a smooth path in the dirt from the tight circles she'd walked earlier in the day. She leaned over the edge of the bed and let her hair fall forward, until it trailed in the dirt. She stared at her hands, saw how her nails were dirty and broken. She dug them into the soil and then put them to her face, so that she streaked dirt down her cheeks. She did it some more, and her skin tightened as it dried, until the only part of her face that was visible were her eyes, white and wide.
She realised now that she wasn't going to be released any time soon, and so the only way she would get home would be if she fought her way out.
But first she had to overcome her captor, and she shuddered at the thought of what might happen if she failed.
I collected some blankets and a spare duvet. Laura was on the other side of the bedroom.
‘What the hell are you playing at, Jack?’ she said, her voice low and angry.
‘It's one night. What if I'd said no and you heard that she'd been found dead in that house?’
‘That's not the point,’ Laura snapped back.
‘What is the point?’ I said. ‘That's she's young and attractive?’
Laura's eyes widened. ‘Is she, Jack?’
I cursed myself as I realised how it had come out. ‘I didn't mean that,’ I said testily. ‘She's not you.’
‘What about the Court Welfare visit?’
‘What about it?’ I asked.
‘How will it look, with someone sleeping on the sofa?’
‘She'll be gone before then, I'll make sure of that.’
‘And how will you do that?’ Laura hissed angrily. ‘Breakfast in bed?’
I walked downstairs, not wanting an argument, and put the duvet on the sofa. Katie's eyes were red, her cheeks streaked where grubby hands had wiped away tears.
‘You don't mind me staying, do you, Jack?’ She looked up at me, wide-eyed, innocent.
‘No, it's fine,’ I said. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
She smiled and s
tood up. I saw her put together a makeshift bed, and then she turned back to me.
‘Do you think I'm in danger?’ she asked, her voice softer now.
I shrugged. ‘I just don't know.’
‘But if I am, you'll help me, won't you?’
‘I'm a reporter,’ I replied. ‘The police will look after you better than I can.’
She seemed happy with that, and I detected a glint of something in her eyes that I couldn't work out. She started to get changed for bed. Without taking her eyes off me, she undid the buttons on her jeans and let them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them without dropping her gaze.
I turned to go.
‘It's okay, Jack,’ she whispered.
I didn't know what to say, how to respond. One minute she was scared, vulnerable, and the next she was like this, provocative, sexy.
She took off her jumper and threw it to the floor. She was in her underwear, her stomach tight, her hips slim, her breasts pushed forward. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, looking directly at me all the while.
As her bra fell to the floor, her breasts pert, her body pale and lean, she hooked her thumbs into her panties, ready to slide them down. I turned to leave, embarrassed and confused. I didn't know Katie's game any more.
As I turned around, I saw Laura. She was standing at the doorway, glaring at Katie. As I went past Laura, her stare never moved. I went upstairs, but not before I glanced back and saw that Katie was smiling at Laura, but it was superior, threatening. Laura threw one of my T-shirts onto the settee and turned away, taking deep angry breaths.
Laura went past me, her cheeks red, her eyes blazing. Before I followed her, I saw Katie look at me. She smiled, made no attempt to cover herself up.
I went upstairs.
When I went to the bedroom, I heard Laura in the bathroom. I waited for her, not quite sure what she would say. When she came into the bedroom, she got into bed without saying a word, and turned over.
I realised that it was a discussion best left until morning.
Chapter Thirty-four
Laura stood over Katie, watching her sleep, the morning sun streaming in through the window.
Then Katie opened her eyes, and when she stretched, the duvet fell off her and her T-shirt rode up her stomach.
‘I want you out of here now,’ said Laura icily.
Katie yawned into a smile. ‘What's the matter?’ she whispered. ‘Worried about Jack?’
Laura knelt down so that her face was close to Katie's. ‘Look, you little tramp, I don't know what your game is, but Jack is not part of it.’
‘Isn't that Jack's choice?’ Katie gave a small laugh. ‘I reckon he wasn't far from making it last night.’
Laura took a deep breath. Don't hit her, she said to herself. Think of your career. More than that, think how it would look to the Court Welfare people.
‘You don't look bad, though, for a woman your age, I mean,’ Katie continued. ‘What are you, thirty-seven? A bit older? Time has given you a couple of kicks, you know, a few sags and bumps that I don't have, but you make the best of what you've got. I can see why Jack finds you interesting.’
Laura's hand snapped forward, her eyes angry, her jaw set, ready to grab Katie's neck, but Katie grabbed her wrist and held it.
‘Be careful, officer,’ Katie said, her eyes hard now. ‘That wouldn't look good on your CV.’ She pushed Laura's hand away.
‘Why do you want him?’ asked Laura. ‘You're not really interested in him, are you? This is just a silly little game for you, like that strip-show you gave him last night.’
‘Did he enjoy it?’
‘I want you out of here in five minutes,’ said Laura, getting angrier, ‘or I'll throw you out.’
Katie laughed. ‘You could have joined in, you know,’ she mocked. ‘It might have been fun.’
Laura felt her hand clench into a fist, her mouth set firm in anger. She ought to punch the little bitch, wreck those looks of hers, but she took some deep breaths instead. Don't give her the satisfaction.
Then she heard movement upstairs. Jack was coming down.
‘Get dressed and get out,’ said Laura, and then she walked to the kitchen.
I was surprised to see Katie awake when I got downstairs, although she was stretched out in her underwear, smiling at me. I went to the kitchen and Laura was in there, and when she looked round I thought she looked tired, as if she'd struggled to sleep. Her hair was sticking up and her eyes looked heavy.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked her.
Laura snapped a smile at me, but her eyes didn't match it. ‘Oh, just great,’ she said, and then she pointed towards the living room. ‘What kind of game is she playing?’
I exhaled and then stepped forward, tried to put my arms around her, but she shrugged me off.
‘I don't know,’ I said, ‘but if it's about me, you've no need to worry. I wouldn't do it to you. I love you too much to throw it away on Katie.’
Laura turned away at that and poured herself a drink. ‘I've been here before, remember, with Geoff,’ she said quietly. ‘I know all the lies, and I'm not going there again, not when I've come this far.’
‘I'm not Geoff. You can trust me.’
Laura looked at me, and then her eyes softened. She smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek. I could smell the sleep on her, musty and familiar. ‘I hope I can,’ she said.
‘I need to stick with Katie, though,’ I said. ‘The story centres around her somehow, and I sense a good story when it all comes out.’
‘Well, just be careful. For me.’
We both looked round when we heard movement, and we saw Katie get to her feet from the sofa. Her hair was tousled, and she smiled as she stretched, looking at me all the time, my old T-shirt riding up to her panties, her legs long, her eyes challenging.
‘Can I use your bathroom?’ she asked sleepily.
Laura nodded her assent and pointed up the stairs, but there was little welcome in it.
Katie walked off, and I made sure that I didn't watch her go. Once Katie had gone upstairs, Laura turned round to me, and I thought she was going to be angry, but then she smiled at me.
‘I would trust you more if you weren't doing that,’ she said, her voice deep in pity.
‘Doing what?’
She reached over and put her hands on my stomach. ‘Sucking it in.’
I looked down and saw my T-shirt billowing over her fingers. I blushed.
‘Automatic reflex, I bet,’ she said, and began to chuckle.
I didn't have an answer for that.
Chapter Thirty-five
I ran up the court steps, hoping to catch Sam Nixon. The two security guards slowed me down, as I was made to empty my pockets and was then hand-scanned as an old packet of mints set off a beep, but I still entered the court corridor at a rush.
Blackley Magistrates Court was next to the police station, as they all once were, where an overnight remand meant a short walk along the cell corridor and into the holding cells underneath the court, nothing more than cages where the prisoners swapped stories and talked about their lawyers. When the new police station was completed, prisoners would arrive in shiny white vans and be taken into the building in chains.
Not many people looked up as I searched for Sam Nixon. It was busy, as always, the plastic chairs filled by young men in tracksuits and old men with glazed looks in their eyes. No one was talking. The nervous ones stared into space and awaited their fate. The cocky ones smoked outside and laughed and joked, court just an interruption to their chaotic schedule.
The courtrooms were large and imposing, with high ceilings and glass docks, the Magistrates high on wooden benches in front of the court crest, the lion and the unicorn. A porthole in the door allowed me to see inside. I could see a prosecutor on her feet, and I recognised her. It was Alison Hill. She used to work with Sam Nixon, but not many people stayed in defence work now. The hours were bad, the clients were bad, and the money wasn't what it w
as. Like most, she had crossed the line and prosecuted.
I could see Sam further along the desk, waiting for Alison to finish, making her perform in front of her old mentor. Alison eventually sat down, and when Sam rose to his feet he blackmailed the Magistrates, held up a pre-sentence report and asked them to agree with the conclusion, which would contain a recommendation for something other than prison. It was the hidden hint that would win him the day. I had heard it so many times: read the report, and if you agree with it I'll say nothing more. But if you don't, I'll go on for hours. I saw the Magistrates glance down at Alison's files before they left the court, the prosecution work piled high on the desk. If they didn't go along with the report, they would be there all day.
I went to the press bench at the side of the court and caught Sam's attention. When he came over, I asked, ‘Could you give me a legal opinion?’
He looked surprised. ‘For free?’
I nodded. ‘The price of publicity.’
He held out his hands in submission. ‘Fire away.’
‘What happens to someone who is acquitted of murder because of insanity?’ I asked.
Sam opened his mouth to answer, and then he stopped himself. ‘Is this connected to Sarah?’ he asked.
I smiled. ‘Potentially.’
‘I thought you weren't interested.’
‘You shouldn't always believe journalists. So what's the answer?’
Sam sighed. ‘Well, it's not really getting off with it. You just get locked up in a secure hospital until you are fit to be released, which usually means never. Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious, that's all.’ When Sam raised his eyebrows, I added, ‘If you were going to run an insanity defence, and were planning it, how would you start?’
