by Tim Parks
Oh, it’s not quite the same, she told him complacently. I don’t think people think you’re selfish. Shooting out into the road she drove far faster than he could have imagined, far faster than the speed limit. The white needles leapt in the glow of the dial. Sometimes, she laughed, you can be wicked just by giving where you shouldn’t, if you see what I mean, or really just by living too much. Now Daniel was on the alert. Having done penance all evening with her son, she had the right to be more audacious.
Define the difference, he said. He was laughing. Inevitably he was becoming more pleasant himself. Though he might well pass out at any moment. Define the difference between wicked and selfish. Go on. She hit the brake hard for a traffic light. The car was in the wrong lane. Turning to him, her eyes were embarrassingly wide. Hmm. She put on a theatrical thinking face. Hmm, let me see. The woman has cast off ten years in two minutes, he thought. Her face glowed in the light of the dials of her peppy car and her wrinkled forehead, as she puzzled for an answer to his question, was pleasantly girlish. With complete candour she told him: Well, selfishness is ugly, isn’t it, Dan. It’s ugly. Daniel Savage caught his breath. But wickedness – she stretched out her gear hand, palm downward and waggled it – wickedness isn’t, or not always. It might even be fun. Abruptly he said: Oh by the way, Kathleen, I had been meaning to ask: Why, when I told Mattheson who it was that had attacked me, why didn’t he make any arrests? Why didn’t he pull the guys in? There can’t be anything uglier than assault, can there? She wasn’t at all perturbed. Oh I wouldn’t know the answer to that, she said at once. I mean, the CPS isn’t privy to all the police do? I know they had various suspects. They didn’t want to make a move and find you were wrong. From what I gather, yours was only a suspicion.
Daniel turned to look out of the window. She’s lying, he thought. He waited. Don’t you find it hard, she asked, moving into a hotel all of a sudden. Living out of a suitcase. I mean . . . It was the first direct comment on his marital position. Brutally, almost using Frank’s voice, he said: Well, the beds are nice, and they’ve got a nice bar. He didn’t even turn to her. Want to come in and grab a night-cap?
She slid the car very neatly into one of the spaces to the left of the entrance and pulled up sharp with the handbrake. Okay, she told him. Then she was just saying the words, teensy-weensy, I’ll have to hurry back you know, I can’t leave Stevie long – this as they passed through the rotating doors – when he felt a hand on his sleeve. Sarah! Sitting on a deep armchair in the unfocused desolation of the hotel foyer was Minnie Kwan, pale as death.
THIRTY-TWO
WE HAVE SPOKEN, Judge Savage said, of . . .
He stopped. It was here that the notes he had made ran out. He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked up at a court humming with expectancy. He had planned to make further notes before trial continued this morning. Everybody was eager for the end now. But he had not. The defendants, their relatives, the jury, the press, the lawyers, they all wanted it to be over, quickly. He could have made notes during the final speeches of the last three defence counsels. We have all had enough, Judge Savage thought, of this burdensome story. But again he had not. Not that he was fascinated or even really interested in what they had said. Judiciously, they had said very little. Their clients were not the main players. It was not even that he was too tired, though it was hard to believe he could ever have been more so. But he found himself marooned. He was paralysed. He knew that when he emerged from this trial, when at last the jury withdrew and the defendants and relatives held their breath while the twelve jurors sifted through mountains of evidence to arrive at eight separate verdicts – when, in short, his day’s duty here was done, then a greater and final trial would await him. I should never have come, he told himself. My real duty was not to come. Not to do my duty here, but to do another duty. This pompous form of self-address seemed to offer some respite. I had another duty to do, he thought. But he had been a pushover for Mattheson. Dan, the inspector had said. His voice was triumphant. The phone had pierced a troubled state that was neither consciousness nor sleep, but more an intense mesh of blurred images and cries and fierce colours. God! He sat up. Dan, forgive me for waking you. I thought you’d want to know at once. We’ve got them all. All? Daniel asked. The Kwans, plus all their connections, Dan. And you’ll never have to see them. We’ve got them on other stuff. It’s serious immigration and prostitution charges. They’ll be away for years and you’ll never be mentioned.
All of them? Daniel repeated. We got everybody, the inspector said, everybody. He was a happy man. Except the girl, he added, your young lady, he chuckled, and her husband fellow. Ben Park. It’s a false name by the way. Park. Yeah, we wanted to detain her for her safety and so on, but they must have slipped through the net. We had to pick up more than forty people simultaneously. It’s been quite a night in all sorts of ways. But we’re still looking. Bound to find them soon. The hotel’s digital clock said four-fifteen. I’ve got the girl, Daniel said. He slumped back on the pillow, the phone at his ear. Is that so? Really? The policeman was delighted. Weight off my mind. Where is she? She’s with me, Daniel said. But she wasn’t.
She wasn’t with me, Judge Savage muttered to himself in court. He had said Minnie was with him and she wasn’t. So that while counsels for Davidson, J. Crawley and G. Crawley had been speaking, he had written no more on his notepad than: Sacrificed to protect an informer. The informer rules the world, he thought. Deliberately sacrificed, he wrote. And now, at this crucial point of the summing up, it came to him: What if the stories leaked over recent weeks had been deliberately put about by the police to draw someone’s attention to Minnie and away from whoever was giving them what they needed. Somebody coughed. For a moment Judge Savage was paralysed by the impossibility of proceeding. I am numbed, he thought. Minnie too had been numbed. What’s the matter, Kathleen Connolly had asked? She had bent over the sofa in the hotel foyer, then squatted down beside the girl. What’s the matter? Minnie wouldn’t reply. She shook her head. There is nowhere to go, she moaned when Daniel suggested a taxi. The rules offer no way for me to proceed, he thought. A judge should be a master of procedures.
We have spoken, he finally looked up at the court, of those defendants who claim that the stone was not thrown by a member of their group despite their presence on the bridge. Recalling the story helped him to gather his wits. If you accept that claim you must acquit all defendants on all charges. We have spoken of the prosecution’s position, backed up, as we have seen, by considerable circumstantial evidence. The prosecution maintains that all members of the group were involved in a joint enterprise to throw stones onto the ring road. If you accept this version, a verdict of guilty must be returned for all the defendants, though it will be left up to you to decide, for each separate defendant, whether he or she was merely reckless as to whether serious harm was caused, or whether serious harm was caused with intent. If a defendant is considered only reckless then he is or she is guilty of what we call section twenty, grievous bodily harm through reckless behaviour. If a defendant is considered to have acted in joint enterprise with the others and with intent then he or she is guilty of the more serious section eighteen, grievous bodily harm with intent.
Daniel paused. In the end one hardly needed notes. But now we must consider, he went on, the two more complex explanations of the events of March 22nd which have been offered to us by the Crawley sisters. It is not my intention – actually, I would hardly be able, he thought – to examine these once again in detail. On the one hand they offer a fullness of motivation lacking in the versions both of the prosecution and the first six defendants. And a motive, as we have said, may be an important element of proof. Put very simply, these versions explain more. On the other hand I must warn you to be cautious of this evidence, precisely because of that fullness, that explanation. A complex account of motivation may be more the work of able fabrication than a proof of the truth. Whenever someone we know does something strange, we ask: why did they do that? Th
is was hardly the tone of a proper summing up, Judge Savage told himself. Yet not inappropriate perhaps. And if we think of a reason, however complex, we feel satisfied. Indeed, the more tortuous and complex and unflattering the reason, the more satisfied we may feel, because we now convince ourselves that we know this person, that we are clever at deducing their motivations. But of course unless we have strong evidence that supports our idea, it may well be that we are quite wrong. What I am saying is that you must not be impressed by the story value of these two rather different accounts . You must simply consider whether one or the other is true. Nor must you be swayed by the declared motivation of the defendant Gillian Crawley. She claims that she decided to confess the story because she is pregnant and does not wish her child to be born in prison. You must recognise that such a desire, a desperation perhaps, might well lead someone to invent a story of great complexity. And since the other story has been offered by Gillian Crawley’s sister, you may be concerned that her, I mean Janet Crawley’s, initial decision to break ranks was also motivated by concern for her sister’s pregnancy.
This really is lamentably confused and unprofessional, Judge Savage thought. A number of the defence counsels were staring very hard. All the same, he sighed, and given that you treat the evidence with due caution, you may nevertheless reach the conclusion that one or other of these stories, that of Janet Crawley, or that of her sister Gillian, is indeed the truth of the matter. In that case, you must ask yourselves, Who now becomes responsible for what? Who must be found guilty and who acquitted of which charges?
Again he made a huge effort to gather his wits. In the version offered by Janet Crawley, you will remember, Mr Grier threw two stones which did not hit cars – two such stones were indeed found by the police close to the bridge – while the stone that did hit a car was thrown wildly and in intense frustration by Mr Sayle after choosing not to use it to attack Mr Grier. Should you find that you are convinced of the truth of this story, satisfied, that is, so that you are quite sure in your minds that it is correct, then Mr Grier cannot be found guilty because there is no joint enterprise and the two stones he threw did not hit cars or cause harm and indeed we cannot know if perhaps they were deliberately aimed to avoid cars, the primary intention being to annoy Mr Sayle. All other members of the group must then also be found not guilty, with the exception of Mr Sayle, who, always assuming that you are convinced by Janet Crawley’s version of events, becomes guilty of grievous bodily harm through reckless behaviour. This was extremely shaky, Daniel thought. But the whole thing was beyond him. Alternatively, if we accept the version of the elder sister Gillian Crawley, we are in even greater difficulty, since Miss Crawley tells us that she did not see the stone actually thrown but understood that its being thrown must have been the result of the clash she had witnessed between Mr Sayle and Mr Grier. This story exculpates its teller, without explicitly blaming anyone else. Some people might feel this was merely ingenious. But if you should come to the conclusion that it is true, you must then decide whether it is at all possible to arrive at a position where you are absolutely certain so that you are sure in your minds that one or the other or both of these men is guilty of grievous bodily harm. Did that make sense? But how could he be expected to be lucid having spent the night as he had? Where is she going to spend the night? he had asked his daughter in a low voice. With you, Sarah smiled. Who else? And all the time, Judge Savage concluded, you must constantly bear in mind the essential, the one absolutely undisputed and indisputable fact: a woman was severely injured as a result of a stone being thrown from a bridge. And the essential question? Can we be sure, on the basis of the evidence presented to this court, who should take responsibility for throwing that stone and how far this was or was not a joint enterprise common to all the defendants? Inviting the jury to retire, Judge Savage wondered, Would he himself ever be satisfied so that he was sure as to who had been responsible for Minnie’s death? Her father, her brothers, Mattheson, himself, his daughter, or even his wife?
Mother threw a complete fit, Sarah had said. She drew her father aside in the foyer of the hotel. She went completely hysterical. His daughter seemed quite pleased about this. She wore a short tight skirt. Her lipstick was bright. Her eyes clear. A fit! Hadn’t it only been a few weeks ago, Daniel thought, that Hilary had been telling him of Sarah’s hysterical fits. This is my daughter, he beckoned to Kathleen Connolly. Sarah, Kathleen Connolly. The older woman froze into formality and embarrassment. Pleased to meet you, Sarah offered a knowing smile. Kathleen stiffened the more. Daniel was at a loss. Your mobile’s off, Dad, the girl was saying. That’s why I brought her here. I tried to phone. Mum just refused to let her in the house. She went completely nuts!
The Asian girl sat on the sofa in the foyer, glazed eyes looking away from them at the wall. She looked sick. A small group of businessmen clattered through the door. Daniel remembered how the foyer of the Cambridge would echo. The businessmen had been drinking. I’d better be on my way then, Kathleen laughed nervously. I was just driving your Dad back to his hotel, she said unnecessarily. The men clattered into the lift. He had a bad fall, Kathleen Connolly insisted, coming out of court. Glad to have met you, Sarah smiled. Her smile said not to worry, she enjoyed meeting her father’s women. Kathleen Connolly was hurrying to the door when Daniel caught up with her. That’s the girl, he said. The girl, you know? Kathleen was frowning. She keeps phoning to say she’s in some kind of trouble, that her parents are violent, and so on. I’ve told Mattheson on numerous occasions. I can’t get involved. He tells me he has it under control. But she keeps phoning. Now she turns up at our house. Obviously my wife got upset.
Then he said, perhaps you could talk to her. Kathleen Connolly looked dubious. To your wife? To the girl! She’s called Minnie. Find out what we can do for her. I don’t know, Kathleen said. At the same time she seemed tempted. There was a soft gleam in her eyes. Her mouth softened. She ceased to be the embarrassed creature caught entering a hotel with a colleague. Okay, she said, I’ll try. Oh no, Sarah shook her head, she won’t talk, it’s pointless. His daughter had appeared beside them, blocking their path. I’ve been with her a couple of hours now, Dad. She’s in a terrible state. She won’t say a word. Mum went quite mad. Sarah beamed at her father. She didn’t want the older woman to solve the problem.
As they stood by the revolving doors with the Asian girl shivering twenty feet away, head in her hands on the sofa, paying them no attention, Judge Savage suddenly found himself more interested in his wife’s rage than in the practical question of what to do with the girl. Mightn’t such anger mean Hilary still had an investment in their marriage? Kathleen was pulling him aside. Holding his arm, she whispered: From what I gathered from Inspector Mattheson, they are arresting the people who attacked you tonight, the Korean family you know, together with various others. It’s been in the planning for many months. What I’m saying is, you can’t offer to take the child home.
Hands pressed to her sides, Minnie Kwan rocked back and forward. Kathleen went to her. Pulling up the creases of her slacks above the knee, she squatted down. Do you need to go to hospital, she asked kindly. Her voice had a faintly Irish accent. Rocking back and forward the girl shook her head. Kathleen looked up. We should call the police. No, Minnie gasped. No! The CPS woman was perplexed. Would you like to come back to my house then? It’s only ten minutes in the car. I have a spare bed. Nobody will know where you are. Again the girl shook her head. I’m terrified, she muttered. Where is she going to spend the night? Daniel asked his daughter. With you, Sarah smiled. She told me she wouldn’t go with anyone else. She’s sure she’ll be safe with you.
Nor would Minnie take a separate room. Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital? She shook her head. But what’s wrong? Just feeling bad, she finally said. Because of the baby, she whispered. Kathleen was now offering to drive Sarah home, but at that moment, Daniel became aware of a man coming through swing doors, a tall figure pushing against the glass, hesitating, now walk
ing over to them. Why is he familiar? There was the pony tail, the slight paunch, a wide grin. Forty if he’s a day, Daniel thought. This is Trevor, Sarah said brightly. The man wore trainers, jeans, tweed jacket on white tee-shirt. Trevor, Dad. The two were shaking hands. Gather we’re having a bit of a drama, Trevor said charmingly. Pleased to meet you, Mr Savage, heard a lot about you of course. His voice was warm and fruity. Sarah was radiant. Trevor works with Max, she whispered to her father, as if that made the man safer. We were just talking about who was going to drive who home, Daniel said. Right, I believe I’m here to do the honours. Trevor rubbed his hands: Or at least that’s what the lady said on the blower. It’s so sweet of you, Sarah cried. Off we go then, Trevor said. Anybody else? No? Sure? Well, goodnight all. In the space of no more than a minute, the two disappeared, the man spinning his car keys round a finger, the girl remembering to slip an arm round his waist as they entered the revolving doors. This caused something of a tussle, for the doors were small for two. The sound of laughter echoed across the foyer of the Cambridge Hotel.
Daniel stared after them. What are you going to do, Kathleen whispered. More solemnly she said, Dan, I think she should go to hospital. I’ll call an ambulance, Daniel announced. No! Minnie shrieked. It was loud and embarrassing. The foyer was cavernous. I’m fine, the girl insisted. Just scared, a bit shocked. There was a pause. Again a group of men wandered in and across to the lifts. Could he force her to go? Daniel wondered. He tried to assess the situation. I’m fine, she insisted, just a bit shocked. I had a bad experience. I got scared. Would you like a cup of tea? Kathleen asked. Again Minnie shook her head. She kept her hands pressed to her sides. I just need a bed, she said. Please. She was speaking through gritted teeth. Daniel sighed: With the reputation I’ve got these days, I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference.
