Everything but the Truth
Page 23
The bubble wrap on the inside of the jiffy bag stretched and strained, and eventually I ripped into it with my teeth. The transcript was too big for staples so it was divided up with elastic bands.
One bundle was labelled procurator fiscal/prosecution, one defence and one judgment. I spread them out in front of me on the living-room floor amongst a couple of old mugs and a pair of socks I’d removed while watching television one night.
I stared at the letter.
Dear Ms Anderson,
I enclose the transcript of H. M. Advocate v John Michael Douglas which took place on 5 to 9 April 2010. The charge for this is £312. Please pay by cheque within 14 days, made payable to Scottish Courts and Tribunals Service.
If you have any queries please do not hesitate to contact me.
Yours sincerely …
There was a phone number at the bottom, and the website address, but nothing else.
I began to read.
ITEM 14
CASE
In the cause
H. M. ADVOCATE
against
JOHN MICHAEL DOUGLAS
HIGH JUSTICIARY COURT
5–9 April 2010
Prosecuting barrister: Nina Smith QC
Defence barrister: Michael Fitzpatrick QC
Before: The Honourable Lord Orwell
Extracts from Procurator Fiscal – Prosecution
Detective Inspector Burr, Examination
Nina Smith: Can you please confirm your name and address for the record?
Charlotte Burr: Detective Inspector Charlotte Elizabeth Burr, collar number 9630 for Strathclyde Police, stationed at Oban Police Office, Albany Street, Oban, Scotland.
NS: What has your role been throughout investigating the defendant, John Douglas?
CB: I reviewed all of the evidence that came in for the defendant’s case.
NS: And what did that include?
CB: Listening to the defendant’s 999 call, his no comment interview, the evidence surrounding the reports from that night.
NS: Tell us about the call first. What was the defendant’s demeanour like during the call?
CB: Calm. He was very calm.
NS: The prosecution will now play a recording of the call.
Recording – exhibit CB1
JD: Police and ambulance, please. I … There’s been an incident. With an intruder. There’s been an accident. He’s bleeding. A bit.
999 Operator: Slow down. Please confirm your address.
JD: The Highlands, Oban. The big house on the hill.
999O: Ambulance and police are on their way. What is the situation?
JD: Dominic Hull. He’s … he’s been shot.
999O: Where?
JD: In the head. In the head.
999O: Is there bleeding?
JD: Yes. Not lots.
999O: You need to lie him in the recovery position. Which side is the bullet wound on?
JD: The right.
999O: Please lie him on his left-hand side. Recovery position. Do you have a piece of material to wrap around the wound? Apply as much pressure as you can.
Anna Wiley, Cross-examination
Nina Smith: And can you confirm your relationship with the defendant?
Anna Wiley: I am the psychiatrist for the defence.
NS: And was the defendant prone to anger? Outbursts? A temper?
AW: I wouldn’t say prone.
NS: But you might say … he has had outbursts?
AW: Well, he clearly lost control during a very stressful situation at his house in Oban but –
NS: Yes or no.
AW: Yes.
NS: So it could be inferred that the defendant is prone to outbursts? That he has a temper?
Michael Fitzpatrick: Objection. My learned friend appears to be giving her own evidence.
NS: I’ll rephrase. In your opinion, what does the evidence tell you about the defendant’s temper?
AW: I suppose it can be inferred that he has one. But don’t we all?
NS: No further questions.
Lee Aldridge, Examination
Nina Smith: Can you confirm you were present at the Douglases’ house on the night Dominic Hull was killed?
Lee Aldridge: Yes, I was there, for a while.
NS: And had Dominic Hull ever burgled the Douglases before?
LA: No, not to my knowledge.
NS: And had he ever been in their house before?
LA: No. Some of us had. But he hadn’t. Not ever. He was only young.
NS: Can you walk us through what happened?
LA: We walked into the Douglases’ house.
[Long pause]
NA: It’s fine, Mr Aldridge. Charges have been dropped. How did you get in?
LA: The door was wide open. Not just unlocked. Opened.
NS: As our other witness, who lived in the nearest house, corroborated.
LA: Yes.
NS: Did you believe the house was empty?
LA: No. We didn’t know. We just saw the open door. We were looking up at the house, anyway. Scouting it.
NS: How did you see it?
LA: It was the back door, to the conservatory, which was at the top of the big hill. You could see it for miles. It was about midnight.
NS: So what did you do?
LA: We saw it was open, so we went. We didn’t really think about it. We took Dominic, for his first go. An easy one.
NS: And then what happened?
LA: We walked in the back door. It was dark in there. We thought Mr Douglas was somewhere else. But then the light flicked on. And it seems. Well.
NS: Yes?
LA: It seemed …
NS: Can you finish your sentence, please?
LA: Mr Douglas was waiting for us.
Michael Fitzpatrick: Objection. The witness cannot know the defendant’s state of mind or intentions.
The Honourable Lord Orwell: Sustained.
LA: What shall I do?
The Honourable Lord Orwell: The jury should disregard that question and the answer given by the witness and should place no weight on them at all in their consideration of this case.
NS: What was the defendant doing – Mr Douglas?
LA: He put lights on somewhere else in the house. To lure us in. So we’d think he was somewhere else. He opened the door. And he waited. He fucking waited for us in the dark. Ready.
NS: And then what?
LA: He flicked the light on. And there he was. He was sitting in a chair, holding an air rifle. Ready to shoot.
NS: And then what happened?
LA: Dominic – he was overexcited. He went in, ran through the house, to the study, I think. I was frozen to the spot, staring at John, in the corridor.
NS: And did Mr Douglas say anything to you?
LA: Yes.
NS: What?
LA: He said … he said we shouldn’t go any further.
NS: What happened next?
LA: I ran. I ran off. I was shitting myself, miss.
NS: And what did you hear?
LA: The air rifle. As I was running down the banks, slipping on the wet grass, I heard the shot ring out. But I didn’t go back. I was too scared to.
NS: And would you say, in your opinion, that there was a struggle?
MF: Objection – how could the witness know?
JO: Overruled. Answer the question, please, Mr Aldridge.
LA: [A pause] No.
NS: If you had to estimate, how long would you say elapsed between you leaving, and the shot being fired?
LA: Fifteen seconds.
NS: Fifteen seconds?
LA: About that. Yes.
John Douglas, Cross-examination
John Douglas: I swear that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing – and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
Nina Smith: Good morning, Mr Douglas.
JD: [Silence]
NS: Was the door unlocked, Mr Douglas?
JD: [Silence]
NS: Mr Douglas? Were you trying to lure them there?
JD: Yes, the door was unlocked. Yes, it was open.
NS: Were you trying to lure them there?
JD: Yes.
NS: Were you waiting for them?
JD: Yes.
NS: Were you holding a gun?
JD: Yes.
NS: In the dark?
JD: Yes.
NS: Did you turn the light on and point the gun at them?
JD: Yes.
NS: Did you intend to kill them?
JD: No. No.
NS: Why did you pull that trigger, Mr Douglas? Please tell us in your own words.
JD: I …
[Brief adjournment]
John Douglas, Cross-examination: resumed after adjournment for Mr Douglas’s comfort
John Douglas: Sorry, I … I’m screwed, aren’t I? There was a struggle. There was. He grabbed for me with – a statue. I thought he was going to club me. So I shot. It was self-defence. Self-defence. They were in my house. They shouldn’t have been in my house. Even though I did lure them there. Even though it all went wrong.
Extract from judgment
The Honourable Lord Orwell: As the jury has, unanimously, returned a result of not proven, John Douglas, you are free to go. Unfortunately you have already spent four months of your time in prison. However, it’s important that such serious cases are investigated and that justice is seen to be done.
41
I felt the truth right in my stomach, as if it was a real physical thing, like a stone being dropped down into the well of my gut, the ripples reverberating outwards.
He’d planned it.
I sat still for a long time after reading the transcript. There were stacks of it. Five days. Eight hours a day. All transcribed, word for word. I read every bit.
I wasn’t aware how much time had passed. I really wasn’t. The sun set across the room, moving right to left. And then the moonlight skated across, chasing it. The air had darkened from blue to grey to black around me. I reluctantly put the lights on, too late, when my eyes were strained from reading in the dimness.
I was not existing. I was not Rachel. I didn’t eat. I didn’t drink. I sat in the centre of the living room, the pages spread around me like a clock, and I slowly rotated, like the hour hand, moving in a circle as time slipped away. I was those pages and those pages were me. Soon, they became well thumbed, like old books, the witnesses like ghostly friends as I reread their moments on the stand.
My hips were aching. My eyes were stinging. I hadn’t felt like that since night shifts. Maybe even since medical school. Even my bump was aching. And of course it was: I hadn’t fed Wally. Hadn’t slept enough.
‘Right,’ I said to myself, looking around the room at the evidence. The literal evidence. It was strewn around me. Like I was a conspiracy theorist heading towards a breakdown. God. It looked like a nest. A wild animal’s pit.
Stiff from sitting cross-legged, too warm from sitting on the section of the floor where the central-heating pipes crossed underneath it, I stood up. The patch of carpet where I’d been rose and regained its form.
He’d planned it.
I thought back to what Davey had said. What Jack planned. They all knew. All of them.
He’d opened the door and sat there, in the dark, holding a gun.
My shoulders became covered in goosebumps. I’d been alone with him. I’d been in a remote house in Oban with him. That man, that man who’d planned to kill that boy.
Never mind the rest. Everything he’d told me, from the moment he met me, had been a lie. His name. The verdict. The nature of the crime. That he’d never been to prison. That they’d repeatedly burgled him, when actually Dominic had never burgled him. That he hadn’t planned it. All lies.
What really happened was this: he’d lured them in to teach them a lesson. And then he’d killed someone.
42
You’d think I’d have stopped after that. That should have been the end. The bombshell of his planned murder that had me winded, reeling.
But I didn’t. I wanted more. Like an alcoholic on a binge, I wanted to unravel it all, to find it all out, to be sure I knew the worst of what my baby’s father had done, like a criminal investigations department finding a body and ransacking the entire house to check there wasn’t another. I was desperate to check there wasn’t anything worse.
But I was also thirsty for the other stuff. The trial revelation had been so shocking, so awful, that I needed to see something else. Something of him. Some atonement. I wanted more of the regret I’d seen on the forums. It was intoxicating, I’d wanted it for so long.
I bounded over that line. That line that nobody crosses. The line that is quite possibly illegal.
It was surprisingly easy to log in to his email. It began with an email, and it ended with one, too.
Forgotten your password? Answer two of these three security questions:
What is your place of birth?
What is your mother’s maiden name?
What is the name of your secondary school?
I almost laughed. It was that easy. Maybe I did know him, after all, I thought with an ironic smile.
I typed them in.
What is your place of birth?
What is your mother’s maiden name? Ross
What is the name of your secondary school? Fettes
Thank you, it said. Now please change your password.
I typed something in, utter nonsense. It didn’t matter. He’d have to change it back, anyway; would think he’d been hacked. I started reading.
I was rushing, even though there was no need to. I started at the top. Emails between him and editors – ones he’d chased three times, all laid out neatly in rows. I looked at a few more – more work – and a round robin about the rugby club, wanting to arrange a curry the next Thursday.
I typed in the search bar: Dominic, and pressed enter. He’d changed his email address. Not set up a new account. Everything was there. Ported over. Historic stuff.
ITEM 15
It wasn’t how people said it was. Of course it wasn’t.
My younger, learning-disabled brother, Davey, was upstairs. Some of the press didn’t realize that, because he lacked the capacity to be called as a witness. But he was there. I wanted to protect him. Partially. But that’s not the whole story.
But maybe the events start two years earlier. A new family moved to Oban. It was the sort of place where you knew of a new family. It was small like that. Insular, I guess. They were the Hulls. I don’t know how many of them there were. Eight or nine. I still don’t know now. The public gallery blurred into one. My lawyer advised me not to look at them.
During the first break-in they stole our keys which sat – naively – just inside the front door. They smashed the glass in our door, reached around and turned the key, and then just walked in, like a courier delivering a parcel, or a friendly neighbour. They grabbed three bunches of keys and drove off in the cars.
We claimed on the insurance, of course. Of course we did. The cars were replaced. The window was fixed.
But things were never the same after that. The night after it happened, the window was boarded up. We couldn’t get someone to fix the kind of glass it needed to be for weeks. The wind rushed around the board and it rattled and squeaked in the night. Davey, my brother, kept coming down to check it.
And then, a few months later, when we wanted a new computer, things felt different. How could we buy anything – an Apple Mac, a big-screen television – when we knew it would attract these people? But, still. We were advised to live our lives, so we did.
The second time reoriented things again. They came in the back. Another smashed window. A different one this time. There were forty more windows. Davey counted. Would there be forty more break-ins? This time, they took the new computer and an iPad. The council wouldn’t let us put double-glazed windows in. It was a listed building, they said, and they wouldn’t give us consent
for double-glazing. It would keep happening, we were sure.
The press thought we should move. But it’s not that simple, is it? It never is. Things had been adapted for Davey, and, besides, there was a defiance about us. We thought: why should we? And, in the context of a couple of break-ins, you’d have thought the same, too. We couldn’t know everything that would come after. How could we?
The third time, Mum surprised them. She recognized Aldridge.
It was the fourth break-in that went wrong. For everybody. For Dominic.
I can’t underestimate the kind of anger that sits beneath the surface after things like that. I carried it everywhere with me. Not only in the amount of time that dealing with the burglaries took up – the endless insurance requests for documents, the window replacements, the police reports – but the other stuff, too. It’s true, what people say, that it’s like a violation. Home was an extension of us, and we had been violated.
We couldn’t see a way to stop it. Even if we moved, they’d find us. We were the richest family in Oban, and everybody knew it. You should see the email trails, the calls, the reports we gave to the police. But none of it got us anywhere. ‘What are we supposed to do?’ Mum said to me, bewildered, after the night it happened again.
And, of course, we weren’t supposed to do that. But there was a problem, and it wasn’t being sorted.
Then December the 1st rolled around.
Dear Mr and Mrs Hull,
I never thought I would have to write something like this. That’s a clichéd way to begin, isn’t it? But it’s true. Clichés often are.
I am sure I am the last person you want to hear from, but I wanted to write to you. I am not going to explain – you would surely never understand, and nor should you – but I wanted to tell you that Dominic didn’t suffer. He didn’t die afraid and he did die quickly. He didn’t say much, I’m sorry to report. He didn’t say much during his death. The bullet
I was glad that email was unfinished. I wondered what these drafts were the result of. Some sort of therapy, maybe?