by Vicary, Tim
While Kathryn put the kettle on Sarah took in the large farm kitchen. It had low wooden beams, a red tiled floor, and a large window over the sink which looked out across a paddock to the river. There were oak cupboards around the walls, and a nondescript armchair in an alcove near the Aga, with a pile of newspapers and magazines beside it.
‘This is our main room, really. We mostly eat and read in here, especially in the winter. Andrew’s even taken to falling asleep in that chair since Shelley died, like an old man.’
‘Yes.’ Sarah sat at the table, folding her hands gratefully around a mug of tea. ‘He’s taken her death very hard, you said.’
‘We’ve both taken it hard, Mrs Newby. Miranda as well, of course, they were very close. But it’s had a dreadful effect on Andrew. He seems to have given up, almost. That’s why I think I should give evidence, not him.’
‘Hm.’ Sarah sipped her tea thoughtfully before answering. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here, as you know. To run through what that’s likely to mean.’
‘It’s my chance to tell the world exactly what sort of a swine that bastard Kidd really is. Someone’s got to stand up and do that. So it had better be me.’
This was why Sarah had come. Since their lunch together on the first day, Kathryn had assumed that she would be giving evidence. But the more Sarah had considered this idea, the less she had come to like it. She was taking a risk coming here; there were strict rules against coaching a witness. But her intention was the opposite of that - to keep Kathryn Walters out of the witness box. So long as she succeeded in that, there was no problem. She spoke softly.
‘Yes, well, that’s just it, really. What counts in this trial - any trial - are the facts.’
‘Such as that he murdered my daughter,’ Kathryn said sharply.
‘Exactly. That’s what we have to prove. And to do that I have to focus the jury’s minds exclusively on the key facts, which are ...’ She counted the points off on her fingers. ‘... that he was alone with her in the flat; his fingerprints were on the knife; there were bruises on her neck; the artery was severed in her right wrist not her left - all these terrible, distressing things.’
‘But they need to know what a swine he was too - the way he lied and boasted from the moment he met Shelley, the way he took over her whole life, kept her under his thumb like a little slave, away from her friends and family and all the people who’d ever wished her well. That’s what I can tell them.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sarah nodded cautiously, worried at the tide of emotion she might unleash, yet determined to do it if necessary. At least Kathryn was safe here, in her own home. ‘But before we decide that, listen to me. You’re her mother, and I’m a mother too. My daughter’s not dead, thank God, but I thought she was once. I can’t imagine anything worse. And I’ve had to defend my own son in court, so I know what that’s like. The problem is, everyone knows that a mother’s on the side of her children; we don’t really have a choice. And so people can use that against us. Even when we’re telling the truth, they don’t always hear what we say.’
‘You mean, the jury won’t believe me?’ Kathryn looked dazed, as though the thought had not occurred to her. Sarah tried again.
‘No, not exactly; it’s subtler than that. They’ll believe what you say, but turn your words against you. Look at it this way; we, the prosecution, have to prove this case beyond reasonable doubt. Savendra - Mr Bhose, the defence counsel - he doesn’t have to prove David Kidd is innocent. He just has to create that reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. And in this case his tactics are obvious: to stop them thinking about the incriminating facts like the fingerprints and the knife and the cuts, and make them speculate about the possibility of suicide instead. Now he’s going to call her psychiatrist. I can’t stop that ...’
Kathryn shook her head miserably. ‘Why? Shelley hadn’t seen the man for months. What can he possibly know about what happened?’
‘That’s just it. Nothing, if she was murdered. Nothing at all. But if, as the defence say, Shelley committed suicide, then he can shed light on her state of mind, and get the jury interested in that. She had bi-polar disorder, did you say?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean she killed herself!’
‘Of course not, but that’s what they’ll try to imply. I wish I could stop it, but I can’t. It’s a distraction from the facts, really. Now, if I call you to give evidence, what hard facts can you add? About the day of her death, I mean?’
‘Well, only that he was rude to me at the hospital ...’
‘That doesn’t help. It shows that he hated you and you hated him. Which helps the defence, not us. What else can you say?’
Kathryn thought for a while, puzzled. ‘Well, that Shelley told me two days before she died, that she had dumped him. She sat in that chair where you’re sitting ...’
Sarah nodded gently. ‘Yes, you can say that, certainly.’
‘And like I said, I can tell them how nasty he was. How he took her away from home, how he corrupted her mind, and ...’
‘All right. Let’s try that out, shall we?’ Sarah’s tone sharpened. She got to her feet.
‘What?’
‘Let’s try some questions out, as if we’re in court, and see how it goes. All right?’ She stood in front of the Aga, her fingers touching the warm rail behind her back. ‘For instance, let’s start with this.’ Her voice changed slightly, became more formal. ‘Shelley had bi-polar disorder, you say. Did she have treatment for that?’
‘Yes. She was on a low dose of medication to keep her stable.’ Kathryn clasped her hands in front of her on the table, surprised by the sudden transformation into roleplay. But she seemed prepared to enter into the spirit of it. After all, she had been imagining scenes like this in her mind for weeks. And Sarah was her advocate, not an enemy.
‘What effect did this condition have on her schoolwork?’
‘Well, her schoolwork was like her character, really. Some of it was quite brilliant, but other parts - the more boring, mundane parts of study - she found very difficult. She needed a lot of help and support with those.’
‘Did you and your husband give her that support?’
‘We tried, yes. Both of us did, but especially me, I suppose. It was hard work, but we succeeded. She got the grades she needed, she went to York to study English.’
‘How did she settle in at the university?’ The easy, predictable questions were giving Kathryn confidence, as Sarah intended.
‘Well, it was difficult at first, because she was dumped - that’s the awful word they use, isn’t it? - by a boyfriend she’d had for years, Graham. So that didn’t help. But she made friends and was doing well, until she met him, that is.’
As Kathryn was speaking the door opened and Miranda came in and sat down. Sarah wondered for a moment what to do. But it was their house, not hers; and Kathryn might need some moral support in a moment, if things went the way she expected. So she smiled at the girl, saying: ‘we’re just trying a few questions,’ then turned back to her mother again.
‘You don’t feel her relationship with David Kidd was good for her?’
‘No, not at all. He was the worst boy she could have met. Like a monster from the swamp.’
Here we go, Sarah thought. This is the problem, exactly. ‘Why do you call him that?’
‘Well, from the very beginning, he tried to take control of her. He’s a very controlling character: always had his arm round her, always spoke before she did, always decided what she was going to do. It was terrible to see. She was like his little slave, a ventriloquist’s dummy, almost.’
‘Was there anything else that you felt was wrong with their relationship?’
‘Well, yes. The things he wanted her to do. I mean, he has no education, has he? If you gave him a book he wouldn’t know which way up to hold it. He wanted her to leave the university and go with him to Africa. After all the work we’d done with her!’
‘So it’s fair to say that there was a gre
at tension between you and David Kidd, isn’t it? With your daughter Shelley in the middle?’
‘Well, yes, but she’d seen the light at last. When she found him in bed with that girl, she decided to drop him for good. She came home and told me that.’
‘And yet two days later, she went back to see him.’
‘Not to see him,’ Kathryn protested. ‘To collect her things.’
Sarah raised her eyebrows theatrically. ‘A nightdress, a few books, and some used tights? Do you really think she went back for things like that?’ Their eyes locked across the table. Sarah could see the pain in Kathryn’s face as the roleplay became uncomfortably real. ‘They were just an excuse, weren’t they? An excuse to meet David again, and give their relationship one last try?’
‘I .. I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose. But then he murdered her.’
‘Did he, Mrs Walters? We know they had a quarrel soon after she arrived, and he claims they made love. You’ve told us how much you disapproved of David, how much pressure you put on Shelley to leave him. And she had decided to leave him, you say. She knew that was the right thing to do, and yet still she went back. And did the wrong thing.’
‘Yes, well, she was confused ...’ Kathryn’s voice broke; she looked near to tears. Miranda reached across the table for her mother’s hand. But Sarah hadn’t finished.
‘It’s worse than that, though, isn’t it? She was bi-polar, you’ve told us that. She needed constant love and support. And now the two sources of love and support, you and your husband on one side, and David Kidd on the other, were tearing her apart. Isn’t it highly likely that in a situation like that, when she sat alone in that bath after making love to the man she’d promised to leave, that the pressures all got too much for her and ...’
Kathryn was crying openly now. Miranda glared indignantly at Sarah, who relented and sat down. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t distress you further. But you see, that’s the way it will go, Kathryn, if I put you on the stand. And Mr Bhose’s questions will be harder than that, they’re bound to be if he wants to win. Which he does.’
‘That’s not the point!’ Kathryn grabbed a tissue from a box. ‘You think it too, though, don’t you? You think she killed herself and it was my fault?’
‘No.’ Oh God, Sarah thought, I’ve got this completely wrong. ‘No, as a matter of fact I don’t. I really don’t.’ The reassurance didn’t seem to be working. She tried again. ‘Look, this is an absurd thing to say to anyone for comfort, but it seems crystal clear to me that your daughter was murdered, all right? All the hard facts point that way. It’s just unfortunate that she had this history of mental illness which allows the defence to put up this smoke screen of suicide.’
The tears had stopped. Kathryn seemed mollified, but still clung onto Miranda’s hand for support. ‘But I ought to speak for Shelley, didn’t I? I’m her mother.’
‘Not if it makes matters worse. Look, the only solid fact that the court needs to hear from you is that two nights before she died Shelley told you she was leaving David. That’s in your statement to the police. Now with luck the defence will accept that statement unchallenged. That will mean it’s read out in court to the jury, but no one can challenge it or try to twist your words to mean something they don’t. That’s what I think you should do.’
Kathryn sighed, twisting a tissue in her hands. She had steeled herself for so long to confront David in court. The prospect terrified her, but it seemed like her duty. Could she give it up now without betraying her daughter? She shook her head slowly.
‘I don’t know. Let me think about it overnight.’ She looked down at the table, shaking her head sadly. ‘But if you really believe Shelley was murdered, how could you come out with all those questions just now?’
‘I’m an advocate, Mrs Walters. I’m trained to argue both sides of a case. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make up my mind about which one is true. In fact it helps me to do that.’
‘All right.’ Kathryn stood up. ‘So what about David, when he goes on the stand? Will you question him as hard as you questioned me, just now?’
‘Kathryn, I was just playing with you, to let you see what it could be like. Don’t worry. With him, it’ll be the real thing.’
The trouble is, Sarah thought later as she rode away, tough questions only hurt people with soft consciences. Villains like David Kidd have souls made of alligator hide.
21. Queuing Very Fiercely
ON MONDAY morning, the prosecution team met in a hotel for a working breakfast. Mark Wrass, the CPS solicitor, was in bullish mood.
‘Just a few more nails to bang into place, and the scaffold is built,’ he said cheerfully, through a mouthful of sausage and egg. ‘Do you anticipate any problems?’
‘A couple,’ said Sarah thoughtfully, sipping orange juice. She was finding Mark’s cheerfulness hard to cope with today. It wasn’t his fault; she had spent the weekend vainly trying to understand Bob’s sudden urge to move house; a discussion that somehow, never quite reached the main point. The move, it seemed, was all part of her husband’s need to redefine himself, make a new start. But quite why this mattered so much now, was far more obscure. As was the even deeper question: did this new start include her?
She sighed, and brought her mind back to the meeting in hand. She confirmed that Kathryn Walters had decided not to give evidence. ‘That’s the right decision, I think. But what worries me more is that they’re going to call the girl’s psychiatrist.’
‘Just because she was depressed doesn’t mean she killed herself,’ mumbled Wrass, mopping up egg with fried bread. ‘You can nail that one, surely.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Sarah. ‘But the way she insisted on seeing Kidd alone, and maybe had sex with him too - it all builds their case for suicide, doesn’t it?’
‘How so?’
‘Well, look at it this way. She’s bi-polar, he claims, so when she’s up she’s really up - cheerful, energetic, assertive - but when she’s down she’s the opposite, self-doubting, unsure, a pushover for a bastard like Kidd. That’s probably what attracted her to him; he’s a strong character with no qualms about telling her what to do. Just like her mother, probably, which explains why those two hated each other on sight. So Shelley tried to dump him, but felt guilty, wondered if she’d made a mistake, and went back to see him one more time - she didn’t really need that stuff in her bag. And she did forgive him, didn’t she, so it seems? She let him make love to her.’
‘Let him?’ Terry said. ‘More like rape, I’d have thought.’
‘Well, we can’t prove that. But even if it was, that just helps their case, don’t you see? It explains what happened next. He goes out to the shop, and she suddenly realises what she’s done, is overcome with remorse, grabs a knife from the kitchen and kills herself. Psychologically, it works fine.’
‘Yes, but there are his fingerprints on the knife, the bruises on her neck, and the way her wrists were cut,’ said Mark Wrass firmly. ‘They all point to him.’
‘I agree. They’re hard facts, not psychological speculation. But other facts are less good for us. This timing issue, for instance. Terry, I’ve got the shopkeeper this afternoon. Will he stand up to questions in court?’
‘I suppose so.’ Terry frowned. ‘But Will Churchill interviewed him, not me.’
‘Churchill?’ Sarah asked, surprised. A worm of doubt stirred uneasily in her stomach. ‘I thought this was your case, not his.’
‘Yes, but the day I was going to see him, Esther was rushed into Casualty with suspected meningitis.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘So Will Churchill took his statement, not me. But it’s clear enough, isn’t it? What’s the problem?’
‘Well, you remember how Savendra worried away at Dr Tuchman, cutting down the time Shelley could have lain bleeding in the bath and still been alive when the ambulance crew came? He got him down to fifteen or twenty minutes. So if the shopkeeper says David was out of the flat for more than say, thirteen minutes, then since the ambulance
took seven minutes to arrive, our case is blown out of the water. If he’d cut her wrists before he went out, she’d have been dead when he got back.’
‘Unless he cut her wrists after he came back?’ Terry said. ‘That’s the other possibility, you know.’
‘Not now it isn’t!’ Sarah glared at him, her hazel eyes making her displeasure clear. You should know this, the look said. ‘Didn’t you see what happened last week, with the priest?’
‘No,’ Terry frowned. ‘I didn’t stay for his evidence. What happened?’
Sarah sighed. ‘That priest told Savendra exactly when he saw Kidd outside his flat. Six minutes to four, he said; he was late for evensong so he checked his watch. And Kidd called 999 at 3.56 - two minutes later. It’s too quick, Terry, he couldn’t have killed her in that short time. Anyway, think what he told the operator: “My girlfriend’s dead, she’s killed herself.” He’s not stupid - he wouldn’t have said that if he’d cut her wrists just a minute before. He’d have waited, given her time to bleed to death first. Which is why he went out to the shop - to give her time to die. So what matters now is exactly how long he was away.’
‘He was in the shop for less than five minutes,’ Terry replied bluntly. ‘The shopkeeper says that quite clearly.’
‘Yes, well let’s just hope he sticks to that in court,’ Sarah said thoughtfully. ‘Otherwise we’re sunk. You do realise that, don’t you?’‘
The shopkeeper, Mr Patel, was a small, rotund elderly Asian gentleman, who surveyed his impressive surroundings with nervous awe. Sarah led him gently through the preliminaries. His shop, he said, was about forty yards from David Kidd’s flat. A minute’s walk, no more. On the night Shelley died, David came into the shop, and bought some olive oil and flowers. He seemed quite keen to talk, Mr Patel said. He was cooking a meal for himself and Shelley. The flowers were a present for her.
‘And what else did you talk about?’
‘Football. I had watched Leeds beat Arsenal in the cup the day before. He asked me about the match and I told him.’
