by Vicary, Tim
‘I’ve done nothing of the sort. I wrote down exactly what he told me.’
‘What you wanted him to tell you, you mean.’
‘Look.’ Churchill pressed his hands to the table and got his feet. ‘We’re getting nowhere with this. You know it was a murder and I know it was a murder so when that man Patel said Kidd was in his shop for only a few minutes that has to be the truth, however much you lawyers have muddled his brains now. Witnesses get confused all the time, you know that, but it’s your job and mine to make sure that wicked murderers like David Kidd get locked away for good. And if you’re not up to that, Mrs Newby, perhaps you’re in the wrong job!’
Not me, Sarah thought as she watched the door close behind him. Not me, William Churchill, you. She had loathed the man ever since she had met him, but never before, so far as she could remember, had he so clearly condemned himself out of his own mouth.
When court resumed after lunch, Sarah stood up and said, rather lamely: ‘My lord, that concludes the case for the prosecution.’
As she had expected, Savendra immediately asked for the jury to be sent out during legal argument, which consisted of his attempt to get the case dismissed on the grounds that there was insufficient evidence to put before a jury. ‘My lord, the entire prosecution case rested on the evidence of this morning’s witness, who was supposed to disprove my client’s alibi that he was out of the flat while Shelley Walters met her death. His original statement, signed it now seems under police pressure, made it possible that the defendant cut Miss Walters’ wrists, went out to the shop, and returned in time to find her still alive. This is no longer the case. Mr Patel’s new evidence entirely destroys this possibility. Therefore the only rational conclusion is that she took her own life.’
‘That is not so, my lord,’ Sarah argued firmly. ‘In the first place, it seems highly likely that this morning’s witness is simply confused, and has no idea how long the accused was in his shop. His evidence is now so contradictory that it should be disregarded altogether. And with Mr Patel out of the equation, we are left with the fact that Miss Walters was found dying in the defendant’s bath, in a flat to which no one but he had access, with bruises on her neck and the artery pierced in her right wrist - not her left - and the defendant’s fingerprints on the knife. Quite sufficient to put before the jury, my lord.’
‘A strong prima facie case, certainly,’ said the judge. ‘But you must admit, Mrs Newby, your case is damaged. Your chances of conviction seem rather less of a certainty than they did. Do you have witnesses to call, Mr Bhose?’
‘Yes, my lord, two. Miss Walters’ psychiatrist and the defendant himself.’
Sarah sighed. Earlier she had argued strongly for the exclusion of Dr Giles MacDonald, Shelley’s psychiatrist, on the grounds that he had no first-hand knowledge whatsoever of the circumstances of Shelley’s death, but the judge, reluctantly, had overruled her. Since the defence relied on the possibility of suicide, he said, the grounds for that possibility must necessarily be explored. After this morning’s debacle she saw no point in a further almost certainly futile attempt to reopen that debate. Instead, she bought herself a sandwich and a bottle of water, and phoned Terry Bateson.
‘Hi,’ she said, sitting on a bench by the riverbank, and ripping open the packet with her left hand while she held the phone in the other. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Preparing to interview a drug dealer. Why?’
‘I thought you might like to know how things went in court this morning with your shopkeeper. The one whose evidence you were so certain about. Remember?’
Was his mobile clear enough to convey the full bitterness behind her tone of waspish disillusionment? She hoped so. She took a bite of her sandwich and waited. His response, when it came, sounded cautious and wary.
‘Why? What happened?’
‘He changed his story. Said Kidd might have been in his shop for up to ten minutes. He only said four in his statement because Will Churchill bullied him into it. And not only that, he claimed Churchill told him four would get Kidd convicted of murder.’
‘Shit.’
‘My sentiments exactly. Only it was me that was dropped in it. I only just managed to stop the judge from throwing the case out altogether.’
There was a pause, during which she bit hungrily into her sandwich and waited for a response which didn’t come. What was he doing, she wondered irritably? Shaking his head? Biting his lip? Ignoring her completely while he read some document about his drug dealer?
‘Terry?’ She unscrewed her bottle of water. ‘I trusted you to get this right!’
‘Yeah, well. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Churchill. He’ll deny it, of course.’
‘I’m way ahead of you. I’ve talked to him already.’
‘And?’
‘He denied it, of course. Said he did everything by the book, the smug bastard.’
‘Yes, well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? What did you expect?’
She let him wait for a moment while she sipped from her drink. The water cleared her mouth, so her answer came crisply. ‘What I expected, Terry, was that you would double-check everything, and that this case, which I only agreed to take on because you were in charge of it, would be watertight. Now it’s holed below the waterline, damn you!’
‘Look, Sarah, I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have checked.’ His voice, she was pleased to note, sounded suitably contrite. She began to feel a little sorry for him, as he went on. ‘ ... you do appreciate the man’s my boss, don’t you? I can’t just go picking holes in everything he does, you know. Especially when ...’
‘He only did it because one of your kids was ill. I know.’
‘I wasn’t going to say that, Sarah, though it’s true. Christ, suspected meningitis - for a few days there I thought Esther was going to die. So I was grateful to him at the time. But what I was going to say was ... well, this is still a murder, Sarah, and Kidd did it, whatever that shopkeeper Patel says now. So when Will Churchill brought back a statement saying Kidd was only in his shop for four minutes, I believed it. I mean, it has to be true, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s not what he’s saying now.’
‘Well, what is he saying now? That he’s sure Kidd was in his shop for ten minutes?’
‘No, not really. He’s saying he can’t remember.’
‘Well, exactly. That’s the trouble with this kind of evidence. Sod Will Churchill, he’s screwed it up by trying to be too precise. But in this case ... well, he’s got to be right, hasn’t he? I mean, who else murdered Shelley if Kidd didn’t do it? There was no one else there.’
‘She murdered herself.’ Sarah took another bite of her sandwich. ‘That’s what the defence are saying. Some of the jury are starting to believe that now.’
‘Yes, well, she didn’t, Sarah. You know that and so do I. It’s your job to convince them of the truth, that’s all.’
‘That, DI Bateson, is exactly what Will Churchill said to me half an hour ago. To cover up the fact that he’s been caught falsifying the evidence. Again. In a noble cause, no doubt. Just as he did with my son.’
‘Okay, Sarah, look, I’m sorry. We’ve got to do things the right way, of course we have. But it’s not the same as your son, not this time, really. All the evidence shows Kidd’s guilty, all the rest of it, anyway. And if he isn’t put away, it’ll be that girl’s family who will suffer, all over again for a second time. Can you imagine what that would be like?’
‘I can try, but I don’t think imagination takes you very far, do you? The real thing must be so painful it doesn’t bear thinking about. Okay, Terry, look, you’re right. I think this Patel was just confused, that’s all, and Will Churchill’s made it worse. But I’ll do my best. This afternoon I’ve got the girl’s psychiatrist, God help me. That isn’t going to help either.’
Sarah got to her feet, threw the remains of her sandwich to some ducks, and dropped the wrapper in a bin. In a few minutes she was due back in court.
> ‘You’ll manage,’ Terry said. ‘You always do.’
‘Do I? We’ll see.’ Sarah clicked off her phone, drained her bottle, threw it after the wrapper, and strode purposefully back across the road.
23. Trick Cyclist
‘STILL FEELING lucky?’ Savendra asked mischievously, on the way back into court.
‘Of course,’ Sarah replied, wishing she felt half as sure as she sounded. ‘Trust me, Savvy, your client’s going down. There’s a cell door with his name already printed on it.’
Dr MacDonald, a lean, grey haired psychiatrist in his fifties, took the stand to explain that he had first met Shelley when she was seventeen, and treated her regularly for bi-polar disorder; previously known as manic depression. He had last seen her three weeks before she died.
Savendra nodded. ‘In layman’s terms, could you explain what that diagnosis means, please?’
‘Well, people with this illness suffer from very extreme, violent mood swings. All of us feel low on some days, when we are ill, perhaps, or things go wrong - and we feel happy when things are going right. Well, for people with bi-polar disorder these moods are magnified hugely: some authorities believe the feelings can be ten, even a hundred times stronger. And this works both ways. Some highly creative people have suffered from manic depression, as we used to call it - Winston Churchill, for instance. When things are going well for them they can be full of energy, their minds buzzing with exciting ideas, as though the sun was shining inside their heads. But on bad days, they can be sunk a gloom so deep that everything seems utterly hopeless. Many people suffer real physical pain, so bad that it frightens them and they want to escape it in any way they can.’
‘Even by suicide?’ Savendra asked smoothly.
‘Sometimes, yes. The suicide rate amongst people with bi-polar disorder is much higher than for the rest of the population.’
‘And Shelley Walters suffered from this condition?’
‘Yes. Hers was a relatively mild form of the condition, I would say; but even that can be seriously disabling. She came to me in the first place because she was unable to cope with her A levels. Days, even weeks, passed when she was unable to touch a book or a pen, her depression was so bad. And yet when the cloud lifted her teachers confirmed that she was a wonderful student, buzzing with ideas and energy. I saw that for myself, indeed. She was a lovely girl, a real pleasure to talk to.’
‘Was your treatment able to help her?’
‘I think so, yes, with a combination of drugs and counselling. The drugs were vital - I put her on a prescription of lithium to keep her stable. It prevented her from falling into those black troughs of despair. But not all patients are happy with this treatment, because it also prevents you from reaching those peaks of happiness which are the positive side of this condition. And those can be quite addictive, believe me. So that’s where the counselling comes in. I spent a lot of time talking to Shelley, getting her to understand her condition better, and to get used to a more normal range of emotions. And of course we talked about her family, her ambitions, and the things that frustrated or annoyed her. All adolescents have to deal with those things, but it’s particularly important for patients with bi-polar disorder to avoid being ambushed by something that can knock them seriously off balance, even with the medication. If they forget to take it, of course, the results can be even worse.’
‘Did Shelley sometimes forget to take her medication?’
‘Yes, once or twice. If ‘forget’ is the right word - that’s debatable. She may occasionally have done. At least once I think she did it deliberately, because she craved that feeling of intense happiness and creativity which she had experienced before.’
‘But without her medicine, she also ran the risk of descending into one of those troughs of severe depression which you described, didn’t she?’
‘Certainly. I warned her of that risk.’
‘And it’s because of these depressions, is it, that people with bi-polar disorder are more prone to suicide than the rest of the population?’
‘Undoubtedly, yes. It can be an experience so painful, so devoid of hope, that death can seem the only way out.’
Watching from the gallery, Kathryn seethed with fury. She had been incensed that this man was called in the first place, and now, as he described how Shelley found study difficult and the pressure from her parents, particularly her mother, hard to bear, she gripped the rail grimly in front of her. What about patient confidentiality, she wanted to ask - what about the duty of care this creepy psychiatrist owed to the poor girl who’d asked him for help? Was it his duty to blame her family now, help her murderer, when the poor child was dead and could never answer back?
‘Could this sort of pressure drive her into depression?’
‘Sometimes, yes. All sorts of things could do it - a breakup with a boyfriend, criticism from her teachers, an argument, or just nothing at all. You must remember that these depressions are essentially a chemical imbalance in the brain, so they can begin with no external stimulus whatsoever. As can the highs which are their opposite.’
Savendra glanced at the jury, who were watching intently. It seemed that his witness was going down well. ‘When was Shelley Walters discharged from your care?’
‘She was never finally discharged. Hers was not a condition from which you are ever really cured. The best you can hope for is to stabilize it, really. The last time I saw her was about three weeks before she died. She came for a new prescription.’
‘And how did she seem to you on that occasion?’
‘Quite cheerful, positive. She had a new boyfriend, that was the main development in her life. She said he was very attentive, very caring.’
‘Very attentive and caring. Did she mention the boyfriend’s name?’
‘She did. David Kidd.’
‘Did she mention any fears she had about this boyfriend?’
‘Fears? No, not really. She said she’d had some arguments with her parents but she felt these had been a liberating experience more than anything else. They helped her establish a more independent identity, separate from her parents. It’s a normal development for young adults.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Heads turned all round the court, to see Kathryn standing in the public gallery, screaming down at the man giving evidence. ‘He didn’t liberate her, he turned her into a slave, who could hardly speak for herself! You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you - you’re just here to help Shelley’s murderer!’
‘Kath, love, please, sit down. Sit down, you can’t do this.’ Andrew had his arms round his wife, tugging ineffectually with Miranda on the other side.
‘It wasn’t pressure from us that killed her, it was him - that monster down there!’ Kathryn jabbed her finger down at the dock before subsiding into her seat in tears. As the usher nervously entered the public gallery she said: ‘All right, all right, I’ll be quiet. But he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that fool down there. He’s just helping her killer.’
As Kathryn sat down, Savendra turned back to the psychiatrist. ‘Would you look at this packet of tablets which was found in Shelley Walter’s bedroom at the university, please. Is this the medication you prescribed?’
‘Yes. I changed the prescription from lithium to sodium valproate on April 30th.’
‘Could you tell us, please, how many tablets remain in the packet?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘And how many tablets was she supposed to take every day?’
‘One.’
‘I believe there were originally twenty-eight tablets in the packet which you prescribed. So, by a process of simple arithmetic, doctor MacDonald, if Shelley had taken one of those tablets every day from April 30th to 20th May, how many tablets would you expect to remain?’
‘Seven.’
‘So what does that suggest to you?’
‘It suggests that she had missed the medication on nine days.’
‘Exactly. What effect would that have on h
er mental condition, doctor?’
‘She would begin to return to the manic depressive state for which she was being treated. Her moods would be more intense and volatile than they had been before.’
‘More intense and volatile. And we know that during the week before she died, she found her boyfriend in bed with another girl - that would provide a powerful external stimulus to depression, wouldn’t it? Quite apart from the chemical imbalance in her brain.’
‘That is possible, certainly.’
‘Quite. So, given your knowledge of Shelley Walters’ medical condition, doctor, was she the sort of person who, when deprived of her medication and under the pressure of family expectations, academic work, and the break-up of her relationship with her boyfriend, might contemplate suicide as a way to escape?’
‘Obviously I have no idea what really happened. As far as I was aware her life was improving and she was taking her medication regularly. But ... my answer to your question, in the circumstances you describe, has to be yes. If she stopped taking her medicine, and then experienced a severe, crippling depression consequent on the break-up of a romantic relationship, then she may have contemplated suicide, certainly. It is a possibility I cannot rule out.’
It was clear to Sarah that the psychiatrist had damaged her case. And Kathryn’s outburst had made it worse - at least two of the jurors seemed to have found it more funny than tragic. She had no intention of bandying medical terminology with this man. Her aim was get him off the stand in short order, and refocus the juror’s minds on the facts. She confronted him coolly.
‘Doctor, you don’t know how Shelley died, do you? You never saw her body, did you? Never visited the scene of the crime?’
‘No.’
‘You never even met her boyfriend - this ‘caring, attentive’ young man you described.’
‘No. That was Shelley’s description, not mine.’
‘These pills my learned colleague showed you. Do you know when she didn’t take them?’
‘I can’t tell you that, no.’
‘So for all you know, she could have missed taking them in the first week of May, just after you prescribed them, and resumed later. That’s possible, isn’t it? Just as possible as Mr Bhose’s suggestion?’
