Degrees of Guilt

by H S Chandler

  The judge was staring at the psychiatrist. For once, Lottie noted, she had even put down her pen, and had her hands folded on top of her notepad. This was the crucial question, she realised. The case turned on this. Lottie glanced at Cameron who was uncharacteristically pale, leaning forward in his chair, glaring across the courtroom.

  ‘Technically, and there are all sorts of caveats to this, but technically yes. That, of course, is a very different question to whether or not I believe that is what happened in this particular case.’

  ‘So let’s deal with the first part of that answer and then move on to the second, Professor,’ the judge interjected.

  ‘Quite so,’ he smarmed. Lottie concluded that she hated him, even though there was no particular logic for it. ‘There are instances where one person has become so influential in another’s life that they’ve persuaded them towards suicide, although the victim is usually tending towards it in the first place and the persuader simply provides affirmation. Other examples include the sort of extremist brain-washing that’s evident in the case of suicide-bombers, or online suicide challenges aimed at teenagers. If a person really does not want to harm themselves critically though, it would in my opinion be difficult to force them to do so without some form of physical intervention.’

  ‘And in this particular case?’ Miss Pascal asked.

  ‘Having had the benefit of meeting Mrs Bloxham, albeit briefly, I fail to see that someone with her strength of personality could have been forced to do anything she did not wish to do. She certainly found it easy enough to decide not to answer my questions when it didn’t suit her. I gather that she formulated a plan to conceal small amounts of her husband’s money over a period of time and then to purchase a mobile phone which she also hid. That’s manipulative and organised, and it’s at odds with her claim that her life was under threat. As she accepts there was never any threat of physical violence from her husband, I fail to see what she thought would happen if she simply refused to self-harm. When we assess the effect of pressure on a person, we also consider the consequences. That allows us to form a view of how rational a person’s actions are. If the threat of consequences is real – for example, if a gun is being held to your head – then violent acts in self-defence are understandable. In this case, I see no such evidence. I simply do not understand how Mrs Bloxham can claim she was in immediate danger, at least not from anyone except herself.’

  ‘Do the claims she’s making tell you anything about Mrs Bloxham’s current mental state, professor?’ Imogen Pascal asked, raising herself to her full height and crossing her arms.

  ‘One of two things. Either the defendant is deeply calculating and prepared to lie shamefully to get away with this crime, or she honestly believes what she’s told the court in which case it’s feasible to conclude that she is suffering serious paranoia which might make her a continuing danger to society.’

  ‘Thank you, Professor Worth,’ Imogen Pascal gave a small bow of her head then sat down.

  Taking his time getting up, James Newell adjusted his wig and flicked through a folder before he was ready to ask his first question.

  ‘Deliberate self-harm is addictive behaviour, isn’t it?’ Newell asked simply. There was a general sitting up in court, a shifting of focus. This was more interesting, Lottie thought. The defence barrister pitting himself against the prosecution witness.

  ‘Quite often, yes,’ Worth agreed.

  ‘Because it offers temporary relief from stress or depression in the same way that drugs and alcohol might,’ Newell suggested.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Worth said.

  ‘So Dr Bloxham providing his wife with the razor blades was not very different from him buying a heroin addict a stash of drugs. That addict might be able to use the drugs safely and restrict their intake, or they might have a bad day and suddenly take it all at once, risking death. What’s the difference?’

  ‘The difference is that a skilled and experienced self-harmer like Mrs Bloxham knows how to avoid self-harming too dramatically, and can avoid serious injury,’ the professor replied.

  ‘But addiction is unpredictable. It’s a downward spiral in almost every case. The severity of the damage to Ms Bloxham’s thighs makes it pretty plain that her addiction is out of control, don’t you agree?’

  ‘I didn’t see the scars but I’m willing to accept that assessment, although I don’t see the relevance of what you’re asking.’

  ‘Really?’ Newell asked, a frown creasing his forehead as he drew his head back, staring at the psychiatrist. ‘You don’t see that her husband buying her razor blades,’ the volume of the barrister’s voice began to rise, ‘and repeatedly encouraging, even instructing her to cut herself, is a form of physical violence? Dr Bloxham may not have wielded the blades, but he abused his knowledge of his wife’s addiction so despicably that he might as well have done. That’s the reality, isn’t it?’

  Professor Worth fiddled with the bundle of photos on the desk in front of him. ‘I’m not sure I can … I mean, it’s a matter of fact and degree. It would depend on the facts. I’m not even convinced her husband knew Mrs Bloxham was self-harming.’

  ‘You think it’s possible he didn’t look at or touch her thighs for the entire duration of their marriage?’ Newell snapped back. The psychiatrist didn’t answer. ‘For the sake of argument, let’s consider Dr Bloxham as a loving husband who cared about his wife and who wasn’t controlling and tormenting her. If someone you genuinely loved was self-harming to a dramatic extent, what would you expect to be a reasonable course of action, Professor?’

  ‘A referral to a general practitioner who could assess the medical situation and put appropriate expert assistance in place,’ Worth said.

  ‘But you’ve seen Mrs Bloxham’s medical records, haven’t you?’

  ‘I have,’ Worth agreed.

  ‘Did she ever see the GP about the self-harm?’

  ‘She did not,’ he answered quietly.

  ‘Was there any note in the records that Dr Bloxham had ever contacted his wife’s GP to report deliberate self-harm?’

  ‘No,’ Worth agreed again.

  ‘And do you recall the date of Mrs Bloxham’s last contact with her GP? I mean for anything at all – coughs, colds – anything.’

  ‘I’d have to check my notes to be accurate, but I do recall noting that Mrs Bloxham hadn’t seen her GP for more than a decade. It might be, of course, that she either had no complaint in that time, or that she didn’t want the doctor to question the damage to her thighs.’

  ‘Or it might be that her husband didn’t want her to have access to an outside professional in case she started telling someone what her life was like. That’s a possibility too, isn’t it?’ Newell finished.

  ‘Almost anything is possible if you don’t care about actual proof,’ Worth said. ‘I can only tell you what I saw. Mrs Bloxham was not sheepish and downtrodden, quite the opposite. She was angry, confrontational and aggressive. I saw fury rather than fear. That was my professional opinion at the time, and nothing I’ve learned since then makes me change my assessment. If anything, I’m even more concerned that she may be suffering a serious psychiatric illness which makes her dangerous and could have led to her attack on Dr Bloxham. Sadly, I can only help people who want to be helped.’

  ‘No further cross-examination,’ Newell said, retaking his seat.

  As the judge began thanking the psychiatrist for having taken time from his schedule to return to the courtroom, Lottie was distracted by Cameron pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. He motioned to the court usher, who did a quizzical double-take then stalked over. Cameron whispered in his ear, then the usher made his way towards the court clerk, who stood up and passed the paper to the judge.

  ‘One moment please,’ the judge directed in Professor Worth’s direction. She handed the paper back to the clerk who took it first to Imogen Pascal who read it, stretching her jaw to one side and gritting her teeth, before getting her game face back on and smil
ing politely. After that James Newell was allowed a look. Lottie watched his eyebrows raise slightly, before he glanced along the double line of jurors. He wanted to know who’d written the note, Lottie thought. She was desperate to ask Cameron what was on it, but that would mean leaning closer to him. The judge took the note back from the usher and looked around the court. ‘It appears that there is a note from the jury. I see no objection to putting it to this witness as it arises from Ms Bloxham’s evidence.’

  ‘Who wrote that? No one asked me,’ Lottie heard Tabitha mutter below her.

  ‘Shhh,’ Pan responded, already poised with his pen and notebook.

  ‘Professor Worth, the question reads, “What is the psychology behind a male instructing a female partner to pretend to be completely unresponsive during sex?”’

  The psychiatrist looked uncomfortable, directing his gaze in Imogen Pascal’s direction for guidance. The prosecutor gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and looked back down at her file. He hadn’t been prepared for that question, Lottie thought. Cameron had though. She wondered when he’d decided to ask the question. Before they entered the courtroom, that much was clear. No one else might have noticed, but Cameron hadn’t picked up his notebook all day which meant he’d drafted the question in advance.

  ‘Again, this is based only on what Mrs Bloxham said. There’s no independent evidence that this ever happened,’ Worth began.

  ‘I’ll deal with that, if you wouldn’t mind just explaining the psychological aspects please,’ the judge said, tersely.

  ‘Of course. In broad terms, asking a partner to play dead indicates primarily a desire to dominate them. They can’t respond, move or object. They also can’t express any physical desire or pleasure themselves so there might be an underlying issue of wanting the sex to feel non-consensual,’ he paused. No one in the courtroom moved. ‘At a very obvious level, it might be role-play for someone interested in necrophilia, having sexual relations with the dead. Taking the psychology to an extreme it is also possible that the dominant partner has fantasies about killing. Not necessarily their actual partner, but killing in general.’

  Lottie was distracted by DI Anton leaning forward and whispering manically in Imogen Pascal’s ear. She waved him away and he sat down, red faced, obviously cross. James Newell looked back towards the jury once more, catching Lottie’s eyes. She gave him the briefest smile as he turned away again.

  After that they were dismissed, citing the need for legal argument in the afternoon. Lottie hadn’t waited for Cameron in the hallway between the court and the jury room, pacing ahead instead, only surprised by the fact that he hadn’t caught up with her. They were due a conversation, but it wasn’t one she wanted to have until she was a sensible distance from their fellow jurors.

  ‘Need to talk,’ she texted him, knowing what a huge understatement it was. She needed to do the talking and for him to listen. If she tried dealing with the problem on the phone it would never feel properly resolved. Cameron had to understand how serious she was, and for that she needed to be looking him in the eyes. Feeling sick with nerves, she waited for his response as she packed her bag in the jury room.

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ he replied. ‘Lucy’s on Harbourside? Thirty mins?’

  ‘Great,’ she responded, waving a nonchalant goodbye to her fellow jurors and exiting the court building, heading for the old dockside. Even in poor weather the collection of bars, restaurants and artsy cinemas made Harbourside a haven for twenty-somethings, but in the sunshine every spare inch of the high walls above the water became a bench for students, tourists and those with time on their hands, complete with picnics, fast food, wine and beer. They lined both sides of the waterway, chattering loudly and basking in the golden afternoon light.

  Lucy’s café was between an Italian restaurant and a late night bar, with just a few tables outside and featuring gaudy plastic covers, but it made the best coffee in Bristol. Lottie chose seats inside away from prying eyes, keeping her back to the window. Cameron arrived ten minutes later looking tired but happy.

  ‘Hey gorgeous,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose I’m allowed to kiss you in public. I’ll just have to settle for imagining it instead. I didn’t even get a chance to say hello to you at court this morning. What a day!’

  ‘It really was,’ Lottie played along, wishing he would keep his sunglasses on as she tried to figure out how to say what was needed. ‘What was that you did in court today? Tabitha nearly had a fit, one of us deciding to do something without her express permission.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I had to escape before she could insist on another disciplinary committee meeting. I’m guessing I’ll be for it tomorrow morning,’ Cameron smiled.

  ‘You got the note out of your pocket, though. It was already written. When did you decide you were going to ask a question?’ Lottie smiled at the waitress who delivered the drinks she’d already ordered.

  ‘In the morning, before we went in. Professor Worth was obviously going to side with the prosecution so I thought I’d even up the odds a bit. Did the trick, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but you keep saying the Tabithas have already made their minds up to find her guilty. It’s starting to sound as if you’ve made your decision already too. Surely we should all be keeping an open mind?’ Lottie took a sip of coffee, and tried to ignore the unwanted images that were flooding her mind from the previous afternoon.

  ‘I think I’d rather talk about us,’ Cameron said, brushing her knee with his hand beneath the table.

  Lottie jerked away. ‘Cam, don’t,’ she said.

  ‘Okay, too public, I apologise,’ he said. ‘It’s hard not to touch you.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Lottie said quietly. ‘It was a mistake. My mistake. I’ve got too much to lose. This morning Daniyal was … it doesn’t matter. The fact is that the trial’s almost over and this has to stop. I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for the way I behaved yesterday … and before that … but I don’t want to risk my whole marriage. I love my son too much to play games like this.’ Cameron ran his hands through his hair and stared down into his coffee. ‘Please say something.’ She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, revealing tear-filled eyes. ‘I need to know you’re okay with this … with me.’

  ‘So what, you were just fucking with me?’ he hissed. ‘What am I supposed to say? Yeah, sure Lottie, it didn’t mean anything so fine, just dump me. I never had you figured as the sort of woman to treat other people like trash.’

  ‘That’s not fair. My son needs his father and a stable home environment which I’m not providing at the moment because all I’ve been thinking about is you. I can’t let everyone I love be destroyed,’ Lottie fired back.

  ‘Everyone you love? Meaning Zain as well as Daniyal? When did that happen? After everything you’ve said about being unhappy and unappreciated. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you misled me?’ Cameron whispered. ‘I lost the last person I loved forever, Lottie. You knew that before you got involved with me. Am I really supposed to accept that you think it’s okay to just drop me now that you’ve realised there might be consequences?’

  ‘Oh God, Cameron, I’m sorry,’ Lottie sighed, sitting on her hands to try to stop them shaking. ‘I didn’t mean it to end like this. Actually, I never intended for it to start …’

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘As stupid as that sounds after such a short time, I know I love you. We can’t give up on each other so easily. I won’t let that happen.’

  She stared at him, tried to pick up her cup to fill the silence with action, but failed.

  ‘Cam …’ she breathed.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ he said. ‘Not right now. Give me a couple more days before you decide it’s all over, that’s all I ask. I promise not to hassle you if you’ll do that for me. Just think about it.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Lottie blurted. ‘Zain’s not a bad man but if he finds out that we’ve … I don’t know what he’d do. Daniyal was born in Pakistan. If Zain decides
to punish me he could put him on a plane and disappear. You’re right. I didn’t think about the consequences until we’d already taken it too far, but I’d be lying if I said we had a future, and I don’t want to lie to you.’

  ‘I’ll look after you and Daniyal, Lottie. I won’t let Zain hurt either of you. Just agree to think about it a bit longer. Please? I know there’s a lot at stake. There is for me too.’

  He looked desperate, Lottie thought. What had she done? Not only risking the ruin of her own life, but Cameron’s too. She only had to get through to the end of the trial. After that she and Cameron wouldn’t see each other anyway. He’d be back at work and she’d be looking after Daniyal again. That would be the break from each other they needed to make their separation painless. Away from the stress and intensity of the courtroom, Cameron would get their fling into perspective. She’d never imagined he would develop feelings for her so quickly – the brusque, jokey carpenter who’d begun jury duty filled with anger and irritation. Lottie had been completely wrong about him. He was more sensitive and needy than she could ever have imagined. A cooling off period wouldn’t be such a bad thing for her, either. The whirlwind needed to settle.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll think about it. Just a couple more days. Then you’ll agree with whatever I decide. No more argument, okay?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘As long as I know I’m still in with a chance.’

  26

  Day Ten in Court

  Maria stared through the crack in the ladies’ toilet cubicle door. Imogen Pascal was washing her hands and staring at herself in the mirror. In spite of the humidity, she was dressed to kill. Her midnight blue suit, skirt just above the knee, tight-waisted jacket, might as well have had the designer label still swinging on the outside. It said money, class, confidence, and it was hard not to be impressed. Maria was, quite genuinely. She had wondered at length about Miss Pascal’s private life. Would she ever have children or was her career going to be the love of her life? Had she realised yet that DI Anton stared at her constantly, or was she completely unaware?