‘Well in that case, I don’t believe it happened,’ Number Six says, reaching for her glass again, her fingers shaking.
‘So you’ve changed your mind in the space of—’
‘Calm down, Brian,’ snaps Number Five. ‘You asked for her thoughts, let the woman speak.’
The room falls silent as Number Six finishes her sip, then lets out another gasp that almost turns into a burp. Number Four has to stifle his laugh at the sound.
‘I just think four minutes is just not… I don’t think much happened in that time,’ she says.
The jurors have just finished watching three re-runs of the CCTV footage from the entrance of the Hairy Lemon pub that showed Jason leading Sabrina outside the main door at 19:32 p.m. and then back inside at 19:36 p.m. Unlike the earlier argument of who approached who first, there was at least some hard evidence of this encounter. But it didn’t really help either side of the argument.
Sabrina admitted, even as early as her first interview with police almost eighteen months ago, that she did share an early kiss with Jason Kenny on the pathway to the side of the pub. She insists he was trying to kiss her more passionately than she felt appropriate, given that they had only just met. She confirmed that at one point she gave in and kissed him, testifying on the stand that it was ‘a very small kiss, didn’t last long.’ Jason’s testimony was quite different. He said he was surprised they were only outside for four minutes, because he remembers them kissing for quite some time, said Sabrina even went so far as unzipping his jeans, fondling his penis outside of his boxer shorts before reaching inside and performing manual stimulation on him.
‘If I may raise my concerns here,’ says Number Eight, looking at the plasma screen hung on the wall, still showing a paused image of Sabrina and Jason arriving back inside the pub. ‘Sabrina doesn’t look embarrassed or at any kind of unease coming back in. Don’t you just think that if she had given a stranger a handjob, then she might be a bit self-conscious? A bit embarrassed, perhaps?’
‘But sure it’s black and white footage. She could be red-faced for all we know,’ says Number One.
‘True. But she’s not even trying to hide her face. She shows no sign of unease at all. I genuinely think from this evidence,’ Number Eight continues, pointing at the screen, ‘this handjob never happened. I think he’s making it up. It suits his defence. I wouldn’t be surprised if his whole expensive defence team just made this part up.’
Number Twelve lets out an audible sigh before getting to his feet.
‘I know we’re all frustrated at this particular juncture. But what do we have — apart from the CCTV footage which only proves they went outside for a few minutes… which neither side actually deny? We have her word against his. It’s not much to go on.’
‘Well I think I may have a good point to raise,’ Number Ten says, before clearing her throat. ‘Don’t forget that the defence are brilliant, right? They are an expensive, operation — we all know this. Think about this for a second… if Sabrina opened Jason’s zip, why didn’t they try to prove this? Why didn’t they have the jeans examined to gather confirmed evidence of her finger prints on his zipper?’
The jury room falls silent, only the noise of a couple of jurors shifting their seating positions creating any sound at all.
‘That’s a very good point, Number Ten,’ claims Brian. ‘You’re right. If these guys are the besht of the besht in terms of defence lawyers, surely they would have looked into that. And I’m sure they did look into it. But why wasn’t it brought to court?’ he says, shrugging one of his shoulders.
‘Because they didn’t find her finger prints on his zip,’ says Number Ten. Number Eight stares at Number Ten, meets her eye and then raises his eyebrow in appreciation of her nous. Number Ten is proving that first impressions shouldn’t count; certainly not in jury rooms.
Number Ten’s real name is Janice Dean, she’s a thirty-two-year-old self-labelled geek from Mulhuddart in west Dublin. She’s a massive superhero fan. Like her dad, Number Ten read both Marvel and DC comic books as a kid. She has worn an overly big T-shirt for every day of this trial, normally emblazoned with the name of a rock group she’s into. Today’s T-shirt is blank, but throughout the course of the trial she had worn T-Shirts with the logos of Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC and Deep Purple — bands her dad had forced her to listen to as a child, bands she still listens to today. She has her face pierced in seven different places; two piercings on each ear, two on her nose; one on the side of her right nostril, the other a ring that forms a bridge between both nostrils like a cute dairy cow. And she also has a rounded stud just below the centre of her bottom lip. It would be difficult to tell from looks alone that Number Ten is one of the highest earners in the room. She works as an engineer on construction sites — again, influenced by her dad. She remains undecided on a verdict in this trial, but is tipping towards not guilty because she thinks the expensive defence team would have done a better job of proving the rape had it in fact really happened. That’s how her brain operates. No other juror has looked at it from that point of view.
She sits back on her chair and wallows in the praise that is coming her way from fellow jurors.
‘Yeah… why didn’t they do that?’ Number One asks. ‘Really good point, Number Ten. Very smart.’
‘Well why didn’t the prosecution prove that the jeans didn’t have Sabrina’s fingerprints? You could argue both sides,’ rasps Number Twelve.
‘I applaud the point being made’, Brian says. ‘But given that that is circumstantial, does anybody feel particularly strongly about this handjob claim? Is there anyone here who feels this definitely happened or definitely didn’t happen? Let’s do it this way… quick and easy. Hands up if you feel strongly that Sabrina did not give Jason a handjob just past seven-thirty on the night in question.’
Number Three, Number Five and Number Six raise their hands. This is no surprise. The three of them had already let it be known that they were in the guilty camp from the outset.
‘And hands up if you think Sabrina did give a Jason a handjob at this juncture?’ says Brian as he reaches his own hand into the air. Number Twelve also holds his hand aloft. So too does Number Eight. At least there’s been some movement on their earlier verdict vote. But not necessarily a move in the right direction. If anything, the jury room is more split down the middle now than it had been at the start.
‘Three for, three against,’ says Number One. ‘Six undecided.’
‘It’s not undecided,’ says Number Ten. ‘It’s just that we have no way of knowing for certain. I’m not undecided. I genuinely don’t know — and neither does anyone — whether or not Sabrina gave Jason a handjob outside the pub. So I find it quite interesting that anyone would raise their hand for any of those verdicts with any degree of certainty at all.’
‘Hold on… I am entitled to my—’ Number Five begins to argue. An argument she doesn’t even need to have.
‘Calm down, Number Five,’ Number One shouts, interrupting her. It was the first time the Head Juror properly raised his voice.
Number Five sits back in her chair, folds her arms across her chest. She was just about saved by Number One from uttering the word ‘opinion’ once again. She lets out a sigh that only she can hear. When talk resumes around the table she lifts her head, takes everybody in and begins to wonder why she feels as if she is the dumbest in the room when she certainly doesn’t look the dumbest. She stares at six female faces, five male. Then pictures her own face, and tries to imagine what the other jurors are thinking when they look at her. Her sentiment is skewed though. They weren’t making judgements on her looks, they were judging her based on what she was saying. She’s beginning to wish she hadn’t been picked for this trial at all.
The prosecution had tried hard to lean the jury selection gender-wise. They were determined to have as many females on the jury as possible; assuming that women would be more sympathetic to Sabrina’s story. The defence did a fine job in limi
ting the number of female jurors to just seven; almost celebrating the seven:five gender ratio the judge settled on when jury selection was completed. Both the defence and prosecution were actually flawed in their ambitions though. Contrary to the long-held assumption that female jurors find in favour of a female victim of rape, research of over one-hundred rape cases in Dublin’s criminal courts show that female-dominated juries are less likely to convict in this type of circumstance. It’s almost difficult to believe. But the understanding is that women are more fascinated by this subject. They watch this type of trial through their television screens on a regular basis. Between Law and Order, The Good Wife, LA Law, Crime and Punishment and plenty of other Americanised TV courtroom dramas, women – who are the main target audience of such shows – are exposed to trials more readily than men. But the trials they watch on TV are dramatised versions of the real deal. And when set up in a real jury dock, suffering the endless silences of a trial and putting up with legal arguments that can go over most people’s heads, they find themselves presented with a scenario that does not match their perception. They are not granted the same indicators and clues that pop up on TV dramas, and — as a result — they are less likely to convict. Though in truth, the toying between both sides pre-trial when it comes to selecting a jury can be a largely pointless exercise. Jurors are mostly swayed, not by their gender or even their past experiences, but by the most dominant voices in the jury room.
In this instance, the Number One versus Brian Hoare arguments — that continue to enrage most jurors, most of the time — hold a lot more significance to the outcome of this case than anything else.
19:40
Li
Zach can get a bit like this. Manic. Obsessive.
He won’t shut up about that Sabrina girl all night now. I’m sure Jason lied to him, told him he didn’t know where she was. Zach would have had a little strop if he knew Jason had got in there before him. That’s how nuts he can be.
‘Where d’ya wanna go anyway?’ Jason asks, trying to pull the three of us together; to stop Zach’s head spinning around the room.
‘Somewhere quieter,’ I say. ‘We were supposed to come out for an early drink so we could catch up… have a chat. It’s too busy here.’
‘Yeah – let’s do it then,’ Jason says.
He clinks my glass, then holds his towards Zach, waiting a brief moment until Zach tunes back in to clinks glasses.
‘C’mon man, we’re gonna head somewhere else,’ Jason tells him.
‘Ah wait… lemme see if I can find that hot brunette. Not leaving here till I try it on with her.’
I want to tell him he’s wasting his time, that she’s way out of his league. But Zach’s sensitive about things like that. I mean, he’s a nice guy, the funniest guy I’ve ever met — doesn’t take himself too seriously most of the time. But there are two things in life he can’t seem to get over. One, Jason becoming a pro footballer while he didn’t even get picked up by a League of Ireland club and two, the fact that Jason is now the one who gets all the girls.
‘Go and have a quick look for her then,’ Jason says, sighing. He looks at me; knows that I know. Is aware the night could turn into a bit of a fuck up if Zach figures out Jason has already put a marker down on Sabrina.
Zach swigs the rest of his second pint down, gasps out loud then claps Jason on the back and sets on his way.
‘Have you already been with yer one?’ I ask Jason after Zach has disappeared into the crowd. He clenches his teeth and nods his head.
‘Ye shudda just told him, for fuck sake.’
‘Ah… thought it best if he didn’t know. He didn’t even tell me he fancied her. The usual shit. Thinks he has first dibs on everything.’
‘Poor Tina,’ I say.
‘And Scott. And Charlie.’
Zach’s been married around ten years now. Him and Tina have two sons; one they had before they wed, the other straight after. He’s often told me and Jason that he wouldn’t have married Tina if she hadn’t fell pregnant. As if it was all her fault. But I actually think they’re a good couple. Zach needs Tina. He’d go off the rails without her. He’d be fucked.
Still, it doesn’t stop him cheating on her almost every time he goes out. He can’t help it. Feels a night out isn’t a night out unless he’s pulled. He’s always felt that way. He’s the only one of us who cheats. Jason’s only had one serious girlfriend, which lasted about two years, but all through that period he stayed faithful to Jessica. I still can’t quite figure out why they broke up. ‘We just grew apart,’ has never really been fully explained to me. That’s because Jason can’t fully explain it to himself, I bet. My genuine feeling is Jessica got sick of him moping around the house. Jason used to be always in good spirits, certainly was when they first met, but his happiness seemed to erode a few years ago. He’s become a lot more introverted. I think it’s because his career is coming to an end. Think he might even be suffering from a touch of depression these days.
His current state of mind reminds me of the Jason immediately following The Secret. He shut down back then, kept all of his thoughts to himself. His depression didn’t last too long though. Hopefully it doesn’t now.
Getting away from Ireland helped after The Secret. So did the excitement of a promising Premier League career. He was sixteen when Everton snapped him up. Three years later he was making his first team debut against Manchester United; with me and Zach chanting his name from the stands of Goodison Park.
‘Can’t find her. She must be gone,’ Zach says arriving back to us. That’s a relief. I had visions of him coming back here after her telling him she’d already snogged his mate. It would mean Zach would be breathing heavily through his nose for the rest of the night, barely talking to either of us. It’s happened before. Lots of times.
‘She must be gone. Sorry mate,’ I say. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea.’
He spins his head around one more time, then shrugs his shoulders.
‘You done with that pint, Li?’ he asks.
I stare at the drink in my hand. It’s still full. The two lads’ glasses are empty.
‘Ah… fuck it, I’ll leave it,’ I say, stretching to place it onto the shelf next to us.
‘Fuck that,’ says Zach, swiping the pint from me. He takes a deep breath before swigging from the glass, swallowing it all in one go. Then he looks at both of us, his eyes watering.
‘Let’s get the fuck outta here, boys,’ he says.
19:40
Sabrina
I click the latch of the door, slap down the lid of the toilet and sit on it. Then I open the text message, squinting my eyes at the photograph. The face doesn’t ring a bell. I definitely haven’t copped this bloke since I’ve been here. Maybe he’s just arrived. The text message isn’t clear on that.
Target in place. Downstairs bar in Hairy Lemon. Be careful. Best of luck. Lorna. x
The guy looks pretty handsome in the pic. Not normally my type, but it helps my job if they’re good looking because it makes everything more believable and less awkward. I click into my emails, recall the notes even though I’ve read them about eight times today.
Niall Stevens. Age 27. Car mechanic. Lives with his fiancée. Hobbies include watching Formula One, TV shows like Top Gear & Robot Wars. Loves Will Ferrell movies.
I stare at his picture again. Then place my phone back into my bag and stand up, open the lock and pace towards the mirrors. This toilet is pretty packed now. I have to stare over some girl’s shoulder to get a good look at my face. I still wish I had worn something a little more comfortable, though this little number certainly worked on Jason Kenny. That was quite intense; never had somebody grab me up against a wall before, throwing their tongue in my mouth after literally meeting them two minutes prior. I enjoyed it. Probably shouldn’t have put my hands down his pants though. It’s most likely put him off me. He’s probably moved on to his next girl already, thinking I was too easy — not enough of a challenge for a professional foot
baller. It’s a pity work called for me when it did. If he’s still around when I’m finished with Niall, I might go and speak to him. He did invite me to, after all.
I take one last look in the mirror, pull the V in my jumpsuit closer and decide to just get on with it. I almost see Amanda staring back at me. I think the older I get, the more I look like her. Amanda was a known model in Dublin. Signed up by Assets Agency when she was just seventeen. She used to appear on morning television all the time; me and my folks crunching on our Corn Flakes as she posed on our screens wearing the latest trends for some five-minute fashion item.
I used to think she had the most glamorous existence anyone could ever have. I was crazy jealous when I was a young teenager, though everyone kept assuring me my time would come. Apparently I was even better looking than my older sister. That’s what they used to tell me. My time never really did come, though. I did a couple of those morning TV shows after I was signed up to a much smaller agency than Assets about eight years ago. It wasn’t the glamorous gig I had assumed it would be when I was younger. Far from it. While Amanda spent ten years modelling, I only lasted two. Not even two. About twenty months. Casting agents used to tell me on a regular basis that I was ‘too pretty’ and ‘too commercial’ to land the jobs they were specifically looking to fill. I took myself way too seriously. Barely cracked a smile all through my teens. I’m sure this had an impact on casting agents. It’s not just about looks — personality comes into it too, no matter how hard that is for anyone who’s not a model to believe. It’s a shitty business, modelling. And that’s exactly what it is – a business. It’s not glamorous from the inside at all. Modelling isn’t about being pretty, it’s about being a saleswoman. It’s too corporate. Takes itself way too seriously. And I became a mirror of it. I’m pretty certain my aspirations of becoming a model, which I held from the age of twelve — when Amanda first started out — is the reason I’m introverted; the reason I haven’t quite figured myself out; the reason I don’t have much of a personality; the reason the prude angel on my shoulder always wins out over the devil. It’s also the reason I don’t have many friends.
She Said, Three Said Page 5
