‘A thousand and ninety-nine euro,’ the barman says, holding up a black bottle. I can make out the word Krug-something or other on it.
‘T’fuck,’ I say. ‘Over a grand?’
‘You said the dearest one.’
I stare over at Li, watch him smile as wide as he can while Zach ribs him again for planning on getting engaged in Lanzarote.
‘Fuck it, go on.’ I say, handing over my debit card.
Li deserves it. I had two reservations when I left for England; one was that I would be leaving my little brother Eric behind. I knew he looked up to me, would miss me terribly, and two; I would be leaving Li behind. For the exact same reasons.
Playing for Cherry Orchard put me in front of the world’s most influential scouts. I’d heard rumours that head scouts from Manchester United, Arsenal and Celtic were looking at me, but that’s all they were – rumours. Besides, I wasn’t the only good player on the pitch. At the level I was playing at with the Orchard, every one of the twenty-two players on the pitch at any one time had something special about them. I’d often walk out of the dressing room after a match, hoping a scout would call after me and offer me a trial. But that’s not how it happened. I was hanging around a street corner with Li and Zach one Tuesday evening when my dad shouted my name out from the hall door of our house. I thought I was in trouble, until I got closer to my old man and could sense he was trying to stifle a smile.
‘This fella wants to talk to you,’ he said, motioning to the living room.
‘Jason Kenny, how are you?’ the stranger boomed out as if he was an actor on a stage. ‘I’m Billy Kirby — Everton football club.’ I stared at my old man. He wasn’t stifling his smile anymore.
‘Here we are, boys,’ I shout out, getting back to the table with the black bottle of whatever-it-is and three flutes. ‘Let’s get this into us.’
I pour each of us a glass, hold mine up for our ninth clink of the night, but one of significance; so much so that I think it deserves a little speech.
‘I’m so proud of you, Li, and proud of Niamh too. Here’s to many, many years of happiness and eh… loyalty,’ I say, meeting Zach’s eye. He laughs. He knows he shows absolutely no loyalty to Tina. Doesn’t hide that fact from anyone, except for her, of course. ‘Congratulations man.’
We each clink glasses and take a sip.
‘Uugh,’ says Li as Zach makes a face, almost gurning with disdain at what he’s just poured into his mouth. I’m certain my face is mirroring his.
Wow — a fucking grand for this piss.
20:20
Li
I scroll through my phone, pull up the picture of the engagement ring I’ve ordered for Niamh, then twist the screen around so it faces both Jason and Zach. I dart my eyes between both of their faces, waiting on the penny to drop.
‘Fuckin’ hell – yes! Congratulations mate,’ Jason says, his mouth wide open.
‘I’ve ordered it online. It’s gonna arrive next Wednesday.’
‘She’ll be fuckin’ delighted,’ says Zach. ‘How are ye gonna do it?’
‘Well, we’re going to Lanzarote next month aren’t we, gonna do it there.’
‘Hold on, you’re gonna get engaged in Lanza-fuckin-rote?’
Typical Zach. He can’t let me have my moment without taking the piss somehow. But I know he’s delighted for me. I tell them I’ll ask Niamh on the beach at sunset, or sunrise, then Jason drags me in for a hug. I hook my arm around Zach and bring him into the huddle too. I’m such a lucky bastard. Two great mates and a girlfriend who’s going to be mine forever. If she says ‘yes’ of course. Though I’m pretty certain she will. She loves me as much as I love her.
‘Don’t mind him, Li,’ Jason says. ‘Why would you take tips on romance from this fuckin’ eejit?’
I stare up at them both.
‘And I want you as best man,’ I say to Jason, ‘and you as groomsman,’ to Zach.
They both grab me in to repeat the hug, the three of us soaking in the news.
‘Bottle of champagne,’ Jason calls out over my shoulder to the barman.
‘So where we gonna have the stag?’ Zach asks after Jason runs to the bar. ‘Should probably go to Kiev, I heard the birds there are fuckin’ amazing.’
‘Was thinking of something a little quieter,’ I tell him. ‘Out to the west coast; Galway, Kerry maybe.’
‘T’fuck!’ he says, before sipping on his beer. ‘What are we supposed to do, fuck some traveller birds on a stag?’
Zach has never noted mine and Jason’s loyalties to our girlfriends. He always includes us in his plans for cheating, as if it relieves some of the guilt from within him. A bit like The Secret.
The story circulated in the news for two full days; in both the newspapers and on the tele. Caitlin Tyrell was only nine years old at the time. Her dad had trusted her to go to the chipper as a late night treat. It was only a five-minute walk from her house, the only hurdle being the road she had to cross. And then we came along. Fuckin’ eejits.
Bizarrely, the newspapers reported the police were on the lookout for a red saloon car. A car matching that description had been noted as speeding nearby around the time we hit Caitlin. That piece of information, given to the Gardaí by a witness walking their dog, was all the cops had to go on. And it was all they did go on. We got away with it. In the eyes of the law anyway — we certainly didn’t escape the guilt. Well, I didn’t anyway.
‘I’m so proud of you, Li, and proud of Niamh too,’ Jason says, after passing around a flute of champagne to each of us. ‘Here’s to many, many years of happiness and eh… loyalty — congratulations, my man.’
We each clink flutes.
‘Uugh,’ I say, almost spitting the drink back out. ‘That’s disgusting!’
Zach just rests his flute back on the table, squelches up his face to show how much he hated what he’s just tasted. Jason follows suit.
‘I just paid over a grand for that,’ he says.
Zach and I burst out laughing.
‘Fuck it, let’s get outta here,’ Zach says. ‘Let’s go celebrate in style. Pick up some chicks.’
‘Where we off to?’ Jason asks, standing up.
‘Coppers?’
The three of us look at each other, nod our approval, then head out the door.
‘I’m bringing this piss with me,’ Jason says, picking up the bottle of champagne.
He strolls out of the pub behind us, slurping from the neck of the bottle, then passes it to me. It tastes just as revolting from the bottle as it did from the flute — like fizzy dishwater.
The three of us saunter up Aungier Street, passing the bottle between each other. I’m certain each time it comes back to me, none of the champagne is missing. The other two must be doing the same as I am, pretending to drink from it.
I’m delighted the night has turned around. Zach had threatened to turn it into a bit of a messy evening with trying to cop off with that Sabrina girl, but he’s in much better form now — singing football songs with his two arms held wide over his head.
I was looking forward to tonight, couldn’t wait to tell them both that I had just ordered an engagement ring for Niamh. She has no idea. Only five people know now; me, Jason, Zach and my mam and Jinny. They both helped me look online for the perfect ring that would suit Niamh’s finger. Mam insisted Niamh would like a Number Nine cut stone, similar to the one Dad bought her. So we settled on a white gold version of a Number Nine cut. It cost me nine hundred and ninety quid — the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought.
I’m going to ring Niamh’s dad in a few weeks’ time, bring him for a pint down his local, do the decent thing and ask for his permission to marry his daughter. It’s all planned out, except what I’m actually going to say to Niamh when I ask her. I want to say something meaningful, from the heart. Ensure it’s the best moment of her life.
We turn onto Harcourt Street, Zach still chanting some sort of nonsense. He’s probably improvising. He used to do that as
a kid; make up chants about himself and ask me to sing them on the sidelines of the Bosco’s matches. I think he was deadly serious, though you never quite know with Zach.
‘Scuse me,’ the bouncer says holding his hand to Zach’s chest. ‘Think you might have had a few too many.’
‘He’s with me,’ Jason says, stepping forward.
‘Ah, Jason Kenny! How are ye, my man? Listen, you’ll have to get rid of the bottle, or finish it outside, then come in.’
‘Here y’go, love,’ Zach says, passing the bottle to a group of girls walking by. They take it from him, laughing their heads off.
‘Copper Face Jacks mutha fuckers!’ he screams out, smiling at the bouncer as he passes him by. Jason looks back at me and rolls his eyes.
Then we follow Zach inside the club.
5
Number Five lets out a yawn; doesn’t even think to try to hide it. She’s not tired, just bored. She isn’t the only one. Number One hasn’t been doing a good enough job as Head Juror. Not because he fails to rein in the arguments, but because he lacks authority.
He has been going through the night in chronological order, yet despite the jury being almost two hours in to their deliberations, they are only ninety minutes through the night in question. The numbers don’t add up.
‘It’s insignificant,’ Number Five whispers to Number Six as Brian repeats his argument for the third time. She didn’t mean for anybody else to hear her, but she wasn’t as discreet as she’d hoped to be.
‘Sorry Number Five,’ interjects Number One. ‘What was that?’
Number Five lets out a deep breath, stares at Number Six for support and when none is forthcoming decides to speak her truth.
‘Isn’t it kinda insignificant? I mean we’ve been arguing this for almost half-an-hour alone. So what if she did have nude photos taken six years ago, so what if she didn’t. What does it have to do with her possibly being raped years later?’
‘Patrick Clavin is a character witness,’ Number Twelve spits out. ‘He is suggesting that not only is Sabrina Doyle interested in sexy images but she is also a liar.’
‘Whoa, hold on there,’ croaks Number Eleven. ‘Clavin is not suggesting anything of the sort. He just gave a contrasting account about his work with Sabrina than she gave — that’s all. Having said that, his testimony is significant in some ways. I believe Clavin, I think Sabrina did do nude shots and is too embarrassed to admit to them.’
‘Well, we’ve had a deep enough discussion about it,’ says Number One, bouncing his paperwork off the table again. ‘I think it’s fair to say most jurors agree with the testimony of the character witness. But that’s all it is — a slight on Sabrina’s character, not a certain indication that she was or wasn’t raped.’
‘It isn’t insignificant, of course not,’ says Number Twelve, ‘but I guess we can all calculate just how significant it is in our own judgement.’
Number Twelve is doing his best to remain patient. He’s normally smug, arrogant. Is already certain that the rest of the jury will eventually swing around to his way of thinking: not guilty. Twelve’s real name is Dave Barry, a thirty-seven-year-old insurance broker from Inchicore in Dublin. He’s happy enough with his nine-to-fiver, content with the bang-on average €38,000-per-year salary he accumulates. Has figured out a way to make it work for him, his fiancée of ten years and their now eleven-year-old daughter Molly. He could do better — certainly has the intelligence to carve out an enviable career for himself — but chooses not to. He’s fine as he is. He complains about life, but is happy to complain. Number Twelve was initially intrigued about being called up for jury duty; his excitement growing when he realised he would be involved in the Jason Kenny case. He lied during the jury selection process: said he didn’t know who Jason Kenny was. He wasn’t the only one.
‘Should we have another verdict vote now?’ Brian offers to the table.
‘You and bloody voting!’ Number Three calls out, slapping at the arm rests of her wheelchair.
‘Let’s just hold off,’ says Number Twelve. ‘Maybe we can have one in another hour… see how our talks go before lunch.’
There is no protocol when it comes to juries having verdict votes during their deliberations. Some juries, like this one, start with a verdict vote. Some like to dive straight into their arguments, starting with the main points of the trial. This jury decided to discuss the night in chronological order, which is not an unusual tact when it comes to rape trials. Because these type of rapes tend to follow a similar pattern of victim-meeting-accused, victim-not-liking-accused-as-much-as-accused-likes-victim, victim-and-accused-ending-up-in-same-place, victim-taking-advantage-of-accused, it makes sense for jurors to examine the night in order. Though it’s no surprise that the most significant debate lays heavily in the back end of the deliberations. The whole trial boils down to whether or not the jurors feel consent was or was not given during the sexual encounters both parties admit occurred sometime between midnight and half-past midnight during the night in question. Quite often a juror will have a very set verdict in their mind that they arrive at during a rape trial… until it comes to the final argument. Then, they can easily be persuaded they had it wrong all along. The truth is, during final arguments, gut instinct can easily be eroded.
‘Well, let’s move on to something that can’t be considered insignificant then,’ Number One says, without prompt this time. ‘The defence’s key argument, I guess, is that Sabrina knew who Jason Kenny was and sought him out for sex. I guess their strongest argument is that they believe she followed the men all the way to Copper Face Jacks. Now, we have solid evidence at this point that backs up their claims.’
Number One presses at a button on the conference table just in front of his Head Juror’s chair.
‘Can we see the CCTV footage of Harcourt Street, please?’ he says into the speaker beside the button. The TV screen on the wall blinks on again.
‘Okay… yes, this is the footage of Jason, Zach and Li all entering Copper Face Jacks at exactly eight-forty p.m.,’ he says pointing towards the tiny white digits in the corner of the screen.
‘Can we have the footage of Sabrina at eight forty-one on Harcourt Street?’ Number One says, pressing down on the button on the table again. The screen blinks off. When it blinks back on, there is no mistaking the woman strolling past Iveagh Gardens, a mere five-minute walk from the nightclub the men had just entered. Even though the footage is grainy, Sabrina’s white jumpsuit sticks out like a sore thumb in the centre of the screen.
‘So as you can see, around about the same time the men are entering the club, Sabrina is close by having left the Hairy Lemon pub a good half-an-hour earlier,’ Number One says.
‘The one thing that bothers me about this,’ says Number Twelve getting up off his chair, is that Iveagh Gardens, where she is walking right here,’ he points at the screen, ‘is past Copper Face Jacks. So she actually walked past the club. Not only that, this isn’t the only time she walks in this direction. CCTV footage has her here about fifteen minutes later, right?’
‘Yep, at eight fifty-six, she made the same trip,’ Brian says, checking his notes. ‘She practically walked around the block. She must have been waiting for them, then followed them into the club. She was after Jason in this inshtance, I’ve no doubt about that.’
‘Can we totally rule out coincidence?’ Number Three poses.
‘A coincidence that they ended up in the same nightclub after being in the same pub some ten minutes walk away?’ Number Nine responds, raising an eyebrow.
‘Copper Face Jacks is a well-known club in Dublin, probably the most well-known. If you are on that side of town, and you fancy going to a club, then Coppers is the most likely destination.’
‘Not when there’s a nightclub directly across from the Hairy Lemon where they’d all been. Break For The Border. If she just fancied a dance, which is the reason she gave for going to Coppers in her testimony, why not go for a dance in Break For The Border… why wal
k all the way up Harcourt Street – alone, let’s not forget — just to end up in the same place as the three men she’d already been talking to, one she already admits to kissing?’
Number Nine hates bringing up this argument, because she feels so sorry for Sabrina. But this is the one part of the night in question that irks her the most. It stopped her from voting guilty in the earlier verdict vote even though she really wanted to. But she’s certain Sabrina followed the three men into Coppers; is starting to get swayed towards not guilty after putting her hand up as undecided earlier on.
‘I agree with you,’ Number One says. ‘I find her testimony here very brittle. It can’t be just a coincidence. Plus, we kinda have proof here, right? She was walking around in circles… she was killing time. Surely she was just waiting on the men to settle in the club.’
Sabrina had testified that she often attended Copper Face Jacks — sometimes with her former boyfriend, the odd time alone. One bouncer even testified at the trial that he knew Sabrina’s face to see in the club, if not her name. He said she used to go there with her boyfriend, that she always stood out to him because she was so much better looking than her other half. He did admit though that he hadn’t seen her in there for ‘quite some time’ before the night in question. His testimony was the only crack of light Sabrina’s legal team could cling to in this argument. They tried to suggest that visiting Copper Face Jacks wasn’t unusual for Sabrina Doyle. Her own testimony on the stand, which did add up to what she had told police when she first reported the rape claim, was that she wanted to take in some fresh air after downing ‘a few red wines’ in the Hairy Lemon and just as she was walking around Iveagh Gardens, she thought “to hell with it, I’ll go into Coppers for a dance, before going home”. No matter how innocent she looked on the stand, passing off her bumping back into the three men in Copper Face Jacks as “mere coincidence” was difficult for each juror to buy.
She Said, Three Said Page 8
