She Said, Three Said

by David B Lyons

  ‘Is it perhaps time for a verdict vote?’ Brian offers up.

  His suggestion is met with a couple of audible sighs, but he has a point. The jurors have just discussed one of the main arguments of the trial; was or was not Sabrina fixated on sleeping with Jason Kenny that night? Did she seek him out?

  Her appearance at Copper Face Jacks — innocent and coincidental as it was — had a huge bearing on most jurors’ mindsets. Sabrina, out of respect — not only for her job, but for her client — couldn’t bring herself to admit she was following another man to Copper Face Jacks at any stage of the investigation. She didn’t divulge this to the Gardaí when they initially questioned her about her claim, nor did she fill her own lawyers in on this key piece of information during any of their multiple meetings over the past eighteen months. She knew she didn’t have a good enough reason for turning up at Coppers otherwise, but hoped the jury would believe her insistence that it was an honest coincidence; that she just fancied a dance and by strange synchronicity ended up in the same club as the three men she had been talking to earlier.

  It was wise that she never mentioned Niall Stevens during any of the investigation, though. Had Stevens been called as a witness, he would have testified that she blatantly came on to him that night. It would have ruined her case. In fact, the case wouldn’t even have made it to court had Stevens been questioned by Gardaí. But the Gardaí weren’t looking for him, because nobody mentioned him. The defence lawyers weren’t seeking another man as part of their own investigation either. They genuinely believed Sabrina followed Jason, Zach and Li to Copper Face Jacks because the three men themselves remain quite adamant that she had.

  Niall Stevens is totally unaware of his involvement in such a fateful evening. He hasn’t forgotten about the hot girl in the white jumpsuit who made a pass at him a year and a half ago, but he has no idea whatsoever that she is Ms X — the girl entangled in the major rape trial that has engulfed the nation.

  So many details of Sabrina Doyle, even down to what she was wearing on the night in question, have been shared in court, but can’t be reported in the media. There are strict rules when it comes to the victim’s identity. She can’t be named. The professional media never cross this line, but it’s impossible to stop anonymous idiots from sharing pictures of her, outing her, on social media.

  As for Jason, around half of the country have figured out he’s the big-name international footballer on trial, yet he still can’t be named by journalists for legal reasons. All defendants, famous or not, have a right to anonymity in major criminal cases; their names will only be reported in the media if the jury find them guilty. If this incident occurred north of the border, all three men would be named in the press. The Irish legal system prefers to protect those accused from public humiliation. In Britain, the accused would be named, the general public even allowed inside the courtroom should they wish to attend the trial.

  ‘Why don’t we use the paper slips?’ Brian says, stretching to grab the box from the middle of the table.

  There are no strict rules on how jurors conduct their verdict votes. But pens and cut-out slips of paper are left in the room for them to conduct secret ballots should they deem it necessary at any point. Using this method, now, contradicts Brian’s earlier reasoning for having constant verdict votes. He had said that it would be beneficial for every juror to know where every other juror stood throughout the course of the deliberations. Using the secret ballot method means the jury aren’t going to gain that knowledge. Still, nobody questions him. They’re all up for a secret ballot; feel it would hurry proceedings, feel they won’t necessarily have to explain themselves in detail — they just need to scribble one of three things; guilty, not guilty or undecided on a slip of paper. Brian shuffles around the room behind each juror’s chair, tossing a slip of paper and a pen in front of them.

  Number One then decides to stand, feeling a need to show awareness of his responsibilities.

  ‘Okay, so this is straightforward,’ Number One says, holding his slip of paper and pen up to the jurors, as if he was a teacher about to give instruction.

  ‘Yes, we get it,’ says Number Eight.

  Number One sits back down, his face slightly brushed with embarrassment. Number Five cups her piece of paper as she writes down her verdict, as if she’s doing an exam she doesn’t want others to copy from. It’s rather pointless — everybody is aware she is firmly in the guilty camp. She has made no secret of that fact.

  ‘Okay, so just fold your paper twice and put it back in the box,’ Number One says after scribbling ‘guilty’ on his. He holds out his piece of paper, the verdict facing him, and genuinely folds it twice as if showing his fellow jurors what folding is. This instruction would be patronising, only nobody glances up at him. They’re too busy scribbling. When they’re done, they toss their verdict votes into the box; some folded twice, some only folded once, one not folded at all.

  Number One glances around the room, notices everybody’s slip of paper is now inside, but still asks anyway.

  ‘Is that everybody in?’ he says.

  ‘Yep,’ rasps Number Twelve. ‘Get counting, head boy.’

  Number One slides the box onto his lap, out of the sight of everybody except the two jurors seated next to him. He slips the first piece of paper out, looks at it, then places it face down in front of him; then repeats this action another eleven times. When the box is empty, Number One has three small piles of papers on the table. He already knows the result but decides to count again, trying to emphasise to his fellow jurors just how seriously he is taking his role.

  ‘Okay, I have a result,’ he finally says after drawing in a large breath for the sake of creating a bit of drama. ‘Three guilty… six not guilty… three undecided.’

  21:35

  Li

  Sabrina seems reluctant to join the lads on the dance floor. That suits me; gives me a break without having to stand alone. We watch the other two bounce around to some remix of a shite Drake song and then we smile at each other. She really is beautiful — top to toe. Not my type though. I always assume good-looking girls are hard to live with. They’re normally insecure. You just don’t know what you’re going to get with a looker.

  I’ve seen Jason with quite a few girls who have been plastered on magazine covers and the like and every single one of them proved to be a headache for him. They start off all nicey-nicey, but after a few weeks their true colours come out. They’d moan at him for wanting to watch something on TV rather than paying them attention, or they’d crack up if they ever saw him talking to another girl.

  That’s why I love Niamh so much. It really is a case of what you see is what you get with her. We’ve never argued, never had a fight. We’re totally open and honest with each other one-hundred per cent of the time. It’s quite odd. I always felt inferior to my two best mates. Zach got the looks and the confidence, Jason got the talent and with that, the celebrity. I got nothing. Yet I’m the only one who has ever found true love out of the three of us.

  I’ve no doubt that I’m happier than those two, though they certainly look happy now. They’re like two overexcited kids bouncing around a tiny dance floor as if it’s the last party they’ll ever be at. It’s amazing what a few shots of Baby Guinness can do for your mood. I’m glad, because I had a fear when Sabrina showed up in here that it might cause a rift between Zach and Jason. But it hasn’t. Not yet anyway. Zach’s tried to pull Sabrina up for a dance a couple of times, but she ain’t budging. My guess is she’s too self-conscious to dance, which is odd, given that she told us she only came in here to have a quick dance before she headed home. Though none of us really bought that. She followed us here. She must have.

  ‘Let’s play favourites,’ she shouts into my ear.

  ‘Favourites?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, leaning closer. ‘It’s a good way to get to know each other, especially in this noise. I say something, you tell me what your favourite of that is.’

  I lo
ok at her and smile. I think I get it.

  ‘Movie?’ she shouts.

  ‘Eh… Goodfellas.’

  She smiles, nods her head.

  ‘You?’ I shout back at her.

  ‘The Notebook.’

  ‘Oh – I love that too,’ I say back, noting how camp that actually sounds when said so loudly. But I do love it. Me and Niamh. We musta watched it about a dozen times.

  ‘Song?’ Sabrina shouts.

  I think about it, stew her question over in my mind.

  ‘Do I Wanna Know – Arctic Monkeys.’

  ‘Yes!’ she says, holding her hand up for me to high five. ‘I love the Arctic Monkeys.’

  ‘TV show?’

  ‘Stranger Things. Addicted to it.’

  She peels away from me, her mouth slightly ajar, her face folding back into a smile. She high fives me again. Seems like we’re into the exact same things. She grabs me in for a hug.

  I notice the time on the digital clock behind the bar over her shoulder as we hug. 21:39. Not too bad. We’ve been out for just over a couple of hours now. Three pints of Heinekens and three Baby Guinness shots down me. Things could have been a lot worse. It’s not unlike me to be puking into a toilet bowl after being out with Jason and Zach for a couple of hours. At this rate, I’ll be fit and raring to go to Homebase in the morning.

  We’ll be visiting there quite a lot over the next few months. Me and Niamh have a whole life to plan for. Literally. I woke up a couple of weeks ago, one lazy Sunday morning, to hear her whistling. I’d never heard her whistle before. Didn’t know what the hell was going on. I staggered downstairs, watched her frying up some sausages and rashers and knew instantly that she was in a great mood.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ I asked her.

  She just turned to me, beamed a huge smile and continued whistling.

  ‘Niamh?’

  ‘Just take a seat, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Breakfast’s nearly ready.’

  I sat on our coach, in just my boxer shorts, and turned on the TV. There’s normally a whole load of politics shite on every Sunday, so I switched over to the sports channel, hoping to see Jason in a bit of action. Though it’s rare that the highlights of his games make broadcast anymore. Sunderland were rock bottom of the Championship at this stage, their relegation to League One all but confirmed. They’re just not significant anymore.

  ‘Hey, turn off the tele,’ Niamh said as she entered the living room. She handed me a tray with a mountain of breakfast on it, then retreated to the kitchen and came back with a tray of her own.

  ‘You woke up hungry, I gather?’

  ‘I woke up happy,’ she said. ‘Now eat up!’

  I did as I was told; Niamh and I staring at each other as we stuffed our faces. She couldn’t stop the smile from beaming on her face. I knew she was excited, assumed it had something to do with buying something in Homebase later that day. When we’d finished breakfast, she took my tray from my lap, placed both my tray and hers on the carpet and then pulled a white stick from the pocket of her dressing-gown. I took it off her, stared at the blue cross on it, then beamed a smile right back into her face. I’m still as giddy about that now as I was in that moment.

  ‘Book?’ she shouts.

  I gurn my face, hold my hand up.

  ‘Eh, don’t really read that much,’ I say to her. She frowns; looks disappointed in that answer. Such a shame. We’d just learned we had so much in common. I can’t believe a girl can be this down to earth and this good looking.

  She leans towards my ear, is about to tell me what her favourite book is when Zach arrives between us. Instead of trying to drag her to the dance floor this time, he drags her aside. Shit! I’ve a feeling the awkwardness I was dreading is about to erupt.

  ‘Fancy another drink?’ Jason asks me as Sabrina and Zach stroll away.

  ‘Sure.’

  We both walk towards the bar in silence. It was only after he ordered two pints of Heineken that I posed the question.

  ‘You not worried he’s gonna fuck things up with her?’

  ‘Nah. She followed us here for me,’ Jason says.

  ‘Yeah, but he’ll get pissed off, won’t he? I’m more worried about him fucking our night up, than anything.’

  Jason shrugs his shoulders, hands the barman his debit card and then clinks my glass.

  ‘We’ll see how he handles it,’ Jason says as we stare over at both of them on the other side of the club. Zach places his hand on the small of Sabrina’s back and leads her up the stairs. I take Jason in, out of the corner of my eye.

  ‘Where the hell they going?’ I ask. He doesn’t answer. He just stares at the stairs until they’re out of sight. I take him in again. I know Jason. I know every single look he can possibly adopt on his face. He looks worried.

  Bollocks.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

  21:40

  Zach

  I love that I’m a better dancer than Jason. I’ve always had better rhythm than him, better balance. It’s why I was a more natural footballer than he’ll ever be.

  But I know that people are only dancin’ round us because of him. Celebrity really does fascinate the regular Joe. But I’m not gonna let his celebrity beat me to that Sabrina bird. She’s amazin’. My eyes nearly popped out of me head when I saw her come over to us again. I’m delighted she followed us here. I guess she came for Jason, but she’ll be leavin’ with me. She’s playing hard to get at the moment, though. Won’t get on the dance floor with me. Maybe I should take her aside, have a chat with her; let her know I’m interested. I’m sure I can charm that jumpsuit right off her by the end of the night.

  ‘C’mere for a sec,’ I say into her ear as I grab her hand. I don’t even look back at Jason; assume he’ll be all right with it. He can score any bird in this club he wants.

  I walk her over to the stairs, away from the blast of the speakers.

  ‘So… what brought you here; wasn’t me was it?’ I say.

  ‘Sorry?’ she shouts back at me, turning her face so that her ear inches towards my face.

  ‘Did you come here lookin’ for me?’ I shout.

  She looks confused. I don’t think she caught the humour in my question.

  ‘We can’t really talk here,’ I say. ‘Let’s pop outside for a minute.’

  I don’t even think of Tina when I’m chattin’ up other birds. I think all the guilt I could ever feel was used up on The Secret. Even when it comes to sellin’ drugs, helping fund gangland crime, I feel no guilt whatsoever. I just get the impression that life is too damn short for feeling that way.

  Alan Keating first asked me to sell drugs for him when I bumped into him in the toilets in my local boozer. I’d been hanging around him and his associates for a couple of months, keen for company more than anything else. He broke it down for me really easily; said if I could shift fifty grams of coke for him every week, I’d end up pocketing a grand for myself. I couldn’t say no to that. The most I’d ever earned in a week was four hundred euros, and that was doing shitty security shifts. Selling drugs is an easy gig. All I had to do was pick up the merch from Keating’s associate out in Blanchardstown, build up some leads and literally swap small bags of coke for large wads of cash.

  For the first few weeks I only brought in about two grand, my cut being fifteen per cent. But I pretty soon got the hang of it and within two months I was earning the grand a week Keating had promised I would. He’s alright Keating, if you’re on the good side of him. But I know things about him that would keep most people up at night.

  It’s funny. Most of the tabloids know exactly what Keating gets up to, but he always keeps his nose clean. The cops have nothin’ on him. He’s been one of Ireland’s most notorious gangsters for a couple of decades, yet he hasn’t spent any time behind bars. I sorta respect him. I don’t envy him, not like I envy Jason. But I respect him.

  Though getting involved with him was not how I’d hoped my life would go. Word started to get around th
at I was entangled in the Keating gang, but I denied it to anyone who brought it up with me. Li must’ve asked me about it a hundred times. He kept catching wind that I was hangin’ around with that lot. I just told him that we all happened to drink in the same pub and that was that.

  I was initially worried he’d tell Jason. And if Jason found out, he’d freak out. He was always adamant that we’d steer clear of the gangs in Drimnagh. It was driven into him by his parents. I agreed; promised him a thousand times I wouldn’t get involved. But it’s difficult when you have fuck all else to do. Especially when your best mate is away in England livin’ out your dream.

  I started to do a bit of coke myself, just to pass the time. I began skimming off the top of the stuff I was supposed to be sellin’ for Keating; assumed I wouldn’t get caught. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. When it comes to shifting cocaine, every single granule is practically accounted for.

  ‘You’ve been stealing from me,’ Keating said, staring through me one evening. I stuttered some awful excuse back at him.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, kid,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you away with it… on one condition. You’re mates with Jason Kenny, right? I wanna meet him.’

  I take all of her in after we’ve stepped outside. She really is a fuckin’ cracker. A proper ten. Definitely out of my league. But I don’t give a shit. I’ll try it on with whoever I happen to think is the hottest bird in the place. And nobody’s gonna be hotter than Sabrina — not tonight anyway.

  ‘So, what were you saying?’ she says, making me refocus after we step outside.

  ‘I was just askin’ if you came to Coppers lookin’ for me?’

  She makes a gurning face. My fault. The line didn’t come out the way I intended it to. It was supposed to be banter. Comedy is all in the timing; I didn’t get the timing right with that one.