‘Calm down, calm down,’ he says. ‘I agree with Brian that we should all only have two options now. Guilty or not guilty. When you are done writing down one of those two verdicts, please fold your slip of paper in two, like this,’ he says, showing them a run through of how to fold paper again, ‘and then place it back into the box.’
He shoves the box into the middle of the table and then sits back down. The room falls deathly silent. Most jurors immediately begin to write. Number Three, Number Eight, Number Nine and Number Four stew on their thoughts, the latter twisting the top of his pen back and forth as he stares into space. Folded slips of paper are being tossed into the box and by the time Number Three, Number Eight and Number Nine have finally finished, Number Four is still contemplating his vote.
‘Take your time,’ Number One says, when he notices Number Four is the only juror not to have delivered a slip of paper yet.
‘Don’t rush him!’ Number Five says.
‘I’m not rushing him. I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was being serious. Take your time, Number Four. This is as important a decision as you will likely ever make.’
Number Four groans, then fills each of his cheeks with air, before letting it all rasp out through his lips.
‘Fuck it,’ he says. ‘I gotta do it. I don’t want to… but I gotta write this.’ He scribbles down his verdict, doesn’t fold his piece of paper, he just flicks it towards the box, missing it by inches and then holds his head in his hands and folds himself forward, leaning on the table as if it’s nap time.
‘I didn’t like doing that,’ he mumbles into his own armpits. Number Seven reaches out a hand to the back of his neck, offers him a subtle massage as Number One begins his count.
‘This is so tough,’ Number Seven says tutting. ‘Tough on us all. I never would have thought being a juror would make me so… depressed, I guess.’
Number Four rises from his slouched position, reaches out his two hands to hug Number Seven. They hold each other until Number One declares he has a result.
‘Okay guys. A significant shift,’ he says. ‘Nine not guilty; three guilty.’
Almost every juror strains their eyeballs around the table. They’re all asking themselves the same question, but nobody dare ask it aloud. Not yet anyway. Brian was finding it hardest to hold it in; the question poised to dive off the tip off his tongue. Yet part of him was feeling more relieved than annoyed. He felt things were finally heading in the right direction; the direction he had argued for from the very beginning.
Though at this stage in a trial, after four hours and forty minutes of deliberations, he didn’t need to be that smug. Leads of nine:three had been won over before, and will be won over again in this room. There was still a chance that it would be won over today.
‘Who are the three that voted guilty?’ Brian just blurts out. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.
‘That was a secret ballot,’ Number Five snaps back at him.
‘Well I know you’re one for a start. I don’t think this needs to be a secret anymore. We need to openly discuss this. Who are the other two?’
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Number One says, standing up again. ‘Let’s calm down. Please.’ He sighs, rubbing each of his eyes with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and then says, ‘I agree with Brian again here. There is no need for this to be a secret. It needs discussing. After all we have discussed over the past four hours or whatever it is, who now genuinely thinks that we should convict Jason, Zach and Li?’ he asks, then sits down.
Number Five raises her hand. Number Three lets a sigh force its way out of her nostrils and then raises her hand too. It was quickly followed by Number Eleven’s. Not quite the three ladies who had opted for ‘not guilty’ in the very first verdict vote, but almost. Number Three and Number Five haven’t wavered from guilty, Number Eleven has gone from undecided into guilty — the only juror who has fallen that way. Number Six, who had been guilty in the original verdict vote, had now had a total change of heart. She figured she couldn’t base her opinion on her own experiences, that she’d never understand the modern twenty-something and had come to the conclusion that it’s absolutely possible in this day and age that a pretty young girl like Sabrina would offer her body up to be used by three men she met one night.
‘Okay,’ Number One says. ‘I guess my fair question to you three is, why do you think it has been proven beyond reasonable doubt that these three men raped Sabrina Doyle?’
The three women look towards each other, none of them keen to speak first.
‘Listen, it’s my opinion that you all dismissed the internal cut too soon’, Number Eleven finally says. ‘I think the cut points to beyond reasonable doubt that Sabrina was forced into a situation she didn’t want to be in.’
‘No but that—’ Number Twelve starts to say, but he’s cut short.
‘Shhh,’ Number One says, ‘let Number Eleven make her argument.’
‘We saw the pictures of all those cuts that Doctor Johnson showed us. I know they weren’t pictures of Sabrina’s cuts, but similar cuts and they just have to be the result of… I don’t know… forced sex. I can’t get away from that. It’s strong evidence for me. I’m not sure why we haven’t discussed this in more detail around this table. We seemed to dismiss it a bit.’
She stops talking and purses her quivering lips.
‘Okay, well if you don’t mind me replying to that,’ Brian says. ‘It’s jusht that although Doctor Johnson said that in his opinion Sabrina’s cut was likely to be from forced penetration, he did alsho admit on the stand that these cuts can occur in consensual sex too. He also said they happen more regularly than anyone knows because most females don’t get checked after consensual sex, do they? These checks are only really carried out for those who have been raped or are claiming rape.’
‘Despite what he said,’ Number Eleven says, almost getting animated now, ‘he still concluded that in his expert opinion Sabrina’s cut was from the result of forced penetration.’ She raises her eyebrows at Brian, shrugs her shoulder.
‘I understand what you are shaying and I really appreciate your point—’
‘She’s dead right,’ Number Five chimes up with. ‘I’m with her. Ye can’t argue against a doctor’s opinion anyway, can ye?’
Number One stands up again, holds both of his hands out and brings them down slowly; his way of reducing the tension that’s threatening to erupt. It works. The room falls silent again.
‘We appreciate you making your arguments, ladies. What about you, Number Three? Would you like to tell us why you feel the men should be found guilty?’
Number Three scratches her fingernails against her left temple and then stares down at the wheels of her chair.
‘If I’m being honest — and I obviously need to be one hundred per cent honest — I opted for guilty because I knew almost everybody else… I could sense it… was going to vote not guilty and I eh… I just want the discussion to continue. I feel… I feel Sabrina is owed more than the time we’ve spent here. Maybe we should all sleep on this, come back to it tomorrow. We’re only four and three quarters of an hour in, trying to break down a trial that lasted five weeks… it just doesn’t seem fair to her… it’s not fair on Sabrina.’
Her eyes don’t leave the wheels of her chair as she speaks.
‘So you voted guilty to hold off a unanimous decision?’ Number Twelve asks her, his tone calm.
‘If I’m being honest, yes… yes I did.’
‘Okay… but if I can ask you, what do you genuinely think the verdict should be based on the evidence we discussed?’
She looks up from her wheels, takes in a few faces.
‘Based on what we’ve discussed, it would be…’ she hesitates, shakes her head, almost as if she’s disagreeing with herself. ‘…eh… it would have to be not guilty. I don’t think the case was proven, but I’d like for us to give it more time.’
An intake of breath can be heard from both sides of the table.
<
br /> ‘Well I’m sticking with guilty,’ Number Five chimes in with, shifting what had been a mature tone. ‘I agree with Number Eleven that the cut is huge and points to guilt and I also know in my own heart, deep inside my soul, that these men are guilty. So I’m not changing me mind. I told yous earlier I wouldn’t change.’ She shrugs her shoulder towards the centre of the table.
Number One speaks up. ‘Well, we all appreciate everybody’s opinion here. I guess the one thing we need to discuss, given where we are now, is the doctor’s evidence about the cut as that seems to be the dispute here. That is — I guess it’s fair to say — what is stopping us from making a unanimous decision. Shall I eh… call it in, request the doctor’s testimony?’
‘Yesh ring it in’, says Brian. ‘But if you don’t mind me saying in the meantime while we wait on Number One to make that call, I think one thing we should make fully clear here is that Gerd Bracken didn’t overly push Doctor Johnson on the stand for a particular reashon. I believe that once he got the doctor to admit that these cuts can occur in both consensual and non-consensual acts of penetration it meant he felt he did enough here. It gave us reasonable doubt. And that means we can’t really convict based on this piece of evidensh alone. The defence really won with Doctor Johnson.’
‘He still said that in his expert opinion that this cut was likely from forced sex,’ Number Eleven says.
‘You’re right, he did. But he could only offer opinion, he couldn’t say for sure. And then Bracken of course got him to basically admit to us — to the whole court — that this cut could have been from consensual sex, so he did almost contradict himself on the stand.’
The jurors quieten down when a knock is heard at the door. Number Nine rises to answer it, takes the paperwork from the young man dressed in all black and then hands it over to Number One.
‘Hmmm,’ Number One mumbles as he flicks through the notes. ‘It’s only one page of testimony, he wasn’t on the stand for long.’
‘That’s quite telling,’ says Number Twelve.
‘In what way is that telling?’ Number Eleven asks.
‘I don’t believe that even Joseph Ryan felt Doctor Johnson’s testimony was enough for a conviction. I think he was a witness who could help their cause, but he knew that Doctor Johnson would also testify that these cuts occur in both consensual and non-consensual sex. I don’t believe anybody thinks this was as big a deal as we are making it now. I appreciate,’ he says holding his hand up, ‘that Number Eleven feels it is a big deal, and for that reason we are discussing it, but…’
He tails off, begins to read through the testimony like everybody else seems to be around him.
‘Here,’ calls out Number One. ‘See here, paragraph three. He was asked about these types of cuts and he said they only occur when there is “no or little cervical fluid being produced by the female”. The cut is confirmation that Sabrina wasn’t producing these types of fluids and therefore wasn’t turned on.’
‘Yeah, so doesn’t that make forced penetration more likely, if she wasn’t turned on… wasn’t enjoying the sex?’ Number Eleven asks.
‘Yeah – but look, he was asked that specifically by Bracken. He was asked if it was true that a woman wouldn’t necessarily be producing cervical fluid even in consensual sex, and when the doctor replied “yes”, Bracken then said, “so, just to clarify, these cuts do quite often appear in females during consensual sex?” and the doctor said “yes”. This,’ he says, turning his page over to face his fellow jurors, ‘gives us reasonable doubt. We can not convict based on this testimony. The prosecution didn’t win this witness. Doctor Johnson didn’t prove rape. I’m sorry… I am. I wish we had more definitive evidence for everybody to stew over, but we didn’t discuss Doctor Johnson’s evidence in fine detail because we knew it sort of evened out the playing field. It doesn’t give us grounds to find these men guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Does that help change your mind?’ He directs his question towards Number Eleven.
Number Eleven can’t hold in her emotions. Snot and tears began to fall down her face. She pulls both of her jumper’s sleeves on to the palms of her hands and begins to wipe across her nose. As she does, she nods her head.
‘Yes,’ she sniffs when she removes her hands. ‘You’re right. It’s not enough… not enough to convict.’
‘So … are you saying you are now changing your verdict?’
She continues sniffing, then nods her head again.
‘Not guilty,’ she whispers.
‘I’m not guilty too,’ Number Three says, slapping her palms against the armrests of her wheelchair.
An audible intake of breath is heard around the table, then everybody’s face turns towards Number Five.
‘I’m not changin’ me mind,’ she says.
‘Number Five!’ Number Eight shouts out. But he’s quickly hushed.
‘If you don’t mind me shaying,’ Brian pipes up as he flicks through his notes. ‘I scribbled down the judge’s final directions to us here, the speech he gave us this morning before he set us off on deliberations… I just think this will sum it up for you, Number Five. Do you mind if I read it to you?’
Number Five just nods her head, her face still showing signs of hostility. But inside she was shaking; was wondering how she was going to wriggle out of the situation she was finding herself in. She wanted to vote guilty based on the fact that she just happened to believe Sabrina over the three men in question, but she also knew that the backbone of her argument relating to ‘gut feeling’ and ‘opinion’ wouldn’t get her anywhere.
Number Five’s real name is Teresa Brennan, a twenty-seven-year-old shopping centre shelf-stacker from Coolock in north Dublin. She’s normally cocky, even though she doesn’t have the look to carry it off. She’s tiny — only five foot one — has mousy brown hair and a face filled with freckles. She had to adopt an argumentative manner from a young age to stave off bullies at school. By the time she’d completed her Leaving Cert the adopted personality had become a permanent fixture. It’s a shame she feels the need to constantly rebel, but that’s what her personality has evolved into. She could have been a much more amenable person. Much more likeable. She’s been in the guilty camp from the outset, took an instant dislike to the three men, but particularly Zach. She hated him as soon as she clapped eyes on him, feels he has the word guilty tattooed across his oversized forehead. Her temperament makes her come across as rash, hence the amount of times she’s been shut down by fellow jurors during these deliberations. But she’s starting to melt; the hard exterior she adopted as a kid in school is dissipating in this room.
Brian begins to read from his notes. ‘The judge said to us, “your only task is to decide whether the prosecution has made you certain of the defendants’ guilt. Do not allow yourshelves to be distracted from that task, do not allow yourshelves to be dishtracted by unproven opinion, do not allow yourshelves to be dishtracted by opinions you may have heard outside of this courtroom or the jury room, do not allow yourselves to be dishtracted by your own gender, by your own experiences, by anything other than the evidensh provided in this very courtroom over the past five weeks.” Number Five – Judge McCormick was telling us that there wasn’t enough evidensh. Just as I’ve been saying from the very start. He’s telling us we can’t decide this trial based on our own gut feelings. He was bashically telling us that we should be looking towards a not guilty verdict. The prosecution did not prove this case. I’m sorry. I am. I wish there was more to go on, but there simply isn’t any evidensh.’
Number Five hangs her head.
‘Number Five, at some point the judge will come back and let us know that eleven-to-one is enough for a verdict, so you hanging out is not—’
‘Why don’t we just hang on till tomorrow like Number Three said… all sleep on it?’ Number Five offers up. ‘We need to—’
‘No,’ Number Three says, reaching down to her wheels, moving her chair backwards to get out from under the table and then pushing forwards t
owards Number Five. When she rolls up beside her, she reaches a hand out to hold one of hers.
‘I’m sorry, Number Five,’ she says, tears rolling down her face. ‘Like you, I believe these three men raped Sabrina. I’d like to see them behind bars. But our job is to look at the evidence and there simply isn’t enough evidence for us to reach a guilty verdict.’
Number Five begins to sob, then stretches across the wheelchair to grab at Number Three, holding her in a tight embrace. She nods her head on Number Three’s shoulder and whispers.
‘Okay. Okay.’
‘So that’sh it, is it? We’re all not guilty?’ asks Brian.
A slow tsunami of heads nod around the table.
‘Not guilty, Number Five?’ Number One asks, his tone sombre.
She releases herself from Number Three’s hug and lets out a deep breath, spraying some of her tears on to the table.
‘Not guilty.’
Everybody soaks in the reality; the room falling silent, but for the sound of Number Three and Number Five sucking up their tears.
‘Shall I ring it in?’ Number One asks, breaking the silence.
‘Ring it in,’ says Number Twelve.
Number One holds down the button and takes a deep breath.
‘The jury have reached a unanimous verdict,’ he says.
00:25
Sabrina
I’m wondering why I’m breathing so calmly when inside I feel flames are starting to ignite. I can hear my breaths reverberate from my nose onto the mattress and then back into my ears. I’m getting annoyed by the fact that I can’t get my train of thought on to the right track. I should either be enjoying this, or… totally incensed. But I’m neither. I’m just tired, sinking my head further into the mattress while Zach attempts to turn me on. Why am I being so indecisive? Maybe I’m not cut out for being the easy-going, fun Sabrina. Maybe I’m supposed to be dull, supposed to be frigid.
‘You okay?’ Zach asks. I take a moment to think about his question, but I actually don’t know the answer. Both the angel and the devil on my shoulder have gone quiet. I think I’d be too embarrassed to say ‘no’ at this point anyway. So I just say nothing, keeping my face firm against the mattress. Jason enters my mind. I wonder how he is feeling as he stands back and watches his best mate try to have sex with me. But I can’t look behind, can’t even bring myself to raise my nose from this bed. I feel Zach rub himself between my legs. He’s all warm, clammy. This is far from sexy. None of it feels right. I’m supposed to be turned on — I’m anything but. Then he enters me. I think it’s his penis. Could be his fingers. It’s not a nice sensation… quite rough actually, but I turn my face sideways just to give my nose more space to breathe through, resting my right ear on the mattress instead.
She Said, Three Said Page 24
