A Game of Proof (3 page)

‘And were you asking him to leave
you
alone as well?’

Sharon stared at him pityingly. ‘What do you think? Of course I was.’

‘And how did he respond?’

‘Like the animal he is. He smacked me round the face and told me to shut up and do what he said or he’d kill me and the kids too.’

‘And you recognised his voice when he said that, too, did you?’

‘Oh yeah, it was him all right. Filthy pig.’

‘All right. So when he got you into your bedroom, what happened then?’

‘Well, he hit me in the face and I fell down and lay there on the floor. Then he grabbed me by the hair and I thought, it’s all going to start again. But it didn’t, not the rape anyway. Instead he grabbed the cord of my dressing gown and tied my hands behind my back with it, and then tied the long end round my throat so it started to choke me if I didn’t hold my hands high, up my back. Then he put the knife to my throat again and ... I thought I was going to die.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Lloyd-Davies asked softly.

‘No, not this time.’ Sharon shook her head, lost in the horror of her memory. ‘But there was a noise. I didn’t know what it was at first, then I realized - it was him laughing. I could see it in his eyes too. He just stared at me through that black hood, and ... laughed. I could hardly breathe and he had his knife to my throat and I thought, he’s going to kill me now and then he’ll murder the kids as well.’

Her eyes flooded with tears and Sarah thought, it’s too much even for her. Too much for any woman to have to say in open court in front of bewigged lawyers and twelve members of a jury and the furiously scribbling newspaper reporters and the serried ranks of German language students in the public galleries above, simultaneously appalled and delighted by the example of British justice they had stumbled upon. To say nothing of the accused, Gary Harker, watching her coldly from the dock. And me, whose job it is to cast doubt on all this.

Sarah felt ill as she contemplated the magnitude of her task. But it was Sharon’s comfort the judge was concerned with.

‘Would you like a break, Ms Gilbert?’ he asked courteously, when the pause had gone on for nearly a minute. But Sharon shook her head determinedly. She wasn’t crying; she had just needed a pause to regain her courage. And she had nearly reached the end of her story.

‘What happened next?’ Lloyd-Davies asked.

‘He shoved me down on the bed, went to my chest of drawers and pulled out the bottom drawer. And that proved who he was, too.’

‘Could you explain that please?’

‘Yes, well he went straight to the bottom drawer, where I keep my jewellery in case anyone breaks in. There are six drawers but he went to the bottom one straight away. And the first thing he pulled out was his watch, the one he’d asked about in the hotel.  After that he took some rings as well. Then he left, I suppose. Thank God he didn’t hurt the kids.’

‘What happened after he left?’

‘Little Wayne came in and untied me, bless him. I was nearly choking, I could hardly breathe. Soon as I recovered I called my friend Mary and the police.’

Sharon looked at Lloyd-Davies with relief. She had done it; the first part of her torment was over.

Almost over.

‘Just a couple more questions, Ms Gilbert, then I’ve finished. You say that you recognised Gary by his voice and the fact that he knew your son’s name, and then you felt even more certain when he went straight to the jewel box in your bottom drawer. Is that because Gary knew you kept it there?’

‘Yes. He saw it when he lived with me. And he said in the hotel, I bet I know where that watch is.’

‘I see. And did anything else about your assailant make you sure it was Gary?’

‘Yes, everything. He was the same size, same build. The kids recognised him. Even his prick was the same, if you really want to know.’

Sarah Newby raised her eyebrows slightly. Not the wisest point to make to a respectable jury, Sharon, she thought. Did Lloyd-Davies expect her to say that? Surely not.

But Sharon hadn’t finished. ‘Anyway, he’s done it to other women, hasn’t he? I saw that in the papers.’

Swiftly Sarah was on her feet, but once again Judge Gray forestalled her. ‘Ms Gilbert, you are here to give evidence about what happened to
you
, and nothing else, do you understand me?’ He looked directly at the jury. ‘Members of the jury, I must ask you specifically to disregard that last remark. I can tell you categorically that Gary Harker has never been convicted of rape in his life before, and no evidence will be presented in this court about any other charge than the one before you; and if it is you are duty bound to disregard it.’

‘I am grateful, my lord.’ Slowly, Sarah sat down. But she had been outmanoeuvred for the second time today, and she wondered bitterly if Sharon’s outburst had been spontaneous, or whether Lloyd-Davies had put her up to it. Was this how you got a silk gown and black Jaguar with a personalised number plate? Am I just going to sit back and take this?
No.

Julian Lloyd-Davies glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Would My Lord like Ms Gilbert to remain for questions from my learned colleague?’

The judge smiled protectively at Sharon, as Lloyd-Davies had expected he would. ‘No, no, I think in view of the time and the distressing nature of the evidence, we might adjourn for today. But you must be here tomorrow to answer questions from Mrs Newby, Ms Gilbert. Do you understand?’

He rose to his feet, the usher bawled ‘all stand!’ and court was over for the day. Julian Lloyd-Davies tied his notes in red tape with a casual, practised hand, and smiled urbanely at Sarah. ‘And the best of British luck, I have to say.’

Sarah met his gaze coolly. ‘I’m going to need it, if this kind of thing goes on,’ she said. ‘I’m requesting a meeting in chambers straight away. I want this stopped right now.’

Chapter Two

T
HE MEETING in the judge’s chambers was brief and tense. Judge Gray had divested himself of his wig and red gown, and sat comfortably at his desk in a white shirt with blue braces. Through the window behind him Sarah could see trees in the park by the river Ouse. She, Julian Lloyd-Davies and his junior James Morris had also taken off their wigs but still wore their stiff collars and black robes. They sat in upright chairs before the judge’s antique leather-topped desk.

‘Well, Mrs Newby?’ Judge Gray sat back with a curt nod which indicated that he knew exactly what she wanted to say and was irritated with her for troubling him with it. Sarah took a deep breath and began.

‘My Lord, on two occasions this afternoon the witness made extremely prejudicial references, one to my client’s record and the other to newspaper allegations. Despite your Lordship’s ruling this morning, I must insist that these two references taken together will inevitably blacken my client’s character in the minds of the jury, even if they have not read the press publicity against him. In my respectful submission this jury are now irredeemably prejudiced and I can see no way in which they can be expected to give him a fair trial.’ 

She stopped, conscious that it had all come out in a rush and that she was blushing slightly. But she had decided to say it and had said it clearly. The fact was that over the past year in York two women, in addition to Sharon Gilbert, had been attacked. One, Maria Clayton, had been raped and murdered; the second, Karen Whitaker, had had a lucky escape. The local press, convinced that the attacks were the work of a single man, had written a story entitled
The Hooded Knifeman
, which - to the embarrassment of the police - had been picked up and elaborated by the nationals, some of whom were in court today. Despite extensive police investigation the only man so far brought to trial was Gary Harker. As all the lawyers in the room knew, the police had tried very hard to link him with the other attacks - one of which had involved a hood and both a knife - but had so far failed.

Gary was charged with the rape of Sharon Gilbert, and no one else. But after Sharon’s remark, Sarah’s contention was that the jury must suspect that he was guilty of those crimes too, even though there was one key piece of evidence - a hair found on a tape used to bind Karen Whitaker - whose DNA did
not
match Gary’s and seemed to prove his innocence. But since he was not charged with attacking Karen Whitaker, Sarah could not mention this in court.

Wearily, Judge Gray raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘Do I take it that you were not satisfied with my specific instructions to the witness and jury in both instances?’

Sarah frowned. ‘I am most grateful to your lordship, of course, but ...’

‘But you feel I could have done better?’

‘Not exactly, my lord, no.’ Sarah was determined not to be patronised. ‘I make no criticism of your lordship’s interventions but my submission is that the damage has been done and cannot be undone.’

‘And so?’

‘For my client to receive a fair hearing there should be a new trial and a new jury, my lord. Preferably not in York where there’s been so much publicity about this
Hooded Knifeman.’

So there, she thought. I’ve said it. Now what?

The judge inclined his head to the man in the silk gown beside her. ‘Julian?’

Lloyd-Davies smiled - that conspiratorial, collegiate smile that Sarah knew and loathed so well.
Julian
indeed!

‘It seems to me that both incidents were dealt with admirably by your lordship.’ He favoured Sarah with an avuncular glance.  ‘I have the greatest respect for my learned friend’s zeal to defend her client, but I believe there have been several directives from the Lord Chancellor’s Office about the cost to public funds of such retrials, have there not? The CPS would strongly oppose such a ruling on the grounds of cost alone.’

‘I am aware of the importance of cost, my lord,’ Sarah replied determinedly. ‘But public funds exist to provide justice, and I repeat that my client cannot now receive a fair trial from a jury whose minds have been unfairly prejudiced by this witness. Twice in one afternoon!’ she added, almost as a personal accusation.

Judge Gray raised a hand wearily to stop her. ‘Yes, yes,  I understand your point fully, Mrs Newby, and it does you credit. I am also fully aware of the purpose of public funds.’ He paused for a moment, rubbing his thumb along his jaw and staring intently at an area just below her chin. Did her collar have a stain on it, she wondered anxiously? But no, of course not - it was merely another technique for humiliating people, putting them in their place. The judge cleared his throat and resumed.

‘I have already directed the jury to ignore both remarks and will repeat those instructions in my summing up. In my opinion that will suffice to ensure your client the fair trial which he undoubtedly deserves.’

The words appeared impeccable but the sarcastic final phrase was a deliberate reference to the fact that everyone in court - except, she hoped, the jury - regarded Gary Harker as an unpleasant thug who was almost certainly guilty and belonged in prison. Not that the judge had actually
said
that, of course, but ...

‘In that case, my lord, I hope that any uncharitable references to Ms Gilbert’s character which may come out in court will be treated with equal leniency.’

It was waspish, petulant, and unwise. The judge’s face grew cold. ‘You mistake me, Mrs Newby. There was no
lenience
in my directions this afternoon, and there will no
leniency
either for you or your client. This is a most unpleasant rape case and will be tried with proper respect shown to the victim. I would have thought that you, as a young woman, would appreciate that.’

Young
woman
, Sarah thought. Odd how a phrase that might be a compliment in one context could be an insult in another. Foolishly, she floundered on. ‘Of course, my lord, but she does have a very chequered history and if my client’s record is to be brought before the jury then in all fairness ...’

‘You fail to grasp the point, Mrs Newby. Your client’s record has
not
been brought before the jury and it will not be unless you choose to tell them about it yourself. Therefore it would be quite improper for you to make irrelevant accusations about  Ms Gilbert’s sexual past. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes.’ Sarah bit her lip, counted to ten under her breath, and said,  ‘I am grateful to your lordship.’ Then she got to her feet and moved to the door.

The men, either out of reflex politeness or as a further subtle insult, rose to their feet when she did, but did not immediately follow her to the door. When she opened it and turned to bow she saw an ironic smile on the judge’s heavy jowl.

‘After all, Mrs Newby, we’re all feminists here, you know.’

She strode down the softly carpeted corridor, seething with anger and humiliation. Halfway along she paused, wondering if she heard laughter from the judge’s chambers, from which
Julian
and his junior had still not emerged. Then she burst into the robing room and tore at the stud in her stiff collar with her fingers.

I’ve made a complete mess of it, she thought. My biggest case so far and on the very first day I antagonise the judge to no purpose whatsoever. I sound off about justice with as much emotional control as a teenager on her first date, and now they’re going to be needling me about it for the rest of the week.

She glanced into the mirror and saw with relief that her face was only slightly flushed, not nearly as hot as it felt. It was an attractive face, with neat shoulder length dark hair and hazel eyes around which a network of tiny wrinkles had begun to appear. Perhaps they had always been there but she had only noticed them since she had begun to wear contact lenses eighteen months ago. There’s the problem. Your vision improves and you see faults in yourself, she thought wryly.

As Sarah unbuckled her collar another barrister came into the room - Savendra Bhose, a young Indian from her own chambers. Although he was seven years younger than her they had qualified at the same time, and apart from Lucy he was the person she felt closest to at work. He smiled. ‘Hi! The big rape defender! How’d it go?’