‘Did they show you any identification?’
‘No. They just handcuffed me and dragged me downstairs.’
‘All right. What happened in the car?’
‘They kept telling me Jasmine was dead and that I’d killed her. They were shouting, asking me questions — why was I in Scarborough, how did I kill her, where was I when she died?’
Lucy and Sarah had both insisted how important it was for Simon to emphasize this point. The lesson seemed to have gone home. The only danger was that he would overdo it.
‘What was your state of mind at this time?’
‘I was scared … I mean shit scared. I didn’t know what was happening, it was like some awful nightmare. I just wanted to get out as fast as I could.’
‘Did you answer those questions?’
‘A bit, yeah. I said I hadn’t killed her.’
‘Did you say anything else?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know what I said, really, I was that scared. I was in a panic. I could have said anything; I just wanted to get out of there.’
‘All right. What happened at the police station?’
‘Well, Lucy — Mrs Parsons, my solicitor, came, and — I told her the truth. She told me to write a statement and sign it.’
Good, Simon, well done. Nearly there now. She risked a faint nod of encouragement.
‘Did DCI Churchill show you another paper which he asked you to sign?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you sign it?’
‘Because it wasn’t true. His paper said I hadn’t seen Jasmine for weeks and that wasn’t true, I had. I saw her the day she died. But all I did was make love to her, I didn’t kill her, for God’s sake. I couldn’t do that!’
That’s all, then, Sarah thought. I can’t end better than that.
‘All right, Simon, wait there. Mr Turner will have some questions.’
She sat down, leaving him alone on the stand. Her hands began to tremble.
When Terry’s phone rang, he didn’t recognise the voice on the other end at first.
‘Inspector Bateson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Miles Beelby, employment clerk at MacFarlane’s. You remember, you spoke to me the other day. About that Irish lad who once worked here.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Well, I was talking to a mate of mine at TransPennine, you know, the contractors for the designer outlet. He said a lad like that came in to him earlier this morning, asking for work.’
‘What?’ Terry sat up gripping the phone tightly. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, your luck’s in. They need a bit of extra labour. So he’s starting tomorrow.’
‘Tremendous!’ A smile began to spread across Terry’s face. ‘He didn’t leave an address or phone number, anything like that?’
‘No, sorry, usual caper. But if you ring this mate of mine he’ll be able to tell you more. Frank Carrow, at TransPennine.’
‘Right, Mr Beelby. Thanks for your help. I’ll ring him straight away.’
The usher took the paper from Phil Turner, and handed it to Simon.
‘Do you recognize that, Mr Newby?’
‘Yes.’ Simon shrugged. ‘It’s something the police asked me to sign. In the station.’
‘Would you read the last two sentences for me, please.’
Simon had never been a great reader. Somewhat laboriously, he read out: ‘After being cautioned, Mr Newby stated that he had not killed Jasmine Hurst, and that he had not seen her for weeks. He repeated this statement several times.’
‘Is that true?’
It was an ambiguous question, Sarah saw at once. Presumably Turner intended it to confuse the witness and make him appear deceitful, whatever answer he gave.
‘It, er … well, part of it’s true. It’s true that I didn’t kill Jasmine. But the other part, no, that’s not true. That’s why I didn’t sign it.’
Simon looked at Sarah, who nodded approval. Well done, you avoided the trap.
‘So it’s a lie?’ Turner persisted.
‘Part of it is, yes.’
Turner sighed ostentatiously, as though he were already weary of being deceived. ‘To be clear, the part which you claim is a lie is where you say you hadn’t seen her for weeks. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘All right, Simon. But I’m still not quite sure I understand. Are you saying those words are a lie because you didn’t say them, or because you did say them but when you got into the police station you realized they were untrue. Which is it?’
‘I … I’m not sure.’ The questions were like dogs running rings round a bull, Sarah thought, snapping at its heels to confuse and irritate it.
‘Let me help you. You see, both detectives agree that you did say those words, but that in the police station you changed your mind and admitted that you had seen Jasmine on the day she died, after all. Is that what happened?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Thank you. So your first response after you had been cautioned was to tell the policemen this lie. Then when you met your lawyer you changed your mind.’
‘No, look, you’re twisting things. I don’t know what I said in the car, I was too scared. I don’t know if I said those words or not.’
Simon flushed. Turner was deliberately trying to provoke him, Sarah thought.
‘I think you did say them, Simon. I suggest that your very first response when the police arrested you was to tell them this lie. It was only when you met your lawyer that you realized that no one would believe it, so you changed your story. Only that story’s a lie too, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s the truth.’
Turner was scarcely looking at Simon, Sarah realized. Much of the time he was watching the jury, or gazing above Simon’s head, as though her son was beneath contempt. She felt his anger building, as Turner intended.
‘All right, let’s examine your second story, shall we? You say you went for a run by the river on the morning of the 13th, and that’s why your trainers were stained with mud and grass. Did you meet anyone on your run?’
‘Not before I met Jasmine, no.’
‘So no one can confirm that part of your story. All right. Then you say you had a meal with Jasmine and went to bed together. There were no witnesses to this either, I suppose.’
‘Of course not, no. We were alone, for fuck’s sake.’
‘For fuck’s sake. Quite.’ Turner smiled. ‘And of course the only witness to this is dead. You say you made love and she enjoyed it. But that’s just your word against hers, too, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ Simon looked confused and angry.
‘Well, you say she enjoyed it. But her body cries out that you’re lying, doesn’t it, Simon? Because her poor, murdered body has a bruised vagina. How did that happen, do you think?’
‘How should I know?’
Turner shrugged. ‘Well, you say you made love to her. Are you a brutal lover?’
‘Bloody hell …’ His face flushed, Simon gripped the stand in front of him. Turner waited, hoping that he would do something violent or stupid. Sarah searched for a reason to intervene, but could think of nothing.
‘What does that mean? Yes or no?’
‘It means … I don’t know. I just made love to her, that’s all.’
‘‘I shagged her’ — I think that’s what you said.’
‘Yeah, well, whatever.’
‘It sounds brutal to me. Do you mean you raped her?’
‘No. I shagged her like I always did. It’s what she came for — what we always did.’
‘I suggest that you raped her. Either there in your house, or later beside the river path.’
‘I’ve told you. I didn’t rape her.’
‘All right, that’s your story.’ Turner sighed, and paused for nearly half a minute, letting the jury think. ‘But there was only one other person present, and her body tells a different story. ‘I have a bruised vagina,’ her dead body cries out to us, ‘that shows you someone raped me.’ Is Jasmine lying, then, Simon? Is that your story now? It’s the evidence of her dead body that’s lying, is it? Not you?’