‘Yes it bloody well does!’ Sharon saw the point now, and was angry. ‘He knew it was there and he took it, and anyway I recognised him by his voice, and the fact that he knew Wayne’s name, and …’
‘…and his penis, Ms Gilbert. Yes, we heard about that this morning. But we have also just established that you were terrified out of your wits and drunk at the time. Are you quite sure that you’re telling the truth about this watch? It was there in your bottom drawer, wasn’t it? And the rapist definitely took it?’
‘Yes. I told you. How many times?’
‘All right. So how do you account for the fact that when the police arrested Gary next morning, they didn’t find the watch. He hadn’t got it. Surely if he was so fond of this watch he would have put it on his wrist, wouldn’t he? That would be the natural thing to do.’
‘He must have hidden it. Like the rings and the hood that might incriminate him.’
‘Yes, the balaclava hood.’ Sarah shook her head slowly. ‘The police didn’t find that in Gary’s flat either, did they? Well, you may be right, Ms Gilbert, he may have planned things carefully and hidden the watch and the hood and the rings before going home. But isn’t it equally possible — much more likely, in fact — that the reason the police didn’t find these things in Gary’s flat is because he didn’t rape you? You made a mistake, and identified Gary when it was someone else!’
‘No! It was him. I told you!’
‘Was it?’ Sarah paused, and as she did so she was suddenly aware of herself from outside, as though she were looking down from the gallery on this woman in a wig and gown, the focus of attention of everyone in the courtroom. It was a weird sensation, lasting only a second, but she delighted in it. This was exactly where she had wanted to get to in her cross-examination and she had done so without mishap. She felt like an actress on centre stage who is about to launch into her main soliloquy. Her voice was clear, resonant, persuasive.
‘You see, Ms Gilbert, you had two big shocks that night, didn’t you? The second one was the rape, which was a terrifying, awful thing; but the first one came earlier, when you met Gary Harker in the hotel. Gary, the man who’d betrayed you. It wasn’t a particularly nice surprise meeting him again, was it? You felt bitter towards him because of the way you’d broken up. Then you had an argument about this watch. You were angry with him, weren’t you?’
‘Angry? I was sick of him. Still am!’
‘Yes.’ The more shrill and angry Sharon’s voice became, the more Sarah tried to keep her own calm, reasonable, understanding. ‘So there you are, going out for a nice evening, when Gary turns up. You have a quarrel and it spoils your evening. You’re angry — sick of him, as you say. And you’ve had a lot to drink, too, we’ve established that. So on the way home, these feelings of anger towards Gary are still there in your mind; you can’t get rid of them. He’s nothing but trouble, you think — the last thing you want is to see him again. He spoils everything. It’s perfectly natural to think that, of course — nothing wrong with it. But then, in the middle of this, a masked man, a stranger, breaks into your house and rapes you. You’re confused, drunk, and terrified. So when he’s gone and the police start asking you questions, you put the two things together in your mind and think ‘that man must have been Gary.’
‘It was Gary! I recognised him!’
‘What I’m putting to you, Ms Gilbert, is that in your drunken, terrified state you imagined it was him, when in fact you didn’t recognise him at all, did you?’
‘I did! I told you! It was Gary — I know it was!’
‘But you have no real proof, Ms Gilbert, do you? You’re just imagining these things about recognising his voice and his penis because you’re angry with Gary and you want to get your own back on him, but the truth is that you don’t really know who raped you, do you? That’s the terrible truth. You were raped by a man who you simply didn’t recognise at all!’
‘No … no … I don’t know. I’ve told you it was Gary. It had to be.’
‘You don’t know. Exactly; you say it yourself. It’s much more terrifying to be raped by a complete stranger but that’s the real truth of the matter, isn’t it? You don’t know. You really don’t know who the man was, do you?’
Sarah had expected another instant denial but to her surprise there was a pause. Sharon looked down, fiddling distractedly with a ring. Every second the pause went on Sarah felt a rising thrill, a rush of adrenalin along her bloodstream as she thought I’ve done it! I’ve got her! In reality the pause only lasted perhaps fifteen seconds but it seemed to go on forever. Everyone in court watched Sharon intently, fascinated, waiting.
When Sharon finally raised her head there were tears in her eyes but she made no attempt to wipe them away. She looked directly past Sarah at the man in the dock, and when she spoke her voice was hoarse, quieter than before, almost a whisper.
‘It was Gary Harker who raped me.’
And so she had not broken. Sarah stood for a moment, irresolute, wondering what to do next. Part of her wanted to go on, to worry the woman like a bitch who has wounded her prey but not killed it, but she doubted now if this woman would ever surrender. Anyway she had no new questions and if she simply repeated the old ones the judge would stop her for bullying the witness. She remembered a point from her training — if you can’t break your witness, stop when the doubt is uppermost in the jury’s mind. She had reached that moment now.
‘That’s all I have to ask.’ She folded her gown about her and sat down.
‘Thank you, Ms Gilbert,’ the judge said courteously. ‘You may stand down now.’
As the usher guided Sharon out Sarah watched the jury, trying to gauge their reaction. The middle-aged lady looked disapproving, the girl in the pink fluffy pullover vacant, the man in the leather jacket sympathetic, as though he would like to get up and wrap Sharon in his arms. No joy there, then. But a grey haired man in tweeds, whom Sarah had not noticed before, shook his head sadly as Sharon went out, and a younger man was scribbling intently on his note pad.
That must have put some doubt in their minds, Sarah thought, her hands trembling with suppressed excitement. I did the best I could; I couldn’t have done better.
She looked over her shoulder at Lucy, who smiled encouragement. Then she looked up, to see what Simon had made of her performance. At least he must see she wasn’t a complete dud at this job she had spent so long training for. Perhaps they could talk about it afterwards.
But to her surprise and intense disappointment, Simon was no longer there.
Chapter Eight
Sarah awoke at six as usual, and lay for a while thinking. In these first moments after waking her mind was always clear, and she could often solve problems that had been obscure the day before. It was as though a team of civil servants in her subconscious had been working all night, to present her with the main issues of the day neatly typed and sorted for her consideration.
Bob, still dozing beside her, was the exact opposite. He wouldn’t surface for half an hour, and then only with groans and sighs. She had often tried to discuss things with him at this time, but it was hopeless — he was scarcely human until she was already showered, dressed, and ready for work. It was a daily irritation in their marriage.
But family matters were not uppermost in her mind this morning; they seldom were. Today she might have to cross-examine Sharon Gilbert’s little boy by video link. It would not be easy. Then there were the forensic scientist and DI Terry Bateson, both tough nuts too. She replayed the questions she had planned in her mind as the dawn light filled the room.