‘So, in your professional opinion as an expert in Forensic Gait Analysis, you are of the view that the person shown in the CCTV footage in Edward Street has the same distinctive features of gait as those displayed by the defendant Michael Starr recorded on the custody suite footage?’
‘Yes.’
‘From the material provided to you, is there anything that indicates otherwise?’
‘No.’
Primrose Brown rose to her feet, turning to Kelly. ‘You expect the jury to believe that the poor-quality CCTV footage, and your analysis of it, is proof that Mr Starr went into those premises that day?’
Jupp tilted his head towards the expert.
Kelly responded calmly but pointedly, a true expert witness and impartial as always, addressing first the judge, then the jury. ‘Your Honour, I’m unable to comment on other areas of expertise beyond my own — such as the field of facial recognition. In my opinion the CCTV footage and the custody suite footage are both suitable for the purposes of Forensic Gait Analysis, as I have outlined and as detailed in my report. The report provided by the defence’s gait expert also confirms the material is suitable for such purposes.’
Primrose Brown shuffled some papers. ‘Sir, you have presented your evidence that Mr Starr entered the premises of TG Law, but referring back to my earlier statement that there are ten people employed at the firm of TG Law, in addition to the defendant, are you able to tell this court, from your Forensic Gait Analysis, which of these eleven people he might — assuming you are correct in the first place — have gone to see?’
Kelly shook his head and politely replied, ‘No, madam.’
Brown looked at the witness intently. ‘Mr Kelly, is this not really pseudo-science? I suggest you are only interpreting what you have seen to support your findings. How can you be sure of its accuracy?’
Kelly replied, ‘With the greatest of respect, that is not the case, madam. Forensic Gait Analysis has and is being used in court cases. I have no doubt that by recognizing the distinctive and unusual features of gait as those displayed by Michael Starr, he is the person entering that premises.’
As Brown sat, Cork immediately stood. ‘Thank you, no further questions.’
54
Tuesday 14 May
Meg walked home from Hove station through drizzle, beneath a sky as dark and heavy as her heart. A seriously shit day in court. Her hopes had risen after the defence counsel’s attempted grilling of Haydn Kelly and the Forensic Gait Analysis evidence, but it went nowhere. Throughout the rest of the day Stephen Cork read through a stream of witness statements made by Gready’s work colleagues from November 2018.
With each one in turn denying, all equally convincingly, that they had ever met Michael Starr, the evidence against Gready was growing increasingly strong. During the lunchtime recess, and again during a brief adjournment in the afternoon, the opinionated woman juror, Gwen, had insisted that Gready must be guilty. An alarming number of her fellow jurors concurred, despite Meg’s strenuous argument that it was still far too early in the trial to form any opinion, and that there were many more witnesses to come. The arrogant woman was a real problem, she thought. A ghastly snob but, incredibly, she had the ear of most of the jury.
It was already becoming clear to Meg — without the help of Mrs Smythson — that Gready’s defence was foundering on the rocks.
What to do?
God, how she wished Nick was around. They could have discussed this together and he would have helped her to come to the right decision. He’d always been such a positive person and so full of wise words. One of her favourite sayings of his was, ‘Stay away from negative people — they have a problem for every solution.’
That was how it felt on the jury. All but Hugo Pink, who, resolutely maintained, as she did, that it was far too soon to come to any judgement, and that they were doing the whole notion of justice a great disservice by jumping to early conclusions.
As she opened the front door, the cat looked at her.
‘What is it, what do you want to tell me? You need food? Water? Biscuits?’
Then, as she entered the kitchen, she felt a tightening in her throat and stopped, staring. At something on the table that hadn’t been there this morning when she’d left.
Another photograph. What now? She went, warily, over to the table and stared down at the print. Laura and Cassie on a park bench, in shorts and T-shirts, with iguanas all around them. The two girls had big grins on their faces but were seemingly oblivious to the camera.
Someone had been in here again.
Were they still here?
She held her breath. Listened. Looked around. Then finally called out, ‘Hello?’
Silence.
She checked every room in the house.
The burner phone rang. She jumped. Everything made her jump right now. Her anxiety was so high she felt completely wired.
ID withheld. Of course.
‘Hello?’ she answered.
The same smug, creepy voice as before. ‘Not good today, was it, Meg?’
She looked around, shaking. ‘Not great.’
Where are you?
‘Meg, you need to know there is another juror on your side. And there is one very negative juror we are going to take care of. Keep the faith.’
‘What do you mean take care of?’
‘Tomorrow Laura and Cassie are doing a zip wire across a gorge. Crazy, if you ask me. Can you imagine the wire breaking? Laura halfway across? I don’t even want to think about it.’
‘Don’t. You. Dare. Please, please,’ she implored. ‘I’m doing everything I can.’
‘I’m sure you are, but it’s not enough, is it?’
‘What more can I do?’ she asked, then broke into a scream. ‘What FUCKING MORE?’
‘We’ll give you all the assistance we can, but you have to be stronger, Meg, more assertive.’
‘How?’
‘That’s for you to figure, Meg. You know what the score is. You know what you have to do.’
There was a long silence.
‘How?’ she shouted. ‘Please tell me how, you bastard!’
But the line was dead.
55
Tuesday 14 May
Trembling, Meg put the phone down on the table, fed Daphne, then poured herself a large whisky, really worried where all this was going and how much danger she, her daughter and Cassie and God knows who else that she cared about were in.
She sat down at the table and drank a large gulp. Thinking. Staring at the photograph of the two happy girls. Feeling so desperately alone and scared. And aware that anything she said might either be listened to, live or recorded. She sipped some more, then stared in surprise at her empty glass.
Did I just drink that?
Sod it. She refilled her glass and sat back down. Feeling emboldened, suddenly, she picked up her own phone and dialled Laura. Hell. They hadn’t spoken in over a week, she was entitled to call her daughter, damn you, you evil shit.
To her relief, Laura answered almost immediately. ‘Hey, Mum!’
‘How are you, darling?’
‘Oh my God, Mum, it’s so good to hear you! I sort of shouldn’t tell you this cos I know you will worry but we were a bit freaked out. Don’t panic though, we are totally fine now, I promise.’
‘What, darling, what on earth has happened to you?’
‘Oh, honestly, Mum, chill, it’s nothing major. We just had a couple of beers and we were both out of it — I mean after just two beers. We think they were spiked — apparently you have to be really careful about that here. We’re on the lookout from now on. We both felt really strange until this morning. Thank God we got back to our rooms OK and just slept it off. Apart from that, we are having the best time!’