‘Don’t you bloody dare.’ Anger crackled through him, a surge of static. ‘Don’t you dare lecture me about what a tragedy like this does or doesn’t do.’ He wanted to hit Colin, shove him down the stairs. Colin was always bossing him about, big brother knows best. Well this was one time when Andrew knew better. He walked quickly up the stairs and pushed through the door to the cars. Colin caught up with him, put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Andrew.’
‘Just fuck off.’ Andrew wheeled away, raising his hands, palms open. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said curtly.
He got in the car. He thought Val might ask him what was up with Colin, but she said nothing. He was shattered, his bones and muscles aching as though he’d been beaten up. He hadn’t the energy to try and communicate with her. They travelled home in silence, through the mild evening air.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Emma
Emma had been to Gavin to ask for the rest of the week off work to attend the trial. She had not expected him to agree, but when she told him she had some annual leave left and she could use that, he said yes.
On the third day, most of the evidence was from doctors of one sort or another. There was a doctor who had been on duty at the A&E department describing what efforts had been made to revive Jason Barnes. Then the pathologist who performed the post-mortem. He explained Jason’s injury and that the massive loss of blood had led to his death. After him they heard from the doctor who had treated Luke Murray and the consultant neurologist who had overseen his care while he was in the infirmary. There were only a couple of points where either of the defence lawyers cross-examined. Mrs Patel asked the pathologist whether he had recorded Jason’s blood alcohol level. At this Emma heard a sharp gasp from Mrs Barnes, who was sitting with her husband. The pathologist told them that Jason’s blood alcohol level was raised. He gave a figure and explained that it was just over the drink-drive limit.
‘So Jason would have been intoxicated?’
‘It’s impossible to know what his tolerance level was,’ the pathologist said. ‘Individuals are affected very differently.’
‘But he’d be unfit to drive?’
‘Legally, yes.’
And the same barrister asked if the position of the wound gave any indication as to who had used the weapon, whether for example it was someone left-handed or right-handed.
Emma glanced at the defendants in the box, wondering if this was an important issue. But the pathologist said no such thing could be inferred, not even whether the person had struck from behind, or had been facing Jason and reached around him.
There was a sense of disappointment in the courtroom. Emma knew that if this had been on television, the person on the stand would have been able to tell all sorts of things just from the wound that would help them identify the culprit once and for all.
When she was listening to the evidence, Emma didn’t feel so awkward, but in between, when there were breaks and everyone went out, she could feel the girl, Luke’s sister, glaring at her. Despising her. She imagined other people sharing the same thoughts, whispering about it: She’s the one from the bus. Just sat there. Could see them getting violent, did nothing.
The last witness for the prosecution was the police inspector in charge of the investigation. He described the sequence of events up to arresting the defendants. He explained that there was no forensic evidence to prove who had used the knife and the weapon had never been recovered in spite of exhaustive searches of the suspects’ homes. He also described how Conrad Quinn had confessed and pleaded guilty to a lesser charge.
The defence barristers made a meal of that. Mr Floyd, representing Nicola Healy, focused on how Conrad had tried to evade the police up until his arrest and would probably have remained at large if a member of the public had not helped identify the suspects. Going on about how he only began to co-operate when he faced the most serious of charges. And the other barrister, Mrs Patel, kept repeating that Conrad Quinn was playing the system to save his own skin.
Emma grew tense again, her stomach churning, their hectoring reminding her of the way the lawyers had grilled her about who said what on the bus and how she could possibly tell.
Even the inspector got ruffled, raising his voice a couple of times as they kept on trying to make out that Conrad Quinn was unreliable and an opportunist who had fooled the police.
Finally Mr Sweeney announced that there were no more witnesses for the prosecution, and the judge said the defence case would open in the morning.
On the way to the train, Emma saw the newspaper sandwich board: JASON TRIAL: FULL COVERAGE. On Monday, the trial had been headline news everywhere. And she had been mentioned. Fellow passenger Emma Curtis, 23, told the court that Garrington had bragged about having a knife before punching the teenager. At which point Jason Barnes first intervened.
It had been in the Express; her mum had texted her and then rung after tea. ‘Your dad saw it before I did. And it was on the six o’clock news too.’ She sounded thrilled, as if Emma had done something clever. She heard her mother mumble, ‘Just a minute, Roger.’ Listened to the rustling as he took the phone, and his voice: “‘Visibly shaken”, that’s what it says here. I can just see it, hah hah! “Claims adviser”, it says. Must be in a sorry state to let you advise anyone. Eh, Emma? Cat got your tongue? Here, I’ll get no sense out of her.’ Malice delivered, she heard him return the phone to her mum.
‘You’ll have to tell us all about it,’ her mum said.
You must be joking, Emma thought. Was she on another planet? Had she not just heard him?
‘When are you home again?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Emma said.
‘Okay. Bye for now. Byeee.’
Emma stared at the fish in her aquarium very hard. She watched a little tetra winnow through the weed in the corner, past the conch shell. She stared and stared but the hot, angry lump in her chest would not melt away.
Andrew
The defence case began with Thomas Garrington taking the stand. He swore on the Bible. Andrew had worked out by now that the couple who always sat near the back were his parents. He was a huge man, bald, with the look of a boxer, the broken nose. She was tiny, nervy, red-faced.
As Thomas Garrington gave his account, prompted by questions from Mrs Patel, Andrew quickly realized that he was contradicting all the salient facts of Conrad’s story. According to Thomas, it was Conrad who drew the knife, Conrad who first kicked Luke, Conrad who stabbed Jason. Garrington admitted to calling Luke names and pushing him on the bus. ‘I didn’t punch him, I just pushed him.’
And when he realized Conrad Quinn had used the knife?
‘I got out of there, I couldn’t believe it. We didn’t even know the guy.’
‘How would you describe Jason’s actions in the garden?’ Mrs Patel asked.
‘Well he was really pumped up, you know, screaming. I think he was drunk. He hit me from behind with something, broke my rib.’
Andrew was stunned; he heard Val gasp. He could see the image they were trying to construct: Jason raving and pissed, wielding a weapon. A million miles away from the boy he was.
‘We’d like to show the court the exhibit,’ said the barrister. The judge agreed. A still photograph was projected on to the screens. It was dated four days after the murder and showed Thomas Garrington stripped to the waist, a bruise the size of a plate on his lower back. Someone murmured in sympathy; Val made a sound of disgust. Andrew sucked in a breath, could hardly believe the cheek of it.
‘This is the injury you sustained?’
‘Yes.’
Val shook her head, made to move. Andrew feared she’d shout out, risk the judge’s displeasure and get the public gallery cleared. He put out his hand to restrain her. She turned to him, her face alive with outrage. He nodded; he understood.