Why had he thrown his knife away? Andrew thought. If only he’d kept it, he might have been exonerated; they could have proved it was not the weapon that had killed Jason.
‘There is no forensic evidence to support Conrad Quinn’s reckless allegations. The only witnesses to the knife attack were the defendants and Conrad Quinn. Conrad Quinn blames Thomas Garrington, but both Thomas Garrington and his co-defendant Nicola Healy have told you repeatedly, under oath, that it was Conrad Quinn himself who stabbed Jason Barnes. The burden is on the prosecution to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendants committed the crimes as charged. I say to you that there are many serious doubts about the prosecution case. It falls far, far short of the unshakeable evidence that would be required to convict. The evidence is flimsy, circumstantial, unsound, paltry. Remember, there is not one shred of forensic evidence to support the prosecution case.’
Andrew thought of the snow on the lawn, footprints smeared in the mêlée, obscured by a fresh fall, the snow near Luke sorbet pink.
‘The case for the prosecution turns on a few shouted comments heard by a traumatized young woman on a bus and the self-serving account given by the witness who was the most vicious assailant on Luke Murray. A witness who, I caution you, has every reason to evade the full force of the law. I ask you to use your minds as much as your hearts, ladies and gentlemen, and you will find Thomas Garrington not guilty on all counts.’
Andrew ached again for Jason. Even after so many months. In fact it grew harder. How would he cope if they got off? He understood obsession now, tales of campaigning parents, stuck forever in the mire of appeals and hearings. Life limited and defined by the quest for justice. Could he and Val get the authorities to pursue a civil case if a criminal one failed? What if there weren’t strong enough grounds? There had to be a reckoning; he had to know who had taken Jason’s life. Otherwise he would go mad.
Emma
It was the turn of Mr Floyd, Nicola Healy’s lawyer. ‘On the seventeenth of December, my client got caught up in events that will haunt her for the rest of her days. She had no idea that a spat between teenagers on a bus would spiral out of control.’
A spat? Emma recalled the atmosphere, the ugly menace. But to be fair, she had tried to persuade herself at the time that it was just kids messing about, hadn’t she? Though her gut, the tension in the air, told a different truth.
‘Nicola Healy has sworn on oath to tell the whole truth here today, and that is what she has done.’
Emma could see the girl in the dock, her head bent over, a tremor across her shoulders. Was she crying?
‘She has sworn on oath that it was Conrad Quinn who threatened Luke with a knife, Conrad Quinn who dealt the most devastating blows once Luke Murray was defenceless on the ground and Conrad Quinn who, drunk on bloodlust, drew his weapon and stabbed Jason Barnes. My client is not guilty. And she chose to fight her case here in court so you might judge her. She has nothing to hide. Nicola Healy never touched Jason Barnes. She did not lay a finger on him. Nor did she encourage anyone else to. The murder of Jason Barnes was an appalling crime, but it was a crime in which Nicola Healy played no part.
‘On the charge of attempted murder, my client pleads not guilty too. There is a whole world of difference between a kick that splits someone’s skull, as admitted by Conrad Quinn, and one that barely marks the skin. Nicola was horrified to see Conrad Quinn begin the assault with such ferocity. There had been no plan to the events of that evening, no plot to find and hurt Luke Murray. A random encounter on a bus escalated beyond all proportion and spiralled out of control, driven by the savagery of Conrad Quinn. My learned colleague is correct: these are the most serious charges in the land, and the prosecution must prove their case beyond all reasonable doubt. In the case of my client, they have singularly failed to do so. Nicola Healy found herself in a nightmare that still plagues her. But she is innocent, innocent of murder and of attempted murder. Please consider all the evidence you have heard, and if you do so, ladies and gentlemen, I am assured that you will find that you can reach only one conclusion: Nicola Healy is innocent.’
The judge summed up after the break. He told the jury they must decide whether the prosecution had proved that the defendants were guilty as charged. Any uncertainty and a guilty charge could not be agreed. He began to define the laws of murder, and Emma’s concentration drifted. She made her way out of the court as quietly as she could. Thomas Garrington’s mother gave her an acid look, quick so that no one else could see, and Emma felt sick inside. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Luke’s mother had said: ‘It’s what you do now that matters.’
She thought of her life, her job, Laura and the Kims, her flat – less lonely since the holiday. She had the girls round for nights now and again. She thought of the bingeing and the cutting. Her mum and dad. Luke’s mum was right. She had been brave, but that was like penance really. Most of the time she wasn’t brave and she wasn’t happy and it just went on and on. She let it go on and on. Like she was stuck on a travelator going nowhere. Or a luggage carousel, the last bag that no one claimed, going round and round for ever. And she was sick of it all.
Andrew
When they failed to reach agreement in the couple of hours left at the end of the afternoon, the jury was sent home for the night. Andrew’s parents had invited him and Val to eat with them that evening. Colin and Izzie would be there, and the kids.
Andrew was ready to leave; he called up to Val, ‘We should go.’
She came to the top of the stairs. ‘My head’s killing me. I’m going to go to bed.’
‘Do you want me to stay?’ he said.
‘No, I’m going to try and sleep.’
‘Val, if this is about Louise Murray, I’m so sorry…’ He began to climb the stairs.
‘It’s not,’ she said.
‘What then?’
‘I told you, I’ve got a headache.’
He reached the top step, leant against the railing on the landing. ‘No. You’re still freezing me out. I want to help. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I can’t do this now, Andrew. I can’t even think about it. Not while twelve people out there are deciding on the verdict. I haven’t got space in my head.’ She looked harrowed, her eyes burning. ‘That’s all I can cope with at the moment.’
‘Okay.’ He understood. ‘But afterwards.’ He looked at her. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘You know, everybody said you were amazing on the stand. I wish I could have seen you. And they’ll remember that, the jury.’
‘You weren’t so bad yourself.’ She choked off a little sob.
He put his palm against her cheek. ‘We’ll be all right,’ he told her. ‘It’s nearly over.’ He gave her a hug.
‘Tell them I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I really just need to lie down.’
‘Okay.’
They drew apart and he went back downstairs. He accepted that all the energy she had was focused on the outcome of the trial. Once they’d got beyond that, then there’d be a chance to pick up the pieces. To work out how they could salvage their relationship. He wanted her back. He would listen to what she needed, and do all he could to make things right between them. She was weakened by the depression and it had felt like she was holding out on him deliberately, being cold and unresponsive, pushing him away almost as if she was forcing him to give up on her. Well, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t throw away twenty-five years. He would be stronger than that, strong enough for both of them if necessary. And his resolution would give them firm ground on which to build their future.