Cuckoo (aka Claire, Darling)

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

Dr Dianne Campbell

The jury is silent as each of them takes in the injury documents and photographs that Dodgson has submitted to the court. Grosvenor tries to turn her body away from me, to shield me from seeing the photographs in front of her, but I catch the flash of crimson and I remember standing in that perfect cream room with Lilah’s skull caved in, bleeding out onto the carpet.

I feel momentarily light-headed and grip the table with my hands to stop myself from swaying.

‘Have some water.’ Grosvenor slides a cup towards me, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. ‘And try not to look at the photographs.’

I close my eyes, gathering myself, as Dr Campbell begins to speak, her thick Scottish accent making me frown in concentration.

‘You can see here,’ she says, pointing at a medical illustration which I refuse to look at, ‘the skull has been dented at the pterion, just by the temple. This was the main injury that would have led to death by bleed on the brain.’

‘Is it common for this sort of injury to occur?’ Dodgson asks her.

‘It is not an uncommon head injury, and in fact there is an artery which runs right below the pterion here’ – she points again – ‘which means that any sort of traumatic impact to the skull in this area can very easily lead to aneurysms or haematomas.’

I’m trying to follow as best I can, but the medical language is throwing me and I’m not sure what’s going on. I look to Grosvenor for reassurance, but she’s scribbling away on a pad as though it all makes perfect sense to her. I risk a glance at the jury and can see a few frowns as they try to keep up.

‘And so you’re saying that the cause of death was an injury or impact to the skull?’ Dodgson confirms.

‘I am, yes.’

‘And do you think it possible that the injury stemmed from the victim knocking her head against the mantelpiece as shown?’ he asks, a picture of the crime scene appearing for those in the courtroom to assess. The mantelpiece looms in the centre of the room, and all I can think is how sharp the corners look, how hard the marble surround must have felt when Lilah hit her skull against it.

‘Yes, I do think that if a person were to hit their head on the corner of this mantelpiece it could very easily impact the skull hard enough to cause the brain to bleed,’ Dr Campbell confirms.

‘Can you tell us about her other injuries?’ Dodgson asks.

I take a deep breath– this is the evidence I am most concerned about.

‘We found some light bruising on the right shoulder that would indicate a hand pressed against it,’ she says.

‘Can you show us what you mean?’ Dodgson asks, and I wonder for a moment if he’s specifically trying to make me have a breakdown in public. I draw another deep, shaky breath.

A photograph of Lilah’s tiny little shoulder appears before us, a light lilac palm print visible on the exposed flesh.

‘This here is a match for a palm shape,’ Dianne explains.

‘So it’s fair to assume she was pushed?’ Dodgson confirms.

‘Yes, it is my professional opinion based on the outline of this bruise that the victim was pushed on the day of her death.’

‘An action violent enough to cause her to fall and hit her head?’ Dodgson asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Leading to her death?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t believe you would even suggest I don’t love you,’ Mother wailed hysterically, tears streaming down her face. I was thirteen, and it had been one of our first proper arguments, the first time I’d really dared to speak out and tell her how I felt.

‘Well, you don’t act like it,’ I told her sullenly, teenage angst roiling in me and refusing to back down in the face of her crocodile tears.

‘Claire, darling, I love you. You are my first and only child, is that not proof enough?’

I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘That doesn’t prove anything. It just proves you didn’t want another kid.’

‘Why would I, when the one I have is perfect and fulfils me so much?’ She sobbed, hunched over to make herself seem small and vulnerable.

I bit my tongue on all the retorts that stirred in me then: the fact that she never told me she loved me unless it was to manipulate me; the fact she never behaved as though she wanted a child; the fact that she always put herself and her feelings first. Instead, I clenched my fists and remained silent.

‘I am telling you that I love you, Claire, and that should be proof enough,’ she insisted, her tears drying and anger leaking into her voice.

I shrugged and replied, ‘Okay.’

Inside, I was imagining pummelling her vengefully, screaming at her. Do you still love me now, Mother? I’d ask, feeling her flesh quail beneath my pounding fists.

I breathe in slowly as Grosvenor stands, Dodgson shooting me a smug look, his eyebrows raised just a fraction as he saunters past me to take his seat.

Grosvenor makes confident eye contact with me for just a split second, and I feel like she’s trying to say to me, Don’t worry, we’re going to be okay. I nod back, the tiniest lowering of my head.

‘Dr Campbell, can you confirm that the pterion that was fractured, causing the bleed on the victim’s brain identified as the primary cause of death, is in fact the weakest point in the skull?’ Grosvenor asks, keeping her voice light and matter-of-fact.

‘I do confirm that it is the weakest part of the skull,’ Dr Campbell replies.

‘So it would be fair to say that it did not require a huge amount of force to cause this injury? That it is hypothetically possible that the victim merely tripped and sustained the injury without any external force causing the fall?’ Grosvenor asks.

‘It is possible for a person to trip, hitting their head, and then to suffer a bleed to the brain with no external force applied, yes.’

‘Thank you,’ Grosvenor says, and I hear whispering among the members of the jury that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

‘Order,’ the judge reprimands, and I am thankful.

‘And to confirm: the partial print on the victim’s shoulder could have been caused at any point and by any person in the twelve hours prior to the fatal head injury. There is no conclusive evidence that it was inflicted by my client in the same timeframe as the estimated time of death?’

‘It is indeed possible that the bruise could have occurred before the defendant went to the victim’s home, and the partial bruise is not identifiable as Claire Arundale’s print.’

‘And when looking at the expert report we can see that the victim’s blood samples revealed she was in fact very anaemic at the time of her death?’ Grosvenor continues. I look up. I was unaware of this and am unsure of its potential significance.

‘Yes, blood samples did confirm that Lilah Andersson was anaemic at the time of her death.’

‘And am I correct in understanding that anaemia can cause people to bruise particularly easily? From less force than it takes to cause the average person to bruise?’ Grosvenor asks.

My eyes widen.

‘I would agree that the victim was more likely to bruise than someone who was not suffering from anaemia.’

‘So to summarise: you agree that the victim required less pressure than the average person to cause her to bruise? That it is impossible to be sure the palm-print in question was caused by the defendant? And that it is entirely possible that the victim merely tripped in her own home and had the terrible luck of hitting the weakest part of her skull, leading to her accidental death?’

I blink.

Dr Campbell shifts in her seat, but she’s already nodding slowly. ‘Yes, that summary is accurate,’ she concedes.

‘No further questions, Your Honour,’ Grosvenor says with a glance towards the judge.

My counsel turns to face me and she is smiling.

For the first time I find myself thinking that, thanks to Grosvenor, I may actually have a fighting chance of clearing my name.