Chapter 58
Into the jury room. Not fractious any more; any sense of oppression has gone. They’re nearly free. What’s more, it’s their time now. All this listening, this barrage of evidence, has finally come to an end. Matthew couldn’t be more relieved.
Dharam takes a seat at the head of the table. ‘I think we’re agreed that I’m to be the foreman?’
Emma bridles, her arms crossed firmly across her pale pink cardigan. ‘I don’t remember that we had actually agreed that.’
‘Let’s put it to a vote.’ Jasmine, ever sensible. ‘All in favour of Dharam as foreman, please raise your hand.’
Twelve hands are raised. Only Dharam’s and Emma’s stay down. Struck by a sudden thought, Matthew hesitates. Not that it makes any difference – the vote is already decisive.
‘Right, that’s sorted.’
Emma makes a harrumphing sound. Matthew looks at her.
She’s clearly feeling sidelined by the way that this is all going.
Despite the innate hostility that he feels towards her, perhaps she could be more useful than he initially assumed.
She catches his eye and he smiles in an apologetic manner, shrugs.
Don’t blame me, I tried. For the first time in days, she smiles back.
She’s got entrenched views, though. He knows that. She’s been the one banging on most about what Isobel looks like. But that means she’s stupid. Easily prejudiced people often are. She’ll be no match for Matthew. He’s certain he can bring her round.
He checks round the rest of the table. The main players for him are Neil, Russell, Aisha, Dharam and Jasmine.
Emma too. Maybe it’s just that these are the people who’ve most impinged themselves on his consciousness, but they’re the ones to whom he’s spoken most. Nicola leans forward – he should add her to that number, too.
They’ve had the odd conversation in the last week, she seems sensible.
His role as foreman now formalised, Dharam clears his throat.
‘I think it’s best if we go back to the original definition of murder.
I’ll read it out. “Murder is constituted by any wilful act causing the destruction of life, whether wickedly intended to kill, or displaying such wicked recklessness as to imply a disposition depraved enough to be regardless of consequences.” Everyone with me? ’
They all nod. They’ve had it broken down for them so many times already, but Matthew supposes one more time can’t hurt.
Dharam continues. ‘The judge broke it down. The question we need to answer is did the girls threaten Christian with the knife, causing the fatal heart attack? That’s what it boils down to. We can find them both guilty, or we can choose to believe Eliza or Isobel. It’s one against the other.’
‘Did anyone mention culpable homicide?’ Jasmine says. ‘I’d zoned out a bit by then.’
Matthew stares at her blankly. He must have missed that bit too. An alternative charge. No matter – if it comes to it, he’ll manage the situation. He’s not going to let them convict Isobel of any version of killing, not if he can help it. What Gill said has given him wings.
A man sitting opposite Matthew starts talking.
Matthew can’t remember his name at first – he’s barely spoken throughout the trial.
Elliot Graham, that’s it. He’s explaining the alternative charge in an unpleasantly nasal, pedantic voice.
‘If we don’t find the knife incident proved then we could find that the bullying is an unlawful act first and then that the death has resulted—’
‘Let’s just concentrate on the murder aspect first,’ Dharam says, cutting the man off. He must feel as hostile to the concept of an alternative charge as Matthew, though for different reasons, Matthew is sure. ‘We need to see what we all think about the knife. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Nods round the table.
‘Who wants to start?’
Emma. Predictably enough. ‘I’ve said from the start that I don’t like the look of that Isobel. She has an unkind face. Given Christian’s dad is so clear that he told her that Christian had the heart condition, I think it’s cut and dried. What I’m less convinced about is Eliza’s involvement.’
More nods. Time for Matthew to speak up.
‘I’m not sure that we’re looking at this entirely the right way,’ he says.
‘I know exactly what you mean about the way the girls look, but what really concerns me is whether Isobel is being stitched up. Also, I don’t think she’s fit to stand trial.
Regardless of what the psychiatrist says. ’
Noises of interest. Dharam turns to him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That Eliza. I’ve got a gut feeling about her. You might say she’s got a trustworthy face, but don’t you all think she’s just a bit too good to be true?’
‘OK, so what about Isobel? What are you saying about her?’
Matthew takes a deep breath. The pattern on the yellow wallpaper on the wall opposite him arranges itself briefly into a face, crowned with horns.
It winks at Matthew. Good – he’s on the right track now.
He knows he can persuade them to believe she’s not well – he can act the part.
The fact that he believes every word she said in court is neither here nor there.
It’s time for him to play devil’s advocate.
‘I’m saying that I think she’s psychotic.
She’s totally unwell. I got the impression that she believed everything implicitly, all these tarot readings, the Ouija board, the animal sacrifices – the lot of it.
There’s no way any of that is true.’ The face in the wall scowls, rearing up from the wallpaper in a way that makes Matthew’s heart jump before it subsides again, laughing.
‘So what?’ Emma says.
‘So if she believes it’s true, she’s got to be mad. Which means she’s got diminished responsibility. Which means she’s not guilty. Whether or not she wielded the knife. Which I don’t believe she did, incidentally.’
The head nods, nods again, moving up and down so fast it turns into a blur. Matthew blinks. It’s gone.
‘That put the cat among the pigeons and no mistake,’ Russell says.
They’re walking out of the court building having been sent home after an hour of discussion fails to provide a verdict.
Matthew wonders if they also feel collectively that it might be a bit off to come back with a verdict in such a short period of time – there’s less of an argument happening over what he said than he anticipated. People are more open than they seemed.
‘Is it what you really think?’ Neil says.
‘I don’t think we should discuss it without the others present,’ Matthew says.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry,’ Neil says.
There’s a little group of them standing outside court. Matthew looks around the group.
‘All I will say is this, you can trust what I say. I only give my opinion if it’s something I really believe. I’ve learnt how important that is through my work as a transplant surgeon.’ Trust me, I’m a doctor.
A little flutter around the group, his credentials duly noted.
Matthew’s work here is done. There’s a faint sound of baaing in his ears.
As he looks at his fellow jurors standing around him, their faces morph in the way that the tiles did in the bathroom earlier in the week.
They’re on all fours now, dirty fleeces, red and blue sprays of paint on their sides.
Good little sheep, that’s it. He puts his snout up to the moon and howls.