I Know What I Saw

Jan looks round to me with her eyebrows raised high. There is anger and confusion on her face. She mutters something to the judge about further instructions and comes to the back of the court where I am gesticulating at her.

‘What is this, Xander?’ she says in a heavy whisper.

‘The stabbing. Squire. They can’t use that, can they?’ I say.

‘Why not? And why didn’t you think of mentioning this to me?’

‘Because,’ I whisper back, ‘they dropped it.’

‘Dropped it?’

‘Yes. They said NFA.’

She makes a note of this on her pad and returns to her place.

‘Thank you, Your Honour. My understanding is that the stabbing that the Crown is alluding to with reference to Mr Squire was NFA’d by the police. In the circumstances it is completely improper for the Crown to attempt to influence your decision by that means. If there was evidence, they would have charged him. The fact that they didn’t charge him, if anything proves that there was no evidence against my client. And finally, Your Honour, if Mr Shute was a danger and he did murder this victim, what we can be sure of is that he hasn’t presented a danger to anybody since that time, nearly thirty years ago.’

The judge looks at me and then at the two lawyers.

‘I’m going to rise to consider my decision,’ he says, and leaves to the refrain of ‘All rise’.

39 Friday

Although the judge is out of the courtroom, everyone else stays, like actors milling around waiting to perform. If they could, everyone would be lighting up; instead they chat. The woman in the gown is talking to the prosecutor about her holiday. The gaolers are talking to one another about some member of staff who has been fiddling with the rotas. And I am here in a well of light, behind glass, looking at my hands.

Jan finishes scribbling something and comes to speak to me between the gaps in the glass wall.

‘He’s just going to decide. Shouldn’t be too long. Did you catch the rest of it?’ she says.

‘No. What’s the rest?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all later but basically, whatever happens with bail, your case is being listed soon for pleas.’

I nod to indicate that I understand but I don’t really. When? Now? Tomorrow? What if I plead guilty, can I change my mind? I heave it all away somewhere in my head. At the moment, this isn’t information that I can process. All I have in my mind is bail. Every clean inch of thinking room is considering, calculating variations of the same data. If I don’t get bail I will be taken to a prison. But I don’t know for how long. I don’t know if I can I try again for bail in another day or two or if there are limits. And I don’t know how long can I survive behind high walls in a maze of ever-decreasing squares.

On the other side of the sanity equation, the fact is I have to be out. I need to be out so that I can find those dollars. I can’t tell the police about any of it. They are past believing me and there is no way that Nina will tell them the truth. She stole a quarter of a million dollars and did God knows what with them. And even if, in some circumstances, she might tell the truth, she wouldn’t do it to help me. She thinks I killed Grace, her best friend. What if the police get to her? What if they speak to Seb and he tells them about Nina and the money? When I think about it in this way, I am not sure where his loyalties lie.

But if there’s the slightest chance that I can trace the money, I have to try. I need to speak to Nina, before the police do.

Jan drifts back to her seat and sits scrolling through messages on her phone and I remain, wilting between extreme alternatives.

Fifteen minutes pass agonisingly by. People walk in and out of court. Bored, all of them, except for a small Indian man who is clutching a paper and worriedly looking for the right court. He alone seems at all moved by the significance of this awful, cheap, blanched room. When the judge comes back in, the man ducks back out again silently. The room falls quiet and everybody eases once again into character. My breath stops. I hold it so I can listen to what he is saying, but all I can hear is a pulsing sound in my ears. Fragments of his words find their way across the court and snake through the glass. Considered very carefully … balancing the interests of the defendant and the prosecution … seems to me … met by … imposition of …

He finishes speaking and there is no reaction from anybody that allows me to deduce his decision. The gaolers aren’t uncuffing me. The prosecution isn’t complaining. On the other hand, Jan isn’t either. She hasn’t leapt to her feet to remonstrate or shout ‘appeal’.

The lawyers spend some time mumbling to the judge who mumbles back at them individually. The minutes stretch. My breath catches as my body remembers it needs air. I gasp audibly but nobody reacts.

Finally, the judge turns to me and in a loud voice asks me to stand.