A Fatal Verdict (19 page)

23. Trick Cyclist

‘Still feeling lucky?’ Savendra asked mischievously, on the way back into court.

‘Of course,’ Sarah replied, wishing she felt half as sure as she sounded. ‘Trust me, Savvy, your client’s going down. There’s a cell door with his name already printed on it.’

Dr MacDonald, a lean, grey haired psychiatrist in his fifties, took the stand to explain that he had first met Shelley when she was seventeen, and treated her regularly for bi-polar disorder; previously known as manic depression. He had last seen her three weeks before she died.

Savendra nodded. ‘In layman’s terms, could you explain what that diagnosis means, please?’

‘Well, people with this illness suffer from very extreme, violent mood swings. All of us feel low on some days, when we are ill, perhaps, or things go wrong - and we feel happy when things are going right. Well, for people with bi-polar disorder these moods are magnified hugely: some authorities believe the feelings can be ten, even a hundred times stronger. And this works both ways. Some highly creative people have suffered from manic depression, as we used to call it - Winston Churchill, for instance. When things are going well for them they can be full of energy, their minds buzzing with exciting ideas, as though the sun was shining inside their heads. But on bad days, they can be sunk a gloom so deep that everything seems utterly hopeless. Many people suffer real physical pain, so bad that it frightens them and they want to escape it in any way they can.’

‘Even by suicide?’ Savendra asked smoothly.

‘Sometimes, yes. The suicide rate amongst people with bi-polar disorder is much higher than for the rest of the population.’

‘And Shelley Walters suffered from this condition?’

‘Yes. Hers was a relatively mild form of the condition, I would say; but even that can be seriously disabling. She came to me in the first place because she was unable to cope with her A levels. Days, even weeks, passed when she was unable to touch a book or a pen, her depression was so bad. And yet when the cloud lifted her teachers confirmed that she was a wonderful student, buzzing with ideas and energy. I saw that for myself, indeed. She was a lovely girl, a real pleasure to talk to.’

‘Was your treatment able to help her?’

‘I think so, yes, with a combination of drugs and counselling. The drugs were vital - I put her on a prescription of lithium to keep her stable. It prevented her from falling into those black troughs of despair. But not all patients are happy with this treatment, because it also prevents you from reaching those peaks of happiness which are the positive side of this condition. And those can be quite addictive, believe me. So that’s where the counselling comes in. I spent a lot of time talking to Shelley, getting her to understand her condition better, and to get used to a more normal range of emotions. And of course we talked about her family, her ambitions, and the things that frustrated or annoyed her. All adolescents have to deal with those things, but it’s particularly important for patients with bi-polar disorder to avoid being ambushed by something that can knock them seriously off balance, even with the medication. If they forget to take it, of course, the results can be even worse.’

‘Did Shelley sometimes forget to take her medication?’

‘Yes, once or twice. If ‘forget’ is the right word - that’s debatable. She may occasionally have done. At least once I think she did it deliberately, because she craved that feeling of intense happiness and creativity which she had experienced before.’

‘But without her medicine, she also ran the risk of descending into one of those troughs of severe depression which you described, didn’t she?’

‘Certainly. I warned her of that risk.’

‘And it’s because of these depressions, is it, that people with bi-polar disorder are more prone to suicide than the rest of the population?’

‘Undoubtedly, yes. It can be an experience so painful, so devoid of hope, that death can seem the only way out.’

Watching from the gallery, Kathryn seethed with fury. She had been incensed that this man was called in the first place, and now, as he described how Shelley found study difficult and the pressure from her parents, particularly her mother, hard to bear, she gripped the rail grimly in front of her. What about patient confidentiality, she wanted to ask - what about the duty of care this creepy psychiatrist owed to the poor girl who’d asked him for help? Was it his duty to blame her family now, help her murderer, when the poor child was dead and could never answer back?

‘Could this sort of pressure drive her into depression?’

‘Sometimes, yes. All sorts of things could do it - a breakup with a boyfriend, criticism from her teachers, an argument, or just nothing at all. You must remember that these depressions are essentially a chemical imbalance in the brain, so they can begin with no external stimulus whatsoever. As can the highs which are their opposite.’

Savendra glanced at the jury, who were watching intently. It seemed that his witness was going down well. ‘When was Shelley Walters discharged from your care?’

‘She was never finally discharged. Hers was not a condition from which you are ever really cured. The best you can hope for is to stabilize it, really. The last time I saw her was about three weeks before she died. She came for a new prescription.’

‘And how did she seem to you on that occasion?’

‘Quite cheerful, positive. She had a new boyfriend, that was the main development in her life. She said he was very attentive, very caring.’

‘Very attentive and caring. Did she mention the boyfriend’s name?’

‘She did. David Kidd.’

‘Did she mention any fears she had about this boyfriend?’

‘Fears? No, not really. She said she’d had some arguments with her parents but she felt these had been a liberating experience more than anything else. They helped her establish a more independent identity, separate from her parents. It’s a normal development for young adults.’

‘For God’s sake!’ Heads turned all round the court, to see Kathryn standing in the public gallery, screaming down at the man giving evidence. ‘He didn’t liberate her, he turned her into a slave, who could hardly speak for herself! You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you - you’re just here to help Shelley’s murderer!’

‘Kath, love, please, sit down. Sit down, you can’t do this.’ Andrew had his arms round his wife, tugging ineffectually with Miranda on the other side.

‘It wasn’t pressure from us that killed her, it was him - that monster down there!’ Kathryn jabbed her finger down at the dock before subsiding into her seat in tears. As the usher nervously entered the public gallery she said: ‘All right, all right, I’ll be quiet. But he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that fool down there. He’s just helping her killer.’

As Kathryn sat down, Savendra turned back to the psychiatrist. ‘Would you look at this packet of tablets which was found in Shelley Walter’s bedroom at the university, please. Is this the medication you prescribed?’

‘Yes. I changed the prescription from lithium to sodium valproate on April 30th.’

‘Could you tell us, please, how many tablets remain in the packet?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘And how many tablets was she supposed to take every day?’

‘One.’

‘I believe there were originally twenty-eight tablets in the packet which you prescribed. So, by a process of simple arithmetic, doctor MacDonald, if Shelley had taken one of those tablets every day from April 30
^th
to 20
^th
May, how many tablets would you expect to remain?’

‘Seven.’

‘So what does that suggest to you?’

‘It suggests that she had missed the medication on nine days.’

‘Exactly. What effect would that have on her mental condition, doctor?’

‘She would begin to return to the manic depressive state for which she was being treated. Her moods would be more intense and volatile than they had been before.’

‘More intense and volatile. And we know that during the week before she died, she found her boyfriend in bed with another girl - that would provide a powerful external stimulus to depression, wouldn’t it? Quite apart from the chemical imbalance in her brain.’

‘That is possible, certainly.’

‘Quite. So, given your knowledge of Shelley Walters’ medical condition, doctor, was she the sort of person who, when deprived of her medication and under the pressure of family expectations, academic work, and the break-up of her relationship with her boyfriend, might contemplate suicide as a way to escape?’

‘Obviously I have no idea what really happened. As far as I was aware her life was improving and she was taking her medication regularly. But ... my answer to your question, in the circumstances you describe, has to be yes. If she stopped taking her medicine, and then experienced a severe, crippling depression consequent on the break-up of a romantic relationship, then she may have contemplated suicide, certainly. It is a possibility I cannot rule out.’

It was clear to Sarah that the psychiatrist had damaged her case. And Kathryn’s outburst had made it worse - at least two of the jurors seemed to have found it more funny than tragic. She had no intention of bandying medical terminology with this man. Her aim was get him off the stand in short order, and refocus the juror’s minds on the facts. She confronted him coolly.

‘Doctor, you don’t know how Shelley died, do you? You never saw her body, did you? Never visited the scene of the crime?’

‘No.’

‘You never even met her boyfriend - this ‘caring, attentive’ young man you described.’

‘No. That was Shelley’s description, not mine.’

‘These pills my learned colleague showed you. Do you know when she didn’t take them?’

‘I can’t tell you that, no.’

‘So for all you know, she could have missed taking them in the first week of May, just after you prescribed them, and resumed later. That’s possible, isn’t it? Just as possible as Mr Bhose’s suggestion?’

‘I can’t say when she failed to take them, or why. I can only describe the likely effects.’

‘Quite. But she was cheerful and positive when you last saw her. Is that right?’

‘Relatively so, yes. That’s how she seemed to me.’

‘And presumably it would have been more sensible for Shelley to stop taking the medication when she was happy, and then resume later when things started to go wrong for her, rather than the other way round?’

‘The medication is supposed to be taken regularly, but yes, if you are going to pause at all, it’s safer when things are going well for you.’

‘And Shelley was a sensible girl, wasn’t she? Not a masochist? She didn’t enjoy these terrible low moods that she suffered from?’

‘Certainly not. No one could enjoy experiences like those.’

‘And she knew that the best way to avoid these was to take the medicine.’

‘Oh yes. She knew that, certainly.’

‘So if she felt low after breaking up with her boyfriend, the most likely thing is that she did take her medicine then, isn’t it? When she needed it?’

‘It’s quite possible, yes.’

‘Very well.’ A rasp of scorn entered Sarah’s voice. ‘So, to sum up, you have no evidence at all that she committed suicide, you don’t know when she stopped taking her medicine, and the last time you saw her she was in relatively good spirits. Is that right?’

‘In a way, yes.’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said, in her coldest, most dismissive voice. She folded her gown about her and sat down, leaving the psychiatrist staring at her, flummoxed. There was nothing on which Savendra seemed to want to redirect. She only hoped the damage he had done was small.

24. Confessions

As court rose for the day, Savendra went down to the cells to meet his client. He was feeling pleased; the psychiatrist, despite Sarah’s efforts, had weakened the prosecution case further. If Shelley had been mentally unstable, his client’s story might easily be true.

The warder left them together in the ‘stable block’ area of little wooden stalls. David sat on the bench, tie roughly loosened, boot resting on his knee, and grinned up at Savendra. ‘You did well today, mate,’ he said. ‘That shrink told them what a nutter she was.’

‘He made an impression, certainly.’ Savendra remained standing, one hand on the wooden partition between the stalls. The warder had left them alone, and the other stalls were empty.  ‘And tomorrow it’s you. Are you ready for that?’

‘Ready to give evidence? Sure, why not?’

‘Well, just remember what I said. Look calm, and respectable. The jury will be judging your character, as well as what you say.’
And if they see what you’re really like
, a voice whispered in his mind,
they’ll put you under a stone and stamp on it
.

‘Yeah, sure.’ David flicked his tie with a finger. ‘Proper posh git, I’ll be.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said Savendra cautiously. ‘They won’t like everything you say. You have to be prepared for that. It may even help, to a certain extent.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Well, look. You admit you were unfaithful and had a noisy argument with the girl in your flat. You persuaded her to stay when she didn’t intend to, and to have sex with you. None of that looks good. But it does fit with the psychiatrist’s suggestion that she killed herself because she was depressed and ashamed of what she’d just done. Or what you persuaded her to do,’ he ended rather lamely.

‘So what’re you suggesting? That I should play this up a bit, is that it?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Savendra answered coldly. ‘That’s not my job. I’m warning you to be prepared, that’s all. It’s obvious enough what Mrs Newby’s going to ask. How did those bruises get there, for a start? If you weren’t holding the girl’s head under water, what were you doing? Holding her down while you raped her?’

‘Who says I raped her?’ A cunning smile crossed David Kidd’s face. ‘There were no bruises on her cunt, were there? The pathologist said that. No, her head got bruised when I was trying to save her - give her the kiss of life like they said on the phone. I was trying to hold her still in the bath, she was sliding around all over the place.’

Savendra studied him coolly. ‘So you didn’t hold her down while you had sex?’

‘No need, sunshine.’ The cunning smile spread wider. ‘She was doped. Out of it. Gone.’

‘What?’ Cold fingers gripped Savendra’s spine. This can’t be happening, he told himself.
He didn’t say that, did he? Not now when we’re winning, please
. ‘She was drugged?’

‘Yeah,’ David looked vastly pleased with himself. ‘There she was screaming at me, so I slipped some roofies into her wine.’

‘You’re saying ... you drugged her for sex?’ Savendra’s voice cracked as he struggled to adjust to this new, horrible reality.

‘That’s it; got it in one.’ David smiled engagingly, as if he was sharing a wonderful secret. ‘Worked a treat - calmed her down after all the shouting. Couple of sips and - ping! She’s gone. You want to try it, mate. It’s brilliant. Do anything after that. Putty in your hands.’

‘Oh my God!’ Savendra glanced towards the corridor, hoping the warder was out of earshot. ‘You shouldn’t have told me this, I don’t want to hear. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can defend you after this.’

‘What?’ David sat bolt upright, all arrogance gone. ‘What you talking about now?’

‘You drugged her in order to rape her. You just admitted that to me.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not charged with rape, am I? I’m charged with murder, for Christ’s sake!’

That’s true, Savendra thought desperately. Thank God for small mercies. ‘And you’re still telling me you didn’t murder her?’

‘Absolutely. No way. I didn’t.’

Savendra confronted the man, thoughts running like rats round his mind. ‘Let’s get this straight. You drugged her, so she was unable to resist your demands for sex, right?’

‘Unable? She was gagging for it, mate. Knees round her ears. What that priest heard, her calling out, she loved it.’

Crawl back under your stone,
Savendra thought.
That’s where you belong.
‘All right. How did she get in the bath, then?’

‘Well, she wasn’t completely gone. Just a bit daft and giggly.’

‘Could she walk?’

‘Yeah, course. I ran the bath for her, and she got in it.’

‘You left a drugged girl in the bath?’

‘Yeah.’ David grinned, uncertainly, as if affronted that his attempt to share a confidence was going so wrong. ‘I thought she was happy then, honest.  I didn’t know she was going to cut her wrists.’

Savendra glared at his client, thinking hard. ‘You didn’t do that?’

‘No. On my honour, I didn’t. I came back and found her like that. She did it herself.’

‘Your honour,’ Savendra mocked bitterly, wishing he’d never met the repulsive little toad. ‘So you’re telling me categorically you didn’t kill her?’

‘Yeah.’ The conversation was finally beginning to worry David too. ‘You won’t say this in court, about me doping her, will you? It’s our little secret. I’ll let you have some if you get me off. Try it on your girlfriend.’

‘Jesus Christ! You don’t get it, do you? I don’t keep secrets for criminals. If this is true then my advice - my professional advice - is that you tell this truth to the court. And let the jury decide what to make of it.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. I’m not telling the jury that. They’ll think I killed her for sure.’

Savendra turned away in disgust. He wanted to pick up the wretched man and shake him, but he couldn’t do that, of course not. Anyway, it would probably result in a fight, and that wouldn’t help his career, would it - to have his nose broken by a client? A client who has just admitted rape. The whole thing was a disaster.

David watched him, beginning at last to appreciate the seriousness of what he had done. ‘You think that too, now, don’t you? You think I killed her?’

Savendra drew a deep breath, and tried to explain. ‘Look, what I think’s not important. I’m not a detective or a juror. I’m just here to present your case in the best way I can.’

‘Well then, how about some help? What should I say tomorrow?’

‘Oh no.’ Savendra waved a finger, as though to keep the devil away. ‘No way, I can’t coach you. You must tell the truth, that’s all. That’s all the advice I can give. I ask the questions, you decide what to answer. Hello? We’re finished here!’ He raised his voice, to alert the warder that he wanted to leave - to escape, to run as far away from here as possible.

‘Well, that’s great advice, that is. I thought you were on my side.’

‘There are limits, you know.’  The warder came round the corner with his handcuffs, to lead David Kidd back to his cell. Where he belongs, Savendra thought, as he watched the man  being led away. You should lock the door and throw away the key.

I’m going to have to think about this, he told himself miserably as the warder returned to unlock the gates for him at the end of the underground corridor. If this is true the best construction I can put on it is that Shelley killed herself in shame after this little bastard doped and raped her. And it would have to happen tonight of all nights, when Belinda’s dad is taking us out to supper. Where he is undoubtedly going to quiz me about the ethics of defending criminals. Great. That’s all I need right now. Bloody marvellous.

When Savendra got back to chambers Sarah was busy working. Her office was opposite his, and she had left the door and window open as she often did for air. Her gown, wig and shoes were strewn on the floor, and she sat on the sofa with her feet curled beside her, studying David Kidd’s statements to the police. She was still smarting from the damage the shopkeeper’s evidence had done, both to her case and to her confidence in Terry Bateson, but her natural combative optimism was starting to return. She beamed at Savendra brightly.

‘Still putting your man on the stand tomorrow, Savvy? Lamb to the slaughter!’

Savendra leaned miserably on the doorframe of her office. ‘Yep. Well, you chew him into little pieces if you can. See if I care. I may just sit back and watch.’

‘Goodness!’ Sarah studied him in astonishment. His body drooped, his face looked grey. ‘Not giving up, are you?’

Savendra sucked his teeth, and thought about it. It was a relief to be talking to someone human, someone normal. In other circumstances he would have loved to confide in her, discuss the filthy dilemma he had fallen into. But not now, obviously.

‘My client,’ he informed her in a voice that was clear, measured, and transparently insincere, ‘is a man of the utmost moral integrity. He continues to maintain his complete innocence. Of the crime of murder, that is. And therefore ... ah, sod it, Sarah.’

It was no good. Their usual jokey, ironic relationship was unable to handle a crisis like this. He opened the door of his office, then turned back. ‘Just give him hell, Sarah, that’s all. And don’t even think of dropping the case.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah murmured in surprise, as the door closed behind him. ‘I won’t.’