A Question Of Identity Part 3

In the centre of the public benches a knot of elderly women sat together. Two had their hands on one another's arms. Even across the room, Charlie Vogt could see a pulse jumping in the neck of one, the pallor of her neighbour. Behind them, two middle-aged couples, one with a young woman. He knew relatives when he saw them, very quiet, very still, desperate for this to be over, to see justice being done. Hang in there, he willed them, a few minutes and then you walk away, to try and put your lives back together.

Schoolteacher, he thought, as the foreman of the jury stood. Bit young, no more than early thirties. Several of them looked even younger. When he'd done jury service himself, several years ago now, there had only been two women and the men had all been late-middle-aged.

'Have you reached a verdict on all three counts?'

'Yes.'

'On the first count, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?' The first murder, of Carrie Gage.

Charlie realised that he was clenching his hand, digging his nails into the palm.

'Not guilty.'

The intake of breath was like a sigh round the room.

'Is this a unanimous verdict?'

'Yes.'

'On the second count of murder, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?' Sarah Pearce.

'Not guilty.'

The murmur was faint, like a tide coming in. Charlie glanced at the faces of the legal teams. Impa.s.sive except for the junior barrister of the defence who had put her hand briefly to her mouth.

'Is this verdict unanimous?'

'Yes.'

'On the third count, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?'

His Honour Judge Palmer was sitting very straight, hands out of sight, expression unreadable.

'Not guilty.'

'Is '

The gavel came down hard on the bench and the judge's voice roared out: 'Order. There must be silence for the clerk to finish his question to the foreman of the jury and for him to reply. If there is not I will clear this court immediately.' Judge Palmer's eye glittered. 'These are the gravest moments of the entire trial and the court must remain silent. Will the clerk now please ask his final question and the foreman give his reply?'

'Is this verdict unanimous?'

The foreman had been composed. Now, briefly, he looked terrified. 'Yes.'

The court erupted.

Charlie caught Rod Hawkins's eye as they both made for the doors through the crowd, trying to beat the rest of the press pack to it. By the time they were outside, the news was ahead of them, the corridors and front lobby of the building seething with people relaying the verdict. The few police on duty outside were calling for backup and getting into position to restrain the crowd and prevent them surging into the front area.

Charlie Vogt stood on the steps listening to the sound of anger that was growing, becoming a roar, like a tide racing in towards the court building.

Rod was beside him. 'What the f.u.c.k . . . That lot are baying for blood. What's going on in there?'

Without consulting one another, they headed back down the corridor, weaving and dodging through the crowd coming out, others standing about the hall in stunned groups, briefs charging past, gowns flying.

By the time they reached the doors of Court Number 1 the ma.s.s of people had left, driven out by the officials. Alan Keyes stood in the centre of a knot of police and clerks, his defence counsel and the rest of the team behind.

'You can't stop me,' Keyes was shouting, his eyes swerving round the group, to the clerk, to the uniforms, to anyone who could hear him. 'I'm a free man, didn't you b.l.o.o.d.y hear? Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty. He said so.' He pointed to the empty jury benches, then round to the judge's chair. 'Not guilty. I'm a free man and I'm going out there to tell them so, I'm walking out those gates, I'm discharged, and you can't hold me in here.'

The police stood conferring. The barristers looked troubled.

Charlie and Rod stood by the doorway, their presence not noticed in the scrum.

'He's right,' Charlie said.

'If he goes out through those doors he'll get torn apart.'

'Get the f.u.c.k out of my way, clod.' Keyes lurched forward and took a swing at the copper. The blow made no contact, but within seconds Keyes's hands were behind his back and cuffed. In the middle of yells and curses of protest, he was cautioned by one officer and restrained by two others.

'Gotcha,' Rod said. 'Though they can't hold him for a fist that didn't connect.'

But Charlie Vogt was already sprinting for the doors.

She had sandals on with a mended strap which came apart as she ran so that she tripped and almost fell on her face, but didn't quite, recovered, ran on. She had never moved so fast; she felt like a rugby player dodging this one coming towards her, then that one, then a knot of them together. She ducked and dived, banged her arm against the corridor wall, dodged again, almost pus.h.i.+ng over a man carrying a pile of boxes, hearing them crash to the floor as she went on, through a pair of swing doors, down a long corridor where there were fewer people, right to the end, down a short flight of steps. Then there was only the sound of her own running footsteps, the broken sandal slapping unevenly on the tiled floor. She had no idea where she was going but somehow she'd get out, even if it was much later, when they'd all gone. When he'd gone. She'd find an empty room and stay there until the place went quiet, people had all left for home, then try. n.o.body would notice her.

Two doors. It reminded her of a corridor at school with cla.s.srooms on either side. Both were locked. She stopped to get her breath. From a window high up in the wall, she could hear a m.u.f.fled sound, like the sea murmuring. A siren, then another came wailing towards the building.

The corridor smelled of chemical cleaner, making her sneeze, and the sneeze seemed to crash around the walls and down the corridor, echoing and re-echoing. She froze, pressing herself against the wall. n.o.body came. It was quiet again.

Then, a corner and another door and when she pushed against it, it swung open. She almost fell inside with relief and leaned on the other side, catching her breath in gulps, shaking. And all she could think of was his face when the words were said.

Not guilty.

And again.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

As they were spoken, and a second before the whole courtroom exploded, he had half turned his head and looked straight at her and the expression on his face, in his eyes, had frozen her to ice.

Now, the ice was thawing and melting, water ran through her body, and she felt herself sliding slowly down until she was a pool on the floor.

You feel as if the top of your head will blow off. Two minutes after you've done it you can do anything. You're, like, the most powerful person in the universe. You're G.o.d.

'YOU CAN'T KEEP me here. I'm a free man, you heard, "not guilty". So I should be walking out there not in here with you. And I want my brief.'

'Listen '

'No, you listen, d.i.c.khead '

'You can have what you want, Keyes tea, coffee, something to eat you can't have your brief because he's gone home, and you don't need your brief because you're not charged with anything.'

'You cuffed me, you dragged me down here, I'm not guilty, you heard.'

'Yes,' the DI said, 'I heard.' He didn't keep the contempt out of his voice. 'You attacked a police officer '

'I missed. Didn't get near him. You saw.'

'Right.'

They were in a small holding room in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the court building. It had a metal table and two chairs. Alan Keyes sat in one, the DI in the other. A uniformed constable stood outside the door.

Alan Keyes stood up and pushed the chair over as the door opened and two more men came in.

'DCS Granger. Sit down, Keyes '

'Mr Keyes to you.'

'Sit down,' the Superintendent said, not looking at Keyes.

The other man, who was tall and upright and had a thin moustache, stood beside him. Said nothing. Did not give his name.

'Now listen '

'I want to walk out of this f.u.c.king building, I have every right to walk out of '

'I said listen. There is no way I can let you walk out. No way. Why do you think you were cuffed and brought down here?'

'I didn't b.l.o.o.d.y touch him, I missed, I only swung at him, it wasn't '

'It had nothing to do with you taking a swing at a police officer we cuffed you and brought you down here and are keeping you in custody for your own safety.'

'p.i.s.s off.'

'Because if we'd let you strut out of that court you probably wouldn't have made it a dozen yards down the corridor, you would have been set upon, battered to death my guess is you would have lasted three minutes. You've got no idea, have you? There's several hundred angry people out there, and there'd be more arriving if we hadn't closed the road. You know why, Mr Keyes? That's right, you can look terrified.'

Keyes twisted his expression back into defiance.

'I'd be terrified if I was in your shoes. You still want to walk out there? You're not under arrest, as you say, and I've no power to stop you, but it's my duty to advise you that you should remain under police protection.'

'You'll get rid of them, won't you? Clear the street. Tear gas, water cannon, they'll b.u.g.g.e.r off.' Keyes smiled. 'I'm an innocent man.'

'Yes, Mr Keyes. Which won't prevent the public forming its own judgement and acting accordingly. So I'm advising you to accept police protection . . .'

'What's that mean? You put me up in a nice hotel?'

'We do not.'

'I'm not going back inside that fu'

'Nor in prison custody. You'll be taken to a place of safety and then we'll discuss the choices you might have.'

'What choices? I'm going back home, aren't I? You can't stop me, a man's home is his castle, a man's '

'Shut up, Keyes.'

'What is this place of safety then? How long do I have to stay?'

'As I said, you're not under arrest. We are giving you advice for your own protection. You're free to take it. Or not. I can't tell you where you'd go but you would stay until such time as we decide you would be safe to leave. Or make other arrangements.'

'What other arrangements?'

'You'll be given various options within the next few weeks.'

'Weeks? I'm not staying away from my own home for weeks. You tell the wife where I'll be, do you?'

'No.'

'She'll wonder then. She'll report me missing.'

'We'll deal with that. Right.' The Super stood. 'You'll be collected in an hour or so.'

'Now look '

'Don't start again.' the Super said. 'I'm beginning to lose patience.'

It was cold. Her leg was numb and her arm painful where it was bent back against the wall. But she knew where she was. After a moment she began to straighten her body cautiously, to sit up, stand.

She never wore a watch. How long had she been what? Unconscious? Asleep? Why would she be unconscious if she hadn't hit her head? Or been hit?

She hadn't. No one had been in here, no one knew where she was. He didn't. Couldn't. The toilets were somewhere in the bowels of the building she had glimpsed them as she ran down endless corridors, through sets of doors, to get away. Get away.

She found the toilet, pulled the door to but didn't lock it, then went to the basins and splashed her face with a handful of cold water. Pulled her hair out of its band and retied it.

And then there was a clatter outside in the corridor, something metal, and the door opened.

'It's all right, I'm going, I'm going . . .'

The cleaner put down his bucket and mop and stood barring the door.

'You hold on who are you? You shouldn't be here. This building's closed. You on the run?'

'No. Not like you think.'

'Like what then?'

Lynne Keyes told him. He was a huge man with a big belly under his overall, a thick neck, big feet, big hands. But he stood still and listened to every word and she felt safe with him. He could have reached out and strangled her without any trouble but she had no fear that he would. They were different sort of men, the stranglers.

'I hear you. Only you can't stop here. We go in an hour, place is locked and that's it.'