we’d spoken to her friend Sandy that he admitted he’d lied. You can hit him with that surely?’
‘Certainly,’ Sarah nodded coolly.
‘Just as he lied about their happy reunion. He persisted with that until we told him his neighbour - a priest - had heard a quarrel. A violent quarrel, he said. Then Kidd admitted they’d had an argument.’
Sarah made a note.
‘Then in the flat we found a meal half-prepared - onions, potatoes and carrots chopped up in a pan, steak in the fridge. And Shelley’s clothes strewn all over the floor where she’d taken them off before she got in the bath.’
‘Or made love?’ Sarah asked.
‘Or made love, yes,’ Terry agreed. ‘That’s what he admitted they did, later.’
‘And after that you think he killed her?
‘That’s what I think happened, yes,’ Terry confirmed grimly. ‘Whether this love-making was consensual or not is impossible to say; there’s no evidence of rape, so perhaps it was. Maybe, as you say, she was in two minds about whether to break up with him; perhaps it was a fond farewell, I don’t know. But he was never going to let her go, he’s not that type. You haven’t met him, I have. He’s a psycho, a control freak. So when she’s in the bath he goes in and says something that scares her - I don’t know what. Maybe he has a kitchen knife in his hand - that would freak her out. Anyway she tries to get out of the bath and there’s a struggle. He thrusts her head under water - that’s how she gets the bruises round her neck and her throat - and she starts to drown. She nearly did drown, remember - the pathologist found water in her lungs and the ambulance crew say she coughed up pink frothy fluid - classic drowning symptoms. But of course, from David’s point of view this is no good - how can he explain away a drowned girl in his bath? He thinks he’s killed her but he’s got to disguise how she died, make it look like suicide. So he cuts her wrists, sees the blood seeping out in the bath, and thinks what do I do now? That’s when he decides to go to the shop. If he’s out of the flat long enough he can claim an alibi, say she committed suicide while he wasn’t there. So he goes out, and has a conversation with the shopkeeper who knows him. He even buys flowers, remember - a bunch of flowers for his girlfriend who’s come back to him. He tells the shopkeeper all about this, then he meets his neighbour, a priest, on the stairs and tells him about it too. Then when he thinks she’s had enough time to die he comes home, leaves a knife by her hand to make it look like suicide, and phones 999.’
‘Only the ambulance crew find she’s still alive,’ murmured Sarah softly.
‘Exactly. Not only that but they find a young man who seems more shocked than relieved that she’s still breathing.’
‘Do they say that?’
‘Something like that. It’s in their statements somewhere.’
‘I see.’ Sarah studied Terry thoughtfully. ‘And is this the story you want me to put before the jury?’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Will Churchill broke in, his Essex accent harsh and intrusive. ‘Before you start questioning it in your clever lawyer’s way, Mrs Newby, there’s something else you should know.’ He passed two slim files across the table. ‘Those are the trial and probation reports on David Kidd. Three years ago he was charged with the rape and kidnap of a sixteen year old schoolgirl in Nottingham. The trial collapsed when the girl changed her story in the witness box, so all they could get him for was possession of cocaine. He got six months and probation for two years. But look at the witness statements and probation reports. He’s a nasty piece of work, this lad.’
Sarah put her fingertips on the files as if to push them away. ‘I can’t use these. You know I can’t. His previous record’s irrelevant.’
‘I’m asking you to read them all the same,’ Churchill insisted. ‘You need to know what this boy is like, and
‘Certainly,’ Sarah nodded coolly.
‘Just as he lied about their happy reunion. He persisted with that until we told him his neighbour - a priest - had heard a quarrel. A violent quarrel, he said. Then Kidd admitted they’d had an argument.’
Sarah made a note.
‘Then in the flat we found a meal half-prepared - onions, potatoes and carrots chopped up in a pan, steak in the fridge. And Shelley’s clothes strewn all over the floor where she’d taken them off before she got in the bath.’
‘Or made love?’ Sarah asked.
‘Or made love, yes,’ Terry agreed. ‘That’s what he admitted they did, later.’
‘And after that you think he killed her?
‘That’s what I think happened, yes,’ Terry confirmed grimly. ‘Whether this love-making was consensual or not is impossible to say; there’s no evidence of rape, so perhaps it was. Maybe, as you say, she was in two minds about whether to break up with him; perhaps it was a fond farewell, I don’t know. But he was never going to let her go, he’s not that type. You haven’t met him, I have. He’s a psycho, a control freak. So when she’s in the bath he goes in and says something that scares her - I don’t know what. Maybe he has a kitchen knife in his hand - that would freak her out. Anyway she tries to get out of the bath and there’s a struggle. He thrusts her head under water - that’s how she gets the bruises round her neck and her throat - and she starts to drown. She nearly did drown, remember - the pathologist found water in her lungs and the ambulance crew say she coughed up pink frothy fluid - classic drowning symptoms. But of course, from David’s point of view this is no good - how can he explain away a drowned girl in his bath? He thinks he’s killed her but he’s got to disguise how she died, make it look like suicide. So he cuts her wrists, sees the blood seeping out in the bath, and thinks what do I do now? That’s when he decides to go to the shop. If he’s out of the flat long enough he can claim an alibi, say she committed suicide while he wasn’t there. So he goes out, and has a conversation with the shopkeeper who knows him. He even buys flowers, remember - a bunch of flowers for his girlfriend who’s come back to him. He tells the shopkeeper all about this, then he meets his neighbour, a priest, on the stairs and tells him about it too. Then when he thinks she’s had enough time to die he comes home, leaves a knife by her hand to make it look like suicide, and phones 999.’
‘Only the ambulance crew find she’s still alive,’ murmured Sarah softly.
‘Exactly. Not only that but they find a young man who seems more shocked than relieved that she’s still breathing.’
‘Do they say that?’
‘Something like that. It’s in their statements somewhere.’
‘I see.’ Sarah studied Terry thoughtfully. ‘And is this the story you want me to put before the jury?’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Will Churchill broke in, his Essex accent harsh and intrusive. ‘Before you start questioning it in your clever lawyer’s way, Mrs Newby, there’s something else you should know.’ He passed two slim files across the table. ‘Those are the trial and probation reports on David Kidd. Three years ago he was charged with the rape and kidnap of a sixteen year old schoolgirl in Nottingham. The trial collapsed when the girl changed her story in the witness box, so all they could get him for was possession of cocaine. He got six months and probation for two years. But look at the witness statements and probation reports. He’s a nasty piece of work, this lad.’
Sarah put her fingertips on the files as if to push them away. ‘I can’t use these. You know I can’t. His previous record’s irrelevant.’
‘I’m asking you to read them all the same,’ Churchill insisted. ‘You need to know what this boy is like, and
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