Hargreaves sighed and referred to his notes before answering Stan. ‘Basically, bad character evidence could be an undisclosed criminal conviction but in a wider definition, can incorporate poor disciplinary records at work or even school, or show that a witness was not credible due to something in their past that suggests we shouldn’t believe them. It would be directly relevant to the facts in the trial if, using previous records of violence, one can prove that the victim was actually the aggressor as you suggested in your testimony. Should this be the case, the witness can then be questioned further about their character or previous conduct, such as reprehensible associations or way of life. To that end, one could infer the witness was not worthy of belief and not a credible person.’
Stan smiled then sat back in his chair, holding out the palms of his hands towards Hargreaves. ‘Well there you go then… that’s her bang to rights. You’ve ticked all the boxes. Get what everyone told Aiden down on paper, then it’s job done.’
‘As I said earlier, it’s not going to be easy, persuading the informants to make statements. Some people don’t relish the idea of going to court no matter how noble the cause and this is precisely why we are erring on the side of caution.
‘No, it sounds like you’re giving up.’
Placing his hands together then resting them on the desk, Hargreaves looked Stan in the eye as he spoke. ‘On the contrary, Stan, that’s the last thing we are doing but as your counsel we are duty-bound to explain all of the facts as we see them. I urge you to take twenty-four hours before you instruct me further. Please believe me that whatever we say or do is in your best interests – even that last piece of advice.’
‘And please believe me when I say that I don’t need twenty-four minutes never mind hours. I have to get out of here.’ Stan sighed and reined himself in. ‘You know who’s coming to see me next visiting day?’
Hargreaves shook his head.
‘My daughter who I’ve never even met thanks to that piece of shit Kelly. So no way am I festering here for years while my girl grows up without her dad. That’s why I want you to go back to your fancy office, ring that swanky barrister in his golden bloody chambers and tell him to get his finger out, okay?’
Nodding as he straightened his notes and closed the file, Hargreaves then stood and silently offered his hand which Stan shook. ‘For what it’s worth I do understand your desperation and continued frustration at the process, so rest assured, I’ll do everything I can. I know we solicitors get a bad press but I am trying to help. You have my word.’
‘Yeah, I get that and I’m sorry I lost my rag. Thanks for coming in. Keep me informed, okay? The thought of people on the outside trying to sort this shitstorm is the only thing that keeps me going, and my family, obviously.’
‘No apologies necessary, Stan. I’ll be in touch and in the meantime, keep your head down and stay out of trouble. And watch that temper.’
Stan nodded and watched as Hargreaves was shown out by the prison officer, wincing when the door slammed shut behind them. While he waited for someone to escort him back to the wing, Stan closed his eyes and blocked out the painted white bricks that surrounded him and instead, focused on his breathing, keeping it regulated. It occurred to Stan as he listened for footsteps and to the pulsing, swooshing sound in his ears, that Hargreaves was right about one thing and wrong about another.
He really did need to keep a check on his temper that sometimes verged on uncontrollable, but as for understanding, Hargreaves had no idea what it was like in there, no idea at all.
20
Billie had gone from almost flatlining to super-charged within the space of a few hours and now her brain was buzzing with ideas and her heart allowed itself a smidgen of hope. Thank goodness she’d accepted Aiden’s invitation and given him the opportunity to talk her through his off-the-record hunch. They might not have written proof that Kelly had lied about Stan, but Billie was in total agreement with Aiden. Something didn’t add up about her; something was off.
As she drove towards her second hurriedly-arranged appointment of the day, Billie kept an eye out for a florist because she wanted to take Carol a little something and maybe a bag of treats for the kids too. It would be the first time she’d seen them since that night and their last image of her hadn’t been exactly pleasant, more like something from a horror film.
* * *
PC Billie Kenyon had been working a two-ten shift and was feeling hopeful that she’d get through the last hour without incident and actually be home on time for a change. All she had to do was take a witness statement from a shopkeeper who’d caught some yobs pinching his stock, then she had a date with a stuffed-crust pizza. It was all going so well until she’d responded to the call on the radio and headed towards the address literally seconds away, where neighbours had reported sounds of a disturbance.
Billie did everything in her power not to think about that night. But it came into her head unbidden, like the trailer for a television drama, a slideshow of events that could not be deleted from her memory. She couldn’t even change the channel.
The neighbour, a woman in her dressing gown clutching a miniature terrier to her chest like a cuddly toy, was waiting at the gate when Billie arrived with sirens wailing and blue lights flashing.
‘Bloody Nora, you took your time! He’s been in there about ten minutes now. I saw him come marching up the path. Look, that’s his bottle of vodka. He chucked it in my flower bed after he opened the gate, the scruffy bastard.’
Billie interrupted. ‘Can you tell me what you heard Mrs…?’
‘Jones, Ida Jones. He’s smashing stuff up from the sounds of it and screaming obscenities, I can hear the foul-mouth get through the wall, clear as anything and them poor kids are in there too. He’s an evil bastard that Gary and I reckon he’s giving Carol a good hiding again so you’d better get in quick.’
Billie approached the door and rang the bell persistently and then crouched, pushing open the letterbox and there sure enough, sitting at the bottom of the stairs were two little girls huddled together. One was sucking a dummy. She was no more than two years old. The other was slightly older, maybe four. They both looked terrified and Billie knew there was no way either of them could open the door even if she could coax them off the stairs. True enough, when she turned her ear to the letterbox, she could hear the sounds of a man’s voice shouting, ‘Get up, bitch, get up.’ It appeared to be coming from the end of the hall, probably the kitchen.
Calling for backup, Billie told Mrs Jones to remain where she was and then made her way along the side of the house towards a small gate that led into a grassed back garden. A swing and children’s toys were scattered on the lawn that was partially lit by the glow from the kitchen window. Reaching the back door, Billie stayed out of sight, paused and listened.
‘Are you going to get up or do I have to drag you? I want you out, you slag, right now.’
The next sound was a woman’s cry and Billie winced. Her intuition told her the woman had been kicked. Placing one hand on the door handle, she removed her baton with the other. There was no time to wait for backup. Billie knew she had to go in now otherwise Carol would suffer even more and she needed to get the two little girls somewhere safe. Pressing down on the handle, Billie pushed it gently, feeling a mixture of relief and fear when it moved and the door inched open. She had no idea that the next six minutes and twenty-seven seconds would set in motion a series of events, shifting her world on its axis, changing her life and Stan’s forever.
In the moments preceding her intervention, Billie gathered every scrap of courage she possessed, putting the woman and children on the other side of the door, first. In the moments that followed, when fear wrapped itself around her heart and her brain knew the sensible thing would be to back off, or run, Billie stood firm and faced up to a man with hate in his eyes and a knife in his hand.
‘Step away from Carol, now, and drop the knife,’ Billie’s voice commanded.
Gary turned his head and smirked. ‘Get fucked.’
