chapter Eighteen
After her long speech, Honey sat back and let the others talk. Her hands continued to shake and she still felt sick, but a sense of relief had settled on her at finally being able to get her point of view across. Thankfully, for a while the others didn’t press her but talked among themselves, even the obstreperous Matt, who had seemed taken aback by her comments which had obviously been about her own experiences.
At one o’clock, after much discussion, they took another vote. Tom asked who thought Sarah Green was guilty. Ten hands rose and then, slowly, so did Alice’s.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Honey.
“You don’t have to apologise,” Honey said softly, although disappointment tightened her throat until she found it hard to swallow.
“It’s just…I’m not a hundred percent convinced she didn’t do it. I don’t want her to have done it, you know? I feel sorry for her. But that’s not really a good enough reason, and we all have to agree, don’t we?”
Honey said nothing. Alice spoke the truth. But was that a good enough reason to vote guilty? How would she be able to live with herself if she put Sarah Green behind bars for finally taking her revenge on her manipulative, cruel boyfriend?
She put her face in her hands. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
A collective sigh whispered around the table and a couple of people swore under their breath. Tom, however, leaned forward and patted her hand as she dropped it to the table. “It’s all right, love. I understand. We’ll tell the judge we’re eleven to one and we can’t make the twelve.”
He called for the court assistant and after a while they filed back into the courtroom. Sarah stood there, pale as milk, and the two lawyers stood behind their desks.
“I understand you are eleven to one,” the judge said.
“Yes, your honour,” Tom answered.
The judge studied his hands for a moment, then replied, “I would really like a majority vote on this case. I’d like you to return to the courtroom please for further discussion. We’ll have lunch delivered to you, so you can take as much time as you need.”
Honey’s shoulders sagged. Beside her, Peter1 whispered, “F*ck,” and several others gave muttered protests.
The jury stood and shuffled out of the court and back to their room.
Honey stood by the window looking out into the small garden where the smokers occasionally relieved their craving. It was now the job of the other eleven jurors to bully her into submission. How could that be right? Eleven people had found the woman guilty, including one who had pretty much been browbeaten into it. This was so cruel.
The door opened and the court assistant brought in plates of sandwiches and cake. The others immediately started tucking into them, but Honey couldn’t bring herself to take a bite. She remained at the window, trying to comfort herself with thoughts of the wedding, but she could only dredge up a vague feeling of apprehension that didn’t make her feel even a tiny bit better.
“Well, what do you want to do?” The question came from Lenny, the last of the five men. Tall, skinny and impatient looking, he frowned and tapped on the table. “Do you want to go over it all again?”
“I don’t know.” And she didn’t know.
“Can’t we just say we have a hung jury and have done with it?” asked the young woman who’d spent most of her time at court eyeing up Matt.
“The judge has just told us to talk about it,” Tom said. “I don’t think he will accept that verdict right now.”
Peter2 threw up his hands. “What’s the point in talking about it? Clearly she’s not going to listen.”
“I am listening,” Honey protested. “I don’t want to vote against my conscience, that’s all. How I can I live with myself if I do that?”
Nobody seemed to have an answer to that.
“Come and sit down, love.” The words came from Huia, a Maori woman who reminded Honey a little of her mother. Reluctantly, Honey returned to the table and sat. “The thing is, as I understand it,” Huia continued, “is that if we return a hung jury, they have to choose a new one and then poor Sarah Green has to sit through this all over again.”
“That’s true,” Babs said.
“And that’s not really fair on Sarah either,” Huia said.
Honey said nothing, her stomach in a knot.
“Maybe what you could think to yourself is that by voting with the majority, it doesn’t actually mean you’re agreeing with us. It means you’re accepting you’re in the minority and that we aren’t going to change our minds. By voting guilty, you are saying you agree to abide by the majority vote.”
It sounded logical, but Honey knew Sarah Green wouldn’t think of it in that way. All she would know was that twelve people had found her guilty—she wouldn’t understand the wrangling that had gone on behind the screens, nor the justification Honey would be making to herself to assuage her conscience.
“I’m just not a hundred percent sure beyond all reasonable doubt that she meant to harm him,” Honey said. “Are you all? A hundred percent?”
Matt frowned. “Unless there’s a photograph of a perpetrator standing over a body, knife in hand screaming ‘I did it, your honour,’ I don’t know how we can ever convict anyone based on that premise. Of course we can’t be sure a hundred percent. But all the facts point to her knowing that James was going to come through that door, like her leaving off the chain. It doesn’t make sense. She wanted him to come into the house so she could attack him and then scream self-defence.”
“I have to say I agree with Matt,” Tom said, somewhat reluctantly. “But to be honest, I don’t think you disagree with the facts. I think the problem lies more in that you can’t find it in your heart to say Sarah is guilty when you feel you understand what she has been going through.”
He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Honey stared at the table. He was right, of course.
“And that, really, is a different issue,” he continued. “We’re here to decide whether she knowingly attacked this man with the intention of harming him. We aren’t here to debate whether James Hill deserved what he got. Or whether Sarah was justified in doing what she did. Because if that was the case, I’m sure the vote would look very different. But the judge instructed us to leave our emotions outside of the jury room. He said that because he wanted us to look at the facts. And I think maybe, my dear, you need to remove yourself from the emotions of this case and try to do that.”
Honey clenched her fingers tightly in her lap. He was right—of course he was right. She didn’t want to convict Sarah because she knew how desperate the woman must have felt. She hated James Hill, his smug superior look, his obvious belief the jury would find Sarah guilty. She wanted to punish him for what he’d done to Sarah by setting her free, and in doing so send a message to other men that it wasn’t okay to treat women in this way, and if they did, they wouldn’t get away with it.
But she couldn’t do that. A person couldn’t take the law into their own hands, no matter what had been done to them. That wasn’t justice—it was revenge, and as good as revenge may feel, society couldn’t have everyone running around being their own judge and jury.
Did she truly believe Sarah was innocent? Deep her heart, Honey didn’t. Sarah hadn’t looked terrified in the dock—she’d only looked at James with love in her eyes. If the woman had been so terrified of her ex coming into her home, she would have put the chain across and pushed a chair against the handle. Or moved out to live with a friend. She probably wanted James to come back to her. Maybe, when he’d let himself in, she’d started by pleading with him to come back before she attacked him. Or maybe her hatred had been such that she’d gone straight for him.
Whichever, she was most likely guilty, and Honey couldn’t fight that any longer. She’d wanted to be Henry Fonda in Twelve Angry Men and convince everyone to change their view to her own, but that wasn’t going to happen.
She nodded at Tom.
“Let’s take another vote,” Tom said quietly. “Please raise your hand if you think Sarah Green is guilty.”
Twelve hands rose.
Tom sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll let the court assistant know.”
Within minutes they were filing back to the courtroom. Honey had read To Kill A Mockingbird as a student and could still remember Harper Lee’s assurance that a jury whose members had voted guilty refused to look at the defendant as they came into the courtroom. She risked a glance along the jury box as they took their seats—not one of them glanced in Sarah’s direction.
The judge asked Tom if they had come to a verdict—Tom said yes, and delivered the guilty result. Only then did Honey glance up. Sarah’s shoulders had sagged and tears ran down her face.
Honey closed her eyes.
It took only minutes for the case to round up. The judge announced he would deliver the sentence at a later date and they were free to go.
Honey walked quickly from the courtroom, too emotional to talk to anyone. She almost ran to her car and got in, clipped the seatbelt and then drove hurriedly away.
The tears came as she left the town. Floods of them, and eventually she pulled over and leaned on the steering wheel, sobbing into her hands. She’d done the right thing. She was just over emotional because it had been her mother’s anniversary, and because Dex was nervous about the wedding and that in turn was making her nervous.
But deep down, she knew it was more than that. She was probably the only one in that courtroom who understood what had driven Sarah to pick up that knife. If she hadn’t voted guilty, maybe a new jury would have voted her innocent. But Sarah would never know how Honey had tied herself in knots over the case. Would never know how much it would haunt her.
After a while, the intense emotion abated, leaving her exhausted and depressed. She sat back in the seat and looked out at the rain-soaked landscape.
At that moment, the clouds parted and let through a flash of sunlight, and in the fields something glinted, dazzling her. She caught her breath, reminded vividly of the moment in the café when the Matariki sign had done the same thing.
“Hey, Mum,” she whispered, knowing it was nonsense, unable to stop herself all the same. A swift wave of grief and longing swept over her, then vanished. Her mother would always be with her, in her heart and memories. In the children she would carry, put there by Dex, the man she was going to marry.
It had been an emotional week. It wasn’t surprising she was feeling the strain, but she shouldn’t let it get to her so much. She wasn’t solely responsible for Sarah Green’s conviction. Eleven others had been certain, and she’d conceded because that’s what happened in a democracy—the minority bowed to the majority. She’d done her best to make her point, but she shouldn’t blame herself for not changing everyone’s mind.
She started the car, tired but a little calmer. The court case had finished and now she could put it behind her. She had a whole day off on Friday, with her hen night in the evening, where she’d be going out with her sisters and friends for a few drinks in town. She really had nothing to worry about.
She tried to concentrate on positive thoughts as she drove home, and turned on the radio to sing to a few tunes, attempting to lift her spirits. She was relieved to finally get home though, and turned into the drive, knowing most of her sisters and her father would be at the shop. Lily’s car was there, but that didn’t surprise her—Lily often came home after the busy lunchtime rush to paint.
As she approached the house, though, she saw a strange car out the front. She pulled up alongside it and got out, frowning. One of Lily’s friends?
She collected her handbag, got out and went over to the house. Letting herself in, she called out, “Lily?”
“In here,” Lily called back.
Honey went into the living room and stopped. Lily had been sitting on the sofa but now stood, twisting her hands. “Hi, Honey.”
Honey glanced at her, saw her nerves and looked at the woman still sitting in the armchair. She appeared about Honey’s own height, slim, with glossy dark hair that fell to her shoulders. Her makeup, though heavy, was expertly applied, her lips outlined in dark red. She wore tight jeans and a scarlet blouse, undone one button too far for modesty. She looked beautiful and exotic, and she held herself with the confidence of someone who knew that the opposite sex found them attractive.
“This is Cate, one of Dex’s old friends who’s come up for the wedding,” Lily said, her voice so bright that Honey could tell she was scared.
“Cate,” Honey said flatly. “You mean Cathryn.”