‘My mother did.’
‘Objection, your honour, we have evidence to suggest the witness also had access to the room.’
‘What evidence have you?’ the judge replies.
One of the defence lawyers stands up, speaks.
‘I ask the jury to turn to page five of the report detailing the evidence gathered from the address occupied by both my client and the witness. It lists a number of children’s toys found in this so-called “locked” room. Toys that belong to the witness, a teddy bear with her name sewn into the ear and a doll from a set, the remaining dolls found in the witness’s bedroom. It is our position on the matter that the witness herself placed these toys in the so-called “locked” room.’
‘Your honour, might I ask what proof the defence has to support this position,’ Skinny counters. ‘Her mother could have placed these items there without the witness’s knowledge.’
‘Would the defence please respond.’
I hold my breath when the defence lawyer begins to reply. Petrified by what he might say. An assortment of trump cards hidden up the sleeve of his gown.
‘I find it highly unfeasible that the prosecution expect the court to believe somebody else, other than the witness, placed these toys in the room. The prosecution are asking the court to believe that my client, thus far only portrayed as evil and uncaring, placed items of comfort for the children in this locked room, out of what, out of kindness? I highly doubt that. I offer the witness as an alternative instead. Motivated by care, she placed the toys there, proving she also had access to the room.’
I breathe out. He responded as we expected him to, as my lawyers predicted he would. I know what Skinny’s going to ask me next.
And I know how to answer.
CLEVER GIRL, ANNIE. HOPE IT LASTS.
‘Allow me to humour the defence if I must,’ Skinny continues.
He turns to face me.
‘Were you the person who placed the toys listed in the evidence report into the room? Did you indeed have access to this room?’
‘I did place the toys there but only when the room was empty and unlocked, I thought it would help whoever my mother brought home next. And no, when someone was in the room I didn’t have access, there was only one key. She kept it on the same bunch as her car keys, took them to work every day.’
The defence lawyer who is yet to speak writes something on a piece of paper, underlines it. The other lawyer looks at it, nods. He picks the paper up, leans to his right, my left, until he’s almost out of his seat. His right, my left. You. He waits a second or two, nods while looking in your direction, slides back into his seat, the paper no longer in his hands. Whatever he wrote, he left it with you. Not feeling so good any more, I didn’t want to see that, the transaction between him and you, not just before we move on to the next bit. The bit that troubles me the most.
‘Did you know a boy called Daniel Carrington?’ Skinny asks.
‘Yes, I knew him from the refuge my mother worked at.’
I look at the jury, I don’t mean to. All twelve are holding their pens, poised. Ready.
‘Tell the court about the night your mother brought him home, it was a Wednesday night.’
I know, I remember.
‘She brought him home when I was asleep, she normally did that, brought them back at night so nobody would see. Sometimes she drugged them, so they’d be quiet.’
‘So you didn’t see Daniel on this particular evening?’
‘I did. She woke me up.’
‘Please explain to the court what happened once she woke you up.’
‘She made me go to the peephole so I could see who it was.’
‘She wanted to shock you, because you knew Daniel, had met him before at the refuge?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘She went into the room, locked the door behind her and made me watch.’
‘Made you watch what?’
‘While she did things to him. Bad things.’
‘So to clarify, your mother woke you up to make you watch her hurt a little boy she had brought home, Daniel Carrington being the boy.’
‘Yes.’
‘What else happened that night?’ Skinny asks.
I’M STILL HERE, ANNIE. LISTENING. EVERYBODY IS.
The jury, pens moving now. Don’t look at them. Safe place instead.
‘She got angry with Daniel, started to hit him.’
‘That must have been very hard for you to watch. You knew Daniel, you liked him.’
‘I didn’t watch, I closed my eyes.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘She came out of the room, locked the door and went to bed.’
‘So your mother left Daniel in the locked room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please tell the court how you knew when a child had been brought home and placed in the room opposite yours.’
‘The door would be closed. It was only closed and locked if someone was in there.’
‘And presumably you went to school the next day?’
‘Yes, my mother drove me as usual.’
One of the defence lawyers looks to his right, a small nod of the head in your direction. Confirmation of something. But what?
‘So the next time you saw Daniel was when?’
‘Thursday evening.’
‘And you saw him through the peephole, did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you at any point have physical contact with Daniel when he was in the locked room? Were you able to comfort him or hold him at any point?’
‘No, the door was locked the whole time. But I would have if I hadn’t gone to the police on the Friday, the day after my mother killed him.’
One of the defence lawyers stands up and says, ‘Objection, your honour, it’s our intention to prove our client is innocent of this charge. It clearly states on the autopsy report that the cause of Daniel Carrington’s death was suffocation. He was found face down on a mattress and as part of our cross-examination of the witness tomorrow we’ll be exploring another avenue.’
‘Overruled, the witness is merely referring to her original statement as the court would expect her to.’
Another avenue. Meaning what? You’ve made your lawyers hungry, haven’t you? If you were playing hangman, it would be my head on the rope.
‘Why would you have had contact with Daniel if you hadn’t gone to the police when you did?’ Skinny asks.
‘It was my job to …’
I pause, he told me to in our practice session. Let the jury come to you, Skinny said.
‘Take your time, have a sip of water if you need to,’ he prompts.
I do as I’m told. He asks me to tell the court what my job was.
‘It was my job to clean up afterwards.’
‘After what?’
‘After she killed them.’
Nine out of the twelve jurors, all of the women and four of the men, change position in their seats. Foreheads rubbed, throats cleared. A poke in the eye delivered, a blinding one. Months of disturbed sleep face them long after the trial is over. Changed for ever, by you. All of us will be.