Following the terror of yesterday, I feel a little better today, more positive and hopeful. I am at peace with myself for the moment, but I don’t expect that to last. I take comfort when my son comes downstairs and offers a few words of encouragement. I want desperately to believe him when he tells me that everything will be OK. I need to convince myself that it will be so and, on seeing a robin outside in the garden, it does seem like an omen. I tell myself that Rachel has sent him as a sign that she will be with us today and that all will be well.
This morning I go with Ray to the cemetery. At Rachel’s graveside, we tell her that this is the day, the one we have waited for and the one in which we hope that justice will be done for her. I feel very close to her at this moment and her spirit is all-enveloping. Stay with me through this day, Rach, and give me the strength I will need to keep going, should the very worst happen.
Then it’s back home and time to face the day. We can do no more than place our trust in God and hope that common sense will prevail.
The media once more await us on our arrival at the courthouse and seem even more psyched up than they were yesterday. Several large TV vans are here, in addition to the usual cameramen and journalists, ready to tell the world at large the story as it breaks. Let us hope that it does so in the next few hours.
Court is due to sit at 10am and again I refuse to enter the courtroom itself. Not only Lorraine but Kerry, too, decides that she will stay outside with me for support. I feel very guilty on hearing this, since I know that she did want to hear the verdict first hand. I am grateful for her loyalty to me.
When the call for Michael Little’s case is announced, there is a frantic dash towards court one. Extra seats have been set out for the many journalists but some members of the public try to gain entry and are turned away. Tickets are limited and these folk, who I have not seen before, don’t have any. I do wonder if any of them are relatives of Michael Little but decide probably not. Not one has appeared so far and these few people, it turns out, are just the curious. Having read about the case, they want a glimpse of this vile creature for themselves. I’m not sure that I would want to if I were not so closely involved, but it takes all kinds, or so they say.
Very soon, everyone comes out again and I understand that Michael Little has not arrived in court yet. There has been an accident en route from Doncaster and the van transporting him has been held up. In my wild state of emotion, it crosses my mind that he might have tried to do away with himself now that the chips are down. No such luck. It’s traffic problems, pure and simple.
The judge has asked both counsels if they will agree to the jury deliberating in Little’s absence and neither has any objection to this. We don’t know when he is likely to arrive and I am in a very bad state by now. I am rigid with fear, the buoyancy I felt earlier totally diminished, and it is no help to hear that the judge has given the jury until 11am to come up with a result. If they are not unanimous by then, he will accept a majority verdict. Things are looking very black to me.
Despite the hive of activity going on all around, an ethereal feeling abounds and a strange, eerie silence prevails among us. Numerous people are glancing in our direction, all knowing what we are waiting for. The press are on red alert, cameras poised at the ready, mobile phones and laptops to the fore.
I am huddled on a bench, Lorraine at one side and Kerry at the other. I feel myself starting to shake uncontrollably. My arms and legs tingle and I feel on the point of collapse. It is a very physical reaction and I am very frightened. I always considered myself a sensible person, in control of myself, but now I am rapidly losing it, to my shame and horror.
Suddenly, without any announcement, everyone starts to rush towards court one. Press, police and ushers – they all dash along and the family follows at speed. Only Kerry, Lorraine and myself are left behind. Something must have caused this mass exodus and obviously Little must have arrived too by now. This is the most heart-stopping moment ever. Nothing can prevent what must surely ensue: this has to be the verdict!
It is exactly 10.50am. It seems no more than a few minutes pass before the doors burst open. Running towards us is one of the volunteers, who has kept us fortified with drinks for the duration. She is in tears, but this tells me nothing – it could mean anything, good or bad. Kerry, however, has spotted a CPS assistant approaching with a smile on her face and we hear the word ‘guilty’ being shouted all around us!
The three of us, by now in hysterical tears of relief, hasten into the courtroom at once. So out of control am I that I fall into the first empty seat that I see and am comforted, not by any family member or friend, but by a complete stranger. He is a member of the public, unknown to us, but who has been here every day throughout the trial. I am vaguely aware of him holding me tightly, until my senses return and I am able to stop shaking. Some very strange and worried looks come from the police team; they have never seen me give way like this before. Perhaps they think that I have finally cracked under pressure. Perhaps I have.
Eventually, I compose myself enough to realise that our counsel, Mr Marson, is now reading out the statement that I had written beforehand. I have already missed the reading of Mark’s personal statement. Mr Marson seems very moved as he reads out my words, as are the police, the CPS, ushers and volunteers alike. All of these people have been with us throughout the trial, many of them since the beginning of our ordeal way back in January.
I sense people weeping all around me, though Ray is not. He sits with his eyes tightly closed but looks totally distraught. Mark is heartbroken. He had threatened to run amok should Little walk free and there is a large police presence in case of such an occurrence. Indeed, the judge has already warned against any outbursts but I feel we are all behaving very well, under the circumstances.
I look directly at Little as the judge finally speaks. He first asks Little to stand up but he does not do so. Maybe he doesn’t hear or understand but he has to be asked three times before he is finally brought to his feet. Not one trace of emotion crosses his face as the judge sentences him to life imprisonment, adding that in his case life may well mean just that. Small comfort to us. Nothing is ever going to bring Rachel back, nor compensate for the terror he put her through. My poor, poor girl, my sweet baby child.
The defence barrister is asked to comment on behalf of his client and can say only that this was, indeed, a most wicked and evil crime but adds that, since this is a young man, it would help if he could see light at the end of the tunnel. The only light I want Michael Little to see is the fire of Hell. The judge makes no comment on Mr Kadri’s suggestion.
There is a lot of satisfaction when Little is given a life sentence and stands waiting to be taken away. He really does appear to be momentarily stunned and that is very gratifying for me. The tables are turned now and, hopefully, he will soon know how it feels to be the prey, as opposed to the hunter. Did he seriously think that he would go free? In my heart of hearts, and despite my fears, I always knew he would not. God could not be so cruel a second time.
There’s an even happier moment when the judge rules that he is quite certain that Rachel did not have consensual sex with this monster. At last, my girl is exonerated in court and my cup runneth over. Rachel was an innocent party in all this and, by whatever means, Little took her by force – a fact that we, and the police, had always felt sure was true. It is so good to hear the judge agreeing with us and it means as much to me as the guilty verdict, if not more.
One last look at Little as he is led away. Still no emotion and no attempt is made to glance in our direction. He truly is a fiend and to think that his face was the last one my daughter saw … He lived like a normal person and appeared as one but beneath he was really a devil incarnate, and none of us recognises the devil on our doorstep.
The police boss, Detective Superintendent Paul Davison, who has been in charge since day one, is asked to take the stand now, to explain to the court how he set about the whole operation. I don’t know if this is normal procedure, as he seems rather surprised when asked to do this. How gut-wrenching to see this strong, fearless man, who took so many risks on Rachel’s behalf, reduced to tears. Not only he, but also his entire team are visibly moved by now. Maybe it’s relief but it is genuine. There is hardly a dry eye in the room as he tries to speak. The judge asks him to explain a little about the investigation, the decisions he made and the reasons for those decisions.
Mr Davison is quick to give credit to his team and names some of them in particular. So emotional is he now that he can hardly speak as, with shaking hands, he sips from a cup of water. I know now that which I have felt from the start: that Rachel was not just a statistic to these people. She was real, they felt that they knew her through their involvement with us and they craved justice both for her and for us, her family and loved ones. I give thanks to each and every one of the team concerned, to the CPS and to our barrister, Mr Marson. Without him, today’s conclusion might never have been reached. It has finally come to pass: a very poignant moment and one I shall remember always.
At this point, the judge makes several recommendations. He will be writing to the Chief Constable in order that they be implemented. It is good to know that all of the hard work put into the case will not go unrecognised.
And so we leave court one for the last time. In some ways, this room has become a part of us, but this is a chapter of our lives that we would never wish to relive.
We step out on to the crowded concourse to be greeted by a sea of faces. Those of us who have mobile phones are trying to send text messages or make calls to friends and relatives at home and elsewhere. Everyone will be waiting with bated breath to hear from us, even though by now the news will have gone out far and wide. Most of the journalists ran from court the minute the verdict was read out. A few euphoric moments up here, people to meet and thank, and we badly need to compose ourselves before we face the media. Then it’s downstairs and out on to the courthouse steps, where we are bombarded by cameras and reporters, all of whom want to speak to us.
‘There is no elation, no victory, no forgiveness, only emptiness.’ These are the words read out by Kerry, on the steps of the courthouse. Words we had composed earlier but words we dared not assume would be spoken. There was no alternative statement ready, had the verdict not gone in our favour.
Cameras flash and microphones are thrust in front of us. The city revolves all around but we are oblivious to it. Our moment, Rachel’s moment, has finally arrived, exactly ten months after Michael Little was charged with her murder. We savour the moment: the sorrowing will come later. We have a lifetime in which to grieve and we will do so, each one of us in our own way.
On this cool October morning, we take some time to speak with and be filmed and then photographed by the media. We owe them this much for their constancy, and in particular we are indebted to our own local paper for keeping Rachel’s story in the public domain over the last ten months. Now the final chapter must be told and we give it our best shot.
Many passers-by stop to observe the scene; buses and other vehicles slow down and even strangers stop to shake us by the hand. I think the whole of this city and those even further afield will be happy with today’s result, but, at the end of the day, all of these good folk can return to their homes and continue their everyday lives. It is we, alone, who will be left to pick up the pieces of our lives – lives that will be forever shattered now that Rachel is no longer here with us. For the moment, though, we are on a high and feel very gratified by the warmth and good wishes we detect all around us.
Eventually, the majority of us cross over the road to the public house that has become our local during the trial. There is no desire to celebrate but we owe it to our supporters and, indeed, it would be churlish in the extreme not to have one last drink together now. A toast to Rachel is given: it is so poignant it brings tears to the eyes. Saoirse, who has been here with us every day, is distraught. She will hold Rachel in her heart always.
There is no joy in this day for Mark, no satisfaction whatsoever, any more than there is for the rest of us. I am heartbroken for him. In his loneliness and despair, he cannot be consoled and Ray is similarly affected.
Time to say our goodbyes now and express our thanks. There is still much to do before the end of this day. The first thing will be to call in at the cemetery to see our girl. We want to tell her that it is all over now. She can sleep tight; her day has come.
There are emotional scenes when we arrive. The word has spread and several people express their good wishes. Others have not heard the verdict until now.
I feel that I have laid my daughter to rest at last and my mind is at ease for the first time since we lost her. I don’t, however, expect this feeling to last and have no doubt that, in the morning, everything will fall flat once more.
We cannot loiter, since Kerry is due to drive back home this evening. It is a long and tiring journey at the best of times and she has already had a traumatic day. Before she goes, though, we have one last wish to fulfil, but first, home.
More tears, this time from our neighbours as we arrive at the gates. It seems that the whole of this city is rejoicing at the verdict. Having followed the case from the start and agonising over the last two and a half weeks, everyone is delighted with the result. They are all highly gratified that Michael Little will now be incarcerated, hopefully for the remainder of his life, though we will have to wait some time for the tariff to be set.
So strong is the feeling towards this cowardly individual that there are those in the community who have expressed a wish to kill him personally for what he did to Rachel. Their desire, however, could never be as strong as ours.
One final undertaking remains and, if this is to be accomplished, a telephone call needs to be made. Ray rings the home of Marc, who has endured so much at the hands of Little in his bid for freedom. We want to visit him before Kerry leaves for home and his mother is happy to agree to our request. It should not take long to drive to them, especially as I am quite familiar with the area.
A lovely, genuine lady welcomes us into her spotless home and greets us warmly. Shortly afterwards, Marc, too, puts in an appearance and we are able to thank him for his bravery in facing the defence so fearlessly. His words and his transparent honesty most definitely helped to damn Little and we shall be eternally grateful to him.
Marc is understandably bitter and has murderous feelings towards Little. His mother less so, even though her life and the lives of the rest of her family have been ruined by this. They too are all victims of one man’s wickedness. The ripples caused by his evil are spreading in ever-increasing circles and will continue to do so for many years.
Kerry, though exhausted, must take her leave of us soon and start her long journey home. Ray and I will worry about her until we know she is back safely. We will never be able to thank her enough for her support, both leading up to and during the trial. I, too, owe a similar debt to Vanda, and to John. Rachel would be proud of them all.
Nothing more to do. Ray and I are left here alone, now that Kerry has departed. Vanda is at her own home, accompanied by her good friend Margaret, whose presence we greatly appreciated as a support both to her and us. All this has been too much for Vanda. Physically, she was already in poor shape and the trial has dragged her down even further. Mentally, I know that she is dying inside at the loss of Rachel.
John has remained at the pub with some pals after the verdict was announced. I hope they are drinking to Rachel’s memory; I’m sure they will be. He, like the rest of us, has a hard road ahead.