The Crown Court was only forty miles from Brampton, but to Porter it felt like a whole other world.
He knew Brampton. He was familiar with the people and understood its rhythms. The Crown Court was in the big city, where people rushed and snarled and were choked by fumes, and whenever he visited he yearned to get back to the sharp, salty-clean air of his own small town.
The Crown Court was a different thing altogether too.
The Magistrates’ Court in Brampton was small and only sat three days a week, judgements handed down by a clique of small business owners and retired teachers. It was the place for petty offenders, the brawlers and the shoplifters, and there wasn’t enough big crime to require him in the Crown Court too often.
Rodney’s case was different. It had shaken the town and had been the topic on everyone’s lips all summer. The season was ending now. The summer shows headlined by fading comedy stars were winding up and the fairground rides on the seafront were being put under tarpaulin for the winter, but still people talked about it.
He needed the case to end though. He wanted to tell everyone that the monster was gone and that they could all carry on with their lives.
Alongside him in the public gallery were the parents of Ruby and William. They were an ill-matched group. Ruby’s parents were in expensive-looking suits, her father in tweed and her mother in sleek black, her collar turned upwards, her hair immaculate. William’s parents had made an effort, but they looked hollowed out in comparison. He was in a suit also, but borrowed from a friend, not quite fitting properly, his shirt collar wide around his neck. William’s mother was next to him, but her leg crossed away from him, her arms folded, her face pale through months of tears. She wore her hatred of Rodney Walker more openly, but the blame she projected on to Sean was there for all to see.
It had been a long few months.
The defence hadn’t fought as hard as he’d expected. Although Ken Goodman wasn’t someone who’d ever worried the police, he wouldn’t be fighting alone. There was a QC, helped by a junior barrister, both ready to lead the defence. But it had been as if no one cared. Even when he’d been cross-examined, Porter hadn’t felt under pressure. There were small jabs from them, about whether he’d been thorough enough in the investigation, but it always came back to Ruby’s belt, and the DNA of both children in the car. The jurors knew that it was just legal games, as did the lawyers.
Perhaps that was the answer. No one cared for Rodney. He’d murdered two children but stayed silent. Who cares about a child murderer, particularly one who didn’t put up a fight?
Porter had sat in court once he’d finished his evidence and watched in bewilderment as the case progressed. Lawyers squabbled in public, legal points argued, the jurors taken out time after time as the judge settled them, and then laughed and joked once the jurors were absent. For Porter, his job was clear-cut. He investigated and found the truth. The courtroom was where it became obscured, all the facts stirred around until they came out looking much different.
Ken Goodman was in court, sitting behind one of the barristers. He was in his best suit, his stomach straining the buttons on his waistcoat, on the off-chance that he got to make a speech on the court steps, but Porter wasn’t expecting that. And neither was Ken Goodman. They’d propped up enough bars together since Ruby’s murder, and he’d told Porter a few times, when the beer flowed for long enough, that he had no need to worry. Ken Goodman wasn’t going to be the small-town lawyer who freed the small-town killer. It wasn’t good for business.
Ken must have felt Porter’s stare, because he turned to the public gallery. The parents stiffened, but Ken was searching for Porter. When he saw him, he gave a small nod.
Porter knew what it meant. It would be his day, not Rodney’s.
His thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of court keys and the mumbles of conversation as Rodney ascended into the dock from the holding areas below, flanked by two police officers close to retirement. He didn’t look round as he sat down. He sat forward, his body rigid.
Porter glanced towards the door. If Rodney made a dash for freedom, the only things keeping him from the streets were a low brass rail and the reactions of the two police officers with him.
Everyone stood as the judge entered.
The next few minutes passed in a blur, the months of expectation ending in the solemn words of the jury foreman as he announced that they had arrived at a decision in which they were all in agreement, followed by that one word that brought an end to the case and shouts from the gallery, all the stress and anger spilling out once it had been proved that all they’d been certain of was true.
Guilty.
As Rodney was placed in handcuffs to begin the rest of his life behind bars, he turned to the gallery. There was no apology or taunt. Just a look towards Porter, his eyebrows pinched, anguish in eyes.
Porter was confused. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.
But he cast it from his mind. The beast was behind bars. It was all over.