The crowds outside court on Monday morning filled the pavement, the road and the side streets on either side. The underground passageway, leading to the public entrance, was impassable. Mounted police stood at each end of Old Bailey, their horses’ tails twitching. A group of Japanese tourists, their phones on long-reaching selfie sticks, hovered on the periphery, pointing and chattering.
The stalwarts of the transgender rights groups were back, now simply chanting ‘Debbie, Debbie, Debbie,’ but with many more swelling their ranks. The domestic violence lobby was nowhere to be seen. Either they had stayed at home or, fearing a backlash, they had defected to support Debbie, the new underdog and victim. Then, marching along Newgate Street with the backdrop of St Paul’s Cathedral, so that the traffic was halted in its tracks, was a large deputation. And while the other campaigners had been predominantly female and vociferous but controlled, this group was male-dominated and edgy.
It was scheduled to be a hot day and some of the men were only in vests, revealing an array of tattoos. ‘Stamp out police corruption’ their banners read, and ‘F**k the police’ and ‘It’s a fit up’ and a number of them were punching the air aggressively, with hands wearing one black motorbike glove.
For a split second, it looked as if they would continue marching and burst through the doors of the building, but then they halted and jostled for position, joining ranks with the incumbent demonstrators and satisfying themselves with more shouting and waving. After a few false starts, the chant became the uplifting ‘Debbie, Debbie, Debbie’ answered by the subversive ‘Fuck the police’.
‘Who on earth are this new lot?’ Judith and Constance retreated to a vantage point looking down Old Bailey and watched the crowd converge on the court.
‘I don’t know. But at least they’re on our side.’
‘They’re not really on our side, or Debbie’s side, are they?’ Judith said. ‘They just happen to be against the side who are pursuing Debbie, for a variety of perceived injustices. I find it rather terrifying, if I’m honest. I mean, all this anger. No wonder there were those attacks. I’d like to bring the people who wanted transparent justice here right now and stand them in the middle of this mob. Then we’d see whether they still thought it was a good idea.’
* * *
Nicki stood back from the road, just opposite the court entrance in an office doorway, watching the arrivals and departures and the general progress of the protests. She exchanged a nod and a wink with one of the leaders of the new, hostile delegation. The power of being well-connected. That was something she had learned early on and used regularly to her advantage. Most things could be sorted out in your favour, if you had enough people on your side.
* * *
Debbie stepped up into the witness box, in one large stride. Her hair was scraped back in an exquisite half braid, neat at the scalp but fanning outwards around her chin. She was wearing pale pink, her favourite colour, with a phoenix brooch pinned to her lapel. Nicki was there again, this time on the second row and Constance was surprised to see Jason slip in at the back, shortly before proceedings began. A couple of people smiled at him, one insisted on shaking his hand, another tapped him companionably on the shoulder. Constance returned her attention to Debbie. The entire public gallery collectively held its breath.
‘Hello Debbie. You know the process now, as you’ve been sitting in court all last week. I am going to ask you a few questions and then Mr Laidlaw will take over. I may have some further questions after that. Let’s begin with how you and Rosie met.’
Debbie folded one hand on top of the other.
‘I first saw Rosie in a bar on Upper Street,’ she said, speaking slowly but clearly, as Judith had directed. ‘She was out with some friends, including Caz Fleming – that much she said was true; not much else. I bought her a drink, we spent the evening together, in a group. That’s how we met.’
‘And after that?’
‘It was a bit slow to start. I was just on the brink of making it at Arsenal, into the full squad, so I was training and there were matches and Rosie asked me to keep it quiet. She wasn’t famous then herself, but she still didn’t want to be all over the papers. And she said her parents wouldn’t approve.’
‘Why was that?’
‘They weren’t very keen on her wanting to be an actress; they thought she could have done better, should have studied. And if they knew about me, they would flip, she said, would insist she come back to live at home.’
‘You kept things quiet?’
‘We did, and then she landed the job with Channel Four. It was just a research role and low-key, but then it grew and she was financially independent, so when I proposed she said yes.’
‘Were you happy when she took over as the face of Breakfast Time?’
‘’Course I was. She loved the work, she was brilliant and she wasn’t just doing it for the fame…or the money. She wanted to shine a light on important issues too. I was caught up in my own career and I didn’t often tell her how proud I was. I should have done that more.’
‘And your children?’
‘We were lucky enough to have two wonderful children. As they’ve told you, we weren’t perfect parents, but we loved them and we did our best.’
‘You have had a distinguished career as…’
Jeremy Laidlaw was on his feet.
‘Your honour. I am just wondering whether this is a murder trial or an episode of This is Your Life, Laidlaw oozed.
‘Yes. Ms Burton, let’s have a question please, of relevance to the case.’
‘Of course. I was just getting there. Monday 17th June. You went to visit Rosie at home. Why?’
‘We needed to talk about our son, Ben. And there was an issue with money, but not what you’ve been told. When I moved out, I agreed to pay Rosie to help towards expenses, especially as Rosie paid for all the other properties we owned. It wasn’t very much. Rosie earns…earned far more than me for the last three years; more just the principle. I wanted to still provide for Ben, if I could.
‘I set up a direct debit, but there was a problem and I kept receiving the money back. Rosie was cross. I’m not sure she believed I had ever set it up. She used to do all our banking before, and I had never done anything – no online banking, nothing. I said I would bring along all my details and I would set the direct debit up again, online, with her there, watching. Then she could make sure everything was done properly.’
‘And what time did you arrive?’
‘About 1 o’clock.’
‘What were you wearing?’
‘A pale blue track suit. It was a warm day. I don’t remember wearing a coat. I think Mrs Harris must be mistaking that for another occasion. I do have a beige raincoat, but I wasn’t wearing it that day.’
‘And your gloves?’
‘I should wear them. I know they absorb impact if you fall and they protect your hands but, like I say, it was hot. We don’t always do what’s good for us.’
‘You’ve seen the glove which was shown to the court last week. Is it yours?’
‘I expect so. I don’t want to be difficult. It’s just that I don’t think I wore gloves that day. And I haven’t found the other one. I might have left them there on a previous visit.’
‘Still won’t admit it’s hers,’ Laidlaw muttered, before clearing his throat. Judith ignored him and ploughed on.
‘What did you and Rosie talk about?’
‘We started off talking about her. She had been going through her post, her messages, and some of them upset her. I tried to reassure her.’
‘And then?’
‘We set up the direct debit together. She said she was grateful. It was probably the closest we had been, since I left. She asked if I was happy, which was nice of her. But when we started to talk about Ben, things became…heated. She…accused me of “leading him astray”. I said that I didn’t want to stamp on his dream, that acting was his passion, that she had to accept he may not want to go to university. I told her she should remember how she had felt about acting when she was 16, that she should be able to understand more, because of that.’
‘And what did Rosie say?’
‘She said I was selfish; I didn’t know then that she’d spoken to her mother the night before. Now I can see where that came from, as Rosie was usually a fair person. She was tough, but fair. She started to cry, said I didn’t realise how hard she was finding things; that, if I had ever loved her, I would make Ben take his A levels.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘I said I would talk to him, but I thought if he moved to a sixth-form college, he might have more time for acting, or maybe I could find out about a stage school. We agreed to discuss things again in a week or so.’
‘And what time did you leave?’
‘About 2pm.’
‘Did you return?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see anyone else when you left?’
‘No.’
‘And did Rosie tell you what her plans were for the rest of the day?’
‘She said she was going to go through her fan mail. She liked to try to answer letters herself, if she could. That’s all I remember.’
‘Was anything else bothering Rosie?’
‘Just the usual stuff about work, people always saying what they didn’t like.’
Debbie’s eyes wandered over the faces of the jurors before returning her attention to Judith.
‘I need to ask next about the 999 call from 2017. Do you remember that?’
‘I didn’t know about the call, but I remember the police came in the middle of the night,’ Debbie said. ‘They hauled me out of bed. I stood there in my pyjamas and they asked me lots of questions. Rosie said virtually nothing. Then they left.’
‘You didn’t know Rosie had called them?’
‘Not before they came. We had a row. I went for a walk to cool off. When I got back, Rosie was in bed. I climbed in too and I was fast asleep when they arrived, hammering on the door.’
‘What did Rosie say about calling the police?’
‘She said it had been a knee-jerk reaction, that she didn’t want to call anyone she knew, so she’d dialled 999. Then she’d realised it was a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’
‘I never asked her exactly what she meant, but no one was hurt, she was just wasting their time. And she knew it.’
‘Turning to the events of the evening of 17th June, why did you run away?’
‘I was just finishing my training, when Inspector Dawson and PC Thomas arrived. They introduced themselves. Then they told me Rosie was dead; murdered. I was in deep shock. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be away, outside; anywhere but there. And then I wanted to be with my mother. So that’s where I went. I never meant to “evade capture” or whatever the newspapers had as their headline.’
‘Were you ever violent towards your wife?’
‘Never.’
‘Did you kill Rosie?’
‘No. I never touched her. I know what they’ve been saying, that I’m a footballer, that I played rough sometimes. It’s not the same. Football’s a physical sport and I played it in that spirit. That’s all. But I do regret that we argued that day. It all seems so unimportant now she’s gone.’
‘Thank you. No further questions.’
* * *
Jeremy Laidlaw hastily scribbled a few notes into the margin of his notebook, then smiled at Debbie, as he leaned back and ran his tongue around his lips.
‘Why did you marry Rosie?’ he began.
‘I loved her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.’
‘Was there a particular catalyst, though, which prompted you suddenly to pop the question?’
‘I don’t think so. We went to Barcelona and it was very romantic. England had an international match there and I smuggled her in, quietly, to watch from a box.’
‘So she wasn’t pregnant then, when you proposed?’
Constance gasped and then covered her mouth. Debbie stared at her hands.
‘Could you answer the question please, Ms Mallard?’
‘That’s not why we got married. It was the 1990s, not the 1950s, and we were working up to it anyway.’
‘But she was…pregnant, when you proposed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you organised the wedding within a month; so – no time for anyone to change their minds?’
‘We didn’t want to wait and we had to fit it around the football season.’
‘Rosie was offered a BBC role some years before she took the Breakfast Time slot, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t she take it?’
‘I was away a lot and the kids were young?’
‘It wasn’t that you told her she had to stay at home, then? Now you’d caught her, you didn’t want her disappearing off all the time?’
‘No. It wasn’t.’
‘You said you married Rosie because you were in love. When did that change?’
‘It didn’t.’
‘It didn’t change?’
‘No.’
‘But you no longer had a…physical relationship with her, did you?’
‘Not for the last couple of years.’
‘So, it was selfish to expect her to want to stay with you?’
‘You could say that.’
‘How long have you been dressing up in women’s clothes?’
Debbie’s eyes flashed defiantly. ‘You make it sound like a game,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You make it sound like it’s something I play at; like musical chairs. I don’t “dress up” in women’s clothes. I wear them.’ Debbie’s voice grew louder and Constance tried to catch her eye to calm her.
‘All right. How long have you been wearing women’s clothes?’
‘In public – the last two years or so.’
‘And in private?’
‘I can’t remember. A long time.’
‘Did Rosie know?’
‘At first, not. I would buy a few things online and then wait till she was away to put them on.’
‘But eventually?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t help it. I suppose I was showing an interest in her clothes more and more and she realised it was…unusual.’
‘How did she respond when you told her that you wanted to become a woman?’
‘Not well.’
‘Can you expand on that?’
‘She screamed, she threw a plate at me. She told me to get out. So I went off for a walk. It was that night – the one when she called the police.’
‘Why do you think she behaved like that?’
‘She said she was shocked but, like I said, she knew before that something was wrong. I think she’d been hoping that things would go back to how they were before. This meant that would never happen.’
‘When did you know you wanted to become a woman?’
Debbie took a deep breath before replying.
‘I’ve always known. I’m not sure I could always express it in that way, but, for as long as I can remember, I have felt uncomfortable in my body. But there was no way for me to do anything about it. No one I could tell. The world was a different place then.’
‘So you tricked Rosie into living a lie?’
Constance thought Laidlaw must have planned his questions before this weekend’s events, given they were delivered with significantly less confidence than usual. Even so, she thought him incredibly insensitive to pursue this line. But Debbie remained calm.
‘You’ve been listening to her mother too. There was no trick. I loved Rosie. But I got to the stage where I realised that time was running out for me. We had done our bit as parents. I hoped Rosie could accept that I was still the same person underneath.’
‘But she couldn’t?’
‘No.’
‘You were very…disappointed in her, then?’
‘I understood. I even tried to imagine how I would feel if it was the other way around, but I had hoped for something better, yes.’
‘You mentioned setting up a direct debit from your bank account that afternoon, together with your wife. Can you tell us briefly about your banking arrangements?’
‘We had a joint account when we were married, for outgoings and we moved to separate accounts after our divorce. That’s partly why things were confused.’
‘I see. I know you’ve given an explanation about making a mistake with your direct debit, which you rectified, you say, conveniently, the day Rosie died, but can you explain two large payments made by Rosie – one in April 2017 and the other in January 2018?’
‘No. I can’t.’
‘Let’s take a look then, shall we? I’ll put them up on the screen. This is a statement from your joint account. If you cast your eye down to the entry for 6 April 2017, in fact there are two entries. There’s money coming in and then immediately going out. Can you read the figures out for me please?’
‘Yes. There’s £25,000 coming in from our savings account and then being paid straight out to a ‘ABC Happy Inc.’
‘Yes. And I will just forward the statement to January 2018. What can you see this time?’
‘Another £15,000. Same thing but this time going to ‘Shelf 123 Ltd.’
‘Can you tell us what these substantial payments were for?’
‘No. I’ve already said. I can’t.’
‘This was a joint account. You must have received statements periodically?’
‘Probably, but Rosie dealt with all our banking.’
‘You are maintaining you know nothing about these payments or who the recipient is?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How much does gender reassignment surgery cost?’
‘What?’ Debbie’s question rang out across the courtroom.
‘Gender reassignment surgery.’ Laidlaw enunciated each word slowly.
‘That depends.’
‘What does it depend on?’
‘On what surgery you have.’
‘How much did your surgery cost?’
Judith stood up to object, careful to keep her voice even, after the judge’s last reprimand. ‘Your honour. We are, again, delving into personal and irrelevant material.’
‘Mr Laidlaw, where are you going with all this?’
‘Your honour, it is the prosecution case that Danny Mallard took these sums from the joint account he shared with Rosie Harper, in order to fund his surgery. And that this is part of the reason why they argued on the day she died.’
‘Do you know where the money went?’ Judith was crisp in her question, addressed to Laidlaw.
‘I’m in the middle of cross-examining your witness. I won’t be cross-examined by you,’ Laidlaw snapped.
‘If you’re unable to show a chain of payment from the account to whoever conducted my client’s surgery, then this is no more than rumour and supposition, and your line of questioning shouldn’t be allowed.’ Judith focused on Judge Nolan. ‘Your honour, even if these payments were taken by Debbie, which she has already denied, Rosie Harper’s salary was in the region of £12,000 per month. She was very well paid. These were not sums which would render her destitute!’
Judge Nolan stared at Debbie, who was sitting calmly, hands folded, waiting for direction as to what to do next. Then she stared at Laidlaw.
‘Mr Laidlaw, have you investigated who or what are ABC Happy and the other company, the apparent recipients of this money?’ Judge Nolan asked.
‘We know that Debbie Mallard had surgery in April 2017 and February 2018 and these payments coincide almost exactly in time. We also know that the operations she undertook cost in the region of these sums. What we don’t have is 100% confirmation that the money was used to pay for the operations. But it cannot be a coincidence, your honour. You must see that.’
‘I can’t allow further questions on this issue without evidence that this money was used as you suggest. If you can get it before the end of the trial, I’ll allow you to recall the defendant, failing which I’ll direct the jury to ignore it. Continue please.’
The knot which had begun to tie itself around Judith’s stomach began to slowly unwind. Judge Nolan appeared to have remembered her obligations.
‘Going back to your managerial position at West Ham. Did you like the job?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you lost it in 2017?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I disagreed with George, the owner, on some issues. We thought it best I leave.’
‘Did that disagreement involve the use of physical violence?’
‘No.’
‘Why did the newspapers think it did?’
‘It sold more papers than the truth.’
There was a laugh from the public gallery, which echoed long after Judge Nolan’s frown silenced the culprit.
‘George Scopos didn’t deny it, though, when he was asked to comment.’
‘No. But if I had hit him, why weren’t the police called? Why didn’t they arrest me?’
‘Quite. Perhaps that’s another question which requires an answer. But not today. All right, Let’s move on. Were you jealous of Rosie?’
‘Jealous? Never.’
‘The fact that her career was going forwards in leaps, while you were training a fourth division women’s side.’
‘No.’
‘Are you certain? It’s often hard to be eclipsed by a partner or spouse.’
‘I was happy for her. And I was happy too.’
‘Really? You had to move out of the family home into a flat, you lost your job, there were these, you say, untrue and very uncomplimentary stories about you in the media. The bubble had burst. The hero became the villain and you were powerless to do anything about it. You expect us to believe you were happy?’
‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ Debbie muttered.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said, Ms Mallard?’
Judith shook her head at Debbie. ‘Nothing,’ Debbie said.
‘Thank you. I want to focus for one moment on the murder weapon, which we talked about last week but which has slipped into oblivion since then. Let’s have photo 22 please. It shows the mantelpiece in Rosie’s house. Thank you. If you take a look, you’ll see that there are a number of other items there. Can you see that?’
‘Yes.’
‘If we zoom in, can you help by identifying what these items are?’
‘I’ll try. On the left, there’s a big glass vase. We bought that together in Italy, on holiday. Rosie loved the way the colours were mixed together; said it reminded her of clouds on a sunny day. Then, a postcard. Ben sent it to us from a school ski-ing trip. Rosie joked that it might be the only time we ever received post from one of our children, so she liked to keep it there to look at. Um, a pottery bird Rosie picked up at a craft fair and a school photo of Laura and Ben.’
‘Where was the trophy kept?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When you first gave evidence to the police, before your arrest, and you were shown the murder weapon, you said it was kept on the mantelpiece.’
‘I think it was.’
‘Look at those items, though. They’re evenly spaced, aren’t they?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Oh they are. And Dr Marcus’ report made it clear that the shelf had been dusted, so it was impossible to tell where on the shelf the award had sat – before it was used to batter your wife to death, that is.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re asking me,’ Debbie continued.
‘Your action, taking your time after killing Rosie, to shift everything back on the shelf, to move everything around, so that there was no gap. It totally deflates Ms Burton’s argument that you didn’t clean up after yourself so you can’t be the murderer.’
Debbie frowned.
‘No one would even know something was missing. In fact, the dustbin men were due early Friday morning, as they have been every fortnight since 2010, but there’d been a problem in the depot and they were late. That’s the only reason we found the murder weapon and thwarted your plan to cover your tracks.’
‘I didn’t kill Rosie and I didn’t spend time moving stuff around the room. We had tea, we spoke about Ben. I left Rosie alive.’
Laidlaw inclined his head to one side and the left corner of his mouth drooped. Constance joked, afterwards, that he reminded her of a sulky teenager. But Laidlaw had kept his best point till last.
‘You know that only last week we located some diaries of your late wife, on her laptop,’ he continued.
‘I’ve been told.’
‘In the light of what those diaries say, do you want to change any of the testimony you have just given?’
‘No.’ Debbie stuck her chin out obstinately.
‘Your honour. This is exhibit 12. I will put the text of the first entry up on the screen, so everyone can follow it. Please could you read it out, as loud as you can.’
‘February 16th 2017, evening.’ Debbie began reading. ‘Danny came back from work today. He was tired. I asked him how his day had been and he didn’t answer. He came downstairs in his jeans, but he was wearing a pink, flowery scarf. I asked him to take it off, because Ben would be home soon. He swore at me and then pulled me towards him, wrapping it tightly around my neck. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Then he let go and stormed out of the house. I think I will have a bruise. He scared me.’
Debbie swallowed noisily.
‘Continue please,’ Laidlaw said. Debbie looked up at Constance. Constance attempted a smile in return but her face was unwilling to move. It was inevitable that Laidlaw would seek to use the diaries to maximum effect – Judith would have done the same – but it was still painful to watch.
‘May 5th 2017 after midnight,’ Debbie read on. ‘Ben was staying out with a friend. Danny came downstairs in a raincoat and said he was going out. He wouldn’t tell me where. I asked what time he would be back, just so I wouldn’t worry. He grabbed my wrist and I could smell my perfume on his skin. His coat opened and I saw he was wearing a short black dress underneath. I felt sick. He pushed me hard and I fell back against the sofa. He said not to wait up.’
‘August 11th 2017. Danny wants me to call him Debbie. It’s very difficult after all these years. It’s difficult even when I find him sitting at my dressing table, combing out his long blond hair. He has also now started wearing a bra. When he couldn’t find it this evening, he went berserk, smashed a wine glass, then made me clear it up. The cleaner had put it away with my underwear, by mistake. He accused me of hiding it. I locked myself in the bathroom until I heard him go out.’
‘October 25th 2017, Debbie was wearing my flowery dress today. I asked him to take it off because I knew Ben was on his way home. At first, Debbie refused. Said that Ben wouldn’t be at all fazed. That only an “uptight bitch” like me would be bothered.’ Debbie coughed once. ‘When I objected, she stripped naked in the living room and forced me to wear the dress over my clothes. As she pulled it over my head, I sustained bruises to my neck and abdomen.’
‘January 13th 2018. Debbie was walking around the house, practising speaking in a high-pitched voice. I asked her if she could practise upstairs as I had an important letter to finish and she was distracting me. Debbie then stood behind me, singing in a falsetto voice, until I couldn’t stand it any longer. When I said I would go upstairs instead, Debbie grabbed me and forced me to sit down and listen to her reciting a poem. Only when she had finished, did she leave the room. My ribs were bruised and I have another bruise on my arm.’
‘March 22nd 2018. Debbie moved out today. We waited till Ben was at school. She took three cases, mostly filled with papers. I asked about her clothes. She told me I could burn them or give them away. She said she would be living as a woman from now on and would not wear any of her male clothes. I asked her to take them with her. She pushed me and I fell down the two bottom steps, knocking my wrist against the banister.’
‘June 6th 2018. Debbie called me. She was abusive and threatened to come around and punch me. All this because I cancelled Ben’s visit, as he needed to revise for an exam.’
Debbie completed reading out the extracts and raised her head slowly to meet Laidlaw’s gaze. Her face was empty of emotion, but her fingers gripped the sides of the witness box.
‘Ms Mallard. I put it to you that these diaries reflect what you were really like to live with; a short fuse, a violent temper and a heavy right hand.’ Constance willed Debbie to remain calm.
‘They’re not true,’ Debbie said.
‘Not true? So your wife…what? Just sat down one day at her laptop, perhaps in the middle of replying to her “fan mail” as you described it and thought, hey, I’ll write some completely false things about my husband, shall I? Is that what happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘These are diaries. They record Rosie Harper’s private thoughts about what you did to her.’
‘No.’
‘She couldn’t bear to tell anyone else, not her mother, from whom she was estranged or her close friend, Caroline Fleming, who might have said I told you so. So she wrote it all down. That’s what people do when it’s too painful to tell. That’s why people keep diaries.’
‘No.’
‘Rosie Harper was subjected to a sustained campaign of domestic abuse, both mental and physical.’
‘No.’
‘You got her pregnant so that she had no choice but to marry you. Either that or go back to her parents.’
‘No.’ Debbie’s answers were beginning to increase in volume and vehemence.
‘You prevented her from taking a lucrative position at the BBC for more than ten years, until she finally defied you.’
‘No.’
‘You insisted she cash in her savings, in order to pay for your expensive treatment.’
‘No.’
‘Even though your relationship was clearly at rock bottom, you tried to coerce her into staying with you, because you didn’t want to give up your comfortable lifestyle. You might even have told her you loved her, but these were hollow, self-serving words.’
‘No.’
‘When she finally persuaded you to leave, you stopped providing any financial support for Ben and sought to turn the children against her.’
‘No.’
‘And on 17th June this year, when you visited her, you decided you had had enough. You argued about the money you had taken, she said that you couldn’t see Ben anymore. You told her she couldn’t stop you. At some stage, you spied the hefty trophy across the room – her award for best newcomer, the role which cemented her in the public’s hearts and minds – and, as she returned to her correspondence, you came up behind her and struck her once on the back of the head.’
‘No.’
‘When she turned around at the pain and shock and held her hands up to you, imploring you to stop, you hit her twice more, the second time causing her skull to split in two. She fell to the ground. Then you left her writhing in agony, in her death throes, and ran to the kitchen, where you collected a tea towel and calmly wiped the trophy clean. You left your phone at the house and walked down five doors to casually deposit the weapon in a neighbour’s bin. You returned, collected your phone and nonchalantly rode off into the sunset. Somewhere along the way – we will never know where; perhaps even in the home you once shared with Rosie – you stripped off your blood-stained clothes and put on new, clean ones. That’s what happened isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No!’
Debbie banged her fist down on the edge of the box and stared, wide-eyed at Laidlaw. He smiled conceitedly, and promptly sat down. Constance bit her lip. Judith sat very still in front of her, before rising slowly to her feet.
* * *
‘Your honour. I need to re-call Inspector Dawson to ask him about these diaries, please. I should like to do that before re-examination of my client. Inspector Dawson is already prepared to attend again, to clarify some other matters.’ Judith spoke quietly, as Debbie stood, head down, her chest rising and falling.
‘What does Inspector Dawson know about the diaries?’
‘He worked to retrieve them from Rosie Harper’s laptop, with the police IT experts. And, depending on Inspector Dawson’s testimony and Mr Laidlaw’s position, we may also need an IT expert to give evidence.’
‘Mr Laidlaw?’
‘I am as in the dark as you, your honour, as to what Ms Burton is hoping to achieve here.’
Judge Nolan allowed her gaze to take in the public gallery.
‘Then, let’s hope that Ms Burton is going to lead us all into the light. Is Inspector Dawson here?’
‘I understand he’ll be here very shortly.’
‘All right. Let’s reconvene in an hour.’