She’d excused herself from meeting Alison on Saturday, mindful they would be watched and their every word recorded, and she hadn’t felt up to attending the barbecue at their house on Sunday. A couple of other friends had phoned to see how she was, and she hadn’t picked up, letting their calls go to voicemail.
Throughout the weekend she had repeatedly tried to contact Laura and Cassie. With no response. A late glass of wine on Saturday night had helped her fall asleep, but only to wake at 2 a.m. with a dull stomach ache, pins and needles in her fingers, and her scalp feeling like a rat was clawing its way over it.
Meg had felt briefly better after a long run along the seafront on Monday morning, but the endorphin high had long worn off by the afternoon. She had planned to do a very early run this morning, too, but she’d felt too tired when the alarm went off. Now she was having to go into battle to save her daughter’s life after another totally sleepless night. And it seemed, from the talk in the jury room just now, that most of the jurors had already made up their minds to convict.
Addressing the jury, the judge went straight into his summing-up, walking them through detail by detail of the evidence they had heard from both sides. He took particular care to refer back to his earlier caveat about Michael Starr’s motives when recounting all the points that Starr had made against Gready, and reminded the jury again that he had already pleaded guilty to all of the counts that Gready faced.
Meg made copious notes, underlining all the points that would be most helpful to her, glad for the seeming impartiality of the judge. But then, to her dismay, his tone suddenly changed.
‘You have heard from the defence QC about the respectability of her client. That Mr Gready is a school governor, a tireless supporter of local charities, a good and well-respected employer, a modest man who lives a modest life, one unencumbered by the trappings of vast wealth. In every respect he appears a thoroughly decent man, worthy of every citizen’s respect. One could indeed say he is a model citizen! All these qualities are to be admired.’
He went on. ‘Members of the jury, I’m sure you have indeed been impressed by all the fine work the defendant and his wife have done. And you have been made aware of the relatively modest lives they have lived. But before I send you to your deliberations, there are a couple of thoughts I would like to leave you with, which I feel are relevant.’
Meg’s heart was sinking.
‘You need to consider your own life experience and that things are not always as they appear. It is up to you to decide whether the defendant’s good character makes it less likely that he committed the offence. My point is, very simply, that not all crime overlords, in real life or in fiction, fit the stereotype picture that has been painted to you by the defence. This is not to cast aspersions on the defendant, in any way, but you should in your deliberations consider only the facts of the evidence presented to you, rather than be influenced by the fact that Mr Gready appears to be a jolly good guy.’
Shortly after 1 p.m. Jupp finished his summing-up. ‘Members of the jury, you have heard the evidence of both sides. It is now your job to retire to the jury room and debate all the facts that you have heard during the course of this trial and to reach a verdict. Is the defendant guilty or not guilty on the matters for which he is accused? It is my view, from all that we have heard over the past weeks, that there is sufficient evidence for you to make an informed decision. I will now leave it to your sound judgement.’
98
Tuesday 28 May
There had been speculation in the jury room earlier this morning that the judge’s summing-up might take several days. The reality was, according to Meg’s watch, just under three hours.
It left her in panic, she wasn’t prepared for this. She had hoped for at least a night clear to study her notes and get her arguments ready for the jurors.
Bleakly, thinking hard, she followed her colleagues back into the jury room and took her place at the head of the table. As she sat, she decided her best chance was to be assertive and take immediate control. She also needed to buy herself more thinking time.
‘As it is now lunchtime,’ she announced, ‘may I suggest we take a short break? Some sandwiches and drinks have been provided for us. Let’s resume with clear heads in half an hour’s time.’
Her suggestion was greeted by universal assent and to her relief everyone found their own space around the room. She got straight on with her plan, scanning through all of her notes and numbering them in a sequence she felt might work best for her — just her hunch. Her tiredness was long forgotten. She felt alert and increasingly optimistic the further she read through her notes.
She could do this, she realized, it was no longer an impossible task — she actually could pull this off.
99
Tuesday 28 May
It was half an hour later, after everyone was ready in the jury room, had made themselves drinks and sat back at the table, when Meg put the first part of her plan into place.
‘Right, I’d like each of you to write down on a piece of paper your initial verdict on each or all of the counts. It would be useful to see where everyone stands before we begin our discussions. Do please write down, also, if you are undecided.’
They all dutifully complied, passing the various-sized folded scraps of paper into the middle of the table, which were then pushed up to her. They arrived in too much of a jumble for Meg to figure out who had written which.
The handwriting gave her few further clues, although she knew for sure that Harold Trout would have been a ‘guilty’, and one of those ‘guilty’ votes had shaky, old-person handwriting. His?
Nine of her ten fellow jurors were looking at her, expectantly. One, the geeky Rory O’Brien at the far end of the table, was poring through a stack of spreadsheets in front of him and scribbling notes.
‘OK,’ Meg said. ‘We have five “guilty”, three “undecided” and two “not guilty”.’
‘Meg,’ Toby said in his pained voice, ‘are you going to tell us what you think?’
She decided on a tactical bluff. ‘Well, from all I’ve heard, I think he’s guilty.’
‘But can you really say that for sure, Meg?’ asked Hugo Pink, coming to her rescue.
She sat, pretending to weigh this up for some moments, thinking hard. Maybe the way she could win this would be by appearing to lose, she thought. ‘Fair point, Hugo. I understand why you say that, and I’m struggling to process it all myself. To be sure is the essence, the most important factor. Are we satisfied on the evidence to be sure of the defendant’s guilt?’
She looked around at her fellow jurors. ‘What I suggest we do now, in the interests of being fair to the defendant, and complying with the judge’s directions, is to review all the evidence from both sides.’
‘Do we really need to?’ asked Trout. ‘The man is so obviously guilty. In my view the prosecution has made it an open-and-shut case.’
‘Actually, Harold,’ Hugo rounded on him, ‘we do. Of course the prosecution wants him to be guilty, they’ve invested a large amount of time and money in bringing this case — they would have very red faces if Terence Gready walked free. Which is precisely why we need a proper discussion.’
‘I don’t believe he is guilty,’ Hari Singh said. ‘He has a kind face.’