Sebastian was tired when the officer brought him in. Charlotte followed, removing her shades only when she sat down, her fingertips trembling.
Sergeant Turner went through the routine of identifying himself, stating the date and the time. Daniel took the lid off his pen and waited for questioning to begin.
‘How do you feel this morning, Sebastian?’ said Sergeant Turner.
‘Fine, thanks,’ said Sebastian. ‘I had French toast for breakfast. It wasn’t as good as Olga’s though.’
‘Olga will make you some when you come home,’ said Charlotte, her voice rough, almost hoarse.
‘You remember we took your clothes, Sebastian, to send them to the lab for testing?’
‘Of course I remember.’
‘Well, we have a verbal report from the lab which says that the red marks on your shirt were actually blood.’
Sebastian pursed his lips, as if he might kiss someone. He sat back in his chair with one eyebrow raised.
‘Do you know whose blood might have been on your shirt, Sebastian?’
‘A bird’s.’
‘Why, did you hurt a bird?’
‘No, but I saw a dead one once and I picked it up. It was still warm and its blood was all sticky.’
‘Did you see the dead bird on the day that Ben was killed?’
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Well, as it turns out, the blood that was on your shirt didn’t belong to a bird. It was human blood. It was Ben Stokes’s blood.’
Sebastian surveyed the corners of the room and Daniel was sure he saw the boy smile. It wasn’t a large smile, more a small curving of his lips. Daniel could feel his heart beating.
‘Do you know how Ben’s blood might’ve got on to your shirt, Sebastian?’
‘Maybe he had cut himself, and when we were playing it kind of rubbed on to me.’
‘Well, the special doctors that looked at your shirt are able to tell a lot of things about the kind of blood that’s on your shirt. It turns out that the blood that is on your shirt is what’s called expirated blood. That’s blood that was blown out of Ben’s mouth or nose …’
Charlotte covered her face with her hands. Her long nails reached up her forehead into the roots of her hair.
‘There’s also an aerial spatter of blood on your trousers and your shoes. That’s blood that’s been dispersed as a result of force …’
Now both of Sebastian’s eyebrows were raised. He looked up into the camera. For a moment, Daniel was transfixed. It was the sight of the pretty young boy looking upwards into the eye of authority; all the unseen people watching him, upstairs, looking at his childlike expressions and trying to find cause to blame. Daniel remembered the saints that Minnie had prayed to, her soft, full fingers fervently twirling the beads of her rosary. There had been arrows to assail St Sebastian, yet he had lived. Daniel could not remember how he had died, but it had been a violent death. Even as the police officers produced further evidence of Sebastian’s guilt, Daniel felt a stronger need to defend him. The witness had come forward to say that he had also seen Sebastian fighting with Ben much later in the day, in the adventure playground, after Sebastian’s mother said he returned home, although the sighting was not confirmed on CCTV. Daniel was not intimidated by this, or the forensics. He had undermined such evidence often enough.
Daniel could sense the police officers’ excitement as they persisted with their questions. He was waiting for them to step over the line – almost wanting them to go too far so that he could put a stop to it.
‘Can you explain how Ben’s blood might’ve got on to your clothes, Seb?’ Turner asked again, his jowls heavy. ‘The scientists tell us that this kind of blood on your clothes might suggest that you had hurt Ben and made him bleed in this way.’
‘Might suggest,’ said Sebastian.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The blood might suggest that I had hurt him. Suggest means you don’t know for sure …’
Daniel watched a ripple of anger cross Turner’s face. They wanted to break the boy – that was the point of the lengthy questioning – but Sebastian was proving stronger than they were.
‘You know for sure, don’t you, Sebastian. Tell us what you did to Ben.’
‘I told you,’ Sebastian said, lower teeth protruding above his lower lip. ‘I didn’t hurt him. He hurt himself.’
‘How did he hurt himself, Sebastian?’
‘He wanted to impress me, so he jumped off the climbing frame and hurt himself. He banged his head and his nose was bleeding. I went to see if he was all right, so I suppose that would have been when his blood got on to me.’
Despite the temper, this new information seemed to please Sebastian. He sat up straighter and nodded a little, as if to confirm its authenticity.
At seven o’clock on Wednesday, they brought dinner to Sebastian and his mother, which they ate in the cells. It depressed Daniel to watch them. Charlotte ate little. Daniel followed her when she stepped outside for a cigarette. It was raining again. He turned up the collar on his jacket and put his hands in his pockets. The smell of her cigarette smoke turned his stomach.
‘They just said they’re going to charge him,’ said Daniel.
‘He’s innocent, you know.’ Her large eyes were imploring.
‘But they’re going to charge him.’
Charlotte turned from him slightly and he could see her shoulders shaking. Only when she sniffed did he realise that she was crying.
‘C’mon,’ said Daniel, feeling almost protective of her, ‘shall we tell him together? He needs you to be strong right now.’ Daniel was not sure why he said that – he kept a distance from his clients – but part of him kept on remembering being a young boy in trouble with a mother who was unable to protect him.
Charlotte was still shaking but Daniel watched her straighten her shoulders and take a deep breath. Her ribcage became visible through the V of her sweater. She turned and smiled at him, the skin around her eyes still wet with tears.
‘How old are you?’ she said, her long nails on Daniel’s forearm suddenly.
‘Thirty-five.’
‘You look younger. I’m not trying to flatter you, but I thought you were in your twenties still. You look good; I wondered if you were old enough for this … to know your stuff, I mean.’
Daniel laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at his feet. When he looked up he saw that her cigarette was getting damp. Warm raindrops clung to the stoic lacquered curls of her hair.
‘I like a man who looks after himself.’ She wrinkled her nose at the rain. ‘So they charge him and then what?’ She sucked hard on her cigarette and her cheeks hollowed. Her words were harsh but Daniel could still see her trembling. He wondered about the husband in Hong Kong, and how he could leave her to deal with this on her own.
‘He’ll appear in youth court first thing tomorrow morning. The case itself’ll probably go to the Crown Court so there’ll be a plea and case management hearing in about two weeks …’
‘Plea hearing? Well, he’s not guilty of course.’
‘The only thing is that they’ll ask for him to be taken into custody through all of this, probably a secure unit. It will be a few months until trial. We’ll obviously ask that he be granted bail, but in murder cases the judge tends to rule for custody, even for a child.’
‘Murder. Cases. Murder. We can pay, you know? Whatever it costs.’
‘Like I said, I’ll get a good barrister for you and they’ll argue, but we have to prepare ourselves for him being in custody for some time before the trial.’
‘When will the trial be?’
‘It all depends. I would think by November …’
Charlotte covered her mouth as she gulped. ‘And his defence?’
‘We’ll be contacting potential witnesses for the defence, and instructing expert witnesses, in this case psychiatrists, psychologists …’