It was after four when he escaped the Central Criminal Court and headed to Fulham to meet the psychologist, Dr Baird. Irene had been delayed, and so only Mark Gibbons, her junior counsel, made the meeting.
Baird was younger than Daniel had imagined him. His skin was pale and freckles from his nose spread up his face and on to his scalp where his strawberry blond hair was thinning. He seemed nervous.
‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’ said Dr Baird, arching his thin pale eyebrows as if one of them had made an interesting remark.
Daniel refused but Mark cleared this throat and asked for a tea.
*
His report had been detached, professional, yet offering personal insights into Sebastian’s character. In terms of the defence, it could help to win sympathy for Sebastian, but Daniel and Irene had not decided how or if to use it. Dr Baird had assessed Sebastian’s suitability to stand trial in adult court, yet Daniel had wanted it to show Sebastian as the young boy he was, with minimum readiness for the rigours of the courtroom. The psychologist had described Sebastian as intelligent and articulate and all Daniel could hope was that these positive professional opinions would help to counteract the prosecution’s witnesses’ statements – that Sebastian was a cruel bully – and enable the jury to sympathise with him. Of course Daniel hoped that sympathy would not be needed and that facts alone would prove the boy innocent.
Dr Baird had visited Sebastian at Parklands House, armed with dolls and felt-tipped pens. Daniel had been absorbed by his report, not only because of its possible relevance for the trial but because of what it revealed about Sebastian.
While Mark sipped his tea – cup trembling on its saucer – Baird sat back in his chair, hands folded over his compact stomach, and expounded on Sebastian.
‘He’s highly intelligent, as I note in the report – IQ of 140, and he was certainly well aware of who I was and what I was about …’
Daniel thought that Baird sounded peeved.
‘So, do you know why I am here?’ the doctor asked.
‘Yes,’ said Sebastian. ‘You want to get inside my head.’
‘He certainly displayed an … uncanny maturity for a boy his age, and he was quite certain that he was innocent.’ Baird opened his eyes wide as he said the word. Daniel was not sure what the man intended by the expression: was he impressed or disbelieving?
‘Do you know what crime you’ve been charged with, Sebastian?’
‘Murder.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I’m innocent.’
The boy knew the difference, Baird told Daniel and Mark. He was clear about the difference between right and wrong, and knew that murder – indeed violence – was wrong.
Daniel wondered if Sebastian really understood the difference, or if he had responded according to the doctor’s expectations. Daniel thought about his own childhood and his own wrongdoings – some of them criminal. He remembered no awareness of the immorality of these acts, only expediency, protection and revenge. Minnie had helped him to understand the difference.
Daniel leafed through the report to the sections he had highlighted before the meeting. ‘Dr Baird, you’ve written that you have no way of knowing how Sebastian would react in a state of emotional distress, but you think that even in that state he would know what he was doing and its moral implications – forgive me for paraphrasing. What exactly does that mean?’
‘Well, it means that I have met Sebastian twice and feel confident to give this assessment of him – that he knows the difference between right and wrong – but I am aware that a longer study of his behaviour would be necessary in order to be conclusive about his understanding of morality and his behaviour changes when under great emotional pressure.’
‘I see – you say that he is …’ Daniel turned the page and read: ‘… unable to deal with and understand strong emotions and is prone to tantrums and emotional outbursts. What does that mean in terms of his ability to perpetrate a violent crime?’
‘Well, very little – I found him to be intellectually mature, precocious even, but as I have stated he did seem emotionally immature. We touched on some troubling subjects and he did become visibly upset, but certainly not aggressive in any way.’
Daniel scanned the report again, frowning. ‘You ascertained there was an indication of abuse?’
‘Why yes,’ said Baird, picking up his file and referring to his notes. ‘Certainly of spousal abuse in the home. We did some role play with dolls, which at first Sebastian was not open to engage with … but eventually he did interact with the dolls. He didn’t verbalise it – again an indication of emotional immaturity – but he seemed to act out scenes where his father punched and kicked his mother.’
‘There’s been no social work engagement with the family,’ said Mark, finishing his tea.
‘Correct,’ said Dr Baird, ‘but medical reports do corroborate some of Sebastian’s statements.
‘I’m an only child. There was a baby but it died. I put my hand on my mum’s stomach and I felt it moving. But then she fell and she gave birth to a dead thing.’
‘Sebastian described a stillbirth – quite vividly so – and Mrs Croll did indeed suffer a third trimester miscarriage as a result of an accident in the home,’ confirmed Baird.
Daniel had read in the doctor’s report that Sebastian’s expression had been ‘blank’ when he provided this information, and Baird had noted that the boy made ‘a short sucking sound with his mouth’.
Daniel cleared his throat and glanced at Mark, who was making notes.
‘Finally,’ said Daniel, ‘you dismiss the previous diagnosis of Asperger’s by Sebastian’s educational psychologist? This was in his school reports.’
‘Yes, I didn’t find any evidence that he had Asperger’s, although he may have some traits related to the spectrum.’
‘And you are recommending regular court breaks?’ said Daniel. ‘I think that will happen as standard, but I think we should have you testify to that effect – do you agree, Mark?’
Mark nodded eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing nobly above his shirt collar.
‘But of course – court proceedings should be geared to take account of Sebastian’s age and emotional state. His high intelligence means that proceedings may be understood well if properly explained, but regular breaks should be arranged so as to limit emotional strain.’
Daniel said goodbye to Mark and made his way home. He closed his eyes and sat back in his seat, feeling the rock and reel of the Tube. He remembered his own powerlessness as his mother was beaten then imagined Kenneth King Croll causing Charlotte to fall and lose her baby.
Back in Bow, he unpacked his briefcase in the kitchen, scattering the Croll evidence bundle on to the table, and opened a beer. He would go through it one more time after dinner. He saw his notepad from the night before, with numbers for Harriet MacBryde and Jane Flynn, and sat staring at them, wondering what to do. Harriet was furious with him and Jane had probably never heard of him. He was family to neither.
He had a shower and changed into T-shirt and jeans. He padded barefoot to the living room where he lifted the photograph of Minnie’s first family from the mantelpiece. He carried it through to the kitchen and finished his beer staring at Minnie’s face. It was gleaming with happiness, skin still unruddied by the years outdoors that were to come.
Daniel took a deep breath and picked up the telephone. He dialled Harriet’s number; listening to the unusual long ring and feeling his chest tighten in expectation. He drummed his fingers gently on the table, having not thought what he was going to say. The phone rang out and he was just about to hang up when she answered.