‘Yes, sir.’
‘I read now from your statement: We went to the adventure playground and climbed up to the highest parts, but then I had to get home. I thought I would check on my mum, see if she needed her head rubbed. Do you remember telling the police that?’
On the big screen, Sebastian nodded, unblinking.
‘Sebastian?’ said Judge Baron, interrupting again, ‘I know it is probably strange for you to be … on television, so to speak … but if you could enunciate your answers, that would help us greatly. By that I mean …’
‘It’s all right, I understand. I can’t nod, I have to say yes.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Baron. The judge gave a small, crumpled smile of appreciation, which he directed at his notes.
‘You do remember making that statement to the police, Sebastian?’ prompted Jones.
‘Yes.’
‘And it was only later, when the police advised you that they had found Ben Stokes’s blood on your clothes and shoes, and also advised you that this was expirated blood, that you changed your story, to incorporate the fall and the nosebleed. Is that not correct?’
‘I was very frightened at the police station,’ said Sebastian. His eyes were huge, and Daniel stared into them. ‘They took away all my clothes and put me in a white paper suit … They said I couldn’t see my mum – they wouldn’t tell her to come back in – until I had answered all their questions. I got very confused. I just felt really scared.’ Again, the magnified eyes seemed to mist with tears.
Daniel smiled again to himself. He had great faith in Sebastian to overcome Gordon Jones. The darts of accusation would wound, but they would not take him down. Sebastian had remembered Daniel’s anger when the detectives delayed bringing his mother to the interview room, and was using it to his advantage now in court. Damage had been done by Baird, the psychologist who had been turned by the Crown, but Sebastian was turning his own case around. Daniel had defended adults who lacked the boy’s adroitness.
‘Scared or not, you do appreciate that you told the police one thing and then when you realised your story wasn’t holding up, you changed your story … You lied. Is that not true, Sebastian?’
‘I don’t think I was actually lying. I was just scared and confused and got things a bit mixed up and forgot some things. I just wanted to see my mum.’
‘Sebastian,’ Gordon Jones continued, ‘Benjamin Stokes’s blood was found on your T-shirt, jeans and trainers; your skin was found underneath Ben Stokes’s fingernails and fibres from your jeans were found on the waistband of Ben’s trousers, as if – and I am sure you have heard the pathologist suggest just that – you had straddled him. I ask you, did you strike Ben Stokes in the face with a brick at the playground?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did you hit him in the face causing his eye socket to fracture and inflicting a severe head injury that would result in his death?’
‘No, sir.’ Sebastian’s voice was louder now, insistent. His eyes were wide and round.
‘I think you are a liar. You admit lying to the police?’
‘I was confused. I didn’t lie.’
‘And you are lying to us now, are you not?’
‘No, sir, no,’ said Sebastian. His head bowed. A tiny hand covered his face. He pushed the knuckle of his forefinger into his eye, as if to stop a tear.
The court listened for a few moments as the boy sniffed, before the judge addressed the social worker sitting with Sebastian, to ask if a break would be required.
Daniel watched as the social worker leaned into Sebastian, her face close to his. Sebastian shook his head and drew away from her.
Jones continued. He leafed through his ring binder and Daniel wondered if he was going to produce more police transcripts.
He paused longer than seemed necessary. Jones was an actor: poised, holding the moment in the spotlight for as long as possible, drawing all the attention towards him.
‘Are you a clever boy, Sebastian?’
‘I think so.’
‘Do a lot of people think so?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do your teachers think so?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Your parents?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think you’re clever too, Sebastian. I think you’re a very clever little boy …’
Sebastian smiled at the praise, with lips closed.
‘You understand very well what’s going on in court here today, don’t you?’ Jones’s voice was sinister. ‘You understood the doctor talking about Benjamin Stokes’s injuries and about the blood and DNA that was found on your clothes, did you not?’
Sebastian nodded, carefully, and then said, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you watch television, Sebastian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Every day?’
‘Almost every day, yes.’
‘How many hours of television do you watch every day?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe two or three.’
‘What kind of things do you like to watch?’
‘Most things.’
‘Do you like watching police dramas?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Crime programmes where they try to find the murderer?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I see. Are you interested in murder, Sebastian?’
‘Everyone’s interested in murder,’ said Sebastian. Daniel held his breath. ‘I mean, there are a lot of TV programmes about it. There wouldn’t be so many if people weren’t interested in it.’
Daniel exhaled.
‘Did you hear the doctor earlier, saying that you had an unhealthy interest … a morbid curiosity, in fact … about blood, death and injury?’
Jones said each of the words slowly, enjoying the drama as their vowels bludgeoned the room.
‘Yes, I did hear, but I didn’t think he knew anything about me. He met me just twice. He doesn’t know what I’m interested in, or what I like or don’t like, or anything.’
‘I see,’ said Jones, almost to himself. ‘The expert witness didn’t know anything … yet he did comment on your previous diagnosis with Asperger’s syndrome. Do you have Asperger’s, Sebastian?’
‘No!’ A scowl appeared on the small boy’s face. The green eyes darkened as his brows lowered.
‘Do you know what Asperger’s is?’
Sebastian sat dumb, frowning, as Irene jumped to her feet. ‘My lord, with your leave, the expert witness asserted that Sebastian did not have Asperger’s syndrome, as previously diagnosed.’
Baron shrugged and turned his mouth downwards. ‘Yes, Mr Jones, if you could rephrase.’
‘Let me ask you, Sebastian, is it true that you have no friends?’
‘I do have friends.’
‘I see. Not according to your teachers. Who are your friends … Ben Stokes?’
‘I have friends.’
‘I see. We have your school records here. They tell us that you are a bully; that nobody wants to be your friend because you’re mean to them.’
‘That’s not true.’
Sebastian spat quiet but distinct rage into not and true. Under his breath, Daniel began to whisper, It’s all right, calm down. You’re all right, just calm down.
Irene turned round in her seat slightly and shot a look at Daniel. He nodded to assure her that things would be OK. Inside, he was no longer sure.
‘Is it true that when you do make friends it is only for a very short time?’
‘No.’
‘Other children don’t want to be with you, Sebastian, is that not correct?’
‘No.’ The boy was not shouting, but his lower teeth appeared. They were tiny and white, like the teeth of a pike.