The Fake Date Page 7

  ‘I see. So, as a member of the gym, you got to know Mr Greaves quite well, is that right?’

  Ella looked up to the ceiling and wished she could be anywhere else in the world except in this courtroom. ‘Yes, I got to know everyone at the gym, not just Mr Greaves.’

  ‘Just yes or no will be sufficient, Miss Hope.’ The defence barrister looked pleased with himself and Ella tipped her head to one side and studied his face. It was a face that looked so smug and so righteous, yet so poker-faced that she’d have happily enjoyed slapping it just to see if he had any other facial expression.

  ‘So, Miss Hope. You’re a reporter, is that right?’ He stepped backwards, rested his hand on the table before him and flicked a page in the binder.

  ‘That’s correct.’ Ella picked up the glass of water and took a sip. Her mouth was getting drier and drier, her stomach quivered nervously and she could feel herself trembling from within.

  ‘That’s very interesting, Miss Hope. So, could you tell the court, as a reporter, were you using the gym as a way to meet people, or were you on the look out for new stories?’

  ‘As I said, I was attending the gym as a member. I like to keep fit.’ She’d ignored his earlier demand for yes or no answers. ‘Sorry, I used to enjoy keeping fit. I can’t use the equipment any more. Not since that night.’

  ‘Miss Hope. Why did you feel the need to get to know Mr Greaves?’

  Ella glanced across at the jury and wondered how many of them were remotely interested in the case. One man wrote down every word, but another seemed half asleep making her want to poke him and tell him to listen. But then, in contrast, a woman in her late thirties continually looked at her watch and Ella wondered where she needed to be.

  ‘I didn’t need to know him,’ Ella answered. ‘In fact, I barely knew him at all, but he came and spoke to me. I found him interesting so I didn’t discourage him. As I said, I’m a reporter. Talking to people is what I do, it’s part of my job.’ The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them.

  The barrister pulled back his shoulders in a determined manner. ‘So, on the night in question, Miss Hope, would you say that you were on a date or working?’

  Ella nodded. ‘Rick, I mean Mr Greaves, invited me out on a date. We were both single. I didn’t see any reason to refuse.’

  ‘Were you working?’ His voice became raised and Ella took in a sharp breath.

  ‘I’m always working. Every conversation can turn into a great story.’ Again, she regretted the words and looked at John, her barrister, who had closed his eyes and was looking down.

  ‘I see.’ The defence barrister cast a look up at the judge and then looked back at her. ‘Is it normal for reporters to interview people over a dinner date?’

  Again, Ella shook her head. ‘I’m not sure that talking to someone over dinner can be classed as an interview.’

  ‘Earlier, Miss Hope, you said that you barely knew Mr Greaves. Might I ask, did my client know that you were a reporter?’

  ‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.’ Ella felt herself tremble; she felt weak and was pleased that she’d been allowed to stay sitting down throughout the questioning. She opened her mouth to take in air, closed her eyes for a moment and then once again picked up the glass of water for something to do with her hands, just as she felt her left eye begin to twitch with nerves.

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell him?’

  Ella began tapping her foot. It was all she could do to count time, to help control her breathing. ‘No, I don’t think I mentioned it.’

  There was a gasp from somewhere within the room, a rattling of chair legs and someone, a man, stood up from the public gallery and left.

  ‘So, on the night in question, you were working. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, no … it depends. As I said, I like to talk to people, so I’d say that I’m always working.’

  He held out his hands. ‘Is it a yes, or a no?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s complicated.’ Ella ran a hand through her hair; her stomach turned and she quickly realised how easily she could answer the question wrong. ‘I wasn’t intending to look for a story, if that’s what you’re asking. But, I have to be honest, if I’d found one, I’d have written it,’ she admitted.

  ‘Could we see exhibit one, please?’ He turned and looked at the jury as he asked the question and held his hand out to a clerk, who passed him a clear plastic bag. ‘Might this be the remnants of the dress you wore?’ The bag was long and flat and a small, black, torn dress had been arranged on a coat hanger so that it could be clearly seen.

  Ella cringed when she saw it. It really was badly torn, making her wonder how much of her body had been exposed. ‘I believe it is.’

  ‘Not exactly the sort of dress you’d wear for work, is it, Miss Hope?’ For the first time his upper lip moved upwards and he mimicked a laugh, a high-pitched sound that pierced Ella’s mind. She lifted her hands to her ears in protest and looked up at the judge. ‘Did I see you shake your head, Miss Hope? Please, answer yes or no for the benefit of the court.’

  ‘I didn’t actually say that I was working. It was a date. As I said, Mr Greaves had invited me out and I didn’t have anything else I could wear. I don’t tend to buy too many dresses.’

  ‘Let me remind you, Miss Hope, in your own words you’ve admitted that you are always working. You arranged to meet my client for dinner, and you wore a dress that barely covered your body. Is that right, Miss Hope? Yes or no?’

  Ella looked across at the public gallery for support, but the sight of her mother sobbing made her turn her attention to where her barrister, John Burgess, sat. He bowed his head discreetly in a nod.

  ‘Yes,’ she said as she stared at John for some answers, some clue as to how she should answer.

  ‘You did. Thank you for admitting that.’ He looked at the jury to ensure they’d noted his words and once again he waved the dress in the air. ‘Let me put it to you, Miss Hope, that the night in question didn’t go exactly as you planned, did it? You went out with my client, Mr Greaves. You wore a short and revealing dress in the hope that my client would either answer all of your questions, or he’d fall for your advances, Miss Hope. Is that right?’

  ‘What? No …!’ Ella shook her head. ‘That didn’t happen. It wasn’t like that.’ She panicked and once again looked at John Burgess. Her eyes pleaded with him for help. He’d warned her about the questioning; he’d told her to answer carefully and had also warned her that by the time the defence barrister had finished, he’d ensure she felt guilty for having survived. But this was different; he wasn’t making her feel guilty, he was making her feel responsible.

  Why did she feel responsible?

  ‘Objection, your honour.’ John Burgess jumped up from his seat. ‘My learned friend is leading the jury; Miss Hope has already explained that she had met his client for dinner and a drink. In her opinion, it was a date. She never once admitted to any advances being made by either party.’ He caught her eye and held her gaze. She had no idea how to act, how to answer or how to defend herself in a courtroom environment. And for a few moments she looked at the press box and wished that it had been part of her job to sit there, to listen to the cases, the questioning and the way the truth was easily twisted. At least then she’d have been prepared for what was happening. But working the courts had never been a part of her job; she’d always preferred the great outdoors, the stories that affected the villages, the neighbourhoods, the community and she’d always grabbed those stories first. Never in a million years had she thought she’d be standing here, having to defend her own actions, as though she were the guilty one.

  Ella prayed that it would be over soon, that she’d be asked to stand down and that Rick Greaves would get what he deserved.

  The judge nodded. ‘Mr Kent, you may continue.’

  Ella could only just see the judge. He seemed to write something in a journal and then crossed his hands, silently waiting.

  ‘Could I as
k, Miss Hope: what perfume were you wearing that night?’

  ‘Why is that relevant?’

  ‘Please, Miss Hope. Answer the question.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ Ella tried to think, tried to recall what she’d worn. It could have been any of four different scents, they were all lined up on her dressing table and she normally just chose one randomly.

  ‘Then, let me remind you, Miss Hope. I believe here in your original statement …’ He flicked through some paperwork as though pretending he didn’t already know the answer. ‘… it says here that you said that you were wearing Chanel. Isn’t that one of the most expensive perfumes, Miss Hope? I take it that Chanel would be something you’d normally wear for … well, for what you say was a date.’ He paused. ‘Or are you that extravagant for work?’

  ‘Err, well, I don’t know how much it cost. It was a gift.’

  Mr Kent once again paused. He looked pleased with himself before turning a page in his binder and again with no emotion began to talk. ‘Did you drink any wine that night, Miss Hope?’

  ‘Yes. I had a glass of red wine.’

  ‘Was it just the one glass of red wine, Miss Hope, or more?’

  ‘Yes, just one.’ She once again allowed her gaze to travel down the side of the courtroom and to the area of the court where her parents sat. She recognised three or four of the staff that worked at the gym. All were watching, glaring and waiting for her to trip herself up.

  ‘Might I say, Miss Hope, that according to the restaurant you attended, a whole bottle of red Merlot wine was ordered?’

  ‘Maybe it was. It doesn’t mean that I drank it. I had a glass, maybe a glass and a half, at the most, if that.’ She glanced back at John Burgess who closed his eyes, crossed his hands before him and looked as though he were deep in prayer.

  ‘Do you normally drink a whole bottle of red when you are working, Miss Hope?’

  Ella stumbled over her words. ‘I … I didn’t say that I drank a whole bottle of red.’

  ‘But you were working?’

  ‘I didn’t actually say that.’ Ella shook her head at the accusation. In truth, she couldn’t remember what she’d drunk. She remembered having a glass, but then everything had gone fuzzy and that’s when she’d begun to feel so light-headed. ‘I had a glass. I wouldn’t have drunk more because I was driving, so, at worst, I’d have had just one or two really small ones

  … yes, that’s right, small ones.’

  ‘You’re really not that sure, Miss Hope, are you? Was it one drink, two drinks, small glass, large glass or a whole bottle?’ He looked arrogantly at the jury and then turned back to her.

  ‘I … err …’

  He slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Which was it, Miss Hope? It’s not a difficult question.’

  Ella felt confused. She closed her eyes. She was in court, she couldn’t lie. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘So, once again, let me put it to you … you were on a night out … let’s say a romantic night out, which is why you were wearing a very revealing black dress, with Chanel perfume and red stiletto heeled shoes, wasn’t it, Miss Hope?’ He paused and smirked. ‘You were out to seduce my client; you wanted his story. You ordered wine, you drank too much and this alone is why you can’t remember what happened, Miss Hope, isn’t it?’ He paused. ‘You have no idea what you drank, or how much you drank, do you?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. You’re putting words in my mouth.’

  He once again looked down at the file. ‘What time did you leave the restaurant, Miss Hope?’

  Ella thought of the watch, she remembered looking at its luminous hands for hours, but couldn’t for the life of her remember leaving the restaurant, never mind whether she’d have checked her watch or not.

  ‘You have no idea, do you? Again, let me ask, had you drunk more than you should have?’ His hand dropped heavily onto the desk.

  Ella stood up and spun around on the spot, gripped the brass surround and looked across at the judge. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  The defence barrister continued. ‘On the night in question, Miss Hope, and remember, you are under oath, can you wholeheartedly and honestly state that on that night my client, Mr Rick Greaves, attacked you? Do you remember getting into his car, Miss Hope? Do you remember my client attacking you?’

  ‘I, err, yes … I remember getting in a car.’

  ‘But, Miss Hope, might I again remind you that you are under oath. Was Mr Greaves driving the car?’

  She nodded her head. ‘The car. It was blue,’ she confirmed. Again, she looked at the jury; not one of them held her eye. Not one of them looked directly at her.

  The barrister raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll ask again. Was my client, Mr Greaves, driving it?’

  Ella sat back down. She felt defeated and stared into space.

  ‘Miss Hope, can I put it to you that on that night in question, you were in fact so drunk that you have no idea who drove the car? IS THAT RIGHT, Miss Hope?’

  Ella had begun to hate the grinding sound of the barrister’s voice. It reminded her of a food mixer, whizzing round with a constant, repetitive, buzzing motion. There was nothing she’d rather do than pick up his lever arch file and push it firmly down his throat. She wanted to bring the noise to an end and she desperately searched the public gallery, looking for her parents.

  ‘Yes or no, Miss Hope?’

  Ella held her breath and closed her eyes. ‘No.’ The whole room began to spin and she held onto both her chair and the polished brass rail for support.

  I had fun today. I sat there, watching you stumble over your words. You really don’t have any idea what happened, do you? You can’t remember a thing and everyone knows that, including the jury. They won’t be fooled by you. They won’t be lied to. They won’t even look you in the eye. You noticed that, didn’t you? I watched you as you tried to keep their attention, but they barely looked at you. And why didn’t they look at you? Because nothing you’ve said resembled the truth, nothing pointed to who attacked you and I’ve sat there, watching, listening and laughing at you, the whole time you were speaking. The defence barrister, he made you look stupid. Like the fool you are. You really think you can win this, don’t you? But you won’t bring me to justice. You didn’t see me that night, and you definitely can’t remember who attacked you. Well, I can’t wait for the jury to come back in. For the ‘Not Guilty’ words to ring in my ears. I can’t wait to see your face or for you to wonder what went wrong and what’s more, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, just in case I’m standing there, waiting to strike.

  Chapter Eight

  Ella stared at the solid oak door. It was the door behind which the jury had gone to reach their verdict. Soon the door would open and from behind it would walk in the twelve people that had the ability to alter her life. They would have talked about her, judged her, criticised her and, ultimately, they would deliver their verdict on what they honestly believed had happened that night.

  She sat, silently, waiting. Her breathing had fallen into a rhythm, one much faster than normal and from time to time she opened her mouth and breathed in really deeply, knowing that if she didn’t she’d most probably start hyperventilating and end up in an undignified and unconscious heap on the floor.

  ‘In, out,’ she whispered to herself in an attempt to control the frustration and anxiety that was building up inside. She jumped nervously as a door opened and both barristers returned. They were followed by ushers, solicitors and probation officers, who took their seats and chatted amongst themselves. And then, as though in slow motion, the public gallery began to fill up. Her mother and father were sitting right at the front. Their eyes fixed with hers and her mother held out a hand in an imaginary hold, something she’d done many times at the school gates. A secret sign they’d shared for years. Then, that precious loving moment was lost as Rick Greaves was led in, his face stern, his stare piercing. He looked directly at her, caught her eye and even though Ella’s he
art began to beat wildly, she refused to break the stare first.

  A sudden noise broke the stand-off. Rick looked away and Ella saw his attention turn to the door behind her, to her right. The oak door opened and the jury began to file into the courtroom. One after the other, they shuffled along the pews, and sat down. The court was full of chatter, of people trying to guess what would happen next, but then the usher stood up and an eerie silence overtook the room.

  ‘All rise for Judge Johnson,’ the usher shouted out. The whole court went quiet and stood in unison, including the twelve jurors. One or two looked sympathetically towards where Ella now stood beside her barrister, John. But others looked away, and Ella felt that it was more than obvious that they didn’t want to make any eye contact with her. She tried to swallow but couldn’t and she held her breath as the judge walked in and took his seat.

  ‘Court be seated.’ The usher walked across the courtroom and stood beside the jurors. ‘Will the foreperson please rise,’ he said and a middle-aged man got to his feet.

  ‘Members of the jury, have you reached a unanimous decision?’ the judge asked, while his pencil tapped his journal.

  ‘We have your honour,’ the man said. His lips were pursed and he glanced across at Rick Greaves with a slight, but obvious smile.

  ‘Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’

  The jury foreperson looked straight ahead and without flinching he said, ‘Not guilty, your honour.’

  ‘So that’s it, he walks?’ Ella screamed. Her legs felt wobbly and she stared across the courtroom straight into the piercing glare of Rick Greaves. He looked angry, tearful and relieved all at once. He stood up, shook his defence barrister’s hand and chatted to the people around him. ‘How can that happen?’

  Ella’s thoughts exploded into a million questions. She’d waited for this day; she’d hoped that Rick Greaves would be locked away for years. But here he was smiling, shaking hands, going home and, what was worse, he was about to carry on with his life as though nothing had happened.