Degrees of Guilt by HS Chandler

Author:HS Chandler [Chandler, HS]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409184683
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2019-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

21

Time stopped. Everyone was waiting for her to stand up. Maria glanced around the courtroom at the sea of faces, anticipating what she might say. Each of them had expectations, preconceived ideas of the sort of person she was. The press had their pens at the ready. The judge was flicking through her notes. The jurors – twelve little birds perched on parallel wires – were waiting for something like justification. How could she have done it? Would she do it again, given the chance? And Ruth was there, too, trying to hide at the back of the public seating. Of course she hadn’t been able to stay away. She’d never been able to leave Maria to her fate and today was the culmination of it all. It had been years in the making. Only Imogen Pascal didn’t turn to see her stand up, legs a little wobbly in spite of the sense that she had nothing left to lose. Maria straightened her white shirt and brushed her straight black skirt down before leaving the dock. One of the dock officers accompanied her to the witness stand, presumably to make sure she didn’t make a sudden attempt at escape. They didn’t realise she already had. James Newell smiled reassuringly, and Maria understood that he was assessing her readiness for what she needed to do. It was all down to her now. The case would be won or lost on the strength of the story she told. Maria kept her eyes down and her voice level as she was sworn in.

‘Ms Bloxham, could you explain what happened the day you were arrested?’ he asked. Maria opened the set of photographs in front of her, running her fingertips over the images of the injury to Edward’s skull, a dull sense of pleasure stirring in her stomach.

‘Do you need some water?’ Newell prompted, his voice a little louder.

Maria looked up. Everyone was staring. ‘I picked up the chair leg and hit him with it,’ she said. ‘I wanted him to die.’

The jury froze mid note-taking while the journalists scribbled harder and faster. Someone in the public gallery let go a small sob. One of Edward’s multitude of fans, Maria guessed. The judge issued a delicate cough, staring at James Newell. His face was as unresponsive as the most professional of poker players. Imogen Pascal looked her directly in the eyes for the first time since the trial had commenced. A current passed between them. The real battle had begun. The prosecution would twist every word, wring the evil out of every adjective she used, lay traps weaved of clever questioning to trip her up. Which was why Maria had decided it was best to simply deliver everything Imogen Pascal wanted to hear up front.

‘All right,’ Newell said slowly, one finger massaging a small circle on his temple. There had been a plan. Something close to rehearsals so that Maria knew the order his questions would come in. She’d gone through her answers with him.

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