He Said/She Said(35)

Kit had been looking forward to the doctor’s evidence. No, not looking forward; he still didn’t want to be in court. Perhaps it is better to say that he was giving it a different kind of attention. I knew why; he was finally on firm ground. The trial had so far been little more than a war of words, but now things were to be presented in a way he could trust; observed through a microscope and coded as data. Now it was my turn to warn him not to get his hopes up.

‘This is a consent case, it’s not about identifying him,’ I told him, while we were waiting for the judge to come back from lunch. ‘He admits they had sex. The science is just background noise.’

Kit was about to reply but then the usher intoned ‘All rise’ and we leapt to our feet in anticipation.

‘The prosecution would like to call Doctor Irene Okenedo,’ said Polglase. Irene Okenedo stood about five feet tall, and the top four inches of that were hair, long braids twisted into a bun on top of her head. She looked about twelve years old, and I had the thought – acknowledged as ridiculous even as the mental image formed – that she should have worn her white coat, or a stethoscope around her neck, or something to convince us that she was a real doctor. I willed her to do a good job for Beth, even as I acknowledged with shame how incensed I would have been if she’d been biased towards the defence.

She swore on the Bible (‘I never knew there were so many committed Christians in the professions,’ muttered Kit sarcastically) and introduced herself as a locum A&E registrar, who had trained in treating and examining rape victims with the newly established Metropolitan Police Project Sapphire sexual assault unit. Her voice, low, considered, gave her the authority her stature denied.

‘Thank you, Dr Okenedo,’ said Mr Polglase. ‘You attended Miss Taylor at Helston Police Station. How did you find her?’

Dr Okenedo cleared her throat. ‘Physically, she was dehydrated and needed to eat, although she was overall healthy and well-nourished. She was extremely tired and dirty, with mud on her clothes and under her fingernails.’ Now I remembered Beth digging into the earth. I examined my own clean fingernails and wondered how much of Kit was underneath them.

Polglase gave a slow nod, ostentatiously sympathetic. ‘How about emotionally, psychologically?’

‘I’d say she was in a state of post-traumatic shock. She was very withdrawn and monosyllabic, giving yes and no answers to my questions. She didn’t want me to examine her.’

‘Thank you Dr Okenedo. You’ve actually pre-empted part of my next question. The police asked you to examine the complainant for signs of recent sexual assault. Can you please report your findings?’

‘Well, my first duty of care is to treat the victim as well as examine her. She was offered painkillers, and five milligrams of Diazepam, both of which she accepted. I began with an external examination, taking DNA from an oral swab, samples from under her fingernails and so on. The victim was withdrawn but cooperative. Her only prominent injuries were one bloodied knee, tiny cuts and grazes on both knees, and on the heels of her hands.’

I searched the jury for signs of my own discomfort here; only the Sikh man shook his head. Mumsy was alert, as though watching a particularly engrossing episode of her favourite soap opera. I wondered if she could remember being young. I wondered if she had daughters. ‘One would expect, even in vigorous consensual sex, that a woman would shift her position to avoid bloodying her knees. Could these small injuries be the result of a woman held down against her will?’

‘In my experience, yes.’

‘Thank you, Dr Okenedo.’ He shuffled his papers, surely for show. Beside him, Fiona Price’s junior wrote something down with a squeaky pen, and the judge did the same. I burned to be able to read them.

‘You did not arrive until four hours after the rape took place.’

‘That’s right.’

‘We heard Miss Taylor describe how her underwear was violently yanked to one side prior to penetration. One would expect that this would leave some kind of welt on the skin in the immediate aftermath?’

‘Yes.’

‘With regards to the force used to pull at Miss Taylor’s underwear, is it possible that any surface injuries caused by the tugging of fabric against skin would have faded by then?’

‘Yes,’ said the doctor, with the tiniest of shrugs. ‘It’s possible.’

‘I’m sure. Four hours is a very long time in this context.’ He looked down at his notes with a frown to emphasise how little pleasure it gave him to ask the next question. ‘What about a genital examination?’

‘I examined the skin around the vulva and anus, although this took some time as Miss Taylor found even lying down on the couch very distressing. When she was ready, I saw that no injuries were visible to the naked eye. But when I asked if I could attempt an internal examination she became further distressed, curling into a ball and repeating the word no.’

It was an echo, a virtual corroboration, of what I had said; my heart jumped for joy, then settled respectfully at the base of my throat.

‘Is this response something you have seen before when examining someone in the hours immediately following an alleged rape?’

‘Yes I have.’ Dr Okenedo nodded gravely, and it wasn’t until Kit gave me a weird look that I realised I was nodding along with her. I forced my head still, even though no one in the jury was looking my way. ‘I’m sure you can understand that this is extremely traumatic and often physically painful for someone fresh from such an ordeal. We need a victim’s consent before we can perform any kind of examination. She did, eventually, let me take a vulval swab, after a great deal of persuasion.’