He Said/She Said(36)

I winced and pressed my knees together.

‘Were you able to find traces of ejaculate on that swab?’

I might not have been there at the point of penetration but I’d been there at the point of panicked withdrawal; I pictured that incriminating silver thread as it snapped. Kit jerked upright and leaned forward, fully engaged now that the science was coming to the fore.

‘I was,’ said Dr Okenedo.

Polglase looked meaningfully at the jury, but even I could tell he was reaching. ‘Can you think of a comparable sexual assault that you have attended, with comparable injuries?’

Dr Okenedo thought for a minute and then said a hesitant, ‘Yes?’

‘Can you let me know how long you spent on that?’ Nathaniel Polglase was in his element now. ‘Perhaps give me a minimum time it would take to do the procedure. Assuming that the complainant is well, and strong enough not to resist the examination.’

The word resist conjured stirrups and straitjackets. I couldn’t fight the mental image of Beth, stripped to a hospital gown, knees forced apart for the second time that day. I felt my gorge rise.

‘It can be done in about ninety minutes.’

‘And how long were you with Miss Taylor, with all the additional cajoling and persuading involved in someone so traumatised?’

‘I was in the police station for eight hours, from arrival to the final signing out. I’d say that I spent seven of those hours with the victim.’

‘Thank you, Dr Okenedo. I have no further questions, Your Honour.’

Four hours for the doctor to arrive, plus an eight-hour examination; Kit and I would have been asleep in our tent while Beth was still being prodded by a stranger. I should have gone with her.

Fiona Price got to her elegant feet. ‘We understand that the complainant refused an internal examination. Did you explain to the complainant why you wanted to examine her internally?’

‘Yes.’

‘And still she refused?’

‘Yes.’ Ask her why she refused, I thought. Let the doctor tell the jury the state Beth was in. But it didn’t suit Price, so she didn’t ask.

‘So whilst we can’t determine that there were no internal injuries, neither can we say that she did sustain any?’

‘That’s correct.’ A single braid broke away from the coil of hair, and briefly bounced like an antenna before falling into the doctor’s eyes.

‘Dr Okenedo. How long have you been a doctor?’

‘I qualified in 1997,’ she said, tucking the braid behind her ear.

‘Congratulations,’ said Fiona Price, as though praising a Brownie Guide for her latest badge. ‘You trained with the Met Police?’

‘Yes.’

‘Since moving to Cornwall, in how many sexual assault cases have you been the sole examining doctor?’

‘Seven, including this one,’ said the doctor, a ripple in her cheek.

‘So, before you attended Miss Taylor, you had only overseen six rape cases?’

‘Yes.’

Price went through some papers on her desk, letting the doctor’s inexperience hang in the stuffy air. From a sheaf in her file, she drew a photograph, a beige blur from where we were sitting in the public gallery. ‘These tiny grazes on the complainant’s knees; could they simply have been pressure marks? The indentations made by a woman with the added weight of a man on top of her, during vigorous, consensual sex?’

‘Yes,’ said Dr Okenedo with reluctance. Fiona Price cut through the doubt. ‘Did you find any bruising on the complainant’s arms, for example? Anything to suggest that she had been held down against her will.’

That band around my head began to throb again, like someone was tightening the bolts.

‘No. But again, freezing is a common response to rape. She might not have put up a fight.’

I studied the jury for signs of compassion. I got nothing, but they had barely had a chance to absorb the doctor’s words before Price countered with, ‘You’re a doctor giving evidence about the injuries, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not a psychological expert on victim behaviour?’

‘No.’

‘So let’s keep your evidence to your field of expertise, gained in your, what was it, three years of practice, shall we?’

How dare Price attack someone who spent her whole life helping victims? I knew that I could never do her job. ‘To wrestle a woman to the ground in the first place, as Ms Taylor says happened, would still take considerable force, wouldn’t it?’ said Price.

‘Yes,’ replied the doctor.

‘We have all seen Ms Taylor. She is physically fit and feisty, isn’t she?’ The mumsy woman on the jury was nodding in agreement; feistiness clearly wasn’t on her list of attractive qualities. ‘Even a healthy young man would not have been able to overpower her without a tussle. Did you find any bruising consistent with such a struggle?’

‘No.’

‘We have been told that the trousers were pulled aside with some force. The complainant wore nothing but a skimpy G-string underneath. My learned friend suggested that any welts caused by forceful tugging at these garments would have faded by the time you were able to examine Miss Taylor. But the kind of force Miss Taylor described would leave friction burns, would it not?