The Better Woman (17 page)

Suddenly it became a massive burden to prove to these twelve strangers that Bob's death hadn't been intentional. The strain of the morning, of the whole year, began to take its toll. Jodi felt faint. Black spots dotted her vision. The judge droned on, telling the jurors not to discuss the case with husbands, wives,
boyfriends or girlfriends. The spots before Jodi's eyes enlarged as the judge warned the jurors to be wary of the TV and newspaper reporters outside the building. Jodi willed Prue to look in her direction, to help her. But Prue was looking at the judge, just as everyone else was. From far away, Jodi heard him call a recess. That was the last she remembered.

Court was suspended for the rest of the day. Jodi was angry with herself. She shouldn't have fainted; everyone would be annoyed by the inconvenience: not a good start.

Grandma blamed lack of food and on the second morning she insisted that Jodi eat a big breakfast. Jodi did her best to force down the eggs and bacon, but it didn't make her feel any stronger.

‘How is Jodi feeling?' asked the reporters outside the court.

‘My client feels well today,' Prue answered abruptly.

Court began with the Crown making her opening address to the jurors.

‘Members of the jury, just returning again to the charge . . .' She paused dramatically. ‘
The charge is one of murder.
The event took place on 8 July last year at 23 Lewis Street, Dee Why. I'd like to outline the sequence of events as they occurred, starting with Miss Tyler's eighteenth birthday party the night before . . .'

The jurors listened intently to the Crown. Jodi could see that they were in awe of the young woman wearing the old-fashioned wig. Once again she felt that the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against her. Only one thing kept her going: the dean was sitting at the back of the courtroom again. For some reason, that mattered more than anything.

*

‘What's your full name?' asked the Crown.

‘David Anthony Thompson,' replied the man in the witness box.

‘And what is your occupation?'

‘Detective Sergeant of Police in New South Wales.'

‘Did you visit number 23 Lewis Street on 8 July 1986?'

‘Yes, I did.'

‘At what time?'

‘I arrived at the house shortly after two-thirty in the morning.'

‘Can you please describe to the court what you found on your arrival?'

‘Bob Jones was dead on the kitchen floor with a stab wound on his neck. Miss Tyler was in her pyjamas, covered in blood. The weapon, a carving knife, was on the floor . . .'

‘Can you please describe Miss Tyler's injuries?'

‘Her lips were bleeding, she had bruising on her left arm, and some of her nails were broken.'

‘What kind of mental state was she in?'

‘She was emotional, but she was coherent and quite aware of what was going on . . .'

‘Your full name, please.'

‘Richard William Franklin.'

‘And your profession.'

‘Forensic psychiatrist – I was asked by the Crown to assess Miss Tyler.'

‘For the benefit of the jury, can you please summarise the findings of your report?'

‘I found Miss Tyler to be clear-headed and logical in all aspects of her life.'

‘So, on the basis of your assessment, would you assume that at the time of the crime Miss Tyler was aware that her life was not at risk?'

‘Your Honour, I object to this line of questioning.'

‘I'll allow it, Mr Horton. Please answer the Crown's question, Dr Franklin.'

‘Yes, I would say that Miss Tyler was aware that her life was not at risk.'

‘And would you say that she was aware she was inflicting a potentially fatal wound?'

‘Yes, I would say that Miss Tyler was aware that she was inflicting a potentially fatal wound.'

‘Please state your full name.'

‘Janine Jones.'

‘And your occupation . . .'

‘I'm on a disability pension.'

‘And your relationship to the victim, Mr Jones.'

‘His sister.'

‘When did you last speak to your brother?'

‘March 1986 on the phone.'

‘Can you please tell the court what Mr Jones said during that particular telephone conversation?'

‘Bob said that Jodi was a handful.'

‘Was anything else said?'

‘He said that she was very possessive of her mother – she wanted Shirley all to herself and became jealous whenever she showed any intimacy towards Bob. Well, she got what she wanted in the end, didn't she? Her mother all to herself and my poor brother in a grave –'

‘Thank you, Miss Jones.'

*

The witnesses were questioned exhaustively, the process slowed further by the large number of objections made by both sides. Matters of admissibility were hotly debated and on a few occasions the jurors were asked to leave the room. The trial entered its third week. The jurors looked fed up and anxious to get back to their normal lives.

Once the first few days were behind her, Jodi became stronger and progressively more interested in the theatre that unfolded each day in the courtroom. She listened intently to the witnesses. She familiarised herself with all the evidence. She asked if she could read the court transcripts.

‘Why?' Prue queried.

‘Because the more I know, the more control I feel I have.'

‘There's nothing in this process that you can control,' Prue replied plainly.

‘I know that. But let me have the illusion.'

Jodi read the transcripts late into the night. She highlighted the parts she considered important. She kept a tally of what strengthened her case and what weakened it: neat bullet points listed on large sheets of paper stuck to her bedroom wall. Her court case: her project. It surrounded her. It consumed her. She allowed it to do so. She didn't know how else to get through it.

Grandma, Shirley and Marlene came to the court every day. The trips to and fro in the car were no longer silent. They talked about the weather, the family, what was on TV that night. They fussed. They bickered. Sometimes they even laughed.

When they got home from court, Grandma would make tea and they would sit around the table and analyse what had happened in the day. They would recap on the witnesses, the evidence, and surmise about various members of the jury. They sounded more like a group of lawyers than a family.

Sometimes Sue came to the court to show her support. She looked like a fish out of water with her tan and beachy clothes. The dean also made regular appearances. Jodi's heart always did a little skip when she saw him. It seemed a bit abnormal to still have a crush on him when she was going through something so awful. But what was normal any more?

‘Please state your full name.'

‘Shirley Jane Tyler Jones.'

‘Please state your relationship to the accused.'

‘I'm her mother.'

‘And Bob Jones was your husband?'

‘Yes.'

‘Please tell the court what happened in the early hours of the morning in question.'

‘I was woken by a noise.'

‘What kind of noise?'

‘My husband shouting. My daughter screaming.'

‘What did you see when you went into the kitchen?'

‘My husband kneeling on the floor, blood everywhere . . .'

‘Did your daughter say anything to you?'

‘She kept on saying sorry . . . over and over . . .'

‘Your full name, please.'

‘Alison Hobs.'

‘Your occupation?'

‘A student at the University of Sydney.'

‘How do you know the accused?'

‘Jodi is my friend.'

‘Did she ever talk to you about her stepfather, Bob Jones?'

‘Yes.'

‘What did she say?'

‘That he was in love with her. That he'd kill her if she told anyone.'

‘Did she say anything specific on the night of the party?'

‘She was worried about his drinking. I told her she could stay the night at my bedsit.'

‘Did she often stay with you?'

‘Yes, a few nights a week – as often as she could.'

‘Why didn't she stay on that specific night?'

‘She wanted to help her mother tidy up.'

‘State your full name, please.'

‘Jodi Ann Tyler.'

‘And your occupation.'

‘A student of Economics and Business.'

‘Can you please describe to the court the events that occurred at 23 Lewis Street on the 7th and 8th July last year?'

‘We had a party for my eighteenth birthday. The guests left around midnight. I helped my mother clean up, then we both went to bed. I woke an hour later, thirsty, and got up to get a drink. I was at the kitchen sink when my stepfather put his hand over my mouth. He started to pull me towards the back door . . .'

‘What were you thinking at that time?'

‘That he would rape me.'

‘Can you explain to the court why you thought this?'

‘He'd been sending me letters. They were very graphic.'

‘You destroyed his letters. Can you please explain why?'

‘I was afraid my mother would find them. He'd told me he'd kill us both if she ever found out . . .'

‘So, when you were being dragged from the kitchen, you
believed that you were about to be raped and you also had a genuine fear that your stepfather might carry out his previous threat to kill you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you warn him before using the knife?'

‘His hand was over my mouth. I couldn't speak.'

‘Did you know in advance of stabbing him where the knife would penetrate?'

‘No. I didn't have time to think that far ahead. I just grabbed the knife and used all my strength . . .'

‘You told both Dr Franklin and Dr Barrett that you hated your stepfather. Are you sure you didn't wish him dead?'

‘I only wished to be away from him. My mother had agreed earlier in the night that I could move out of home. I was happy with that. I didn't wish him dead.'

The truth was that she
had
wished him dead. Many, many times. But not in the way it had happened. Not at her hand.

At the end of the fifth week, the jury were sent out to see if they could reach a decision.

‘It may take an hour, it may take a week,' said Prue.

As it transpired, it took only two hours. Jodi didn't feel good about how quickly they had come to their decision, and she knew Prue well enough by now to tell that she was also worried.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?' asked the judge.

The jury's representative was an elderly man who seemed quite at ease with being in the spotlight.

‘Yes, Your Honour.'

‘On the count of murder, what do you find?'

‘We find the defendant not guilty.'

‘Is this a decision with which you are all in agreement?'

‘Yes.'

The room erupted. Shirley, Grandma and Marlene cried and hugged one another. Bob's sister shouted that it was a disgrace. The dean nodded his head in approval. Sue beamed.

Prue shook hands with her legal team before crossing to Jodi in the dock. ‘It's all over, Jodi. You can put it behind you now.' Her eyes, the hardest part of her, were soft with emotion.

It
was
all over. The Crown couldn't appeal a jury verdict of acquittal.

‘Thanks, Prue. Thanks for everything.'

‘How do you feel?'

‘Euphoric.' Tears glittered Jodi's vision but she was determined they wouldn't fall; she'd shed far too many tears as it was. ‘I've made it through. Anything is possible now.'

‘That's the right attitude,' Prue smiled. ‘This is the start for you, not the end.'

Outside the court, Prue stopped to address the reporters.

‘Miss Tyler and her family are very pleased with today's outcome . . .'

The cameras focused on Jodi.

‘Any comments, Jodi?'

‘As of today, I want to look forward, not back,' she told them. ‘And I want to make the very best of my life from here on in.'

As she stood on the steps of the courthouse, Jodi experienced a surge of determination and ambition. She was going to study very hard and get the best degree that she could. Then she would get a job and work her way up until she was an executive of the highest level. She would earn a lot of money: enough money to be able to repay the legal fees to her mother, plus interest. She
would have so much respect that this court case would cease to matter to her, or anyone else.

I have to make something of myself. I can't have come through the last year – the last seven years – to be nothing.

Summer 1989

Sarah's class scattered around the world that summer: Emma and Fiona to Australia, Tim back to New York, and some of the others to Europe. Sarah promised herself that next year she would go away too. She'd work out some arrangement with Brendan and Mary and head off to America. It was a full year away, but she was adamant that the last summer of her college years would not be spent behind the shop counter.

Nuala began dating a garda by the name of Colin. Colin's conversation skills were very basic and he had no compensating strengths that Sarah could see. He was tall and broad, his face dour and his movements slow. It was hard to imagine him running after a thief, or doing anything else that required a degree of agility.

Late one evening, as the sun smeared the sky with a bright orange sunset, Sarah went outside to put up the
CLOSED
sign at the entrance to the yard. She was dragging the sign across when
a car pulled in. She pointed to the sign and mouthed, ‘Sorry.' However, the driver continued on and drew up alongside her.

‘Hi,' he said through the open window.

‘Hello,' she replied. ‘I've just closed. The pumps are switched off.'