The Devil's in the Detail. Matthew S Wilson

waved a hand.

      ‘Sustained.’

      Olivia sat down, pleased with herself. If Gabriel was annoyed, he certainly didn’t show it.

      ‘Allow me to re-phrase. Was Michael O’Connor ever allowed back into the school following this incident?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I see.’

      Gabriel allowed a little pause.

      ‘One final question, Monsieur.’

      David shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

      ‘Did Michael O’Connor inflict all of those bruises and cuts on your body that day, as you told your headmaster?’

      David shook his head.

      ‘I’m afraid we’ll need you to respond with words.’

      ‘No.’

      The word was barely audible.

      ‘A little clearer, s’il vous plaît.’

      ‘No.’

      The response bounced off the stone walls. Gabriel gave a triumphant smile and looked up at the Dominion.

      ‘Merci, Your Honour, the prosecution rests on the Commandment of “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour”.’

      He turned on his heel, walking back to his stone bench. Dominion Galloway peered over his spectacles at Olivia.

      ‘Does the defence wish to make an argument against?’

      ‘It does, Your Honour.’

      She stood up and straightened her tunic.

      ‘Mr Shepherd, if Michael O’Connor did not inflict those injuries on you, then who did?’

      David looked down.

      ‘I can’t remember.’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘It was over thirty years ago.’

      ‘But surely you don’t forget something as traumatic as that?’

      ‘Well, obviously you do.’

      Olivia was rendered speechless. Startled, she looked at the Dominion as if to ask for advice on how best to proceed. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t get any.

      ‘Your Honour, may I confer with the witness a moment?’

      Galloway waved assent with a look of resignation.

      She hurried over to David, an embarrassed look painted across her face. She leaned in and hissed.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You know exactly what I mean. Why won’t you answer the question?’

      ‘What good will it do? He’s right – I lied. And that kid got expelled because of me.’

      ‘Shhh, lower your voice.’

      Gabriel piped up.

      ‘Objection, Your Honour. The defence is badgering the witness.’

      ‘Overruled. The defence can’t badger its own witness,’ responded Galloway dryly.

      David leaned closer to Olivia.

      ‘I don’t see how dredging up all of my past is going to change that.’

      ‘I am trying to demonstrate that you’d been subjected to brutality at an early age and that your lie was understandable. Forgivable under the circumstances.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve never talked about it. With anyone.’

      She placed a hand on his shoulder.

      ‘You must trust me, Mr Shepherd. Failing to do so may result in the most severe of consequences.’

      His eyes flicked to the Black Gate again. Visions of fire, brimstone and whips immediately flashed through his mind.

      Dominion Galloway’s deep rumble thankfully interrupted them.

      ‘Counsellor, do you have any further questions for your client on this specific commandment?’

      Olivia looked pleadingly in his eyes. He nodded.

      ‘I do, Your Honour. Mr Shepherd, allow me to ask you once more. How did you incur those bruises and cuts on that particular day in question?’

      David swallowed.

      ‘My father.’

      ‘He beat you?’

      ‘He did.’

      ‘And was this the first time that he’d beaten you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘How often would he beat you, Mr Shepherd?’

      His mind went back to that unconscious kid on the tiles of the school. The bruises on his back and shoulders inflicted by his father’s fists. It wasn’t always punches. Sometimes he’d use his belt. That particular day at school had been the morning after his father had come in drunk again. He remembered hearing his father knock over the television and the sound of it smashing on the floor. He insisted that David’s mother had moved it. David had insisted that he’d moved it. Because he went to school everyday his father sometimes went easier on him for fear of a suspicious teacher asking him how he’d gotten the bruises.

      Even now, sitting in Purgatory, he could still remember the sound of the metal rod of the TV antenna being cracked over his back over and over again. He remembered that it was the most pain he’d ever felt. But he didn’t cry. He swore to himself that he’d never cry. And despite the searing pain and blood that flowed, he remembered that the only thought he had the entire time was, “How am I going to watch Match of the Day on Saturday if the television is broken”? It was funny the things your mind focused on during the bad times.

      ‘Whenever he was drunk.’

      ‘And how often was that?’

      ‘Most nights.’

      ‘And did you ever tell anyone at the school?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      He could remember exactly what his father had said. He even remembered the day. Most men remember the first proper football match they’d played in, just not for the same reason. He was about eight and his legs were covered in bruises. His father had dropped him off early at the pitch so that he could get to Highbury early to have a drink before the Arsenal match. And as his father had started to drive off, the brake lights lit up. The car had slowly reversed, with the window down. David’s heart had leapt. Perhaps his father had changed his mind and decided that watching his boy was more important than a Cup tie. He hadn’t.

      ‘My father said that he’d kill me if I ever told anyone.’

      ‘And is it possible that the reason that you accused Michael O’Connor of beating you on that particular day in 1982, was that you remembered your father threatening you?’

      ‘It’s possible.’

      ‘You were scared of him that particular day, weren’t you?’

      ‘No.’

      Gabriel grinned.

      ‘I was scared of him every day.

      CHAPTER 7

      The bathrooms in Purgatory were no different to those on Earth. Tiled flooring, fluorescent lights, no toilet paper and cubicle doors with vandalised latches. What kind of person vandalises the lock on a toilet while on trial in the afterlife? Perhaps it was the same person who wrote ‘God blows’ above the urinals. It was somewhat comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one critical