End in mind?

Declan Burke made a very interesting comment.

"Lewis - For what it's worth, I always find it more fun to not know how the story will end. It's not a journey, it's an adventure ... And if you don't know how it's all going to turn out, your readers probably won't either."

The following is a short story with a planned ending. If my wife is anything to go by many will "get it" well before the end. Is this because It was all planned out in my head anyway?


DNA

Before opening it Eddie had not known who the letter was from. He laughed out loud to himself as he realised it was from his mother. It was signed off, "Your loving mother, Maureen." That was rich. No contact for twenty-five years but now she said she loved him.

Maureen said she knew he could not commit murder, wanted "to be there" and begged him to have a prison Visiting Order issued. Bollocks to her, Eddie decided, he had enough on his plate defending the charge without having to deal with a mother he had not seen in nearly three decades. He screwed up the letter and took satisfaction from throwing it into his bin at the first attempt.

The envelope from his mother was not the only one Eddie opened in his cell that morning. His solicitor had written "Rule 39" on the outside of the other. This meant it could not be read by the prison authorities. In Eddie's experience confidential legal communications generally contained bad news.

Eddie was not disappointed. The lawyer explained that the prosecution had served the forensic evidence it intended to rely on. Highlighted was the DNA "hit" from the victim's body. The scientific report stated that the chances of the recovered DNA not coming from the defendant were one in a billion. According to the solicitor, this was one of the highest statistical matches he had encountered during his career. He would, of course, he went on, have the results verified by an independent expert. However, he felt compelled to express "the gravest concern" about the implications of this evidence for the defence.

How could this be? Eddie knew he was not anywhere near the crime scene at the relevant time. The semen on the victim's clothes simply could not be his. OK, so he had been arrested before - that was how they had identified him from the national DNA database - but not for anything like this. Eddie saw straightaway why his solicitor was so forthright about his concerns.

The reintroduction of the death penalty into UK law had been achieved through the Homicide Reform Act. Supporters of the return to capital punishment had argued loud and strong that scientific advances had made miscarriages of justice far less likely than in the past. The public were persuaded and the politicians fell in line.

The intention was that the ultimate sanction would be reserved for the worst cases. Media speculation had been rife that, as Eddie's alleged offence involved murder for sexual gratification, his could be the first case to lead to the death penalty following the change in the law. He now knew that there was a strong case against him.

Eddie sat on his bed staring at a white painted cell wall. Far removed from the archetypal decrepit prison his surroundings were modern, clean and functional. There was plenty of natural light and the fragrance of an early morning application of air freshener lingered. Despite this Eddie struggled to fight down an overwhelming nausea as he contemplated the future. Hemmed in and desperate he started to hyperventilate. His distress was picked up by the in-cell CCTV surveillance. Prison officers got to him just as he passed out.

- - -

Instinctively, Eddie shielded his eyes as the camera flashes penetrated the darkened windows of the prison transport. The hostile chants of the crowd assembled outside the court house were followed by loud bangs on the side of the vehicle as the police cordon was breached by a small group of rabble rousers. Suddenly, the van driver swung the vehicle into a sharp right turn before bringing it to an abrupt stop. Eddie was pitched from the hard seat of the van cell into the walling. "Christ," he thought, "I've been judged before the trial has started."

In the Crown Court holding cell Eddie met with his two barristers - leader and junior - and solicitor. He was asked if he had thought about what had been discussed the week before when they had seen him in prison. The senior barrister reiterated that an acceptance of guilt could, quite literally, make the difference betwen life and death. On a guilty plea the judge was likely to pass a life sentence. Life would mean life with no possibility of parole. However, the death penalty, he advised, could be avoided.

"Should I plead guilty to something I haven't done?" asked Eddie.

"No," replied the barrister, "But it is not as straightforward as that. You have to take into account the strength of the evidence against you. Ask yourself this, 'If the evidence against me is overwhelming should I take the gamble when I know I can guarantee myself a lesser penalty?'"

The conversation continued in circles. Always it came back to the DNA match and the one in a billion statistic. The experts instructed by the defence had not been able to fault the methodology and the conclusions of the prosecution scientists.

"Eddie," the solicitor eventually said, "We need a decision. The case will be called on in a few minutes and we must have your final say."

"Then I say I am not guilty. I was not there. I did not attack that girl. The semen could not have been mine."

The lawyers passed a look between them. The senior barrister was the first to speak, "If that is your final word we must have your instructions in writing. I am going up to the court room now. Your solicitor will write out something for you to sign and I will tell the judge the trial will proceed."

- - -

Eddie awoke, as usual, just before the early morning buzzer went off in his cell. Three and a half years since the verdict and sentence. Six months ago the final, unsuccessful domestic appeal had been heard.

Lying on the seat of his chair were two envelopes. He recognised the writing on one to be that of his mother. The other was stamped with the logo of the European Court of Human Rights. They had arrived the previous day but he had not been able to bring himself to do anything with them.

Eddie opened the envelope from the court. So many disappointments. One more did not, this morning, seem to matter. The summary delivered orally by the tribunal he already knew from having spoken to his solicitor on the phone. There had been a fair trial in the judgement of the court and the possibility of intervening in the sentence had been specifically excluded by the Homicide Reform Act. Without reading the detail he threw the papers to one side.

Eddie was becoming resigned. He still burned with fierce indignation but, to the outside world, his fight had become blunt. The stamina had started to ebb away and Eddie sensed the need to protect himself from further disappointment.

He looked at the envelope from his mother. She had written to him regularly during the trial and at least once per week since. Eddie had refused to open any of the envelopes and had disposed of them all. However, today something inside gave way and he slipped his thumb under the seal.

His mother's words were pleading, desperate. She needed to see him, had to show him the love that, she claimed, was undiminished by their estrangement. Eddie relented and made arrangements for the Visiting Order to be issued.

- - -

The prison visitors centre was busy. Maureen felt out of place. For many of those whose paperwork was being processed a visit to a prisoner was part of the normal routine of life. Colleauges in crime, surly older women and girlfriends with impressive cleavages specially on display for their sweethearts mixed with anxious Asian girls and bored looking probation officers.

Sitting opposite Eddie at the visits table his mother's tears flowed freely from the outset. She gushed regret. Eddie felt little. The lost twenty-five years weighed heavily on her now that her son faced the death penalty. Eddie could not bring himself to say anything that would bestow comfort. It had been her decision to make the rift permanent. She would have to live with that.

Eventually, Maureen had to ask the question, "I haven't seen you for so long but I believe I do still know my own son. You ran with the wrong crowd and I always knew when you lied to me about it. I will know again if you do not tell me the truth now. I don't want any details but, yes or no, did you kill that poor girl?"

There was a pause. The weight of the last five years bore down on Eddie. "No, Mum. I did not." Eddie let go at last and broke down.

- - -

It was getting close now, the date set for the execution. For Eddie the days had started to merge and time seemed to be speeding up.

His mother came to see him regularly. As the gap between them closed they talked little of the case. It was mostly reminiscence about his childhood. The son of a single parent, it only began to dawn on Eddie now how much of her own young life had been sacrificed to keep him comfortable and safe. His mother had struggled but succeeded in giving him opportunities and options, gifts he had squandered because of the false promise of a more exciting life offered by his dubious friends.

As the time grew nearer Eddie struggled to find any peace. He had started to draw comfort from the reconciliation with his mother but the knowledge that he was going to receive a lethal injection for something he had not done was unbearable. How could the DNA have matched his?

- - -

Maureen came to the prison for what she knew would be her final visit. She had almost turned back at the visitors centre. The prospect of saying a last goodbye was too much but she could not let him down and, in any event, there was something she needed him to know.

Normally, the visits were limited to two hours. Today they were allowed four. Eddie put on a brave face for his mother throughout. She was, at last, proud of him.

Towards the end of the visit Eddie's mother visibly steeled herself and said, "I have kept an awful secret from you all these years. It is not right that we should part for the last time time without you knowing everything. I was so young when I became pregnant. My family and your father did not want to know. I knew I had to fend for myself. I could not cope with two of you."

Eddie was startled, "What do you mean two of us?"

"Oh Eddie, I was desperate." Tears sprang into Maureen's eyes. "I pleaded with them in the hospital to take one of you. Eventually, the social workers took him away for adoption."

"Who mother? Who did the social workers take for adoption?" Eddie's eyes were wide with astonishment. Realisation was swift in coming.

"Your twin brother, of course."


© Lewis Peters 2009