Witness - [69]

Zak didn’t sleep much. It was hard without Bess around. When he did nod off he had dreams that woke him up again, shadows coming after him, blows landing on his back, on his arms and his belly, words raining down like stones. Chained and he couldn’t get away. Bits in his mouth and flies on his face. The dark swallowing him.

* * *

At Hull County Court he had to sit in this room with a man and talk into a monitor. They showed him the room was bare, no picture on the wall, no notices, nothing that could give anyone in the court in Manchester a clue as to where Zak was. It hit him like a thump in the guts: Carlton’s crew would be doing all they could to shut people up and what Zak was doing today was painting a massive target on his chest. That’s why he had to be poxy Ryan Wilson once he walked out again. Ryan Wilson who didn’t know Manchester much and had led a blameless if aimless life.

The usher read out the oath and Zak copied him then they played Zak’s video statement that Little and Large had cobbled together from their early interviews with Zak. It meant Zak wouldn’t have to go through it all for the prosecution. Man, it was embarrassing: he looked a mess and he kept stumbling over his words and that. It covered the basics: that he’d been in the middle of a house burglary when he’d seen Derek Carlton shoot the boy crossing the rec. That Zak knew Carlton by sight, by reputation, and had scarpered, taking his dog and the proceeds of the robbery with him.

One of the lawyers told the court that Zak had been arrested in the process of committing another burglary and had volunteered information about the murder in return for immunity from prosecution and witness protection.

Then they played more of the video, the bit where he was saying how everyone knew it was Carlton and Millins who did it and how when they were picked up someone brought the gun to Midge for safe keeping. Zak hadn’t wanted to say that but they kept on at him; that it was all or nothing and the gun was vital evidence.

He’d seen it in his head, what must have happened next: the SWAT team raiding Midge’s. Midge and Stacey pulled out of bed and cuffed. The police finding the gun. Midge getting charged then realizing he’d not seen Zak for a while and putting two and two together and coming up with Judas. Midge, who’d always given him a brew or shared a spliff, who’d fenced his stuff. Midge, who’d taken Bess to the PDSA when Zak had the pneumonia. And he had to dob him in. That was the worst of it.

The woman asked him where he’d been living last June.

‘No fixed abode,’ he said. That’s what they called it.

‘Were you employed?’

‘No.’

‘In receipt of benefits?’

‘No.’

‘You were surviving on the proceeds from your criminal activity?’

‘And begging,’ Zak agreed.

‘Were you having regular eye examinations?’

She was cracked. ‘No!’

‘So you don’t know whether your vision is impaired?’

‘I can see fine,’ Zak said, catching up. Her making out he was short-sighted: shabby.

‘Can you read the sign above the exit?’ She pointed.

Zak stalled; he could see it fine on the monitor but reading was another matter. Then the other lawyer, the prosecution guy, was up complaining as Zak said, ‘I can’t read all that good.’ And the judge called the lawyers up and they had a bit of a barney then the woman carried on. ‘We don’t know how well you see but the house was about thirty yards away. Even with good vision it may have been difficult to identify who you saw.’

‘It were easy,’ Zak said, ‘I’d know him anywhere. He wears those baggy shorts and he had a yellow wife-beater on.’

‘What?’ demanded the judge.

‘It’s a sort of vest,’ Zak said, miming the shape on himself, sketching the armholes. ‘Big pits. And it was Sam Millins’ car, an’ all.’

‘Please confine yourself to only answering those questions put to you,’ the judge said.

‘Had you consumed any drugs that day?’

Took Zak a moment to remember. ‘No.’ He’d scored later at Midge’s.

‘What about alcohol?’

‘Just some cider. White Lightning.’

‘How much?’

‘Half a bottle?’

‘What size bottle?’

Zak sighed. ‘Three litres.’

‘How strong is that?’

‘Pretty strong.’

‘Seven and a half per cent proof, to be exact. And you drank a litre and a half. You would have been drunk.’ Her nose turned up, a flicker of disgust in her eyes.

‘No! I’m used to it,’ Zak said.

‘What about the previous night, did you take any drugs then?’

Zak shrugged. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Try.’ Her mouth set tight.

He came clean. ‘Maybe a bit of weed.’

‘Skunk?’

‘Yeah.’ He could do with some now.

‘For the benefit of the jury, skunk is the strongest strain of cannabis known and it remains in the system for up to ten days in regular users. Would you say you were a regular user?’ she asked Zak.

‘Yeah.’ He didn’t like the way she was painting him, a druggie, an alkie.

‘So when you broke into the property on Booth Street, when you saw events on the recreation ground, you were under the influence of drink and drugs. Surely these would affect your ability to see and remember what you saw?’

‘No,’ Zak contradicted her.

‘Did you work with Derek Carlton?’