Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [139]
At some point, however, I must have convinced the police that I was innocent. More than innocent, in fact: a victim. But if I thought there would be an apology, I was mistaken. In fact, they found an even worse way to torment me.
‘We’re going to need you to testify at the trial of Vicky Hamilton.’
‘She was killed in 1991,’ I said, taken aback. ‘What on earth can I contribute to that?’
He consulted his notes. ‘We’ll need you to talk about being in Bathgate while her body was in the house.’
‘But I didn’t see anything, I told you that about twenty times.’
They wouldn’t have it though.
‘What if I don’t come?’
‘Then we’ll subpoena you. One way or another, you’ll be going to Dundee with the rest of us.’
I began to cry, but not at the thought of standing up in court. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea what he put me through? What he still puts me through?’
I think they’d expected me to say that.
‘Don’t worry, we can erect a screen. He’ll be able to hear you, but he won’t get a glimpse.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll do it.’
That really should have been the end of the matter, but as the police team were packing up, one of them said casually, ‘Of course, we’ll be needing Daniel to testify as well.’
That was it – the gloves were off.
‘You bloody won’t!’ I shouted. ‘He’s got enough shit in his life without that. He was three years old, for God’s sake. What the fuck do you think he can remember from then? Tell me what you can remember from when you were three? Go on, try it!’
The guy wouldn’t be drawn and my anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. In its place was pure fear.
‘Please, I’m begging you,’ I cried. ‘Don’t make him do this. He’s twenty, he’s at the start of his life. Don’t ruin it for him before he even gets going.’
But would the bastards listen? No. The only consolation was that he too would be shielded by the screen. I insisted on that.
‘That paedophile has not set eyes on my son since 1993. I do not want Peter to know a single thing about him.’
That night I called Daniel over and broke the news to him. He took it better than I had, but he was just as perplexed.
‘Is it about that purse?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘But I can’t even remember it. What use is that going to be?’
‘I don’t know, darling, I really don’t.’
All I knew for sure was that the horrors I’d managed to protect him from for so many years were about to be picked over in the minutest detail – and there was nothing I could do.
Vicky’s trial began on 3 November 2008. A year earlier hundreds had attended her funeral – sixteen years after her death. As Daniel and I entered the court building in Dundee, you could feel the whole town wanted justice. I was so proud of my boy. He looked a million dollars in his suit and no jury would ever doubt a word he said. Unfortunately, we both knew he had nothing to say.
At some point, I think the prosecution must have realized that as well. We’d been there a day when a note was passed along saying we wouldn’t have to testify after all.
‘Thank God for that!’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
It was only when we saw the news coverage later that I realized Daniel had actually played a starring role – or rather his DNA had. That old purse neither of us could remember had actually belonged to Vicky. After Peter had killed her, he planted it miles away in Edinburgh, to throw the police off his scent. But by then he had already given it to Daniel to play with. DNA evidence now placed Peter and Vicky irrefutably in the same house and car. As soon as the jury heard that, Peter was going down.
We never discussed it, but fourteen years after Peter had saddled Daniel with the guilt of being used as bait to nearly kill two innocent young girls, as well as to lure both Vicky and Dinah into trusting Peter, the son had got his own back. How fitting for a boy whose name means ‘God is my judge’.
After the wasted trip to Dundee, I wasn’t at all fazed six months later to receive word that I’d be needed as a witness at Peter’s trial for the murder of Dinah McNicol.