‘Exactly. It always comes down to one person’s word against another. And juries don’t like that. They want to be presented with evidence. We’re handicapped by those old-fashioned notions of people being innocent until proven guilty, and having to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt. When it’s just a question of “he says, she says”, there’s always going to be room for reasonable doubt. It would take a piss-poor barrister not to ram that point firmly into the heads of a jury.’

‘Or a defendant who’s not very convincing on the stand?’

Blake smiled. ‘Ah, yes. There are some people who just look so guilty that jurors will convict them whatever the evidence. But that’s the chance you take in a jury system, isn’t it?’

‘Have you lost many convictions turned over as unsound?’

‘Through prejudiced juries?’

‘Yes.’

‘One or two. The information age is a killer.’

The information age. Fry knew what he meant. For many decades, newspapers had been subject to restrictions on what they could publish during a trial without being guilty of contempt of court and prejudicing a jury. But the internet had changed all that. There were archives of news stories from the time of an offence being committed, or from a suspect’s arrest, which could be accessed at the click of a key. For many jurors, it was too much of a temptation not to do a bit of research for themselves. The Court of Appeal had quashed convictions as unsound on those grounds alone. Too much information. A real twenty-first-century curse.

She realized that everyone in the room was looking at her again. Had she been asked a question? She would be a hopeless witness on the stand if her attention wandered from the question so easily.

‘So what do you say, Diane?’ asked Blake.

‘I need time.’

‘Of course. All the time you want.’

Fry looked at Superintendent Branagh, and thought she might have detected a tiny hint of sympathy in her eyes. She thought of all the times she’d observed the behaviour of victims and felt a twinge of contempt at their weakness, wanted to tell them that it wasn’t so bad as all that, for God’s sake, have a bit of backbone and do what you have to do.

And Fry had so often seen people going into court to confront their past. She knew the worst part was waiting in the witness room, and the long walk down the corridor to take the stand. She’d watched people taking that walk. It might only be a few yards, but when you were going to face your own demons, it could seem like a million lonely miles.

For herself, Fry knew that the long walk down that corridor would be the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life.

Chapter Forty-one