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Chapters (53)
  1. The Source
  2. Dedication
  3. Contents
  4. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  5. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  6. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  7. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  8. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  9. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  10. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  11. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  12. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  13. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  14. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  15. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  16. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  17. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
  18. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  19. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  20. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  21. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  22. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  23. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  24. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  25. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  26. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  27. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  28. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  29. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  30. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  31. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  32. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  33. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1997
  34. Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1998
  35. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  36. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  37. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  38. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  39. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  40. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  41. Marie ~ Just outside Warchester ~ 2006
  42. Carly ~ London ~ 2001
  43. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  44. Carly ~ Deptford ~ 2002
  45. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  46. Marie ~ Deptford ~ 2004
  47. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  48. Marie ~ London ~ 2005
  49. Marie ~ London ~ 2006
  50. Marie ~ London ~ Six months later
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  53. Copyright

Objectivity is sacred. Truth is sacred. And together, they know their voice will be the loudest. They’re the ones with the microphone, after all.

The court stills as the defendant enters the dock. She stiffens against the murmur of anticipation, letting her eyes travel over the hunch of age in the once army-straight back, the defeated slump in what were square shoulders, the contours of the balding head bowed to the floor. The once-untouchable General Gillard Minchin, finally as diminished and trembling as the shadows in her head. The once-proud birthmark, his physical stamp of the United Kingdom, now wrinkled and shrunken as history. The red robes of the justice on the bench are as vivid and sharp as the truth. And so to the prosecution QC, fingers tapping lightly on the folder in front of him as he readies for his final curtain. The whole closing speech is in there, but he won’t refer to it. He won’t need to. No one needs notes for this.

The words, when they start, land like cloudburst. She can’t stop it, she knows that. Nothing can ever stop a storm; a case of unimaginable evil, predicated on a sickening argument that the state had no choice but to turn a blind eye, trading the sanctity of our judicial system and the objectivity of our press for the continued superiority of our defence forces. And at the heart of it all, betrayed children, betrayed by the worst of the so-called civilised society into which they had the misfortune to be born. Incontrovertible evidence, from the victims, the collaborators, the co-conspirators. Shame on us all. Absolute shame.

There’s a collective breath as the prosecution rests, the bright block-colour jackets of the media fidgeting on the press bench below like primary school children at assembly. She smiles the briefest of smiles as she notes Dominic and Laurie jostling over the most central position of all, before remembering Jemima will 274also be somewhere nearby. Disgraced or not, she’ll need her own closure. She was a victim too. Only full possession of the facts makes for a true collaborator.