After downing three pints, Marcel Richards desperately needed to answer the call of nature. The trek across the crowded pub, which was even more crowded that Saturday evening, was more difficult than expected. However, he made it in time and answered the call. His kidneys now drained, he felt the sudden need for a cigarette.

Leaving the men's room, he stepped into the corridor that housed the facilities for both genders. He could hear the noise from the bar and it gave him second thought about wading back across the crowded pub to get outside the front door just to satisfy his nicotine craving. Looking left, he spied a door at the opposite end of the corridor.

Only hopeful optimism moved him to the door and much to his surprise, it opened up to the great outdoors. The fresh air he was now feeling seemed to take the edge off the buzz he obtained from downing three pints. Manoeuvering himself past a couple of large dumpsters, Marcel took out a fag and lit up. That first puff brought him the relief his was seeking. He brought the cigarette back to his lips for a second puff when his motion was stopped by the scream from a female voice, “Stop it!”

That scream was quickly followed by a second voice, obviously male, “Shut up you slag! You know you want this.”

He abruptly took the fag away from his mouth and scanned the surrounding area in an attempt to locate the voices. The layout was typical for the back of a large city pub with more dumpsters and rubbish bins dotting the area like an obstacle course. The buildings that surrounded the space he was in only served to provide many more places for concealment.

He stood still for what seemed many more minutes tuning his ears to pinpoint where he had heard the scream. When he didn't hear any more, he simply concluded that he must have been hearing things on account of the booze. Nevertheless, he took a couple steps forward. Suddenly, a large figure of a man burst out from seemingly nowhere. The figure stepped under one of the few streetlights, giving Marcel the opportunity to get a good look at him.

The figure turned into a beefy white man who stood a good six feet one. He had an oval shaped head and a triangular looking nose that highlighted his unshaven face. His ears didn't stick out but still looked too large for his head. The man's image would forever be etched in to Marcel's mind. He could see the man under the light fastening up his belt, after which, he turned and appeared to look directly at Marcel who froze. However, the man turned and disappeared into the night.

“Maybe it's true ,” he thought to himself, breathing a sigh of relief once the man was out of sight. “You can't see a black man in the dark.”

His bemusement was interrupted by a series of quiet sobs. Now feeling completely sober, he moved in the direction those sobs were coming from. Tuning into the sobs, his tracking took him behind a small wall by one of the buildings to his right and that was when he saw her.

She was a petite young thing, not much more than eighteen. Her dyed blonde hair was now dishevelled all about her head but a few strands stuck to her tear stained cheeks. Upon seeing Marcel while sitting on the ground, she hastily reached down to pull up her knickers but her haste combined with her distress caused her tights to tear even more than they had been. Seeing that his sudden appearance might make things worse for the poor girl, he attempted to comfort her. “I'm here to help,” he said as soothingly as possible extending his hand in offer to help her up.

Once the girl was on her feet, without even asking her approval, Marcel dialled 999 and asked for the police. When connected to them, he reported a rape. The girl made no attempt to stop him. At first it seemed like the police didn't believe him and twice had to emphasize that he was actually with the victim. When asked where he was, he simply replied, “Behind the Hawk's Head pub.” He couldn't remember the name of the street it was on. Once satisfied, the voice on the other end instructed him to keep the victim calm and that they would be there as soon as possible. When he finished the call, he could see that the girl was still in a great deal of distress. “The police will be here shortly,” he informed in an attempt to reassure her. Her face still full of anguish, he wasn't able to determine how she was actually feeling, which was why he didn't even ask her name while they waited.

They didn't have to wait long for the police arrived. Two cars showed up on the scene and he and the girl were separated into each of them. For Marcel, the ride to the station couldn't have been quieter. Under the circumstances, he preferred it like that. When the squad car pulled into the station, the two officers motioned him out of the car and led him into the building. He followed them down a corridor to a door where a third officer awaited them. The pair released him to this third officer, a middle-aged man, before heading back in the direction they had come. Handing Marcel a form and a pen, the officer beckoned him through the door into a room.

A large desk in the middle of the room appeared before himonce his eyes adjusted to the light. Needing no instruction, he sat at the desk and wrote out the night's events. While he was writing, his mobile went off in his pocket. The voice of one of the friends he was in the pub with, reminded him that he never told them that he never told them where he was going. “What happened to you man?” the friend on the other end inquired.

“Sorry about not telling you but when I went outside for a fag, I saw some girl get raped. I'm at the cop shop filling out a statement.”

“Oh shit,” came the reply. “If you're not too long, we're hitting a club and you can phone us and we'll tell you where we're at.”

Marcel simply said, “Okay,” before switching the call off and returning to the statement. Thoughts of partying the night away were now the furthest things from his mind. He went back to the filling out the form, finishing long before anyone came back to check on him. Before anyone entered, he heard a male voice proclaim, “That's a turn up for the books, a black man witnessing a girl being raped by a white man.”

The officer's reappearance back into the room left him little time to get too angry about the ignorant comment he had heard. It was clear that when the officer spoke, he wasn't the one who had said it. Marcel handed his witness statement over to the constable who graciously thanked him and then informed, “We may need to get in touch with you again.” When he nodded he understood, the officer continued, “The CPS will certainly be in touch. You'll probably have to testify in court.”

That didn't bother Marcel. In fact, he was beginning to look forward to it. He followed the officer, who escorted him out of the station. Stepping out back into the night, he decided that he didn't want to rejoin his friends. So, after sending them some apologetic texts, he went home.

An arrest was made two days later and Marcel was asked to come back to the station to make an identification. Nerves fluttered around his entire body for the entire journey. Would it be the man he saw that night? What worried him more was what he would do if it actually was the same man. However, pulling against that feeling was the reverse. He had seen a man rape a woman and he needed to do his civic duty. A strange resolve resounded in him as he reported to the female officer behind the desk. Realisations about his civic duty became abundantly clear. He had seen a women raped and his testimony could put the man who did it away for a long time.

Those twenty five minutes he waited seemed like half an eternity. When the time came, the setting suddenly changed to surreal. It became more so when the middle aged detective he had given his statement to instructed, “Take your time and have a good look at each of them. Don't worry, they can't see you.”

Marcel wanted to blurt out, “This is like on the telly,” but he refrained. He probably wouldn't have been the first person to have ever said that. Therefore he kept silent. All surrealism vanished when the lights behind the one-way mirror came on and five men holding numbers on a placard were standing in a row behind it. Following the detective's advice, he studied each of those men behind the mirror and allowed them to turn to the right. However, he knew he didn't have to because as soon as he saw the man holding card number four, he was certain that the police had found the rapist. Clearing his throat and trying to sound authoritative, Marcel stated, “It's number four.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Marcel confirmed in expectation to the question.

The detective's stone faced features softened. “That's good, because the victim has also identified him as her attacker.”

After that, everything became a blur. The detective, along with a couple of other officers thanked him. He was informed that he would be called on to give evidence in court and that the CPS would be in touch before the trial.

Six months passed before he was contacted, during which time, he did his best to lock the memories of that night in some compartment in his mind. He found he couldn't, what he saw that night continually played out before him nearly every day. Each time, he would see the man he picked out appear under the street lamp before running off and then the frightened look of that poor girl. Those scenes only strengthened his determination to put that man behind bars.

The young prosecuting barrister, who couldn't have been more than 25, seemed very pleased when Marcel recounted what he had seen on that night six months previously. It almost matched his written statement word for word. He kept telling Marcel, “If you say in court what you've just said to me, I'm sure we'll get a conviction.” Marcel only hoped that the barrister's courtroom ability was going to match his enthusiasm.

That news still gave his spirits a lift. He felt like whistling a tune as he got up to leave. However, a thought occurring in his head caused Marcel to hesitate. Turnning back to the fresh faced prosecutor, he enquired, “Aren't you supposed to prep me for when the defense cross examines me?”

Smiling at him, the barrister replied, “With what you've told me, I don't think there's any need to. Besides, I think you'll hold up well under cross-examination. He accepted that explanation and left hoping the barrister was right.

He felt no nerves when the day to testify in court arrived. His determination to see justice done wiped out any anxieties he might have had about getting on the stand. The clerk simply mumbled, “Witnesses for the prosecution are in this room,” as he led Marcel to a door, after taking the briefest of glances at the summons presented to him. No more was said, so when the clerk opened the door, Marcel went in.

As soon as the door closed, a young woman rushed over to him. “Thank you for coming to day,” she told him graciously. Right away, he knew that this was the girl he had helped on that fateful night. She looked much better than she did on that night. Her hair was neatly styled and tied back. She wore a business-like black dress whose hem line was much longer than the dress she had worn six months prior. There was a slight air of confidence about her too. Smiling at her, Marcel simply stated, “It's no problem.”

There wasn't much inside the room for the prosecution witnesses. A large table in the middle of the small room looked disproportionate. A couple of vending machines stood against the wall to the left. To the right was a tray with a couple of large kettles, obviously for tea and coffee, supported by a stack of cups and bowls housing small spoons and sugar. The girl who had greeted him was already sitting down on one of the chairs around the table. Two police officers, one male and one female sat at two of the other chairs, although the male officer suddenly got up and began pacing around the room. Two other men, both of whom looked important, sat on the other side of the table. One of them was so busy on his lap top, he didn't even look up.

Not feeling thirsty nor chatty, Marcel sat down in one of the empty chairs and waited. After a few long minutes, he took out his mobile but put it back in his pocket without turning it on. All the while, he kept reminding himself that what he was about to do wasn't a big deal but in the back of his mind, he knew he was lying. Therefore, he simply sat in silence and waited for what seemed like ages. Finally the door opened and the court officer came through and announced, “Miss Dora Mills, you've been called to testify.”

Marcel watched the young lady he had helped six months earlier leave the room. He wished her good luck but all he could think about was when it would be his turn to take the stand. Suddenly, he felt the need for refreshment of the caffeinated variety. It took three cups of strong coffee and several rich tea biscuits before that need was satisfied. Now at least, the waiting was bearable.

An hour and a half passed before Dora's crying was heard long before she returned to the room. Her tears made her face look puffy and caused eye liner to run down her cheeks. Instinctively, the female officer went over to comfort her, helping the distressed young lady to sit down. However, the officer's reassurances were drowned out by Dora's wail: “He made me look like a cheap tart!”

Everyone in the room knew she was talking about the defence barrister. Marcel listened intently as Dora explained, “He said I led him on and that I was looking for sex.” She cried for another half minute and then declared, “And the prosecutor just let him ask those questions, he didn't object once!” That was all anyone could get out of Dora as she descended into more crying.

Seeing Dora's obvious distress and hearing her crying only strengthened Marcel's resolve to do the right thing. No hot-shot barrister was going to make him look like a fool on the stand. That resolve remained with him while he waited. First the male officer was called to testify and then the female. When swapping places, the male said to his colleague, “Watch out for that defence barrister, he's a right snake.”

Another cup of coffee, three biscuits, a trip to the to toilet and another forty-five minutes passed before the female officer returned. Upon her re-entry she acknowledged to her male counterpart, “You're right about that defense barrister but I held my own with him.” Any idea Marcel had about being called next was put on holdwhen the court officer infomed all in the room that the trial was breaking for lunch. His announcement was quickly followed by a trolley filled with sandwiches and more tea and coffee.

Working his way through a tuna sandwich and then a ham and cheese, his ears homed in on the two officers in the hope of gleaning useful information for when he took the stand. None was forthcoming. It turned out that the female officer wasn't finished being cross examined, that would continue after the break. Feeling slightly disappointed, Marcel finished his lunch and waited.

What seemed like hours squeezed into a mere forty minutes passed by before the female officer returned. She seemed quite confident and boasted to her colleague, “He couldn't break me.” That statement filled Marcel with hope and fuelled his determination. Two minutes later, he practically leapt out of his seat when the court officer called, “Marcel Richards.”

Entering the courtroom, he focused on the witness chair he was heading towards to quash any anxieties about the reality of what he was going to do. That same determination remained when he was sworn in. However, he did sneak a glance at the man in the dock before the prosecutor began. That man seemed to be glaring at him but Marcel did his best to not let it affect him. He thought, “The defendant could stare at him all he wanted, it wasn't going to make any difference to what he was going to say on the stand.” Further contemplation was disrupted by the lawyer's voice. “Mr Richards, can you please tell the court what happened on the night in question?”

Marcel began, “Yes, I was in the Hawk's Head pub and decided to go out back for a cigarette. While I was smoking it, I heard a woman scream for help and a man's voice say, 'Shut up, slag!' A few minutes later, I saw the man come from the direction of the scream. He went directly under the streetlamp so I saw him clearly.”

“Is the man you saw in the courtroom?”

“Yes, he's right over there,” Marcel indicated triumphantly, pointing to the defendant.

Facing the jury, the prosecutor boldly proclaimed, “The witness has identified the defendant.”

The prosecutor gave Marcel the opportunity to tell the court of how he had helped the victim. How he telephoned the police and waited with the stricken woman until the police arrived. After, he had given his full account, he was sure that jury would be convinced of his testimony. Following that, the prosecuting barrister only had a few more questions for him. “Now, tell the court, how much did you have to drink that night?”

Expecting this, Marcel answered, “Three pints.”

“And how are you normally after three pints?”

“I know I'm above the legal limit to drive so I don't but I'm still in control of all my faculties.”

“So, would the amount you drank have effected what you saw that night in any way?”

“No.”

“No further questions.”

Marcel now readied himself for the onslaught of the defence barrister. He watched the man approach. He as a tall man, probably in his late forties with a long pointed nose which supported thin framed spectacles. He couldn't tell much more about him owing to the robe and wig. Stepping about fifteen feet from the witness box, “Mr Richards, you're a bit of a good Samaritan aren't you?”

Unprepared for that sort of question, Marcel could only respond with exaggerated nodding and “I guess so, I just wanted to help her.”

“Yes, you did. You wanted to be a knight in shining armour to the poor distressed lady,” the barrister grinned. “Now, you say you saw my client under the street light, how long was he under that light?”

“A few seconds.”

“A few seconds,” the lawyer repeated. “And that was long enough for you to see my client so clearly as to identify him for sure?”

“Yes, he walked directly under the light, I couldn't miss him,” Marcel responded unintimidated.

“And how far away were you from the man you saw under the light? You can use the courtroom as a guide.”

Marcel mentally measured the distance he remembered that night. “I'd say from here to about the second row behind the defendant's box.”

The defence lawyer took a few steps towards are Marcel was indicating. “Here,” he asked.

“Yes, about there.”

He made was way back towards Marcel counting his steps along the way. “I measure that to be about twenty-five feet or so, would you agree?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, you are saying that you can see twenty-five feet in the dark, after drinking three pints of beer, that you can clearly identify my client, whom you say was only under the light for a few seconds, as the one who attacked the lady?”

“Yes, I can,” Marcel emphasised.

“ You mean to tell me that with all of those variables in play, the darkness, the distance, the amount of time under the lights and the fact that you had been drinking, that you can clearly identify my client as the man you saw that night?”

“Yes,” Marcel re-emphasised then blurted out, “I know what I saw and none of your fancy lawyer tricks are going to get me to say otherwise.”

A series of loud thumps from the judge's gavel silenced the courtroom. Turing to the witness box, the judge informed Marcel, “Just answer the questions you've been asked.” Then looking at the jury, he instructed, “The jury will disregard that last statement.”

Homing in on the man in the box, the defence lawyer asked, “You say you saw my client running from the direction of where you found the girl but you didn't actually see him do it, did you?”

“No but he...”

“Just answer yes or no.”

“No, I didn't see him actually do it,” his voice now trying to raise over that of the lawyer's trying to silence him, “But he came from where the girl was right after she screamed.”

“Maybe so, but you didn't actually see him do it.” Pausing for a moment, the barrister now changed direction. “Let me ask you about when you were in college. Didn't you belong to an organization called Justice for Blacks?”

“Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything.”

Once again, the judge instructed Marcel to just answer the question. While doing so, Marcel threw a pleading look towards the prosecuting barrister. “Why isn't he objecting?” went through his mind.

“I'll tell you what it has to do with anything,” the defence butted in, disrupting Marcel's thoughts. “Do you recognise this?” he asked, producing what looked like a college newspaper.

“Yes, it's the newspaper from my old college.”

Turning towards the jury again, the lawyer expanded. “This is a publication called 'Black Lights' and it is the official newspaper of the group Justice for Blacks. An organisation, the witness has already admitted being a member of when he was in college.” He then passed by each member of the jury showing them the page on which it was opened to.

“As you can see, I am showing you an article written by the witness, Marcel Richards. I will now read an excerpt he wrote in the article:”

“It is always black men who are thought of as rapists when statistics show that just as many white men commit rape. We need to stamp out the racist belief that all black men are rapists and that we are going to rape any white woman we see.”

Putting the newspaper down, he turned his attention back to Marcel. “Mr Richards, you were quite angry that black men are unfairly thought of as rapists, aren't you?”

“I may have been back then.”

“Doesn't it make you angry now?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“When you saw my client under the streetlight, we're you a little glad that he was white?”

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Really, that article you wrote says otherwise. Couldn't you say that it didn't matter to you who committed the rape as long as he was white?”

“What?!” Marcel practically shouted. “I wasn't thinking that at all.”

“Probably not, but weren't you a little relieved that the man you saw wasn't black?”

His disbelief of what he was hearing rendered Marcel speechless and that was enough for the lawyer questioning him. “You can't answer.” Then before he could say anything, the defence barrister changed track. “You told the court you went out for a smoke, was it a proper cigarette?”

“Yes it was,” Marcel responded wondering what the lawyer was driving at.

“Well I know how people of your ethnicity like their ganja.”

“That's racist!”

The judge once again banged his gavel several more times. Turning to Marcel, he informed, “Any more outbursts like that and I'll have you in contempt of court.”

“But he's asking racist questions,” Marcel tried to reason.

“No, he's asking you questions which you must answer.”

Sensing victory, the defence barrister inquired, “Are you angry right now?”

“Of course I am.”

Cutting off any more speech from the witness, the barrister announced to the jury, “An angry black man, no further questions.”

The man who Marcel indicated that night was acquitted of rape. When they heard the news, none of the prosecution witnesses could believe it and the victim burst into uncontrollable cries. Marcel, too was upset but he did his best to hide it. However, he had to agree with the female officer who proclaimed, “That prosecuting barrister was too inexperienced for a case like this.”

“He was crap,” the male officer added.

Gloom clouds followed him as Marcel left the courthouse. He knew that the man he saw had committed a rape and now a young woman's life was ruined. To make matters worse, when he stepped outside, there was the man celebrating with all of his family and friends on the courthouse steps. He tried his best to slip past the group undetected but that was unsuccessful.

“Hey Jambo,” the former defendant called. “Don't you know it's only your lot who rape women?”

Not able to contain the rage building up inside him, Marcel challenged, “Why don't you come here and say that?”

“No, I don't want to mess with an angry black man.”

Somehow he overrode his desire to charge into the crowd and choke the life out of that man. Instead, he walked off. All the way home, all Marcel could think about was the angry black man label the defence lawyer had given him. That was how he was portrayed to the jury and that prosecutor did nothing to stop him, which all contributed to a huge miscarriage of justice this day.