‘We must not overlook the fact that the time of death is to a large extent an assumption. There is no proof that the shot fired at five past three killed Knott … ’
Akers interrupted him. ‘No actual proof, maybe, but overwhelming circumstantial evidence. Knott drove up to the farm at two-fifteen in the van. We know for fact that there was no shot fired between two-fifteen and three-five.
‘What we know is that no shot was heard.’ The legal assistant took off his spectacles, polished them with his handkerchief, then replaced them. ‘Still, the defence will not press this point since they’ve little to gain from doing so.’ He turned over a sheet of paper. ‘I’m not too happy that we have sufficient proof Knott was planning an insurance fraud.’ Seeing Akers was about to speak, he held up his hand. ‘I’m not disputing the attempted fraud, I’m merely saying that a rather complicated set of facts has to be explained in terms that the jury will readily understand. If possible, I’d like some evidence of his intended actions after the time of his faked death which will demonstrate a total break in habit that can allow of only one explanation.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘When a man intends this sort of fraud, one of his main problems is to make certain he’s not recognized anywhere after the time of his supposed death. What steps do you imagine Knott would have decided to take to avoid such recognition?’
‘Since he lived so close to the coast, sir,’ said Akers, ‘it’s a hundred to one he’d have gone abroad on a false passport. Then he’d have stayed abroad for good or for sufficiently long that on his return to this country he’d have been reasonably safe if he lived elsewhere.’
The senior legal assistant spoke to Clayton. ‘Do you agree with that, Inspector?’
Clayton was amused by the expression on Akers’s face — what need was there to seek confirmation from a mere DI? ‘Yes, sir. I’d only add that I don’t think he’d have gone far from the Channel ports because he’d have wanted to see both his forty thousand pounds and girlfriend as soon as possible.’
‘Quite. Which is why it will be worth asking assistance from the French, Dutch, and Belgian police to try to discover whether a longish reservation which was not taken up was made at a coastal hotel for the night of the twenty-first of this month. If the reservation was made by letter, the letter might even have been kept.’
‘It’s a bit of a long-shot,’ said Akers.
‘Nevertheless, I want that done. And while we’re talking about letters, have you been able to identify the writers of the correspondence found in “Alexander’s room?”’
‘The handwriting experts say the letters signed Alice were not written by Hazel Clews. On the other hand, they’re ready to testify the official correspondence in Alexander’s name was, when handwritten, written by Knott.’
The senior legal assistant pursed his lips. ‘We’re no nearer, then, to proving Hazel Clews knew of the intended fraud?’
‘No, sir, but surely when she’s in the witness-box counsel will be able to force an admission?’
‘Perhaps you’re overlooking something? The prosecution will be calling Miss Clews. If in her evidence-in-chief she denies all knowledge of the fraud, she cannot be challenged on this denial unless there are grounds for having her declared a hostile witness.’
‘I’ve always said the laws of evidence are bloody daft,’ muttered Akers.
*
The French police reported by teleprinter on Saturday, September 2. A reservation by post had been made by an Englishman, Fergusson, at the Hotel Comiche in Rue d’Alsace, Calais: Fergusson had booked a double room with bathroom for three weeks, starting August 21st, and had said his wife would be joining him later. He had never turned up. His letter of reservation was on the files.
*
At the preliminary hearing before the magistrates an application was made to dismiss the case on the grounds of insufficient evidence. The application was rejected. The defence was reserved and Mrs Phyllis Knott was sent for trial at the next Assize.
The Claytons went on their holiday to Jersey.
Chapter 17
The judge scratched his head under his wig with the cap of the bail-point pen he was using. He was a lean-faced man with a seemingly haughty expression of disdain, as if the happenings of mere mortals were of little account: it was a false impression because he was a man of considerable compassion who was always more concerned with justice than with the strict letter of the law. He asked the pathologist to repeat what he had just said, made a note in his book, then spoke to the jury and asked them if they fully understood the significance of what they had just heard. The foreman of the jury stood up. ‘I … I think so, my Lord,’ he answered.
The judge addressed prosecuting counsel. ‘Mr Riger, will you please go through this evidence again? It is very important that the jury are absolutely clear about what they have been told.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’ Riger was a large man, some called him gross, with a naturally long face that was elongated by his double chin. He turned to face the witness-box. ‘Will a body be preserved by keeping it at low temperature?’
The pathologist was plainly annoyed at having to repeat his evidence. ‘A body is preserved and the colder the atmosphere, the better the state of preservation. Zero, Fahrenheit, is not in this respect particularly cold but ordinary food can be kept in domestic freezer cabinets for a number of months: indeed, people have kept food under these conditions for years and eaten it without any noticeable ill-effect.’
‘Have you from your own experience knowledge of the possibilities of preserving a human body in cold storage?’
‘Not beyond the short storage which is carried out in morgues.’
‘Do you, as an expert witness, have knowledge obtained from other sources concerning the possibilities of such storage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you please tell the court what you know?’
‘The human body can be preserved in cold storage in the same way that other once-living tissues can be. To exclude initial decay it’s necessary to freeze the whole body as soon as possible and this is difficult in an ordinary domestic freezer. However, if the freezer has an over-riding control it can be set to work continuously beforehand so that the temperature is lowered well below zero, in which case the extra degree of cold will help to cool down to zero an average-sized body without much initial decay.
‘At zero degrees, or thereabouts, a body is rigid and solid: perhaps the best comparison is with a block of ice. It is in a state of preservation, although at this temperature it will not stay preserved for ever.’
‘Would you expect much change within six months?’ asked counsel.
‘I don’t think so, but I know of no research into that question.’
‘Thank you. Will you now please deal with the relevant aspects of thawing out?’
‘A human body thaws out like any other substance, but being a large thing it takes a considerable time at ordinary room temperatures. Once thawed, decay will set in and there is some authority for saying that the rate of decay will be faster than it would have been had the body not been frozen.’
‘Can you tell from a physical examination whether a body has been subjected to freezing?’
‘Freezing causes no changes in itself. If, however, one suspects freezing took place, then some loss of detail of body cell structure may be apparent on microscopic examination. I should,’ he said pugnaciously, ‘like to make it quite clear that this loss of detail will almost certainly be missed unless the investigator is warned on the possibility that the body underwent freezing.’
‘Were you so warned?’
‘I was not.’
‘Would the damage caused by the fire have had any effect on your ability to discover evidence of freezing, had you been warned of the possibility?’
‘It was so severe that no evidence of freezing could have survived.’
Riger looked at the judge, who nodded. ‘Will you now please tell the court the results of the post-mortem,’ said
Riger.
The pathologist gave his evidence, rarely pausing to check his evidence.
*
Browland had dressed with great care, yet this fact was certainly not apparent to anyone in court who saw him for the first time: coat and trousers came from different suits, his shirt had a tear just below the collar, which was much too loose, and his tie was badly stained. Strangely, when in the witness-box he was initially far less nervous than normal and did not fiddle with his nose. He gave his evidence coherently, only occasionally finding difficulty in answering.
Hapwood, QC, rose to cross-examine. He was a small man, with a face seemingly set at the oddest angles. He had a mellifluous voice and a love of the rolling phrase. He had been called to the Bar at a time when influence initially counted for far more than ability, yet he, without knowing a single solicitor who could feed him with work, had become a successful junior within seven years and had taken silk after twenty. ‘I’d like to know a little more about this shot-gun in the store-room. Did you ever handle it?’
‘No,’ replied Browland.
‘Have you, in fact, ever fired a gun?’
‘I ain’t, never.’ Browland suddenly looked apprehensive, very worried that the questioning was about to turn to the subject of pheasants.
‘You cannot tell us what kind of a gun it was?’
‘It were a double ’ammer.’
‘Was it a twelve-bore?’
‘It were that.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Mr Knott put’is ordinary cartridges in it.’
‘Did he use this gun much?’
‘It were only for vermin.’
‘Would you say it was in good condition?’
‘It were rusty, but Mr Knott ’ad it checked to see it were safe to fire.’
‘And did it always hang on the wall above the tank containing diesel fuel?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Was it there on the Monday?’
‘I dunno.’
‘When had you last seen it?’
Browland became uneasy.
The judge spoke in a friendly voice. ‘If you don’t know, just say so. There is nothing wrong in not knowing.’
‘I dunno, sir.’
‘Did you go into that store-room on the Monday?’ asked Hapwood.
‘I dunno.’
Hapwood turned and said something to his junior, then faced the witness-box once more. ‘Am I correct in saying that in so far as you do know, that gun could have been missing from its usual place for several days?’
‘I dunno.’
Hapwood shrugged his shoulders in a quick gesture of irritation, but the tenor of his voice had not changed when he next spoke. ‘How much diesel oil was in the tank?’
‘It were about ’alf full, I think.’
‘And how much paraffin was in the drum?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Did either container leak?’
‘The pump on the diesel leaked a bit. Then there was always some dripped out when the ’ose was brought back in.’
‘So presumably all this spilled over the floor?’
‘The floor were always in a mess.’
‘Was there usually much rubbish lying around — paper sacks, ordinary sacks, rags, that sort of thing?’
‘Mr Knott was always on at me to clear it up, but ’e paid me to milk the cows, not for nothing more.’
‘And you did not clean up?’
‘ ’E paid me to … ’
‘Quite so. Was there much else in the store-room that was inflammable?’
‘Doing what?’ asked Browland, bewildered by the question.
‘Were there many other things that would burn easily?’
‘There were bits of wood and things.’
‘Let us now deal with the early afternoon of Monday, the twenty-first of August. You were at your home, which is near Cregiton cross-roads?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And after lunch you went out?’
Browland suddenly fiddled with his nose. ‘I wanted to go for a walk.’ He looked nervously at Hapwood.
‘And while you were out on this walk you heard a shot?’
‘Yes.’
‘You told my learned friend that what you heard was both barrels of the shot-gun from the store-room being fired simultaneously. How do you know the gun used was the one from the store-room?’
Browland wriggled his shoulders. ‘The police said it were that gun,’ he mumbled.
Hapwood stared at the jury, an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Do you mean that you’re giving us the police’s evidence, not your own?’
‘I … I ’eard that shot.’
‘You heard a shot. But isn’t it fact that you have little idea what gun fired it?’
Browland stared dumbly at Hapwood.
‘You said the shot came from the direction of the farm. Are you quite certain of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you not agree that woods often distort the direction of a sound?’
‘It seemed to come from there.’
‘ “Seemed to”. You’re suddenly very much less certain than you were.’
‘I dunno,’ said Browland desperately.
‘Tell me, can you even be certain you did not hear any other shots that afternoon?’
‘There weren’t none others.’
‘Or you just didn’t hear any others?’
‘There weren’t none others,’ he cried.
Hapwood was about to continue that line of attack when he checked himself. Experience told him that to continue would be merely to alienate the jury, no matter how muddled he made the witness appear. ‘Did you have much to do with the general running of the farm?’
‘I only did the milking — ’e didn’t pay me for doing nothing more.’
‘So although you’ve told us the condition of the farm was going from bad to worse, you can’t know this from your own observations?’
‘But it were terrible. The milk kept dropping and what’s more the cows wouldn’t come bulling, they was thick with mastitis, and them what was calving was retaining their cleansings.’
Hapwood leaned back and spoke to his junior. ‘What the hell’s he talking about, Gerald?’
‘Search me. It’s obviously a lot easier to get your milk straight from the bottle.’
Hapwood turned over another page of the transcript of Browland’s evidence before the magistrates. He had, as always, made notes for his cross-examination in the margins and, as always, he had great difficulty in reading these notes. He began to question Browland about the fire.
The assize courtroom was part of the ugly, bombastic town hall in Relstone. The nearest police station with a canteen was a mile away and therefore Clayton lunched at a pub. He had eaten half his sandwiches when he saw Akers come into the bar. He silently groaned.
Akers ordered a half-pint of bitter and came across to Clayton’s table and sat down. ‘Everything’s going very smoothly,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘It certainly seems to be, sir.’
‘The press benches are full, aren’t they? As a matter of fact, I had quite a job to get away from the photographers just now.’ Akers drank, then put his glass on the table. ‘Those sandwiches look all right,’ he remarked.
Clayton pushed the plate across.
‘That’s noble of you,’ said Akers. He ate a sandwich. ‘The ham’s a bit stale.’ He picked up a second sandwich and ate that. ‘Well — how’s life in the sticks?’
‘Pretty much as it’s always been.’
‘Plenty of cases of chicken-stealing to keep you busy?’ Akers smiled. He took a handkerchief from the pocket of the very smart grey pin-striped suit he was wearing and brushed some crumbs away from his lips. ‘I’ve had one or two quite interesting cases since I was down here … Don’t mind if I have that last sandwich, do you? … but I managed to clear them up fairly smartly. You probably read about the one in Oxford.’
&nb
sp; ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t?’ Akers was very surprised.
Clayton finished his beer and put the glass down on the table in such a way that Akers could not help but notice it was empty. Akers did notice, but failed to do anything about it.
Hazel Clews went into the witness-box at three o’clock in the afternoon, just as the lights were turned on because the heavily overcast sky had made the courtroom quite gloomy.
She had dressed and made up with a far more conservative taste than usual and although nothing could hide her essential sexuality, there was at least an air of some propriety to it.
Her evidence-in-chief was fairly brief. She admitted she and Knott had had an affair, but said that Knott had made all the running and had told her his marriage had completely broken down. Because of this, she’d never felt she was harming his wife. Mrs Knott, who until that moment had sat huddled in the dock, suddenly stood up and shouted that Hazel Clews was a liar and she’d never had an affair with her husband. The burly wardress ordered Mrs Knott to be quiet and Hapwood whispered instructions to his junior, who left his seat, went down the steps to the dock, and spoke briefly to her.
Hapwood cross-examined. ‘Were you madly in love with Daniel Knott, a man almost twice your age?’ he asked quietly.
‘Of course not,’ she snapped.
‘Then in so far as you were concerned, this was just a casual affair?’
Too late, she realized how with one question he had stripped away most of her pretence.
‘How soon after you met did you first have sexual intercourse with him? One day, two days?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said loudly.
‘What was it like, then?’
She did not answer.
'Miss Clews, we have heard that Daniel Knott took out a life insurance for forty thousand pounds in March and named you sole beneficiary. When did you first know about this?’
‘I said I never did.’
'I did hear you make that denial to my learned friend, but I thought perhaps you might now wish to reconsider your answer.’
Dead Man's Bluff Page 15
