Charlie

by Lesley Pearse

  Charlie could see now that Rita was right to go looking like this. The defence lawyers might try to discredit her by bringing up that she was a night-club hostess, but every member of the jury would look at those photographs of her scarred body, then at her sweet face and lovely hair, and despair that such a pretty woman had missed out on happiness, love and marriage.

  ‘I wish I could come with you, to hold your hand,’ Charlie sighed. ‘But you’ll be in my thoughts all day.’

  ‘And mine,’ Andrew said, getting up to plant a kiss on Rita’s cheek. ‘Now would you like a lift on my scooter?’

  Rita hooted with laughter at his joke. ‘Now, with my old image I might have taken you up on it. But today I think I’ll swan off in a taxi. I am after all getting my expenses paid. Besides, looking like this I might pull some famous barrister while sitting around waiting to be called.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Charlie laughed. ‘You go in there and knock them dead. Make sure you make lots of impudent faces at the Dexters too.’

  *

  Jin Weish’s photograph was on the front page of two of the tabloids that morning, giving Charlie something of a start as it was a photograph she’d taken herself in the garden of ‘Windways’ a year before his death. He was wearing an open-necked shirt, sitting by the summer-house, smiling, with a glass of beer in his hand. Sylvia had loved it, she said he looked just the way he had when they first met, boyish and happy, and she’d rushed to get it enlarged, and pinned it up in the kitchen. Charlie could only imagine that the police had taken it at the time of his disappearance and distributed copies of it around London, for she hadn’t seen it since. Yet even though it was an unexpected jolt, she was glad the papers had used it, for it was a far more endearing image than ones taken at smart dinner and cocktail parties. He looked the way she wanted to remember him, just Daddy in the garden.

  The copy which accompanied it centred mainly on the evidence Dave had given in court the previous day, but Charlie was cheered further to read that a forensic scientist who had been called to the witness box immediately after Dave had confirmed that it was possible to get a good view of the warehouse through the crack in the floor above, and also that the window was an excellent vantage-point, night or day, to see a long stretch of the river. He went on to say that the heavy weights retrieved with the body came from a Victorian scale and were missing parts of a set found recently in the warehouse. Also the angle that the bullets had penetrated the body was consistent with the information disclosed to the police. There was also a paragraph about Dave bringing up his daughter alone, and the threats made against her which bought his silence.

  Charlie was on edge all morning wondering how Rita was holding up in court, but she didn’t have to wait for news for as long as she expected. Everyone in the laboratory knew about Rita’s role in the case. She had told them about it at the same time she informed her parents, but when she swept into Haagman’s during the early afternoon, every member of staff’s mouth dropped open in astonishment at her dramatically changed appearance. All work stopped as they clamoured round her for news; even the Hag came out of her office.

  Charlie leapt to her feet. ‘How did it go?’ she asked anxiously.

  Rita gave a cynical half-smile. ‘You’d have been proud of me, I wrung the last drop of sympathy out of the court as I described what she did to me. When the prosecution chap led me into saying that I’d lived like a hermit for the last eight years, in terrible fear for my son, I could see the jury were all on my side, a couple of the women were even dabbing at their eyes.’

  ‘Great!’ Charlie exclaimed jubilantly.

  ‘But the defence barrister was an absolute bastard,’ Rita went on, her smile fading. ‘He twisted everything. He suggested it was me who was jealous of Daphne Dexter, not the other way round, and I was using her and her brothers as a convenient scapegoat, when my scars could have been made by someone else.’

  ‘He didn’t!’ Charlie burst out, unable to believe anyone could suggest such a thing.

  ‘He did. I felt like screaming at him, especially when he went to great pains to sway the jury into thinking the word of a girl who had dumped her unwanted baby on her parents, and made a living from using men, wasn’t to be believed.’

  ‘Poor Rita,’ Charlie said in sympathy, but to her surprise her friend laughed.

  ‘Poor Rita nothing!’ she said, her eyes twinkling with merriment. ‘As I came out the Old Bailey, a reporter from the Daily Mirror came up to me. He’s offered me money for the exclusive rights to my story.’

  It was typical of Rita’s character that she’d find something to give her the strength to bounce back. But Charlie wondered how much deep hurt she was concealing. She intended to tackle her when she got home.

  That weekend passed in a bewildering and exhausting fashion. Charlie got home from work just in time for the six o’clock news and saw Rita filmed as she left the Old Bailey. The newscaster spoke only of her being a key witness for the prosecution and there was a brief description of her mutilation as they showed film of the cellar at The Manse.

  ‘See! They didn’t even say anything nasty about you,’ Charlie said triumphantly. ‘And you looked like a film star!’

  Rita just laughed and said she’d already had two phone calls, one from the Mirror and one from the News of the World, and she’d said she’d call them back in a few days to discuss money. Moving on swiftly from that she said there had been a message that Charlie and Andrew were to be called earlier than they’d expected to give their evidence. They were to be at the Old Bailey at nine-thirty the following Tuesday.

  ‘About the deal with a newspaper,’ Charlie said, realizing Rita didn’t intend to discuss it. ‘You will be careful that they agree to print what you want, won’t you? I mean, it’s a real chance to set the record straight, so Paul and your parents can see how it really was for you. Don’t sell it to someone who might portray you in the wrong way.’

  ‘I’m quite capable of working that out for myself, bossy boots,’ Rita grinned. ‘Neither are you the only one with a brain.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘Well, that’s settled then. Now, what did the Dexters look like today?’

  Rita shivered. ‘That was the worst bit,’ she said, grimacing. ‘The brothers didn’t even look at me, they kept their eyes down at all times. But she never took her eyes off me. It brought that night back so vividly. I swear she was trying to warn me she could still get to me, even from prison.’

  ‘But she can’t,’ Charlie assured her, glad that Rita was finally admitting how she really felt. ‘That’s just bravado. She hasn’t got any friends now. I bet they haven’t got one witness on their side.’

  ‘They have,’ Rita retorted. ‘The chap from the witness service who looked after me told me. And they are pulling out all the stops to show what a grim childhood they had.’

  ‘That won’t change the jury’s thinking,’ Charlie said with a shrug. ‘Both my parents had terrible ones, it didn’t turn them into killers. But anyway, tell me how you thought Daphne looked, compared with how she used to be?’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t look like Elizabeth Taylor any more, more like Bette Davis on a bad day,’ Rita grinned. ‘She looked gaunt, her skin kind of yellowy. I couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was your mum didn’t hang on. She might have got some degree of comfort from seeing her old enemy brought to her knees.’

  It was then Charlie decided to tell Rita about Dave Kent, and all he’d passed on to her about the relationship between Jin and Daphne.

  ‘He might say your dad was a dark horse, you’re even more so,’ Rita exclaimed. ‘Never mind going into antiques, you ought to be a private detective!’

  Saturday’s and Sunday’s papers were full of the case. Andrew went out and bought all of them, and they read every word. Meanwhile the phone never seemed to stop ringing. Journalists, old friends of Rita’s, distant relatives, they all wanted to know the inside story. But Rita remained very cool and said she wasn’t allowed to
discuss the case until it was over.

  It was late on Sunday evening after Andrew had gone home that Rita suddenly began to cry.

  ‘What on earth’s wrong?’ Charlie asked. She might be one for bursting into tears, but Rita wasn’t.

  ‘Just all those people who haven’t bothered with me for years suddenly making out they care,’ she said bitterly, dabbing at her eyes. ‘But not a word from my parents.’

  Charlie didn’t know what to say. She knew exactly how Rita must feel – she hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the way those people in Dartmouth reacted to her when her mother was in hospital and her father disappeared. Some of them had the cheek to come fawning round her again at her father’s funeral, but she’d given them all short shrift.

  She moved over to sit by her friend and cuddled her. ‘Try not to let it get to you,’ she said eventually. ‘The people who phoned are just vultures. And your parents are blinkered. But Andrew and I both love you because we know your worth, so does everyone at work, even the Hag is on your side. Sod your parents, Rita, they don’t deserve you anyway.’

  ‘It’s not them so much, it’s Paul’s feelings I’m worried about,’ Rita replied. ‘I don’t even know if they explained it to him.’

  ‘I expect they did, no one would willingly let a sixteen-year-old boy find it out by accident. And unless he’s very unusual, I bet this has made him far more curious about you. I reckon he’ll turn up here before long to see you.’

  ‘I don’t think so, you can bet Mum and Dad have poisoned his mind.’

  ‘Mum did her best to poison mine about Dad,’ Charlie said. ‘But she didn’t succeed, kids are smarter than adults realize. Paul won’t think it’s so terrible being illegitimate, or you working in a night-club – this is the Seventies, remember, nobody gives a jot about that sort of stuff any more. And then there’s the story you’re going to sell, that will tell the whole truth.’

  Rita smiled weakly. ‘I used to be the mother figure around here,’ she said. ‘How come our roles are reversing?’

  Charlie laughed. ‘As you are so fond of telling me, I’m just a bossy boots who thinks she knows everything.’

  *

  On Tuesday morning Charlie was awake at six, shaking with fear at the thought of the day ahead. A week ago she had been eagerly awaiting it, but until she heard Rita’s experiences she hadn’t fully appreciated how unpleasant the defence lawyers could be.

  She met Andrew at nine outside the Old Bailey. He too looked drawn and anxious, and it was strange to see him in a suit and tie, he looked so much older than in his usual jeans. She kissed him and asked him where he’d got the suit.

  ‘I borrowed it from John,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘It makes me feel as if I’m going to a funeral. But you look lovely.’

  She was wearing a plain black dress with a red jacket over it. Red made her look confident, even if she wasn’t inside.

  ‘Have you got the collywobbles?’ she asked as they went for a quick cup of coffee before going in.

  Andrew grinned. ‘The screaming ones,’ he admitted. ‘But by this afternoon our part in all this will be over. Let’s get paralytic tonight.’

  Just walking up the steps and through the imposing door of the Old Bailey made them even more nervous. It was as quiet as a church but with its shiny dark grey marble floors and pillars it had the unexpected opulence of a palace. They were met by a small wiry man from the witness service, who introduced himself as Brian and explained it was his job to look after them. He led them up a wide staircase, and smiled at them both when they paused to gawp in surprise at the fantastic frescoes on the domed ceiling.

  ‘Uplifting, aren’t they?’ he said, and pointed out his favourite which was a scene from the Crimean war. ‘Somehow it always reminds me how great Britain was, and still is. Our system of justice is admired the world over.’

  As she walked past Charlie noted the inscription, ‘Moses gave unto the people the laws of God,’ and it gave her a shred of comfort that laws that had stood for so many centuries couldn’t be just pushed aside by the likes of the Dexters.

  ‘You’ll be in Court Two,’ Brian said, waving his hand to show them which of the many doors that was, then promptly whisked them into a small room where they would wait with him until they were called to the courtroom.

  ‘Now, there’s nothing to be scared of,’ he said reassuringly as they sat down. ‘Some of the questions the barristers put to you may seem odd, even irrelevant at times, but that’s just because it’s their job to dig out the whole truth, not just from you two, but from everyone else involved in this case. Sometimes the judge might ask you a question directly, if he wants something clarified. You address him as “My Lord”.’

  As they waited Brian chatted, asking Andrew about City University and what he intended to do when he got his degree. Charlie was aware the man was doing his best to put them both at their ease, but she found it impossible to join in the conversation for listening for any sounds outside their door.

  It was so very quiet, as though they were the only people in the entire building. Brian explained when she finally managed to voice this that the jury filed into the court from another direction, the prisoners were brought up from the basement through yet another way, and even the public gallery was reached separately.

  They hadn’t been in the room more than fifteen minutes when the usher called Andrew in. Charlie thought he was very cool; he grinned at her, squeezed her hand and marched out smartly. She wondered whether he was really as scared as she was.

  The waiting seemed interminable. Brian offered her a newspaper to read, but her eyes seemed not to be able to focus on it. Just occasionally she heard tip-tapping feet pass by outside the room, and there was a constant hum of traffic from out in the road, but there was nothing at all to take her mind off watching the hands of her watch creep round and wondering what she was in for later.

  Finally, soon after eleven, Andrew came back smiling reassuringly. Brian had already warned her that she mustn’t try to discuss the case until after she’d given her own evidence, so all she could do was grip his hand as they both drank the coffee brought to them.

  The wigged and gowned court usher came for her at exactly eleven-thirty.

  ‘Good luck,’ Andrew whispered as she left. ‘Speak up and don’t let them intimidate you. I’ll be waiting for you here.’

  Charlie’s nervousness increased the moment she walked through the doors. Although the courtroom wasn’t anywhere near as big as she’d expected, it made her feel very small and insignificant. Everything was of heavy dark wood, from the panelled walls, to the dock, the jury benches and the raised bench at which the judge sat. His red robes were the only splash of colour in the entire room, and although at first glance the court appeared to have a glass roof, the image of natural light was faked, it was just lights set behind glass. There were so many people too, apart from all those engaged in the trial, wearing wigs and gowns and seated in the well of the court. Almost every seat in the press benches was taken, and Charlie could hear coughing and whispering coming from the public gallery which was above the jury benches and out of her line of vision.

  Her voice shook as she took the oath – she was only too well aware of Daphne Dexter studying her insolently from the dock to her left. Despite what Rita had said about Daphne’s appearance, from Charlie’s swift glance at her she thought the woman looked pretty good. She was wearing a black jacket and a white blouse, her dark hair pinned up in a bun.

  It was difficult to tell which of the brothers was the one who had caught her in the garden, as they were so staggeringly alike, both dressed in dark suits and white shirts, with short-cropped dark hair, an identical burly build and square jaws. But neither of them looked at her; they were both studying their laps.

  The prosecution barrister was a short, stocky man with glasses and traces of a North Country accent. Charlie had been told by Brian that his name was Underwood, and he took her straight into the events of the day Sylvia was
attacked. Charlie described where she was when she first heard the car draw up, and how she was getting dressed when she heard her mother scream, and what she saw from the window before running to call the police.

  Underwood then led her onto the aftermath, her mother’s loss of mobility, her depression and misery through losing their former home. It was clear to Charlie by his penetrating questions about how they lived in Mayflower Close until the day Sylvia took her life, that he wished to establish in the jury’s minds the full picture of the havoc that had been wreaked on both women through the vicious attack and Jin’s disappearance. There were no interruptions throughout these questions, yet when Underwood asked Charlie when she first heard about Daphne Dexter from her mother and what was said, the defence leapt up to say this was hearsay. The prosecution claimed what she had said was vital evidence and the judge ruled Charlie could go on.

  ‘My mother only ever called her by her nickname DeeDee,’ Charlie said, going on to repeat the rest of what she’d been told.

  ‘What was your mother’s attitude to this other woman in your father’s life?’ Underwood asked.

  ‘Bewilderment that her old friend had done such a thing. Anger, jealousy too of course, but she seemed to be very frightened of the woman as well.’

  Charlie found she was regaining her confidence as his questions seemed so sympathetic. She found she wasn’t even thrown by the many times the defence interrupted with claims that his opposite part was leading the witness.

  There were no further interruptions from the defence as she was asked how she met Rita, and how it came about that Andrew set out to try and solve the mystery of her missing father. Finally just the part about her ordeal in The Manse remained. Underwood asked her first if the man who locked her up was in the court today. She agreed he was one of the two men in the dock, but could only guess which one because they were so alike. Then Underwood asked if the woman she saw through the dining-hatch was in the court. Charlie said she was and pointed to Daphne.

  The look Daphne gave her was one of pure loathing. Her lips curled back and her vivid blue eyes flashed with menace. Even in the safety of the court Charlie felt shaken and it brought it home to her how terrible it must have been for Rita to face her again.