‘Oh,’ Ms Bonnard affects surprise. ‘Thailand, I’ve got that wrong then. Are you in touch with her?’
‘No, no… we weren’t friends, it’s just, it’s just I heard she was going to Thailand. Before, I mean, before the trial.’
‘Well, we shall make do just fine with you I’m sure. Why did this young woman come to you when she was concerned about Mr Costley’s behaviour? Why not make the complaint herself, directly to Human Resources I mean?’
‘She was new in her job, she felt a bit intimidated by the men in the office. She came to me because…’
‘That isn’t the real reason, is it DS Johns?’ Ms Bonnard is looking down as she makes this incendiary statement, and even though I later have cause to hate this young woman, I cannot help but admire her style, the way she lobs that contradiction over in such a casual manner, as if she is so confident of her ground she hardly needs to bother to put DS Johns in her place.
DS Johns only falters for a fraction of a second but it is unmistakable. ‘No, I, yes it was, I believe it was.’
‘The reason she made the complaint directly to you was because she knew you had had a short-lived relationship with Mr Costley and that it had ended acrimoniously and as such you would be more than ready to hear ill of him, wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s completely untrue.’ DS Johns glares at the jury.
‘Which bit, that you had been in a relationship or that it was over?’
‘A relationship. We weren’t, that’s not how I would describe it at all. He had propositioned me.’
‘You went for drinks after work with him on, I believe, three – or was it four – occasions?’
‘It was a few times, once or twice.’
‘Was it once, or twice?’
‘Twice maybe.’
‘Oh really, my information is, it was three times. Would you like me to furnish you with the dates? On the last of these occasions, April of last year, you and he had intimate contact in a well-known Westminster drinking hole, a pub called The Bull & Keg.’
DS Johns’ pale face is set hard. ‘Firstly, the first occasion was with a group of people. So I would call it twice. Secondly, that contact you are referring to was initiated by him and I told him to stop.’
‘Immediately?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Immediately. Did you ask Mr Costley to stop immediately?’
‘No, not immediately.’
Ms Bonnard’s voice becomes soft. ‘After around an hour, DS Johns, you and he left the pub together and walked to the Tube where you parted amicably enough for a brief embrace.’
DS Johns draws breath. ‘It, it made me uncomfortable. We had had a few drinks together, and on our third drink, he had his hand on my knee beneath the table for some time.’
‘It didn’t stay there, though, did it?’
‘No…’
‘DS Johns…’ Ms Bonnard affects a slightly weary air. ‘I have no wish to embarrass you in the courtroom so I suggest you allow me to explain to the jury. On that occasion you and Mr Costley had been drinking together since around 6 p.m. He had his hand on your knee beneath the table – you were being surreptitious because a group of other colleagues were also in the pub – and at some point, he moved his hand upwards beneath your skirt, pushed his fingers through your tights and into your knickers where he proceeded to, I believe the appropriate colloquialism is, finger you. You did not prevent him from doing so, or object in any way. In other words, you and he had intimate sexual contact, did you not? Which in many people’s eyes constitutes a relationship?’
And something happens at this point. Detective Sergeant Johns changes in front of our eyes. She stops being a professional, a police officer giving evidence in court, and becomes a person whose sex life we are all speculating about, seen through the prism of our own views on these matters. I am quite certain that the men in the court, her fellow officers seated at the back, the male jury members, perhaps even the judge, are now imagining her in her skirt, her legs parted. They are imagining what sort of knickers she was wearing at the time. I, of course, am doing the dates in my head and feeling slightly nauseated by the realisation that you were fingering DS Johns two or three weeks after we met. At least two of the women jury members are looking openly shocked. They would never let a man do that, therefore DS Johns must be someone completely unlike them. Another woman, an older woman, has narrowed her eyes sympathetically. I am sure that what she is sympathising with is DS Johns’ public humiliation. Either way, each of us, according to our own prejudices, is reducing DS Johns to some kind of symbol of how we feel about that kind of thing. She has now become defined by that act, or the fact that she failed to prevent that act.
‘I told him later that I didn’t like it, the next day at work.’
‘You told him later, not at the time?’
‘Yes, that’s right…’ DS Johns is breathing slowly and carefully and appears to have recovered a little of her composure. ‘I told him the next day at work that I wasn’t interested. After that, he became unfriendly and hostile. He made it clear he was giving me the cold shoulder. In meetings he would address other people and not me. He would get tea for other staff members and not me.’
‘And so, when your junior colleague came to you and complained about Mr Costley, you were only too happy to take her complaint to Human Resources?’
‘Yes,’ DS Johns replies firmly.
Ms Bonnard pauses to let the firmness of her answer ring in the air before saying quietly. ‘No further questions for this witness, My Lord.’
Yet again, Robert gets to his feet, gives his slight bow and says, ‘I have no questions for this witness, My Lord.’
The judge looks at Mrs Price and she stands. Her voice is gentle, maternal.
‘DS Johns, I won’t detain you long. Can I just say, after Mr Costley began this programme of giving you the cold shoulder following your rejection of his advances, did you upbraid him, or raise it with him at all?’
‘I tried to talk to him. When we were alone in the office, one afternoon, I tried to say that we should put it behind us.’
‘And what was his response?’
‘He told me I was paranoid.’
Mrs Price says nothing at this point, merely waits for a moment – to allow us, I think, to register the unfairness of the accusation. ‘Thank you, DS Johns.’
The judge leans forward and tells DS Johns that her ordeal is over.
We all watch DS Johns leave the court, the aura of what we know about her hanging about her like a perfume. I watch her go, observing that she seems small and neat, and young.
Mrs Price has remained on her feet, looks up at the public gallery, coughs and says, ‘My Lord, our next witness is Witness G.’
‘Yes, thank you, I’m aware of that,’ the judge says. ‘I suggest we break for lunch.’
You are just a man, Mark Costley. What did I expect? Did I really think that you chose me because I was special? I am feeling so weary and sad at the small betrayal you committed against me by chasing DS Johns that I fail to note – of course – the much greater betrayal you have just committed against her, fail to realise that, at some time, you must have discussed her in some detail with your cool young barrister with the straight auburn hair.
19
When we return to the dock after lunch, a heavy velvet curtain has been pulled across the front part of the court, the part that leads from the entrance to the witness box. There is a long thin rail in the ceiling to allow this. Witness G can now enter the court, give his evidence and leave unseen by us in the dock or anyone in the public gallery, although the jury will still be able to see him. I make a stab at guessing what he looks like, of course, from the timbre of his voice as he takes the oath. I imagine him to be similar to the older male jury member, the white man with the military bearing, a tougher, more weather-beaten version perhaps. I think of him as well over six foot, with neat grey hair. I imagine him standing in front of a mirror with one of those very
fine-toothed combs, the sort of comb my father used to use but that you don’t see much any more. I could be quite wrong though, I think: Witness G could be small and ginger and weaselly – just one of the many things I will never be sure about.
He reads the oath in a loud, clear voice and declines to sit when the judge invites him to. When Mrs Price gets on her feet for the examination-in-chief, she almost gives a small bow before she begins.
‘Witness G, thank you for coming to court. Now, by way of explanation to the court as to why you have special measures, would you please explain what your job is?’
From the way his voice carries, I am guessing Witness G is facing the jury full on. ‘My title is Chief Training Operative.’
‘You work for MI5, our security services?’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
The jury are all staring in the direction of the witness box, intent and impressed.
‘And can you explain what a Chief Training Operative is or does?’
‘Yes, certainly. My job is to oversee the very rigorous testing that we put all potential operatives through, both physical and psychological.’
‘Can you explain why the psychological element of the testing process is important?’ Mrs Price is coasting, at this point.
‘Certainly, yes…’ He clears his throat, in order to impart his expertise all the more efficiently. ‘One of the most important skills a security operative needs to have is the ability to disguise their true profession from his or her friends and family. Some say they are civil servants, others working for import or export companies, academic careers, a job with the European Union. It’s imperative that our operatives have the ability to handle this deceit over an extended period otherwise they might put themselves, their families and the service at risk.’
‘It must cause them some difficulties, sometimes, not even being able to tell their own husband or wife what they do?’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
Because I can’t see Witness G, I watch the jury. I want to see the looks on their faces when the full truth about what you do is revealed. I wonder whether the thrust of Ms Bonnard’s case will be that you were traumatised by your work, if that will be the nature of the diminished responsibility plea.
The jury’s interest is piqued. Here is what they were hoping for when they were selected for jury service: a good story.
‘So how do you go about finding out whether or not any given individual is suited for a lifetime of deceit?’
Witness G gives a brief pause – I imagine a small, ironic smile. ‘Well, of course, the exact methods we use are confidential…’
There is a tinge of impatience in Mrs Price’s voice, even though Witness G is her witness. My guess is, she is not a woman who enjoys being patronised. ‘Yes yes, I understand, but could you just give the court some idea.’
‘We subject a potential candidate to a very thorough procedure extending over several months. There are psychological questionnaires and interviews. Then we put them in a situation within a company where they have to maintain a completely fake name, personal history, identity, over an extended period of time. Some people working in that company will be part of our training staff but the potential operative won’t know which. Those people’s job is to test the operative’s ability to maintain their cover story.’
‘It sounds to me…’ Mrs Price says slowly, choosing her words with care, ‘as though this procedure is an invitation to become paranoid. It must be very difficult to know the truth about yourself at the end of it. Isn’t it an invitation to fantasists?’
By now, I know that a good barrister never asks a question without being sure of the answer the witness will give.
‘Absolutely not,’ Witness G says firmly. ‘The opposite in fact. A fantasist who was unable to distinguish between truth and fiction would be a liability to himself and to the service. One of my most important responsibilities is to weed out the fantasists. In a situation of stress, they would be unreliable.’
The jury members are agog, staring at Witness G. I feel a little more sceptical myself. How do you tell a genuine fantasist from someone who is just very good at deceit? Could any psychological process ‘weed out’ a true fantasist? Surely the boundary between the two must be very blurry and, if it isn’t before an individual enters the service, it certainly would be after they had been in it for a few years.
‘Thank you, that’s very illuminating,’ Mrs Price says. ‘I want to turn now to the matter before this court, in particular to your contact with Mr Mark Costley. Now, we are going a few years back here so you may refer to your notes if you need to.’ She pauses. Witness G must have brought a notebook or folder into court with him.
‘Just after he joined the Estate staff, Mr Costley applied to join the security services, did he not?
‘That is correct.’
I glance at the jury again and feel a small thrill of childish satisfaction: I already know something you are about to find out. ‘Would I be right in saying that you were in charge of reviewing his application to join the service after the first round of psychological testing, the questionnaire, the interview and so on?’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
‘And can you tell me what conclusion you came to?’’
‘Yes, it was decided that Mr Costley was not a suitable candidate to proceed to the next stage of training.’
What I feel then is not so much shock as bafflement – my first reaction is to wonder if this is some sort of sophisticated double-bluff. I cannot help myself from glancing sideways at you. You are staring straight ahead, your face impassive. All those hints you dropped me? The different phones? The safe house? When my momentary bafflement passes, what I feel is cold, just cold. You’re not a spy; the spies didn’t want you. Why did you lie to me, or not lie to me exactly, but allow me to think you were so much more enigmatic than you were? Didn’t you think that sex in the Crypt Chapel while Parliament was in session was strange and exciting enough? I would have been thrilled and disturbed by that if you had worked for the Palace of Westminster catering department. It wasn’t about your job. Why did you feel the need to seduce me with a lie? But you didn’t lie, of course, not outright. You simply kept yourself mysterious enough to encourage me to make up my own story.
‘And why was that?’ Mrs Price is asking Witness G.
‘It became apparent during the testing that Mr Costley had some degree of difficulty with the boundaries between truth and fiction. In short, that when invited to stick to a cover story, he came to believe it himself. This is exactly what I was saying earlier about a fantasist, the difference between someone who can maintain a lie over an extended period and someone who actually convinces himself it is the truth.’
‘What you are describing sounds close to a personality disorder, isn’t it?’
‘I would say not,’ Witness G replies. ‘I would say that…’
Ms Bonnard is on her feet immediately. ‘My Lord, this witness is not a trained psychologist. He is not qualified to answer that question.’
The judge merely looks over his glasses at Mrs Price. She apologises readily, her point already made. ‘I beg your pardon, I’ll rephrase the question. Witness G, would it be fair to say that Mr Costley exhibited behaviour during his assessment that suggested he had difficulties distinguishing the boundaries between truth and fiction?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And was your concern about his inability to distinguish boundaries sufficient for you to reject him as a suitable candidate, despite the fact that he had already passed the physical assessment and was extremely keen, as far as you could tell, to join the service?’
‘Yes, that is correct. We don’t accept candidates lightly but we don’t reject them lightly either. Mr Costley’s enthusiasm was not in doubt and I am sure he was doing a very able job in his position with Houses of Parliament security but in my opinion, he was an unsuitable candidate for us.’
Up until now, Mrs Price seems to h
ave been supporting the idea of you as mentally unstable, but, of course, she was merely building that idea up in order to knock it down. ‘But… am I correct in understanding that, despite his unsuitability for the security services, you did not feel enough concern about his mental stability to report him to his line manager at the House of Commons?’
‘I didn’t consider him actively unstable, no.’
‘Can we be quite clear about this. Mr Costley was, after all, partially responsible for ensuring the smooth running of the democratic processes of this country. You didn’t feel any twinge of anxiety after you assessed him, about his fitness to continue in his current post?’
‘No, as I’ve already said, not at all.’
Mrs Price chooses to labour the point. ‘So although you felt he might have difficulties distinguishing between fact and fiction, you were happy enough with his mental state to allow him to continue working in a bureaucratic but nonetheless highly sensitive role involving the safety and security of our elected Members of Parliament, in a building which must be on a constant state of high security alert?’
Witness G lets his voice ring. ‘Yes, that is correct.’
*
Ms Bonnard is almost twitching as she rises for the cross-examination. After her interjection during the examination-in-chief, it is obvious what tack she will take. She keeps Witness G waiting for the briefest of moments while she adjusts her wig very slightly and tucks a lock of hair back underneath it. This is very finely judged. She can show him no obvious courtesy or disrespect but she wants to make it clear that, unlike others in the court, she is not overly impressed by him. When she looks in his direction, I can see as she turns her head that she gives him a slow, warm smile.
She begins by taking Witness G back over his rejection of you. When she has done this, she adds, ‘…and this was, wasn’t it, you have said as much already, solely because of your concerns over his psychological state?’
He concedes the point readily enough. ‘Solely because of those concerns, yes.’
Apple Tree Yard Page 27
