Thomas didn’t answer. He’d begun work on another can.
“We should still be okay even if we get the certificates at twelve-twenty. It’s not far from here to the court in a taxi, and then we’ve only got to find Sergeant Hearns. He’ll sort it out, Tom.”
“If he can. But it may be too late by then. My father told me that Greta’s not calling any other witnesses except him, so once he’s given evidence, we’ve had it. Hearns said that there can’t be any more evidence after the defense has closed its case.”
“We should have gotten him to help with this.”
“I couldn’t get hold of him all day yesterday, and he’s not going to get the information any quicker this morning than we are. Besides, what we’ve got out of the index book doesn’t really amount to that much if you think about it. Jonathan B. Rowes married a Someone Grahame somewhere in Liverpool sometime in 1989. So what! Why should Rowes be Rosie? Why should Grahame be Greta?”
“Because they are,” said Matthew fervently. “Because of what your father heard Greta saying on the telephone. That she wasn’t his Greta Rose anymore.”
“But she can explain that. Greta Rose is her real name. That much is in the index books.”
“His Greta Rose. That’s what she said.”
“All right, Matthew,” said Thomas, suddenly smiling. “You’re right. We’ve got to keep our hopes up and stop speculating.”
But Thomas’s frustration returned as he gazed up at the cafeteria clock for the hundredth time that morning just as the hands came together at noon.
The bells of the City’s many churches had just finished tolling the hour when John Sparling rose from his chair to resume his cross-examination of Lady Greta Robinson. The courtroom was packed, but there was no noise at all. The world outside seemed a very long way away.
“Let’s focus on the events surrounding the murder of Lady Anne Robinson,” said the prosecution barrister.
“If you wish,” replied Greta in a tone that implied that she didn’t mind if they did or they didn’t.
“You told us yesterday that you rang up Mrs. Ball at Lady Anne’s request to ask if Thomas could go over there.”
“That’s right. It was on the Sunday afternoon.”
“Had Lady Anne ever asked you to do such a thing before?”
“She may have done. I don’t recall. It didn’t seem a very significant request at the time. She had one of her headaches and so she asked me to make the call.”
“Did Lady Anne say why she wanted Thomas to go to his friend’s for the night?”
“No.”
“Didn’t the request strike you as being a bit strange?”
“No. As I said, the whole thing didn’t seem very significant.”
“But Lady Anne had never asked you to make any arrangement for Thomas in all the two and a half years that you’d been working for her husband. Isn’t that right, Lady Robinson?”
“I told you, Mr. Sparling. I don’t recall.”
“You don’t recall. Do you recall lying to Jane Martin about how the arrangement came to be made?”
“No, but I recall Jane Martin lying to this court about what I said to her. I never told her that Mrs. Ball had invited Thomas.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I simply told her about the arrangement. I said nothing about whose idea it was. There was no reason to. She didn’t ask and I didn’t tell her.”
“Why wouldn’t Lady Anne have called Mrs. Ball and made the arrangement herself?”
“Because she had a headache. I told you that already.”
“It must have been a pretty bad headache to stop her making a quick telephone call.”
“It was. They weren’t really headaches, they were more like migraines that she got. She couldn’t do anything when she had them.”
“Except that on this particular Sunday she was able to give you instructions about ringing up Mrs. Ball and making an arrangement for Thomas.”
“That’s right. It didn’t take long.”
“But nor would it have taken her long to make the call.”
“I don’t know. Maybe Anne thought that Mrs. Ball would keep her on the phone.”
“Where’s all this heading, Mr. Sparling?” asked the judge, stirring restlessly in his chair. “We seem to be going round in circles. I think it would be best if you just put your case on this issue and then moved on.”
“Yes, my Lord. My case is this, Lady Robinson. You telephoned Mrs. Ball and made the arrangement yourself without consulting anyone and then you told Lady Anne and Jane Martin afterward that it was Mrs. Ball who had called up to invite Thomas.”
“Why would I do all this, Mr. Sparling?” asked Greta evenly. “Why would I make this arrangement?”
Sparling did not answer immediately. He made it a policy not to allow defendants to start asking the questions. That meant surrendering control over the cross-examination; it meant surrendering his greatest advantage. However, the situation here was different. He could see the jurors looking at him expectantly out of the corner of his eye. They wanted to hear his answer. The trouble was that this was not the strongest part of his case. Sparling inwardly cursed the judge for his intervention. It had forced him onto his back foot, and now the defendant was trying to push him over.
“You did all this because you wanted Thomas Robinson out of the house on the Monday evening so that Lady Anne would be alone and defenseless when the killers came.”
“So I basically wanted to kill the mother but save the son. Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Sparling?” asked Greta with a look of bafflement on her face.
“That’s right, Lady Robinson,” said Sparling. “You had no reason to suspect that Thomas had seen you with your accomplice in London.”
Greta was about to respond, but Sparling pressed straight on to his next question before she could do so.
“You left the study window open for them, didn’t you?”
“No, I just forgot about it.”
“Thomas found it wide open when he got back to the house from the Balls.”
“Yes, I opened it wide because it was stuffy in the study when I was working in there. I’m not the only one who says it was a warm evening. Besides, Anne hadn’t gone to bed when we left.”
“Are you saying you expected her to close it?”
“No, I’m saying I forgot about it. It wasn’t dark and I didn’t think.”
“The men who came expected to find it open though, didn’t they, Lady Robinson? That’s why one of them said that they’re all fucking closed.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“And that’s why they smashed the glass in the window that you left open. Not the other study window; not the windows in the dining room. They smashed that window because that’s the one they expected to get in by if Thomas hadn’t closed it.” Sparling’s voice became more insistent as he pressed his point home.
“I told you already. I had nothing to do with these men. I left the window open by mistake. I admitted it to Sergeant Hearns the same night. I didn’t try to make a secret of it.”
“You don’t admit leaving the door in the north wall open though, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But the killers came through there even though Jane Martin locked the door at five o’clock. How do you explain that?”
“It must have been Anne who opened it when she went for a walk after we left.”
“If she went for a walk! I suggest she did no such thing. You got Thomas out of the house, you opened the door in the north wall, and you opened the window in the study. Then you left with Lady Anne’s husband, knowing that she would be dead before you got back to London. What do you say about that, Lady Robinson?”
“I say it’s a lie. A wicked lie. I’m not guilty of this charge,” Greta’s voice rang with conviction. Miles Lambert thought she looked quite stunning with her flashing green eyes and two spots of color in the center of her wide cheeks.
/> “Not guilty, eh? Well, we’ll leave that to the jury to decide, shall we? I want to ask you about Lady Anne’s locket now. Why did you say to Thomas, ‘Give that to me, it’s mine’ when he first showed you the locket?”
“I didn’t. I said no such thing.”
“So both Thomas and Matthew Barne lied to this court about that, did they?”
“Of course they did. They’d gotten their story worked out together by then. It was different on the day. That boy Matthew ran out of the house when Peter asked him if it was true that I’d said that.”
“And Thomas and Jane Martin are lying about Lady Anne wearing the locket after she came back from London, are they?”
“Yes. Well, Thomas is anyway. I don’t think Jane said she did see the locket; just something gold, which she thought was the locket. That’s how I remember what she said.”
“Thomas saw something gold too though, didn’t he, when Rosie straightened up after bending down over Lady Anne’s body? That was when Rosie took the locket, wasn’t it, Lady Robinson, leaving that scratch mark on Lady Anne’s neck, which Detective Constable Butler told us about last week?”
“No. She left it in the bathroom in Chelsea when she was up for the flower show. Then we all went down to the coast together on the Saturday, and so no one was in the bathroom again until I used it in the middle of the following week. Peter stayed down in Flyte after the murder.”
“But why did you use that bathroom? It’s at the top of the house, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s on the third floor, not the fourth, and the cleaner was in the downstairs lavatory when I used it.”
“Yes, I understand that, but why not use your own bathroom in the basement? That would be nearer, wouldn’t it, if you were working on the ground floor?”
“I don’t know. I can’t explain that. Maybe because the bathroom upstairs is nicer than the one in the basement. Maybe I just felt like a change of bathroom.”
“And that made it worth climbing three flights of stairs instead of going down one, did it?”
“I guess so.” Greta shrugged.
“You never found that locket in any bathroom, did you, Lady Robinson? You got it from Lady Anne’s killer.”
“Why would I want it? It’s not exactly the most valuable of the Sackville jewels, is it, Mr. Sparling?”
“Because you wanted it as a trophy. The locket and the photograph inside it were a symbol of your employer’s marriage, and now Lady Anne was dead and you could marry Sir Peter.”
“So I put it in the desk and waited for someone to find it,” said Greta mockingly. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“No, you hid it in the desk in a secret recess. Lady Robinson, I must remind you that I’m not here to answer your questions. It’s the other way round. You’re here to answer mine.” Greta looked away from Sparling toward the jury and smiled. The barrister turned a page of his notes and asked her his next question.
“Why didn’t you tell Sir Peter about the locket?”
“Because I didn’t want to upset him.”
“But it was already a week after the murder when he got back to London. Surely it would have been a comfort to him to have the locket. It showed how much Lady Anne cared about him, didn’t it? That she should have been wearing a locket containing a picture of him only a couple of days before her death; that she took it to London with her.”
“I didn’t see it that way.”
“But you thought it was important, didn’t you? That’s why you put it in the secret recess.”
“I thought it would be safe there.”
“So why didn’t you give the locket back to Sir Peter after he had calmed down?”
“Because I forgot about it. I had a lot on my mind. You seem to forget that I was arrested on the day of Lady Anne’s funeral, Mr. Sparling.”
“You forgot about it even though you had taken the trouble to put it in such a safe place and had decided not to speak to Sir Peter about it because you thought it would upset him. That doesn’t make much sense, does it, Lady Robinson?”
“I don’t know whether it makes sense or not, Mr. Sparling. All I can tell you is that last summer was one of the most stressful periods of my life. I got arrested for murder. My employer had lost his wife. And his son was conducting a witch-hunt against both of us, aided and abetted by the Suffolk police. Personally I’m not that surprised that I forgot about the locket.”
“But I suggest that you did not forget about it, Lady Robinson. You knew it was there. You just didn’t expect anyone to find it.”
“I forgot about it.”
“Mr. Sparling,” said the judge. “I notice that we are fast approaching one o’clock. Do you have much more, or would this be a convenient time to stop for lunch?”
“I have only one more question, my Lord. Perhaps it would be better if I asked it now rather than waiting.”
“Certainly, Mr. Sparling. Carry on.”
“Lady Robinson, I put it to you that you received this locket from the man called Rosie, who visited you in your flat in April of last year and killed Lady Anne at the end of May. The same Rosie who returned to the House of the Four Winds two weeks ago, when he referred to you by name. You conspired with him to commit murder and to divide the spoils between you.”
“I conspired with no one,” said Greta. “And what’s more, I don’t know anyone called Rosie or anyone with a name remotely like that. I’ve already told you that, Mr. Sparling.”
“My Lord, I have no more questions,” said the prosecution barrister. He wished he could have done more with Greta, but she seemed — just like Matthew Barne had said — to have an answer for every question. Repeating his questions would only make them sound weaker. Sparling felt the case slipping out of his grasp. It filled him with angry frustration, and he looked down at his papers to ensure that none of the jurors would be able to read the irritation written so plainly on his face.
“Mr. Lambert, do you have any other witnesses?” asked the judge once Greta had resumed her seat in the dock.
“One more, my Lord. My client’s husband, Sir Peter Robinson.”
“Well, we’ll hear from him at two o’clock then. Enjoy your lunch, members of the jury,” said the judge, avoiding the eye of the furious forewoman. She looked at that moment like she wanted to attack someone with her black leather handbag. Judge Granger felt grateful that he didn’t have to have his lunch with her.
Chapter 26
Afterward Thomasnever knew how they managed to get through the two hours that they had to wait in the cafeteria of the Family Records Office. It was torture watching the second hand of the big clock on the wall making its rounds while the evidence went on at the Old Bailey and Andrew dealt with the priority collections of those sensible enough to have made their applications earlier on the day before. He was visible through the window in the door of the cafe, and several times Matthew had to restrain Thomas from rushing out to physically attack the collections clerk.
It was in fact 12:17 when their number came up on the screen and 12:19 when Thomas snatched the certificates from Andrew’s hand. He and Matthew then left the building almost at a run so that there was no opportunity for Matthew to see if Andrew had finally had to resort to his buzzer.
Out on the sidewalk Thomas opened the envelope with trembling hands. The red birth certificate came out first, but he barely glanced at the document, handing it to Matthew while he unfolded the green marriage certificate and began to read.
“‘Certificate No. 38. Married on the twenty-sixth day of November 1989 at the Register Office in Liverpool. Jonathan Barry Rowes aged twenty-one years, Bachelor, to Greta Rose Grahame aged eighteen, both residents of Manchester.’ “
“Give me the birth certificate, Matt, quick,” said Thomas. His excitement made both his hand and his voice shake as he compared the two documents.
“Father’s name and surname: George Reynolds Grahame. Occupation: Factory worker. Name and surname of father: George Reynolds Grahame.
Occupation: retired. They’re the same, Matt. We’ve got her now. We’ve got the murdering bitch.” Thomas’s voice was hysterical, filled with all the emotions that he had tried to keep suppressed for so long.
“All we need now is a taxi,” said Matthew. But a taxi was nowhere in sight. It took them ten minutes to find one, and it was past one o’clock when Thomas and Matthew arrived at the Old Bailey and went in search of Sergeant Hearns.
The court was locked and deserted by the time they got up to the third floor, so they went back down the stairs and peered around a pillar to look through the door of the restaurant. There was no sign of Hearns, but Greta was having lunch with Peter and Patrick Sullivan over at a table by the window. Their heads were close together, but then Greta leaned back in her chair and Thomas and Matthew could see that all three of them were laughing. A moment later Peter turned to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. Thomas saw the love in his father’s eyes, and he gripped the envelope with the certificates even more tightly as he turned away and went down the staircase.
“Look, there he is,” said Matthew, pointing excitedly to the other side of the great hall on the first floor. They were at the foot of the staircase and Hearns was fifty yards away talking to John Sparling.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “We’ll give the certificates to Sparling and he can show them to your father in the witness box. That’s the way to do it.”
Matthew pulled Thomas by the arm, but he stood rooted to the spot.
“No, Matthew, it’s not perfect,” he said. “It’ll get her convicted but it’ll make my father hate me even more. It’ll be something I’ve done to him.”
“Of course it will. And to be honest with you, I can’t imagine anyone who deserves a bad time more. He may be your father and a famous politician, but he’s also a major-league bastard in my book. He’s got it coming to him almost as much as she does.”
“Except that he hasn’t killed anyone, Matt. The point is that I’ve got to give him the chance to change his mind for himself. He’s got to have the opportunity to choose between me and her.”
Final Witness Page 29
