TR01 - Trial And Retribution

by Lynda La Plante

  '.. I must therefore emphasize to you again," he was saying, 'that there is no question of the defendant being responsible for this piece of washing line. Its presence in the defendant's dustbin was entirely attributable to the actions of Constable Barridge. You must exclude it entirely from your minds."

  The jury had sat through this without showing any apparent reaction.

  Murder trial juries don't have much experience to draw on everything is new and more or less unexpected to them. But what they would conclude about the strength of the Crown's case once they'd started to think about Barridge's rush of blood was anybody's guess.

  Fletcher had finished. He turned to Rylands and fractionally lifted the sheet ofA4 on which the admission had been printed. Rylands gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head and Fletcher placed the statement with his other papers.

  "Now, if I may continue with the case for the Crown, m'lord, I should like to call Ann Taylor, please."

  Ann Taylor appeared. She walked very hesitantly into court, looking around like a bird at the ranks of people, lawyers, the court officials, judge. Her head turned nervously in every direction except towards the dock.

  She was sworn in and Fletcher began by establishing her address and knowledge of the defendant. Then he went on: "Did Michael Dunn come to do odd jobs for you in your house?"

  "Yes."

  "What sort of things did he do?"

  "He did, well, different things. Six or seven times. Once he put up my washing line."

  A ripple of conversation washed around the court at this information and then died, quelled by Winfields' disapproving eye.

  "Could you describe that washing line for us, please?"

  "It was it was blue and red. Plastic. I bought it in a local shop."

  "And when was that?"

  But now the witness seemed to have frozen. So far Dunn had been looking at the rail of the dock throughout Ann Taylor's evidence. Now he raised his head and looked straight at her.

  "When wwthat. Miss Taylor?"

  She was flustered. She knew Dunn was staring at her. Suddenly she looked across the room and met his glance.

  "Oh, um ..." she wavered, her mouth trembling. She looked down and took a deep breath.

  "It was quite a while ago. A few months. I didn't see him again for

  .. quite a while. In fact, no, I mean, I didn't see him at all. "

  Anyone looking at Pat North as she watched these KS exchanges with intense concentration might have been ; _ surprised to see her sudden grim smile. Ann Taylor was proving an awkward witness for Fletcher. Her embarrassment was palpable she was blushing uncontrollably but what was its cause? Not just the shyness of a middle- aged spinster thrust into the limelight, surely.

  Then suddenly she saw it. Of course, how could they have missed this when they'd interviewed her?

  She nudged Walker, leaned sideways and whispered.

  "Guv, you don't suppose she and Dunn ...?"

  But Walker had got there already. Without taking his eyes off the witness, he murmured.

  "Course they bloody did."

  "And what happened," asked Fletcher, 'to this length of line subsequently? "

  "It was stolen. Um, towards the end of August, I think."

  "Thank you. Miss Taylor."

  Rylands stood up slowly and regarded the witness steadily without speaking. He went on doing so for slightly longer than was polite, but not long enough for the judge to call him for intimidation. Then he said, "When did you move into your house. Miss Taylor?"

  "Two years ago in April."

  "Have petty thefts of property from your garden been a problem ever since that time?"

  She nodded.

  "Yes, I've had a lot of things taken."

  "Did you ever find out who took any of them?"

  "Only once. The police caught some boys on the estate with a sort of urn."

  "Some boys. Thank you, Miss Taylor. No more questions."

  "Mr. Fletcher?" asked the judge but Fletcher, with no further wish to expose his witness's confusion, shook his head. Winfield glanced at his timepiece. Despite the interest of the evidence, he'd caught himself thinking over the last half hour about the crackling on the loin of pork that was at this moment sizzling and spitting in the Crown Court judges' kitchen.

  "Perhaps this would be a suitable time ... Five past two."

  As the court started packing up for lunch, North watched Ann Taylor as she left the court, then stood up herself and pushed past Walker to get quickly to the exit.

  "I'm going to have a word with her."

  North caught up with Ann Taylor in the hall. The witness stand had left her shaken and she was glad to spot someone she recognized. When North suggested they sit down, she accepted North's hand steering her towards a bench beside the wall.

  "There was more to your friendship with Michael Dunn than you told us, wasn't there, Miss Taylor?"

  "Was it so obvious?" She was calmer now rueful rather than tearful.

  "Yes, I'm afraid it was."

  "I felt so sorry for him when he told me what a terrible life he'd had -what had been done to him. Just a little boy when it first started, six years old. But then you must know that. He said the only kindness he'd ever known was when this family fostered him but then they sent him back."

  She paused, biting her lip.

  "That's why I never reported it. But I knew it was him that took the washing line. He took the sherry too."

  "The sherry? How can you be sure?"

  "My mother didn't approve of drinking and I kept some hidden outside.

  He was the only person who knew where it was. "

  Ann Taylor smiled and North caught a glimpse of the pretty woman who was normally masked by the bleak figure cut by this disappointed spinster.

  "A pointless little act of rebellion, I suppose. I hardly ever drink myself. Forgot it was there most of the time, but he persuaded me to have one with him when I was grieving for Mother. I think we must have had more than one actually because, well, you know, it went further than it should have ..."

  North touched her on the forearm.

  "It's been difficult, all this, hasn't it? You should go home and rest now."

  "Will it all come out, what I told you? Will I have to ... tell the court?"

  North wished she could tell her no.

  "I don't know. It may not be necessary. Let's hope not, eh?"

  In the Crown Court holding cells, Michael Dunn was as unhappy as Ann Taylor.

  "I don't like the way he treats people, that Rylands," he told Belinda while he waited for his lunch.

  "I told you I didn't like the way he talked to the old lady. He got her all upset, and don't give me all that " planks" crap either! He shouldn't have asked Ann Miss Taylor all about--' " Michael, calm down, for goodness' sake. "

  "No! You lied to me. You said he would just ask if I worked for Ann.

  Not that other stuff. "

  "It wasn't Mr. Rylands who asked those questions, it was Mr. Fletcher, the prosecuting counsel. I can't control his line of questioning."

  "She was nice to me, she was ... She was a friend to me. And I won't have it. You tell him where he can stuff his planks. He shouldn't have upset her. Tell him I don't want any more of it you hear me?"

  Belinda fought to beat down the rising panic she felt. Dunn was verging on the uncontrollable. He might do anything in this mood try to sack Rylands, make a kamikaze admission, anything. She had to take control back. She spoke as firmly as she knew how.

  "Michael Mrs. Rylands is conducting your defence in the way he thinks best to secure your acquittal. You must trust him."

  "I did trust him but he's messing me around." Dunn thought for a moment, then upped the stakes a little more.

  "I'm not going in the witness box to be messed around by him, that's for sure. No way. You tell him that, plank or no plank."

  There was a knock on the door the defendant's lunch had arrived.

  In the bar mess, Sinc
lair sought out Rylands and Waugh to tell them the bad news.

  "We might have a problem here," she told them.

  "Michael's got upset about Ann Taylor. Now he doesn't want to give evidence."

  Ryland's face brightened it didn't seem to be particularly bad news to him.

  "Fine it's just what I've been saying. We won't call him."

  Waugh frowned. He didn't like this.

  "Robert, I think But Rylands hadn't finished. He drew on his cigar and spoke through the gush of exhaled smoke.

  "We shouldn't call any evidence for a defence. We don't have to. Their id's worth virtually nothing. Their doll's gone out the window. We can explain all the forensic as innocent contact. Plus, they've had to admit police shenanigans. No jury's going to convict him on that!"

  Derek was shaking his head. He looked like an old horse plagued by flies.

  "We'll incur the adverse inference if he doesn't go on."

  "They'll do us just as much damage if he does. They'll be dragging him over the two alibi witnesses he couldn't find. Leave it alone."

  "I don't agree. Since they're trying to show a false alibi, we can show a true one. I honestly think I'd rather carry on according to plan belt and braces and all that."

  Rylands released another stream of yellow Havana smoke into the atmosphere. Belinda looked at both men, wondering if they were going to ask her opinion. Not a chance.

  "Well, you're instructing me, Derek," said Rylands.

  "But I think you're courting a risk here. That's my considered, view."

  "I can't agree with you, Robert. I think they want to hear Michael Dunn deny it from his own lips."

  "As you wish, Derek."

  Waugh turned to Belinda. She could tell he was excited at having beaten Rylands into submission. She could almost hear him saying it, crowing about it back at the office: not many people could say they'd done that.

  "Warn our boy, Belinda. Try to get him settled down."

  "Derek, I don't know, he was very upset." She looked at Rylands for support, but the silk had already mentally begun to work on how he would tackle Dunn on the stand.

  "Nevertheless," Waugh said firmly, 'he'll be giving evidence tomorrow. "

  chapter 27

  THURSDAY 21 NOVEMBER

  Peter had slept with Anita the previous night. They'd not made love, but at least they'd shared the bed. They began to feel again like a couple who loved one another.

  Peter said nothing about Anita's evidence in court until the next morning. He'd come in from the news agent with the papers and a carton of milk and found her out on the balcony, leaning against the rail, staring down at the playground.

  "You got the doll wrong," he said.

  It was just a statement of the fact.

  "Yes, I know, I'm sorry Peter."

  "So am I."

  She flicked a glance at him, a fearful glance. She steeled herself.

  Was this going to be another shouting match, another rough house of bitterness and blame? But Peter's voice was unexpectedly soft.

  "I'm sorry about the way I've been. Really. But losing Julie and then the baby, well..."

  Anita stared at him. She opened her mouth and thought about saying to him: you? How do you think I feel their mother!

  She didn't say it because, incredibly, Peter was crying and for the first time he was revealed to her as being as vulnerable as anyone else. She put her arms around him.

  "It's going to be all right," she whispered, stroking his hair.

  "All, all right. That's right. Better now."

  Later, when he'd cried all his tears and he felt lighter than he had for weeks, he said, "Hey, " Nita. Let's not go to court today, eh? I just can't face having to listen to them trying to get that filthy pervert off. "

  The Thursday afternoon had not been quite sufficient for Fletcher to wrap his case, so the evidence of Arnold Mallory, his last witness, was heard first thing in the morning. As ever, the scientist put up an impressive performance, taking the jury through the evidence of the fibres and the ice-cream wrappers, showing them DNA profiles and enlarged microscopic prints of various fibres, all of which proved beyond peradventure that Julie Anne had been in Michael Dunn's flat.

  There had been one moment of comedy, when Rylands cross-examined on the dogshit.

  "Would you say. Professor Mallory, that there is a lot of dog faeces lying about on the Howarth Estate?"

  "I wouldn't know. I haven't studied that question."

  "Well, would it surprise you to know that, when I visited the area last Friday, I myself came away with some on my shoe?"

  "No, it wouldn't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I would say that stepping in faeces was a hazard of your profession, sir."

  The press gallery had cracked up at this and even the

  jury seemed entertained. If Winfield, too, had rather enjoyed the jibe, he concealed it.

  Mallory's evidence had concluded Fletcher's case and now, without any interruption, Rylands rose to present his defence.

  "I call the defendant," he boomed.

  "Michael Dunn."

  The element of serenity, evident in his appearance on the first day, had deserted Dunn. His face looked sullen as he was sworn in on the Bible and afterwards, awaiting Rylands's questions, he glowered ill-temperedly down at the court. Rylands, whose ability to read a court's atmosphere was legendary, felt the tension and expectation of the entire room feeding back at his client in a loop of anxiety and resentment. He decided to get straight to the meat of the thing.

  "Where were you during the day of the fifth of September last year?

  That's the day before you were arrested by the police. "

  "I was drinking in the park with a friend of mine Terry Smith."

  "Which park was that?"

  "The Scrub , er, Princess Elizabeth Park. It's near the estate."

  "Were you alone there, the two of you, or was there anyone else with you?"

  "There was another man there, I ... I can never remember his name."

  "How long were you there, the three of you?"

  "All day, from eleven o'clock until early evening."

  "What did you do there?"

  "Well, we were drinking, mainly, and talking. We were talking, er, politics like."

  "How much did you have to drink?"

  Rylands was keeping it simple, his voice moderated if not exactly gentle or over-sympathetic. He wanted to present his man as a victim of prejudice and circumstance, a factual matter to which he hoped the jury would respond without emotion.

  "Oh, quite a lot. Lager and vodka mainly. I wasn't drunk, though. I remember it quite well now."

  "In a pig's arse you do," thought Pat North when she heard this. But would the jury think that? Dunn was beginning to come around under Rylands's businesslike approach. He was starting to look sympathetic again.

  "Did you leave the company of Terry Smith and this other man at any time between eleven and the evening?"

  "No, sir, I didn't. We bought some chips and some drink, but we went together to get that."

  Rylands took a drink of water and turned over a sheet of his notes.

  "Now, did you know the little girl who was killed, Julie Anne Harris?"

  "Yes, I did. That is, I didn't exactly know her. I knew her brother.

  He brought her round to my flat a few times. "

  "Was it a common occurrence for children to play in your flat?"

  "Yes, there was kids there all the time. I used to leave the door open. I didn't care who was there when I was drinking."

  "Did you see Julie Anne Harris at any time, even for a few moments, on the fifth of September?"

  Dunn looked at the jury. He was innocent. He hadn't done this. He was telling the truth.

  "No, I didn't."

  "Are you quite certain about that, notwithstanding the fact that you were drinking on that day?"

  "Yes, I am, sir."

  "Did you not, for example, see her in the
playground and bend down and speak to her or take her hand?"

  Dunn shook his head.

  "No, I didn't. I never saw her at all."

  Rylands glanced at his notes and then at the Court Associate.

  "Could I ask you to have a look at the child's doll which has been referred to as exhibit five in this case?"

  The doll was handed to Dunn, who took it in his hand and turned it over a few times as he looked at it.

  "Do you recognize that doll?"

  "Yes, I do. I had it in my flat. I found it on the estate ..."

  By the time Rylands sat down, he felt things hadn't gone too badly. He had broken through Dunn's initial resistance to the idea of giving evidence and the brisk, factual approach had played well. Now, after a brisk forty minutes or so, it was Fletcher's turn.

  Willis Fletcher was not the Crown Court diva that Rylands could claim to be but, when he turned it on, he could be severe. He decided in advance that, in this cross- examination, he would go for the jugular as soon as it presented itself.

  "Is it true, Mr. Dunn, that you told police in interview and subsequently instructed your solicitor that you were with three friends, not two two men and a woman from eleven o'clock until early evening on the fifth of September?"

  "Yes, but... I was confused then."

  "Were you confused about the people present, or were you confused about the day?"

  "It was the people I got wrong. I got mixed up."

  "Unless of course ..." Fletcher looked at the jury and then back at Dunn.

  "Unless you weren't confused at all but were in fact telling untruths about your movements on that day."

  Dunn's mouth dropped open in surprise at the sudden accusation.

  "I never said anything that wasn't true. I was with Terry Smith the whole day."

  "That's not right, is it Mr. Dunn? You were not with Terry Smith for all of that time. And you did see Julie Anne Harris on that day."

  Dunn mustered all his reserves of sincerity.

  "I didn't, sir. I never saw her."

  But Fletcher had his prey's neck between his teeth now. He decided to start applying pressure.

  "You took Julie Anne Harris from the playground. You took her back to your flat. You then--' " That's not trueV "You then assaulted her sexually and took a rope which you'd previously stolen from a lady, er, acquaintance of yours and you--' " No, no, no. Not at all. That's rubbish. I would never have stolen anything from Ann--' He pulled up short, looking around. The court was suspended in silence, its attention riveted by his outburst. He set about trying to repair the damage.