Marriott hastily spoke in a very subdued manner. ‘There was a presentation ink-well, pencils, a blotter, and the photo.’
‘What photograph is this?’
‘Of his wife.’
‘Will you please look at exhibit number seven and say whether you recognize it?’
The usher picked up the framed photograph from the table in front of the Bench and carried it to the witness-box. ‘That’s it.’ said Marriott.
‘And you would expect to find this on the accused’s desk?’
‘It always was there.’
‘Can you ever remember its not being there?’
‘D’you mean before or after?’
‘Before the murder.’
‘No, never.’
‘What about afterwards?’
‘It wasn’t there.’
‘Did you notice its absence at the time?’
‘Couldn’t help noticing that it wasn’t there.’
‘Have you seen it at any time between the night of the murder and now?’
‘No.’
‘Were you ever asked if you knew where it had gone to?’
“No, sir, never.’
The examination of Marriott continued for another half-hour and then Adems sat down. After leaning forward and speaking to his solicitor, Cheesman stood up. ‘No questions,’ he said.
The public were clearly surprised, mistakenly imagining that every prosecution witness would be severely cross-examined. After the murmur of conversation had died away, the judge looked at the clock and adjourned the court for lunch.
Chapter Thirteen
THE WEALD TOWN of Brackensham, the inhabitants of which were once threatened by wholesale excommunication when they refused with typical Kentish vigour to heed the commands of Pope Gregory the 12th, was a town which during assizes dined all members of the Bar and higher court officials. It was a welcome custom for counsel, some of whom could not have afforded to have eaten half as well, and there was no undue burden on the ratepayers who, in any case, knew practically nothing about it.
During the luncheon on the first day of the Holter trial, Adems sat between the clerk of the assize and Cheesman. A waiter refilled all their glasses with a 1963 Beaune that one of the councillors had found very difficult to sell in his chain of wineshops.
Adems lifted his glass and drank. ‘There’s a nasty taste to it all, isn’t there?’
‘A bit corked?’ suggested the clerk of assize.
‘No, no. I meant seeing old Holter in the dock. He’s been offered a judgeship at least once and turned it down. It throws a smell over the whole of the profession.’
‘Aren’t you presuming the verdict?’ asked Cheesman.
Adems cut in half the remaining piece of steak on his plate. ‘Care to put your reputation on a verdict of not guilty?’
Cheesman shrugged his shoulders.
‘The moral’s obvious,’ said the clerk of assize. ‘Old men, however sexy they feel, shouldn’t marry young women.’
‘He’s not all that old,’ objected Cheesman.
‘Sorry. Didn’t realize I was treading on delicate ground.’
‘D’you know Mrs Holter?’ asked Adems.
‘I’ve seen her more than once. If you ask me to speak freely, I say she’s a bitch: not that I don’t find bitches attractive. My wife reckons she ought to be on trial, but wives hate their own sex, given the chance.’
‘If only Radwick Holter hadn’t got so worked up about things. A quick divorce would have done just as well and saved all this.’
‘There’s no fool like an old fool.’
‘He’s not all that old,’ snapped Cheesman.
*
At the beginning of the trial, Holter had listened to proceedings in a totally apathetic mood. This quickly gave way to one of professional criticism and as soon as this happened he was shocked by a realisation, however belated, of the strength of the prosecution’s case. He was mentally staggered by the extent to which the evidence damned him and all too easily he was able to gauge how readily the jury would believe Charlotte had been in chambers at the time of the murder.
Back in his cell during the lunch adjournment, he ate the food they gave him without being really aware of what it was. As soon as he had finished, he began to pace the few feet of the floor. He tried to ignore the steel door, the lack of an inside handle, the bars over the windows, the iron bunk, and the stained lavatory bowl, but they all seemed to close in on him. Often, he had visited men in cells, but this was the first time he had understood how small a cell was.
He lit a cigarette. If he were found guilty he would lose Charlotte, an unbearable thought. He stood still. Charlotte was twenty-six and no one could expect her to live the life of a recluse in the future. She would meet another man with whom she would fall in love, perhaps marry, go to bed with. The thought of her in bed with another man filled his mind with bitter anger. He began to imagine her, naked, and this unknown man, naked, and he swore crudely. Seconds later, he saw a movement at the spy hole and he knew, with a sudden surge of violent revulsion, that he was being watched.
He thought of his brothers and sisters who still lived in or around Ashby-de-la-Zouch. They had envied him for years because he had everything anyone could want, money and success: in return, he had been contemptuous of them because they had not had the ability or the gumption to drag themselves clear of the sticks. Now he envied them because they were free, and they must think of him with contempt.
He must prove his innocence: the facts must be made to wear their true face. Until now, he had stubbornly believed that the truth would rise to the surface as an act of natural justice, but now he saw that it needed to be kicked up. Cheesman must kick and kick: he must fight every inch of the way: he must cross-examine exhaustively, even brutally until at last the truth was told.
The cell door opened and a warder stepped inside. ‘All ready, sir. They’ll be back in court in a jiffy.’
As he left the cell, he thought how odd it was that they still called him ‘Sir,’ as if the shreds of the dignity of freedom still clung to him.
*
After the adjournment, Doctor Kinnet was called into the witness-box, looking even thinner than usual because of the colour and cut of the suit he was wearing. A ‘professional’ witness, the second oldest profession in the world he called it, he gave his evidence concisely and accurately.
‘Doctor Kinnet,’ said Adems, ‘Will you please tell the court if it’s possible to say whether, or not, the deceased died immediately?’
‘It’s impossible to be certain that the deceased made no voluntary physical movement after he was shot, but the damage to the brain was so extensive that I would hold it to be highly improbable.’
The judge spoke. ‘Doctor, would you deem it possible that the deceased, after being shot, crawled from the cabinet to the desk?’
‘My lord, I would consider it next to impossible, but I am not prepared to say that it was impossible. By this I mean that if there was other proof suggesting this is what did happen, the wound he suffered would not automatically negative such evidence.’
‘Had he died immediately and been dragged from the one point to the other, what would you expect the medical evidence to be?’
‘A trail of blood, similar to the one I was shown on the carpet.’
‘Thank you.’ The judge wrote in his note-book.
Adems adjusted the set of his wig and flicked the tails clear of his thick neck. ‘What conclusions did you reach, Doctor, concerning the death of the deceased?’
‘I examined for powder-tattooing and blacking about the wound and for powder stains on both hands. There weren’t any. I carried out experiments with the murder weapon and with ammunition of similar make and age. From these experiments, I decided that the gun was fired at a distance of not less that fifteen inches — that is, the muzzle was fifteen inches from the point of entry of the bullet.
‘I then reconstructed the shooting by examining the line t
he shot had taken. I finally reached the conclusion that the deceased did not commit suicide.’
‘Could you further detail the reasons for this decision?’
‘Suicide by shooting is almost invariably carried out by pressing the muzzle of the gun against the skin on one of the classical sites of election, as they’re called. These are the right temple, for right-handed people, the centre brow, the roof of the mouth, and the heart. The would-be suicide does not wish to miss himself or hit a non-vital area. In this case, the gun was held at least fifteen inches away from the head and the point of entry of the bullet was behind the right ear. If you reconstruct this position you will see that it is inconceivable that any person would commit suicide thus.’
‘Thank you.’
The examination-in-chief continued, slowly, carefully, inexorably.
Cheesman’s cross-examination was brief. ‘Doctor, you told my learned friend that you carried out certain experiments to ascertain the distance at which the gun was fired. What was the nature of these experiments?’
‘I used the murder gun to fire bullets into various substances.’
‘Including human flesh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of dead people?’
‘There were no living volunteers.’
Cheesman’s voice sharpened. ‘Is it not a fact, Doctor, that dead flesh responds to such experiments in a different manner from live flesh? Tattooing on live skin will not be exactly reproduced by controlled experiments on dead skin?’
‘That is so.’
‘Then when you say the muzzle of the gun must have been at least fifteen inches from the skin, you are basing such argument on admittedly erroneous premises? Wouldn’t it be better to stick to the facts, rather than try to bias the jury by figures which we now learn may mean nothing?’
‘Well, now, I don’t think that’s quite accurate. The possibility of error in the circumstances outlined is generally held to be of the order of five per cent. If my mental arithmetic isn’t too rusty, that gives a figure for this case of three-quarters of an inch. Suppose we take the minimum figure and not the maximum one and the gun was held fourteen and a quarter inches from the skin — I don’t think that really invalidates my original contention.’
Cheesman tried to hide the fact that he had been led into an error of cross-examination by continuing to attack the witness. ‘It would have been better, Doctor, to have declared the possibility of an error at the beginning.’
The doctor said nothing.
‘You have stated that this was not a case of suicide. Can you tell us whether the gun was fired at a distance of sixteen or sixty inches?’
‘No, I cannot.’
‘Somebody on the other side of the room in chambers might have been handling the gun and it went off accidentally?’
‘Medically, I know of no reason why not.’
‘Or the deceased might have been holding the gun more than sixteen inches away from his head and it went off accidentally?’
‘Solely on the evidence of the lack of tattooing, yes.’ Cheesman sat down.
Adems re-examined. ‘Doctor, you examined the deceased’s hands for powder residue and found them negative. What does this mean?’
‘I carried out tests with this revolver. Normally, it leaves powder stains on the hand that fires it and normally those stains can be shown to exist. Because there was none on the deceased’s hands, I think it unlikely that he fired a gun that day.’
‘How unlikely?’
‘Very unlikely.’
‘But not impossible?’
‘No, not impossible.’
‘Have you had much experience of accidental gun wounds?’
‘I have seen a reasonable number.’
‘Can you ever recall an accidental wound at an angle similar to the angle in this case?’
‘No. As I have already said, the point of entry was behind the right ear, at an angle of one hundred and twenty degrees.’ The doctor raised his right hand and then bent it back so that his wrist was roughly at the indicated angle. ‘It is difficult even to get the hand back this far,’ he said.
‘And even more difficult if that hand is holding a gun?’ said the judge. ‘Doctor, in your considered opinion, taking into account all the facts known to you, was Corry shot by his own hand or the hand of another?’
‘The hand of another, my lord.’
*
Police witnesses gave their evidence. Brock went into the witness-box and for an hour and a half was examined-in-chief. At the end of this time, he was cross-examined.
‘I want to deal with the locks on the two outer doors of chambers. You have testified. Inspector, that in your opinion they were not forced.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Can you be certain beyond any reasonable doubt whatsoever that an expert thief did not force those locks, yet left no trace of what he had done?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Your confidence is absolute?’
‘In my professional career I have examined a very great number of locks which have been forced and in every single case there have been marks.’
‘Suppose we confine ourselves to discussing the work of expert lock-pickers?’
‘Most lock-pickers consider themselves experts.’
‘You are determined to have it your way, Inspector. Can you assure the court that it is impossible that someone obtained the keys for long enough to have them copied and then used this second set?’
‘I’ve checked as far as possible and there’s no record of any of the keys having been mislaid.’
‘But this could have happened without any record and such keys could have been used? And these keys would have left no marks in the locks?’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘You don’t wish to admit you may have been over-confident?’
‘I was just thinking how unlikely it was.’
‘hat remark is totally uncalled for,’ snapped Cheesman.
‘Uncalled for,’ murmured the judge, ‘but quite understandable.’
Cheesman chose not to hear the judge. ‘You have testified, Inspector, that there are no signs of a struggle?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘But surely even you will admit there could have been either a struggle in which no visible signs were left or a struggle after which all visible signs were erased?’
‘Not in my opinion, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Any sort of a prolonged struggle, sir, leaves traces. Any attempt to erase those traces inevitably leaves further traces.’
‘But the prosecution can’t have it both ways. They are claiming that the bruises on the accused’s throat, about which you’ve given evidence, were gained in a struggle.’
‘I can’t speak on that score, sir.’
‘The accused could suffer bruising on the throat from one blow, Mr Cheesman. That can hardly be termed a struggle,’ said the judge, ‘even by counsel for the defence.’
Cheesman, never before so conscious of trying to defend without a defence, silently cursed. ‘You have said, Inspector, that you searched the room and found powder on the carpet?’
‘Yes.’
‘You sent the powder for analysis. Before we go any further, will you tell the court how you know that this powder was not spilled on the carpet several days prior to the Tuesday in question?’
‘All the evidence I was able to gather led me to this definite assumption.’
‘Your evidence is based on assumptions, not facts?’ Adems rose and took off his spectacles. ‘My lord, it may assist my learned friend to know that the prosecution is calling evidence to show that the powder was not on the carpet prior to the Tuesday evening.’
‘My lord,’ replied Cheesman, ‘I think it should be made quite clear to the jury that the inspector does not know this of his own account.’
‘He has never claimed that he does,’ said the judge.
Adems sat down. Cheesman leaned forward to read p
art of his brief. After a while, he stood up. ‘This powder was identified as Drage three two five and your investigations show that only one chemist in Hertonhurst stocks it and that only about five customers buy it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There are, I suppose you will admit, other towns in Kent? Some of them are quite a bit bigger than Hertonhurst?’
‘That is why we got a list from the manufacturers of the retailers who stock their products.’
‘And this list was quite a long one?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then obviously a number of women in Kent use Drage three two five face powder?’
‘The best estimate we can make is about two hundred.’
‘And there are other counties in England?’
The judge sighed audibly. ‘Mr Cheesman, are we now about to examine seriatim the statistics for each of the other thirty-nine counties in England?’
‘My lord, surely I am entitled to show the lack of worth of this evidence?’
‘You are certainly entitled to try, but I trust at not too great a length.’
‘Inspector,’ snapped Cheesman, ‘is it not a fact that in the whole of England there must be thousands of women who use this particular face powder?’
‘We only concerned ourselves with Kent, sir.’
Cheesman turned over a page of his brief. His junior, Whits, tugged the back of his gown to draw his attention and then handed him a note. He read it and nodded. He addressed the witness again. ‘I want to turn now to the photograph you claim was in the bottom drawer of the accused’s desk. The accused is going to say ...’
The cross-examining continued.
*
The court adjourned at four thirty-three and Holter was escorted down the steps at the back of the dock to the passage below and along to the cells. He was told that at six o’clock he would be taken back to the jail.
Once alone, he lit a cigarette. His brain seemed to be about to explode from the frightening sense of tortured impotence. The jaws of justice were closing around him and there seemed to be nothing to prevent their crushing him. He was innocent, yet his innocence was his greatest danger. Actions which at the time had been perfectly normal had become the actions of guilt.
Dead Against the Lawyers Page 13
