Now Beaverbrook interrupts forcibly, raising his voice over that of his client. ‘I don’t think we need to deal with this in detail,’ he says smoothly, trying to camouflage his disquiet. ‘The jury knows that you’ve pleaded guilty to obstructing the coroner.’
Steele barely glances at his counsel and continues. Charles looks carefully at the jury members. All are riveted on Steele’s animated face. One or two of the women have their hands covering their mouths as if in shock or horror. They don’t want Beaverbrook to stop this story; they are there, with Steele, on this wild ride.
‘I went via Carnforth and took the southern route to Wastwater. I had to drive around for a while to find somewhere where I could get the car down to the shore. I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry the body, the stone and the dinghy very far. You have to understand that this was now my third night without sleeping, and I was incredibly tired, so tired that my hands were beginning to shake.’
Yet again, Beaverbrook tries to halt the flow. ‘Can we turn now to your police interviews?’
‘Yes, I’m almost finished,’ replies Steele dismissively.
Wow! thinks Charles, this is doing real damage to Steele’s hitherto perfect performance. The atmosphere of sympathy and understanding Beaverbrook had so carefully constructed is being frittered away, replaced by puzzlement and, on some jurors’ faces, revulsion. They can’t understand why the accused persists, despite his counsel’s attempts at restraint, in going through the cold-blooded and grisly minutiae of the disposal of his wife’s body. And Beaverbrook’s last attempt to silence his client was desperate and crude. Now the jury is aware that even the QC fears the damage his client is wreaking to his own case.
Beaverbrook tries to look unconcerned, but it’s not working. His expression reveals that he too cannot understand his client’s obsession with these details.
You don’t get it, do you? thinks Charles. He’s got something on his chest, a weight as heavy as that which pulled his wife almost to the bottom of Tiffen’s Rock. It’s been crushing him slowly for years, and this is his chance to rid himself of it. It’s the most potent evidence so far, at least so it seems to Charles, that the man is guilty of murder.
Steele’s still talking.
‘I found the perfect spot. It sloped right down to the water’s edge from the road. I drove down, slowly, to avoid grounding the car, as I knew it was very heavy, and turned off the lights. I had even taken the lightbulb out of the boot, as I knew that otherwise it would go on when I opened the boot; it’s as dark as pitch out there, and it could have been seen. I got out of the car, and I was about to take the dinghy out when another vehicle, a van I thought, pulled up on the road, its headlights pointed out over the lake, above where I was.’
He accelerates again, back in that moment. The Recorder’s pen has been lowered again, and he now listens, fascinated, as intently as the jury. Charles scans their faces. A bomb could go off outside, and they’d barely notice. They’re being given a point by point lecture in how to dispose of a body, one that but for pure chance would have been completely successful. Steele continues, the pride in his voice unmistakeable.
‘I stayed calm. At first I thought it was the police, that I’d been discovered somehow, but the van stayed where it was, and the lights stayed on. Then the engine was turned off. It remained there for twenty minutes, the longest twenty minutes of my life! Then the lights went off, and I thought the occupant was about to get out. I got ready to run back to the driver’s seat and drive off, but then I saw that it was only a courting couple. They stayed in the van for another fifteen minutes. Then the lights went on again, it started up, and drove off. I pulled the dinghy out, blew it up with the foot pump and dragged it to the water. Then I rolled the stone to it, and lastly I carried the body down.
‘I took the sculls and rowed out. I had put some odds and end of rope and cable in my pocket, together with a knife, as I intended to tie her to the stone once out on the water. I thought there’d be less chance of being seen out there in the black than by the car. What I’d forgotten was that I’d wrapped the body up so tightly that there was no way to attach a rope to it and make sure it didn’t slide off. So I had to open up the package at her feet to get a rope round her ankles. I guess that’s why part of her foot was missing when she was found. I tied the rope in a figure of eight round both ankles, and attached it to the stone. Then I did the same again with another cable, just in case. It was extremely difficult I can tell you, and more than once I almost went overboard with her and the stone. I had pictures of being dragged down with her.’
He laughs briefly, completely unaware that over a hundred people are staring at him, horrified.
‘When I was sure she was tied securely, I tipped her and the stone overboard. I thought I was right at the centre of the lake. I didn’t know about Tiffen’s Rock; I thought it went straight down. It was pure bad fortune that the body landed there. Then I rowed back. It took three goes to find the right beach — it was so dark that I couldn’t see the car at all. Finally I found it, pulled the dinghy up the gravel, and washed it out thoroughly. I couldn’t see, but I thought that some blood might have leaked onto it. Then I loaded it back into the car, and set off. After I’d driven for an hour or two, I stopped at a pub. At the back I found a large industrial waste bin. I took out half the rubbish, got undressed, and put the dinghy and all my clothes inside. Then I replaced the rubbish on top. I got changed into a spare set of clothes in the car, and then I set off on the return journey. I got to the hotel much later than I’d hoped — it was after nine in the morning and I couldn’t work out how to get in without being seen — but I had a stroke of luck. The back door was open, and a milk delivery was in progress. I slipped by when no one was watching and went upstairs. Then I came straight down again, said “Good morning” at the desk, and went direct to the dining room for breakfast.’
Steele looks up and smiles. ‘Then I went to the school, saw the headmaster about taking Stephen out, and we drove home. I told anyone who asked that my wife had gone off with one of her lovers. No one was surprised.’
He stops at last, and breathes deeply. Then he looks across at his counsel. ‘Any more questions?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, the police interviews! Yes, well, I’m afraid I lied in them. I had no doubt that the police would realise it eventually, but at that stage I half hoped to avoid dragging others into it with me. It seemed inevitable that if I admitted to killing her, everyone in the house would be questioned. I wanted to avoid that.’
Beaverbrook pauses. There are other questions he needs to ask, but so uncertain does he now feel about his witness, he decides not to take the chance.
‘I have no further questions,’ he says, and he sits.
The tension is broken for the first time as people shift in their seats and cough. Charles stands, waiting for the court to quieten again.
CHAPTER 32
Charles stands to ask his first question. ‘Your wife was a vindictive woman, was she not?’
‘Yes, she was.’
‘To use your word, she hated your eldest son, yet she would still have fought you for custody.’
‘So she threatened, on many occasions.’
‘And you believed her.’
‘I did, yes.’
‘So you reached a policy decision to stay in the marriage, so as to protect the children.’
‘That is right.’
‘Would you agree with me that the affair with Roddy was different from the others?’ asks Charles.
‘To some extent, yes.’
‘For one thing, their relationship lasted for three years or more.’
‘Yes.’
‘For another, your wife claimed to love him, and he to love her.’
‘Yes.’
‘There were times when your wife pleaded with him to continue their relationship while he was trying to bring it to an end. Is that not right?’
‘That is correct.’
; ‘Indeed she seems to have made more effort to keep that relationship alive than she did the marriage?’
‘I accept that, yes.’
‘So, whereas the others were passing attractions, in her mind this was a serious long-term relationship.’
‘By her standards, it was serious, yes.’
‘And, whereas the other relationships were passing fancies, the one with Mr Batchelor constituted a real threat to you and the family, didn’t it? If your wife decided to leave you for him, you might face your custody battle after all.’
‘That occurred to me, but not as a serious risk. I doubted Roddy would want to set up home with her. He’d tried to break it off so many times, and I couldn’t see him taking on three young children either. His girls were almost grown up by then.’
It’s a decent answer, and Charles knows it. He is trying to re-establish a motive for murder, but this feels too tenuous, too unlikely. He feels the case slipping even further away from him, but has insufficient evidence to pull it back. In the last analysis, once Steele pleaded guilty to disposing of the deceased’s body, the other charges would stand or fall solely on one question: would the jury believe his account of the events leading up to her death? At present, in Charles’s judgement, they would. So he changes tack.
‘Your wife frequently embarrassed and disgraced you in public.’
‘She did.’
‘Her name was often seen in the gossip columns.’
The judge sighs, but whether at the memory of Lise’s behaviour or the predictability of Charles’s questioning Charles cannot tell. ‘Sometimes, yes.’
‘She flirted with colleagues, upset their wives, got drunk and created scenes, took her clothes off in public, that sort of thing.’
‘There are five questions there, Mr Holborne,’ responds Steele, accidentally slipping out of the role of accused into that of a judge trying the case. ‘To answer them in order: yes, sometimes, yes, yes and only infrequently. To my knowledge she … undressed at … inappropriate times only twice, and one of those was at a party with a swimming pool. And a number of guests were swimming.’
‘Not naked.’
‘No, not naked. But many people were drunk, and it was seen as fun; daring, yes, but high spirits.’
‘High spirits? It wasn’t the “Swinging 60s” then. This happened in 1953. People would have been absolutely scandalised, wouldn’t they?’
‘It is true that many people were shocked. But others weren’t. They’d been drinking heavily too. I remember one or two other women jumped in, wearing just their underwear.’
‘Am I right in thinking that the newspapers got hold of that story too?’ asks Charles, and to forestall a negative answer, he brandishes a file of newspaper clippings he has compiled.
‘They did.’
‘She couldn’t have done your career any good.’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Come now. Anyone who knows how the Lord Chancellor’s department operates knows that silk and judicial promotion come to sober, establishment, conservative lawyers, not those frequently the subject of gossip columns.’
‘Perhaps. You’d know more about that than I.’
Charles’s ears crimson, and he smiles. ‘Touché. We are both no strangers to unwelcome publicity,’ he says. ‘Did you apply for silk before your wife’s death?’
‘Yes,’ answers Steele, after a momentary hesitation.
‘How many times?’
‘Four.’
‘Unsuccessful?’
‘Yes. But so are many the first times they apply. I know some who’ve succeeded at the eighth attempt.’
‘Did you apply after your wife was dead?’
‘Yes, evidently.’
‘And you were successful?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the first attempt?’
‘It was my fifth attempt, but the first after my wife’s death.’
‘How long afterwards were you elevated to the Bench?’
‘Two years.’
‘And how long after that before you were promoted to the Court of Appeal?’
‘Five years.’
‘A pretty meteoric rise then?’
‘I was fortunate.’
‘And very clever.’
‘The Lord Chancellor does not habitually appoint idiots to the Court of Appeal.’
Charles swivels to look at the jury in response to that answer, and is pleased to see that their reaction is the same as his own: the sarcasm was misplaced and came across as arrogant.
‘You knew very well that your wife was a handicap to your career,’ continues Charles.
‘Of course she was, but that’s no reason to kill her. As the Americans say: those are the breaks. Everyone suffers difficulties in their life, and most think it’s unfair. But life is unfair. People do not by and large kill their spouses, or others who cause them difficulties.’
‘Most do not have to endure what you did.’
Steele shrugs. ‘That’s not a question, Mr Holborne. I don’t know how to answer you.’
‘Do you love your eldest son?’
‘I love all my children.’
‘He had particular difficulties, did he not?’
‘Not for some time.’
‘At that time, though, he did,’ presses Charles. ‘I’d like to read you something, and then ask for your comments.’
Charles picks up two documents, the first the statement by the boy’s headmaster, and the second a report from an educational psychologist who saw the boy a year earlier. Charles reads selected passages dealing with the child’s stammer, his unhappiness at school, and his relationship with his mother.
‘Do you agree with what I’ve just read?’
‘He was very unhappy at that time. That’s true.’
‘And that unhappiness was caused by your wife?’
‘Largely, yes.’
‘Has he wholly recovered from those earlier problems?’ asks Charles.
‘Yes, completely. All the children seem happy and reasonably well-balanced, thank God.’
‘So, let’s look at the consequences of your wife’s death. Your career took off, your children were all much happier, your son’s psychological problems resolved, the threat of a public and bitter custody battle was lifted, and your public humiliation at your wife’s hands ceased.’
‘Yes.’
‘Each one of these effects was predicable before she died, was it not?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You did have a motive for murder then, didn’t you?’
‘You might have asked me that right at the outset Mr Holborne, and I’d have saved you the time of this carefully constructed cross-examination. Yes, I did have a motive. She was an awful, destructive person, particularly to those close to her, and at times I hated her. But I’m not a killer — at least, not willingly. It’s not in my nature. I have been wedded to the law since I was a student and I believe in it. I’m also a Christian. Killing people is just not done.’
One or two of the jury members smile and one laughs briefly.
‘If you believed in the law, why didn’t you report the death immediately? If you believed in the law, why dump your wife’s rotting corpse in a lake at dead of night?’
‘Mr Holborne!’ protests the Recorder. ‘That’s enough of that! I won’t have you trying to influence this jury with tabloid emotionalism.’
‘Sorry, my Lord.’
‘I made an error,’ continues Steele. ‘We all make errors. I was frightened and confused. I had never been in such a situation before, and my faith in the system was not as strong as I thought it was. Once I had embarked on it though, it was too late to go back. It would have been one thing to report her death to the police, quite another to report it and tell them I’d disposed of the body. That would have guaranteed a sceptical response and an investigation.’
Charles changes tack again. ‘Had it not been for Tiffen’s Rock, and an astonishing set of coincidences, you would hav
e got away with it.’
‘Is that a question?’ asks the Recorder.
‘I’m sorry, my Lord, I’ll rephrase it. Your cover-up of the actual killing was successful, was it not? The redecorating, the staining of the floorboards, washing all the bedclothes and so on, all that?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘And you managed to get your wife’s body out of the house without it being seen?’
‘So I believe.’
‘You set up your alibi — at least for the time of the disposal of the body — and that seems to have worked?’
Steele looks rather puzzled, but continues to agree. ‘Yes.’
‘And you managed to get your wife, with a heavy weight, all the way to the deepest lake in England, drop her body in, and get back without being discovered.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Had it not been for the circumstance that you just happened, in the dark, to drop the body over Tiffen’s Rock, thirty-five metres below you, and had the body not landed at just the right depth to preserve it, and had the plastic sheeting been just tight enough to prevent the fishes eating the body — had that series of events not conspired against you, you would have got away with it.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘I suggest that the facts show that your disposal of your wife’s body was meticulously planned and very precisely executed.’
‘I was making it up as I went along, actually.’
‘Do you deny that, less than five minutes ago, there was pride in your voice as you described what you did?’ shouts Charles, with such volume that the court jumps.
‘That’s not true!’ protests Steele, looking from Charles to the Recorder and then to the jury.
‘It is true,’ asserts Charles, his voice now quiet and deadly. ‘I’m sure the jury heard it as well as I did.’
The Waxwork Corpse: A legal thriller with a chilling twist (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 5) Page 27
