Exhibit No. Thirteen

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘He didn’t jeer at me.’

  ‘Were you really humble enough to gain pleasure from the humiliation of your position?’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t,’ shouted Rusk. ‘Then why did you keep returning to the house?’

  ‘I had a job to do.’

  ‘Are you friendly with Mrs Kremayne?’

  ‘I’ve met her several times.’

  ‘Do you consider her good-looking?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you believe Kremayne to be the murderer of Fiona Johnson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you, on your own account, consult the same psychiatrist as the police had done?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘On what matters?’

  ‘I asked him whether Mrs Kremayne was in any danger.’

  ‘Then you were personally interested in her welfare? … Was this before or after you’d spent the night with her?’

  ‘I didn’t spend the night with her.’

  ‘You went to Frithton Look when her husband was in France.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Didn’t you? … What time did you arrive at the house?’

  ‘About nine-thirty.’

  ‘At night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rather a late hour, wouldn’t you say, to call on a lady whose husband is abroad?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know.’

  ‘So you arrived there and for the first time learned the lady was on her own. I suppose you thereupon left the house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? … When did you leave?’

  ‘Just before midnight.’

  ‘If a neighbour hadn’t called and seen your car, and decided not to break up what he thought was a small dinner party, we’d never have known about this visit, would we?’

  ‘There isn’t anything to know.’

  ‘When did you decide not to tell Kremayne about the visit?’

  ‘I didn’t decide — I just thought Mrs Kremayne would do it.’

  ‘If you didn’t leave until midnight, what were you doing all the time?’

  ‘Talking.’

  ‘If you should come back from a visit abroad to find that in your absence your wife has been entertaining a male friend during the hours of half-past nine and midnight and, moreover, you learn this not from your wife or her friend but from a neighbour who casually mentions it without realising its import, what would you think?’

  ‘There isn’t anything to think.’

  ‘On the contrary, if you were a husband with a spark of red blood in your veins, you’d start wondering if your wife and your friend were having an affair. You’d begin to watch them; and very soon you’d notice they smiled at each other in secret ways, he’d touch your wife’s hands whenever he could, he’d rush with quite unnecessary zeal to help her to her chair or to open the door of the room. You’d suddenly realise you were seeing straight for the first time — The defendant is going into the box to testify he saw all this, and more. He’ll testify that, to his absolute horror, he became convinced beyond doubt that his wife and you were committing adultery.’

  ‘It’s a lie.’

  ‘Kremayne was in the way, wasn’t he? He was fast becoming a suspicious husband. So you decided to remove him. He was being questioned in connection with the death of Fiona Johnson, simply and solely because he had had the misfortune many years before to be mixed up in a case in which a hysterical girl’s statement was preferred to his … Oh, yes, Sergeant, the defence isn’t frightened to explain why Kremayne was under surveillance. — You realised that since he was in this position, you were offered a unique way in which to get rid of him. So you made up the story that you’d been watching Frithton Look the night of the murder and had seen Kremayne return there by car at two fifty-seven in the morning. Even though that nearly tied up Kremayne through a whole string of circumstantial evidence, it wasn’t quite enough to draw the knot tight. So in the afternoon you bought a buckle similar to the one the dead girl had worn, which was missing because the killer had kept it as a masochistic memento, and on it you scratched two sets of initials — using the police photograph to make certain you scratched them in the right place. Then when Kremayne’s house was searched, as it had to be after you’d reported his car had returned to his home early on the morning of the murder, you made certain you searched the study on your own and there you purported to “find” the missing buckle. — I put it to you again, Sergeant, that you did this to even the score between yourself and Kremayne, to show him that you were still the cleverer, and, more importantly, to remove him so that you and his wife could the more easily pursue your course of adultery.’

  CHAPTER 14

  After the case for the defence was completed and closing speeches had been made, the judge summed up for two and a half hours. His dry, unemotional voice told the jury their duties, instructed them in the law, pointed out that they were the sole judges of fact. Halfway through his summing-up, he dealt with the question of the buckle.

  ‘ … Members of the jury, you must decide whether you believe that the buckle, exhibit number thirteen, was the one the dead girl was wearing at the time of her death or whether it is a fake. You have heard two quite independent witnesses, both experts, testify that they carried out a great number of tests on a great number of buckles bought from a great number of shops and that they both came to the definite opinion that any buckle of similar character worn at least twice a week for a year would show considerable and very obvious signs of wear. These witnesses were men of great experience — and you will remember that the prosecution was in no way able to challenge their evidence — and it was clear that they conducted their experiments with the highest regard to accuracy. You may, therefore, accept their evidence — whether or not you do is entirely up to you — and decide that the buckle we have seen in court, which was found in the study of the accused’s house, is not the buckle Fiona Johnson was wearing on the night she was murdered.

  ‘If you should believe the buckle that has been exhibited in court is not the genuine one, you have then to consider how a fake came to be presented to us. There can be no doubt by whose hands it came to light. Very carefully, the prosecution presented evidence which showed that Detective-Sergeant Rusk claims to have found it in the office when he was searching, on his own, that room in the accused’s house. Did he find it there? Or did he pretend to find it? If he found it, how did a fake buckle come to be in the accused’s study? If Rusk placed it there and then pretended to find it, why?

  ‘The defence have attempted to answer this last question and it is up to you to decide whether you should accept such explanation. It has been alleged that Mrs Kremayne and Rusk were having an affair and that Rusk wished Kremayne out of his way in order to pursue his illicit affair and also to gain his revenge on a man who succeeded where he, himself, had failed. You have heard Rusk in the witness-box and have been able to judge whether you believe his denial, you have heard Kremayne in the box and have been able to judge whether to believe his assertions. You will bear well in mind the very natural reluctance any husband must have to his making such assertions. You will also note that Mrs Kremayne has not come forward to give evidence.

  ‘You, and you alone, will decide whether you believe Rusk placed the buckle in the accused’s study. If you do so believe, it is my duty to inform you that because you think a witness has lied as to part of his evidence, that does not necessarily mean you should disbelieve all his evidence. Let me illustrate this. Suppose you accept the fact that Rusk ‘planted’ the buckle — this does not mean, ipso facto, that he was lying when he says he saw the accused return to his car at two fifty-seven on the morning of the murder. It is just conceivable that he did see the accused return at that time and, when he heard the girl had been murdered, determined the accused should be brought to justice, no matter by what means. Do not forget, members of the jury, that a policeman could so far forget his duty as to be convinced of a man’s guilt
to such an extent that he deliberately tipped the scales.

  ‘You will remember Rusk’s repeated denials that there was an affair between himself and Mrs Kremayne. Ask yourselves whether the facts as you have heard them are such that a reasonable man could come to any conclusion one way or the other. Has the demeanour of the witnesses helped you? This is a very vital question, because if you do not believe any such affair existed …’

  Rusk sat on the bench in the courtroom. He was in the middle of people yet had never felt so completely alone.

  Vernon came and settled next to him, having returned from a quick smoke outside. ‘Feeling lousy, Skipper?’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to be in a festive mood, am I?’ Rusk longed for sympathy, yet was waiting to rebuff the person who offered it.

  ‘Steine was a real bastard, wasn’t he?’ Vernon shifted uneasily on the wooden bench. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his untidy mop of hair. ‘I felt real sorry for you and kept wondering why it wasn’t the DI. Wouldn’t mind seeing him wriggle.’

  ‘And was I wriggling so very hard?’

  ‘Pinned down and taking the count.’ That was as good a description as any, thought Rusk bitterly.

  ‘They’ve been out some time,’ said Vernon. He looked at the empty jury-box immediately in front of him.

  ‘They’ve a lot to think about.’

  ‘Skipper … just between you and me … ‘

  ‘If you’re about to ask me what I think you are, forget it.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Vernon suddenly realised it must be a point Rusk would not be too happy to discuss.

  ‘They’re out there,’ said Rusk quietly, ‘twelve very ordinary people who are being asked to decide something that on his own not one of them would dare. Twelve very ordinary people, illogical, biased, untrained. Yet they’re going to break one or other of us … If you were one of them, Vem, what would your vote be? Kremayne a murderer, or Rusk a liar?’

  ‘You know what juries are, Skip.’

  ‘Is that a kind way of saying you give me a snowball’s chance in hell?’

  Vernon tried hard to find the right words. ‘I know you, but they don’t.’

  ‘You know me. You don’t know all of me because no one knows all about anyone else. But take the bit you do. Could I have done it?’ Rusk turned and stared at the other.

  Caught in a moment of honesty, Vernon mentally floundered.

  There was a stir on the far side of the courtroom. A door opened and an usher looked in, nodded at the clerk who, previously half dozing, jerked his head upright. The jury filed back into their box, public and counsel resumed their places. The judge returned, bowed, sat down.

  The foreman of the jury was asked whether a unanimous verdict had been reached. He said it had. Jonathan Edgar Royce Kremayne was not guilty of the death of Fiona Johnson.

  *

  Rusk walked out on to the pavement beyond the courthouse and three cameramen came forward. ‘Keep it steady’ shouted one of them.

  Rusk halted.

  ‘To the right, man.’

  ‘Don’t you want a few tears?’

  ‘Whatever you say, man, but step to the right into the sun. How about screwing your face up and making mean?’

  ‘And frighten all your young readers?’ Camera shutters buzzed.

  Rusk watched them changing the plates in their cameras. The inquisitors of the twentieth century. Be rude to them and they’d publish a snap of you picking your nose.

  A fourth man appeared. He held pencil and notebook at the ready. ‘Staying in the police force, Sergeant?’

  Rusk jingled the coins in his right-hand trouser pocket. ‘Why not ask the Chief Constable? He’s more likely to know.’

  ‘Would you say the sex maniac is still at large?’

  ‘According to the verdict.’

  ‘But not according to you?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘How about a good quotable quote?’

  ‘It’s fine weather for the farmers.’

  The reporter replaced the notebook in his coat pocket. ‘They’ll sling you out and maybe charge you with perjury.’

  ‘Would you like an invitation to the funeral?’

  ‘No need to worry — I’ll be there.’

  The reporter and photographer drifted away. Rusk lit a cigarette and threw the spent match into the gutter. A lorry rumbled past, belching out diesel fumes. A man on a moped swerved to avoid a dog that decided to cross the road, and a mini-car had to break violently. A small cloud temporarily imprisoned the sun’s rays and the world was blurred. Then the sun returned and shapes were distinct, and success could never be confused with failure.

  He saw Carren before the DI saw him. The black hair was slicked down with several cubic yards of hair-cream, the face was slickly set in lines of self-sufficiency, clothes fitted slickly, black shoes had slick points to them. He’d have been a natural on TV as a fine go-getting policeman.

  Carren saw him and came across. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘You’ve bought yourself a date, Rusk. In one hour’s time you, me and the old man are going to have a tintinnabulation with the Chief Constable.’ The DI stepped one pace closer. ‘You had to be too clever by half, didn’t you? That’s always been your trouble. Always been trying to prove how much cleverer you are. But you know something? Keep going for the next twenty years and you’d still never make a DI’s job — in your division, or any other.’

  ‘Considering what’s just happened, I should think your forecast’s just about right.’

  ‘I’ll forecast some more. You’ll get the sack, be charged with perjury, and be found guilty.’

  A double-decker bus went past to the accompaniment of the ugly ripping sound of a diesel engine revving hard in low gear. The DI spoke again as soon as he could be heard. I’m not saying I’ll be sorry to see you go. You’ve dragged the name of the police through the mud.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘Let’s go.’

  Rusk flicked the cigarette on to the pavement and trod on it. ‘You’ve forgotten something, haven’t you?’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘To ask whether I’m guilty as charged?’

  The DI laughed sarcastically.

  *

  HQ consisted of a large, Georgian-flavoured building, several smaller and detached buildings and garages, a number of houses, and well tended lawns in the centre of which was a tall flag-pole. The Chief Constable’s room was on the second floor in the main block, facing the tall mast of the high-powered transmitter. The room was oblong, rather spartan, and well suited to the character of the Chief Constable who believed that a man’s body best developed when subjected to things it didn’t like, and a man’s mind was most active when forced to consider things it didn’t wish to.

  Carren and Fearson sat before the large, time-battered desk, the Chief Constable behind it, and Rusk was made to stand. He almost expected to hear the crashing boots of the armed escort.

  The Chief Constable took a pinch of snuff. After inhaling it into each nostril, he wrinkled up his nose and for a brief second looked rather like a saturnine rabbit. ‘A very poor show,’ he said. He was addicted to massive understatements, made in throw-away style. ‘There will, of course, have to be an inquiry — quite apart from any other proceedings. You’ve let the side down very badly.’

  Rusk waited for a reference to the straight bat calling for a straighter ball.

  ‘It’s a great pity it had to happen, Superintendent.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very bad for the divisional record.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And, of course, if Mr Kremayne was guilty, and I for one don’t doubt it, he’s got away with murder … because one of my detective-sergeants thought himself above the law.’

  ‘If I may …’ began Rusk.

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ snapped the Chief Constable. ‘Because you, Rusk, betrayed the trust placed in yo
u, Kremayne can now never be brought to justice in view of the legal provision of … of …’

  ‘Autrefois acquit supplied Rusk.

  They ignored him.

  There was a silence.

  The DI nervous uncrossed his legs and then re-crossed them with his left leg uppermost. He was not a man who could face the Chief Constable with equanimity.

  I’ve spoken to the Press and asked them if they could tone down the story of Rusk’s behaviour.’

  ‘With what result, sir?’ queried the superintendent.

  ‘As one has become conditioned to expect. We keep law and order for three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, but the Press shows interest only in the events of the three hundred and sixty-fifth day.’ The Chief Constable turned. ‘You will be suspended from duties, Rusk. — Please make a note of that, Mr Carren.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the DI hurriedly.

  ‘One can only hope that the damage that has been caused will not prove to be irreparable. Dammit, man, why did you allow yourself to be found out?’

  *

  Rusk stared at The Teahouse Of The August Moon which lay on the floor by the side of his chair. That was one of the books he’d have been really proud to have written. If he’d lived in Okinawa, they’d have solved all his troubles for him with their wonderful brand of logic.

  He poured himself out a sherry. Empire style, and knew the one thing in life he’d really like to do was to get stinking tight — but not on sherry, Empire style. He hadn’t bothered to argue with them because they’d gathered a belief and nothing would change it. At the same time, he’d had to confess that someone with greater self-confidence would have argued because of a belief that he’d get somewhere if he did, and because of that belief he might have done so: if he, Rusk, had had more self-confidence he would have made a fight of it because lack of fight was self-condemnatory. But although you knew what was lacking, that didn’t mean you could dredge it up. Some people were well equipped for a world in which the fast salesman was first and the rest nowhere, others weren’t.