Killing Satisfaction

by Jason De'Ath

  Ravensdale broke the silence of Vera’s audience: “Where was he standing, when he shot you on the ground?”

  “Right over me, my Lord. The gun was a couple of feet from me, I’d guess. He shot me in the chest twice... I was surprised that I was still alive, then he shot me in the head... I think the shock knocked me unconscious for a few minutes. I came ‘round for a few seconds and heard the car take off. The next thing I knew, it was getting light. I was amazed to still be alive... I thought, I’ve got to get to the clearing, otherwise no one will find me and I’ll bleed to death... I wasn’t really bleeding that much by then, though; but I was pretty weak. Somehow...I don’t know how, I managed to crawl back to the clearing. I just managed to make it to Gregg’s body... I must have lost consciousness again at that point... I don’t know how long I was laying their before that dog started licking my face.” Vera giggled, which broke the ice-hard tension in the court.

  “Thank you, Miss Fable. I think we’ll let our other witnesses take up the story from there. I have no further questions, my Lord.” stated Carmichael and sat down thoroughly satisfied with Vera’s performance.

  “Your witness, Mr Norcroft.” directed Ravensdale quietly; there was an audible release of breath by the jury and members of the public gallery. Vera’s, parents pulled tighter together for comfort.

  Norcroft rose to his feet and bowed in readiness for his cross-examination: “Thank you, my Lordship. I just have a few questions for Miss Fable... You say that the gunman appeared unfamiliar with the motor vehicle, is that correct?” “Yes, that was the impression he gave.” she replied testily.

  “He had to ask you how the controls worked in the car – is that correct?” “Yes.” she reluctantly conceded.

  “So, it would seem that the gunman was not a competent driver – not confident, at least?”

  “I suppose.” she assented, then added: “But he drove away fast enough.”

  “Yes, so you say, Miss Fable... I would contend that could in fact indicate a lack of driving skill. Other witnesses of the vehicle, as driven by the gunman, will attest to the same, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. However, my client is known to be a highly proficient driver, being a car thief by profession, as it were.” Ravensdale and Carmichael both raised an eyebrow in a synchronistic disapproval of the classification of theft as a profession. “If the court would please refer to the statement made by my client’s criminal associate, Richard Paris, it is evident that Arthur Jameson was regarded as a proficient driver by his peers. He is also well known to the police as a car thief: no self-respecting car thief would need lessons in how a car’s controls operate.” A feint snigger was audible from the public gallery; Ravensdale gave the individual – a journalist – a contemptuous stare.

  “I don’t think he really didn’t know how to drive that car.” complained Vera.

  “That is your opinion, Miss Fable, and you are entitled to it. But, it is just your opinion, upon which you have no more information than we do, to base.” countered Norcroft smugly.

  Carmichael could contain himself no more: “My Lordship, there is no evidence to support the claim that the gunman could not drive properly.”

  “My Lord, when the vehicle was recovered in Fulham, it had sustained damage to both ends. That does not indicate careful or competent driving.” argued Norcroft.

  “I agree with my learned friend that the car was not driven carefully.” asserted Carmichael, “But that does not necessarily imply an incompetent driver – just a careless one.”

  “I think we’ll allow the jury to decide for themselves.” interjected Ravensdale irritably. “Do you have any further questions, Mr Norcroft?”

  “Yes, I do, my Lordship... For the court’s benefit, I would like bring a peculiar matter to the fore: Miss Fable, was there anything unusual about the gunman’s hands?”

  “Well, I presume you mean the gloves?”

  “Yes, the gloves, Miss Fable. Is it correct that the gunman wore those gloves throughout the entire escapade?”

  “Yes... As far as I’m aware.”

  “Even when he was eating his chips?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, forgive me, but also throughout the sexual attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Members of the jury, this is an important detail, for two reasons: firstly, it explains why there were no identifiable fingerprints, aside from the victims’, inside or outside the car. Of course, this in itself does not rule out my client, but it does mean that there is not one scrap of hard evidence to indicate that my client was ever in that car, other than Miss

  Fable’s identification and possibly rather spurious witnesses of the vehicle on the Saturday morning...”

  “Objection. My Lord, my learned friend is casting aspersions on witness evidence before it has even been presented in court.” complained Carmichael scornfully.

  “Sustained. Choose your words carefully, Mr Norcroft.” warned Ravensdale.

  “My apologies my Lordship... Apart from the identification evidence, which I intend to discredit, there is nothing to connect my client to that car.”

  “I think Miss Fable’s identification is highly credible, Mr Norcroft.” asserted Ravensdale.

  “My Lord, I do not doubt Miss Fable’s believed veracity. However, if the court would allow, I will return to this point, shortly.” Norcroft smiled and bowed to the judge in perfunctory deference. “Returning to the gloves, I would like to refer to the statement by Richard Paris, in which he relates how my client was notorious for never wearing gloves when in the pursuit of burglary. Moreover, the records from a number of my client’s previous convictions indicate that his fingerprints constituted the primary prosecuting evidence. He is, and I make no secret of this, a habitual petty crook that is sufficiently artless to leave his calling card, almost without fail, at every scene upon which he visits his crimes.”

  The courtroom was stunned by such a revelation, not least of all, Arthur himself, who was slightly offended. Norcroft continued: “My Lord, members of the jury, my client’s felonious outlook on life is not in question. But, there is a world of difference between petty criminality and murder...”

  “Mr Norcroft,” interrupted an exasperated Ravensdale, “please spare the court your rhetoric until your opening address. I hope I do not need to remind you again that you are supposed to be cross-examining the witness, not making noble speeches.”

  “Please forgive my enthusiasm my Lord.” beseeched Norcroft.

  “Have you any more questions for this witness, Mr Norcroft?” demanded Ravensdale, whose patience was beginning to wear thin.

  “I do, my Lord. Miss Fable, you have testified in this court that you have an unequivocal recollection of the gunman’s face...”

  “Yes, I do. It was him!” snapped Vera pointing emphatically at Arthur in the dock; Arthur froze momentarily with an expression of sheer dread upon his face.

  “Miss Fable, please allow the learned counsel to make his point.” Ravensdale gently directed.

  “Thank you, my Lord. Miss Fable, you were required to attend a number of identity parades, were you not?” “Yes.”

  “And did you identify anyone else during any of those parades?”

  Vera hesitated, knowing exactly what Norcroft was leading up to; she glanced across to Carmichael in a desperate craving for salvation. Instead, Ravensdale prompted her: “Please answer the question, Miss Fable.”

  “Yes, yes I did. But, I felt under pressure to pick someone.” she looked entreatingly to the judge for absolution; none was forthcoming. “He looked similar. I just thought I should pick someone.”

  “I see, Miss Fable. And did you feel compelled to ‘pick someone’ when you singled out the man in the dock?”

  “No, I was certain that time.”

  “Certain?”

  “Yes – I’d never forget those eyes.”

  “Miss Fable, why did you need to make several passes of the line-up and have them speak...if you were so sure?” �
��I just wanted to get it...”

  “Get it right?” argued Norcroft.

  “Yes. I mean... I didn’t want to make any mistake... I didn’t want it said that I hadn’t checked thoroughly before making my choice.” she recovered with a little more confidence.

  “I see... Surely, Miss Fable, if you were so certain in your memory of this man’s face, why didn’t you just pick him out immediately?”

  “My Lord, I must protest: the witness has answered the question. My learned friend is barracking the witness.”

  “Yes. Mr Norcroft, I believe the witness has given an adequate explanation. Are we ever going to get to the crux of this interrogation?” moaned Ravensdale, who was contemplating a tea break.

  “My Lord, I beg your patience. I would like to bring a document to the attention of the court relating to a study by an eminent Forensic Psychologist of the Southern New Hampshire University, in the United States.” “An American?” noted the judge disparagingly.

  “Yes, my Lord. A Professor Fallenberg. He has been employed by the FBI on many high level cases.” “FBI?”

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation, my Lord... A kind of MI5 equivalent, I believe.”

  “I have heard of the FBI. May I have a copy of this document?” asked Ravensdale sniffily.

  “Yes, of course, my Lord. I have prepared a number of copies for the court.” Norcroft passed copies to the court usher, who duly handed them to the judge and Carmichael.

  “Professor Fallenberg conducted a series of studies during 1962 to 1964, regarding the efficacy of facial recognition over a variety of time intervals, and of particular interest, where the witness had only a fleeting glimpse or only observed the subject in poor lighting conditions; he conducted a range of tests in varying degrees of light. I consider these results to be relevant to this case, my Lord... If the court recalls, Miss Fable has testified that the conditions were exceedingly dark...” “There was some light.” corrected Vera, “The moon was out.”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Fable. There was indeed moonlight... Professor Fallenberg’s studies include low-light conditions, such as those limited to illumination by moonlight.”

  “Very interesting, I’m sure, Mr Norcroft. I will have to consider this evidence overnight. I will make a judgement of its’ relative admissibility in this case, in the morning. Is there anything else, Mr Norcroft?”

  “Er, yes, my Lordship. If my Lordship approves the information I have provided, I would respectfully request the conductance of a small experiment in the courtroom using Professor Fallenberg’s study as a foundation – the details are provided with your copy of the report, my Lord.”

  “I fear you have spent a little too much time in America, Mr Norcroft, where I believe such courtroom antics are commonplace.” taunted Ravensdale.

  “My Lord, I have never been to America.” protested Norcroft.

  “Hmmm, well perhaps you should consider going, Mr Norcroft.” The judge was known for his occasional jocular remarks and this one caused some hilarity in the public gallery and amongst the prosecuting counsel.

  “My Lordship is most amusing.” acknowledged Norcroft. “No more questions, my Lord.”

  “You may leave the witness box, Miss Fable.” granted Ravensdale with conciliatory smile, adding: “The court will adjourn for fifteen minutes.”

  The moment the court adjourned, Arthur leant over to complain to Robeson, who was sitting below and behind Norcroft: “What was that all about? ‘E made me look stupid.”

  “Arthur, trust me, in this instance, looking stupid was the least of your concerns... It’s all part of the game-plan, Arthur. Norcroft knows what he’s doing... I think.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  (12 January 1966)

  The prosecution team were somewhat baffled by the Fallenberg report:

  “Wherever did Norcroft uncover this little gem of gobbledygook?” queried Allerton-Brown (the prosecution solicitor), leaning over to take the report from Carmichael – in order that he could examine it during the day’s final court session. “He’s certainly full of surprises... I’m going to be busy tonight.” lamented Carmichael.

  “Do you think this thing has any credibility?”

  “If it just muddies the waters, it will have done its’ job... Find out whom this Professor Fallenberg is, old chap, and whether he really is as exalted as Norcroft would have us believe.”

  “Looks like I’m going to be busy, too.” grumbled Allerton-Brown.

  “Who have we got available on reserve today?”

  “Dr Ross...”

  “Ahh, yes, our biologist chappy.” noted Carmichael felicitously.

  The trial resumed with the calling to the witness box of Dr Quentin Ross, a senior scientist at the Scotland Yard department of Forensics

  “Dr Ross, you are a Forensic Manager at the New Scotland Yard forensic laboratory unit?” asked Carmichael.

  “Yes.”

  “And you are highly qualified: you have a PhD in Biological Science from Southampton University and are a member of the Chartered Society of Forensic Sciences?”

  “Yes. I have been working in Forensics for some ten years and before that I was a supervisor in a Pharmacological laboratory.”

  “Dr Ross, you were responsible for overseeing the analysis of Miss Fable’s clothing – is that correct?”

  “Yes, I head a small team that dealt with those particular specimens.”

  “And what did your examinations reveal?”

  “Miss Fable’s clothes were heavily soiled with blood. Most was identified as belonging to Miss Fable, who is Group O; there were also a number of large stains that also contained Group B blood, presumed to be from contact with Mr Mason’s body.”

  “Did you recover any other bodily fluids from Miss Fable’s clothing?”

  “Yes. We examined the underwear, which were found to be stained with blood and semen.”

  “What were you able to determine in respect to those samples?”

  “The blood was Group O and assumed to belong to the victim. The semen was found to be from a Group A secretor, and therefore, not from Mr Mason.”

  “Dr Ross, could you please explain what you mean by ‘Group A secretor’...?”

  “It means that blood derived antigens are secreted into all bodily fluids. We can detect these antigens and identify which blood Group they relate to.”

  “Did you test a sample of Arthur Jameson’s blood and saliva?”

  “Yes. His blood group was found to be Group A; the saliva samples indicated that Mr Jameson is a secretor.”

  “So, Arthur Jameson’s semen would contain these Group A secretions?” “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Dr Ross – no more questions.”

  “Your witness, Mr Norcroft.” directed Ravensdale.

  Norcroft rose slowly and purposefully: “Dr Ross, what proportion of the population are blood Group A?”

  “Approximately 35 to 40% of the population, male and female.”

  “I see. 35 to 40%... What is the approximate population of England, Dr Ross?”

  “Er...I would say, something of the order of 40 million persons.”

  “And what would you estimate is the male population of England in the age range of 20 to 30 years”

  “Er...I’m not sure. This is not really my area.” protested Dr Ross.

  “Well, allow me to help you. According to the Central Statistical Office census data recorded in 1961, the figure is about 7%. The information is available on request, my Lord, for those interested in such matters.” explained Norcroft smugly waving the report from which he was referring.

  “If you say so.” Ross replied in a vexed tone.

  “I do, Dr Ross... I remind the court that the gunman has been described as approximately 25 years of age. I believe that would mean that the gunman is one of close on 3 million possible individuals?” Dr Ross remained expressionless, “Do you agree Dr Ross?”

  “I suppose. That sounds about right.”

&nbs
p; “It is right. Therefore, the fact that the accused is blood Group A, isn’t all that significant – is it?” “No, but it narrows it down.” proffered Ross.

  “One in 3 million? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will note that the gunman could be anyone of 3 million people.”

  Carmichael stood-up aggrievedly: “My Lordship, my learned friend is misleading the court: not all of those 3 million would have cockney accents, nor an intimate knowledge of London and its’ suburbs.”

  “Quite true, Mr Carmichael.” agreed the judge, “I don’t suppose the learned defence counsel have statistics to suitably narrow down that proportion?” pompously queried the judge.

  “Er, not exactly, my Lord... But, I do have an estimate of the population of Greater London – which is about 10% of the population of England as whole.”

  “Is it really?” noted the judge slightly astounded before scribbling a note.

  “That, if my calculations are correct, narrows the possible number of individuals from which the gunman is derived to a paltry 300,000 persons, my Lord.” stated Norcroft with an air of satisfaction – they had effectively walked blindly into his trap.

  “Indeed.” grunted Ravensdale a tad resentfully.

  Carmichael suddenly had a flash of inspiration, “Dr Ross, what proportion of the population are Group A secretors?” “...Um. Difficult. There hasn’t been much research into that...” “In your professional opinion?” Carmichael proffered.

  “Well, to my knowledge, the greater proportion of the populous will be secretors.”