by Silver Abi
Judith smiled in response. “Don’t,” she replied. “First of all, it’s an affliction as well as a gift. You know I can’t even open the bedroom curtains without considering the impact it might have on the rest of the day. And second, you have your very own special charms.”
31
EVERYTHING ABOUT Jamie Benson’s demeanour showed him as a reluctant prosecution witness. He approached the witness box in a heavy-footed and ponderous manner and stood, glowering at Mr Arkwright, whilst his statement was read out to the court. In it he said that he knew Raymond well, having shared a room with him for three years and that they were friends. Whilst Arkwright spoke, Jamie spent much of the time staring at Raymond, perhaps wanting to indicate somehow to his friend that he was appearing under duress, but he was sorely disappointed as Raymond, still tidy and dapper but stooped and preoccupied with his own thoughts, kept his eyes fixed well and truly on his feet.
Dealing with the day of the murder, Jamie confirmed Raymond had lined up next to him at 1pm but had not made it to the pitch to watch the match. Mr Arkwright did quiz him about the hockey incident, described in short and terse language in his statement. He answered monosyllabically as far as possible and refrained from any glances at Raymond during this part of his testimony.
Arkwright also asked him about an invention of Raymond’s which, it was alleged, Davis had taken some credit for. Jamie claimed not to know what Arkwright was talking about but, from the sudden flush in his cheeks, Judith suspected that he did. She stuck by her decision to release him without any questions from the defence and he threw her a grateful look as he strode out of the court.
Then came the experts. Dr Entwhistle was a woman of around 40, of slight build, bespectacled with a pronounced limp. Her evidence was clear. Mr Davis had been felled with a single blow delivered from the front, when a large kitchen knife had been plunged into the left side of his chest, severing his aorta. He had almost certainly been upright and facing his killer when the blow was struck, which, she admitted when questioned, would fit with the scenario of two people who knew each other arguing and then one picking up the knife and administering the blow.
It was put to her that a person unknown to Mr Davis may have stabbed him, but she countered that, whilst that could certainly be the case, he had no marks on his fingers or hands to indicate that he had tried to protect himself, which, she said, you might have expected had he been faced with an armed but unknown assailant. He had sustained bruising to the back of his head, but that was from the fall, not from any blow administered before the fatal wound was inflicted. She put the time of death as anything from 12pm onwards, but accepted that the condition of the body was such that Mrs Taylor’s testimony that death must have been between 2.10 (when she put Christine Wilson’s telephone call through to Mr Davis) and 3.10 (when she found Raymond in Mr Davis’ room) was supported.
“Yes,” she accepted, when asked, the angle of the knife’s entry indicated that the blow had almost certainly been delivered by a person holding the knife in his or her left hand and, “Yes,” that person had possessed considerable strength. However, she also recounted a time when a seven-stone, 65-year-old lady confessed to a double murder where she had inflicted a similar injury on one of her victims with a butter knife. “People can be unexpectedly strong when they are angry,” was her not particularly expert or enlightening parting shot.
Dr Mainwaring, the second “expert”, was a young man who insisted on keeping his overcoat on whilst giving evidence. Judith wondered if he had spilt something on his shirt; that could be the only rationale for his actions. Constance had found him a few weeks earlier via an internet trawl and it was he who, at her request, had examined the prints outside Mr Davis’ kitchen window.
Yes, they certainly came from a rugby boot or boots, as the stud marks were clear and distinctive. No, it was not possible to say precisely what size but between a size 10 and a 12 would be his educated guess. The make? Well that was interesting. They were clearly Nazabe, an Australian make, widely available in the UK; the logo, embossed on the sole, was visible in the print he had examined. They bore 13 studs, four on the heel, eight on the toe (four each side) and one in the centre of the foot. Was that significant? It could be. Dr Mainwaring had himself played many hours of rugby in his youth, including at county level and he was able to confirm, with confidence, that players in different positions wear boots with different stud arrangements.
The direction of the prints? Well, it was one set of parallel prints so both feet, facing sideways as if the wearer was walking parallel to the wall. That seemed unhelpful at first but Dr Mainwaring said no, it was possible that a person climbing through the window from the inside would have turned as he or she descended and landed awkwardly in that position. He demonstrated what he meant with the aid of a pencil and a ruler. He added that the prints were more heavily weighted on the toes, consistent with the wearer jumping or landing from a height at that spot.
He didn’t accept that a random wearer of those boots, passing by the window, could have made the prints some days or even weeks before Mr Davis’ death. First, they were so close to the window that it was very unlikely a casual passer-by would have come so near. Second, it had rained heavily on the Thursday night so the prints had almost certainly been made on the Friday, the day Mr Davis died, or afterwards but certainly not before that day.
Dr Gable was the final forensic expert witness. He confirmed that Raymond’s fingerprints were everywhere, on the door handle, the armchair, the handle of the knife. However, they were not on the window or on the knife block from which the knife had been drawn, and the prints on the knife handle were, more likely than not, of Ray’s right hand. He accepted, when questioned, that later prints of Ray’s might have obliterated earlier ones, so if he had stabbed Mr Davis with his left hand but later tried to remove the knife with his right, the later prints may well be the only ones still present.
There was no sign of forced entry and nothing obviously missing from the rooms. Ray’s fingerprints were not on Mr Davis’ laptop or on the books scattered across the floor of the room. Many other fingerprints, apart from Raymond’s, were on the door handles and door panels but no attempts had been made to fingerprint all the boys at the school. Many people came and went through those doors on a regular basis.
At the end of the second day, the prosecution rested its case.
32
OH JAMIE. It was so good to see you after all this time. How I have missed you. But I wish you hadn’t lied too. Even though you did it to help me. Because when Davis stole my Leonardo flying machine I was pretty angry and you knew it. OK, he had asked us to do the research and he claimed he was only “borrowing it” to put out at the open evening, but we both know that when those bright-eyed prospective pupils gawped and prodded, he pretended he had made it himself. Not angry enough to kill him, of course not, but you didn’t know that.
And I did want you to tell them about the stuff in Glover’s cupboard. I couldn’t break my cover, but I was willing you to do it. I willed you so hard that my head was almost bursting with the beta waves scooting around. But I am being unfair because there was nothing to prompt you to make the connection. Most people wouldn’t. In fact, if you had started talking about it that baboon-faced man would have probably wobbled to his feet again and complained it was irrelevant and forced you to stop.
And the hockey? You were reluctant to talk about that too and Judith didn’t dwell on it today, as I had hoped she might because, as it turns out, that bit is important too. I know you spoke about it before, but they didn’t take the bait then. I think Judith has it this time though. I really hope so.
Dr Entwhistle. I found your evidence almost entirely useless. OK, you told us Davis was killed by a knife being stuck in his chest. With the greatest respect, even a chimpanzee would have realised that. There was so much more you could’ve said. I mean. You had the opportunity to examine any part of the man; you had the power to unearth all his secrets. For
example, Mr Davis was so ruled by his anxieties, his serotonin levels must have been virtually zero, but you never even checked or, if you did, you didn’t say. That would have been a much more significant piece of evidence for the cause of Mr Davis’ death than the totally obvious stuff you spouted.
Dr Mainwaring, in contrast, was rather the hero. Who knew that a footprint man would know so much about rugby? I may just have had something to do with his name coming to the top of Constance’s Google search but I can’t say anything more than that for now. Even though I know you won’t tell.
So who’s next? Me, that’s who. Not till tomorrow though. I must get to bed early then to ensure I am at my very best.
33
IT WAS a rather dismal Wednesday morning when Judith began the defence for Raymond Maynard and, although she had tried to remain upbeat, she was concerned at having insufficient material to raise any serious doubts that he was the killer. True, Raymond was right-handed, which was important, but his finger prints were on the knife and he had not provided any explanation of how this had happened.
There were still two leads to follow, the new one regarding the unusual rugby boots and the old one of the possible “shouting” from Mr Davis’ rooms (despite Judith’s concession in court during Mrs Taylor’s testimony). But at present, neither of these had yielded any fruit. And the roads she had already followed had been dead ends; Mr Glover’s unusual comment when confronted by news of Davis’ death and his feud with Mr Davis were clearly evidence of the antagonism between the two men, but there was no evidence that Mr Glover had committed any offence unless “thought crime” was now to be punished.
Mr Bailey’s volunteered evidence about overhearing an argument with Davis was helpful to paint a picture of the dead man but, again, yielded little real assistance, given that the boy in question, Andrew Partram, had been playing in the rugby match in front of crowds of people at the time of his murder, but she would raise it nevertheless with Mr Simpson.
And Christine Wilson’s planned exposé, well, it was unlikely to be linked to Mr Davis’ death either and making it public would not show any of the participants in a positive light. Mr Davis was dead and she had to remember that Mr Glover had helped Raymond by proclaiming what a model pupil he was and by declaring that he was still patrolling the grounds in case the real murderer reappeared; re-calling Mr Glover to the witness stand and damaging him by any public exposure of his furtive overseas activities would destroy his credibility and the good effect his glowing reference might have had. Some things were better unsaid.
Leaving aside the Pinocchio software, over which Judith had no control whatsoever, and which she knew might acquit Raymond on its own, Judith concluded that the best she could do for now was to attempt to engender as much public sympathy as possible for Raymond to sway the vote in his favour. With that end in mind, she called Mr Simpson as her first witness.
“Please state your name.”
“Dan Simpson. I’m the head of sport at Richmond Boys’.”
“And how long have you been there?”
“Not long. This is my third year.”
Dan Simpson was resplendent in an iridescent blue Top Man suit, together with a sombre navy tie. He spoke clearly, albeit petulantly; he had apparently cursed Judith, in earthy language, when Constance had requested his attendance on behalf of the defence. Given her earlier failure to charm him, Judith had resolved to play this one straight down the line, no tricks. She assessed that would be the best way to elicit the desired result from Mr Simpson.
“And do you enjoy your job?”
“Yes absolutely. It’s a dream. Grounds, equipment, all fantastic.”
“And the boys?”
“Well, they’re boys, aren’t they? Boisterous and full of testosterone, but that’s fine because I don’t need them to sit still in my lessons. They can channel it all into sport.”
“What about the boys who don’t like sport?”
“Look. I like my sport but I’m not like… Well, I had a really sadistic b… sorry, I had a sadistic games teacher at my school. Would make us do press-ups in the mud if we came at the back, that sort of thing. That’s not my style. If they’re good at sport that’s great. If they aren’t, well, I just try to improve their level of fitness.”
Judith nodded. Simpson was already on his guard, awaiting an accusation that he had been cruel or unsympathetic to Maynard and trying to head it off at the pass.
“Yes, thank you. Do you know Raymond Maynard, the accused?”
“Yes. I know him.”
“Do you teach him?”
“Yes.”
“And is Maynard good at sport?”
“Maynard doesn’t like physical exercise of any kind, as far as I can tell. I think he finds it boring.”
“But he joined in?”
“Yes, he joined in, he didn’t talk back. He did what he was asked. He was pretty uncoordinated, so couldn’t really catch a ball. But he could run so we stuck him on the wing in rugby, but, like I say, he couldn’t catch the ball so it didn’t work out.”
“And was he popular with the other boys?”
“No. Maybe because he was so clever. And dropping stuff, letting the team down, that didn’t help.”
“Was he teased?”
“Sometimes.”
“Bullied?”
Silence.
“Please answer the question, Mr Simpson.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you see Maynard being bullied?”
“Some of the other boys used to push him around a bit, yes.”
“Push him around?”
“Well, you know, they would tackle him heavily when they didn’t need to. That sort of thing.”
“So he got hurt?”
“A bit, nothing serious.”
“Do you consider a dislocated shoulder a serious injury?” Judith had done her homework since their last meeting and a careful review of the school minor injuries log had revealed Raymond’s name more than once.
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you aware that on the 8th of February last year Raymond Maynard sustained a dislocated shoulder during a rugby lesson at school?”
“Yes, now I remember. He fell badly in a tackle but I managed to push it back for him.”
“One of those ‘heavy’ unnecessary tackles to which you just referred?”
“I don’t remember it happening that way, but it’s possible, yes.”
“And, one month later, March 12th, he suffered a suspected broken nose, not confirmed – also in rugby. Do you remember that?”
“No. I don’t.”
“How convenient. And what did you do?”
A pause.
“What did you do, Mr Simpson, when he got tackled too hard and ‘that sort of thing’?”
“I don’t remember the broken nose, like I said. But, generally, I thought it would be worse if I interfered. I mean, then the boys would do it even more. Maynard had to stand up for himself, you know. He did once, in fact.”
“I’m not asking what you thought, Mr Simpson, I’m asking what you did. Is it correct, then, that you took no action against any other pupils when my client suffered these injuries, dislocated shoulder and broken nose, twice in five weeks? A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Thank you. Let’s move on. Tell me about the rugby match, the one which took place on the day Mr Davis was killed.”
“It was the final of the inter-schools’ tournament and we were playing Hawtrees, the biggest match of the year.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, it was a great match. Really tight. At half time we were just ahead. But we had a fantastic second half and we won 28–16.”
“And did anything unusual happen during the match?”
“During the match, no. But, of course, afterwards, that’s when we heard.”
“About Roger Davis?”
“Yes.”
“Who told yo
u?”
“Mr Glover. He came to the door and called me over.”
“And then what happened?”
“I told the boys.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Well. I don’t remember exactly. I was in shock, I think. And they were so full of it from the game. At first I thought I couldn’t tell them, couldn’t spoil things. So, I didn’t say he was dead. I think I said there had been an accident, a serious accident involving Mr Davis, and that they should get dressed and go back to their rooms.”
“How did they react?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Well. Did anyone ask what had happened?”
“Well, like I said, they had expected a party, a big celebration. But we couldn’t do that. So…”
“So?”
“They were all pretty disappointed when I said it was so serious they just had to get back. No party. Then they all quietened down and went back to school.”
“Then what happened?”
“After they had all gone, I locked the dressing room and went up to the school myself.”
“Thank you. Just one more thing I want to ask you about and then, well, you’ve been very helpful. Did Mr Davis talk to you about the rugby match at all?”
“This rugby match?”
“Yes.”
“Well, ah, ha, he wasn’t a great fan of rugby.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He didn’t have to. He was very into his subjects, Mr Davis. I think he saw rugby as a bit too brutal.”
“I wonder why. But anything in particular about the last match?”
Mr Simpson stared defiantly at Judith and she saw in that moment that he was prepared for this question. He knew what Mr Bailey had said and he would not be caught out. “Davis came to talk to me before the match, a few days before. Said he was thinking of giving Partram, one of the players in the team, a detention so he would miss the match.”
“Partram is Andrew Partram, Year 11?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he was not working hard enough.”
