“None,” he said eventually.
“But you looked into Mr Wainwright’s friends, acquaintances, that sort of thing?”
“We did the standard background checks into him, yes. But it was only a couple of hours later when we retrieved CCTV footage from a house just up the road from the alleyway. The footage clearly showed Mr Dawson heading in that direction with a baseball bat and leaving again a few minutes later. Mr Dawson then became a suspect, as opposed to a person of interest.”
“Ah yes,” Paul said as if he’d forgotten something. “The CCTV footage. I take it you watched the full tape.”
“Yes, we did,” Malcolm said confidently.
“And there was no one else on it?”
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Could you see the entrance to the alleyway on the tape?” Paul asked.
“No, the camera angle didn’t extend to that area.”
“So although you saw Mr Dawson heading to and then leaving the immediate vicinity of the alley, you couldn’t actually see him enter or leave the alley itself?”
“That’s correct,” Paul said, frowning for a few seconds before sitting back in his chair. I knew exactly where Paul was going, and as I watched Malcolm’s face I knew from how his expression changed that he’d worked it out as well.
“So if you couldn’t see Mr Dawson enter the alleyway, you also couldn’t see if anyone else entered it. If they approached from the opposite direction then the camera wouldn’t pick them up, would it?”
“That’s correct,” Malcolm said. Paul looked at him expectantly, but Malcolm said nothing else.
“Were you able to get the time of the attack from the footage?” Paul asked after a pause long enough to let the idea of another attacker hang in the air. Malcolm explained that the time hadn’t been set on the CCTV camera, but they’d been able to use the footage to calculate how long I’d been in the alleyway. Just under sixty seconds. “So how did you time the attack?”
“Mr Wainwright called for a taxi at 9:57 pm. The ambulance service received a 999 telephone call at 10:45 pm when the barman from the pub found the victim. According to Mr Wainwright’s phone records, his phone dropped from the network at 10:22 pm, so we assume that this was the actual time of the attack itself.” Malcolm explained.
“Sorry, dropped from the network? What do you mean by that?” Paul asked.
“The phone was smashed, we assume during the attack. This was at 10:22 pm. These timings are from the carrier, so we know that time is accurate regardless of the time on the phone itself. That’s when the signal from the phone stopped.” Paul turned to the map and placed a sticker over The Griffin pub. Before he continued, he wrote 10.22 pm on the sticker, adding a question mark after it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, could I refer you to photograph number seventeen in your folders?” Paul asked the jury. They all shuffled through their folders with Paul watching until he thought they had all got to the right photograph. “As the picture shows, Mr Wainwright’s phone is completely smashed. Broken to the point of destruction, I would suggest. Certainly more than just a cracked screen, which is what Mr Dawson reports.” Paul paused, looking at Malcolm. “Those timings don’t work though, do they? My client followed Mr Wainwright into the alleyway straight after the phone call was made to the taxi firm, so that would have been just after ten in the evening. He can be seen on the footage just after the victim finished his call, and leaving around 60 seconds later.”
“Your Honour,” the prosecutor called out. I’d almost forgotten she was there, she’d been so quiet. “Surely my learned friend is calling for his witness to speculate here?”
“Your Honour, this witness is a policeman with over twenty years service. This is hardly speculation.” Judge Watling looked at them both before replying.
“Yes, but even so I do think that Miss Revell has got this one right,” he said. “Please rephrase or retract the question, Mr Dewar.” Paul made a show of looking exasperated but again, he’d got his point across.
“I’ll retract the question, Your Honour. I apologise.” Paul looked down at his notes before continuing. “Detective Superintendent, in your experience, is it possible that while Mr Dawson did attack Robert Wainwright at or about ten o’clock, the victim was then subsequently attacked by an unknown party later on? And it was during this second attack that the phone was smashed, dropping it from the network?”
“It’s possible,” Malcolm replied. “But it’s also possible that Mr Dawson came back to the alleyway from the opposite direction, when he wouldn’t have been seen by the camera. We only have his word for the exact sequencing of events.”
“But there’s also CCTV footage from The Heartsease pub that shows Mr Dawson arriving there at 10:16 pm. If the attack that killed Mr Wainwright was at 10:22 pm, then it doesn't work.” I glanced up at the jury to see several of them frowning. Paul crossed over to the map and wrote 10:16 pm on the sticker covering The Heartsease pub.
“You’re right, but we discounted the accuracy of the CCTV timing at the Heartsease,” Malcolm said. Paul turned back to Malcolm, eyebrows raised.
“Why?” Paul asked, frowning. My stomach lurched as Malcolm leaned forward and shot a dark look in my direction.
“Well, you know who installed the cameras at the pub?” He looked back at Paul.
“Please enlighten us,” Paul said. Malcolm glanced back at me for a second, and I saw a slight frown cross his face.
“Mr Dawson did,” he said. Both Paul and Laura looked at me. “Given the other measures he’d taken to avoid detection, we didn’t believe the time on that camera was accurate.” Oops. I’d not adjusted the time on the camera at The Heartsease, but hadn’t mentioned to Paul and Laura that I’d installed it. I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.
Paul recovered from the surprise first, and continued talking after adding a question mark after the time marked on the sticker. As he asked Malcolm his next question, something about whether or not he’d been able to verify that the time on the cameras was incorrect or if it was only an assumption, Laura continued to stare at me, her face as dark as thunder. I looked down, ashamed.
“So were you able to verify that the camera had been tampered with?” Paul asked.
“No,” Malcolm replied. “We sent the device to a firm we have a contract with for forensic analysis. They looked at it, and couldn’t tell either way.”
“What was the firm called?” Malcolm checked his notes before replying to Paul’s question.
“Digital Solutions Incorporated,” he said.
“But if they had confirmed that the time was accurate, would that be admissible evidence to the court?”
“Yes, it would. That’s part of the contract, that they provide evidence that complies with the Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act 1996.”
“Which then means it can be used in court, is that correct?” Paul looked over at the jury as he said this.
“That’s correct, yes,” Malcolm said.
“Okay, Detective Superintendent Griffiths, let me ask you a question. If it had been possible to demonstrate that the time on the CCTV camera was accurate, and Mr Dawson was in that location at that time, would this have changed your investigation?”
“It would, to an extent,” Malcolm replied, looking thoughtful. “But he’s admitted hitting Mr Wainwright, so I don’t understand how it would be possible.”
“Thank you,” Paul replied. “Do you know a gentleman called Florin Caren?” Malcolm frowned at the abrupt change in direction, as did most of the jury.
“Er, yes. I know of him,” he said.
“Could you tell the jury about him, please? Just a précis will be fine,” Paul asked. Malcolm shifted in his chair, and the creases on his forehead deepened.
“I wasn’t expecting to be asked about him, but he was a Romanian criminal who SOCA put away earlier this year,” he said. Paul was about to ask him a question when he continued. “Serious Organised Crime Agency, sorry.” Paul nodded in
response.
“And what was your involvement with the case?”
“It was quite minor as far as I remember. The individual in question was based in London, but had close links to Norwich so SOCA asked us for input. It was just in an advisory role as we know the area.”
“Do you remember what Mr Caren was convicted of?” Paul asked as Miss Revell rose to her feet.
“Your Honour, how is this relevant?” she said. The Judge looked at Paul for a reply.
“It will become clear in due course, Your Honour,” Paul replied.
“I shall hold you to that, Mr Dewar. Please continue.” Miss Revell sat back down at the judge's words, turning to one of her colleagues and whispering something in his ear.
“Detective Superintendent, please carry on. Do you remember what this Mr Caren was convicted of?” Paul repeated his question.
“It was a long line of convictions if I remember correctly. Some quite serious ones. He was not a nice man,”
“And the most serious conviction?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure.”
“In which case, allow me to refresh your memory. Mr Caren was arrested in April this year, and subsequently convicted of murder and conspiracy to murder. He is currently incarcerated in Belmarsh Prison.” There was silence in the courtroom for a few seconds, probably as everyone tried to work out how this was connected to my case. “Thank you, Detective Superintendent. No more questions,” Paul said, turning away from Malcolm.
I zoned out as the Prosecutor got to her feet and started asking Malcolm questions. They were all about how I’d ‘confessed’ to everything once I found out Robert was dead, and I tired of them quickly. Looking at the jury they looked as bored as I was. I saw one of them looking at me, the older chap Albert, with a curious expression on his face. I wondered what he was thinking. There’d not been much so far in the trial that was particularly explosive, but I knew Paul was laying the groundwork out carefully. I just wasn’t sure what he was building up to. When we’d been preparing for the trial during the last few weeks, I’d tried very hard to find out what avenues he was going to explore. He’d refused to share his strategy and when I tried to press Laura, she clammed up immediately. I was going to find out at the same time as the jury.
I nodded at Albert as he was still looking at me, and to my surprise, he nodded back.
The next witness that Paul called to the stand was Alfie Nesbitt, his investigator. He was quite a small man, at least he was for a policeman. Or an ex-policeman, anyway. He stood maybe five feet five and was built like a runner. Thin and wiry. He took the oath with an air of boredom and sat in the witness stand as if he did this sort of thing every day.
“Mr Nesbitt,” Paul said, “I would like if I may to introduce you to the jury. Ladies and gentlemen,” Paul turned to the jury, “this is Mr Alfred Nesbitt, known as Alfie. He’s an investigator who I hired for this case. I have brought him to the stand to enable me to introduce some new evidence that was not considered at the previous trial. Mr Nesbitt, Alfie, could you tell the jury what you did for a living before you became a private investigator?”
“I was a police officer, serving for eleven years in Suffolk Constabulary. I was a cybercrime specialist.”
“But you are no longer a police officer now?”
“That’s correct. I resigned from the force two years ago.”
“Could you share with the jury the details of your resignation?” Paul asked. Alfie turned to face the jury square on, tilting his head upward.
“Yes. I resigned due to allegations about my behaviour. These allegations were never proven, and no formal action was taken against me, but I felt that my position within the police had become untenable.”
“I see,” Paul said. “So regardless of whatever these allegations were, no charges were ever brought against you?”
“They weren’t criminal allegations,” Alfie said. Paul shot a swift glance at Miss Revell, who was leaning forward on her desk.
“No criminal allegations, no formal action taken, is that correct?” Paul asked.
“Your Honour,” Miss Revell stood. “If I may, could I question the impartiality of this witness?” The judge looked at Paul for a response.
“Your Honour, my learned friend is quite within her rights to question his impartiality, and this is precisely why I have raised the witness’ former occupation. However, Mr Nesbitt is here to present intangible evidence he has uncovered in his role as my investigator,” Paul said. It was obvious that he had been expecting the challenge. “He is not here to offer an opinion, nor to speculate. His character cannot be queried by this court, surely?”
The judge took a few seconds to consider what Miss Revell and Paul had said.
“Very well,” he replied over the top of his glasses. “But Mr Dewar, I will be swift to intervene if your witness steps outside those parameters.”
“Thank you, Your Honour,” Paul said. As Miss Revell sat back down in her seat and whispered to one of her colleagues, I noticed Laura let out a deep breath. The burning question I had, and I was sure everyone else in the room had, was exactly what the allegations against Alfie Nesbitt were. It didn’t look like we would find out, though. “Your Honour, I would like to introduce a new exhibit. This is footage from a dashboard camera, or dash-cam, that my investigator has uncovered.” Judge Watling nodded, and the usher wheeled a large flat screen television to the centre of the courtroom. “Alfie, could you tell us how you uncovered this footage?” Paul asked.
Alfie cleared his throat before replying. When he spoke, he was softly spoken which was a marked difference to when he had taken the oath.
“I canvassed the taxi firms operating in the area, asking them to review their taskings for the evening in question. I was trying to find any cabbies, sorry, taxi drivers, who may have been in the area at the time of the attack.” Alfie spoke in a similar way to Malcolm, but not as stilted. I wondered if this was something they taught at police school. How to talk in court, or something like that.
“I see,” Paul said. “And you found some, I take it?” Alfie obviously had, or there would be no need for the big television. I got the impression that Paul was just trying to keep the momentum going and avoid everyone waiting in silence for the usher to plug the damn thing in.
“Yes, I did,” Alfie replied. “I found a taxi firm based in Norwich, ABC Taxis, which had sent a vehicle for a pickup in Dussindale. They put me in touch with the driver, and I was able to confirm with him that he had a dash-cam fitted. I was also able to obtain the device itself from the driver.” Paul looked across at the usher, who was still struggling with the television. If it wasn’t for the two prison officers either side of me, I’d have gone to give him a hand with it.
“So, what did you do with this device?” Paul asked.
“I sent it to a company called Digital Solutions Incorporated, based in Cambridge, for analysis.”
“Why did you send it to that particular company?” It was obvious that Paul and Alfie were following a well-rehearsed script, but that didn’t make it any less interesting.
“They’re Home Office approved analysts of digital media and devices.” Alfie glanced across at the public gallery where Malcolm was still sitting. I’d not noticed him come back into the gallery after he’d finished giving evidence. The look the two of them exchanged was fierce. Not much love lost there, then. I wondered again what Alfie had done to get himself thrown out of the police, and whether or not Malcolm had been involved. “They’re the same company that Norfolk Police outsource all their digital analysis to.”
“Yes, thank you, Alfie. A previous witness has covered that part already,” Paul replied.
The court usher prodded at a remote control, and the screen flashed into life. He crossed the court and handed the remote control to Paul.
“Your Honour, I would like to introduce this footage to the court.” The judge nodded in response. “Alfie, before we view the footage, could you just read out the i
ntroductory paragraph of the report from Digital Solutions Incorporated?” Alfie unfolded a sheet of paper he had pulled out from a pocket.
“Following detailed forensic analysis of the device, Digital Solutions Incorporated are able to state with certainty that the device settings have not been altered in any way since installation. These settings include the date and time, which have been confirmed to be correct at the time of the examination and unaltered since the device installation. The device has been found to be in full working order, including the Global Positioning Satellite functions which maintain the date and time stamp.” Alfie’s voice suited the dry jargon perfectly.
“So the date and time on the device are correct, and haven’t been altered?” Paul summarised.
“That’s correct.”
“And this is confirmed by a Home Office approved analyst?” Paul said, hammering the point home for the jury. I leaned forward in my chair, eager to see the footage itself.
“Yes,” Alfie replied.
“Thank you,” Paul said. “Could the jury see the footage, please?”
The usher pointed the remote control toward the television and pressed a button. The DVD player underneath the television whirred into life, and the view through a windscreen flickered onto the screen. In the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, there was some small white text showing a date and time. On the television, the car was driving slowly, and I recognised the area it was driving through as Thorpe St Andrew. It even went past the primary school that I had gone to as a child. It stopped at a red light at the top of one of the main roads leading through the town, Thunder Lane, and a pedestrian could be seen crossing the road in front of the car. It was a very familiar looking pedestrian. Me.
Paul stabbed at the remote control just as I looked at the car, freezing my face on the screen. The quality was very good indeed, much better than the grainy images from the camera that caught me at The Griffin pub. There was no doubt who it was.
Blind Justice Page 25
