Dance While You Can

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Not guilty.’ Her voice was small but firm, and she looked at the judge as she spoke. He didn’t return the compliment, and though she didn’t move she seemed to shrink back into the dock.

  ‘Count two. Arson. In that on the fifth day of September, 1981, contrary to the Criminal Damage Act 1971, section one, paragraph two, subsection . . .’ The clerk’s voice droned on as he related each and every word of the subsection, until he asked, ‘How say you? Guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Not guilty.’

  Three more times we went through the same performance as the counts for theft, forgery, and receiving stolen goods were read out. Then there was a hush over the room as the jury was sworn in. Eventually Michael Samuelson got to his feet. The trial had begun.

  For two days prosecution witnesses filed into the court. The main focus of attention was on the murder and the fire, but since no one had actually witnessed the start of the fire there was very little evidence to be heard on that score. Finally, on the third morning, Elizabeth took the stand. For the moment, as so much of the evidence so far had been based on hearsay and conjecture, I wasn’t unduly worried and felt confident that things were going our way. Nevertheless, as she took the oath Elizabeth’s voice shook. Every member of the jury had his eyes fixed on her. This was their first and only opportunity of hearing first-hand what had happened that day at the warehouse.

  We began by going over the details of Edward’s will, something I would have preferred to avoid, but I knew that if I didn’t bring it out first Samuelson would be sure to do so later.

  When I was satisfied that the jury understood that the will gave Christine a motive for killing Elizabeth, I moved on to the day of the fire.

  I smiled encouragingly and asked Elizabeth to begin by telling us at what time she had arrived at Westmoor on the morning of the fire, and what had happened after she found the note from Christine. She spoke quietly, but coherently, going over the details of the telephone conversation with Christine. She confirmed Canary’s testimony that she had said she was going shopping, then told how she had driven her car into the village before returning to Westmoor to make sure Christine’s note was not left around for anyone else to find.

  ‘Is this note available to the court?’ Justice McKee interrupted.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t, my lord,’ I answered. We had searched everywhere for it but in the end had come to the conclusion that it must have been destroyed in the fire.

  ‘Oh,’ was all McKee said, but it was enough to throw the existence of the note into question, and add credibility to Miss Barsby’s testimony that she had been directing Customs officers to Westmoor when she saw Elizabeth reverse out of the village; her implication – that Elizabeth had been trying to hide from the Customs officers – was clear.

  I turned back to Elizabeth. ‘After you collected the note, what did you do next?’

  ‘I drove straight to the warehouse. When I got there, Dan, the warehouse-keeper, was at the door. I ran past him up to the second floor where my husband had a large storage area. I looked for Christine, but there was no sign of her. I had only been to the warehouse once before, but I remembered that there was a smaller storeroom at the end of the corridor, which Edward used as an office. As I walked towards it I checked all the units to see if Christine was in any of them. Then, as I pushed open the door at the end, I remember screaming out for Dan.’

  ‘Can you tell the court why you screamed out for Dan?’

  ‘Because everything in the room had been smashed to pieces. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Even the wreckage must have been worth a fortune.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Samuelson scribbling. ‘And what happened next?’ I asked.

  ‘I heard a noise behind me. I turned round, but before I knew what was happening I was being pushed into the room.’

  ‘Can you identify the person who pushed you into the room?’

  ‘No. I only know it was a man.’

  ‘A man. But it was your sister-in-law who had asked you to go to the warehouse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you, at any time on that Saturday afternoon, see your sister-in-law?’

  ‘No.’

  I nodded. ‘And what happened after you were pushed into the room?’

  ‘I fell into the debris. It reeked of petrol. Then a lighted newspaper was thrown into the room and the door was closed.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘The whole room went up in flames. I managed to get to the door, but it was locked. I tried to find something to break it down with, but then I slipped and fell and my clothes caught fire. I tried to scream but nothing came out. The room was filled with smoke and I could hardly breathe.

  ‘I threw myself at the door. Then it was as if I was being pushed back into the fire. I didn’t realise at first that someone was trying to open the door from outside, so I tried to resist. Then I heard shouting above the roar of the flames and I was dragged out on to the landing.

  ‘It was Dan. He was beating me with his overall to smother the flames and asking me what had happened, but all I could say was Christine’s name.

  ‘He must have assumed she was in the fire because he covered his face and hands with the overall and ran into the room. It must have been only seconds after that that a dresser fell and crashed on top of him. He screamed, and I tried to drag myself towards him. He was still screaming when something else fell, and then . . . he didn’t scream any more.’

  She was sobbing, and the judge nodded to the usher to bring her a chair. I waited, letting the silence hang over the court. Eventually she indicated that she was ready to go on.

  ‘Did you assume Dan was dead at that point, Mrs Walters?’

  She raised her hand to her eyes, rubbing away the tiredness. ‘I don’t know what I thought. Yes, I suppose I must have thought he was dead.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was still lying on the floor. The fire was spreading fast and I knew I had to get help. I managed to drag myself to my feet, then I started to choke again. I realised I had to get outside.’

  ‘Did you not consider using the telephone in Dan’s office at the warehouse entrance?’

  ‘I only thought of it when I got downstairs, but by then I could hear sirens in the distance and I knew help was on the way.’

  ‘And can you tell the jury why you were no longer at the warehouse when the police and fire brigade arrived?’

  She started to shake her head, and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes again. ‘I panicked. I was a coward, and I panicked.’

  ‘Why did you panic?’

  ‘My thoughts were so confused . . . I didn’t know who had started the fire, but I kept thinking about the people Christine had been dealing with, and how she had said they were capable of anything. And then all I could think of was my children, and that I had to get to them.’

  ‘When you got home, what happened then?’

  ‘Canary – our nanny – was coming down the stairs as I let myself in. I told her to get me upstairs before the children saw me. When we got to the bedroom she tried to call the doctor but I wouldn’t let her. I knew my burns were severe, but both Canary and I are trained nurses. I think I passed out then, because it was half an hour or so later . . .’

  ‘What time would that be?’

  ‘Four-thirty. Canary helped me to the mirror. I told her to cut away the burnt hair. Then I sent her to the hairdressers to get some hairpieces. While she was gone I changed my clothes and put on some trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. I was trying to hide my burns because I didn’t want to frighten the children.’

  ‘Why, at that point, did you not call the police?’

  She lifted her face, as if to sink the tears back into her eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘But I wish to God I had.’

  ‘You say here in your statement that you didn’t call the police because you were trying to protect your children.’

  ‘I was, but I was afraid, too,
that if I went to the police, whoever had pushed me into the fire would try to kill me again. I wasn’t thinking straight, I did everything wrong, but I knew that eventually the police would come to me.’

  I turned to the jury for emphasis. ‘And we have already heard from the police how helpful you were when they did. And your sister-in-law, Mrs Walters, did she contact you again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you have any other visitors?’

  ‘Only the police. They came to interview me several times, then two days after the fire, they came to arrest me.’

  She looked drained, and I asked the judge if we might break for lunch. He agreed immediately, knowing she would need her strength to face the cross-examination.

  Samuelson started by taking her back over the terms of Edward’s will.

  I saw immediately what he was implying – that over a period of years Elizabeth had managed to cajole her husband into leaving her everything, and had then been determined to remove the only obstacle – Christine – that stood in the way of her children inheriting. He didn’t labour the point, but he made sure the jury appreciated it.

  He moved quickly to her arrival at the warehouse. ‘You tell us that on arrival at the warehouse you were accosted by a man. In your statement you say you looked fully into this man’s face before he grabbed you and pushed you into the fire – and yet you would have us believe that you are unable to identify him, or give any description of him.’

  That’s right.’

  ‘You are left with absolutely no impression of what this man looked like?’

  ‘No.’

  Samuelson looked at the jury, his eyebrows raised. ‘Who are you trying to shield, Mrs Walters?’

  She looked at me. ‘No one. I’m not shielding anyone. It was as I said . . . .’ She stopped as I looked away – ‘Just answer the questions,’ I had told her.

  ‘Please correct me if I am wrong, Mrs Walters, but it is your intention, is it not, that the court should believe your sister-in-law wasn’t at the warehouse?’

  ‘I didn’t see her.’

  ‘So she might have been there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I put it to you, Mrs Walters, that she was there. Why else should Daniel Davison have thought she was in the fire? After all, it was a Saturday afternoon, a quiet day. Davison would have seen her enter the warehouse.’

  ‘No. She wasn’t there.’

  ‘You claim your sister-in-law had threatened your children. Is that why you fought with her and pushed her into the fire, Mrs Walters?’

  Elizabeth was staring at him in horror, as if she couldn’t register the fact that he, or anyone, might really believe she was capable of doing what he suggested.

  ‘Was that why you asked her to meet you at the warehouse? So you could kill two birds with one stone? By setting light to what was stored in the warehouse, and pushing your sister-in-law into the fire, perhaps you thought you would put your children and yourself out of danger?’

  ‘No! No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t . . .’

  ‘You didn’t what, Mrs Walters?’

  ‘I didn’t see her.’

  ‘The jury may think you did, Mrs Walters. The jury may also think she’s in hiding now because she’s afraid of you. It is clear she escaped the fire, but perhaps she was a witness to Daniel Davison’s murder? The murder you committed with the man you are trying to shield. Is your sister-in-law still alive, Mrs Walters?’

  ‘No. Yes. No.’

  ‘Yes or no, Mrs. Walters?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s still alive? But you say she hasn’t contacted you since the fire, so how can you know?’

  ‘I don’t . . .’

  ‘If she’s alive, as you claim, Mrs Walters, then where is she?’

  I could see Elizabeth was close to breaking point. Samuelson was just waiting for the moment of her greatest confusion and vulnerability to trick her into confessing. I stood up. ‘My lord, I think it has been fully established that Mrs Walters has no knowledge of the whereabouts of her sister-in-law. Perhaps we could proceed . . .’

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Belmayne.’

  Samuelson smiled and left a long pause before continuing. ‘We have heard Mrs Daniel Davison testify that her husband knew the goods stored on the second floor of the warehouse – the goods that belonged to the deceased Edward Walters, and now belong to you – were either illegally obtained or stolen, and that Davison had been wondering for some time whether he should report this. Is that why he had to die, Mrs Walters? To shut him up?’

  ‘He didn’t have to . . . I didn’t . . .’

  ‘And the man you met at the warehouse, was he your accomplice? After all, Davison was a big man; you would need help.’

  ‘You’re wrong! I hardly knew Dan. I didn’t even know myself that the goods were stolen until I read my sister-in-law’s note.’

  ‘Note? But there is no note, Mrs Walters.’

  Elizabeth looked at me, but all I could do was shake my head.

  ‘The petrol can, found half a mile from the warehouse in some bushes. We have already heard your chauffeur testify that it is the can normally found in your car. How did it get into the bushes?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How did you get your burns, Mrs Walters? Why did you try to hide them? Why didn’t you go to the police after the fire? What were you afraid of?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t kill him!’

  ‘You are a liar, madam!’ His voice boomed through the court and Elizabeth shrank back in terror.

  I leapt to my feet. ‘My lord! My learned friend has gone . . .’

  ‘Yes, quite, Mr Belmayne.’ He turned to Samuelson. ‘I do not approve of theatrics in my court, Mr Samuelson, as well you know. Please return to a direct line of questioning and refrain from harassing the defendant.’

  ‘I have no further questions, my lord.’ Samuelson was still smiling pleasantly as he sat down.

  I did a short re-examination. I would have spared her the distress of answering any more questions, but for the fact that it was important to establish fully in the jury’s minds that Elizabeth had been the intended victim of a premeditated murder, arranged by Christine, to be carried out by a person or persons unknown, probably the people who were blackmailing her. Again I got her to demonstrate the obvious grief she felt at Davison’s losing his life just after saving hers.

  When we left court that day I was unnerved by the way things were going. Although he tried to hide it, I knew Freddie was too.

  In the robing room Samuelson congratulated me on the way I had handled the case so far, subtly reminding me of how inexperienced I was. But we both knew our guns were empty of any real ammunition. The lack of facts meant the outcome now rested on our skill as barristers – whichever one of us succeeded in getting the jury on our side would win. And Samuelson had had years of practice.

  At ten o’clock the following morning Samuelson rose to his feet to begin his summing up. His notes were spread out in front of him – but over the next hour he hardly needed to refer to them at all. His speech was every bit as powerful as I’d expected and I listened carefully as, step by step, he took the jury through the evidence. He did it succinctly, and in an easy language that no one could fail to follow.

  ‘We now have no choice, members of the jury, but to conclude that the accused is an arsonist.’ His voice was trembling with indignation. ‘Why did she try to hide the fact that she had been in a fire, if not because she herself had started that fire? It was only when the police came to question her, and she could no longer conceal the burns, that she admitted to having been there. And where is her sister-in-law now? Afraid to come out of hiding, or . . . Well, I wonder where she is, members of the jury. It is convenient, is it not, that there are no witnesses to this crime? The only certain survivor of the fire is the woman before you, the woman who stood to benefit more than anyone from the destruction of the Bridlington warehouse. Daniel Davison had known for s
ome time that the antiques and antiquities on the second floor were either fraudulently obtained or stolen, and it was because he was on the point of doing his duty as a law-abiding citizen that he died the worst kind of death there is – death by fire.’

  He stopped suddenly, leaving the courtroom empty of sound. In the electric silence, the full horror of Davison’s death came home to everyone.

  Samuelson hitched his gown over his shoulders and after a few seconds looked up. ‘And for what? To disguise a lifetime of cheating, stealing and lying. Remember the accused’s own words when she claimed to have found the destruction in the warehouse? “Even the wreckage must have been worth a fortune.” Her first observation, and one that has come with her into the courtroom. It gives us some indication, perhaps, of the way this woman thinks. Members of the jury, I’m sure you will agree that the few facts we have in this case speak for themselves. There is only one verdict, is there not? Guilty.’

  Despite his pleasant smile, Samuelson couldn’t have looked more like an executioner as he retook his seat.

  As I got to my feet there was a shuffling in the public gallery. The Old Bailey regulars were there, the modern equivalent of the hags who knitted their way through the French Revolution, beside the guillotine. Like leeches, they sated their gruesome appetites on other people’s misfortune.

  After Samuelson’s speech, the jury now presented to me two rows of uniformly hostile faces. Freddie and I had been right to assume, when we put the finishing touches to my speech the night before, that they would not want another detailed review of the events of the case.

  ‘May it please your lordship, members of the jury. It is never an easy task to present the case for the defence, and it is especially difficult for me today, when my learned friend has put such a convincing argument before you. But there is one fundamental flaw in his argument. That is, that he has no proof whatsoever to substantiate his claims.

  ‘As he himself has pointed out, there are no witnesses to the events at the warehouse, and therefore all the evidence on that score is either hearsay or conjecture. In legal terminology, it is circumstantial evidence only. It is on circumstantial evidence only, members of the jury, that you must decide the defendant’s fate. And remember too that she is innocent until proved, beyond all reasonable doubt, to be guilty.