by A. Wendeberg
‘What transpired that night?’ the judge asked, ignoring Bicker’s raised eyebrows.
‘He did not tell me. But I know my husband. He wasn’t easily rattled by anything. He was a surgeon for many years, and had strong nerves.’
The judge signalled to Bicker to continue.
‘Mrs Johnston, you stated that you are certain your husband was looking forward to meeting his friend, the prisoner. If he was looking forward to it, how could he possibly be afraid of it at the same time?’
She gifted him a smile such as one offers a child. ‘You see, Mr Bicker, he looked forward to seeing his friend, but he was dreading that a specific issue might be raised that evening. Does that make sense to you?’
Someone up in the galleries chuckled. Justice Hawkins called for order.
From a corner of her vision, Olivia saw Frost dip his chin ever so lightly. The solicitor-general answered with a curl of his lips.
‘When you say he dreaded a specific topic, would you know what it might have been?’
‘I do not.’
‘So you are merely speculating.’
‘I am using the limited information available to me and making an assertion, as I was asked to.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Johnston. I have no further questions for the witness.’
Before the judge could release her, the solicitor-general stood and announced that he had one more question for the witness, but that the topic was so delicate, he did not wish it to leave the court room.
A feeling of sickness spread in Olivia’s chest.
The galleries were cleared, and the newspaper men were asked to leave as well.
Sévère shot a glance at Olivia and shook his head once. Do not say or do anything.
‘Mrs Johnston, you said your husband had strong nerves because that is what is required of a surgeon. You also said,’ and here the solicitor-general consulted his notes, ‘…that he was not easily rattled. What did rattle your husband, Mrs Johnston?’
She blinked, uncertain as to where this question might lead. ‘He… Ignorance disturbed him. Stupidity. Arrogance.’
‘Can you think of anything else?’
The judge leant forward. ‘I do not see where this is going and neither does the witness, it appears. If you would clearly state what it is you wish to know, this trial might move forward.’
‘I apologise, my Lord. I merely wished to be considerate.’ Turning to the witness he said, ‘What transpired that night, the information that disturbed your husband so deeply, was a well-kept secret: the true identity of the prisoner’s wife.’
Olivia fought not to cry out, not to bury her head in her hands, or run away. All was lost. Sévère would never recover from this blow.
Never.
A short moment later, the whole truth sank in: the one thing that put this case on wobbly legs was that the prosecution had not presented a motive for the murder.
But now they would.
And it couldn’t be any more compromising.
‘What do you mean by that?’ thundered the judge. Molly Johnston flinched.
‘Dr Peter Johnston confided in a colleague. I present here a letter that was sent to me this morning.’
The judge received the paper, read it slowly, and returned it to the solicitor-general. ‘You received this only this morning?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘And this relates to the case in which way precisely?’
‘It shows the motive of the prisoner to murder the deceased Dr Peter Johnston in cold blood.’
‘Go ahead and read it aloud, Mr Hanbury.’
‘Thank you, My Lord.’ He turned to face the jury, and began. ‘Dr Johnston and I have been working together for more than ten years. On occasion, we talked of private matters, such as on the fifteenth of June, when Dr Johnston asked me for advice. He told me that a friend — he did not give the name — had married a prostitute, and that he didn’t know whether he should allow himself to be seen with this man again. After reading about the murder of my dear colleague, and learning that Coroner Sévère — who is known to be a good friend of Dr Johnston, and who is also known to have a wife of unknown parentage — I drew my own conclusions. I will not divulge my name, but am well aware that you might need a sworn witness who can corroborate these accusations. If in fact I understood Dr Johnston correctly, Inspector Height will be able to do that. Respectfully, Dr X.’
With that, the solicitor-general walked up to the jury, handed the letter to the foreman, and turned back to face a pale Mrs Johnston.
‘Mrs Johnston, has your husband ever mentioned Mrs Sévère’s past to you?’
‘No.’
‘Did the prisoner or his wife ever mention that Mrs Sévère was a prostitute?’
She huffed. ‘They most certainly did not.’
‘A betrayal of friendship,’ the solicitor-general muttered, and before the defence could protest, he announced that he had no further questions for the witness.
Bicker stood, straightened his robe, and walked up to the witness stand, but then turned to face the jurymen. ‘My dear colleague wishes you to believe that mere speculations are hard facts.’
Behind him, the judge rapped his gavel. Bicker lowered his head a fraction, and addressed the witness. ‘Mrs Johnston, did your husband occasionally offer medical treatment for the unfortunate?’
‘He regularly did so.’
‘And were prostitutes among his patients?’
‘Of course. He wouldn’t turn away a man or woman in need of medical attention.’
‘And on such occasions, when he treated prostitutes, did he seem upset or — to use your own word — rattled?’
‘No, why would he?’
‘Why, indeed. Thank you, Mrs Johnston. The defence has no more questions for the witness.’
Molly Johnston was released, and the prosecution asked to re-examine Inspector Height.
Olivia kept her chin high. Inside, she wilted.
‘Inspector Height, pray tell us how you came to know the wife of the prisoner, Mrs Olivia Sévère, née Kovalchuk?’
Height kept his body turned toward the jury as he said, ‘I came to know Mrs Sévère about seven months ago when Mr Sévère and I arrested her.’
‘You arrested her?’ The solicitor-general feigned surprise.
‘Yes.’
‘Would you please explain to the jury the circumstances of the arrest.’
‘She was suspected of having concealed the death of one Mr Alexander Easy and of having unlawfully disposed of his body. The man died of a heart attack and was thrown into the Thames soon after his death. She was soon released, for we could not give sufficient evidence to keep her on remand.’
‘How did you make the connection between Mr Alexander Easy and Mrs Sévère? Surely, a respectable woman wouldn’t have disposed of a body?’
Height nodded once. ‘During the postmortem, a card was found on the body of Mr Alexander Easy, which led us to an…establishment, where we met the woman who is now the prisoner’s wife.’
The solicitor-general paused for a moment, then continued with a low voice, ‘What kind of establishment?’
‘A house of ill repute.’
‘A brothel?’
‘Yes.’
Olivia’s eyes slid shut. Her teeth hurt from clenching her jaw too long, too hard. A faint screeching of enamel, pain beneath her shoulder blades, the urge to scream. She held her breath and counted to ten. Then she opened her eyes and met Sévère’s calm gaze.
‘What did Mrs Sévère do there?’
‘She worked and lived in a room on the first floor.’
‘She worked as a prostitute?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under which name?’
Height inhaled, paused, and said, ‘Miss Mary.’
The solicitor-general walked up to his desk and picked up a brochure that lay hidden beneath several folders. ‘Miss Mary, you say? Might it be the Miss Mary from an establishment known as Madame Rousseau’
s?’
‘Yes.’
‘According to this night life guide she is one of the most sought-after ladies of her trade. Is that correct?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Hum.’ The solicitor-general replaced the brochure and announced that he had no more questions for the witness.
The judge asked the defence if they had questions for the witness. Mr Bicker pushed off his desk, hummed and nodded, then said, ‘Inspector Height, you stated that you have known of Mrs Sévère’s past for about seven months now, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Mr Sévère was aware of your knowledge?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Has he ever threatened your life?’
A smile flickered across Height’s face. ‘No.’
‘Has he tried to blackmail you?’
‘No.’
‘Did Mr Sévère ever put you under duress so that you wouldn’t speak about his wife’s past?’
‘No, he did not.’
‘Are you friends with the prisoner?’
‘Work brings us together on occasion, but I can’t say that we are friends.’ He glanced at Sévère as if to make sure he hadn’t offended him.
‘Please correct me if I’m mistaken: You have known about the prisoner’s wife’s past for seven months, and not once did the prisoner attempt to murder you?’
Several jurymen chuckled, Height lowered his head to hide a grin, and the judge cleared his throat.
‘No, Mr Sévère has neither threatened me nor tried to kill me.’
‘One last question: would you please tell us why Mr Sévère married Olivia Kovalchuk?’
Puzzled, Height shook his head. ‘I…can only speculate.’
‘Precisely.’ Bicker snapped the lapels of his robe straight, and sat.
After a moment of silence, the judge cleared his throat and asked Bicker if the defence’s plan was to disrespect the court. Bicker looked up from his papers, blinked innocently, and said, ‘Of course not, my Lord. I was merely pondering the rather unusual, if not to say queer, behaviour of the prisoner.’
‘Mr Bicker, I am about to lose my patience.’
‘My apologies. I shall ask the witness one last question.’
‘And here I am, believing that you’d done that already,’ muttered the judge, straightening his wig.
Bicker stood again and pursued his lips. ‘Inspector Height, would you please tell the jury who asked — or I should say, demanded — that organ samples of the deceased be taken and sent to Dr Barry to be analysed for poisons?’
‘Coroner…’ Height cleared his throat. ‘Mr Sévère asked Dr Taylor who performed the first postmortem to take samples of Johnston’s organs and send them to Dr Barry.’
‘Why?’
Height huffed a laugh. ‘Mr Sévère is well known for his methods. When his instincts tell him something is amiss, he’s like a bulldog.’ Height threw a glance at Sévère. ‘My apologies,’ he muttered, and continued, ‘As written in Dr Taylor’s postmortem report, no evidence was found for death by poison. However, Mr Sévère still insisted on organ samples being taken and analysed for poison. He even scheduled an inquest. He witnessed Dr Johnston’s death and he concluded Dr Johnston was poisoned.’
‘In the years you’ve worked as a policeman, how often has it occurred that a murderer has insisted that evidence be gathered against him? Evidence no one would have found if not for his insistence? Evidence that would find him guilty and condemn him to the gallows?’
‘Not once.’
‘Thank you, Inspector Height. The defence has no more questions.’
The trial was adjourned for lunch and the court room emptied, save for two ushers, the attorney for the defence, Olivia, and Sévère, who was flanked by two wardens and moved from the prisoner’s dock to a more comfortable seat where he could stretch his aching leg.
Unspeaking, Olivia leant against the desk opposite Sévère. The wardens gave them more privacy, and Sévère reached out and took Olivia’s hand in his.
‘You are shaking,’ he said.
She pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around her ribcage.
Bicker moved closer to them and said in a low voice, ‘You should have told me.’
‘You did well enough,’ Sévère replied.
‘Johnston would never have said those things to anyone. Besides, we never told him that Inspector Height knew about me,’ Olivia whispered to Sévère.
Bicker brought his head down, and said quietly, ‘Would someone please explain all this to me?’
Sévère held Olivia’s gaze. Both were ignoring Bicker’s request. She slipped her fingers into her sleeve and pulled out the note. Sévère unfolded it and flinched. He opened his mouth to speak, but an usher arrived with a bowl of slop and a cup of hot water.
Bicker straightened up. Olivia leant back. The usher placed Sévère’s lunch on the desk, and retreated.
‘How many have you received?’ Sévère asked.
‘This is the fourth. It arrived this morning.’
‘And when had you planned to tell me?’
‘Only after your release,’ she said softly. ‘But given the…new developments, I thought you should know now.’
He laughed, rubbed his face. ‘God, I wish you would trust me.’
‘I didn’t wish to bother you. Higgins is helping me collect evidence. He and Alf track the boys who deliver the messages. But so far…nothing.’
‘Perhaps you should find a new attorney,’ Bicker said abruptly.
Sévère’s head snapped up.
‘I am trying to save your life, Mr Sévère, yet you and your wife deign not to let me in on a secret — several secrets it appears — that are crucial for your defence.’
‘I need to protect my wife,’ Sévère said matter-of-factly. ‘We’ll discuss this when the trial is closed for today. And there’s another matter I wish to address.’
Then he began to shovel slop into his mouth. Not because he was hungry, but because he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
He needed to think.
Dr Taylor gave his statement on the postmortem he had conducted, much to the delight of the newspaper men. After all, gore was selling well.
Next, Dr Barry was brought onto the witness stand, and with every word of his introduction, Olivia saw the jury shed any doubt they might have had on his credibility. Doctor of Medicine, fellow of the Royal College of Physicians. Fellow of the Council and Institute of Chemistry, lecturer on medical jurisprudence and chemistry at Guy’s Hospital. Examiner in the newest branch of medical sciences — forensic medicine, at the London University. Expert in analytical chemistry with a focus on toxicology. Employed by the Home Office for the past nine years to make analyses in cases of suspected poisoning. Whatever the man would say in the course of his statement would be considered the truth and nothing but the truth. Even if he merely hypothesised.
Barry listed the samples that had been duly handed to him by the colleague who’d performed the postmortem on the deceased. Bottle A, secured and sealed, labelled liver, spleen, and kidney. Bottle B, secured and sealed, labelled duodenum, colon. Bottle C, secured and sealed…
Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a dull ache behind her eyes. She glanced to the prisoner’s dock. Sévère’s attention was fully on the witness. Once in a while he wrote in his notebook — as when Barry mentioned the bottle of brandy and the small jar with unguent that had been taken from the prisoner’s home, and when he outlined how each of the samples had been subjected to a lengthy process of extraction, as to how an alkaloid had been obtained, and how, upon Barry’s placing a small portion of it upon his tongue, it had produced the effect of aconitine: a peculiar burning sensation, extending toward the stomach.
‘Did you experience this with every sample you analysed?’
‘I did experience these symptoms in all the organ samples. However, I found no aconitine in the bottle of brandy the police confiscated from the pri
soner, nor in the food samples the prisoner confiscated from the Franks and the Johnstons. I analysed Mrs Frank’s heart medicine, which was a tincture of digitalis, and did not find aconitine there, either.’
The solicitor-general nodded solemnly. ‘But you found aconitin in all organ samples, including the stomach contents and the urine of the deceased?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘How can you be certain that it was aconitine and not another poison, such as digitalin — a vegetable alkaloid found in great quantities in the tincture you just mentioned. A tincture Dr Johnston regularly prescribed to the patient he saw shortly before he died?’
‘I am absolutely certain that it was aconitine and no other vegetable alkaloid. I have eighty vegetable preparations in my possession and have tasted all of them. In this particular case the sensation on the tongue lasted for four hours. I made an experiment with the alkaloid extract. I used the quantity corresponding to two ounces of urine and two ounces of the stomach content of the deceased and injected it beneath the skin of a mouse. First symptoms appeared after two minutes. The animal died after thirty minutes. I used a small amount of the unguent confiscated from the prisoner, an amount corresponding to the size of a pea, and extracted it in the same manner. Its effect upon the mice was undistinguishable from the effect produced by the extracts from organ and liquid samples of the deceased. A solvent which was a solution of tartaric acid was used on a mouse as well, and found to be quite inoperative.’
Olivia found no emotion on Sévère’s face other than curiosity. He looked to be simply sitting through an intriguing trial, trying to figure out the guilt or innocence of the man in the prisoner’s dock. When Dr Barry said that he had examined Johnston’s stomach contents microscopically but could not find anything corresponding to the root of aconite, Sévère tapped the graphite point of his pencil against paper, lost in thought.
