by Peter Murphy
‘Yes, I daresay it was.’
‘You made the not unreasonable assumption that the attacker approached Mr Gilliam from behind; that the blow was struck to the back of the head by someone standing above him. Would that be fair?’
‘Yes.’
‘The blow to the back of the head caused him to fall off the bed on to the floor, which gave the attacker the opportunity to inflict two further blows?’
‘I thought that to be a reasonable interpretation of the events which might have led to the injuries I saw.’
Hardcastle nodded.
‘Quite so. And would it also be a reasonable assumption, given that the blow was struck to the back of the head from above, that the attacker may well have struck the blow while Mr Gilliam was lying down, having or being about to have sexual intercourse with Jennifer Doyce?’
Andrew Pilkington was on his feet immediately.
‘My Lord, that question is quite improper,’ he protested. ‘My learned friend is inviting the witness to speculate about the sequence of events.’
‘My Lord,’ Hardcastle replied, ‘the witness has already speculated quite liberally on that subject. I am merely inviting him to do so a little more precisely. And my learned friend has, I think, been realistic enough not to pretend to the jury that Mr Gilliam and Miss Doyce were on board the Rosemary D for the purpose of playing charades.’
Several members of the jury permitted themselves a brief smile.
Mr Justice Lancaster looked across at the witness.
‘Dr Wren, you may answer if you have a reasonable scientific basis for an opinion. If you do not, you must say so.’
Dr Wren took a deep breath.
‘Again, there is no medical reason for supposing that, but I would agree that it is a possible interpretation of my findings.’
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Hardcastle said, sitting down.
Andrew Pilkington stood slowly, turning slightly to give himself a view of the clock on the wall behind him, above the dock. It was approaching 3.30.
‘My Lord, it is somewhat earlier than usual, but may I invite your Lordship to rise? I had hoped to be able to call Dr Walker to deal with the injuries to Jennifer Doyce. But I understand that he had a medical emergency at Addenbrookes earlier in the day, and has asked if he might come tomorrow morning. In the circumstances…’
The judge glanced up at the clock. ‘Yes, very well, Mr Pilkington.’ He turned to the jury. ‘10.30 tomorrow morning, members of the jury please. Make sure you do not discuss the case with anyone outside court.’
35
The prison officers led Billy Cottage through the door at the rear of the court, across the narrow corridor, and into his cell. He had understood some of the day’s proceedings, but the evidence seemed to be given so quickly that he barely had time to digest an answer before the next question was asked. Often he found himself distracted by the judge’s red robes, and found himself staring at them as if mesmerised. In one way the robes seemed absurd, totally removed from reality. What did they have to do with his trial? He was facing the threat of being hanged. Why was the judge dressed up like this, as if he were on his way to a fancy dress party? His own barristers’ robes were strange enough, but at least they were a sober black and white. The judge’s robes were so brilliant, so striking that they seemed absurd, yet also terrifying, in some way he could not quite define. He had not dared to look at the jury. But he was aware of their eyes turning in his direction at various times, especially when Andrew Pilkington mentioned his previous trouble with the law. Why had that come up? When he was first charged, John Singer had assured him that no one was allowed to mention that. Now the jury knew, and they had looked at him. The cell seemed even smaller than it had before; more claustrophobic.
A prison officer opened the door leading to the entrance hall. The harsh metallic sound of the turning key jolted Billy back to the present.
When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire,
Full well I served my master for nigh on seven years,
‘We will take him back to Bedford for the night as soon as you’ve finished with him,’ he heard the officer remark cheerfully.
Billy’s legal team filed slowly into the corridor, and stopped outside his cell.
‘Well, so far so good,’ Martin Hardcastle said. ‘Nothing to link you to the offence yet. The real work begins tomorrow.’
‘Did you want to ask Mr Hardcastle anything, Billy?’ Barratt Davis asked.
Till I took up to poaching as you shall quickly hear,
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.
‘Yes,’ Billy replied. He had been sitting on the narrow wooden bench at the back of the cell. Now he stood and walked slowly to the front, holding on to the bars of the door with both hands. ‘I can’t understand why you let them tell the jury about my other trouble.’
‘It’s all to do with the evidence about the song…’ Hardcastle began, but Billy cut him off.
‘If they think I’m the kind of man who goes around doing that all the time, it’s going to look as though I’m guilty.’
‘They won’t think that, and even if they do…’
‘It’s not fair. I only did that once, and now…’
‘Mr Cottage, listen to me…’
‘No, you listen. If they find me guilty, I’m going to be hanged…’
But then he was suddenly quiet. His determination to confront Hardcastle seemed to melt away into nothingness.
‘Even now, look how long I’ve been away from my lock, look how long I’ve been away from Eve…’
Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire,
Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare,
Hardcastle was becoming irritated, and he had been about to demand that Billy listen to him. But the abrupt change in mood and tone took him aback. He was silent for some time, conscious of the eyes of Ben Schroeder and Barratt Davis on him.
‘I’m doing all that I can to get you back to your lock, and back to Eve,’ he replied quietly. ‘But to do that, I need you to trust me. Just as you would trust a surgeon if you needed an operation. I’m asking you to place yourself in my hands, although I know that is a difficult thing to do.’
Billy was returning very slowly to his bench at the rear of the cell.
‘The reason I allowed the jury to know about your previous trouble is that they would have had to find out eventually. It was just a question of when, and I preferred to do it on my terms rather than the prosecution’s terms.’
Billy had resumed his seat. He looked up.
‘The reason I had to do it is this. Tomorrow, they are going to try to prove that whoever killed Frank Gilliam and raped Jennifer Doyce was singing the Lincolnshire Poacher. I have to challenge that. I have to create a doubt in the jury’s minds about it. Once I do that, prosecution counsel is going to want to call PC Willis to say that you were singing that same song when you were arrested before. I have no way of resisting that. If I seem to resist it, it will look a lot worse to the jury than it does now. So we put it in now. We say to the jury: “we have nothing to hide. Billy Cottage spied on a woman once. But he’s not a killer”.’
Billy’s head had dropped back down again. Martin Hardcastle exhaled heavily.
‘I hope you understand that,’ he said. ‘But whether you do or don’t, I need you to trust me. That’s the only way this is going to work.’
He turned away towards the door.
‘You’re my main barrister,’ Billy replied. ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing.’
Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer,
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.
By the time Ben and Barratt had reassured Billy Cottage as much as they could, Hardcastle was nowhere to be seen.
‘Par for the course,’ Barratt commented cheerfully, feeling Ben’s eyes on him. ‘He always does that during trial. If he’s in London, he goes straight home after court. I think it’s because he needs his solitude to concentrate.’
He looked at his watch.
‘I’m off too,’ he added.
‘What, to your room?’ Ben asked. ‘It must be catching.’
‘No,’ Barratt replied with a smile. ‘I’m going into town. Suzie is having a party at the boutique to entertain all kinds of important people in the world of fashion. I promised her I wouldn’t miss it. God knows, she’s turned up at any number of terminally boring Law Society shindigs over the years as a favour to me. It’s the least I can do. I’ll be back on the early train tomorrow. Enjoy your dinner.’
He set out quickly across the square.
Ben and Jess were left staring at each other. Spontaneously, they both burst out laughing.
‘Feeling abandoned?’ Jess asked.
‘Decidedly,’ Ben replied. ‘First my leader, now my instructing solicitor.’
‘Well, at least you still have me,’ she said.
‘And I am glad of your company’ Ben smiled.
Without too much haste they crossed Market Square and entered the George.
‘Drink in an hour?’ Jess suggested. ‘I feel the need to change. I got very hot this afternoon.’
‘So do I,’ Ben smiled. ‘A full day in court wearing a stiff collar and studs is bad enough without being strangled all the way through dinner.’
They began to walk together up the dark wooden staircase which led to their rooms.
‘I’m glad to hear someone admit it’s not a comfortable way to dress,’ Jess replied. ‘It looks awful.’
‘It’s not in the least comfortable,’ Ben said, ‘especially for those of us who didn’t go to Eton and get used to it at a young age. It seems that the ability to perform well in uncomfortable dress is one of the qualities needed for professional success in England.’
‘Ah, the old stiff upper lip principle.’
‘Or the old stiff collar principle. There are those who say that things like collar studs won us the Empire.’
‘If so, they are losing it rather rapidly now,’ she replied.
He suddenly laughed.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Oh, nothing. It’s just that I have a standing joke with my grandfather about becoming Viceroy of India. When the family council was talking about my becoming a barrister, and they were saying I wouldn’t be accepted because of being Jewish, I was going to tell them about a Jewish barrister who became Lord Chief Justice of England and Viceroy of India. But before I could say a word, my grandfather told them for me. He already knew all about it.’
She smiled. ‘Rufus Isaacs,’ she said. ‘Later Marquess of Reading.’
Ben stared at her in surprise. ‘I am impressed,’ he said.
‘I’m an historian, remember?’ she replied. ‘The Raj was one of my subjects.’
‘Hence the taste for Indian food?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, my grandfather took great delight in sharing his knowledge about Rufus Isaacs, and there wasn’t much anyone could say after that. But he has never let me forget it. He still calls me “Viceroy” sometimes.’
They laughed.
‘But please believe me. I have no ambitions for Empire,’ he said. ‘The stiff collar just comes with the job.’
They had reached her room. She had her key in her hand and opened the door. She looked towards the end of the corridor.
‘And, sadly, difficult Silks come with the job too,’ she said, smiling and closing the door.
* * *
Two hours later they had done justice to the George’s passable steak and kidney pie and were sipping coffee.
‘Have you thought of becoming qualified?’ Ben asked.
‘Becoming a solicitor?’
‘Yes.’
She leaned back in her chair, threw her head back, and looked up at the ceiling, smiling.
‘Just recently, as a matter of fact. I’ve been wondering about it.’
He was nodding encouragingly.
‘When I first started with Barratt, it was just a job, something to do while I was deciding what to do with my life – while I considered all the glorious opportunities open to history graduates from Bristol University. I never thought I would want to be a lawyer. But now… watching him work, seeing how the firm helps its clients, seeing how interesting the cases are, I am beginning to think it’s something I might want to do.’
She leaned forward towards him.
‘There are drawbacks, obviously, such as dealing with people like Martin Hardcastle.’
Ben laughed.
‘You really don’t like Martin, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. I wouldn’t say anything in front of Barratt, obviously, but no, I don’t like him. I think the way he treated Billy Cottage today was horrible. The man is charged with murder. He may be facing a death sentence, and Hardcastle is coming across as though it’s just another case, something of technical interest – a game almost. I couldn’t treat a client like that, and neither could you, Ben. Don’t give me the speech about Silks being different, because I don’t buy it. I know you will never treat a client that way – even when you get Silk.’
‘I hope not,’ he replied.
‘You won’t,’ she said definitively.
‘There is nothing we can do about Martin,’ Ben said. ‘There will always be people like that, especially at the Bar. So the only thing that matters is how you treat people. It’s particularly important as a solicitor, because you have far more to do with clients than barristers – especially Silks. You have to be good with clients. And I know you would be good, because I’ve already seen evidence of it.’
‘Oh?’
‘I watched you with Joan Heppenstall when we did the Reverend Little’s case,’ he replied. ‘I watched you hold her hand, reassure her, encourage her, get the most out of her. It’s because of you that she gave evidence at all, and it’s because of you that she gave evidence so well. That’s what brought the jury over to our side.’
He finished his coffee.
‘So if you decide to do it, I will be the first to applaud.’
‘Well, I’m still pondering,’ she said.
They both sat in silence for some time.
‘Can I ask you something? You don’t have to tell me.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
He was taken aback by the question, and stared at her for some time. She did not flinch or divert her eyes.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m curious. And if I’m going to be a lawyer I have to get used to asking questions.’
He sat up in his chair and leaned forward to be closer to her.
‘Not since university,’ he replied, after some time. ‘You know, with taking my bar finals, then doing pupillage, and now beginning practice…’
She cut him off, shaking her head.
‘That’s not it,’ she insisted. ‘You’re the kind of man who would make time for things you care about, however busy you may be – as you do when you take Simon to watch West Ham. It’s not time. It must be something else.’
He took a deep breath and looked away across the dining room towards the church.
‘Ben, you don’t have to say. Just tell me to mind my own business. I don’t…’
‘I had my heart broken,’ he said suddenly. ‘I fell in love during my second year of university. Utterly and completely in love.
Unfortunately, she didn’t feel the same way. There was some boy she knew at home in Kent. I think they are married now. In any case, she made it clear that we could have no future together.’
‘This was at university?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, three or four years ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the world ended?’
‘Yes. The world ended.’
‘That’s a lot of power for one girl to have, to make the world end.’
He shrugged.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be flippant. I know you’ve been hurt. Will the earth start spinning around its axis again one day?’
‘I don’t know.’
She stood and walked around the table to stand at his side. To Ben’s amazement she took one of his hands in hers and then kissed him on the cheek, not a light sympathetic peck, but a warm kiss, with depth.
‘I really hope it does,’ she said gently.
She released his hand, but not hurriedly.
‘I need an early night,’ she said. ‘I will see you for breakfast. Goodnight.’
36
23 June
‘May it please your Lordship, I call Dr Christopher Walker.’
Even at 10.30, as Andrew Pilkington called his first witness, the promise was of a warm day. Paul had opened a window in the courtroom, but Ben already felt the atmosphere oppressive as his robes and collar began to cling to him. Martin Hardcastle did not seem to notice. As ever, he was sitting impassively, barely moving, appearing to be totally focused on the evidence. He had still not opened his brief. Ben’s papers were spread far and wide on the desk top in front of him, but Martin’s lay in a single precise pile, the pink ribbon tied securely around them.
Ben was relieved to see that his leader seemed to be in a better mood today. He had even volunteered to see Billy Cottage before court and had been encouraging, while still reinforcing the need to remain impassive and give nothing away to the jury on a day when the evidence was going to hit closer to home.
Dr Walker began by telling the jury that he was an experienced doctor, head of internal medicine at Addenbrookes Hospital in Cambridge, and that he was in charge of the care of Jennifer Doyce.
