by Peter Murphy
Pilkington picked up the forensic report from the desk top in front of him. ‘And if I can summarise the findings when these items were analysed which, again, is not in dispute. The stains on the bed linen proved to be human blood of group A, with the exception of one stain of about one square inch on the right-hand edge of the top blanket, about three inches from the bottom of the blanket, which was found to be human blood of group O. Is that right?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘And the stains on the floor were all found to be human blood of group O. Yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I think there is no dispute. Is it right that Jennifer Doyce’s blood group is group A, and that Frank Gilliam’s is group O?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘All right. Now, just before we go any further with the crime scene, I want to ask you about another matter. Did you, in the course of your examination of the scene, find anything which might have been used as a weapon in the assaults?’
‘No, sir. I did not.’
‘But at a later date, was an item brought to you for analysis, and was it your understanding that it had been recovered from the river bed, close to the Rosemary D?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘My Lord, may the witness please be shown Exhibit Three?’
Paul quickly found Exhibit Three and held it up in front of the witness box.
‘Is that the item you were given?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It has been described as a winch handle from the Rosemary D. What was found on analysis of this item?’
‘Despite the degradation caused by its being immersed in water for some time, it was possible to identify a number of small stains, which on analysis proved to be human blood of both group A and group O, for the most part mixed or partly mixed together. I cannot, of course, say what the extent of staining was, or what the pattern of staining was before the contamination caused by the river water. In my opinion, sir, it would not be safe to draw any conclusions about those matters.’
‘Thank you. Did you examine an ash tray in the sleeping quarters?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘What, if anything, did you find?’
‘I found two cigarette stubs, sir.’
‘Were you able to establish by observation what brand of cigarettes they were?’
‘Yes, sir, they were Woodbines.’
‘Was any other evidence of Woodbine cigarettes discovered on board the Rosemary D to your knowledge?’
‘Yes, sir, one of my colleagues discovered two packets which would have contained ten Woodbines cigarettes, one in the right-hand pocket of Mr Gilliam’s jacket, the other in Miss Doyce’s handbag. Each packet contained seven cigarettes.’
‘Was there any other evidence to suggest who might have smoked any of these cigarettes?’
‘Yes, sir. One of them had traces of lipstick of a colour which appeared to be identical to that worn by Miss Doyce.’
Pilkington paused to consult a note.
‘Thank you. Now, lastly, on a window ledge in the same cabin, did you find a further piece of evidence?’
‘I did. I found a latent fingerprint which I was able to lift for the purpose of comparison.’
‘When you say comparison, do you mean comparison of a latent print with known fingerprints you have on record, for the purpose of identifying a particular individual?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Would you tell the jury whether there is a generally accepted minimum number of distinguishing characteristics which allow a valid comparison to be made?’
‘In general, no expert would venture an opinion about identification by fingerprints unless he finds at least eight matching characteristics.’
‘How many such characteristics were there in the case of the print you found on the window ledge?’
‘Twelve, sir. ’
‘Before I come to the results of the comparison, did you find anything else at the site of the latent fingerprint?’
‘Yes, sir. At the site of the print I found a red stain, measuring about one inch by a quarter of an inch. I took a swab of this stain, and when analysed it proved to be human blood of group A.’
‘Did the blood stain in any way prevent the fingerprint from being examined?’
‘No, sir, even though the stain was to some degree mixed with the print, the ridges were perfectly clear.’
‘I see. And, again, I think it is not disputed, when a comparison was made, was it found that the fingerprint found on the window ledge was that of the accused, William Cottage?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘I have nothing further, Mr Harlow, please wait there.’
* * *
Martin Hardcastle was already on his feet.
‘Mr Harlow, is it correct that there is no known method of determining at what time a fingerprint is left on a surface?’
Harlow smiled in the direction of the jury. If he had a pound for every time he had been asked that question…!
‘That is correct, sir. It is sometimes possible to tell in general terms whether a print has been somewhat degraded, but that does not assist in assigning a date to the print.’
Hardcastle paused. The answer he wanted to his next question did not necessarily follow from the last answer. But Harlow had not made any claim to the contrary in his report. If he went the wrong way, Hardcastle would hammer him about why he had omitted such an important matter from the report. But the only guaranteed result of that line of questioning was that the expert would be embarrassed. The evidence would still be there for the jury to accept and act on. It was the first critical moment of the trial for the defence of Billy Cottage.
‘Is it also correct, Mr Harlow, that you cannot say whether or not the latent fingerprint was deposited on the window ledge at the same time as the blood stain?’
Harlow bit his lip.
‘I cannot say that with any acceptable degree of scientific certainty.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Scientifically, I don’t know.’
‘And you cannot exclude the possibility that the fingerprint was deposited on the window ledge on an occasion before the blood was deposited?’
‘I would have to concede that,’ Harlow replied reluctantly.
‘Thank you, Mr Harlow,’ Hardcastle said, sitting down.
Andrew Pilkington was rising to his feet, but the judge intervened.
‘I am sorry, Mr Pilkington, but I have other duties to perform as the Assize Judge. We will adjourn for lunch until 2 o’clock.’
Pilkington smiled. By ‘other duties’ Mr Justice Lancaster meant that he would be having yet another formal lunch with civic dignitaries. If the trial lasted long enough he and Martin Hardcastle might be invited to take lunch with the judge but not, apparently, today. After the ritual bows between bench and bar the morning’s session of the court was over.
38
They assembled again at Martin Hardcastle’s preferred spot for smoking, just around the corner and to the left from the entrance to the Town Hall. Jess had been assigned to make sure that Billy Cottage had no urgent questions about the morning’s proceedings, after which she met John who, at Martin’s insistence, had undertaken to bring their daily sandwiches from the George. The weather was warm but fresh, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the courtroom. They were hungry, and conversation flagged while they did justice to their sandwiches. It was a rather public lunch. Despite the uncomfortable cramped conditions, public interest in the trial showed no signs of flagging. The public gallery had once again been full, and small clusters of reporters, as well as curious onlookers who had spilled out on to the street, surveyed the group from a distance across the square, wondering what they could be discussing, how well they thought they were doing.
&nbs
p; ‘So, what about Dr Bushell?’ Barratt asked, once the sandwiches were almost gone. ‘Do we ask the prosecution for details of any notes or statements he may have made?’
Hardcastle crumpled the wrapping paper from his sandwich into a tight ball and lobbed it successfully into a litter bin which stood against the wall to his left. He lit a cigarette.
‘Ah, yes. What has Jennifer Doyce been saying to her psychiatric counsellor? What do you think, Schroeder?’
‘Dangerous,’ Ben replied immediately. ‘If there was anything which undermined the prosecution’s case, or gave us any help at all, Andrew Pilkington would have provided it to us without being asked.’
Barratt Davis was looking doubtful, but Hardcastle jumped in immediately on Ben’s side.
‘Treasury Counsel,’ he said. ‘You can take it to the bank. It’s the code. It would be automatic. There is nothing there to help us.’
‘Which doesn’t mean there is nothing there,’ Ben continued. ‘And if we cross-examine Jennifer about anything she may have said since the attack, the prosecution will re-examine and bring every word of Dr Bushell’s notes in. They may even apply to call Dr Bushell, and we won’t get any sympathy there. I think we have to challenge her evidence as it is given without worrying about what she may have said to Dr Bushell.’
Hardcastle pointed towards Ben with his cigarette.
‘Absolutely right,’ he said. ‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings.’
Ben remained impassive, but Jess could not suppress a look and snort of disgust. Hardcastle raised his eyebrows, as if belatedly reflecting on his comment. He continued hurriedly.
‘We are going to assume that Jennifer Doyce told Dr Bushell exactly what she is going to say when she gives evidence tomorrow. Dr Walker was quite helpful. He has done some of our work for us. With a little prompting, he has already planted in the jury’s mind a question about whether they can rely on Jennifer’s memory after everything she has been through. We don’t need to attack her at all, so we are not going to have to risk alienating the jury by being aggressive. We can be nice to her and still get what we want.’
He threw the butt of his cigarette on to the ground and stamped on it.
‘But that is for tomorrow. This afternoon we have to worry about Mavis Brown.’
He turned abruptly and walked back into the Town Hall. Barratt stared after him for a moment before following. Jess turned to Ben.
‘I’m sorry, Ben. I’m surprised you didn’t hit him. How can he be so offensive?’
‘Apparently it’s a natural gift,’ Ben replied. ‘Jess, I don’t know why people in my profession feel obliged to act like that, but apparently they do. It’s something you just have to shrug off. You will be used to it by the time you become a solicitor.’
‘I may be changing my mind about that,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I could just shrug it off. Life’s too short.’
They turned towards the entrance.
‘Did Cottage have anything to say?’ Ben asked. ‘Anything in particular we need to talk to him about after court?’
‘He is getting anxious about giving evidence again,’ Jess replied. ‘He was asking when it would be his turn, and when it would be Eve’s turn. I told him it would be a day or two, and that we would have plenty of time to talk to him about it before he goes into the witness box. But he seems a bit agitated.’
‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll mention it to Martin.’
‘He’ll like that,’ she replied sullenly. ‘Something else out of the mouths of babes and sucklings.’
Ben patted her sympathetically on the arm as he opened the door for her.
* * *
‘My name is Charles Edwards.’
‘Are you the landlord and licensee of the Oliver Cromwell public house at St Ives?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘For how long have you been the landlord of that house?’
Edwards was a stout man, rather too stout for his age, which was about fifty. He was dressed in a blue blazer, light grey trousers and a blue and white striped tie. He clearly felt nervous about giving evidence, but it was not for any want of experience. He had given evidence before the licensing justices at the magistrates’ court on many occasions during his long career as a pub landlord. He ran a good house, always had. He had never been refused a license, and his impeccable record should have put his mind more at ease. But it was an aspect of the job he had never quite got used to. As a result, he pretended thought about the reply he gave to each question asked, even when none was necessary.
‘Oh, about seven years, sir.’
Andrew Pilkington looked up at Mr Justice Lancaster.
‘My Lord, with the usher’s assistance, may the witness be shown Exhibit One? The jury have copies. It is the ordnance survey map and street plan of St Ives.’
‘Yes,’ the judge replied.
Paul took the exhibit from the clerk’s desk and handed it to the witness.
‘Mr Edwards, if you will please look at the second page of the exhibit you have been given, you will see that it is a street plan of St Ives. Can you point out to the jury where the Oliver Cromwell is on this page?’
Edwards held the plan at arm’s length. His eyes were no longer quite as cooperative as they had been, but he had always taken his good eyesight for granted and was stubbornly resisting the thought of spectacles.
‘Yes, sir, it is here,’ he replied, pointing to a spot on the page.
‘Can you please hold it up so that my Lord, the jury and my learned friends can see it?’
Edwards complied.
‘Thank you. I think you are indicating where the letter A is marked on the plan, which would mean that the house is situated in Wellington Street, close to where that street ends at its junction with Priory Road. Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And perhaps you can help us with this. If you turn left on leaving the Oliver Cromwell and walk to Priory Road, you will come to a small corner shop, marked with the letter B, which is Mr Brown’s shop, is it not?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘It seems that the shop is the last building on Priory Road, and if you continue you will come to a gate with a turnstile, letter C, which leads into the meadow beside the river. Yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you. That is all I want to ask about that, so you can put the exhibit down. Now, do you know the accused, William Cottage?’
Edwards looked into the dock, where Cottage sat impassively, staring straight ahead.
‘Oh, yes, sir. I’ve know Billy for – oh, it must be three years, at least.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘Well, he’s quite a well-known character in St Ives. He’s the lock keeper at Fenstanton, of course, and you’d see him around town a lot, minding his own business, doing this and that.’
‘Yes. But…’
‘You can lead him,’ Martin Hardcastle was whispering from his left.
‘I’m much obliged. Have you employed Mr Cottage at the Oliver Cromwell?’
‘Yes, sir. For a good two years. He’s an assistant barman, part time. It’s because there’s not so much traffic on the river as there used to be, sir. There’s not as much work for the lock keepers, so Billy wanted to make an extra quid or two in the evenings, and I was happy to take him.’
‘I see. And how many evenings a week did Mr Cottage work for you?’
‘He was usually with us Friday and Saturday nights, which is when we are the busiest; he would start at 5.30 and work until an hour after the last customer leaves when we close. I believe he may have done another evening in the week somewhere else.’
‘Now, did there come a time when the police asked you to cast your mind back to a Saturday evening earlier in the year, the 25 January?’
‘Yes, sir, they did. It was just after the two bodies had been discovered up at the Fen. They wanted to know whether I remembered the young man and young woman being in my pub on that Saturday evening.’
‘And did you remember?’
‘I did, sir. They showed me their photographs and I did remember them being with us.’
Pilkington glanced across at the jury.
‘Mr Edwards, no doubt you have a lot of people in the Oliver Cromwell, especially on a Saturday night. The jury may be wondering how you can be sure that you remember Frank Gilliam and Jennifer Doyce being there on that particular Saturday. What do say about that?’
Edwards smiled.
‘You don’t get many young couples in the Oliver,’ he replied. ‘Time was you didn’t get many ladies at all. That’s changing now, of course, and there are one or two pubs in the town centre where it’s not at all unusual to see couples – hotels like the Golden Lion, for example. These days, you might even get girls on their own, which would have been unheard of a few years ago. I’m not much in favour of that myself and, as I say, we don’t get it so much at the Oliver. We are still mostly a men’s pub. Oh, you will get the odd old biddy who comes into the snug for her bottle of Guinness. But we don’t even see couples that much. I also remember that they seemed a bit – I don’t know – apprehensive. They didn’t talk very much, as I recall. It was almost as if they were miles away.’
‘Thank you,’ Pilkington said. ‘Do you remember at what time they arrived?’
Edwards shook his head.
‘I’m afraid not. I didn’t serve them, and I only noticed them once they were sitting down. It wasn’t very early, and I don’t think they stayed very long. I do remember we were quite busy when I noticed them.’
‘Who did serve them, do you remember that?’
‘Billy Cottage, sir.’
‘And do you remember at what time they left?’
‘Again, I couldn’t give you an exact time. It wasn’t long before closing time. But how long before, I couldn’t say. I remember they had left when I began to call time.’
‘Do you remember when Billy Cottage left the Oliver Cromwell that night?’
