by Peter Murphy
Edwards snorted and jerked his head back.
‘Oh, I remember that well enough. He left before some of the customers. He is supposed to be there for an hour after the last customer leaves, so that we can collect the glasses, tidy the house up, wash the glasses and put them back in place. But on that evening, he just buggered off and left me and Alf to do it all.’ He looked up at the judge. ‘Excuse my language, my Lord. I haven’t seen him since, but he would have got a right piece of my mind if I had done.’
Pilkington smiled.
‘Yes, I’m sure. But I want to press you a bit more about the time, if I could. What time was closing time?’
‘We close at 11 o’clock on Saturday evenings.’
‘And can you relate Billy leaving either to 11 o’clock or to Frank Gilliam and Jennifer Doyce leaving?’
Edwards put his hands on his hips and thought for some time.
‘It can’t have been long after they left. I’m sure they were gone when I started to call time, and I always look for Billy and Alf once I’ve made the first call, so that I can make sure they are getting started on collecting the glasses and don’t serve any more drinks. I remember speaking to Alf, but Billy was nowhere to be seen. I thought he might have gone down the cellar for some reason, but he hadn’t. As I say, I didn’t see him again. So he must have left somewhere around 11 o’clock, and it can’t have been very long after the couple. I’m sorry, sir. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Mr Edwards, do you by any chance remember what Billy Cottage was wearing on that evening?’
Edwards bowed his head for some moments.
‘Not in any great detail. He was wearing a red shirt, or a red and white check – it was something he wore quite often. What I remember most is his shoes – he always wore the same ones. They were filthy. They looked as though they hadn’t been cleaned since before the War.’
‘Thank you, Mr Edwards. Wait there, please.’
* * *
Hardcastle stood.
‘Did you see Frank Gilliam and Jennifer Doyce leave?’
‘Not that I remember, sir, no.’
‘Did you see Billy Cottage leave?’
‘No.’
‘Mr Edwards, it doesn’t always take an hour to collect the glasses and tidy the house, does it? Not with three of you doing it?’
‘Not always, sir.’
‘And if it took less than an hour, you would not expect your assistants to stay until the end of the hour for no reason, would you?’
Edwards smiled.
‘Well, no, obviously, once they have finished…’
‘Of course. It wouldn’t make for good employee relations to keep them from their homes unnecessarily, would it?’
‘No.’
‘The Oliver Cromwell has a fairly small bar area in front of the bar as you come in from Wellington Street, and a longer, quite thin seating area running away from the street, is that right?’
‘You’ve been there, sir, have you? If so…’
‘I will ask the questions, Mr Edwards, thank you,’ Hardcastle said.
‘Yes, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…’
‘My question is whether the house has a longer, thinner seating area running away from the street?’
‘The lounge, yes.’
‘You also have a garden, I believe, but presumably it would not be open in January?’
‘Correct.’
‘And where were you when you called time?’
‘I was behind the bar.’
‘And Alf must have been either behind the bar, or in the bar area, if you remember speaking to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it not possible that Billy Cottage was clearing up in the lounge at that time?’
‘No. I would have seen him. I looked for him, believe you me.’
Hardcastle nodded, glancing at the jury.
‘Mr Edwards, let me make clear that I am not trying to avoid the fact that Mr Cottage left work before he was supposed to. I concede that he did, and it was not the first time, was it?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘No. But what I am suggesting is that he may well have been clearing up in the lounge, at least for a few minutes, and perhaps that he did go down the cellar for a short time. My point is that he did not leave immediately after Frank Gilliam and Jennifer Doyce. Think carefully, Mr Edwards. You cannot exclude that possibility, can you?’
Edwards raised his hands.
‘I didn’t see him leave. All I know is, I looked for him and he wasn’t there.’
‘Could that have been because he left by the back door?’
His recollection of the misconduct of Billy Cottage had been incensing Edwards throughout his time in the witness box. The idea of yet a further breach of the house rules moved him to anger. His face turned a bright red.
‘He’s not supposed to do that,’ he insisted, a little too loudly. ‘He’s supposed to come and check with me after he’s finished clearing up, and I tell him when it’s time to leave, and when he leaves it is through the front door.’
‘We can agree, then, Mr Edwards, that Mr Cottage is not a very satisfactory employee?’ Hardcastle asked quietly.
‘No, he most certainly is not,’ Edwards replied vehemently. He stared briefly at Billy Cottage, then crossed his arms and looked defiantly at Martin Hardcastle, awaiting the next question with relish. But it never came. Hardcastle had resumed his seat and seemed to be examining his fingernails.
39
Mavis Brown wore her best frock for the occasion, pale green with small white dots, and a darker green hat she had worn to her cousin Freda’s wedding the year before, and plain brown shoes with a low heel. She had been apprehensive about this moment ever since the police had first interviewed her, but her father had reassured her that she had nothing to fear as long as she told the truth. The judge in his red robes and the barristers in their black and white seemed intimidating at first, but Mavis had a ready sense of humour and it was not long before she began to find the scene rather funny – a bit of a giggle, as she might have said to her friends – and the thought relaxed her. Andrew Pilkington had been asking her about the stock-taking she had been doing on the night of 25 January.
‘Does the front window of your shop overlook Priory Road?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, as the jury will be able to see from the street plan, can you also see some distance along Wellington Street towards the Oliver Cromwell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did there come a time on that evening,’ he asked, ‘when you looked through the window and saw one or more people outside the shop?’
‘Yes, sir. I was a bit taken aback to see anyone outside the shop at that time of night. But there they were, a young couple, standing outside, trying to get my attention by waving to me.’
‘Of course, the shop was closed?’
‘Oh, yes, we close at 5 o’clock on Saturdays.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t usually have opened the door once we had closed, but they were smiling, they looked very nice, and I thought it wouldn’t do any harm. So I opened the door.’
‘Did they say what they wanted?’
‘They had run out of cigarettes. They seemed a bit desperate. So I asked them to come in, opened the till, and I sold them two packets of ten.’
‘Do you remember what brand of cigarettes they wanted?’
Yes. Woodbines, sir, both of them.’
‘A few days later, did the police show you photographs of these two young people?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And were you able to identify them as the couple to whom you had sold the cigarettes?’
‘Yes, sir.’ There were suddenly tears in her eyes. She reached into her handbag for a small, wh
ite lace handkerchief. ‘I can’t believe what happened. They were a really nice couple.’
Pilkington nodded and gave her a few moments before continuing.
‘When they left, did you notice in what direction they walked?’
‘Yes, sir, towards the meadow.’
‘I see. Again, as the jury can see, that would have meant turning left out of the shop to walk towards the river?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. Miss Brown, did you see anyone else outside your shop on that evening?’
She nodded vigorously. ‘A man. Just a minute or so after the couple had left.’
‘Was the man someone you knew, or had seen before?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Can you describe him for the jury?’
‘I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a dark woolly hat which was pulled down to his eyes. He wasn’t very tall.’
‘What else was he wearing?’
‘The main thing I noticed was that he was wearing a raincoat, but he had it open. It was a very cold night and I thought that was strange. Underneath the raincoat I thought I saw a dark jacket of some kind and a red and white checked shirt. He had dirty brown shoes.’
‘Thank you,’ Pilkington said. ‘How clear was your view of this man? Where was he in relation to you?’
‘I was at the shop window. I had just locked the front door again. He was just standing there under the street light on the corner of Wellington Street. I had a clear view.’
‘Did you see from which direction he had come?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. When I noticed him, he was standing still. I didn’t see where he came from.’
‘In which direction was he facing?’
‘Towards the meadow, sir.’
‘Do you remember anything else about this man at all?’
Mavis suddenly laughed.
‘Yes, sir. I heard him singing.’
‘Singing?’ Pilkington asked, smiling. ‘What was he singing, can you tell us?’
‘Yes, sir. He was singing the Lincolnshire Poacher.’
‘The Lincolnshire Poacher. “When I was bound apprentice…?”’
He stopped abruptly. Martin Hardcastle had jumped to his feet.
‘My Lord, I really must ask my learned friend not to lead on this. It is of the utmost importance.’
Mr Justice Lancaster nodded.
‘Mr Hardcastle is quite right, Mr Pilkington. Re-phrase, please.’
‘Of course, my Lord. Miss Brown, how do you know it was the Lincolnshire Poacher? Was it because of the words, the tune…?’
‘I didn’t know the words. I recognised the tune. Shall I explain?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I had heard the same song a few days before. I was listening to a folk music concert on the radio with my father. It was late one evening, just before bedtime. The singer was Steve Benbow, and he sang that same song.’
‘Have you any doubt that it was the same song, the one that you heard on the radio, that the man was singing?’
‘No, sir, it was the same one.’
‘For how long did he continue singing?’
‘Oh, just a few seconds. But I heard it clearly.’
‘Yes. What did the man do when he finished singing?’
‘He walked off in the direction of the meadow, sir.’
‘Did you see him again after that?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Finally, Miss Brown, can you tell the jury what time it was when you sold the Woodbines to the young couple?’
‘I can’t tell you exactly. All I remember is that, as I was switching off the lights after the man had walked away, I looked up at the clock on the wall at the back of the shop. It said a quarter to eleven. But I can’t be sure that was the correct time.’
‘No, of course. Thank you very much, Miss Brown,’ Pilkington said. ‘Please wait there. My learned friend may have some questions.’
* * *
Hardcastle stood slowly and without fuss, as if trying to appear reassuring.
‘Miss Brown, do you have a particular interest in folk music? I know a lot of young people do, today.’
She smiled. ‘No, sir.’
‘Are you musical generally? Did you take piano lessons, sing in the church choir, anything like that?’
She nodded. ‘I took piano lessons. I started when I was seven. But I didn’t really take to it. I stopped when I was eleven or twelve.’
‘How was it that you happened to be listening to Steve Benbow late at night?’
‘Oh, it was just by chance. We didn’t know what was going to be on. I always have a cup of cocoa with my dad before bed, and he usually has the radio on. It could be anything. Sometimes we listen to the news. But on this evening…’
‘It happened to be Steve Benbow. Yes, I see. For how long was this man singing outside your shop?’
‘How long?’
‘Yes. You have told the jury that he was singing the Lincolnshire Poacher? I believe the Lincolnshire Poacher has several verses. Is that correct?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.’
‘Well, never mind. However many there are, how many of them did he sing? One? Two? Perhaps part of one?’
Mavis was staring ahead blankly.
‘Well, can I ask you this?’ Hardcastle continued. ‘Can you tell the jury any of the words of the song that you remember him singing?’
Andrew Pilkington rose to his feet.
‘My Lord, I must object. Where is my learned friend going with this? Perhaps he would like Miss Brown to sing the Lincolnshire Poacher for the jury?’
The jury sniggered.
‘Well, my Lord,’ Hardcastle rejoined, ‘it was only a few minutes ago that my learned friend was trying, until your Lordship rightly restrained him, to remind the witness of the words by reciting them to her. But I can put his mind at rest. I would not dream of having Miss Brown transform your Lordship’s court into a musical theatre…’
The jury now laughed openly and loudly.
‘I am merely seeking to explore the witness’s recollection.’
Mr Justice Lancaster was trying, not entirely successfully, to suppress a smile.
‘Perhaps you could do so in another way?’ he suggested.
Hardcastle smiled towards the jury. ‘Certainly, my Lord. Miss Brown, when the man had gone and you had locked up the shop, you went upstairs to join your father, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I would like to understand this, and I would like the jury to understand this too. Were the two of you drinking cocoa together as usual?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And did you say anything to your father about what you had seen and heard?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You did? What did you tell him, exactly?’
‘Well, I told him about selling the cigarettes to the young couple, and about seeing the man outside the shop.’
‘What about the man singing? Did you tell your father about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘I said that the man was singing, and how strange it was, and I said I thought I recognised the tune.’
Hardcastle paused and turned towards Ben, his eyebrows raised. Ben nodded.
‘As the Lincolnshire Poacher? Did you tell your father that you recognised it as the Lincolnshire Poacher?’
‘No, sir. Just that I recognised it.’
‘I see,’ Hardcastle continued. ‘Then what happened?’
She smiled. ‘My dad asked me to hum the tune for him. I hummed it. I had to do it twice, I think. And then he said, “I know what that was. We heard it the other night, you know, when Steve Benbow was on. It’s called the Lincoln
shire Poacher”.’
Hardcastle turned to Ben with a look of triumph. Ben smiled broadly. Andrew Pilkington had lowered his head, appearing to concentrate on a sheet of paper.
‘So, Miss Brown, what actually happened is this, is it? You heard a man singing a song? You cannot say for how long, and you do not know any of the words? You thought you recognised the tune after hearing Steve Benbow sing it a few nights earlier? You hummed it twice for your father? And he – not you – he identified it as the Lincolnshire Poacher? Have I summarised your evidence fairly?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what happened, sir.’
‘Thank you very much, Miss Brown. Nothing further, my Lord.’
40
With a shake of his head, Pilkington stood.
‘My Lord, I call Helen Doyce.’
Mrs Doyce wore a black dress, hat and shoes, an outfit she might have appropriately worn to a funeral; and she had, in fact, worn the same clothes when Frank Gilliam was buried. She regarded the day’s proceedings as an extension of that sad occasion in St Ives. She was softly spoken, so much so that the jury had to strain to hear.
‘Mrs Doyce, are you the mother of Jennifer Doyce?’
‘I am.’
‘I would like you to look at something, please.’
After gesturing to Paul, Pilkington handed the usher an object wrapped in a clear plastic cover.
‘The usher will unwrap this for you, Mrs Doyce. Would you please tell the jury whether you recognise it?’
Mrs Doyce took the gold cross and chain from Paul, held it in her hands for some moments, and began to cry, almost inaudibly, but with tears flowing copiously down her cheeks. Martin Hardcastle and Ben Schroeder did their best to look straight ahead.
‘Take your time, Mrs Doyce,’ Andrew Pilkington said. ‘There is no rush.’
‘Would you like a break?’ Mr Justice Lancaster suggested.
Mrs Doyce shook her head. She took a handkerchief from her handbag and dried her eyes.
‘No, thank you. This is a gold cross and chain which belonged to my mother, Jennifer’s grandmother,’ she replied. ‘My mother gave it to Jennifer when she was confirmed.’
‘I see. And can you tell my Lord and the jury, based on your own observation, whether Jennifer wore it and, if so, how often?’
