She was met by the court usher who led her to the front of the court. The usher held up the Bible, Ena placed her right hand on it and was sworn in. Having given her name and occupation as a private investigator at Dudley Green Investigations, 8 Mercer Street – her current job and address – Ena stepped into the witness box and Sir John Hillary, QC, rose from his seat.
‘Mrs Green,’ Sir John said, walking towards her with a reassuring smile, ‘would you tell the court your occupation before you became an independent private investigator?’
‘I was Head of the Cold Cases department at the Home Office.’
‘An investigating department?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you. And it was while you were working for the Home Office that you met the prisoner?’
‘Yes.’
‘When was it that you met, Shaun O’Shaughnessy?’
‘October 1958.’
‘And where did you meet him?’
‘In Brighton, at the home of a woman named Helen Crowther.’
‘And when did you first meet Helen Crowther?’
‘September 1958, after the funeral of the Director of MI5, McKenzie Robinson.’
‘Would you tell the court how you came to be at staying at the house of Helen Crowther and the circumstances that led to you meeting the prisoner?’
‘Helen Crowther had been the late McKenzie Robinson’s personal assistant for many years. After his funeral she invited me to visit her in Brighton. She said if I ever wanted to get away from London, have a break and get some fresh air, I’d be welcome to stay with her.’
Sir John nodded. ‘And when did you take up Helen Crowther’s invitation to visit her?’
‘Six weeks later, after several attempts had been made on my life – the last being a hit and run in which I was almost killed – my husband suggested I left London for a while. I didn’t want to stay with my family in the Midlands in case whoever was trying to kill me knew where they lived, so I took Helen Crowther up on her offer and I went to Brighton.’
‘You went to Brighton to stay with Helen Crowther who, as PA to the late Director of MI5, you believed you could trust and who you thought would understand the danger you were in?’
‘Yes. I thought, as no one knew I’d met Helen Crowther, I wouldn’t be putting her life in danger by staying with her. I also thought I’d be safe.’
‘And were you?’
‘I thought so at first, but later I don’t believe I was safe.’
‘Would you explain why you later believed you were not safe?’
‘I thought Helen’s house would be quiet, a… sanctuary. I thought there was only going to be the two of us. But that night, Shaun O’Shaughnessy arrived. I heard him say he’d called on the off chance, which I thought nothing of at the time. Later Helen told me that O’Shaughnessy was an old friend who she had worked with many years before at MI5.’
‘Which you accepted as the truth?’
‘Of course, I had no reason to think the PA to the Director of MI5 would lie.’
‘Did you later think they were lying about not having seen each other—?’
‘My Lord!’ Mr Anderson jumped up from his seat. ‘My learned friend is putting words into the witness’s mouth.’
Sir John turned to the judge and put up his hands. ‘Apologies, My Lord, I will rephrase…’
Judge Peckham gave Sir John a surly nod.
Sir John turned back to Ena. ‘Mrs Green, did you later have any concerns about the relationship between Miss Crowther and the prisoner?’
‘Yes. When I went to the dining room to join Miss Crowther she was looking up into the man’s face and he was smiling down at her. It was clear to me that they were enjoying an intimate conversation. I turned to leave, but Helen had seen me, They quickly parted but I had already noticed an intimacy in their body language.’
‘But they had worked together?’
‘Yes, and for the rest of the evening they were friendly and polite to each other, as you’d expect two people who hadn’t seen each other for many years to be. But when I came into the room, unannounced, I felt as if I was imposing.’
‘Was there anything else that happened that weekend that made you suspicious of the prisoner?’
‘Yes. He said he was an old friend of my work colleague, Sidney Parfitt, who had been murdered on Waterloo Bridge two months previously, and he asked me if I knew someone called Collins. It was then that I realised something was very wrong. I didn’t believe O’Shaughnessy when he said he was a friend of Sid’s.’
‘Would you elaborate?’
Ena took a deep breath. ‘Sid was a quiet man, reserved. In the ten years we worked together, he had never mentioned Shaun O’Shaughnessy. Apart from which, no one outside the department – other than the Director of the Home Office – knew that Sid had left the name Collins as a clue to discovering a major spy ring connected to the cold case that he and I were working on – the case that led to his death. Until O’Shaughnessy said the name Collins, I thought he was just a show-off and a braggart.’
‘How long did you stay with Helen Crowther?’
‘Three days. I cut my visit short because of O’Shaughnessy. I would have left sooner, but I didn’t want to offend Helen. At the time I believed she was my friend.’
‘Did you see Helen Crowther again?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see the prisoner again?’
‘Yes. In the street three months later. However, I learned from my associate, Mr Mallory, that O’Shaughnessy had befriended him in a pub, bought him a drink and drugged him. Mr Mallory also said he had seen a woman fitting the description of Helen Crowther with O’Shaughnessy that night.’ Ena looked over at the dock. ‘That was the first time the prisoner said he was a friend of our dead colleague, Sid Parfitt.’ She looked back at Sir John. ‘Mr Mallory told me that O’Shaughnessy said he knew Collins had killed Sid and, while he was under the influence of drugs, O’Shaughnessy pumped Mr Mallory for information. Fortunately, I hadn’t had time to tell my colleague before I went to Brighton that Collins was not the name of a man. Collins was the first clue to cracking the code to expose the spy ring to which Helen Crowther and Shaun O’Shaughnessy belonged.’
Again, the defence barrister stood up. ‘My Lord, we only have the witness’s word that my client drugged her friend.’
‘Sir John…’ Judge Peckham sounded bored.
‘Apologies, My Lord.’ Sir John took a few steps away from Ena then spun round. ‘Mrs Green do you now know who told the prisoner the name, Collins?’
‘Director Richard Bentley of the Home Office.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Green.’ Sir John looked pleased. He then changed his expression to one of sympathy. ‘Did you know Hugh Middleton?’
‘I knew of him. He worked at GCHQ and was an old school friend of my colleague, Mr Mallory.’
‘Did you see him with the prisoner?’
‘Yes, when I next saw the prisoner three months later in February 1959.’
‘Was he to your knowledge a member of the spy ring?’
‘No, he was not. Shaun O’Shaughnessy befriended him as he had my colleague, Mr Mallory.’ For a long time, Ena had kept the feeling that she was in some way to blame for Hugh Middleton’s murder at bay. That feeling now threatened to rise up and choke her. ‘Mr Middleton was not as lucky as my colleague. Artie Mallory was only drugged by the prisoner, Hugh was killed—’
Mr Anderson sprang to his feet again. ‘My Lord, hearsay! How can the witness possibly know how lucky or unlucky Mr Middleton was!’
The judge looked from Sir John to Ena and then to the defence lawyer. ‘Sit down, Mr Anderson.’ Anderson blew out his cheeks and dropped onto his seat. ‘Mrs Green, for the jury, would you explain what you mean?’
‘Mr Mallory was drugged and pumped for information by the prisoner. It was lucky for him that it was in a public bar in London’s West End. Mr Middleton’s life ended in a private house. The house in which Shaun
O’Shaughnessy lived, in Brighton.’
‘My Lord. Mrs Green cannot know—’
The Judge put up his hand and the defence lawyer remained seated.
‘I have no more questions for Mrs Green at this time, My Lord. May I reserve the right to question her further, if necessary.’ Judge Peckham nodded and Sir John Hillary said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Green.’ He looked briefly at the defence lawyer before returning to his seat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Your witness, Mr Anderson.’
‘My Lord.’ O’Shaughnessy’s defence lawyer stood up. His eyebrows met in the middle as he consulted his notebook. He walked over to Ena and with a patronising smile said, ‘Mrs Green, Miss Crowther was a mutual friend of both you and Mr O’Shaughnessy, was she not?’
‘No! She was not. She was a friend of O’Shaughnessy, yes, but she was not a friend of mine. I hardly knew her. I didn’t know O’Shaughnessy at all.’
‘I find that strange,’ he said, his brow furrowing theatrically, ‘and I’m sure the jury does—’
‘My Lord?’ Sir John said angrily. ‘My learned friend is telling the jury what to think.’
‘Mr Anderson…?’
‘Apologies, My Lord.’ The defence lawyer turned back to Ena. ‘You stayed with Mrs Crowther in Brighton as her guest for three days, you said, and you dined with Mr O’Shaughnessy, yet you didn’t consider either of them to be your friend?’
‘I thought Miss Crowther would become a friend, but it was the first time I’d met O’Shaughnessy. As far as I was concerned, he had turned up without an invitation. I didn’t know him, so I didn’t consider him a friend.’
‘Had you stayed with your friend Helen Crowther in Brighton before that night?’
‘No! And she was not my friend. As I said earlier, I hardly knew her.’
‘Oh!’ Mr Anderson feigned a look of shock, walked back to his desk and studied his notes. ‘Are you in the habit of spending holidays with people who you hardly know?’
‘No. And it wasn’t—’
‘Would you tell the court the circumstances in which you met Miss Crowther?’
‘As I have already said, we met after the funeral of her late boss, Mackenzie Robinson.’
‘Ah, yes. That was when his widow accused you of killing her husband?’
Ena’s mouth was suddenly dry. She looked at Sir John Hillary for help.
‘Answer the question, Mrs Green,’ the judge instructed.
Ena ran her tongue over her lips and found her voice. ‘Mrs Robinson only accused me because—’
‘And that was when your friend Helen Crowther came to your defence?’ Anderson said, cutting Ena off.
‘Yes, but Helen Crowther was not my friend. I had never met her before McKenzie Robinson’s funeral.’ Ena shook her head. ‘You’re taking what happened out of context.’ She turned to the judge. ‘Mrs Robinson was upset because her husband was going to help me with a case I was working on and she thought that was the reason why he was killed.’
With a vacant expression on his face, the defence lawyer folded his arms and looked around the room. When Ena turned away from the judge, he looked at his watch. ‘If you’ve finished, Mrs Green, I should like to get back to the business in hand?’
Embarrassed, Ena dropped her gaze.
Sir John stood up. ‘My Lord? My learned friend is intimidating the witness.’
Judge Peckham leaned forwards and looked over the top of his glasses. ‘No need for theatrics, Mr Anderson.’
‘My Lord.’ Anderson bowed his head by way of an apology. ‘Mrs Green, you said you had gone to Miss Crowther’s house in Brighton because you needed sanctuary?’
‘Yes!’
Turning his back on Ena, the defence lawyer again walked to his desk and glanced at his notes. ‘You told the court that when you first met my client, you didn’t like him. Why was that?’
‘As I said, he was loud and arrogant – a show-off. I had hoped to have a quiet weekend.’
‘You had hoped to have a quiet weekend and yet when my client invited you to a nightclub in Brighton, you accepted.’
Ena felt the heat of embarrassment rise from her neck to her cheeks and her stomach churned. ‘I went because Helen wanted to go.’
Mr Anderson looked at the jury, lifted his shoulders and shook his head as if he was confused. Walking back to Ena he said, ‘Are you in the habit of going to nightclubs and drinking and dancing with men you don’t like, Mrs Green?’
Ena wanted to scream. The defence lawyer was twisting everything she said. ‘Helen Crowther wanted to go to the club. It would have been rude of me not to go too. Besides, I could hardly stay in her house on my own.’
‘And after your night out with my client, you kissed him—’
‘I did not kiss him! He tried to kiss me and I pushed him away.’
‘My client mistook your body language perhaps?’ Anderson said, raising his eyebrows.
‘I gave him no encouragement at all. I was, and still am, a married woman.’
‘Of course.’ Anderson paused thoughtfully. ‘Let me ask you about your boss at the Home Office, Director Richard Bentley who last year was tried for treason and hanged.’
Ena’s stomach lurched. She felt sick at the thought of Dick Bentley’s betrayal. The defence lawyer was making a statement which did not require her to answer.
‘I believe you worked closely with Director Bentley at the Home Office?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many years had you worked with him?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘Thirteen years!’ the defence lawyer exclaimed. He looked at the jury. ‘Thirteen years,’ he said again. ‘And you would have us believe that in all that time you never once suspected he was a spy?’
‘No.’
‘What changed your mind, suddenly?’
‘I had reason to question Richard Bentley’s motives in a certain matter.’
Anderson swung from left to right, his black gown flaring theatrically as he looked around the court. ‘Reason to question? Motives? A certain matter? It all sounds very Machiavellian.’ He put his hand up to his face, his fingers on his lips. ‘And who was it that gave you reason to question the Director of The Home Office?’
Ena had been waiting throughout the cross-examination for a question like this. ‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘Was it the same person who fed you lies about my client and his lover, Hugh Middleton? The truth is, Mrs Green, Hugh Middleton was not the victim in the relationship. The victim was my client. Mr Middleton cheated on him, lied to him and stole from him. My client regrets the outcome of their relationship and wishes there had been some other way. Alas,’ O’Shaughnessy’s lawyer looked down and sighed, his voice growing deeper and softer as if with emotion, ‘there was no other way.’ The defence lawyer then turned to the jury, cleared his throat, and in a matter-of-fact way, said, ‘During one of Middleton’s aggressive outbursts he attacked my client who, fearing for his life, struck out in self-defence, accidentally killing Mr Middleton.’
Ena looked across at the dock for the first time. She held O’Shaughnessy with a cold stare. As arrogant as ever, he grinned at her. Still looking at O’Shaughnessy, Ena said, ‘Hugh Middleton did not lie, cheat or attack your client. On the contrary—’
‘And how would you know, Mrs Green!’
Ena looked back at the defence lawyer. ‘I am not at liberty to say,’ she said again.
‘Whether you tell the court or not is of no consequence,’ Anderson said, ‘because, Mrs Green, the information that you received came from Nick Miller, a man of dubious character who owned the Minchin Club, a nightclub that my client and his lover frequented in Brighton.’ Anderson looked at the jury, leaned his elbow on the edge of the witness box and crossed his legs as if he was at a bar waiting for a drink. Then, as if something had that second come into his mind, he turned and faced Ena. ‘Perhaps you know Nick Miller better by his real name, Nicolaus Müller – a German spy who beca
me a south London gangster whom you accompanied to Austria. Is that not so, Mrs Green?’
‘I—’
‘I know!’ Anderson spat, shutting Ena down, ‘You are not at liberty to tell us what information Müller gave you for his freedom.’
Before Ena could retaliate, Anderson turned to the judge. ‘No more questions, My Lord.’
Ena looked up at the judge in disbelief. She then looked pleadingly at Sir John.
The judge waved his left hand. Sir John was already on his feet.
‘If I may, My Lord.’
The Judge nodded.
‘Mrs Green,’ Sir John said with a reassuring smile, ‘would you tell the court why you were not at liberty to answer some of the questions asked you by my learned friend?’
‘I have signed the Official Secrets Act. The work I did at the Home Office was… highly sensitive.’
‘Top Secret?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. You were also asked questions that you were not given time to answer. I apologise in advance if the questions I shall ask you now are repetitious.’ Ena nodded. ‘On the day of McKenzie Robinson’s funeral, did Mrs Robinson accuse you of killing her husband?’
‘No. Mrs Robinson said it was my fault that her husband had been killed, not that I had killed him.’
‘Your fault? Why?’
‘Director McKenzie was going to help me with an investigation I was working on before he was murdered. He gave his wife a folder to give to me, which she gave me on the day of his funeral.’ Tears filled Ena’s eyes as Mac’s last words came into her mind. “Make sure Ena Green gets this.”
Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9) Page 9
