‘Typically, it would be the result of a serious laceration. Such as one caused by a knife or other sharp object.’
‘It couldn’t have come from the blows to the head?’
‘The head injuries would have resulted in almost instant death. Once the heart stops beating, blood flow ceases. So, no, the blows to the head couldn’t have resulted in the amount of blood we see on the rug.’
‘Therefore, Brandon must have received a serious injury before the fatal blows to the head?’
‘Yes,’ Urquhart says.
The prosecution are not using the footprint evidence. Ralph would certainly spend hours attacking it as weak and inconclusive. Instead Mapplethorpe moves to evidence where the case is strong.
‘We’ve established that the blood was Brandon’s. You took DNA samples from the rug, which corresponded to all three defendants, did you not?’ he asks.
‘Actually, yes,’ Urquhart says. ‘It was unexpected after such a long period. But wrapping the body in plastic seems to have preserved more than we would have expected, whereas the victim can be identified though skeletal remains.’
He is rightly proud. Warren and Akande hadn’t expected to find anything of forensic value from the grave that would link so directly to us. Their breathless excitement at the custody desk, Akande’s undisguised glee, were the result of Urquhart’s meticulous skills.
‘We recovered samples of hair. Two correlated to Mr Risborough and Mr Johns. This was a microconidia DNA, less conclusive than full DNA. But Ms Winter’s hair is more conclusive. It contains the root and therefore a full DNA match.’
‘And why would Ms Winter’s hair contain the root?’
‘This would typically occur when plucking or pulling a hair, rather than simply shedding it.’
‘Pulling a hair, such as in a struggle?’
Dr Urquhart won’t be drawn beyond his remit. ‘I’m not going to speculate as to that,’ he says.
‘But it could occur in a struggle?’
‘It could,’ he agrees.
‘These samples were found where exactly?’
‘Over the rug, and Brandon’s clothes.’
‘Given that the defendants shared a house, couldn’t these hairs have been deposited over time as the defendants lived in the house?’
‘It’s possible,’ he says. ‘But there were a large number of hairs, particularly from Ms Winter and, significantly, hers were coated in blood. Brandon’s blood.’ The jury watch me more closely. ‘And we found something else to link her to the crime,’ Urquhart says.
‘What was that?’
‘The blood wasn’t only from Brandon. We also obtained a small sample from Ms Winter spattered across Brandon’s clothes.’
I can feel the gaze of the court upon me. I stare at the glass of water in front of me. I know the photographs being passed around the jury. Brandon’s clothes. Magnified images of hair.
Ralph has assured me the case always swings towards the prosecution in the beginning. It’s their witnesses, their version of events. I know the defence present their case later. But right now, I feel we’ve lost before we’ve started.
Chapter 39
1994 – Guildford
Julia woke, unable to breathe, her duvet wrapped around her face and neck. She thrashed ineffectually, trying to release herself, before kicking it off the bed and onto the floor. The remnants of last night’s dream clung to the edges of her consciousness. The Downs had been a living, sentient mass, moving towards the house, seeking her out, ready to engulf her and bury her deep beneath its sandy soil.
She was still wearing last night’s dress, whose buttons had been pulled open by her thrashing about. Changing into her blue pyjamas instantly made her feel better, though her neck was stiff and her mind foggy. She drank the water next to her bed and went and opened the curtains.
The grey haze of a cool morning hung across the slope opposite. A lone bird, a gull, flapped from behind the house then swooped upwards towards the Downs. It was a long way from the sea, and she’d not seen one here before. Audrey told her, when she was young, gulls came inland during stormy weather, but the country was bathing in summer heat with only the faintest breeze. The gull had no reason to be so far from home. Perhaps it was lost.
There was a knock on the door. For a moment she thought of Brandon, but it was a light tap, one that was aware she might be asleep.
Julia put on her dressing gown. ‘Come in,’ she said.
The door opened slowly. It was Genevieve. She wore a thick towelling dressing gown, much like Julia’s, one she’d not seen her in before. Genevieve’s hair was pulled back from her forehead with a hairband and her face was dragged down by sleep, making the similarity between her and her sister more obvious. She looked less like a displaced West End actress and more like a harassed housewife.
‘I’ve been awake since five,’ Genevieve said. ‘I thought I heard you cry out. Are you unwell?’
‘Just a bad dream,’ Julia said. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you.’
Genevieve remained at the door. ‘May I come in?’ she asked.
Julia stood back. Genevieve entered and walked to the window, looking out across the Downs. The gull was back, squawking as it soared past the window, up over the roof and out of sight.
Julia placed the duvet back on the bed. She sat down. Genevieve returned from the window and sat next to her.
‘I’ve been worrying, ever since the other Sunday.’ Genevieve looked at Julia. ‘I think I was a little harsh, in the things I said to you.’
It had been two weeks ago. It felt more like two months.
‘It doesn’t matter, Genevieve. I’m sorry too. I was overtired. I shouldn’t have been so tetchy.’
‘Only, I can’t stop thinking about Brandon.’ She gave a little smile. ‘I want him to be happy.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t want to stifle him.’
‘No.’
‘And I feel … What I mean to say is that of course it would be wonderful if he had a girlfriend.’ Again, she glanced at Julia, who didn’t respond. ‘But only if it’s the right girl.’
‘He’s twenty-four,’ Julia said.
‘Exactly,’ Genevieve said. ‘The precise age when you’re likely to make a bad decision. When you think you’re an adult and know everything, but you don’t. I married at nineteen.’
‘You told me you were seventeen,’ Julia said.
Genevieve waved her hand to bat away the question.
‘Seventeen, nineteen, what’s the difference? The point is, my mother and Ruth warned me against it. I wouldn’t listen. And I should have done.’
‘Why are you telling me this, Genevieve?’
It had been a mistake to let her in. She should have pretended to be asleep.
‘I know you’re a lovely girl, Julia. But Brandon is sensitive.’
Julia couldn’t help her snort.
‘He is, Julia,’ she said. ‘If you’ve failed to notice that, I really don’t think you are right for each other.’
‘Genevieve, we’re both adults. And for the record, I’m not interested in being Brandon’s girlfriend.’
‘Does he know that?’
‘He should do.’
‘And Gideon?’
‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘I can’t help noticing you’ve been paying him a good deal of attention.’
‘You’re our landlady, Genevieve, that’s all. You’ve no business interfering in our lives.’
‘As I said, I try not to stifle him.’ She sat upright. ‘I did come in here with the intention of smoothing things over – you’re not making it easy.’
Years of dealing with Audrey’s passive-aggressive behaviour had taught Julia not only how to fight back but also when to fight. She had no interest in Brandon, or Gideon. The house was just somewhere to stay; if it became too much hassle, she’d move out.
‘Genevieve,’ she said, ‘I can promise you, I have no intention of becoming
Brandon’s girlfriend. Or Gideon’s for that matter.’
‘That’s really the assurance I was looking for.’
‘I’ll leave him to someone of your choosing.’
If Genevieve took this as a jibe, it didn’t register in her response. ‘I’m so glad we’ve had this little chat and everything’s sorted out.’
Julia held her face in a smile and stood up. Genevieve copied her.
‘I’ll go and make some camomile tea,’ Genevieve said. ‘See if I can get back to sleep. Ruth took the pills my doctor gave me. She can be so bossy sometimes. Can I get you a cup?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
Julia shut the door behind her and flopped onto the bed. She heard Genevieve descend the stairs.
It was still early, and Julia felt the pull of sleep. She remembered her dream, about the Downs engulfing Downsview Villa. And she was pleased to have the curtains open, to keep an eye on them.
Then another set of footsteps, slower and heavier, crossed the landing from the bathroom, before Brandon’s door slammed shut. He must have heard the whole conversation.
Chapter 40
2018 – Guildford Crown Court
I become anxious when the usher calls for Detective Inspector Warren to appear before the court. Urquhart was detached and professional, conveying the facts without emotion. Warren’s stare of open hostility towards the defendants’ benches tells me he has a point to prove.
At lunch Ralph told me things were going well. Not something I’d have guessed from the jury’s stern expressions.
‘That forensic stuff was to impress the jury, to show the prosecution has a factual basis for their case,’ he said.
Ralph had put forward that the hair could have come from a comb and the blood from a nosebleed. I’m not sure he’s managed to convince himself of that, let alone the jury.
‘They’ve proved the body belonged to Brandon Wells and he died from blows to the head. No one’s disputing how he died, it’s totally irrelevant. For a successful prosecution, they need to prove you did it.’
Warren states his name and places his hand on the Bible, his great jowls wobbling like an aged bull mastiff as he takes the oath. The jury won’t find him as repugnant as I do. They will see his crumpled suit and wheezing breath as the result of being a harassed, underappreciated professional, meting out justice under trying circumstances and diminishing resources.
Mapplethorpe smiles at him.
‘May I ask you how long you have been a member of Surrey Police, Detective Inspector Warren?’
‘Nearly thirty years. Sixteen of those on CID, nine as DI.’
Mapplethorpe gives a reverential nod. ‘And please would you tell the jury of your involvement in the case of Brandon Wells.’
‘Certainly.’ Warren straightens his jacket. ‘We received information that a body had been found on the Downs, buried in a small patch of woodland, some way off the main path. It quickly became evident that the victim had suffered a violent death and a murder investigation was opened.’
‘The first thing, in such a case, is to establish the victim’s identity, is it not?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘Indeed. Forensics informed us that the body had been there for at least twenty years,’ Warren says. ‘We looked through missing persons but were struggling to find a match. Until we received a tip-off from the New Zealand police. Mr Patrick Wells, Brandon’s father, kept up to date with UK news and that of Surrey in particular, via the internet. You see, he’d never given up trying to find out what happened to his son. Unfortunately, he’s not been in good health and is unable to attend the trial. But it was he who alerted the New Zealand police force, who, in turn, alerted us. Once we had a name, identification was relatively straightforward.’
‘And why was Brandon not searched for when he went missing, back in the Nineties?’ For a moment Mapplethorpe’s tone slips a little, from respectful to accusatory.
‘He was searched for, all right,’ Warren says. ‘But as a suspect in a theft, not as a murder victim.’
‘I’ll be returning to this aspect with one of your former colleagues, Luke Crane. For now, though, please take us through the chain of evidence that led to the arrests.’
Warren relaxes into his role. He must have attended many such trials.
‘Brandon’s body was found just a short walk from his last known address. We know he had told a friend he was going to the house to fetch some clothes and money, before returning that same day. Saturday 27th August. People have remembered the date, because it was the August bank holiday weekend. Brandon never returned and, as far as we know, no one ever saw him again. We also discovered that the occupants of the house at that time were the defendants, Gideon Risborough, Alan Johns and Julia Winter. Forensics linked their DNA to the crime scene. A large amount of money was missing. Money we know was withdrawn the week before, by Mrs Jennifer Pike, also known as Genevieve D’Auncey. This is the money Brandon was returning to retrieve after Mrs Pike’s death. His room had been cleared of all his possessions, including his passport.’
Mapplethorpe examines his notes and nods to the court clerk before asking, ‘The lamp and rug, discussed with Doctor Urquhart earlier, how did you link them specifically to the house, number 72 Downs Avenue?’
‘We have photos of the property’s living room, in which both the rug and lamp, and the defendants, are present.’
‘Exhibit 1.1 and 1.2,’ Mapplethorpe adds.
That fateful photograph of the three of us and Brandon, lounging on the sofa – the lamp and the rug on the periphery of the shot, innocent, harmless objects.
‘The lamp circled is the one we believe was used to bludgeon Brandon to death. The rug, the one his body was wrapped in.’
The photo is passed to the jury.
‘The second photograph was taken when the property was being valued, some weeks later. Both objects are missing. We believe only someone inside the house would have had access to these objects and could have cleared out Brandon’s room.’
All the jurors look towards the defendants’ benches.
‘What else links the defendants to this crime, DI Warren?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘Ms Winter’s blood-coated hairs indicate they were ripped from her head during a struggle between her and Brandon Wells,’ Warren says. ‘We know that he entertained romantic feelings towards Ms Winter, which were not reciprocated.’
The word ‘romantic’ does not gel with my memory of Brandon, lumbering around drunk and reeking of tobacco.
‘The hairs prove Ms Winter’s involvement,’ Warren continues. ‘But it’s unthinkable that she overpowered a man of fifteen stone, disposed of the body and cleared the scene without the help and knowledge Mr Risborough and Mr Johns. Both of whom admit to having been at the property that weekend. And no one but the defendants had the opportunity to clear Brandon’s room and/or could have known about the money.’
‘And money was the defendants’ primary motive?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘That was one factor. I believe there was a fair amount of personal animosity involved. Brandon had told his friend everyone in the house hated him. He was returning to get money, collect his clothes and move out. But no one ever saw him again. Except his killers.’
‘And did you find any financial activity linking the defendants to the missing cash.’
‘A few months later, thirty thousand pounds was deposited in the account of SupaSupplements, the business owned by Gideon Risborough and for whom Alan Johns went to work immediately after they left Downsview Villa. Thirty thousand pounds corresponds to a two-thirds share of what we know to be missing. This is something that only came to light during the current investigation.
‘Thank you, DI Warren.’
Mapplethorpe appears satisfied and concludes his questioning.
Gideon’s barrister, Helena Dryden, purses her lips in place of a smile.
‘DI Warren, you stated categorically that the thirty thousand pounds deposited in my client’s bu
siness accounts was the money taken from Mrs Pike. But there’s no actual proof of this, is there?’
‘As I’ve said, the money corresponded to a two-thirds share, which supported our theory that the defendants were in on it together.’
‘And because it supported your theory, you didn’t look for another explanation?’
Warren looks heavenwards. ‘Their claim that it was taken in cash, at trade shows, doesn’t stand up. Other participants were taking three or four hundred pounds at each show maximum. The thousands Gideon Risborough and Alan Johns took through SupaSupplements was unheard of. The explanation is wholly unsatisfactory.’
‘It was deemed satisfactory when the police were first informed of the deposits into my client’s account, over twenty years ago. A private detective approached the police with the details. It was considered too ludicrous to waste police time on.’
‘That wasn’t my decision. I wasn’t even on the force then. Besides, with no body, what would have been the point?’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ In the public gallery, Austen Wells is on his feet, glowering at Warren.
‘Mr Wells,’ the judge says. ‘I understand this is very distressing for you, but I can’t allow such interruptions in my court. Kindly remain seated.’
Austen’s fists are clenched. For a moment, I think he’s going to explode with rage. The whole court holds its breath. There’s a moment’s indecision before his sister grabs his arm and he lowers himself into his seat.
Dryden waits for the court to quieten, before continuing.
‘By your own admission, there was no point. And only a quarter of a century after the money went missing are you claiming my client was responsible.’
‘Priorities change. At no point in the original inquiry were we looking at a murder.’
I glance at Austen Wells. He’s hunched up tight. I think he may shout out again but he turns his head. In doing so, he catches my eye. I’m frozen. I don’t want to look at him but can’t tear my eyes away. He stares back at me. I expected to see hatred. But there’s a question – am I guilty?
The Verdict Page 19