The Lighterman: The Kray Twins are out for revenge... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 3)

by Simon Michael

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re not able to tell us what he was doing during that time, are you?’

  ‘I’m sure he was going about his proper duties, my Lord.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Vermeulen, you would say that. You’re his superior officer. But it’s only an assumption, isn’t it? You don’t know the time he left the Harpy; what vessels he investigated during the following thirteen hours; to whom he spoke, or — and this is perhaps the most important — why he went alone; do you?’

  ‘That may all be true, but I don’t agree with your conclusion. My Lord, I knew APO Evans very well and he was a conscientious and sensible officer. I am confident he was carrying out his proper duties.’

  ‘“Conscientious and sensible”? It is true, is it not, that APO Evans was suspended last year over allegations of homosexual assault?’

  So surprising is Charles’s change of direction and so shocking the allegation that there’s an audible sharp intake of breath from the public gallery and the jury benches. Before Vermeulen can gather his wits, Charles ostentatiously takes out a sheet of paper from his bundle and holds it up in front of him as if reading.

  ‘He was accused of sexual molestation of a rent boy working at Piccadilly Circus, together with another man over the age of twenty-one, was he not?’

  This is a dangerous game and under normal circumstances Charles would never play it. The sheet of paper from which he is pretending to read is not a record of the allegations made against Evans; in fact it’s one of the pages of the pathologist’s report picked up at random. But Vermeulen doesn’t know that. What Charles is doing is not unlawful; is not even professionally improper. Counsel is allowed to put anything to a witness in cross-examination, and even put a piece of paper in a witness’s hand for his comment, without the piece of paper going into evidence. But he knows he’s taking an enormous gamble, playing what poker players call “a snow” — a bluff based on a worthless hand. Charles is risking everything on the assumption that Vermeulen hasn’t checked, or can’t remember, whether any documents relating to Evans’s suspension were in his office, and so might have been stolen at the same time as his notebook. A thin film of perspiration now stands out on Vermeulen’s pale face, which is now slightly pink about the cheeks.

  ‘An allegation of that sort was made against APO Evans, my Lord,’ he answers, slightly flustered, ‘and he was suspended for a period. No charges were brought, and APO Evans resumed his duties.’

  ‘APO Evans was in his thirties, I understand?’ asks Charles, apparently changing the subject.

  ‘That is right, my Lord.’

  ‘And he was not married?’

  ‘Not to the best of my knowledge.’

  ‘I suggest that the allegation you referred to a moment ago, about a homosexual assault by APO Evans, was not the first such allegation ever made against him during his career.’

  Montgomery rises. ‘My Lord, I object to this line of enquiry. It is improper for Mr Holborne to attack the credibility of a deceased person who, far from being a witness in this case, is the victim. The prior criminal or sexual history of a victim of murder is of no relevance to the question whether he was murdered and, if so, by whom.’

  ‘Mr Holborne?’ asks Fletcher.

  ‘But I don’t put these questions to damage the credibility of Mr Evans. It is the Defence case that many of the barges moored overnight on the Thames are unlocked and unattended and they are frequently used for liaisons between homosexual men. The purpose of these questions is to establish whether Mr Evans might have had other reasons for being in that area, reasons completely unconnected to his duties in the Waterguard or Mr Conway.’

  ‘Unproven allegations against this deceased officer as to his sexual proclivities will not get you even close to suggesting that he might have been engaged in such a liaison on this occasion. I will not permit the question,’ orders Fletcher.

  ‘So be it,’ says Charles, but he’s content enough. Although he didn’t quite invent the suggestion that the barges were used for gay men to meet at night — he knew after all what Merlin and Chicken were up to — it’s a long stretch from that to alleging a pattern of behaviour by homosexual men generally in which APO Evans took part. Charles is in no position to call any evidence about the use of the barges at night; it remains only an assertion from counsel’s benches, worthless, at least in theory. Nonetheless, he hopes he’s planted a seed in the minds of the jurors.

  ‘Is that a convenient moment for us to break, Mr Holborne?’ asks the Judge.

  Charles turns and looks at the clock on the wall. The time is just one o’clock.

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Members of the jury,’ says the Judge. ‘We will now adjourn for lunch until five past two. You have not heard much of the evidence yet, but I shall give you a warning now which will apply throughout the rest of this trial. You are not to speak to anyone about this case outside of your own number, and while in the jury room. The decision must be one for you twelve alone, and if you start talking to members of your family or friends about the evidence you’ve heard, they are likely to make some comment which could affect your mind or draw you into conversation. And that’s what must be avoided. So the best thing is to say nothing until the trial is over. Do you understand? Thank you. Five past two, gentlemen. Take the prisoner down.’

  ‘Court rise!’

  Charles makes hand gestures towards Merlin as he is taken down, indicating that Charles will join him in the cells in five minutes’ time. As the Judge disappears through the oak panelling and the members of the press stand and stretch, Charles looks up at the public gallery. The young man with all the gold rings has disappeared. No guesses as to where he’s gone, thinks Charles to himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Charles grabs the wig off his head and runs up the staircase two stairs at a time towards the Bar Mess, barging like a prop through protesting slower-moving barristers heading to lunch.

  The swing doors bang open as Charles charges into the Mess and walks swiftly to the window sill at the far side of the room. He parts the net curtains, lifts the dusty receiver off the old Bakelite pre-war telephone perched on the sill, and dials “0”. After a moment, an operator picks up.

  ‘Outside line, please,’ demands Charles and after a few further seconds he hears the familiar purr of the dialling tone.

  He dials the number for Chancery Court, a number he knows so well, frustrated at the inordinate speed it takes for the dial to return to its resting place after each rotation.

  ‘Chancery Court,’ says Sally, picking up the call.

  ‘Sally! Thank God I caught you.’

  ‘Yes, Charles, you did, but I’m just leaving for lunch.’

  ‘Please, Sally, give me just a moment! I’m so sorry I wasn’t there Saturday night. I had to go out and do some digging on Merlin’s case. I was out most of the night.’

  ‘That’s fine. You don’t owe me any explanation. But I really don’t want to have this conversation now.’ Her voice is calm but there is a chill in it which causes a hollow feeling in the pit of Charles’s stomach.

  ‘Just listen to me, please, Sally. You’ve no idea what I’m up against.’ Charles looks round to see if he can be overheard, but all the other barristers are busy taking off wigs and gowns, chattering about the state of their cases and moving quickly to order meals before the main rush starts. Nonetheless, Charles lowers his voice. ‘It’s not just Merlin’s life on the line. It’s all connected with Ronnie Kray, and his List.’

  ‘Oh, really? Good of you to warn me,’ replies Sally with sarcasm thick enough to toast and cover in butter. ‘I wondered when you’d get round to it.’

  ‘I’m telling you now!’ insists Charles with intensity.

  ‘I’ve known for months, Charlie, like everyone in the East End. Didn’t it occur to you that I might be worrying?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replies Charles defensively. ‘I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘No, yo
u weren’t,’ says Sally, dropping her voice. ‘You were doing what you always do, and what you did with poor Henrietta; you put it in a separate box to deal with alone. It’s impossible to get close to you, Charlie. You don’t let anyone in. Anyway, I’ve told you I don’t want this conversation now. In fact, I don’t want this conversation at all.’

  ‘What? Are we breaking up?’

  ‘Breaking up what? In my book a series of shags doesn’t count as a relationship,’ she says, her voice dropping almost to a whisper and her new cultured diction slipping a bit. ‘I’ve got to go. I hope the trial goes well.’

  She hangs up, leaving Charles once again with the soft purr of the dialling tone.

  Charles puts the heavy receiver back on its metal rests and looks at his watch. He has forty-five minutes left to grab a bite to eat and get down to the cells to see Merlin, but he has suddenly lost his appetite. He collects his wig from the window sill, bashes it against his leg to get the dust off it, and heads for the cells.

  By the time he is booked in, Merlin has abandoned his meal, a rather unsavoury-looking plate of sausages, soggy chips and peas, drowning in lumpy gravy.

  ‘Well?’ asks Merlin. ‘How do you think it’s going?’

  ‘Not too bad. About as well as we can expect at this stage,’ says Charles, allowing his customary optimism to slip slightly.

  ‘You don’t sound too happy,’ comments Merlin.

  Charles sighs. ‘The deal I made with Vermeulen was that if he changed the time on the interview, I wouldn’t mention his smuggling. But I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to have to break the deal and go in with both feet on his notebook.’

  ‘You think he’s going to backtrack, then?’

  Charles shrugs. ‘I don’t know; maybe. But even if he plays ball, I’m not sure it’ll be enough to discredit the interview.’

  ‘I don’t see the problem, Charlie: hit ’im with both barrels!’

  Charles regards the lighterman, anxiety written large on his features.

  ‘You’ve got a funny sense of priorities, Charlie. You’ve done a deal with a bent Waterguard to hide from the rozzers the fact that he’s been on the take for years. And the reason you’ve done it is to prevent me from being hanged for a crime I never committed, and you from being shivved simply for doing your best to represent the Krays’ bent brief. And you’re worried about keeping your word to this arsehole?’

  Charles smiles. ‘Well, put like that…’

  ‘Get your head round it, Charlie: unless you get me off this, one or both of us is going to die. You said it yourself at Brixton: we’re both on death row. So you use anything, anything you’ve got. And you’ve got that notebook.’

  Charles nods slowly, letting Merlin’s words sinking in. ‘Yeah. Got it.’

  ‘Mr Holborne?’ says Fletcher, inviting Charles to resume his cross-examination.

  ‘Thank you, my Lord. Mr Vermeulen, my questions so far have concerned APO Evans’s movements that night, and what he might have been doing. I now want to turn to Mr Conway. You told us that he had been under surveillance as a result of “information received” that he may have been involved in smuggling spirits. Do you know from whom that information was received?’

  ‘No, my Lord, I don’t. I understood that it was from one of APO Evans’s informants.’

  ‘Do you agree with me, Mr Vermeulen, that informants come in all shapes and sizes and levels of reliability?’

  ‘They do indeed, my Lord.’

  ‘Some are reliable and some are not?’

  ‘I think I would put it differently, my Lord: all regular informants are reliable some of the time, or else we wouldn’t continue using them. But even regular informants are wrong sometimes.’

  ‘You don’t know who this informant was at all?'

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘So it might not have been a regular informant at all. It might have been someone else, someone new?’

  ‘It might.’

  ‘It might even have been an anonymous informant?’

  ‘Yes, it might, my Lord.’

  ‘Do you agree that informants are people who are themselves sometimes on the wrong side of the law?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord, I do agree. We often have to rely on other villains “in the business” as it were, to inform on their colleagues.’

  ‘And such other villains may have their own motives for informing on, for example, a competitor.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord, that is the case.’

  ‘Or they may simply want to be paid for information?’

  ‘I think almost all informants want to be paid for their information. Not many will do it out of love of the authorities, especially the taxman,’ jokes Vermeulen, prompting a sprinkling of laughter around the court. He looks confident, and Charles is happy for that to remain the case until he strikes.

  ‘So, to summarise, an informant whose identity you don’t know, who may himself have been a criminal with his own motives or may simply have wanted to make himself some money, may have pointed a finger at Mr Conway, saying he may have been involved in something illegal.’ Charles emphasises each “may” because when it comes to his speech he wants to take the line that the prosecution is speculative, a bunch of “mays” with no substance.

  Vermeulen shrugs. ‘HM Waterguard have to deal with all sorts of lowlife, my Lord, and we have to get down in the dirt with them sometimes. It’s inevitable.’

  Mr Justice Fletcher nods sadly.

  ‘But whatever the nature of the information,’ continues Charles, ‘HM Waterguard was never able to establish that Mr Conway had done anything wrong at all.’

  ‘Well, investigations were continuing.’

  ‘Your statement says that the information received was that the accused “may” have been involved in smuggling,’ Charles reminds him.

  ‘That is correct, my Lord.’

  ‘But despite the Waterguard’s investigations, you weren’t able to put together sufficient evidence to bring charges, or put the matter in the hands of the police?’

  ‘That is also correct, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Vermeulen. I come to the last issue on which I would like to ask you some questions: the alleged confession you say Mr Conway made. Before dealing with the document itself, may I ask why you chose to interview the accused?’

  ‘Well, my Lord, I was the senior officer there at the time, and I had discovered my colleague’s body.’

  ‘The Waterguard is part of her Majesty’s Customs and Excise, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If I can put it this way, it is part of the country’s tax collection machinery, but operating on the water.’

  ‘We have investigatory functions as well, my Lord.’

  ‘Certainly you do, Mr Vermeulen, but those investigatory functions relate to the payment or evasion of tax revenues. Your remit does not include murder, does it?’

  ‘Not directly, no.’

  ‘Do you have any experience investigating murders?’

  ‘No, my Lord, I do not. These were unusual circumstances.’

  ‘You don’t have any training in investigating crimes like murder, either, do you?’

  ‘Not directly, no, but —’

  ‘The appropriate step is to call in the police, in this case the Metropolitan Police.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s what I did.’

  ‘Exactly. You called the Metropolitan Police, and they were on their way, and yet you decided to conduct an interview in an investigation which was not within your experience, training or remit. In those circumstances I want to ask you why you chose to conduct an interview with the accused, when the police were only a few minutes’ away.’

  The Waterguard doesn’t answer for a moment. ‘I don’t know. It was very shocking, finding John’s body in the water like that, and I was sure that Conway was responsible. When I first saw him he was crying, and I thought perhaps there was an opportunity to get the truth out of him while he was upset.’


  It’s a good answer, and has the ring of truth.

  ‘You were sure that Conway was responsible?’

  ‘Yes, it just seemed obvious, my Lord.’

  ‘Just pause there, please, Mr Holborne,’ instructs the Judge. ‘“It just seemed obvious,”’ repeats the Judge in an exaggerated way as he slowly writes verbatim Vermeulen’s evidence in his red book, while glancing over at the jury to make sure they had got the point.

  After a moment the Judge looks up, his hand now still, and nods to Charles that he may proceed.

  ‘I suggest, Mr Vermeulen, that your “certainty” — based on nothing more than the coincidence that Mr Conway’s barge was close by — led you to fabricate that confession.’

  ‘Fabricate?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Charles, raising his voice for the first time. ‘You were sure that Mr Conway was guilty, and you took the opportunity offered by being alone with him before the police arrived to fake a confession, to make sure of a conviction.’

  ‘I certainly did not, my Lord. What I wrote down in that interview came directly from the accused’s mouth.’

  ‘You may not be familiar with police procedure, Mr Vermeulen, but I suggest you “verballed” Mr Conway,’ says Charles.

  ‘That is quite untrue, my Lord.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get him to sign the confession, then? There could’ve been no doubt about its truthfulness, if he signed it as true.’

  ‘I ... I didn’t think to, my Lord.’

  ‘I see. So you’re telling us that you conducted a genuine and honest interview with Mr Conway at 07:14 hours back at the Harpy, in the few minutes before the police arrived?’

  ‘Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,’ asserts Vermeulen, his face flushing bright red.

  ‘And you are quite certain about the time of that interview?’

  Charles notices a fractional hesitation in Vermeulen’s response as he realises the direction Charles’s questions are about to take. ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘And you wrote down the words spoken by both of you at the same time as they were being spoken?’