‘Which does make me think, bearing in mind the allegations made against Mr Evans in the past: perhaps he was engaged in activities which had nothing to do with his duties. If he was indulging in sexual activity with another man, which we all know is against the law and carries all sorts of dangers with it … well, that opens up an entirely new set of possibilities which would have nothing whatsoever to do with Mr Conway.
‘None of us will ever know what Mr Evans was doing that evening, but I do ask you to keep well in mind the fact that prior to his death, this bachelor, against whom homosexual allegations had been raised in the past, was not wearing any clothing, at least on the top part of his body. We will never know if, whoever took the considerable trouble to get him dressed again, just put on his jacket or all of his clothing. But consider this: whoever did that, they did not want Mr Evans found in a state of undress, did they? And you are entitled to ask yourself: why? And if you consider that Mr Evans was engaged in sexual activity or might have been, there is absolutely no evidence whatsoever to link that with Mr Conway.’
Charles watches as several of the jury members turn to look at the handsome man in the dock and ask themselves if they think he is the sort of man to have clandestine homosexual liaisons with a member of the Waterguard on a dark barge moored at night on the Thames. As if Charles had arranged it, right on cue Merlin sits up straight from his slouched position and lets the jury members examine his strong face, his tanned features and his broad shoulders. Even tired, drawn and worried, he still looks like a matinee idol.
Charles waits for the jury members to return their attention to him and notes with satisfaction that it is the four female members of the jury whose consideration of Merlin lasts the longest.
‘I respectfully submit to you, ladies and gentlemen, that far from the pathology evidence helping the Crown prove the case beyond reasonable doubt, it throws up more questions than it answers. One thing is sure: there is no scientific evidence to link Mr Evans’s body with Mr Conway, his barge, or a deliberate assault. As Dr Burch concedes, the blow which killed him could have been an accident, it could have occurred almost anywhere and not just by Mr Conway’s barge and, if it was deliberate, it could have been administered by anyone with whom Mr Evans came into contact both in pursuance of his Waterguard duties or in pursuance of more nefarious objectives.’
This time Charles notes several members of the jury nodding fractionally, including even the putative foreman.
‘And so, ladies and gentlemen, I turn to the last piece of evidence, and the one I’m sure will concern you most: the alleged confession. It is, of course, the cornerstone of the Crown’s case. But it is fatally flawed. Firstly, the timing problem. Mr Vermeulen was initially absolutely certain that he undertook the interview at 07:14 hours in the morning, which would tie in perfectly with all the other parts of the investigation. But when I pointed out that his handwritten notes were timed at 03:14 hours he was equally convinced that he wrote that time down at the same moment as he conducted the interview.
‘But we know he cannot be right about that, because he could hardly have been obtaining a confession to a murder even before he discovered that a murder had occurred. His Lordship postulated one possible explanation: the secretary typing the notes simply misread the time. Well, you will have a chance to look at the handwritten notes when you retire to the jury room, and you will see that they are very clearly written. The time of 03:14 hours is perfectly clear, and looks nothing like 07:14.
‘But even if some transcription mistake did occur, that still doesn’t help Mr Vermeulen, does it? How can he be certain he took the confession at 03:14 hours, hours before he was even aware that Mr Evans was dead?
‘I have an alternative, and I suggest, more likely explanation: Mr Vermeulen made up the confession subsequently, forgetting the time when he actually carried out the interview. Why? Because the victim was his own colleague and he was angry and, perhaps naturally, out for revenge; because he put two and two together but reached five; and because he was sure he’d got his man, and was going to make absolutely sure he got his conviction. I suggest, ladies and gentlemen, that you cannot exclude that as a possibility, which means you can’t be sure that the confession is genuine.
‘Is there any other piece of evidence which helps us decide if the confession is genuine? Well, yes; there are three.’ Again Charles lifts his hand and counts them off. ‘Firstly, why was Mr Vermeulen conducting this interview at all? It’s not his job. He has no training or experience in conducting interviews of this sort. This is a job for the Metropolitan Police who had already been called and who were on their way. He had only a very short time to wait, and yet he hurries to conduct an interview which, for all he knows, he could completely muck up. Doesn’t that smack of a man trying to bolster the evidence while he had time, rather than a man sticking to his duty?
‘Secondly, where’s the detail? Please can I ask you to look at the typewritten version of the interview in front of you?’ Charles waits while the members of the jury find the document from the small pile of papers in front of them. There are six copies, so each pair of jurors sitting next to each other leans in, sharing a copy. ‘Now, put yourself in Mr Vermeulen’s position. Imagine for a minute that you’re conducting the interview of the murderer of one of your colleagues and, against all the odds, your suspect simply confesses: “We had a fight and I killed him.” Wouldn’t you ask why? Wouldn’t you ask for details? If the interview occurred as Mr Vermeulen says it did, wouldn’t it have carried on for longer than this simple, bland confession followed by Mr Vermeulen telling Mr Conway: “I am ending this interview now to await the arrival of the Metropolitan Police”? The mark of a genuine confession is that it contains details that could only have come from the accused; that way, the accused can’t get out of it later. There is absolutely no such detail here, is there? Can you be sure that this —’ Charles picks up the document, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger as if trying to avoid being contaminated by it — ‘isn’t “a verbal”; a dishonest account of an admission that was never made?
‘And lastly, why didn’t Mr Vermeulen get a signature from Mr Conway? Isn’t that obvious, even if you’re not trained in conducting interviews with alleged murderers? Wouldn’t you have thought to yourself: “Well I never, he’s just admitted to it. But there’s only him and me here, so what if he goes back on it? Well, just to make sure he doesn’t, I’m going to get him to sign the notes”?’
At this point, with immense satisfaction, Charles watches the putative foreman nodding his ruddy face up and down, his jowls wobbling. He, at least, likes that point. Charles again looks up and down the two lines of jurors. He feels like a circus performer spinning plates on sticks. Up and down the lines he runs throughout his speech, making eye contact here, grinning there, raising his eyebrows at a third, looking for a response, persuading them, one by one, that his version of the truth is the right one, keeping them with him, building the momentum so that none of the jurors, once captured, falls away.
‘The question you have to ask yourselves, members of the jury, is this: am I satisfied so I am sure that the interview was taken in the manner and at the time Mr Vermeulen says it was? If you think that my suggestion is correct, or that it may be correct, your duty in accordance with your oaths, is to acquit Mr Conway. If you think it’s possible that Mr Vermeulen made up the confession because he was desperate to get the man he was sure was responsible; if you think he may just have added together two unconnected events, the finding of the body near Mr Conway’s barge, and the fact that Mr Conway had been under surveillance, and assumed Mr Conway was guilty; if you think he was so angry at the loss of his colleague that he might have been prepared to bend the rules; if you think he may have taken the law into his own hands and embroidered the evidence to make it more compelling — then again, you cannot convict. If any of this evidence doesn’t feel right to you; if you are left wondering and doubting — you only have one course.’
‘I return to the comments I made right at the beginning of my address to you. The Defence has to prove nothing. The Crown has to prove everything, and to a very high standard: so you are sure. If you think these alternative explanations of the evidence might be correct, your duty is to bring in a verdict of “Not Guilty.”
Charles smiles and puts down his notebook, and the tension in the courtroom eases a little.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for listening to me with such patience and attention. I’m sure that when you retire to discuss the evidence in the jury room, you will give it just the same careful attention and analysis, and on Mr Conway’s behalf I can ask no more. Having done so, I suggest to you that on the evidence you have heard, the only verdict that you could reach consistent with your oath and with common sense is to find Mr Conway not guilty of the charge of murder.’
Charles remains standing for a few more seconds, his eyes once again travelling up and down the faces of the two banks of jurors, and then resumes his seat. Got them! he thinks.
‘Thank you, Mr Holborne,’ says Fletcher. ‘I think the jury might like a few minutes’ break before I start my summing up. I shall rise until twelve twenty.’
‘Court rise!’
The occupants of the public gallery and the press benches disperse quickly, rushing out to get a cup of tea, run to the lavatory or have a quick smoke. Charles now looks up and squints at the gallery to see if he can locate Ronnie Kray’s eyes and ears. There, slipping out of the door, is the young man.
Back in the cells five minutes later Merlin gives Charles a bear hug. With his mouth close to Charles’s ear, he whispers: ‘Well, you persuaded me. And I know I did it!’
Charles disengages from Merlin and throws himself on the bench, suddenly exhausted. ‘Let’s not count our chickens,’ he says. ‘It felt good, and they looked as if they were with us, but you never know.’
Merlin watches him for a while. ‘What’s the matter, Charlie? You’ve done everything you possibly could.’
‘Yes. Most of it unprofessional, and a good part of it illegal. I feel like I’ve thrown away everything I’ve worked for, for the last fifteen years. I feel grubby.’
‘Better alive and grubby than dead and clean.’
Charles smiles ruefully. ‘True,’ he admits. ‘But if you’re acquitted, that’s the end of the story for you. I’ve still got to get Ronnie Kray off my back. And as you pointed out, he’s not going to stop.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mr Justice Fletcher takes just over an hour to direct the jury as to the law, summarise the evidence, and go as far as he can to persuade them to convict the accused without tempting the Court of Appeal to intervene. Considering the identity of the judge, thinks Charles, the summing up isn’t as bad as he’d feared. Fletcher instructs the jury to ignore speculation about nocturnal homosexual liaisons or why APO Evans appeared to have received an injury to his side after he was killed and while he was partially undressed.
In the learned judge’s opinion, precisely what APO Evans had been doing before he met his death is irrelevant; how he might have received an injury after his death is equally irrelevant. The only issue for them is whether the prisoner killed him. Echoing Montgomery’s speech, he directs them that the fact of the surveillance, the location of the body and the confession are ample to prove beyond reasonable doubt that the prisoner is guilty. He repeats the point that the mistaken time as to Vermeulen’s interview is insignificant if they believe, as he urges them to do, that a Chief Preventive Officer of HM Waterguard is most unlikely to make up such a confession.
Nonetheless, because Charles had called no evidence, Fletcher is unable to put the boot into Merlin or the Defence case, and so much of what Charles said to the jury is still in everyone’s mind when the jury rises for a late lunch at half past one. Counsel are released until no earlier than half past two.
Charles spends half an hour in the cells with Merlin but everything has already been said and they sit in virtual silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Charles says he will wait in the Bar Mess and Merlin agrees. Charles leaves his cousin with his Daily Sketch and heads upstairs.
Three other barristers are also awaiting verdicts and Charles joins them at one of the tables, having ordered tea and shortbread biscuits. Over the years he has tried numerous strategies for passing this time. He has taken papers relating to other cases and envies other barristers who seem capable of putting their current jury out of their minds and concentrating on writing an Advice on Evidence or drafting an indictment in a different case, but he can’t manage it. He has tried taking a novel, but finds the required concentration still beyond him. Even when he has no personal involvement in the outcome, when acting for a defendant, particularly one in whose innocence he believes strongly, Charles finds himself jumpy and unable to settle.
This time is the worst of all. More than once he stands to go to the telephone to see if Sally will speak to him, and each time he forces himself to sit down again, to pace once more around the room or to pick up a newspaper. The jury in the case of two of the other barristers returns with a verdict and they jam on wigs and disappear downstairs. The third gets on the telephone and starts a long conversation, apparently with his clerk, leaving Charles to his own thoughts.
Since his first conference at Brixton, when he left with the prison-made shiv in his pocket, Charles has not spoken to Merlin about what will happen if the lighterman were to be convicted, despite all Charles’s efforts. Merlin’s breakdown and his handing over of the weapon suggest that, come what may, he won’t try to kill Charles a second time, but it’s not actually been discussed. Both men have acted as if Charles’s near-murder in the cell at Brixton never occurred. Nonetheless, Charles is certain that, even if Merlin is convicted and goes to the gallows without honouring his agreement with the Krays, Ronnie will keep coming. Charles knows the Krays well enough; they never give up. He has to find a long-term solution.
The enormous wooden clock on the Mess wall ticks the minutes past with interminable slowness. The other remaining barrister finishes his call and disappears into the lavatory with a newspaper, leaving Charles alone in the room. On impulse he walks to the telephone on the windowsill. He uses the back of his hand to clear a space amongst the collection of flies which have battered themselves to death against the windowpane, and perches on the edge. He requests an outside line, and dials.
‘David Horowitz, please,’ he asks when the call is picked up. ‘Charles Holborne,’ he adds, in response to the question as to his identity.
He waits for a moment and then hears his brother’s voice. ‘Charles? Everything all right?’ David sounds concerned; Charles almost never calls at work.
‘Yes. At a bit of a loose end, waiting for a verdict, so I thought I’d call.’
David chuckles, but is still surprised. ‘That’s nice. I hoped we’d see you on Friday.’
‘Yes, I know. Something came up at work.’
‘On Friday night?’ chides David, gently. Charles doesn’t answer. ‘You know how important it is to Mum and Dad. Friday nights are sacred.’
‘Don’t have a go at me, Davie. I phoned to hear a friendly voice. Anyway, this is exceptional. I’m representing Izzy Conway.’
‘What?’ replies David, astonished.
‘You knew he’d been arrested, charged with murder?’
‘Yes, of course, despite the fact that Mum’s still not on speaking terms with Aunt Bea. Yet another subject we all avoid. But how’re you involved?’
‘Long story.’
David pauses. ‘Well, at least one of the family is standing by him. I’m glad. Can you do anything?
‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’ Charles lapses into a silence pregnant with unarticulated communication.
‘There is something wrong, isn’t there, Charles? Something else.’
Charles draws a deep breath, twitches aside the net curtains from the dusty windowsill on which he sits and gazes, unseeing, at the top of the black cabs and other traffic rumbling along below.
‘It’s a tricky case,’ he says, finally.
‘Are you sure that’s all? You sound as if your mind is miles away; from me and from your case.’
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said about Henrietta,’ says Charles quietly. David waits. ‘Actually, I’ve been talking to her.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve been talking to her?’ asks David, perplexed.
‘Well, to be accurate, she’s been talking to me.’
‘Charles? Should I be taking this seriously? You’re beginning to worry me.’
It takes a while for Charles to respond, but when he does his voice is brighter and stronger, as if he had indeed been joking. ‘No, I’m not serious. This case is just getting me down. Remember Dad told us he knew the Krays’ father, Charlie Kray, the pesterer?’
‘Yes, when we collected him from hospital at the end of last year. What of it?’
‘I followed up the lead he gave me and I managed to get in touch with them. I tried to straighten out the problem over Robeson.’
‘And?’
‘I wasn’t successful. I’m still apparently on Ronnie’s “List”.’
‘What’s that mean?’ asks David, concerned.
‘I don’t really know yet. It’s tied up with this case.’
‘For God’s sake, Charles, go to the police. Why do you always think you need to manage everything without help?’
‘You forget what job I do, David. Half the police in the Met are corrupt, and some are hand in glove with the Krays; I wouldn’t know who to trust. And of those who haven’t got their snouts in the trough, most think I killed Henrietta, or I’ve been working for the Krays already and therefore deserve it — or both. I’ve turned this over in my head for months, but I can’t think of a way out.’
The Lighterman: The Kray Twins are out for revenge... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 3) Page 23