Charlie’s eyes filled with tears, and sensing Rita was crying too she caught hold of her hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘Bearing all these atrocities in mind, can any of you now doubt Daphne Dexter chose to dispose of Ralph Peterson too?’ Underwood’s voice rose. Pausing for a moment to allow his words to sink in, he strode up and down in front of the jury, his hands clasped behind his back. ’Peterson had jilted her when she had her heart set on marrying him – almost certainly the attraction was his money. My learned friends for the defence would have us believe this is too weak a reason. I agree that for most of us reasonable people it is. Yet we have already seen and heard that Daphne Dexter is not a reasonable woman, but a vengeful, cunning and jealous woman.
‘The defence went to some pains to discredit Peterson, yet he was a man of sixty-three who had amassed his fortune by building several highly reputable companies, with never the slightest hint of a stain on his character. Wasn’t it far more likely that Miss Dexter engineered the evidence of his trips to peep-show clubs, and indeed lied to him about what she was using his loan for?’ He paused again, looking hard at the jury.
‘Now, the question of the twenty thousand pounds he left Miss Dexter in his will. Proof he still retained some affection for her, as the defence have claimed? I think not. That will was dated nine months prior to his death. Miss Peterson said that her brother didn’t express anxiety about Miss Dexter until seven months later. I ask you all to think when you last updated your will. A year ago, two? It isn’t a high priority to most of us, is it?
‘I believe Miss Dexter always knew the contents of that will, and guessing Peterson wasn’t the type to think of rushing off to change it immediately, ordered her brothers to wait outside his Mayfair club late at night, and knock him down and kill him. At one stroke she rid herself of a humiliating failure and gained a considerable amount of money.’
Charlie looked along to Dave and saw he was grinning. He made a thumbs-up sign to her.
‘Finally we have the abduction of Andrew Blake.’ Underwood looked as if he was enjoying himself now; his face was more animated, his hands, which earlier had been clasped behind his back, were now making involuntary gestures.
’There can be no doubt in any of your minds that when Daphne Dexter drugged him, stripped him of his own clothes and drove him from Shepherd’s Bush to her house in Kent, that she fully intended to murder him. What else was she intending to do with him, if not that? He was the boyfriend of Charlie Weish. She felt that in his investigations into the disappearance of Jin Weish, he was getting too close to the truth for comfort.
‘Our learned council for the defence would have us doubt Blake was ever in that cellar. They produced a witness who said that on the first night of his so-called abduction he stayed at a guest-house in Eastbourne. Yet in a statement made to the police soon after their arrest, Barrington and Michael Dexter admitted they drove the unconscious Blake to The Manse that same Friday evening on instructions from their sister.
‘We also heard from the police that another young man was in fact fraudulently using Blake’s cheque-book and his identity along the south coast, during the entire weekend while Blake was incarcerated. I would suggest this was a ploy to create the impression Blake’s balance of mind was disturbed well before his “faked” suicide. Happily Blake escaped, as did Miss Weish, but I would like you all to think on what might have happened to these two young people if they hadn’t managed it.’
Charlie’s spirits had soared as Underwood summed up the case for the prosecution. She couldn’t see any way that the defence could bring up a stronger argument. But the moment their man stepped forward, her heart sank. Just his height, good looks and bearing made little bespectacled Underwood with his North Country accent look inferior.
He smiled warmly at the jury in the manner of a man who had not a moment’s doubt about his ability to sway the minds of others. He opened up with the standard plea that while the jury made their deliberations they were to bear in mind that if there was any ‘reasonable doubt’ against any of the charges, they must find the accused ‘Not Guilty’ on that count.
Starting with the charge of Jin Weish’s murder, he launched into an assassination of the victim’s character. He suggested that a man who had arrived in England in 1949 with nothing but the clothes on his back, yet leapt from waiter in a Chinese restaurant to owning three Soho night-clubs, and then on to an extremely successful import business, was hardly likely to have achieved all this without skulduggery, cutting corners and making a great many enemies.
‘Are we really supposed to believe that a man as determined and successful as Weish obviously was would really give his most lucrative club to an ex-mistress, just to get her off his back?’ he said with a look of amusement. ‘Ask yourself too, why a woman as dynamic and beautiful as Miss Dexter, who had the world at her feet, would be so riddled with jealousy she’d plot for years to ruin an ex-lover and then execute him herself. It is a ridiculous idea.’
He paused just long enough to allow the jury to ponder on his words. Then, moving away a little and turning again, he raised his voice an octave.
‘Jealousy is an emotion we’ve heard a great deal about in this court for the past few weeks, but I put it to you members of the jury that many of the witnesses whose evidence you have heard were motivated to come forward by just that emotion. How odd too that all these “terrified victims” living in fear of their lives – often it is reputed for years – all found their courage as soon as they heard the Dexters had been arrested! Isn’t it far more likely that these “victims” with their sad little stories, perhaps with some petty grudge against the accused, entered into a feeding frenzy, and relished five minutes of fame, while getting back at those they were jealous of?’
Charlie wished she could see the jury’s faces, but they were hidden from view below the public gallery. She felt that each of them was slowly being turned around, and forgetting everything Underwood had put to them.
‘I don’t for one moment doubt that Mr Kent did see someone shoot Jin Weish, wrap up his body and row it out into the river. But we only have his word for it that it was the Dexters. Can we believe the word of a man who not only keeps quiet about this heinous crime he has observed, but happily sells his warehouse a few months later to the very people he claims committed it?
‘As for the attack on Sylvia Weish, witnessed by her daughter, there isn’t a shred of evidence that this crime was committed by either of the Dexters. It could have been anyone who had a grievance against Jin Weish,’ he said firmly.
As the barrister went on through each separate charge, Charlie was astounded at how the man could discredit every witness with some sort of grudge motive. The bank manager who claimed to have been blackmailed and beaten up in an alley one night when he refused to pay any longer was dismissed as being ‘as crooked as a corkscrew’, later sacked by his bank for misappropriation of funds. The tenants who’d been intimidated were passed off as whining inadequates who were evicted fairly and squarely for nonpayment of rent. As Charlie knew so little about what had passed when these people took the stand, she couldn’t judge whether any of this was true. But she did know for certain that the Dexters had killed her father and maimed Rita, and she wondered how the man could sleep at night knowing that through his clever words the jury might let the Dexters back on to the streets to begin another reign of terror.
When he got to Rita’s mutilation, Charlie felt like shouting out abuse at him, only Andrew’s warning look and his firm hand on her arm prevented her.
‘Can we really believe that Miss Dexter, a sensationally beautiful woman in her thirties, who has already proved herself an astute businesswoman, would be concerned about a club girl making eyes at her man?’ he said scornfully. ‘I think it is far more likely the jealousy was all on the side of the younger woman who knew she couldn’t possibly be anything more than just a temporary plaything for a man like Mr Peterson.
‘I suggest that the scars Miss
Tutthill bears were executed by one of the many men she must have used in her days as “a good-time girl”. That when she met young Charlie Weish, a grieving, bewildered girl whose deranged mother had so often brought up the name of “DeeDee”, Miss Tutthill found she had the ideal audience to tell a different tale about her tragedy. She slotted fact and fiction together, conveniently using Daphne Dexter and her brothers as the scapegoat and villains. I have nothing but admiration for the determination Miss Weish showed in trying to uncover the mystery of her father’s disappearance, but she was led along the wrong path by people who used her gullibility for their own devious ends.’
All at once Charlie knew that the justice she’d hoped for so long had failed her. Shrugging off Andrew’s hand on her arm, she jumped up, pushed past the row of people on the bench and made for the courtroom door. Once outside in the fresh air, and seeing another pack of reporters, she ran down towards Ludgate Hill and kept on going, sobbing as she went.
‘Where on earth has she gone?’ Rita asked Andrew as they came out of the court and made their way downstairs, looking for Charlie. Soon after her hasty departure the judge had summed up the evidence and now the jury had retired to consider their verdict.
‘I don’t know,’ Andrew replied, looking anxiously around the crowd of people who had been with them in the gallery.
‘I think she was cut to the quick by what that defence geyser said,’ Dave said in a strained voice behind him. ‘I know I was.’
Andrew had almost forgotten Dave in his anxiety to find Charlie. He turned to see Wendy virtually holding her father up; he was ashen-faced, suddenly and dramatically weakened by what he’d heard in the court.
Charlie’s disappearance no longer seemed so important. ‘Come and sit down,’ Andrew said, slipping his arm around Dave and supporting him over to a bench. ‘I’ll go and get you some water.’
Andrew returned a few minutes later to find Dave slumped against his daughter’s shoulder, his face grey, his eyes almost closed. Rita had gone off to find medical help.
‘He’s all in,’ Wendy said, her sunburnt face contorted with anxiety. ‘I must get him home, it’s been too much for him.’
‘Just let me get my wind again,’ Dave croaked. ‘I’ll be fine. Just wait for the verdict.’
Andrew held the plastic cup of water to Dave’s lips, but a sixth sense told him the man was much too ill to be taken home.
‘Just wait for the verdict,’ Dave repeated, but his words were barely audible.
Rita came hurrying back with a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform. She told them that she was one of the Old Bailey’s medical team, and sat beside Dave to take his pulse.
‘He must go to hospital immediately,’ she said, looking at Wendy. ‘We do get quite a few people taken ill in here, but this is more than just shock. Bart’s is very close, they’ll take good care of him.’
An ambulance arrived within minutes of being called. Dave was lifted on to a trolley and wheeled out past the scores of reporters waiting in the street. As Wendy got in beside her father, she called out to Andrew, ‘Find Charlie and bring her to the hospital. I know Dad will want to see her.’ She didn’t have to say ‘one last time’, it was written all over her face.
The ambulance pulled away with the sirens blasting. Andrew looked at Rita questioningly. ‘Where do we look for her?’
Rita was still smarting at what the defence had suggested about her, and she was acutely aware that journalists were not only photographing her but had taken pictures of Dave Kent being carried into the ambulance. She felt incensed by such insensitivity. Charlie’s disappearance was an excuse to let her anger out.
‘I don’t bloody well know,’ she snapped. ‘Just when I think she’d learned to behave like an adult, she reverts to being the spoiled little girl again. Maybe she even believed what that creep said about me.’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Andrew said alarmed by Rita’s anger. ‘But I’ll have to go and find her.’
He went over to the journalists and asked if anyone had seen Charlie come out. On being directed towards Ludgate Hill, he grabbed Rita’s arm and took her with him. He didn’t think she should be left alone at such a time.
Charlie was close to Blackfriars Bridge, sobbing her heart out as she looked over the Embankment wall at the Thames. Since her father’s funeral back in Dartmouth she had comforted herself that he was back in a place he loved, but now, as she looked into the dirty, green-grey water, she was reminded that this was his real grave – the river had washed over his body for over two years, his flesh disintegrating into it, then flowed with the tide out to sea.
The anger which had made her run out of the court was replaced now by despair. For six months she had placed all her faith in British justice, but all she’d received was humiliation. By tomorrow the whole nation would be hearing her father was a crook, her mother a deranged ex-stripper, Rita, Andrew, Dave and herself all liars. Where could she go from here? All her illusions were shattered, she had no strength left to fight any more battles. The river looked just like her thoughts, muddy, slow and tainted. She might just as well fling herself into it and be done with the struggle.
‘Charlie!’
She involuntarily turned her head at the sound of her name, to see Andrew running across the road, with Rita tottering behind him on her high heels. Charlie was dismayed. Now she was being robbed of the one act which might give her permanent peace.
‘Come with us,’ Andrew called out as he came closer still. ‘Dave’s been taken to hospital. Wendy wants you to see him. I think it’s the end for him.’ He was right in front of her now, panting furiously, his blue eyes wide with concern for a man he’d only met for the first time today.
‘What on earth were you thinking of, coming down here?’ Rita shouted out breathlessly before Charlie could even get her thoughts together.
Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the river. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just couldn’t,’ she broke off, unable to say the truth, that she couldn’t cope any longer.
‘Are you all right?’ Rita asked. All at once her anger at the girl faded.
Charlie pulled herself together, suddenly remembering that Rita’s character had been more cruelly attacked than anyone’s. ‘I’m fine now,’ she managed to get out. ‘What’s this about Dave?’
Andrew put two fingers in his mouth and whistled down a taxi cruising past. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘To the hospital. I’ll tell you on the way.’
Dave was in a small room just off the main Casualty Department. That he’d been put to bed immediately in a quiet place suggested that the nursing staff knew there was little they could do for him.
Rita stayed outside, but Andrew went in with Charlie. Wendy was on one side of the bed, holding her father’s hand, a nurse was on the other taking his pulse. Dave was conscious and he tried to smile as he saw Charlie.
‘Glad you came,’ he whispered.
‘I’ll leave you for a few moments,’ the nurse said, and indicated the bell. ‘Ring if you need me.’
‘Oh, Dave.’ Charlie moved into the place left vacant by the nurse. ‘I’m sorry I ran off without saying anything, I just got upset.’
‘Me too,’ he said weakly. ‘That defence man was a slime ball. But we ain’t finished yet, we got to wait for the verdict.’
‘Dad made me ring the court and ask them to phone here when the jury comes back in,’ Wendy said, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘I keep trying to tell him it doesn’t matter any more.’
Charlie knew Wendy meant she would rather her father rested and regained his strength than concern himself with what was going on in the jury room, but then she probably didn’t realize that only willpower had kept Dave alive this long, and a ‘Guilty’ verdict would mean he could die a happy man. His dogged single-mindedness shamed her. She had given up even before hearing the verdict.
‘It’s going to be “Guilty”,’ she lied, knowing she intended to tell him that even if it wasn’t true. �
�I spoke to the Clerk of the Court and he said we weren’t to worry.’
Dave looked at her hard. His eyes seemed to tell her he knew that wasn’t true. ‘Let me speak to Andrew,’ he whispered. ‘Just for a minute on our own.’
As Wendy and Charlie left reluctantly, Andrew moved closer to Dave, wondering what the man had to say to him.
‘I wish we’d had time to get acquainted,’ Dave said with some difficulty, his breathing laboured. ‘But I feel as if I know you from what Charlie told me. If they do get acquitted, will you do something for me?’
‘Of course,’ Andrew said, leaning closer so he could hear better.
‘Make Wendy get back to Australia fast, no hanging around clearing up the flat and stuff. Then get yourself and Charlie somewhere safe too. You understand what I mean?’
Andrew felt his legs tremble. Although he was certain the Dexters wouldn’t have the gall to come looking for any of them, it was still a frightening thought. ‘I will, I promise,’ he said.
‘Good lad.’ Dave attempted a weak smile. ‘Your Charlie’s a gem. You look after her and treat her right.’
While Rita and Andrew stayed in the waiting room, Charlie and Wendy sat either side of Dave’s bed. He drifted in and out of consciousness, but the girls talked to each other across the bed so he would know he wasn’t alone. How they had managed to hold a conversation Charlie didn’t know. They were strangers until a few hours ago, the only thing they had in common was the sick man lying between them, and that was a subject which couldn’t be discussed now. So Wendy talked about her life in Australia with Grant and Martin, and Charlie told her about Salcombe and Ivor, steering the subject away from anything to do with her parents. They were both very aware that as each hour passed Dave was gradually growing weaker.
Now and again as Wendy was talking, Charlie found herself slipping back in time to her childhood. Walking down Beacon Road towards the ferry, her father holding one hand, her mother the other, swinging her up in the air and laughing at her squeals of excitement. Sitting by the fire with them both on a cold winter’s day toasting crumpets. Swimming at Slapton Sands with them, and her father diving under the water pretending to be a shark and biting their legs. Unimportant little memories perhaps, yet reminders of happy times together as a family before Daphne Dexter cast her evil spells on their peace and security.
Charlie Page 55