“Oh, and by the way,” she said as he got into his van ready to drive off.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t mean that about Diane. You can save the kiss of life until you get home.”
Don made his way to Reading along the A4. At the far end of Prospect Park, he turned left into Liebenrood Road. He was making good progress heading towards the Crown Court in Tilehurst Road when he suffered yet another delay. A van had collided with a car at the entrance to the park. Nobody was hurt but the drivers were both making allegation against each other. Don calmed them down but then had to wait a good fifteen minutes for a local unit to arrive and take control of the scene.
The two young policewomen that turned up were for some reason unfriendly and rather surly. They obviously didn’t like dealing with road accidents, and they made Don feel as though the whole thing was his fault.
The encounter left a bad taste in Don’s mouth and he was running late when he eventually pulled off Tilehurst Road and drove through the gateway of Artillery House. This ex-wartime military base had in recent years been refurbished and converted to courtrooms in an effort to relieve the pressure on the historic Crown Court building that for centuries had stood by the Forbury Gardens in Reading town centre.
He knew he should have come earlier! All the spaces allocated to police vehicles had been taken and cars crammed the small public car park. Don drove up and down, in and out, back and forth for a good fifteen minutes before he finally spotted someone driving out of a space in the public sector.
Then, ignoring a shout from a jobsworth in a black overcoat, he shot into the vacated space and abandoned his vehicle..
Checking, for the umpteenth time that he had the correct pocket notebook with him, he brushed the fag ash from the tunic of his freshly pressed uniform and began making his way towards the main entrance.
His route took him past the outside entrance to the holding cells – just as a prison van pulled into the parking bay. Don watched as the back doors of the van opened and was shocked to see Alan Churcher, wearing handcuffs and flanked by two solid looking prison officers, stepping out onto the tarmac.
Seeing Don, the young man became possessed with rage and tried to break free from his escort.
“You fucking, murdering bastard!” he screamed. “Let go of me, you cunts! I’m going to fucking kill him. He let my brother burn to death, wouldn’t let me save him. He’s going to die!”
Churcher continued struggling and shouting as the prison officers bundled him through the door of the cell block. However, before they got him inside, Don heard him scream, “I won’t be in here forever. I’ll burn your fucking house down with you in it! See if I don’t!”
A little shaken, Don carried on and finally went into the court building, where he gave his details to the Crown Court Liaison Officer stationed inside the door.
“Nobody’s going to want you for hours yet,” said the liaison officer. “They haven’t even sworn in the jury and there’s a stack of pre-trial submissions to get though before any witnesses are going to be called. Why not nip over to the restaurant and get yourself a cup of tea? I’ll call you if you’re needed.”
Even the severity of the barrister’s black and white outfit could not disguise the fact that Davina Cooper was a strikingly attractive woman. She was tall and slender with luxurious natural blonde hair. However, she was obliged to keep her hair short. This was to accommodate the powdered wig she was required to wear whilst presenting evidence in court. The rules at the time were that the wig should cover all of a barrister’s natural hair.
However, nothing could disguise her bright green eyes. Eyes that gave her a cat-like appearance, an appearance that was further enhanced by the fluidity of her movements.
Despite the fact that women had been getting called to the bar since 1919, a female barrister in a major criminal case was, even in the 1970s, still something of a rarity. To go with her good looks, Davina also had a mind that was sharp and incisive – as several of her past opponents had discovered to their cost.
Davina was completely ruthless in court. The warm smile that so easily charmed the judge and members of the jury became the sharp toothed grin of the tiger facing its prey as she launched into the cross-examination of some hapless witness.
Davina was a born competitor. She did not like to lose cases.
Davina entered the custody area and gave up her briefcase for inspection. Satisfied with the contents, the gaoler in charge of the cell passage led her to one of the holding cells and opened the inspection hatch.
“Officer, can you explain why Mr Churcher is sitting in handcuffs?” Davina demanded.
“It’s in case he becomes violent, ma’am. He’s already tried to attack a policeman out in the yard.”
“Well, he’s not in the yard now and there are no policemen present. So, kindly remove the bracelets. I refuse to confer with my client whilst he’s in chains.”
The gaoler gave her a dubious look.
“I can get an order from the judge, if you prefer,” Davina continued.
Reluctantly the prison officer opened the cell door. He went over to the prisoner and unscrewed then removed the heavy, old-fashioned cuffs.
Having checked that his presence was not required whilst Davina exercised her right to private consultation, the officer then left the cell and locked the door behind him.
“When you’re ready to leave, just press the button on the wall,” he told Davina through the hatch.
Davina stood back and took a close look at her client.
She had to admit he was a handsome specimen. Tall, dark curly hair, well-built and possessed of rugged good looks. He could have passed for a film star – until he opened his mouth.
“Is my mum here?” he asked in a broad Berkshire accent. “Only she promised to bring me some fags.”
“I haven’t seen her, but I’ll check when I leave,” she promised. “Now, stand up and let me get a proper look at you. The impression you make on the jury is more important than you’d ever believe possible.”
Churcher stood up and faced Davina for inspection.
“The suit is fine,” she told him, “but you’ll have to change that shirt and tie. I’ve brought these for you to put on instead.”
Davina handed him a plain white shirt and a faded red tie that she produced from her briefcase and which he placed on the bed behind him. Churcher took off his trendy, bright orange shirt and the floral tie he had been wearing.
Watching him flex his finely muscled torso gave Davina an uncalled-for twinge of excitement. She had to remind herself that not only was she a professional lawyer, but she was also engaged to be married and shouldn’t be admiring young men, however attractive they were.
Sadly, like so many beautiful things, Davina’s day in the sun was destined to be brief. The eminent QC she was due to marry the following year would expect his wife to give up her career and stay at home to look after him. Her role would then consist of running the house and caring for the children they said they wanted, the grandchildren that both sets of their own parents so desperately craved.
None-the-less, on seeing his freshly scrubbed appearance, Davina permitted herself the pleasure of imagining Alan Churcher taking his morning shower; and she couldn’t stop herself wondering what it would be like to be caressed by those big, strong young hands.
Enough of this nonsense, she told herself firmly, back to business.
“That’s better,” she said as he knotted his tie.
Churcher no longer looked like a sharp operator in trendy clothes. Now, he was more like a country yokel trying to make a good impression in his nice suit – and getting it hopelessly wrong. Perfect.
“Well, Alan, there’s been some good progress since I visited you in prison last week. All reference to drugs has been redacted, but the judge knows you’re helping the police catch the real villains so that’s a good thing. It’s also been accepted that the case against you for child pornography is wafer thin
, the prosecution are not going to try to ahead with it.”
“What does redacted mean?”
“It means they’re not going to use it against you.”
“Yeah, but what about the murder that I didn’t do?”
“Well we’ve also made it quite clear that we don’t accept Hoskins’ written statement – so there’s no case to answer regarding stealing the car. All in all, it’s a good result with over half the charges against you dropped at the outset.”
“But they still think I’ve killed the mistress.”
“Yes, and they’re hanging onto that nonsense about you kidnapping the policeman. Anyway, I think we stand a good chance of getting you off those charges as well. But only if we work at it. Let’s start by having another look at this first statement of yours.”
She handed Churcher a photocopy of a handwritten statement.
I, Alan Churcher, wish to make a statement. I want someone to write down what I say. I have been told that I need not say anything unless I wish to do so and that what I say may be given in evidence.
Signed: Alan Churcher
Davina paused and looked at her client. “Tell me, did they really advise you of all your rights?”
“No, the detective just said I should make a statement. He said it would look better in court if I showed I was co-operating. So, I just signed what he wrote.”
“That’s about usual,” said Davina. “Okay, let’s go on.”
Me and my brother, Frank, own a van and we make a living doing odd jobs for people in the local area. About a year ago we met a man we called Mr H in one of the local pubs and we started doing work for him at his cottage. We used to go there at least once every week to do the garden and some maintenance in the house. Mr H was hardly ever there but his wife, Mrs H, was. After a couple of visits, she started having sex with Frank, then a while later they got me to join in as well. She had these canes like they used to use in school, and she liked to play these kinky games with us. Then she would give us boys a “good hiding” as she called it. She would pretend to be a teacher and we had to call her “The Mistress”. She used to refer to Mr H as “The Headmaster.”
Davina looked up at Churcher. There was something wrong here. Alan just didn’t look the sort.
“Tell me about this caning stuff,” she said. “Did you really enjoy it? I often saw boys being caned when I was at school and it looked like a thoroughly wretched experience. I’m sure they didn’t like it one bit.”
Churcher looked his barrister in the eye and said emphatically, “I hated it! I only did it to please Frank. He was always into it, even when we were boys. He said thinking about it helped him wank.”
“Did you always do what Frank told you?”
“Pretty much. He was always the boss like.”
“Hmm, interesting. Let’s move on.”
We mostly had sex at her house but sometimes we went to Bluebell Wood, where there’s a hidden clearing, and then we would do it in the open. She was a fair bit older than us, but she was really good at sex and not bad looking, so we kept going back for more. We never gave her any money – in fact she still paid us for the work we did in the house. One morning at about four o’clock we were just going out rabbiting when she phoned us. She was very excited and angry and said she had to see us right away and that the headmaster was away in Ireland. So, we drove over to her house in the van. When we got there, she said Mr H had driven to Wales to get the ferry to Ireland. She said we were very naughty boys and she was going to give us both a good thrashing.
“Right, Alan, this is important. I presume the ‘naughtiness’ she referred to was bringing the boys to the house to be photographed?”
“Yeah, except we never done it.”
Davina studied him for a brief while. With her experienced eye she could easily spot all the little tell-tale signs of someone telling lies. The fiddling with the hands, the lack of eye contact, the glances to the door and window as though looking for a means of escape. It all added up. But would the jury notice? Best take no chances.
“I’m going to give you two pieces of advice,” she told him. “Firstly, if we do call you to give evidence and you get asked anything about those boys, just don’t answer. They’re bringing no charges against you on that point, so they can’t question you on it. So, stay silent and I’ll fire in an objection. Got it?”
“Whatever you say, miss. I’m completely in your hands. What’s the second bit of advice?”
“Never play poker.”
She wanted to go to the wood, so we took her, and we all got naked in the clearing. We then played some caning games and when she got tired beating us she laid down on the grass and we both had sex with her, then we got dressed.
“Who had sex with her first, you or Frank?”
“Frank always went first. He said it was his right because he saw her before me. Anyway, he’d got really horny watching her cane me. The mistress laughed when she saw him really hard and said they shouldn’t waste it.”
“And were you aroused as well?”
“Yeah, a bit, enough to do what I had to.”
“But none of it was your idea?”
“To be honest, I’d have preferred to have gone rabbiting with Frank. If we’d done that then none of this would have happened.” He brushed away a tear.
When we got back to the van we saw Mr H sitting in his Jag. He was parked next to us and was really upset and angry. He said he had got as far as Oxford then turned back when he heard about strikes at Holyhead on the car radio. It turned out he had seen us drive into the wood as he was going home, and he’d been watching us from the bushes. He called the mistress a whore and a slut and she called him a limp dick faggot and some other names. He grabbed her by the wrists, and she kneed him in the balls. She got him a good one and he doubled up for a few minutes. She just laughed at him and called him some more names then she turned around to walk off. Mr H lost his temper and picked up a big stone. He ran up behind her and hit her on the back of the head as hard as he could.
“It's this part of your story that will come under most attack in court, Alan. Before I decide whether to put you in the box I need to know how well you can answer some hard questions, okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, they are bound to allege that you are making it all up and that Mr H wasn’t there at all. I know you’ve not been charged with rape, but it won’t stop them making the jury wonder.”
“Everything I’ve said in that statement is true. I swear it!” This time the body language didn’t alter. Davina inwardly sighed in relief.
“So, can you explain how it was that you didn’t hear Mr Hoskins drive up?”
“Simple. The clearing is a fair bit into the woods. You can’t hear down to the road at all.”
“Okay, let’s talk about the fight. Where were you two when they were arguing?”
“We were just stood there.”
“You didn’t say anything? Either of you?”
“We thought it was funny, we were just laughing. Especially when she kneed him.”
“Oh yes, that knee. I can see why Sergeant Johnson wanted that in the statement.”
Davina’s mind went briefly back to her days as a student. As one of a very small group of females at law school, she had received a fair bit of unwanted attention from the boys. She recalled how one of the more boorish young men had tried to grope her on the dancefloor at an end of term ball – and got the full benefit of her right knee for his trouble.
“How hard did she knee him?” Davina asked.
“The same as she used to do to me and Frank when we played games. She always did it as hard as she could – what she called full power.”
Thinking back to the hapless law student, Davina hadn’t kneed him anywhere near as hard as she could. Nevertheless, he’d had to hobble back to his room where he’d spent the next twenty-four hours lying on his back with his legs apart.
“So, how will you explain to the jury how
Hoskins, having just been kicked really hard in the testicles, still had the strength to pick up a large rock, then hit his wife with enough force to kill her?”
Churcher chewed his lip and thought for a second before replying,
“Well, it’s funny when you get hit there,” he said. “It always hurts like hell – but sometimes when she did it you’d be down like a sack of spuds, then other times you got over it quite fast. It wasn’t so much how hard she did it, more if she got you just right. She called it hitting the ‘sweet spot.’ She used to get all randy when she hit it. Sometimes, she got so wet..”
Davina held up her hand to stop him.
“I think I get the point,” she said. “I rather suspect the judge won’t appreciate too much of that sort of detail. We just better hope you convince the jury, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s all true. That’s exactly how it happened.”
“Right, let’s move on.”
She fell down and blood was coming from the back of her head. We all went over to her and could see she was dead. Her eyes were open, and she wasn’t breathing. Mr H got very agitated and said we had to help him. We said no way, but he gave us a big wad of twenty-pound notes from his wallet. We said it wasn’t enough, so he said he’s give us his car and that it was worth a couple of grand. We said OK. He wrote out a receipt for the car and gave it to Frank. We then hid the mistress’s body in some bushes. We were going to come back later and either bury it or dump it down a well or something. Mr H said nobody would miss her or report her missing so we didn’t have to worry. Frank then drove him to Heathrow airport to get a flight to Dublin and I drove the Jag to an old barn we know and waited for him to come back. I had no idea the mistress was alive when we left her. I wish now that we had helped her and I’m really sorry for what we did. SIGNED: Alan Churcher
I have read the above statement and I have been told I can correct, alter or add anything I wish. This statement is true. I have made it of my own free will. SIGNED Alan Churcher
Nine O'Clock Bus To Brompton Page 17