Davina chewed her lip for a moment. In her short career she’d already seen dozens of statements like this. She had rarely seen one that, as a genuine confession, was worth the paper it was written on. However, they were next to impossible to get thrown out, and juries notoriously refused to believe the police were less than scrupulously fair in their dealings with suspect.
“You do realise that without this statement they’ve got nothing on you at all? If you are ever in trouble again, never, ever make a statement until you’ve seen a lawyer,” she said finally.
“But I didn’t have a solicitor I could call out, and they said I had to get on with it.”
“I bet they did! This Sergeant Johnson is a shrewd one to be sure. He made certain that the stuff about the kinky sex was in there. Very clever.” She paused and thought for a moment.
“So, hiding the body and helping Hoskins was mostly Frank’s idea?” she continued.
At this last remark, Churcher’s eyes welled up and he started to sob. “It seems wrong talking about him,” he said. “I don’t want to put all the blame on him. He’s not here to stick up for himself.”
If only he could have saved the tears for the jury! “I understand,” said Davina, “but you’ve got your mum to think about. She needs you home. You can’t do Frank any harm now, so just tell the truth.”
At the mention of his mum, Churcher brightened up. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any fags, have you?” he asked.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” she replied. “Anyway, let’s take a look at this second statement, shall we? I’m looking forward to getting PC Barton in the witness box. I’ll enjoy challenging his evidence.”
“Yeah, let’s get the bastard!” Churcher grinned.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Davina spoke sharply. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been up to while I’ve been talking to you. Take your hands out of your pockets and stop playing with yourself. If the jury see you doing that, they’ll throw the book at you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
In the Witness Box
Don decided to forgo the tea the liaison officer had suggested and instead took himself into the nearby police waiting room. Finding a corner seat, he studied the copy of his statement that he had brought with him – and on which he was sure to get questioned. With nothing better to do he spent the next hour trying his best to smoke enough fags to fill the giant ashtray that sat on a large polished table in the middle of the room.
Three cigarettes later he heard a familiar voice in the corridor outside. He looked up and a moment later the door opened. A very smartly dressed Dave Johnson entered the room. His face lit up when he saw Don and, having shaken hands, the two men decided that a cup of tea was now a very good idea. They informed the liaison officer of their intention and made their way over to the old Nissan hut that had been converted into a restaurant. Tea in hand, they found a quiet corner table where they could converse in private.
It turned out that Johnson’s nice car was in for repair and he had travelled to court by train and bus. Puffing from his exertions, he was grateful to put down the large briefcase he was carrying that contained papers relating to the case.
“The legal boys have already got all the important stuff,” he explained. “This is mostly antecedents and other rubbish that the judge may possibly ask for. He probably won’t though. Anyway, how are things with you and the lovely Rosemary?”
“Better than ever,” beamed Don. “We’re even hoping to start a family as soon as we can. I really owe you one there, Dave, I won’t forget it.”
“I was glad to be of assistance, think nothing of it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still grateful to you. Anyway, this case of ours has lost a bit of weight hasn’t it? Murder, kidnap, and car theft, that’s it. Nothing about drugs, kiddy porn, or the stack of motoring offences.”
“Strictly off the record, Don, the Drugs Squad have done a deal with your mate Alan Churcher. In exchange for immunity he’s singing like a canary and giving them untold help with getting the goods on some large-scale dealers – and even one or two importers.”
“But what about the two young boys in the photos, surely we’re not dropping that case, are we?
“Sorry, mate, but in the end we couldn’t go anywhere on the pornography. Social services felt it wasn’t in the boys’ long-term interests to go to court. They wouldn’t let us anywhere near Eric and, on their insistence, Alan’s statement was withdrawn.”
“Christ! Whose bloody side are they on? And the motoring offences?”
“No luck there either – don’t forget Alan Churcher was only a passenger. Besides which, even if the driver lived, we’d have had problems going for him. At no point in the chase did you give Churcher an approved signal to stop – which wouldn’t have been legal anyway as you didn’t have your hat on. AND, as far as the crash is concerned, you drove into the back of them. If we’d gone for it and Churcher made a counter-allegation, we’d have had to go after both drivers – including you.”
Don was just about to protest when they spotted the liaison officer entering the restaurant. He beckoned the two officers to come outside and then led them back to the police office. A barrister wearing a black gown and white powdered wig was seated at the table with a sheaf of papers fanned out on the brightly polished surface before him.
The barrister, a middle-aged, thickset man wearing glasses, stood up and smiled before shaking hands with the two officers.
“Leslie Smith QC,” he said by way of introduction. “I’ll be presenting the case for you. Are we okay using first names?”
“Yes, of course,” said Johnson. “I’m Dave, this is Don.”
“Well, I’m very pleased to meet you both, but I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
“Bad news?” said Don.
“Yes, the judge is James Miller, a red judge, so you address him as My Lord, or simply Sir. Anyway, he’s has read the file quite thoroughly and has already made up his mind about the case. Apparently he is Lord of the Manor somewhere out the sticks and, as far as he’s concerned, what we have here is a couple of salt-of-the-earth young rustics who’ve been seduced and corrupted by the glamour of a big city harlot.”
“Well, these good old country boys have a very profitable line in drugs dealing and they have also facilitated child sex offences!” said Don heatedly.
“The way he sees it, Alan Churcher, who has no previous convictions, is as much a victim as anyone. He has suffered the loss of his beloved brother as an indirect result of a perverted sex game that this woman came up with, a game that went badly wrong for them. We’re going to have our work cut out, I’m afraid.”
Johnson, who had remained silent during the exchange, now decided it was time to get involved in the conversation. “So, how are we going to play it?” he asked.
“Once we have a jury empanelled we’ll get the pre-trial submissions out of the way. Then, once we get the actual trial going we’ll begin with a description of the area, introduce the local photographs, et cetera. Then Miss Wilson’s statement, which has been accepted by the defence, will be read to the jury. The plan drawer’s statement comes next, followed by our first live witness, the police photographer, who will explain the album of photographs to the court and answer any questions. Has anybody seen him, by the way?”
“He’s been delayed,” said Johnson. “Car trouble.”
“No matter, there’s no way we’ll get to him before tomorrow. So, if you’re in contact with him, tell him to scrub it for today. We’re not doing too well with our witnesses are we?”
“How do you mean?”
“The liaison officer tells me Mrs Jackman has had to take her son to the hospital, suspected fractured arm. It seems he fell of his bike going to school.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“She’s going to let us know, but hopefully he’ll be here tomorrow.”
Smith made a note on his pad, then looked up and said, “So tom
orrow, after the photographer, we’ll read the dog handler’s statement and get the murder weapon, the stone, introduced.”
“So, you’re not calling the dog handler in person?” said Don. “That’s a bit odd.”
“The defence have no issue with the stone being the cause of the initial injury. Surprising, but there it is. However, we will be calling Dr Steptoe, the pathologist. Now, his evidence is very important, so I expect him to be in the box for a while. I’ve not come across him before, do you know him, Dave?”
“Yes, he’s very much old school from what I recall of him. He knows his stuff but he can come across as a bit bumptious.”
Smith looked thoughtful for a second. “Well, we need him to be convincing,” he said finally. “There are issues surrounding the actual cause of death that the defence will want to exploit, if we give them the chance.”
Johnson shrugged.
“Right, then we can call Danny Jackman. That’s always assuming he’s here. If he’s still absent it will be your turn, Don. No direct evidence concerning the murder itself, but the Jaguar car and the kidnap charge are your part in this jigsaw. Then finally, Dave, you get to have your say. I hope you’re ready for a grilling?”
Johnson smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this a few times. I know what to expect.”
“Well, don’t get complacent. I’ve seen this young lady barrister before. She’s probably the brightest new star to grace our profession in years. Good looks, charm – and a razor-sharp intellect. She’s good, trust me.”
“All I can do is tell the truth,” said Johnson. Smith smiled.
“Right, Don,” he said. “Let’s have a final run through your statement, shall we?”
As Smith had predicted, it was the next morning before the court was ready to hear live evidence.
The forensic pathologist was in the witness box for over two hours.
Professor James Steptoe was the quintessential scientist. He was in his early sixties, silver haired and well over six feet tall. Like many tall men, he stood and walked with a slight stoop. It was without question that he was possessed of a brilliant mind, but it was painfully obvious to those that met him that he totally lacked dress sense.
For his appearance in court, he was wearing light blue trousers and brown shoes. His close-checked green cotton shirt clashed with his red tie, and the bowl of his pipe protruded prominently from the top pocket of his Harris tweed jacket.
His wife, Angel, an aging free spirit from the hippy generation, had assured him he “looked fine” when he left home that morning. However, James was fully aware of the eccentricity of his appearance and felt uncomfortable. He fervently wished he could have worn his habitual white lab coat instead of all this “formal attire,” as he put it.
Like many in his profession, Steptoe did not believe in the concept of absolute truth. If it looked like cheese, smelt like cheese, tasted like cheese, and came in a wrapper labelled cheese, then it was in all probability cheese. He would never say: “That’s cheese, no doubt about it.”
Davina had never met Steptoe, but she had done her homework on him. Her research revealed that he was an honest and thoughtful witness – but his character was more suited to delivering a lecture than giving evidence in court. He was not used to his opinions being questioned, and he had a reputation for getting rattled if anyone had the temerity to challenge his findings.
It was here that Davina could see a weakness, a chink in his armour, something her sharp mind could exploit to her advantage.
She smiled sweetly as Steptoe stepped into the box and took the oath.
During his examination-in-chief, Steptoe confirmed that he had attended the scene of the homicide and examined the body of Mrs Hoskins in situ prior to having it removed to Newbury mortuary where he had conducted a full post-mortem examination.
He explained that when he first saw Suzanne, she was lying, fully clothed, in a shallow ditch a few yards from the side of the road. She was lying on her front; her right arm was outstretched, and her eyes and her mouth were open.
Photographs of the body were shown to the jury. As they were being passed around two, of the female jurors began to cry, and one of the men looked as though he was about to faint. Davina was also given copies of the pictures which she showed to the defendant. Churcher could not bring himself to look at them and turned his head away.
Steptoe went on to say that one of the deceased’s shoes was missing from her foot but subsequently discovered in some bushes twenty-five yards from where the body was found. There was clear evidence that Suzanne had dragged herself from these bushes towards the road – before expiring.
“Can we be absolutely sure that it was she who dragged herself to that position and that she wasn’t moved there by some other means?” Smith asked the witness.
“That is what the evidence suggests, yes.”
Davina, who was taking notes, underlined this answer.
Professor Steptoe went on to give details of the post-mortem examination. Photographs of the procedure were produced and handed to the judge. At his suggestion, it was agreed by all parties that it wasn’t necessary to risk upsetting the jury by bringing them into evidence.
“Your verbal explanation of the results of your examination will suffice, thank you, Professor,” the judge told Steptoe.
It transpired that Mrs Hoskins had suffered a traumatic injury to the back of her head that had massively fractured her skull and caused internal bleeding on the brain. This bleeding eventually resulted in her death, a minimum of one and a maximum of four hours later.
The witness, the jury, and the defendant were shown a large, jagged piece of flint. Yes, the pathologist concurred, this was indeed the one found near the scene. The stone bore traces of Suzanne’s blood, and the contours of the stone were an exact match for the damage to her skull.
The professor concluded his evidence with testimony that examination of the internal organs had revealed that Mrs Hoskins had indulged in sexual intercourse immediately prior to her death. Two distinct sets of semen were present in her vagina and, whilst certainly each was from different men, they both were of the same blood group as the defendant. Steptoe refused to speculate as to the exact timescale of events but agreed that it was a possibility that sex could have taken place after the assault.
The witness had been in the box for over an hour, so the judge ordered a fifteen-minute adjournment before permitting cross-examination by the defence. Davina used this break to prepare her notes.
“Remind us, Professor Steptoe,” Davina said once the trial resumed, “exactly how Mrs Hoskins was dressed when you examined her body.”
“As I said, she was fully dressed, wearing a light cardigan, a summer frock, underwear, and one shoe.”
“And was her underwear correctly fastened and all in the right place?”
“Yes.”
“And, in particular, her panties. They were worn correctly: snugly fitted, not inside out or the wrong way around?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Not damaged.”
“No, I cut them off with scissors at the mortuary. They seemed fine to me.”
The judge decided it was time to intervene. “I fail to see where this line of questioning is taking us, Miss Cooper.”
“My lord, during this witness’s testimony, he stated that it was impossible to determine if sexual intercourse had taken place whilst Mrs Hoskins was still conscious. I am merely seeking to establish that the preponderance of evidence indicates that she was indeed fully conscious and most likely a willing partner to the activity – as is my client’s contention.”
“Hmm, I don’t see why you couldn’t have simply said so. Well, Professor, is that a reasonable conclusion to draw from the evidence?
“Yes, my lord. Obviously, one can’t be sure, but that possibility is certainly supported by the evidence.”
“Thank you, professor. Pray continue, Miss Cooper.”
“I’m obliged to your lordship.
Now, professor, could you explain to the jury what exactly is meant by the term ‘unconscious state.’”
Steptoe looked completely nonplussed. “Erm, well, its lack of awareness, lack of consciousness, you know, totally out of it.”
“Many people think of it as being asleep, is that correct?”
“Oh no, it’s nothing like being asleep. Far deeper, much more profound. For one thing, you don’t snore when you’re unconscious.”
A titter of laughter went around the courtroom. Davina gave the witness an indulgent smile.
“So, breathing becomes very shallow?”
“Yes.”
“Imperceptible?”
“Possibly.”
“So,” she said, “in this more profound state, do one’s eyes stay open, for example?”
“Yes, frequently that is the case.”
“Is it not a fact, professor, that there are countless examples of people being presumed dead who are, in actuality, simply unconscious?”
“As you say, countless examples. That’s why death should only ever be certified by a qualified medical practitioner.”
“So, when my client says he was sure the lady was dead before he helped move her, he could well be telling the truth?”
“He should have had her checked properly.”
“But, in his own mind, he could very well be telling the truth?”
“Objection,” Smith was on his feet. “The witness is being asked to hypothesise on what was in the defendant’s mind.”
“Sustained. Stick to facts that the witness can answer, please, Miss Cooper.”
“I apologise, my lord.”
“Now, professor,” she continued, “to go back to your earlier testimony. As I recall, my learned friend asked if you could be absolutely certain that Mrs Hoskins, having come around, dragged herself to the side of the road. And your answer was:”
Davina consulted her notes, “That is what the evidence suggests. A somewhat ambiguous answer is it not?”
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