A Mind to Kill

by Brian Freemantle

  In Jennifer’s head the voice chanted in rhyme: ‘ Peekaboo, peekaboo. Can’t see me if I can’t see you.’

  ‘I shall clear this court if this behaviour doesn’t cease!’ threatened Jarvis. ‘Proceed, Mr Keflin-Brown. Let’s stop this nonsense.’

  ‘Were you subsequently able to discover from Mrs Lomax what she meant by that remark?’

  ‘Not one that made any sense to me, no.’

  ‘Did she decline to make a statement?’ demanded Keflin-Brown, eyes wide with feigned surprise.

  ‘On the evening when I formally arrested her she refused to make a statement without the presence of her solicitor. I made another attempt, later, to interview Mrs Lomax at the hospital, prior to the taking of a formal statement. At that time her barrister, Mr Hall, and solicitor, Mr Perry, were present…’

  ‘… You were pursuing your enquiries?’

  ‘I was, sir. Yes.’

  ‘A particular line of enquiry?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Bentley, alert for Keflin-Brown’s guidance on how far he was expected to go.

  ‘This was in a police-guarded hospital ward?’

  ‘But the attempted interview was to be taken in strict accordance with the required rules. By which I mean there was an audio recording.’

  ‘What was Mrs Lomax’s demeanour?’

  ‘One of anger, mostly. She seemed upset that her legal advisors, their having apparently earlier told her to say nothing, had now agreed to our conducting the interview without prior consultation with her.’

  ‘Was that all?’

  ‘There were some remarks from Mrs Lomax which were disorientated.’

  Hall rose to his feet, stopping the other barrister. ‘I wonder, my Lord, if we are not endangering privilege here?’

  ‘The witness has testified to having given Mrs Lomax an official caution. And you were present,’ said Jarvis.

  Hall ran his hand over the papers before him. ‘There was no indication that this would be included, in the prosecution’s disclosures.’

  ‘I’m prepared to admit it,’ ruled Jarvis.

  ‘I’m obliged, my Lord,’ said Keflin-Brown as Hall sat. Then he said, ‘Angry and disorientated? Anything else?’

  ‘She demanded the presence of a doctor, to act as an independent witness.’

  ‘So she was agreeing to be interviewed?’

  ‘I believed that to be the case.’

  ‘Why should Mrs Lomax have needed an independent witness with her lawyers being present?’

  ‘It was never made clear, sir. She seemed to believe she would be cheated. At one stage she indicated she was dispensing with her legal representatives.’

  ‘Cheated!’ said Keflin-Brown, stressing artificial bewilderment. ‘Cheated of what? By whom?’

  ‘I never discovered that, sir.’

  ‘Was there a particular line of enquiry you were pursuing at this time?’

  It was coming, thought Jennifer, and Jane said, ‘ You bet your sweet ass it is.’

  ‘There was, sir.’

  ‘Tell my Lord and the jury what that was.’

  ‘I had discovered Mr Lomax’s involvement with a member of staff and wanted to establish Mrs Lomax’s awareness of it.’

  ‘You mean a sexual involvement? An affair?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a stir from both the jury and the press.

  ‘What was Mrs Lomax’s reaction?’

  ‘She became hysterical. And collapsed.’

  ‘Were you able to resume that interview at a later date?’

  ‘No, sir. When I attempted to do so I was told by Mrs Lomax’s legal advisors that she declined to speak to me further.’

  ‘How long have you been in the police force, Superintendent?’

  ‘Twenty-eight years, sir.’

  ‘A man of considerable experience?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Including, regrettably, experience of murder cases?’

  Speaking directly towards the jury again, Bentley said, ‘A total of twelve. All of which have led to a conviction.’

  ‘In that considerable experience, have people collapsed under questioning before?’

  ‘Several times.’

  ‘And in your opinion, based upon your considerable experience, was Mrs Lomax’s collapse genuine? Or faked?’

  ‘In my opinion, sir, it was faked.’

  Keflin-Brown turned away from the detective, to face the jury again. ‘As I told you at the beginning of this case, you must at all times be guided on the questions of law by my Lord. But I would advise you that it has been the law in this country, since 1994, that juries are allowed to draw inference of guilt or innocence from a defendant’s insistence upon remaining silent.’

  Jeremy Hall was annoyed but professionally so, still totally under control. Keflin-Brown had massaged the presentation to within a hair’s-breadth of what was permissible and if he’d been the counsel to attempt it Mr-Justice-Bloody-Jarvis would have cut him off at the knees. But then it had been a very long time since anyone had seriously tried to advance a case that the law, any more than life, was fair.

  ‘There is a lot more with which you can help the court, isn’t there, Superintendent?’ Hall spoke as he stood, a Keflin-Brown type mannerism.

  ‘I’m not sure that I can.’

  No ‘sir’, Hall noted. ‘You were aware of something else at the time of the attempted interview about which you’ve told the court, quite apart from any affair that Gerald Lomax might have been involved in, weren’t you?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ repeated Bentley.

  Trying to hold the knee-jerk temper, gauged Hall. ‘That surprises me.’

  ‘I am afraid I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re a police officer of twenty-eight years’ experience? You’ve successfully solved twelve murders, a commendable record?’

  ‘Is there a point here, Mr Hall?’ demanded Jarvis.

  It was an attempt to help the detective, but Hall saw at once how to use it to his advantage. ‘Very much indeed, my Lord. I am seeking to establish the credibility of this witness.’

  ‘Credibility?’ queried Jarvis, still to Hall’s benefit although not intending it to be.

  ‘Very much so, my Lord.’

  ‘How?’

  Beside Hall, Keflin-Brown stirred, discomfited. In the witness-box the colour had begun to suffuse Bentley’s face. Hall said, ‘Upon the very essence of detection, I would have thought. His observation – about which Superintendent Bentley has already talked to this court – and of an incomplete record of an encounter at which, to the great benefit perhaps of my client, I was fortunate to be present.’

  ‘ Watch him drop you right in the shit! ’

  Jennifer tightened her slightly relaxed grip but there was no movement.

  ‘Proceed,’ allowed the judge, reluctantly.

  Bentley’s face was blazing and Hall was surprised it had been so easy. He said, ‘Mrs Lomax’s remark about Jane didn’t remain inexplicable to you, did it?’

  Expectation surged through the press gallery.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you not make some comment about it, during the aggressive and unsuccessful interview with Mrs Lomax to which you’ve referred?’

  ‘I may have done.’

  The qualification was a mistake, which the man appeared to realize as soon as he spoke. At once the impatient Jarvis said, ‘Well did you or didn’t you, Superintendent? Yes or no?’

  ‘I made reference to Mrs Lomax hearing voices in her head.’

  ‘Be quiet!’ snapped Jarvis, at the noise that rippled through the media.

  Jane said, ‘ Jeremy’s on my side, not yours! He’s making it easy for me! I can relax! ’

  Once more there was no impulse to move. Remembering, Jennifer looked enquiringly at the handkerchief-holding wardress, touching her mouth. The wardress shook her head.

  ‘Voices?’ pressed Hall. ‘Or just one voice?’

  ‘Just one voice.’
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br />   ‘Mrs Lomax’s defence to this charge is that she is possessed, by the first wife of Gerald Lomax, isn’t it?’

  The reaction, which was varied but all noisy, was general throughout the court and the judge’s fury wasn’t specifically directed. It still took several minutes to subside. Eventually Bentley said, ‘That is what I understand it to be.’

  Hall felt very much in charge, enjoying himself. ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Superintendent?’

  The tight-faced man allowed himself a frigid smile. ‘No.’

  ‘Or spirit possession?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘ He’s opening the door to the asylum for you! ’

  ‘And you didn’t believe Mrs Lomax’s collapse was real, either?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Despite the fact that a doctor – a doctor who will be called during this trial to testify – categorically assured you that it was, within a very short time of it occurring?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have medical training then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you are prepared to argue a medical, clinical opinion with a qualified doctor?’

  ‘In my professional opinion, it was a faked collapse,’ persisted Bentley, temper completely lost. ‘I’m certainly prepared to argue about ghosts and people being possessed!’

  ‘You shall, Superintendent, you shall,’ promised Hall, abruptly sitting.

  Malcolm Rodgers, who followed Bentley into the witness-box, loyally supported his chief that the collapse was phoney and even agreed the apparent intention to fire her legal team could have been intended as a diversion, to avoid an interview. Conscious of looking remiss to a jury he intended to show he’d overlooked nothing, Keflin-Brown took the inspector in detail through every minute of every encounter with Jennifer Lomax. Who sat listening to Jane’s mental reminders of how insane it made her sound, although not needing to be told because that was precisely how every accurately recounted word made her appear.

  ‘Did you properly and completely carry out every part of a murder investigation, with the exception of a satisfactory interview or of obtaining a statement from the accused?’ concluded Keflin-Brown.

  ‘I did, sir,’ agreed Rodgers.

  ‘Absolutely?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Jeremy Hall had no questions, which Jarvis seized to end the day’s proceedings. As they were tidying their files, the clerk hurried up to Perry with a folded note, from which the solicitor immediately looked up to Hall.

  ‘Jarvis wants to see us in chambers before we start tomorrow.’

  Overhearing, Keflin-Brown said, ‘I’ll still take the lesser plea, if she’ll agree.’

  Which Jennifer didn’t, fifteen minutes later, when Hall reached her in the cell. He thought Jennifer looked more than simply drained: she appeared hollowed out, a shell of a person.

  ‘I wasn’t sure where your cross-examination of Bentley took us,’ she said.

  ‘ First stop the madhouse.’

  Hall wasn’t, either. ‘It dented his credibility.’

  ‘For which Rodgers more than compensated.’

  ‘It’s a long list so there’s no guarantee we’ll reach her, but Rebecca Nicholls is listed as a witness tomorrow,’ warned Hall.

  ‘ This we’ve both got to hear! ’

  ‘I think the tranquillizers helped today.’

  ‘I’ll see you have them again tomorrow.’

  Jeremy Hall had a good note and an even better verbatim recall and went directly from court to chambers to compare what he considered relevant from the case notes with that day’s evidence. It took him two hours and ended with a feeling of frustration he couldn’t properly identify or even understand. ‘What is it?’ he demanded of himself, aloud and unembarrassed, in the solitude of his cramped back room. ‘What the fuck am I missing?’ Fuck wasn’t a word he normally resorted to but it seemed in very common usage these days.

  His room was so remote that it was served by narrow back stairs so there was no collision as they left but he emerged at practically the same time as Sir Richard Proudfoot, Humphrey Perry and Bert Feltham leaving from the main entrance with two men he didn’t know. For several moments they remained looking at each other, startled. Then Proudfoot said, ‘Working late?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hall. Then, uncaring, ‘You, too?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said the chamber head. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  In Jennifer’s one-person prison ward the matron said, ‘There’s the magic to make you sleep, my lovely. Now nursey will just rub you, very gently, so you’ll relax.’

  ‘Give me the cheque-book,’ said Jennifer.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  So today she was going to face two enemies, one she would be able to see as well as listen to, the other only hear. Double torture, double humiliation: closing in, almost overwhelming despair that for the last thirty minutes she’d come near to giving in to. Quite apart – uncaring even – from Jane being aware of every mental reflection, Jennifer found it difficult to hold any thought. Which wasn’t the chlordiazepoxide that Jane had again made her choke to the point of vomiting against taking. That hadn’t had time to take effect. She was still thickheaded, that cotton-wool feeling, from the drug the matron had given her the previous night. Her pubic hair had still been slimed with whatever the woman had used for the game she’d played with her, after making her unconscious with the injection. But there’d been no soreness so Jennifer didn’t think she’d been fingered or abused by anyone other than Beryl Harrison. Still more humiliation.

  The warning of Rebecca Nicholls being the first witness to the actual murder had come from Jeremy Hall’s cell visit, after her arrival from prison that morning. The barrister was still flushed from his pre-hearing encounter at which he’d told the judge of Jennifer’s continued refusal to change her plea. Sir Ivan Jarvis’s alternative, to foreshorten what again he’d called a music-hall instead of a trial, had been to cut by half the number of trading-floor witnesses with virtually identical accounts of the killing.

  The fast-footed, headline-conscious Simon Keflin-Brown had instantly agreed and nominated Rebecca to be the first, guaranteeing the continuation of coverage that had exceeded either his or John Bentley’s expectations – and hopes – that morning. All the tabloids had led with the previous day’s hearing – Murder by Possession was one slogan, Murder in Mind another – and almost every newspaper carried collected photographs of Jennifer, Jane and Rebecca. Inevitably, the captions had referred to eternal triangles. The motherly wardress (‘It’s Ann: Ann Wardle. I’ve got a son who’s ill like you,’) had shown her the Daily Mirror on their way from the prison. All three photographs had been taken in happier, laughing times: assured, confident women, women upon whom no misfortune could ever fall.

  Despite the woolly-headed feeling – and not knowing then that she would be confronting Rebecca – Jennifer had tried as hard with her appearance as the previous day, although she accepted, bitterly, just how far short she was of how she’d looked in the pictures the newspapers had obtained.

  She’d bribed her way into the bathroom again, carrying today’s grey suit and black shirt which wouldn’t so easily show her sweating or slobbering, and not just to prepare herself behind a locked door but to douche herself from whatever she’d been subjected to, by the matron. There was a sanitary pad dispenser and Jennifer took one and lined her pants, against Jane’s threat to make her disgrace herself in the dock. She’d also brought several handkerchiefs, two of which Ann now carried escorting her along the corridor, towards the dock steps. The wardress also had the two Jeremy Hall had brought for her during their brief meeting.

  ‘Just do your best,’ he’d said, reaching across the battered cell table to squeeze her hands lightly in encouragement.

  ‘I ache all over from yesterday. From trying to hold myself against what she might do.’

  ‘Anything?’ He was glad Perry wasn’t in the cell, with his unnecessarily im
patient sighs. There was no harm in humouring her: in trying to help her through. Jarvis had been furious at the refusal to alter her plea. He was going to be even more of a cantankerous bastard than he had the previous day.

  ‘She’s been humming, like she’s pleased with herself.’

  ‘ I am pleased with myself. Every reason to be. But what’s all this band-holding? Someone else trying to get inside your pants? Going to get crowded in there, isn’t it? ’

  ‘Just try your best,’ repeated Hall, at a loss for anything else to say. ‘That’s all you can do.’

  ‘I am making myself look a fool, aren’t I?’ That was at the brink of despair.

  ‘I could go back to the judge, even now,’ offered Hall, hopefully.

  ‘No!’ she’d determined, pulling back. ‘No!’

  And now she was walking towards the bear pit, to be taunted and prodded and reduced to a sniggering, pitiful joke. At the bottom of the dock steps Jennifer hesitated, momentarily refusing – frightened – to ascend.

  ‘Up we go, love. Come on,’ urged Ann.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘You haven’t got a choice. Come on.’

  With leaden feet, at last beginning to feel the Librium, Jennifer climbed, aware of the buzzed expectation as she got to the court level. As she became visible the noise grew, an excited, mob-like sound. Probably just like a bear-pit anticipation, she thought. Or maybe the entry into a Roman arena of a victim who didn’t stand a chance of escape.

  ‘ You don’t. I keep telling you that. I don’t think we’ll make a fool of you just yet, not until Rebecca. Let’s keep them in suspense .’

  Rebecca Nicholls looked sensational and Jane said, ‘ Holy shit, she’s fantastic! And dressed to make you look a klutz.’

  Rebecca’s hair, a darker, artificial blond against Jennifer’s natural colour, was cut severely into her neck, around which there was just a single strand of plaited gold. The dress was black and figure-hugging, belted again by a gold strand. She took the oath with her left hand resting prominently on the edge of the witness-box, displaying on her engagement finger a diamond ring that was her only jewellery. Having returned the Bible to the usher she began playing with the ring with her other hand, drawing attention to it. She stood staring defiantly at Jennifer, the expression carefully balanced between haughtiness and contemptuous revulsion.