A Mind to Kill

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But had not, at any time prior to the murder, told you that he had done so?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That is a very beautiful ring. When did you buy it?’

  ‘I told you, when we talked about getting married.’

  ‘That wasn’t the question. What was the date when you bought it?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Ms Nicholls! You’ve told the court it’s your engagement ring, the token of your intended marriage. Buying it was surely one of the most significant moments of your life?’

  ‘We are meandering towards a point, aren’t we, Mr Hall?’ demanded the judge.

  Bastard! thought Hall, curbing the frustrated anger the moment it came. ‘Hopefully, my Lord.’

  ‘An ambition shared by us both.’

  ‘Then perhaps I can continue, my Lord?’ Hall allowed himself, careless of the immediate tightening of Jarvis’s face. ‘Wasn’t it a moment to remember, Ms Nicholls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So when was it?’

  ‘Five or six months ago.’

  ‘Still not sure,’ said Hall. ‘Was it a surprise, given to you over a candle-lit dinner? Or did you buy it together?’

  ‘We bought it together.’

  ‘And you’ve worn it ever since? For five or six months?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So people you work with would have noticed it. It is, after all, a very distinctive piece of jewellery. They would probably be able to give an even more reliable timing than five or six months.’

  ‘ I can see where he’s getting to, can’t you? Clever bastard, isn’t he? Pity there’s nothing he can do to help you.’

  ‘Maybe. You’ll have to ask them.’

  ‘I intend to, Ms Nicholls. Every one of them who’s called to give evidence after you. You sure you can’t give a more specific date?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What shop did you buy it in?’

  The woman began nipping her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Garrards.’

  ‘Who will, of course, have a record of the sale. So we can establish a positive date by simply approaching them, can’t we?’

  ‘ That’s you fucked, Rebecca. He really is a clever bastard.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Would it embarrass you if I did indeed obtain a sales receipt?’

  ‘No.’ There was no longer any defiance. Rebecca Nicholls was blinking a lot, constantly nibbling her lower lip, several times looking nervously towards the judge, who had stopped intervening.

  ‘Wouldn’t such a receipt show that your ring is a much more recent acquisition?’

  ‘I said I can’t be sure when I bought it.’

  ‘ You bought it!’ pounced Hall. ‘Remembering, before you answer, that you are on oath, Ms Nicholls, isn’t a far more accurate story of the ring that you did indeed buy it yourself, not together with Gerald Lomax. That its purpose and purchase was to strengthen the motive of jealousy for the crime of which my client stands accused?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Speak up, Ms Nicholls,’ demanded Jarvis.

  ‘No,’ repeated Rebecca, only slightly louder.

  ‘Could I place on record, my Lord, the possibility of my seeking to recall this witness after further enquiries are made?’

  ‘He gave me the money!’ shouted Rebecca, her voice snatched by a sob. Then the words rushed out. ‘Gerald gave me the money and said it was for an engagement ring and when he died I bought it as he’d intended me to so I could keep it always, in his memory…’

  ‘I don’t think I need bother Garrards,’ said Hall, sitting down.

  He did, however, ask each trader subsequently called if they remembered the ring being worn by Rebecca Nicholls. None did. There was little else he chose to examine them upon. Their accounts of Gerald Lomax being murdered were identical, as were Jane’s interventions which lessened anyway after a further warning from Jarvis to have Jennifer removed from the dock. The only variation was the evidence of Roger Jones, the trading-floor manager, who followed Rebecca into the witness-box. He testified that when he reached the office, Jennifer was cradling Gerald Lomax in her arms and said, ‘Gerald’s dead. Someone stabbed him.’

  ‘“Gerald’s dead. Someone stabbed him”?’ echoed Hall. ‘Not “I stabbed him, because he was deceiving me with Rebecca Nicholls” or some such words?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was Jennifer Lomax in any way threatening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You never feared she might attack you?’

  ‘At first, when I got there. But not when I saw what she was like.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘Bewildered, as if she didn’t understand what had happened.’

  Because their accounts of the killing were virtually the same and Jeremy Hall’s cross-examination so minimal the evidence from the trading floor was completed by mid-afternoon. It was the prosecution who called the hospital doctor, Peter Lloyd, whom Hall had originally seen as a defence witness. Keflin-Jones did so to establish that when Jennifer Lomax was admitted she was not suffering from shock but appeared composed and aware of her surroundings.

  Lloyd had volunteered a lengthier statement than even the prosecution needed, urged to do so by a hospital management anxious against any criticism to set out in minute medical detail every aspect of the treatment Jennifer had received.

  The awareness – the abrupt recognition of the nagging doubt that he’d felt but been unable to resolve – exploded in Jeremy Hall’s mind halfway through Lloyd’s evidence, which Hall was following from the copy of the doctor’s statement that had been made available under the rule of disclosure.

  The significance was such that briefly the words fogged in front of Hall’s eyes. He heard Lloyd say the words, exactly as they were written down, but then closed his senses to the rest of the man’s evidence, sorting through the papers in front of him so hurriedly that Keflin-Brown paused, distracted, looking accusingly sideways. Perry leaned forward, nudging the younger man but Hall was oblivious to anything but the evidence they had already heard and the notes that he had made.

  His concentration was such that he was not conscious of Keflin-Brown sitting, giving him the opportunity to cross-examine, until Jarvis said, ‘Are you with us, Mr Hall?’

  ‘Very much so, my Lord,’ assured Hall. He rose slowly, checking the time as he did so, calculating he had fifteen minutes to fill before the adjournment of that day’s hearing.

  ‘You carried out every conceivable test and examination considered necessary upon Mrs Lomax, consistent with her medical condition when she was admitted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Some of which were repeated, according to clinical practice?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Still ten minutes to go. ‘Physical conditions – illnesses – not immediately evident can be ascertained from certain pathological examinations?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Faeces and urine, for example?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think this has already been well established, Mr Hall.’

  ‘With the greatest of respect, my Lord, I think there is something of vital importance to this case that has not been established. And needs to be.’

  ‘ What the fuck’s he on about? ’

  Hall welcomed the time the judge remained looking at him before nodding curtly. Five minutes, he saw. ‘Spinal fluid?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Temperature?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Three minutes. ‘Pulse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many times, doctor, were blood samples taken from Mrs Lomax?’

  Lloyd went back to his medical reports. ‘In total, five times.’

  ‘Do you have many more questions for this witness, Mr Hall?’ interrupted the judge.

  ‘Possibly a very great many,’ said Hall, satisfaction and anticipation surging th
rough him.

  ‘Then I think we will adjourn until tomorrow.’

  Hall wheeled to Humphrey Perry before Jarvis was out of the court. ‘Have Jennifer kept in the cells, below. I want an independent medical examiner. Our own forensic expert. And we’ll need the prosecution’s technical people who’ve already given evidence here again tomorrow. See they’re called. Don’t let Bentley or Rodgers leave the court today. And we’ll need Jarvis’s clerk…’ Hall turned sideways, to Keflin-Brown. ‘I’d like you to be present, too.’ He stopped, trying to think of anything he’d overlooked. Urgently he said, ‘Don’t tell Jennifer Lomax what we’re doing in advance of doing it. I don’t want any warning given.’

  Keflin-Brown was gazing at the other barrister in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Hall. Suddenly he was chilled by fear, physically shivering.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Sir Ivan Jarvis was incandescent with rage, the fury worsened by it being obvious to everyone in chambers – but to himself most of all – that he had no alternative. He was, nevertheless, still seeking one.

  Jeremy Hall had endured the threats and gone through the music-hall accusations quite unworried: he’d already decided there were grounds for appeal upon the judge’s court-recorded animosity. What had happened during the past twelve hours – with only God knowing what was likely to emerge in the coming twenty-four – guaranteed not just the legal overturning of everything if Jarvis didn’t comply but ensured an ignominious end to the old man’s lifelong career. Jarvis knew that, too.

  ‘I made clear my attitude to tricks, Mr Hall!’

  ‘And I’ve made clear, my Lord, that these matters only came to my notice at the conclusion of yesterday’s hearing. This application is not based on trickery. It is based upon fact.’ It was hard, in his excitement, not to appear overconfident: not too soon or too quickly to seek some personal satisfaction from how he’d been demeaned in open court.

  ‘The facts were in a statement, for all to see and challenge!’

  ‘One was, my Lord,’ corrected Hall, not needing to take the reminder further. Jarvis had prior access to Peter Lloyd’s statement, as well as both prosecution and defence.

  ‘My Lord,’ intruded Keflin-Brown. ‘My learned friend very properly provided me with every facility and access, after last night’s conclusion. From what has come to light, overnight, I must support his application most strongly in every way.’ There was his practised, mannered paused. ‘In fact, subject to your Lordship’s direction I intend suspending the prosecution until it has been resolved.’

  Jarvis’s mouth became an even tighter line. ‘There could be an explanation for one of your disparities, regrettable though such a mistake might be.’

  ‘But not for the other,’ argued Hall, easily. ‘Since last night I am in a position to prove from the prosecution’s own witnesses, given your permission to recall, as well as from my own, that the second matter is incontrovertibly conclusive.’

  ‘We heard yesterday from eight witnesses who saw your client murder her husband,’ persisted the judge.

  ‘We also heard, from those eight witnesses, how she stood hands outstretched against the window after appearing to have carried out that murder. Each account of which further supports my request this morning.’ There had been a chance for him to sleep, after about 3 a.m., but the adrenalin had been Everest high and he hadn’t even bothered to try. Instead, having found the key, he had forced himself yet again through Jennifer Lomax’s entire file, sometimes consciously mouthing the words he read in his determination against missing anything else by being dulled by his familiarity with what he already knew. Now he was absolutely sure there were no more oversights.

  To Keflin-Brown the resistant judge said, ‘You have no objection to the introduction of a new defence witness?’

  ‘None, my Lord,’ said the older barrister, at once.

  ‘What time is he due to land?’ Jarvis asked.

  ‘Just after midday,’ responded Hall, prepared for every query. ‘Arrangements have been made to convey him immediately to court.’

  ‘With hearsay evidence?’ challenged Jarvis, hopefully.

  Another door he was going to enjoy slamming in the old bastard’s face. It had been Humphrey Perry’s suggestion to extend the enquiry. Which had produced the most dramatic – as well as perhaps the most inexplicable and frightening – evidence to support his application that morning. It was, Hall knew, what was unsettling everyone, something none of them understood and didn’t want to think about. ‘The court benefits from the time difference between this country and the United States of America: it was only 11 a.m. in Washington DC when your Lordship rose last night. The defence had already engaged an American lawyer, prior to the developments before your Lordship today. He was able to locate the doctor who took the original samples and have him swear an affidavit before an American judge in chambers that his findings were a true and accurate record. I would ask you to accept, my Lord, that it is therefore legally admissable and not hearsay evidence…’ Closing the lid on the box, Hall finished, ‘If that is not your view, then I will make arrangements to fly the doctor here, personally to appear before you.’

  Jarvis shook his head, in defeated rejection. He looked intently and individually at the two barristers, then at Perry and Robert Morley behind. ‘Have any of you thought of the implications of this?’ he demanded, voicing the unspoken bewilderment of them all.

  Keflin-Brown and Hall exchanged looks, each inviting the other to respond. Taking the responsibility, as the applicant, Hall said, ‘I cannot explain what I believe I can prove.’

  ‘Your application is granted, in full,’ Jarvis surrendered. There was a pause, ‘I’m minded to add God help us.’

  No-one considered the remark an exaggeration or out of place. Perry was actually thinking the same thing himself.

  It had been one of the most horrific times of the total horror, not as bad as having her mind taken over, or the murder itself or the lesbian rape but close behind. Jane had erupted against Jeremy Hall’s refusal to explain what was happening, screaming so loudly and so long Jennifer had screamed herself, at the physical pain it caused. Twice, despite Jennifer’s efforts to prevent it, she’d been thrown violently to the ground and had once been unable to stop herself suddenly striking out, catching the barrister a glancing blow on the side of the face. The fury had reached apoplexy at Hall’s reaction to it all. He’d greeted every outrage as if he wanted it to occur – making no effort to avoid the slap – unnecessarily pointing the worst of her behaviour out to the people before whom she was paraded, very often like an exhibit. She recognized some, like the two detectives and the prosecuting barrister and court officials, but not others. They’d ignored her too when Jane had made her demand to know their names and what they were doing, snipping a sample of hair and fingerprinting her and taking yet another blood test. Jane had made her jerk her arm when the needle went in, breaking it off, so she had another sore wound in her arm: it had taken all her own effort as well as Hall physically holding her arm for the sample and the fingerprints to be taken. All that had been done by someone she didn’t know, in her cell, although the prison doctor had attended as a witness. Hall and Perry and some other strangers were there, too, and so much official activity had obviously frightened the matron. Jennifer had used it further to scare the woman after everyone had gone, lying about an authority inquiry. There hadn’t been any cream residue when she’d awoken that morning and Jennifer hadn’t detected anything during the night, which she believed she might have done. Jane had maintained an unrelenting barrage of noise, penetrating even the sedative, so Jennifer had always had a vague awareness of her surroundings. It had been a pill, not an injection – further evidence the matron didn’t intend drugging her beyond any awareness of what was happening to her – and Jane had succeeded in making her vomit the first one up before managing to swallow the second.

  Th
e tirade had continued that morning. Jennifer’s hand had been jerked and pulled when she’d tried to make-up and dress her hair, so the effort was very much worse than at the beginning of the previous two days, although better than at their end, after Jane had made her drool. She’d chosen a dress today, dark blue again to minimize the inevitable staining and intended trying hard to remember to have more clothes brought up from Hampshire: both suits were too crumpled and sweat-and-saliva stained for a second wearing. She doubted if cleaning would help.

  The threats had approached hysteria, on the way to court. There was: ‘ Find out what’s going on! If you don’t, I’m going to make you do things you can’t even begin to imagine! ’ And then: ‘ Forget the attack on Emily: Gerald even. You’ll go out with the biggest bang ever .’ Followed by: ‘ You find out or by tonight you’re in the funny farm, for life.’ And then that most familiar of all: ‘ Don’t fool yourself, Jennifer. You know you can’t fight me – resist me – sufficiently.’ Before a return to the beginning: ‘I want to know what’s going on! ’

  So did Jennifer. Desperately. From the fact that Keflin-Brown and his junior were involved, as well as the stone-faced Bentley and Rodgers and a lot of obvious specialists and experts it had to be important. Vital. Yet she’d been in court all the time, heard everything that was said. And there hadn’t been anything: nothing, that is, that had meant anything to her. So what was it?

  ‘ Find out: I keep telling you to find out! ’

  Jennifer didn’t have to talk. Thinking was enough. Really knocked you off your perch, hasn’t it Jane? Really beating you this time. Said it would happen, didn’t I? Not as clever as you thought you were. Panicking. Don’t know what to do. Now you’re lost, not me. Will lose. How’s that feel? Lost and going to lose a lot more. Finished, Jane. Not just dead once. Dead twice.

  ‘ Dream on, bitch! Enjoy, as long as you can. Which won’t be long. That dock’s really going to be your bear pit today. You’re going to dance to every tune I want to play and I’m going to play the lot. Should have kissed sticky-fingered matron and your dyke friends goodbye. You won’t be going back to them. Got a special place for you in the looney tune chorus. Here’s a joke, just for you. A celebrity goes into an asylum, part of a compassion therapy experiment, and says to the first man he sees: “Hello. Do you know who I am?” and the man says: “No. But ask matron. She’ll tell you.” ’