‘I was.’
‘They don’t match, do they?’
‘No.’
‘You also heard Doctor Billington’s evidence about blood type and grouping?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs Lomax’s blood does not match any of that found in Gerald Lomax’s office, does it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Superintendent,’ said Hall, allowing the patronizing tone. ‘As an expert in murder investigations – a man who has successfully brought twelve murderers to rightful justice – would you have charged Mrs Lomax with murder if you’d properly carried out the investigation you should have done, from which you would have realized the fingerprints upon the bloodstained murder weapon were not those of Mrs Lomax?’
‘Sixteen people witnessed her do it!’ protested Bentley, writhing.
‘Her fingerprints are not on the knife, are they?’ persisted Hall.
‘No.’
‘Her blood isn’t at the scene, is it?’
‘No.’
‘So answer my question. Would you have charged her with murder?’
‘I would have referred it to higher authority,’ said the detective.
‘Superintendent, who, in your expert opinion and now with the benefit of the forensic evidence you did not earlier have, do you believe murdered Gerald Lomax?’
Bentley looked desperately around the court, as if seeking inspiration. As with Billington, earlier, Keflin-Brown steadfastly refused any rescue because no rescue was possible.
‘Answer the question, Superintendent!’ demanded Jarvis, a bully with a new target.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Bentley finally capitulated.
‘You do not know who killed Gerald Lomax?’ echoed Hall, triumphantly.
‘No.’
‘I am grateful, finally, for your honesty,’ said Hall to Keflin-Brown’s headshake against the offer to re-examine. As Malcolm Rodgers was summoned, the older barrister leaned sideways and said quietly, ‘You’re not taking prisoners, are you?’
‘Not as readily as everyone else was prepared to do,’ said Hall. He’d made his decision upon that morning’s idea. Perry would probably argue against it. So, most definitely, would the heavy breathing, unctuous Feltham along with Sir Richard Proudfoot. So they wouldn’t get the opportunity: they’d be presented with a fait accompli.
Inspector Malcolm Rodgers was an ambitious career policeman who’d hitched his wagon to Superintendent Bentley’s unstoppable express but who now detected the vibrations of an impending fatal crash. And who had decided, the previous night and then again listening in court so far that day, that it was time to disconnect the coupling. He studiously avoided the staccato and truculent answers that Bentley had given, repeating again and again that he’d gone through every stage of the investigation under the command of a superior officer. He regretted that superior officer had not insisted upon Mrs Lomax’s fingerprints being taken. And would obviously have himself ordered it done by a junior officer – or done it himself – had he not automatically assumed the order for such basic routine had been given while he was otherwise engaged. He could offer no explanation or suggestion for the disparity between the fingerprints and the blood. Certainly, from none of the sixteen eyewitnesses was there evidence of anyone other than Gerald and Jennifer Lomax being in the totally visible room at the time of Gerald Lomax’s death.
‘Who then, in your opinion, killed the man?’ demanded Hall.
‘I do not know, sir,’ dutifully replied the responsibility-avoiding detective.
Which brought Jeremy Hall to Ross Hamilton Forest II, senior partner in the Washington DC law firm of Forest, Pilton and Camperstone, a white-haired, cultivated man with practised, courtly manners and a clipped, New England accent. Forest had reached the court fifteen minutes before the afternoon resumption, giving Hall ample time to read and discuss the documentation the man carried. It was, in fact, that documentation that finally decided Hall upon the application he intended making. But which now – while Forest was being formally sworn and thanked by Sir Ivan Jarvis for his Atlantic dash (‘an act of unprecedented legal cooperation between our two countries and our two legal systems,’) to Forest’s repeated assurance that it was nothing, nothing at all, sir – Jeremy Hall had stomach-hollowing second thoughts.
He had sufficient to create reasonable doubt, the corner-stone of defence. To seek more – which he could – would turn what the following day’s newspapers and television would build into a legal and public phenomenon, for which there wasn’t an adjective extravagant enough to describe. And for whom would he be doing it, by going further? For Jennifer, whose categoric instructions had been to prove her not guilty of murder? Or for his impatient, ambitious self, cynically grabbing the opportunity to pole-vault ten, maybe fifteen mundane, ladder-climbing years with one mighty leap to the Sir Richard Proudfoot ice-capped echelon? Yet more questions for which he couldn’t find an answer. Maybe never would.
After the pleasantries from on high, Hall went through the ritual at his level, tempering the sycophancy by coupling it with the establishment of Ross Hamilton Forest’s legal qualifications.
That done, Hall said, ‘At the request of my instructing solicitor, Mr Perry, did you some time ago establish in the United States of America the marriage of Gerald James Lomax to Jane Mary Herbetson?’
In Jennifer’s head there was again the sound of sharply indrawn breath. ‘ I don’t want to hear this.’
You don’t have a choice: isn’t that what you’re always telling me? thought Jennifer.
‘ Shut up! ’
Tables turned!
‘I did, sir,’ beamed Forest. He had the tanned face of a man who conducted a lot of business on a golf course or from a yacht on the Potomac.
‘Jane Mary Herbetson was Gerald Lomax’s first wife?’
‘She was indeed, sir.’
‘The daughter of one of the most respected families in Virginia?’
‘Proud history going back over two hundred years, according to my enquiries: one of the founding fathers of our great and good country,’ said the American lawyer, proudly. ‘Her father was the Episcopalian bishop: there’s a bust in his cathedral, commemorating the work and the impact he made within his diocese. Mrs Herbetson was an extremely rich woman and throughout their lives together – and after her unfortunate death – the bishop was an extremely generous benefactor. He personally paid for two schools and a clinic for the disadvantaged. In his will he left a substantial bequest in trust to benefit the poor.’
‘What do you mean by Mrs Herbetson’s “unfortunate” death?’
‘The poor lady drowned, in a boating accident when Jane was just fifteen years old.’
‘ Pompous legal prick. Probably first generation descent from some Irish shit-kicker! ’
‘As I understand it, Mr Forest, there is a certain statutory health requirement in your country – certainly in the State of Virginia – prior to marriage?’
‘There most certainly is, sir.’
‘ Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! ’
‘Of particular importance in view of a condition from which Jane Mary Herbetson suffered from birth?’
‘The poor child was a diabetic’
‘ Poor child, my ass! ’
‘Quite so, as this court has already heard. What is the requirement we’re talking about?’
‘Blood tests, sir. To ensure compatibility: a protection for offspring. And for any hereditary disease.’
‘Such tests were conducted upon Gerald Lomax and Jane Mary Herbetson?’
Despite the judge’s earlier warning there was a growing murmur of anticipation from the media coral. Jarvis looked sharply towards it: the noise lessened only very slightly.
‘They were, sir.’
‘And are retained, on file?’
‘For a statutory period.’
‘You were able to gain access to those records and have an affidavit from the doctor who compiled them sworn before a judge in Washington
DC yesterday? And which you produce to my Lord and to this court today?’
On cue the American took an impressively bound folder from his briefcase and handed it to the waiting usher.
‘Would you tell the court the blood group registered as that of Gerald James Lomax?’
‘AB Rhesus Positive.’
Here we go, thought Hall, the moment of no-turning-back commitment: saving Jennifer from one fate without any idea of what other she might be thrust into by what he was going to say and do. ‘And would you tell the court the blood group registered as that of Jane Mary Herbetson?’
‘O Rhesus Negative.’
The court exploded, beyond any control. The predominant reaction was, predictably, from the media in a virtual mass exodus from the room. But there was a lot of noise, discernible gasps, from the jury. An aviary of sound descended from above from the public gallery.
The time it took to restore order gave Jeremy Hall the opportunity finally to make up his mind. His primary duty, always, was to Jennifer. And the only course open to Sir Ivan Jarvis was now a positive direction that to proceed upon the newly available evidence would be unsafe, in law. Which fell short of a verdict of not guilty. So, Hall convinced himself, he had to press on. He turned, to smile at the strained-faced Jennifer, aware as he did so of several of the returning journalists bunched around Humphrey Perry, who was making rapid, dismissive hand gestures.
There was still some noise when Jarvis hurried Hall on, but it ended abruptly when Hall turned back to the American, no-one wanting to miss a single word of the exchange.
‘Those findings are written ones, the result of pathological examination carried out prior to the marriage?’ Hall resumed. ‘The actual samples themselves no longer exist.’
‘No, sir. Storage would be an impossible task.’
‘Mr Forest, you have travelled an extremely long way for what may seem a very short period of time to give evidence in this court. But, in thanking you, I assure you your help and your evidence has been invaluable.’
Once again Keflin-Brown declined to examine and there was a hiatus of several minutes while Jarvis effusively thanked the American lawyer, who, equally effusive, insisted it had been a pleasure.
‘Mr Keflin-Brown?’ invited the judge, after Forest stood down.
‘As I made clear to you in chambers this morning, my Lord, I am subject to your direction.’
‘I am minded, Mr Hall, to make a certain recommendation to the jury. Is there anything further upon which you feel it necessary to address me, before I do that?’
‘There is, my Lord. But with the greatest respect, anticipating your Lordship’s possible feelings, I wonder if my submission might be made in the absence of the jury…?’
‘ What’s the sneaky little bastard up to now? ’
Something else to screw you.
‘ He’s just building up penalty points against you. You’ll be sorry. ’
Hall was aware of Keflin-Brown’s sharp look and of Jarvis’s face closing against him. The judge said, ‘I trust you can infer the way my mind is directed. And I have allowed you considerable leniency, Mr Hall.’
‘Which I must assure your Lordship I have not – nor will – abuse.’
‘You are insisting?’
‘I am humbly requesting.’
‘Members of the jury,’ said Jarvis, turning towards them. ‘You will be taken to a room assigned for your deliberations while I hear a submission from learned counsel. You are not being excluded. Indeed, if I so decide, I will fully acquaint you upon your return with what Mr Hall has said. The purpose of asking you temporarily to leave is to prevent anything wrongly said during legal exchanges adversely to affect your final deliberations. I hope it possible to recall you very shortly.’
As the jury filed away Hall felt a tug at his gown and leaned back towards Humphrey Perry. ‘What are you going to do?’ demanded the solicitor. ‘It was obvious he was going to rule the prosecution unsafe. We’ve won.’
‘I’m going to prove her totally innocent…’ said Hall. He hesitated, guessing from how close and attentive Keflin-Brown was holding himself that the man could probably hear. ‘… and identify the real murderer.’
Jarvis held up his hand against Hall speaking, going again to the media. ‘You should all of you be aware of the restrictions when a jury is out of court. But I will once again remind you. Not one single word of what is said in their absence can be reported. I will have my clerk and other court officers read every newspaper, listen to every radio transmission and watch every television broadcast. If I recognize one word from what is about to be discussed, the provider of that report and his or her editor will be jailed for contempt…’ He turned back to the barristers. ‘Mr Hall?’
‘It is my submission, my Lord, that upon the evidence I have brought before you today, it would be legally unsafe to continue the prosecution for murder against my client-’
‘Which it was unnecessary to send the jury out to make,’ broke in the judge. ‘And precisely the guidance I intend to make to the jury.’
‘I’m obliged for that advice, my Lord. But it will not constitute a verdict of not guilty for my client.’
‘Of course it will in everything but pronouncement, Mr Hall. You’re nitpicking.’
‘With respect, my Lord, there is something more that could be done publicly and totally to exonerate my client of any guilt for the crime upon which she has been arraigned.’
Jarvis’s face was furrowed into a frown that made him appear more wizened than ever.
‘ What the fuck now! ’
‘What is that, Mr Hall?’
‘As your Lordship has already heard, the shank of hair recovered from Gerald Lomax’s office is a different colour from that of Mrs Lomax. Last night, with Mrs Lomax’s agreement, samples were taken of her hair. Both are at this moment being subjected to DNA analysis and comparison, not just by Doctor Billington but by a separate forensic expert engaged by the defence. I am hopeful of a result within the next twenty-four hours. Some of the O Rhesus Negative blood is also being subjected to DNA matching…’
‘… Your submission, Mr Hall, your submission!’
‘The grave of Mrs Jane Lomax is in Mortlake cemetery. I am applying to you, my Lord, for an exhumation order for that grave to be opened for DNA tests upon the hair and bone that the coffin will still contain. And for the findings of those tests to be compared with the DNA found in the blood and hair currently being examined by defence and prosecution forensic specialists-’
‘ NO! ’ Jennifer stopped herself echoing the deafening scream but couldn’t prevent being hurled bodily across the dock so violently that she crashed into its side. Her breath was knocked completely from her and the duty doctor who examined her in the dock guessed at two cracked ribs. When the doctor insisted upon X-rays – which later confirmed three – Hall immediately applied for bail, with a condition of residency in hospital. Within an hour she was back in the same private ward at St Thomas’s to which she’d been admitted after the murder. Completing the coincidence, she was put under the care of Dr Peter Lloyd, who travelled from the court with her in the ambulance.
With difficulty, wincing against the pain, Jennifer said, ‘I’m glad it’s you. There’s something I need to know.’ She wasn’t going back to prison to be used as a sex toy, she realized.
Jarvis continued in Jennifer’s absence. The fully co-operative Keflin-Brown hurriedly supported Hall’s application – totally aware of the incredible events and inevitable publicity in the wake of which he was being borne along – and the judge issued the exhumation order with a further injunction against press intrusion, warning that he was extending the precincts of the court for a radius of five hundred yards around the grave of the first Mrs Lomax.
When he arrived at St Thomas’s, Hall realized he’d made an error in not anticipating what would be happening there and by failing to ask the judge for an additional precincts order. The hospital authorities had already complained and
adding to the irony of Jennifer’s return Superintendent Hopkins was again in charge of the police unit confronting the press siege. There was none of the officious belligerence he’d shown towards Hall for Emily’s disastrous visit. They were doing their best to prevent any media person entering the premises, he reported formally, and there were uniformed officers in the corridor outside Jennifer’s ward, intercepting anyone who approached. Four journalists and two photographers had already been arrested and charged with behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace: one, an Italian, had been wearing a white coat and insisted he was a doctor.
‘Is it a fact that she’s genuinely possessed by the first wife?’ demanded the policeman, incredulous.
‘I think so.’
‘What’s going to happen to her?’
‘I don’t know.’ He wished he did, thought Hall, moving through the hospital. His responsibility towards Jennifer Lomax ended with the conclusion of the trial, extending beyond that only to any outstanding legal formalities. But the end of the trial was hardly going to be the end of her problems. But they weren’t legal, he warned himself. They were personal: medically – or perhaps more accurately psychiatrically – personal. Not his consideration then.
He was challenged twice at the level of Jennifer’s ward, once directly outside the elevator and again at the police barrier outside the individual room. There it needed Dr Lloyd’s intervention to persuade the suspicious policeman he really was Jennifer’s lawyer.
She smiled wanly up at him as he entered the room. ‘Here we are again.’ She plucked at the hospital-issue nightdress. ‘And the fashion hasn’t changed.’
‘ And I’m still here, too.’
‘How are you?’ asked Hall.
‘It hurts, when I breathe.’ He’d moved the chair away from the bed, not closer, when he sat.
‘ Frightened of you. Frightened of me. Cowardy, cowardy custard, his balls are made of mustard.’
‘The judge granted the order.’
Jennifer was ready, gripping the side of the bed. The movement vibrated though her and the voice screamed, ‘ Mother-fucker. I’d get you too, if I could.’
A Mind to Kill Page 28