It was clearly impossible for her to use the public access, which she was entitled to do on bail. Instead she entered as she had on all the previous days, through the gated-off rear doors.
Hall was already there, waiting. Jennifer was shaking, frightened, and said, ‘This is incredihle. Awful. Do something!’
Before Hall could reply Jane said, ‘ This is how it’s going to be! ’
Hall began walking with her along the corridor, hand cupping her elbow, careful not to come into contact with her strapped side. ‘I spent yesterday trying to think of something. We’ll sort it out.’
‘ Believe that and you’ll believe anything! ’
‘Where’s Emily? I phoned home, yesterday afternoon. Mrs Jenkins said Annabelle had taken her away. By helicopter! What the hell…?’
‘For the same reason you had to be brought here by the police. We had to get Emily away. Annabelle’s with her, of course. Johnson, too. Emily thinks she’s on holiday.’
Jennifer shuddered, flinching at the pain from her ribs. ‘I want it to end. For everyone to go away.’
‘ It’s just beginning! I keep telling you! ’
‘Let’s get today over.’
‘I saw what was inside the coffin,’ declared Jennifer. The contents had been photographed from both helicopters, by television as well as still cameras, and in the majority of cases published without the obscenity being air-brushed or blanked out. It had first been shown on the previous evening’s television news.
‘Today’s really just a formality.’
‘ But there’s a lot of surprises still left.’
The two regular wardresses were waiting at the bottom of the court steps, reminding her. ‘You’ve got everything from the prison?’
‘Johnson has.’ To the wardress, Hall said, ‘Keep close to her.’
‘ Tell him not to worry. I’ve got a different surprise today. One you’re really going to like.’
‘She says she’s got another surprise.’
Ann Wardle visibly stood back. As the Irish-accented Kathleen did the same she said, ‘What?’
‘ Surprises are surprises! ’
Jennifer shook her head against the question.
Hall said: ‘There’s nothing that can go against you in court. You’re provably innocent.’
‘We’ve been beyond that for the last two days, haven’t we?’ demanded Jennifer, objectively. She didn’t have to stress the weariness. Her injured ribs and knee ached and Peter Lloyd had told her that morning that the result of the HIV blood test might take longer than he’d first thought, although he’d made it a priority request. Jane had been noisily in the background throughout her sedated half-sleep and she’d had her first real experience of how mobs would react (‘ Told you you’d be a freak, from now on: didn’t listen, did you? ’ to that reflection) and Jennifer at that moment wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on fighting: didn’t know – wouldn’t know – after today what she had to fight. The court, the murder charge, had been a reality, an actuality she could confront: understand. And she’d had someone believing her, supporting her. She wasn’t faced with any reality from now on. And her defender wouldn’t be around to help her. She wouldn’t be in any court and so Jeremy wouldn’t be there to rely on. He hadn’t tried to distance himself from her today: actually held her arm, helped her along the corridor and been careful he didn’t jar into her side, to hurt her. She didn’t want to lose him: be without him. Didn’t want to be alone, apart from her tormentor.
‘ But I’m all you’ve got, honey. Think of it like a marriage; the worst marriage in your worst nightmare. Then double it.’
‘Here it is,’ announced Hall. ‘The last time you’re going to have to stand in a dock.’
‘ Ready, steady go! ’
Yet again Jennifer had to force one foot in front of the other to ascend into the dock. The approaching noise was practically deafening – louder than it had ever been – but at her appearance it died, into an awed silence that was even more disconcerting. Police were shoulder to shoulder around the dock but today there was no darted media approach. For her own satisfaction Jennifer stood at the dock rail, for the first time not trying to withdraw from the incredulous fascination but gazing defiantly, challengingly, back at her onlookers. Briefly she was tempted to say something, anything, (‘ Go on! Go on! ’) to see how frightened the reaction would be but she didn’t. (‘ Lots of time, later,’). Jeremy Hall turned and smiled and she smiled back.
Even Jarvis’s expression was less gargoyle-like when he entered and he extended it in the direction of the media and, Jennifer thought, everyone desperate to ensure their little place in the history of the supernatural bizarre. How many other people would want her autograph, like the wardresses who sat behind her now with what they regarded a safe distance between them?
‘ Why not sign for both of us? We could do double-sided photographs, Jane and Jennifer! ’
‘Jennifer and Jane,’ said Jennifer, softly but aloud, watching the shocked reaction – the awareness that she was talking to the ghost inside her – from around the court. Not funny, she corrected herself, at once: playing games, stupid, insane games.
‘ That’s it, insane! And that’s how I’ll do it: take your mind away. And you won’t even notice it until it’s too late. ’
Oddly, or perhaps befitting the complete unnaturalness of the moment – the moment a staid, undemonstrative, unhysterical British court of law legally established and recognized the existence of the supernatural – there was a strange anti-climax about the conclusion of the trial.
The scientists contributed with the formality of their findings, which they presented in microscopic detail. Anthony Billington even insisted, throughout his evidence, upon referring to DNA by its full name, deoxyribonucleic acid and, following his lead, Phylis Shipley did the same. Although there was no possibility of prosecution challenge or appeal, upon technicality, Hall allowed both to introduce charts and diagrams showing the formation and relationships between double-stranded molecules and nuclei and chromosomes, which they illustrated in hugely enlarged detail. And asked each virtually identical questions when they came to the end of their esoteric explanations.
In Jennifer’s head Jane hummed: Jennifer thought she recognized snatches of ‘Small Town Girl’.
‘ Wrong. How about “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”? ’
‘Describe, in laymen’s language, what deoxyribonucleic acid provides for you,’ Hall demanded, from the prosecution expert.
‘A unique and individual genetic picture,’ responded Billington.
‘A body fingerprint,’ suggested Phylis Shipley, when she followed into the witness-box.
‘Each different from any other?’
‘The same only in identical twins,’ qualified Billington.
‘Have you prepared photographs of the DNA you extracted from the blond hair and O Rhesus Negative blood samples found in Gerald Lomax’s office?’
Billington said, ‘Yes.’ Phylis Shipley offered sufficient individual folders for the entire jury.
In Jennifer’s head echoed the sound of a protracted yawn.
‘Did you successfully extract comparison DNA from the hair and bones in the coffin of Jane Lomax?’
‘ Ruined the spelling! ’
‘I did,’ said Billington.
‘What was that comparison?’
Although it was already obvious, there was a loud and disbelieving intake of communal breath when Billington indicated his photographic charts and said, ‘There is absolutely no doubt the hair and O Rhesus Negative blood from Gerald Lomax’s office contains deoxyribonucleic acid identical to that I found in the bodily remains in the grave of Jane Lomax.’ The sound echoed around the court again when Phylis Shipley repeated the finding.
Hall remained standing, as the woman scientist left the witness-box. He said, ‘My Lord, is it your wish that I make a submission?’
‘That will not be necessary,’ refused Jarvis. It took him o
nly minutes to direct the jury formally to return a verdict of not guilty, to the background of rising noise throughout the court. It quietened only slightly when Jennifer was called to rise.
Jarvis said, ‘Jennifer Lomax, you leave this court having been found not guilty of the charge of murder brought against you, it having been admirably, legally and scientifically proved by your learned counsel that the crime was perpetrated not by yourself but by the spirit of Jane Lomax, who possesses your body and your mind. You are, Jennifer Lomax, a woman to be greatly pitied and in need of help that none of us can begin to understand. There was, in a certain period of British legal history, a phrase utilized at the conclusion of some murder trials that seems to me to be very fitting today… May God have mercy upon your soul.’
‘ You know what you’re going to do, now that this is all over, don’t you? ’ said Jane. ‘ You’re going to be reunited with Emily. And one day, when I feel like it, I’m going to make you kill her. Won’t that be fun? ’
Jennifer emitted an anguished, strangled scream. Ann Wardle only half-caught her so Jennifer still hit the dock floor hard but she had fainted too deeply into unconsciousness to feel the fresh pain in her ribs.
Geoffrey Johnson was waiting for Annabelle in the bar of the Wiltshire theme park when she came down from the room she was sharing with Emily. Annabelle accepted the waiting glass of wine and said, ‘She’s asleep. But I’ll need to keep checking her. She’s started wetting the bed.’
‘Kids of that age do. Mine did.’
‘Geoffrey!’ Annabelle erupted. ‘She hasn’t seen her father for months and doesn’t know what’s happened to him! Her mother tried to kill her! She thinks the bad men who invaded Hampshire wanted to take her away and to escape them she had to leave in a helicopter. And at four, helicopters aren’t exciting. They’re bloody frightening. Emily wetting the bed isn’t a thing that kids do. She’s developing psychological problems.’
‘Jennifer’s not guilty. She’s free. So she’ll be back with Emily in a day or two.’
‘Is that how long she’s going to stay in hospital?’
‘They don’t know yet. They’re not sure why she fainted, apart from the obvious relief.’ Johnson poured more wine. ‘I spoke to Humphrey while you were upstairs. And I’ve booked in. They’ve asked me to stay: make sure you’re not found. Apparently the scenes in London were incredible. Humphrey said it had to be like the hysteria of a medieval execution when people were hanged, drawn and quartered.’
‘I’ve unplugged the television. I didn’t want Emily waking up and putting it on, just in case…’ She sipped her drink. ‘It’s not going to be as easy here as it was at home keeping newspapers from her. I know she can’t read but she can see the pictures. There were a couple of bad situations at home.’
‘Jeremy asked me to thank you, for what you’ve done. And are doing.’
Annabelle looked seriously at the solicitor, ‘I’m not sure for how much longer.’
‘You can’t quit now!’ protested the man.
‘You think I’ve enjoyed it?’
‘Of course you haven’t. None of us have. But it’s all over now.’
‘She’s still possessed, isn’t she? And you told me the psychiatrists couldn’t help.’
‘Jeremy’s trying to think of something.’
‘I don’t want to live in a house with a woman who’s got a ghost in her head. And I don’t think we can allow Emily to after what happened at the hospital.’
‘Let’s wait until we know why she collapsed,’ pleaded Johnson.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jeremy Hall didn’t want a celebration – found it difficult at that precise moment to believe he had anything to celebrate – but as he had in allowing Bert Feltham into the conference with the psychiatrists he considered his future in the chambers and accepted the pre-lunch invitation to Sir Richard Proudfoot’s rooms. The decision was made easier by Peter Lloyd, who during their prior telephone conversation told him Jennifer was still heavily sedated and wouldn’t be able to respond properly to visitors until that afternoon at the earliest. Lloyd admitted still not knowing the cause of the collapse and agreed to Julian Mason coming as well. Mason immediately agreed to mid-afternoon after asking, with professional jealousy, if the other psychiatrists were also to be involved to the obvious satisfaction of being told they weren’t.
It was Feltham who organized the chambers gathering. Humphrey Perry was included and Hall was briefly curious that all eight senior members were able to attend, at such short notice. From none was there the resentment he’d known previously at the nepotism of his joining his uncle’s firm, not even from Sir Patrick Piltbeam – whose chambers they would become upon Proudfoot’s elevation to the bench – or Jonathan Cappell: both, he knew, had voted against his penniless admission.
Now everything changed. His acceptance went far beyond being effusive to be cloying to the point of sycophancy. There was the artificiality of individual handshakes and back-slapping congratulations, and the embarrassment of a eulogizing speech from Proudfoot. There was a lot about his potential being recognized from the start and of the fame he’d brought to the chambers as well as to himself. There seemed a contest among the QCs to be the first to take him to lunch and Cappell, who until now had barely acknowledged his existence, suggested proposing him for membership of the Garrick or the Reform or both. It was, decided Hall, like being the dog to win the supreme championship at Crufts: everyone wanted to take him for a walk to show off.
It was Henry Kerslake, another junior, who asked the question. ‘What’s she like? ’
‘A frightened woman,’ said Hall, unhelpfully.
‘I mean does it show, physically?’
‘She doesn’t look any different from any other woman: just one head.’ Immediately despising the cynicism, which sounded as if it were directed at Jennifer and not Kerslake, he added, ‘The only physical evidence is when she can’t resist being forced to do something.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Kerslake, as if he’d had a revelation. ‘She looks beautiful in the newspaper pictures.’
‘She is. I told you, there’s no outward manifestation.’
‘You frightened of her?’
It was like a courtroom cross-examination, Hall thought. ‘There was a frightening episode in the hospital.’
‘When she attacked the child?’ prompted Piltbeam.
Hall looked accusingly between Perry and Feltham, supposing it was inevitable. ‘Yes.’
‘What an experience,’ enthused Kerslake. ‘Actually being close to someone like that. Incredible!’
‘Actually it’s very sad.’
‘When does the lecture tour start?’ demanded Piltbeam, half joking to lighten the moment.
‘As a matter of fact there was an approach from an agent this morning,’ admitted Hall. It had been one of the five new offers in the pigeon-hole of his still beleaguered apartment. Patricia had called again, as well as five newspapers all of which increased their initial offers for interviews and personalized stories.
‘And I’ve got four briefs specifically asking for you by name, Mr Hall,’ disclosed Feltham. ‘I haven’t made any commitment yet: wanted to discuss them with you first.’
‘More consideration than you show us, Bert,’ complained Cappell.
‘The offers to Mrs Lomax herself are astonishing,’ came in Perry. ‘An American publisher is offering the equivalent of?3,000,000 for a book.’
‘Jennifer Lomax could become an industry!’ said Cappell, in another attempted joke.
‘She won’t,’ Hall said, positively. Why did they think it was so amusing?
‘Still no trouble with the fees, though?’ suggested Hugh Norton. He was the oldest QC in chambers, a passed-over lawyer who never appeared in criminal court and only took sufficient civil litigation to support the middle of each day at his regular ground-floor corner table of El Vino.
‘Unlikely in the first place, quite apart from our being awarded costs,’ assure
d Perry. ‘I had Johnson anticipate the verdict: make an assessment. Mrs Lomax was already wealthy in her own right and Lomax’s Will makes her a millionairess. And having been found not guilty she qualifies for all the insurance policies, company as well as private. And they’re worth a fortune. He’s still working it out.’
Hall shifted, uncomfortable with the bone-stripping dissection. ‘Aren’t we being premature?’
‘Practical, old boy,’ defined Cappell. ‘You pulled off a brilliant defence. Earned your fee. Everyone should be well and truly satisfied.’
He wasn’t, Hall abruptly realized. He supposed they were right, although their attitude offended him. He’d fulfilled his function and owed Jennifer Lomax nothing more: if anything her debt was to him. But he wasn’t going to leave it: leave her. He’d chosen the four psychiatrists because of their expertise – and wanted Mason with him later for the same reason – but it had only been four: there were others he could consult until he found how to free Jennifer. The answer might even come from Milton Smith when he talked to people in America who might be able to help. And exorcism. He definitely had to discuss that with Jennifer, irrespective of any initial reluctance.
‘We’re certainly more than satisfied,’ said Proudfoot, as the other barristers began drifting from the room.
Looking more towards the solicitor than anyone else, Feltham said, ‘I suppose we should start on the paperwork then?’
‘Don’t see why not,’ agreed Perry, cheerfully.
‘I do,’ stopped Hall. ‘I don’t want any bills submitted until I say so…’ He was, he acknowledged, directly challenging Feltham on the man’s own territory, a cardinal offence. Quickly he added, ‘I don’t consider the case is finished yet. So as I said, it would be premature.’
‘Not too long, though Jeremy,’ urged Proudfoot. Misquoting, he said, ‘Time and tide in the affairs of men and all that sort of thing. Bert’s got an orderly queue waiting for your services, by the sound of it.’
A Mind to Kill Page 31